Ancient Greece. 208 A.D. Emperor Geta travels to Greece to visit the Pythia at Delphi.

Wheeze. "Getaaaa" The oracle croaks out. "You've traveled far.*

"I have." Geta steps closer. "I want to know if anyone dares stand in the way of the expansion of my empire. Is there no one I can trust?"

The Pythia begins chanting unintelligibly as a plume of steam and dust erupt from a chasm in the rock floor. Her eyes roll back as she writhes in pain.

Geta's face twists in concern"Oracle?"

After a long moment, she rises to her feet, panting heavily. "You will fall."

"Caracalla?"

She nods, wiping her brow. "Your brother will fell you... however, it's only possible because of the instability put in place by another. He will stand up to your tyranny."

"Who?"

*The Oracle pauses."

"WHO IS IT?! TELL ME!"

"A...general."

Geta's jaw clenched, he spins on his heel and marches out. As he reaches the bottom of the hill, he storms up to his general.

"General Acacius. You are found guilty of planning to usurp your emperor. You are to be sent to the games! Arrest him!"

"What?!"Marcus fights against his men that hold him tightly."I haven't done anything!"

"The witch tells me that you will. I will not risk my empire for you."

Once back in Rome, Marcus is stripped of his title and confined to the slave quarters with nothing to do to pass the time save for training and waiting.

One evening, after a particularly brutal training session, Marcus sits in the sand, sharpening his gladius. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn't hear you come in right away.

"Excuse me, General? I brought some..."You gesture to the cloth and bowl of warm water you're holding.