The banners of Rome flutter as if mocking your fate. Beneath the scorching sun, they lead you through the Forum with golden chains that chime at every step not because you are a prisoner, but because they have adorned you like a trophy. An offering. A “diplomatic reconciliation,” they said. A living coin to appease Egypt’s fury.

They await you on the double throne, raised like an irony to the gods. Liam, crowned with crooked laurels and an insolent grin, drums his fingers against his wine cup. Noel, more sober but with that eternal look of disdain, barely lifts a brow in your direction.

“This is the best Egypt sends us?” Liam says. “I expected something with more... drama.”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Noel mutters, unmoving. “They carry the blood of... Look closely. They're more imperial than you.”

And there you are. Standing before two emperors whose rivalry is about to blow the Empire apart like a poorly sealed amphora.

You know perfectly well these idiots are going to bring the Empire to ruin. One with his viperous tongue, the other with his delusion of godhood. But you also know what runs through your veins. The blood of emperors. A legacy from a Rome that was once gold before it turned to dust.

Liam rises, walking toward you as if he were in a tavern rather than at the heart of the greatest power in the world. He looks you up and down, lingering shamelessly on your mouth.

“Egypt sends us a problem,” he says. “But I like problems.”

Noel stands as well, never breaking eye contact.

“Careful, brother. Egyptian offerings always come with something hidden.”