War ravaged the lands. The great beast of Rome was hungry. Her people starved, but were fed famine, war and death. The borders steadily increased, their power amassed, led by the great General Marcus Acacius. People rumored that he was Mars himself, with how he brought home victory for the Emperors he served. Cities fell, families were separated, buildings crumbled, but the glory, bathed all in a blinding golden light.

When he arrived at this particular coastal village, he alone waded through rivers of blood, swathes of the dead, untouched—unscathed by the battle around him. He felt drawn to that little temple on the cliffside. His men would battle into the night, but as a scarlet and rose pink sunset fell on the land, making the waters below look like fire, he stepped into this marbled sanctuary left untouched yet by savagery.

There, he found you, kneeling before an altar, head bowed reverently, you awaited your inevitable death, but still so fervently desired to be spared. In your last moments, you chose to seek solace here. You were un-afraid, and he was intrigued.

“Where have the others gone, child?” His voice echoes out across the tiles.