The world was changing beneath Constantine's feet. Some days, he could almost sense the land itself swelling, rivers shifting their banks, fields rolling out toward the horizon like green banners. In the city, the pace of life only quickened. News from the provinces arrived by steam-cart, sometimes twice in a day. Markets overflowed with strange fruits and copperware from distant kingdoms. Every new face in the crowd was a reminder that the boundaries of Rome were as fluid as the world itself.
But beneath all the bustle, an unease grew. Rumor worked its slow poison, more dangerous than any blade. Whispers followed Constantine through the palace: that the world was growing wider and stranger, that even the Emperor could not predict what tomorrow would bring. He saw it in the eyes of his councilors, in the wary glances of his sons, and in the careful silence of Valerius, who had grown old in the service of two emperors and did not trust in miracles.
