The ruined temple overlooking the eastern harbor was a tomb of forgotten Egyptian gods, its stone half-eaten by the sea air. It was far enough from the city to guarantee solitude and served as the silent stage for Darian's education of Aurelian.
Three nights after their first meeting, Darian arrived first, waiting in the deep shadow of a collapsed granite wall. He didn't wait long. Aurelian arrived alone, dressed in simple, dark traveling clothes—no longer the aloof noble, but a conspirator.
"You came," Aurelian said, his breath misting faintly in the cool air.
"Your offer was compelling," Darian replied, stepping into the sparse moonlight. "But your trust must be earned. You asked to see my power."
Darian spread his hand against the cold stone. He did not need incantations or loud gestures. He merely willed the darkness. The shadow pooling at the base of the wall deepened, becoming not an absence of light, but a physical thing. He fed it with his controlled despair, with the ancient Egyptian lore he'd stolen and learned in silence. The shadow rose, a dark, coiling wisp that wrapped silently around a fallen column, holding it in place.
Aurelian did not flinch, though a strange light, a mixture of awe and fear, sparked in his eyes. "It is… magnificent," he whispered. "You can truly bind things with the darkness."
"I can conceal and control," Darian corrected, letting the shadow retreat. "And I can hear things the daylight ignores. Senator Valerius is weak, Noble. His alliances are built on greed, not loyalty. He has promised protection to the shipping guilds but has skimmed from their taxes, creating enemies among the very people he needs to sustain his influence in Rome."
Over the next few weeks, their meetings at the temple became a dangerous ritual. Aurelian brought scrolls and maps detailing the Roman administration; Darian brought the knowledge of the shadows, the gossip of the slave networks, and the precise weakness of every man Aurelian wished to undermine. Darian was the sharp point of Aurelian's ambition, and Aurelian was Darian's only key to a life not defined by the arena sand.
They quickly moved past politics. Aurelian saw Darian's intelligence—the strategic mind that had survived years of violence. Darian, in turn, saw past the Roman title. Aurelian was driven not by the Senator's crass greed, but by a genuine, if ruthless, desire for a more orderly, effective Roman rule. He was a Roman who saw value in Darian, not just a price.
One evening, after discussing a crucial tax revolt Darian had secretly fueled, Aurelian looked at him in the moonlight, his expression serious. "Why do you fight for me, Darian? You could simply flee Alexandria and be free."
"And be hunted?" Darian countered. "Freedom under Rome's eye is always temporary. I fight for the power to ensure my freedom, and the vengeance that comes with it. And because…" He hesitated, then pushed the words out. "Because you are the only man in my life who has not treated my existence as a transaction."
Aurelian slowly reached out, his fingers brushing the scar tissue on Darian's forearm. The touch was feather-light, yet it felt like a brand. It was a clear, dangerous crossing of the line between domini and property, between ally and something else entirely. Darian felt a rush of feeling he had starved for—love, sharp and terrifying—and he leaned into the touch, lowering his gaze.
"You are not property," Aurelian murmured, his voice thick. "You are a weapon, yes, but a man first. And I…" His eyes darkened with shared risk. "I have been lonely in Rome's labyrinth. I see you, Darian."
That night, the political alliance collapsed into a fragile, desperate embrace, sealing their fates with a commitment far more dangerous than any political scheme. Their meetings became clandestine moments of passion and planning, built on shared whispers and the terrifying knowledge that discovery meant execution for both.
But even as their love grew, a shadow began to fall. Aurelian seemed strained, his visits sometimes frantic or cut short.
"My father is watching," he admitted one night, his hand tracing the edge of Darian's jaw. "The Senator is growing suspicious of my movements and my sudden political successes. He believes I have an unnatural advantage."
Darian felt the familiar tightening in his chest. His influence was spreading too quickly. The power he had hoped to use for freedom was now threatening to crush the very man he loved. The dark energy of his magic felt less like a protective veil and more like a heavy, visible cloak. Treachery, like a poison, was beginning to seep from the heart of the empire, and it was reaching for both of them.