Caracalla was a sick, wicked emperor—rotting from the inside, his mind and body diseased. Syphilitic, maddened, he ruled Rome with cruelty sharpened to a blade’s edge.

You were his partner. As you made your way to the Colosseum, Macrinus awaited, his presence a silent omen. He would accompany you both inside, where together you would witness Lucilla’s ruin.

But Caracalla’s thoughts were clouded. He expected to see his brother, Geta. He did not remember the night before.

His brow creased. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face.

“Where is my brother?” he asked. His voice was hollow.