A new strength surged through Lepidus, driving out the weakness in his lower limbs.
It propelled him forward before he even realized he had moved—his shoulder striking the cold stone wall.
Pain flared, he winced, but he pushed away without caring if it left another bruise—
Another mark on his young body.
The wet cobblestones gleamed under the rain, slick beneath his bare feet.
It still fell—relentless, unyielding—mirroring the heaviness lodged deep in his heart.
But it no longer mattered.
Even if revenge was impossible—for now—his newfound resolve lit a strange flicker of hope.
Desperate hope.
Leaving the stone path, he walked on through the city's heart.
Aimless—
Yet something felt…
'... off?'
He paused and peered over his shoulder, eyes sweeping his surroundings.
Rome—usually alive with voices, even in the changing of seasons—was silent.
Eerily so.
The usual storm-proof chaos—merchants shouting, hooves clattering, pans clanging, the rowdy laughter of passersby—was gone.
Muted.
Swallowed whole by the steady percussion of falling rain.
Shadows stretched long over empty alleys.
Figures lingered beneath the shelter of the arches, at the edges of corners.
People.
Still as statues.
Watching.
Waiting.
For whom?
Lepidus had no idea.
Even the thermopolia—those bustling food stalls that should've been lively, especially on a day like this—were shut.
No trapped scent of roasting meats.
No fragrant spices curling into the cold air.
Nothing warm.
Nothing alive.
Especially today.
Their business should've been booming—cold weather always drove people toward something hot to eat.
He frowned.
'Unusual…'
His steps slowed until he came to a complete stop, his expression softening.
A memory rose—one of happier times, when he and his mother had wandered these very streets together, chasing the mouthwatering aroma of steaming meals.
He closed his eyes, still unable to move on.
He could almost feel her again.
Her warm hands.
Her bright, cheerful presence.
How she would buy him something small and tasty—even when they had barely enough—spending the denarii she had quietly saved before his father cut them off entirely.
A faint smile danced across his lips.
'Those days… they feel like a lifetime ago.'
His stomach growled—sharp and sudden—pulling him out of his reverie.
His eyes snapped open.
Lepidus hadn't eaten since last night.
He'd been too busy holding her hand.
Watching the light fade from her eyes.
"Be strong… my little lion…"
Her breathing had grown thin.
"... you'll be on your own now…"
Ragged.
"But… I will always be…"
Her final struggle.
"... watching over you."
Then—nothing.
Her body went still.
Her fingers, once warm, turned ice in his grasp.
Limp.
Gone.
If the vilicus hadn't come—on his father's orders—to drag her body away and toss it outside the estate like some rotten meat, he might still be there.
Sitting in that room.
Alone.
Disoriented.
Lepidus' gaze dropped to his hands.
Mud still clung beneath his nails from burying her himself that morning.
He hadn't let his father defile her anymore even in death.
His first act of defiance.
He flexed his stiff fingers and slowly opened his palm.
Rain gathered there, cool and silver, reflecting a blurry image of his face.
It couldn't erase the filth—
Couldn't cleanse the slave blood in his veins.
The only thing she left him.
The proof she existed.
The proof she had once lived.
The only inheritance she gave.
He closed his fist.
Tried to hold on.
But no matter how tightly he gripped—
Again and again—
The water rushed out through the gaps of his raw, torn fingers.
'Impossible.'
He felt it now.
'It's painful,' he thought, shrinking back.
'It stings.'
Everything about it felt so wrong.
Uncomfortable.
Out of place.
'Just like me…'
A broken, dirty, ruined mess.
A boy who didn't know which bloodline he belonged to.
His green expressive eyes shimmered with new tears.
It was cold—so cold it seeped into his bones.
And yet, inside, he burned.
The contradiction unsettled him.
As if his body couldn't decide… whether to freeze… or burn alive.
'Why?'
Why did his mother have to die?
Why—why—why?
Why was she born the daughter of a slave?
And now… what did that make him?
'I belong nowhere.'
They treated her like a slave her whole life until the very end.
'Then… am I one too?'
He stopped breathing.
His thoughts spiraled.
'I'm neither a patrician nor a plebeian. Then what am I? What happens to someone like me?'
The weight of his uncertain future pressed down on him.
Suffocating.
It felt like being pulled underwater.
"Rome will never be kind to someone like me."
His chest tightened.
This empire worshipped bloodlines and power.
Its laws bent for the highborn—and broke the rest.
A system dressed in honor… but rotting underneath.
Like dirty laundry no one dared hang out in the sun!
And in all its marble glory—
There was no place for someone like him.
A child of both noble and slave.
Two worlds.
Too far apart.
A life that didn't fit anywhere.
'Someone… come… Please save me!'
But his silent cries were swallowed by the cold-hearted streets.
Lost beneath the easing downpour.
His knees finally gave out.
He collapsed.
Pain shot up from scraped skin—his blood mixing with water.
But it was nothing compared to the ache twisting inside him.
Passersby cast fleeting glances, then moved on.
Some pointed, whispering behind their hands.
No one stopped.
No one cared.
A twelve-year-old boy with dark skin—a blend of sun and earth—
Who was he?
A runaway slave?
A beggar?
Or a vengeful spirit—thin, hollow-eyed, and cursed?
Kneeling on the wet streets of Rome, shattered and alone.
He was none of those.
The city didn't weep for him.
Didn't even look twice.
He was nothing.
Nothing.
'Nothing.'
**
INDEX:
Denarius(singular)/Denarii(plural)—silver coin/silver coins