Chapter Text
Lost and fallen, these were the words that summed up Lucilla's life. Many years ago, she lost her brother and the only man she had ever truly loved, in a single glance.
She, who had been political and strong, intelligent and thoughtful, was now but a shadow. Her son Lucius was far from her, and to protect him, she had the choice of leaving him. She prayed to the gods that he would live, and gave her faith for his survival.
In Rome, she had always seen the future; today, she saw only a burden. The streets of Rome were no longer bathed in golden light. A dark mist seemed to thicken over the Forum, where the murmurs of senators and citizens mingled with the echoes of the past.
This woman, who had long lived in the shadow of her father and brother, was still tortured. She walked these streets alone, veiled, bearing the memory of the men who had shaped her destiny, her heritage and her suffering.
That day, like every Wednesday, she was on her way to a meeting that she preferred to keep away from prying eyes. She knew all about politics and strategy, and her ambition was for the best. She enjoyed exchanging ideas, chatting and getting to know the senators and their thoughts. Of course, she rarely displayed these opinions, only to her closest allies, but she wanted to keep the knowledge.
When she entered the room, covered in her golden-blue veil, Lucilla glanced around. To her surprise, she didn't recognize the man, slightly out of place in a corner.
She, who was always proud and unimpressed, felt pierced by this man's gaze. He wasn't a senator or a nobleman from the city, but a former centurion, a man of blood and glory: Marcus Acacius.
He had known war on the battlefield, but was no stranger to Roman politics. When she met his gaze, an imperceptible shiver ran through her body, something that had no place in the harsh Rome of the Empire.
"My lady" His deep voice broke the silence, a touch of sarcasm hidden beneath the apparent respect "I didn't think you'd come" He extended his hand towards her.
Turning slightly to give him a furtive glance, her eyes shining with defiance, she resumed, "I had no idea you'd be here," turning her back, without taking his hand.
She knew this man by reputation and stature. He had witnessed her brother's tyranny at first hand, and his hands were perhaps as soiled as those of the others who had contributed to his downfall.
She couldn't bear Marcus' accusing gaze, which saw her as the daughter of a fallen emperor, the sister of the man he'd served, the man he'd had to betray and confront. He saw her as a representative of the power he had overthrown, a woman who, though far removed from her brother's cruelty, carried within her the burden of his name. He almost accused her of continuing to be an accomplice to a rotten empire, an heiress to a line that had led Rome to its ruins.
"But I'm sure you knew very well who you were dealing with, didn't you?" he advanced toward her, as she slipped her veil back over her shoulders. "Your hands, like mine, are stained by this era."
She froze for a moment, her back straight, a palpable tension in the air. In a measured tone, she replied without turning around.
"Do you presume to judge me, Acacius?"
"You've built yourself a reputation as a savior, but you're just as responsible as those you toppled. For what? To see Rome crumble under another kind of power?" She turned slowly to him, her gaze piercing, incisive "You're a soldier, not a statesman. You have neither the vision nor the understanding to see what needs to be done."
A sneer grazed his lips, and he took a step forward, his eyes still on her.
"You speak of vision, my lady. But you don't see reality. You think you can fix what's broken with fine words? Rome is a wounded beast. She won't right herself with words, nor with the legacies you've received from a dying father and a slain brother. You, like him, are a prisoner of this past. You're an accomplice, even if you don't realize it."
She cut him off, directly. "You know nothing of the sons and daughters of those who ruled Rome "She stepped forward in turn and challenged him with her gaze. "You're a man of war, Acacius. That's not what Rome needs."
"Rome was built by men like me, not by heirs like you."
Clenching her fists, a shiver of anger ran through her body. In a cold voice, she resumed
"Maybe you're right, Marcus. Maybe I'm not a leader. But I do know one thing: I've seen what the Empire can become when men like you take the reins. You're just a soldier, a weapon in the hands of a power that feeds on war."
Then the man's gaze softens for a moment. He inclines his head slightly.
"If you're so determined, Lucilla, you'll soon understand that your illusions about Rome won't be enough to save her. It will take much more than good will to rebuild what is broken. And if you believe you can accomplish that alone, then you are deeply mistaken."
She paused, the words heavy in the air. Silence stretched for a moment before she finished, almost like a confession.
"Then... help me." She stared at him, her eyes never leaving his.
Frozen for a moment. A strong, stubborn and dedicated Emperor's daughter, asking for help? She, who refused to bend under the pressure of power?
"You..." He frowns, as if trying to decipher her true intentions. His eyes searched for a flaw, but he found none.
"You've seen what I've lost. You know what I've been through. You may not believe me, Acacius, but perhaps we can rebuild something greater. Rome isn't dead yet... but she needs more than weapons. It needs a common vision."
She sighed and covered her face and hair with her veil. She began to leave and looked back at the man one last time.
"I dreamed that Rome was rebuilt, not by blood and war, but by the hands of those who, like us, still believe in a future. Maybe I'm naive, but I want to believe, Marcus."
Before he could hear her answer, she vanished like a flash, disappearing without a trace.
Finally, he murmured, "Maybe we all need to dream a little."