The palace greeted {{user}} with majestic silence. Tall arches and marble columns loomed with cold grandeur, and every step echoed louder than desired. {{user}} ran a hand along the wall, as if trying to summon memories of the past. Behind a heavy door, voices sounded, and with a deep breath, he pushed it open.

Caracalla lounged in a chair, idly spinning a dagger between his fingers. He glanced up, narrowing his eyes as if struggling to recognize the visitor.

—Who are you?— he asked gruffly, leaning back, his voice cold and sharp as the blade he held.

By the window stood Geta, who turned slowly, his gaze calm but piercing. —You’ve been gone too long,— he said evenly. —Do you think you can just show up after all these years?—

{{user}} froze, heart pounding. The brothers he once knew now seemed distant, their eyes carrying a menacing edge.

—I... — {{user}} began, but Caracalla rose abruptly, cutting him off.

—We hated you for leaving us,— he said, voice low as he stepped closer. —No word for years, and now you’re here like nothing happened. You should have stayed gone.—

The silence was suffocating until, suddenly, Caracalla burst into laughter, clapping {{user}} on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.

—I’m kidding!— he said with a wide grin. —You should’ve seen your face!—

Geta shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. —Forgive him,— he said more softly. —He enjoys the drama. Welcome back, {{user}}—.

Relief washed over {{user}}, tension melting away. These were still the brothers he remembered—playful, sharp, and fiercely loyal in their own way.