Chapter Text
Gaius Julius Octavius Caesar was my birth name, Octavian is my nickname, Gaius Julius Octavius Marius Traianus Hadrianus Marcus Remus Valens Vespasianus Publius Scipio Pompeius Aurelianus Nero Lucius Vorenus Trebonius Tullius Majorianus Cicero Romulus Flavius Claudius Honorius Titus Quintus Gracchus Arcadius Constantinus Theodosius Aurelius Caesar is my full name by the time I was 6 after taking into account various adoptions of the honorary and official sort, Caesar Traianus Julius Octavius Magnus Augustus is my titular name in the later annals, and the other things.
Where was I, ah yes, I am Gaius Julius Octavius Caesar, born of the gens Julii Caesaris. The New Rome aristocracy had persisted from the days of Numa and Titus Hostilius to the modern day, of course back then it was actually Rome not New Rome (which was actually New New Rome since Constantinople was New Rome) but the point stands, you see - I was born to this aristocracy and this story is about me: in 1998 New Rome stupidly expelled their aristocrats because the aristocrats made up the Senate and the Legion (full of not-aristocrats) and the Senate were at head with each other so much that eventually the Praetors (whose support base was the Legion, and in turn support the Senate) realised - wait a minute, we could just kick them out, their power is sourced from our support - and… so they did! The aristocracy ended up returning a few years later because it turns out their relationship was ‘money and advice’ for ‘military support’, but by that time me, the amazing hero, was long gone.
I was born to Severus Julius Caesar and Poppea Livia Cicero, then they died, a few months after I was born, so I got adopted by another aristocratic family, then they died and as a honorary thing a few other aristocratic families adopted me, and they end up dying because these aristocrats were not that good at defending themselves really - so I end up being passed around until I end up with that name you saw a paragraph or two ago but then at six seven ish years old, I got thrown away.
Not through any fault of my own, really, well kinda, the Romans are omen respecting people and when everyone who takes care of me does end up dead or sacrificing themselves or borderline insane, yeah, basically a bad omen so it is my fault, just born wrong? Maybe, probably, I might have deserved it, it was my fault for being born.
That is how the new me is made, I am an omen, a curse, those willing to get close to me have died, that is my first lesson, that is the understanding I have of my constitution. I am a legacy of many gods, far and wide, but I bring swathes of death not glory to those who get close to me- and so no-one should get close to me.
I was heir to many fortunes, yet I did not want the wealth, for none of it should belong to me, if I had not been born a curse, then I would not rolling in money and therefore I should not be rolling in money and keys to manors and grants of land and stocks and shares and all the property of those who had died because of me - all of which is held in international sections as well as New Rome, so I will never be stripped of this accursed wealth either.
And so, I was eight, and I am travelling, and I travel far, I take my time, I doesn’t fight the monsters that come for him, I just continue to travel, I do not cry or whine because I know it will get me nowhere because there is no use in crying when it will just bring more lamb to slaughter - I steal food and drink along my travels, people take pity on me and underestimate me because of my youth, but also in order to drive those who try to get close away. I often snuck into libraries and wore rags, in the libraries I spent my time on classical literature (of the classical time period and ‘classical’ literature), basic mathematics and basic sciences - I did find a particular extra interest in history though, specifically history of warfare and classical history.
I take many nicknames and names over my travels, but I do not forget my birth names and the names given to me, I have gone by James, Gary even Owen at one point - all of which I thought were weird names, but what could I do about it - the people didn’t seem to comprehend the names I actually went by so I gave up. My travels took me far, all across the US, I’d come by some people who tried so hard to get close, and yet they inevitably died like all the others.
There was one, the one who I took the name James from. James was a careful man, but compassionate, paranoid yet soft. He had been born in Canada, migrating to the United States as a child when his family came to get a job or something along those lines he had never paid attention to; it was something he’d admitted various times when asked. He had provided me with food and drink, even a long car journey towards wherever I was heading: ‘far away’, was the answer.
James had fluffy brown hair, a slight unkempt stubble on his chin that was uneven, he wasn’t exactly pretty, instead being extremely average, he had green eyes that were the opposite of the emeralds some people refer to attractive green eyes as instead being more like mold in colour - egh, whatever mold looked like, it changed didn’t it? Doesn’t matter. He had worn a black thermal shirt that was long sleeved and some skinny jeans during their time knowing each other.
James had friends and family, he was going to get married in a few weeks he said, I suppose ruined that. At first James hadn’t trusted me, I knew so from the way he looked at me and the way his jaw flexed when he spoke, and I hadn’t wanted him to. James had seen me steal some food, berries to be exact… they did taste nice, and he was obviously very clearly annoyed at me for it. However, James then noticed that I was shivering, damn this feeble body, and that was all that was needed for James’ paranoia and distrust of me to twist into compassion and forgiveness.
James liked peaches, and pizza. He had two children with his girlfriend, his car was a blue ford, an abandoned can of Pepsi sat in the car’s cup holder. He worked across the country as an in person consultant to businesses, he had previously done charity work at an orphanage and continued to sponsor one, which I realised is likely where James plans to take me. I didn't mention it though, it sucked, really, I didn’t want to go to an orphanage - I’d end up killing everyone!
James disliked pebbles and plants, finding the feeling of the latter against his skin weird. James’ favourite book was Catch-22 and at university he had minored in Literature because of it, he had majored in Classical Studies. James could speak Latin, Greek, Spanish and English (well, the first one doesn’t really count because no-one knows what Latin actually sounded like) and was the first person that pronounced ‘Octavian’ without any sense of foreignness in his tongue.
In the short car ride, I was almost able to feel more relaxed, almost forgetting my curse - Latin was my natural tongue, despite Camp Jupiter (something the aristocrats always talked about) mostly speaking English, since most of the aristocrats spoke in Latin: and so it was the language James and I spoke in. James admits that he has a bit of a sweet tooth when he offers me a humbug, I was hesitant - questioning the point of it, I had always heard ‘humbug’ in a negative way and so - ended up refusing it.
James’ brother always used to critique him on it, half-brother, he corrects himself a minute later. Apparently his half-brother wasn’t fond of him and they shared the same father, that was the only thing that bonded them really and the moment one of them could have left they got as far away from the other as possible. James’ tone lacked regret or care about it, it was clear to me that James had never liked his half-brother and that opinion won’t change yet the feeling of love clearly was there: and I wondered what love is like.
James continued to drive across the road, and a storm brewed ahead, the storm was riveting, dangerous. The storm sends thunder and lightning which strikes like Hephaestus did Achilles’ shield, repeatedly, strongly, with enough force to shake the Earth itself around the rims as the marks and chars of extreme beauty and art is pressed into the very figure of the world by the storm and so the thunder plundered the Earth and stripped it off its life in the form of flame.
James had sped up, not wanting to be caught in the storm, but it was too late, or at least I thought it was, I had closed my eyes and the lightning spiralled from the heavens and struck the car, with such a monumental force that the car expands into a ball of flame and death and yet somehow ai could see myself leave the wreckage with no sign of James’ other than an extremely charred face, covered in blood, soot and ash that had taken the brunt of the force. His skin was partially blown off his face, with some bits dangling off the sides alongside strewn bits of tissue, one of James’ eyes was broken inwards, a shard of metal having lodged itself a mm beneath the pupil the other eye was completely unharmed but with a subtle expression of terror. I could see James’ bones on his face, most of the flesh around his chin had been completely burnt off. James’ hair too had burnt off, though some of it was still ignited.
Then, I opened my eyes. Everything was fine, what? That, that, that made little sense, Roman’s couldn’t just see the future like that, so that had to be the damn present! James was looking at me with concern because I had clearly been distressed, my breathing was panicked, but James hadn’t known of the vision I had just had. James asks me if I’m alright and I nod, lying to his face without guilt, then the lightning strikes. I felt a shard of metal lodge itself between my ribs as I breathed rapidly and inconsistently, terrified, I crawled out of the wreckage of the car - one of the doors being blasted open in the fireball.
My blood flees my body slowly like a how someone moves when in the queue to an antique amphitheatre, which they hardly wanted to be at and were only there because their parents had made them come due to one of their siblings or relatives being part of the performance, trudging along through a bottleneck. And so it was almost as if I wasn’t bleeding at all, but I wanted to make it sound cool so let my slow bleeding be cool, not that I really noticed at the time, I was too high on adrenaline to do so.
I looked back to the wreckage and saw James’ mutilated face, and I cried, strange reaction I admit. Not out of the sense of closeness, I had just known the man for less than six hours - but because I had let James get too close, it was my fault. It was always my fault, they all died. Every friend I make - James was no different to them. Everyone who even smiled at me, it always seemed like they died.
The aristocrats were picked off by monsters, monsters that never harmed me, never even attempted to though they always noticed me, always looked at me - the emotion in their eyes was never hatred, never anger, never wanting to kill me, just with an odd sense of familiarity.
The others I had come across died in various ways such as anaphylactic shock when not allergic to anything, spontaneous heart attacks, slipping and falling onto a poorly placed knife, and finally James being struck by lightning. It was ridiculous.
It was always ridiculous, never something expected or natural, never avoidable.
And it was all my fault.
The memories of James’ mutilated face follow me, stalking me every time I saw the future… because I can do that now, guess that’s cool, I struggled to differentiate between the future and present at the time though. Sometimes it was great motions of war, conflicts where a funeral pyre was just another flame of many.
When I turn eleven I face my first ‘challenge’. I decided to walk through a suburban area, which resulted in me, probably by stupidity or fate, ending up with me stealing an Amazon van. Why?
Thought it’s be funny, that’s why, I had noticed that there was much more thrill in the act of stealing, and harming, than there was in the act of stealing, and harming, to push people away from my curse - it was as if the gods themselves wanted it balanced out, the curse meant people couldn’t get close to me and so it just made sense that I was to be happy when driving them away.
So, I smashed the side-window, unlocked the door - there was a girl chilling on her phone in the passenger seat so I kicked her out: with words, I doubted my ability to take her on in a fight. Then I sped off in the van, hitting a few cars along the way, well, not a few, I’m not an adult - you can’t expect me to drive well, I’m eleven for… Caesar’s sake, wait that could be referring to me, for Jupiter’s sake - better.
I might have also killed a kid…
Nah, I’m kidding, I did hit a kid though - they didn’t die, children are weirdly resistant to being lightly hit by speeding vans; you can go try it if you want, throw a sibling or someone you don’t like at a lorry. Don’t, don’t actually do that - that’d be bad… sad. So, yeah, not dead, probably broken in multiple places - I didn’t stop speeding though!
So, eventually, I thought - ooh, what about the stuff in the van? A phone here, a cutlery set here, a Celestial Bronze dagger, a map of Georgia - the country, not the state, wait wait wait - a Celestial Bronze dagger! This was strange, what was this doing being shipped by Amazon of all things - Celestial Bronze was the historical Greek Demi-god weapon according to the elderly aristocrats who still believed tales of the Greek-Roman war: I had always doubted the idea of their entire eradication as it had been put by some of the aristocrats, but this almost confirmed by the existence of a Celestial Bronze dagger - looking shiny and new.
I did however, realise other possibilities to be at play, the most obvious of which was the fucking Amazons existing… fascinating concept, warrior women - equal to men, some people like to forget that part in the myths - quite before their time in that regard. I’ve never really understood the modern presentation, I saw this kid reading a comic book about… heroes? I didn’t pay attention and it presented the Amazons as a matriarchal society where men were inferior to women - now, I don’t know social history, but us Romans or the Greeks didn’t hold such a statement to be the case - so I blame Christians… I like to do that.
I take the Celestial Bronze dagger, putting it into my pocket as I continue to look through the Amazons packages - a cd with just Eleanor Rigby on it? Not the best Beatles song but if you like it I guess that alright then. A tartan skirt and a blazer alongside a shirt - do people really buy school clothing on Amazon? And was I about to wear it?
Yes, yes I was.
Look, my rags had been getting thin and well… ragged. I had never worn a skirt before, or any proper clothing in five ish years - and while I didn’t really care about crossdressing, I was a homeless thief - why would I, it certainly was unexpected. The scenario itself, indeed, I mean, I’ve stolen an Amazon van, that is either owned by The Amazons or is delivering something to Greek demi-gods - I’m in the back of it now, getting changed into a skirt, shirt and a blazer: if I went to a place in the bible belt I’d probably be lynched, do they still do that? Eh, I can’t be bothered to remember.
Skirts, well, they were weird, it’s not a weird judgement - especially from someone who grew up wearing togas and then continued to wear faux-toga-like rags: the skirt wasn’t particularly long, which certainly would have annoyed me if I was still in the conservative mindset that those who had raised me for the first six years of my life would have been but I personally believe in the freedom of expression… even if its likely that this short skirt would be worn by a eleven ish year old male or female: now it seems slightly wrong, actually. But anyway, skirts were weird to begin with, my legs felt much more free than they had in rags weirdly despite rags being looser but yeah: it felt weird but nice.
It’s like hugging someone, it’s as if they are trying to crush you sometimes, but it does still feel nice - just sort of the inverse: maybe someone patting your back softly, it feels very free and very nice.
What do you know, mirrors exist in vans, so, I was able to see myself in a skirt, shirt and blazer and I thought ‘this is far too big for me’ it wasn’t actually, it was mostly perfect in size - everywhere except the shoulders, to fit into the blazer my shoulders were contracting and squeezing themselves inwards making it uncomfortable to even have arms nevermind using them.
Anywho, back to looking through parcels, surprisingly no more clothes, some jewellery though - no-one died for this hopefully, so, I took it: I’m certain Amazon refunds theft victims? Probably, maybe, if they don’t that is their fault and a scorn on the Caesar populares legacy. A pride flag? Are people so lazy that they don’t just make them themselves?
A Crucifix pendant? “No, thanks” I mutter as I throw the crucifix over my shoulder, flinching as it bounces and clangs around before flying out the window. A letter? About ‘Ragnarok' in particular, if I’m correct, that's something about the world ending in Norse Mythology - good, I hope it happens, ‘Romae Aeternae’ and all, only we should last forever - maybe the Hellens can live if they promise to Latinise themselves: freedom of expression is good, but some expressions are better than others: like homesexuality vs pedophilia or hebephilia, or pansexuality vs zoophilia and the normal vs non-Romans.
Another letter, now this is interesting, I won’t read it for you but it does seem interesting - it is a letter from an anonymous Amazon employee to someone called Artemis: now this does seem kinda coincidental, but then I realised, they’re using the Caesar cypher on the first letter of every sentence to spell out ‘please help’: there is also a location almost spontaneously mentioned in the letter; likely, if my inference skills are in anyway decent, the location that this Amazon - because I am jumping on that train of thought, something inside me affirms it to be correct - wants Artemis, Diana in my opinion, to go to and help them.
But hey, I’ve got a van, I’m curious to prove my theory of Amazonian existence correct - and I have a decent idea of where locations are and these Amazons vans have sat-navs! Never used one of those before, but it seems interesting and simple.
…
It was not simple, how can people use something so damn archaic! No! I do not want to go to the Mexican border, that is the wrong direction! No, No, No! That’s not even a road that’s a river! Are you kidding me, there is literally a wall between me and where you’re telling me to go!
So, annoying, Sat Navs are annoying. I end up stopping my travels half-way through because I felt sleepy: I snuck into the back of the van, turned the engine off and parked in a discreet location, I pushed the boxes around to try and correct a hidden box fort where I could sleep without being in immediate view of anyone who opened the van doors.
This is spurred on by a vision, you see, I could tell it was different because in the vision it was day outside, and I saw two armoured women breaking open the back of the van before closing the doors and opening the driver's seat and driving off somewhere - given how the vision moved and worked, I had to assume I was still in the van at the time and they hadn’t notice. Personally, I don’t want to break fate, that’s a bit of a disgusting idea to me - abusing my ability to see the future? I would be smited by Apollo, if I’m not already, I can’t tell if I really am but I seem to just lose parts of my day from my mind every now and again - which is a symptom of seizures of which Apollo cursed my ancestors with when they angered him.
I feel a bit panicked over the idea of being found by a bunch of armoured, aggressive women, who in this case I can only assume to be those ‘who are equal to men’ the Amazons - and given the history of the Amazons, I would expect to either be slaughtered or attacked - they were quite a tribal people in their original presentation: then again, who wasn’t?
I keep myself hidden as I sleep, my dreams plagued with visions of what must be the location of the Amazons - a great warehouse and administrative block in the middle of nowhere seemingly, while the vision is mostly blurred there is one thing in particular: while not physically nor is there anyone to display obvious there seems to be some kind of disruption, a multiple way conflict, from one side sits a throne, the other chains, the other swords and spears and the fourth pens and books - all vying for something, but I cannot decipher what.
In my sleep I am clutching myself tightly, this new outfit is cleaner than my last one, and I am certainly warmer inside the van than sleeping on the streets: but it is still cold and barren and I need all the warmth and comfortability I can get, even if I, in a way, overdo it.
In the visions, I attempted to interact with one of the sides in this stand-off: and then the vision ended and started again - it was clear in my mind that this was my destined path, that this was the plan the Gods above had for me, that I was to interact with this stand-off and only then would I learn more of my future.
In the morning my first vision is proven true, the back of the van doors open, I hear one woman speak to another - “He can’t have gone far, last CCTV camera had him in the vehicle” the voice was gruff, as if she was attempting to intimidate whoever she was with: it would be expected of a leader but in my vision I had only seen two women, which implies that this a partnership - perhaps one between Junior and Senior? But in that regard the Senior should not need to put their foot down - unless the Junior had not realised the nature of this relationship, in such a case the Senior should no longer attempt to dominate and instead focus on an equal bipartisan interaction since the Senior was clearly ineffective. Domineering speech is only to be used in conversation with crowds or against those you fear overcoming you.
“Does it even matter, it’s just a kid” A younger voice, more laid-back and mocking, retorts clearly being the supposed junior here: and as I had theorised based on the words and tone of the first woman, this junior was much more of a rowdy equal than a junior.
The older voice snaps back “Of course it matters, he has wronged us, and he should be punished, no, he will be punished: even if not today” I almost let out a slightly surprised and worried whimper in response, if not for the self-control I have in the fact that I am attempting to hide from these two women. It’s especially annoying because I can hear the movement of the source of the voices, they are moving around the sides, likely to get into the drivers and passengers seat to drive off - likely to the location seen in my dream vision.
As if on cue with my thoughts, the van starts, the rumbling shaking throughout it: I take out the Celestial Bronze Dagger from the enclosed pocket I had placed it in and clutch it tightly - if these words about punishing me are to be believed than a dagger would be of use, I have no interest in being executed, tortured or worse embarrassed: murder is not something directly in my experience, but how hard could it be?
I underestimated how hard it was. An Amazon, different in composure to the sources of the voices I heard earlier, came to check the boxes: she was tall, black haired, and dark green eyed, stern eyed. At least, when she saw me she was. I had lunged forward knife in hand to stab her, but she dodged to the side, the knife only slitting through part of her waist as she reached out and grabbed the hand I had held the knife in before bending it back - but before breaking it I dropped the knife into my other hand and stabbed her in the arm before pulling myself away from her, clutching the arm she had almost broken as I ran past her and out of the van into the complex.
She chased my down, clearly not phased by the stabbing, and quickly reached me, by which time I had hidden the knife under a bin when turning a corner she couldn’t see making sure it was also a camera blindspot too - I had been expecting her to search me for it when she caught me I had prepared: she held her elbow to my throat and it almost felt like I was drowning, I couldn’t speak, my voice was just shallow gasps for air as she continually pressed me against the wall.
And then she drops me as I lose consciousness, very harsh aren’t they these women - I hadn’t even done them any harm and both interactions (one-way or not) they had been very hostile towards me, can’t we be more civilised and more accepting of each other? Yes, I stabbed the second one, but that wasn’t my fault: how could it have been? she was obviously going to harm me.
I was well within my rights as both a Roman and a human being to defend myself, there is no law besides Roman law: sure my status as Roman is by birth alone, I had never stepped foot in New Rome and definitely never been to Europe, I had been running around the US for most my life, maybe straying into Canada at point since I had been mostly staying north - though I never had any real direction to it.
I wake up in the middle of a hall, a cold plastic floor beneath my knees as I am tossed to the down, a foot placed upon my back as I hold myself up with my arms by instinct - it’s a humiliating position so I force my arms to loosen and completely put me on the floor, I looked around - men of various ages and kinds in collars and chains working packages and boxes… which is kinda weird, slavery, huh?
Around me, and around the room in general stood various Amazons all armed with great weapons of Celestial Bronze and Imperial Gold alongside bows and great armours and shields… no armour was too eccentric though, an important factor - those who wore too great an armour for their standing often died despite great armour. Those focused on him stood close, weapons drawn and seemingly looking towards a woman in a throne for command.
I take a second to study the situation, to put it clearly, I am either to be enslaved as the other men seemed to have been, murdered as indicated by the drawn weapons or jailed until they figured out what to do with me. I was also able to gain an understanding of the current Amazon constitution, The Queen seemed to be the ultimate authority but given the posture of a few of the women holding weapons at me her authority was being undermined and disrespected; some of the men were sluggishly packing the boxes and lazing around, and finally in the far corners of the warehouse were some Amazons on computers: I questioned their presence internally before realising that like my vision there was a stand-off here, just silent and subtle, and those with the computers are here because they aren’t trusted to be on their own. There is a strange balance of power here, that I am definitely about to interrupt.
I feel the foot from my back life off as the Amazon Queen gestures to the soldier who was probably planting her foot on me; I stand up not waiting for commands to do so, I know it’ll be taken a disrespect, I get struck over the head for it but nothing more. The Amazon Queen speaks, “What is your name, criminal” her voice is stern and attempting to control me, I ignore it. I may be eleven but I have talents and experiences.
“How am I a criminal?” I respond, projecting my voice out, my voice is a slightly shoddy mess of child and teen; I suppose it’s the future concern of being pubescent but I don’t care about that, not right now. “I will tell you my name after you explain the charges” I declare, directly undermining the authority of this Queen; some of the soldiers move to act, some don’t - most don’t, as expected she’s having problems with loyalty.
One of the women at the computers speaks on the Queen’s behalf “You are accused of theft and attempted murder” her voice is dim, slightly cowardly and shaky - she’s the type to switch sides to who is in power, she is cowardly, pathetic but in the short term she’s useful… possibly a good puppet leader if she was to be in that position, but I doubt the Amazons would respect her; The current Queen is too hostile to me, I planned to stabilize this place but I need to control its factions first.
“Thank you, upon which name do you ask for?” Perhaps to get rid of the Queen I could get close to her, let my curse do the work? Too risky, she might not and I might not trigger the curse since we would just be attempting to use each other… I expect the Queen to be the one who commands me to speak my name, but I focus on the soldiers around me; whether they stand with one foot planted ready to strike, whether they lean back slightly faltering or their heads bow in thought. In a culture like this, it is the military who decides who rules, not too dissimilar to the Praetor election in New Rome if my ‘Constitution Of New Rome’ left to me by my father is to be believed.
The Queen seems to have noticed the disturbance in the room my challenging tone has created and she takes the easy option, demanding me to be placed in a holding cell and informed there - it’s a smart move, if just in the short term, in my opinion it shows weaknesses and a lack of willingness to face me head on.
The Amazon who informs me is an exiled Roman, how curious, this must be how the Amazons grow their numbers - recruiting exiles and veterans and adopting children of various warrior cultures. It’s smart, if not for it being something that breeds instability, Romans do have one flaw… they respect authority in every situation unless a greater authority comes or that authority is not doing a good job, perhaps my name would incline me to be a greater authority? A Caesar is not a king as much as they are power itself.
I analyse the Amazon taking me to the holding cell and later informing me of my crimes, she already seems split, not entirely putting her all into following the order of the Queen muttering about incompetence; so I speak softly, my words poisoning her mind “You doubt the Queen? So many of you do… look at you, doing her dirty work…” I taunt slightly before twisting my words again as he grip of my shoulder tightens “You could replace an idiot like her, couldn’t you” I give a small smile but I keep my head bowed down to prevent the Amazon from seeing it, it’s such a wonderful ability, the ability to make people do whatever you want.
The mere impression that someone holds power over you is enough to make 65% of the population kill someone without even being threatened into such a position. It is enough to make 70% of the population rape a poor restaurant worker simply because over the phone you pretended to be an authority - the people of this world were always on an edge of something, I realised, and I am the one with the power to just… give them a little nudge.
It’s a rather inhumane ability, the ability to charm, to control - but its not a curse, if I desired a normal life then perhaps it would be; but I do not desire a normal life, I believe a normal life to be quite out of reach and most normal lives don’t include being held in an Amazon prison cell, which was utter rank if I must say; 0 stars, or being able to see the future or being a Roman legacy. I do wish myself to live up to my name, by any means necessary, but alas the means I have access to are minimal.
I’ll figure something out. Probably.