The conversation ended with a grim nod from Caetrax.
Sabellus said nothing more, only saluted and turned to begin relaying orders to the staff.
Julius remained at the map table a moment longer, fingers pressed to the edge, knuckles white.
Germania wasn't lost—yet.
But the seeds had been sown, and whether they would grow into banners of resistance or roots of loyalty, only time would tell.
The next week passed like smoke in wind.
The landscape shifted around him in long stretches of road and rolling earth.
Villages in the forests gave way to cultivated fields.
Fields turned into towns, roads widened.
By the fourth day, the air began to change—not just in warmth, but in scent.
The tang of steel and pine gave way to dust, bread ovens, and the faint perfume of civilization.
By the eighth day, the banners of Romanus snapped in the wind ahead of him.
