The afternoon sun bathed the imperial camp in golden light as you tried to maintain your composure, standing beside the emperor's tent. Caracalla, seated on an improvised throne of silk cushions, held a sword with the grace of a child who had stolen a toy, making clumsy movements as he described himself as the next Alexander the Great.

"Do you know what Alexander used to say?" he began, his tone haughty and dismissive, fixing you with a disdainfully curious gaze. "That his generals could never keep up with him."

He was the son of an emperor and now a young ruler in his own right, but Caracalla's whims tested your limits. However, as Praefectus Praetorio, there was no room for insubordination.

"My duty is to protect you and serve Rome, Caesar. I do not question your steps; I merely follow them wherever needed," you said with studied calm, though you knew each word was a test of your patience.

Caracalla let out a short, almost mocking laugh as he threw the sword to the ground with a thud. "Protect me... as if anyone would dare challenge me! Tell me, do you think any barbarian could stand against the son of Septimius Severus?"

He narrowed his eyes, evaluating your words as if searching for hidden offense. Then, he stood and began pacing, his hands clasped behind his back, his tunic billowing with his energetic stride.

"Do you think I am a child?"