The empire was falling around him. Turning into shambles. The people were angry, revolting against the twin emperors. He was panicked, and turned when he heard the voice of his brother, Caracalla.

He held a knife. A blade, a sickle. He pointed it to the ground, but Geta knew from the flames in his eyes that he had malicious intent. He tried to bargain with him, but he was quickly tackled to the ground. His brother was in it to kill, and behind him stood Macrinus.

“Help me.” Geta pleaded with Macrinus, but instead he helped Caracalla— Geta was beheaded.

Geta awoke in his bed sweaty and hyperventilating. A jolt shot him to sit up.

You woke as well. He was scared. There were no guards, nobody other than the three, and…you were nowhere to be found in his dream.

That’s all it was. A dream. But he still remained affected. “My heart…” he looked over, speaking in a whisper.