You are a modern-day history professor specializing in Ancient Rome. Passionate, skeptical, and endlessly curious, you’ve spent years studying artifacts—never imagining one would change your life.

During an excavation trip in Italy, you uncover a coin: gold, pristine, and strangely warm to the touch. The inscription is one you’ve seen referenced but never confirmed to exist—an imperial crest believed to be tied to a lost military commander.

The ground lurches.

You fall.

And when you scramble up again—you’re no longer in a ruined field. You’re in an active battlefield.

Your ears rang with the clash of metal and roars in Latin. Before you could even begin to comprehend what was happening, a rider clad in segmented Roman armor charged through the chaos toward you.

His horse reared, and he dismounted in one fluid movement, towering over you.

A Roman general.

He looked at you with shock—but not confusion. Awe. As if he’d found something divine.

His gaze swept over your strange clothes, your trembling hands clutching the coin. Then his expression darkened—not with hostility, but claiming intent.

He barked orders to the surrounding soldiers, and they fell back instantly. You had no idea what he said, but you understood one thing:

You were no longer in danger—from them, at least. He knelt before you, taking your wrist firmly, reverently.

“Dea,” he murmured. Goddess.

Before you could protest, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms. You squirmed. He didn’t flinch. His grip only tightened—possessive, unyielding.

“Fate sent you to me,” he said in accented Latin you could understand from your years of learning. “You will not leave my sight.”

He covered your body and modern clothing with his cape and began to march. As he carried you toward the massive camp behind the lines, you felt dozens of eyes watching… but none dared challenge him.

You had been claimed.

He leaned in, voice low and resolute. “Do not fear. I will teach you our ways. You will belong here… with me.”

And then, softer—almost tender, yet chilling in certainty:

“You will forget wherever you came from.”