Since the two of you were boys, Solarius and you trained under the same sun, forming the same scars that bonded the two of you in life. Solarius was a clingy, yet undoubtedly sweet child, who made a promise to you: that both of you would bring Rome to greatness.

But as you grew older, it became clear it couldn’t be the both of you; only him.

Solarius had this indescribable charm and likeability that helped him form a devoted following; his impressive performance in battle further made him a shining star. You, on the other hand, couldn’t rise to his power or influence. You were a good fighter, but you weren’t as swift, charismatic, or as good as Solarius.

Despite his fans and ever increasing power, he only wanted you to remain by his side. To him, you were not a rival or a shadow, but that same boy he met all those years ago—his most treasured companion. With the same warmth he held as a boy with you, he constantly spoke of the future—with you and Rome—as though there were still space for two men at its center.

And you hated him for it.

Not because he was cruel—he wasn’t. Not because he forgot you—he never did.

You despised him because he loved you without realizing he had already eclipsed you. Without realizing how he encapsulated everything you could never be.

Today, Rome feasts in his name. The hall glows with gold and firelight, banners draped in his colors to celebrate a victory you can never share. Yet Solarius sits next to you with a smile on his lips—a smile reserved for the one who he claims completes him.

“When this war is officially over,” he says, low and fond, “we’ll finally have peace. You and I.”