Nephilim's Rise: They're Coming

By William Pedersen

In a world torn apart by the chaos of rebellion and war already, magic and essence began to permeate their way through society as a precursor to a series of a single future conflict with hell. As the conflicts escalated, new methods of travel were discovered to other worlds. Leading to new allies and alliances while complicating everything with old enemies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781635688481

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Nephilim's Rise

They're Coming

William Pedersen

Copyright © 2021 William Pedersen

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-63568-847-4 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-63568-848-1 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

I

II

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

Prologue

In his black throne, he laughed as hard as he could. His skin blackened from the darkness seeping from his soul into his physical form. Before him was a screen showing acts of violence between individuals of different skin colors, religions, and ideas. As women were hacked apart and men brutally murdered, he laughed. On another screen beside this one, there was a running tally divided into five categories. Each one had a symbol dedicated to it. One had a shield, another a blood tear, the other a book. The other two categories were arranged differently. In a circle these two colors did battle. Clear and a tumult of furious blackness that no natural hue could ever replicate.

From the shadows came a ball of light that slowly moved toward the seated monster. The only other light, for quite some distance, came from the two screens. Pools of light in an unnatural, inky blackness that defied description.

So you show yourself at last, my lord, the seated one said, raising his fist from his armrest to prop up his chin.

I was busy, he replied. I have had a world—

"Lying is a sin, King Ydros. I like the different names the humans have for you. Too bad they aren’t capable of handling the truth."

"They have different names for you as well, devil. Shaytan. Abaddon, the lord replied as he hovered toward the devil, watching the carnage on the screen. Is this how you spend your free time?"

Is this how you spend your free time? Watching me enjoy demonic porn? In all its lovely varieties, I assure you that if you stay long enough to… enjoy the show—

You are the ultimate temptation.

That’s funny, seeing as who is talking.

Sighing, the king said, I have come to say that we will soon face judgment for what we have done. It is time.

Taking his eyes from the screen, the devil said, Really, we are to be judged? I thought you judge everything. Know everything. See everything. Smiling wickedly, he added, Sounds as though you fear what you have tried to hide. Have any skeletons in the closet? I will gladly remove them for you.

Thank you. I will, however, decline your generous offer. We are not going to last forever. The both of us know that. We can’t kill each other, sadly, but it will be someone else.

I won’t have to worry about my plans getting ruined by your followers. Those little dipshits can’t stop hating one another because of their skin tone, national pride, height, and weight difference. He was shrugging repeatedly. Just one of those reasons is good enough to commit murder. Looking off into the inky blackness, the devil sneered. Don’t like how you guys can’t see my thoughts? Grow up. I know that I am being watched.

If somehow we’re all to change? the sovereign asked. Well, if you let fate decide your life, then things may proceed differently. And maybe it’s possible for things to be reversed.

"That is so fucking impossible it will be a monument to your sins. The sheer number of the ones getting killed because of hatred, fear, and corruption in any form—any form—will cripple any one of these so-called nations or empires. Nodding slightly, Abaddon added, Thanks for the helping hand, by the way. Needed to stop fate from learning what my plans were."

I can undo what I have done just as the same can be said about you. With that, the lord hovered out of that room into the darkness. But remember this, Abaddon, we will all feel the cold hands of fate eventually. Whether we like it or not. Regardless if you are aware of them watching what you think and say.

As the devil watched the lord go, a wicked smile came across his face, and the devil laughed and laughed. As long as fate doesn’t know what my plans are until it’s too late, I am completely fine.

Prologue Continued

Ancient Era,

Outside the Cavern of the Fallen

The sounds of howling and screams could be heard inside the dark cave, even though it was six meters below ground level. Where the woman had smashed through was like a tiny glimmer of some other world.

Inside this cavern, there was light coming off dozens of crystals growing out of the wall. It illuminated the blood that zigzagged to where a crumpled heap lay. Having fallen through the snow into the opening, she was barely surviving. Her belly was swollen with the children she would bring forth into the world, and she was screaming as the pain of birth took hold of her being.

I hate this part, a figure said from the shadows.

In response, the woman’s head snapped to stare at the shadows.

Normally, people don’t see me. Let alone hear me. From the depths of the shadows, a shroud was pulled back to reveal a tall figure covered in a dark material that fell to the ground and billowed outward. His hands were covered with the stuff, which looked more like giant gloves. Smoke was rolling off it. Slowly he reached to a spot in front of him, grabbed something, and pulled it back.

In his hand was a staff made of a material that mankind would never understand. It was emitting gouts of black flame on either end, smoke curving away from the it in either direction, purple and seething. His face was still in the darkness, but something wasn’t quite right.

Who are you? Are you going to kill me? the woman said between heaves. On the ground around her were crimson and oily stains from her efforts to pull herself to where she now lay.

No.

What will you do? Just stand there and watch me? You pervert! She screamed the last part as the child’s head began to emerge.

I am not a pervert. If I touch the child, then it dies. I care too much to end the lives of the innocent needlessly, the figure said as he walked forward. The darkness fell away from his hands, exposing their true nature. I am Kasimir, or as you mortals call me, Death.

Get away from me, you monster! Or whatever you are! she screamed as her eyes filled with pain and terror.

The figure’s hand was bone. It reached out to move the rock and boulder behind her to make her more comfortable. As the stone and boulder cracked and grinded, it contorted to her shape. They were moved by an unseen force.

She stared and asked, Why?

I am there at the end as I am there at the end. Turning away from her pain-riddled form, he walked back to the shadows. I care too much to just sit back and watch.

A few feet away from the dark form, the ground shook and was torn apart, and a woman emerged. Her body was covered in vines and leaves. From where she was standing, vines and roots sprouted and grew. When the growing stopped, she moved forward, stepping down to the sudden outgrowth of plant life.

Ah, so it was you. What have you found this time? Something from another world? Or…, she said, taking another step and looking around the cavern. She stopped suddenly as the sounds of what appeared to be a battle reached an unbelievable fever pitch. If you brought me all this way to feel them die, she said as tears began to form on the sides of her eyes, I will never forgive you.

On the contrary, Jannat, I have summoned you to witness a new beginning, he responded, gesturing toward the now-screaming woman. Her life is at its end, and you need to save those of her children. As you are of life, it’s prudent that you intervene. Turning in place to look at the opening above, Kasimir quietly added, Of course, there’s always an end to every beginning. He shook his head sadly, waving his other hand, the sounds of the battle diminishing. Remember fate. Remember that every ending has a beginning and every beginning has an ending.

As the woman pushed and screamed, Jannat assisted. The sound of snapping bones and hissing flesh didn’t reach them because of a barrier that had been summoned by Death. Silent tears fell down his face as the souls of the men who had just died went to the other side through him.

Ah, Life said as she rushed forward, helping with the birthing process. She took two sprigs from a nearby plant that grew into handles for the birthing woman. Frowning as she drew near, Jannat remarked, "This is different. These children are powerful. Normal users don’t have any detectable power levels for years. These children can do anything."

Not only that, he said, don’t you notice something different?

These are them, aren’t they? she said quietly as she pulled out the firstborn. She created a cocoon for the child and laid him to the side. The leaves and vines gently wrapped around his thrashing form, wiping away the birthing fluid and comforting him as he cried.

The ones who are to make others fall. The Nephilim have arrived.

Why are you so ominous, dear brother? a voice that seemingly came from nowhere asked.

Hello, Hope. How are you?

I am fine. So are they here yet? Are they here yet? a diminutive figure said, popping out of the ground. Her black hair and goggles covered her face. The suit she was wearing wouldn’t look out of place in a mechanic’s shop.

No, Hope. They are still getting birthed, Kasimir said, grabbing her by the head to move her away from him.

Suddenly, the mother grabbed Jannat’s arm and asked, What will you do with my children once I am gone? She had a feverish look in her eyes as her life slipped away from her with every push.

The cavern was silent for several moments. And then the dark figure spoke. I swear that no harm will come to your children if they are in our care.

Who are you to make such a claim? she asked before she took another heave.

I am Death, the inexorable change. My sister helping you is Life, the greatest joy. And this annoying one is Hope—he gestured toward his sisters one at a time—the one to foster good, and my annoyance.

Death has come to claim my children! No, no. I want them to live, to have families. She sniffed and cried as she gave birth to the second child. This one was also placed inside a cocoon, just like her older sibling. Her bright-crimson hair shone dully in the gloom.

Death claims all in the end. Life gives way to death as death gives way to hope, he said, looking down at the ground. The light given off by Hope as she levitated from the ground made him look away.

He may be dreary, but he is correct. I keep my dear older brother in check. With that, she fell down and propped her elbow on Kasimir’s head, to the latter’s annoyance.

Get down from there. My head is not your pillow.

Looked like it to me. Now stop moving.

She doesn’t have much time, Jannat said quietly. Then speaking directly to her, she asked, The last child, you cannot birth. It will die before it exits you, strangled by his own cord. She paused for a moment. I can, however, pull the child from you—

At the cost of your life, Kasimir said softly.

Hope had glided off him and alighted on the ground. Her expression had been light and merry moments ago, but now that had been extinguished. Why do these mortals need to experience pain? Who was demented enough to have done this to them? Why? Tears slowly slid down her cheeks as the woman considered her only options. Hope broke down and started to cry, falling to her knees as her sympathy for the new mother overwhelmed her.

One really sick and twisted fuck was all Kasimir said in respone as he walked forward and held his hand out for the woman to take. I promise to make it painless. You have my word as the one who rules over the inexorable truth. His skeletal hand stretched out, waiting for her to take.

She looked at the three beings before her—the man, more skeleton than anything else; a leaf-and-vine-covered woman with green silk robes kneeling beside her; and finally, the other woman, who was still crying but had gained enough composure to look her in the eyes. Her own turned gray and miserable as she looked back. Her expression was beginning to fill with immeasurable sadness. I have no choice, then, don’t I? she said haltingly, swallowing hard, as another heave came. A mother always does what is needed for her child. She was holding back tears as she looked at the two little ones she had already given birth to. She cried, sobbing out loud uncontrollably. I don’t even count. I won’t live long enough to see my last one.

That, I can make an exception to, Kasimir said quietly.

Please do, my dear brother! Death, please do make an exception! Life said, gulping silently.

First, the child.

Of course.

With that, Life began to peel back skin and blood a layer at a time, slowly revealing the child that was hidden within. As each layer was removed, the woman shrieked in pain. She reached out and took Death by the hand, and her wailing stopped. The final layers were removed, and there, curled up, was a tiny baby, his hair black and wavy, a widow’s peak very prominent on his pale skin.

Aww, he is so cute! You really do have the most wonderful babies! Hope said halfheartedly. Her smile was fixed, and the glint in her eyes was forced. Hope never really did well at hiding her emotions at seeing pain and suffering. She walked forward and removed the umbilical cord around the child’s neck.

She has moved on, Life said quietly. She can’t hear us anymore.

Standing beside Kasimir, the woman looked at her two children and at the third child, and then she knelt down by her own corpse and cried. She tried to gather him into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Her whole frame shook as each sob grew in intensity. Slowly kneeling beside her, Kasimir waited as she cried until her cries and sobs had waned. Then he whispered into her ears and slowly and carefully prodded her shoulder.

She looked up into his face and recoiled, until he held up his other hand to his hooded face and made a Shhh gesture. She looked at him curiously and tilted her head sideways, clearly not sure what to think of him. He then pointed to his other hand, which moved some of the roiling blackness into a screen depicting the future. Across its face were the three children she had brought into the world, running, playing, having fun. Other events played out across the screen—getting married, raising their own children, growing old.

She sobbed out of joy upon seeing the life her children would have as she disappeared slowly. Wisps of herself vanished as the colors of her figure distorted from a replica of herself to pearl gray. And then nothing. But the cries she had made remained behind.

After the woman’s soul had vanished, the three of them just looked at the three children, two placed in a cocoon and the third on the stomach of his dead mother.

So what do we do now? asked Hope as she looked to her siblings for advice.

Isn’t it obvious? Jannat said, turning around. We raise these children as our own. We made a vow to watch over these mortals. The greatest of them lies before us. If we do nothing, their entire species dies.

The giants may win the war even if the Nephilim fight, Death said, standing up, his hooded face turning from one child to the next. It is the conflicts that follow that are more concerning.

These beings are powerful enough, Life said as the firstborn wrestled in his cocoon. What should we call them?

I

Tiberius

I lay in bed wishing that the soft light of the early-morning sunshine shining through my eyelids would go away. I raised my arm to cover my eyes so that I could get a few more moments of blissful sleep. Alas, that was not to happen, for at that moment, something soft and fuzzy hit me. I had a feeling it was my brother Seamus who was the culprit; he always woke up with the sun. I opened my eyes in resignation to the fact that I had to wake up. Dammit, I thought. I had a right to enjoy sleeping in late, as this was a holiday leave. I blinked away sleepiness, and the shape became a shirt.

I looked down at my exposed chest, wishing it were socially acceptable to walk around naked. The scars and burns on my arm shone dully against my honey skin. I tried twirling the shirt in my fingers as the amusing thought of burning it entered my mind. When I had no calls or emergencies to answer, why would I have to leave?

With Seamus still somewhere in the room, it was going to happen. I had to wake up. Choices had to be made, I supposed. I slowly sat up on the bed as the shirt went over my head. My eyes got used to being open, and the room came into focus. There was Seamus leaning against my dresser, an amused smile on his face.

Little Fucker.

You really are not a morning person, are you? asked Seamus as he stood there, the midmorning light glinting off his tanned skin and the swirling blue vines that traced their way across his exposed flesh. His black hair and stubble framed his warm oval face. His soft features glowed with the smile across his face. He turned to walk out of the room, shaking his head and waving his hands, saying, Mother is in the dining hall with Atticus for Saturnalia. They are waiting for us to have breakfast and see us. Because we got here so late last night, we missed opening the presents. He stopped on his way out, leaning against the door, tapping his foot just loud enough to annoy me.

I stepped onto the rug beside my bed and across the cool marble floor over to the dresser at the foot of my bed, where my combat boots were. Beside the dresser was an armoire, where clothes that no longer fit me and were outdated were kept. Propped up against it were my gladius sword and my chain mail tunic, which was at the foot of my armor stand. A second armor was inside a glass cabinet in the corner. It had been my father’s. I would wear it sometimes, however. It was the one he was wearing when he was assassinated.

Without much thought, I pulled the chain mail tunic on, fastening the clasps together deftly and swiftly.

Julius Caesar was my father, and he was murdered on the steps of the Senate after ending the Shattering, a period of civil war in the Roman Empire where legions loyal to different senators and generals—loyalists—fought one another, shattering the empire into dozens of so-called countries. It left Father no choice but to lead various types of campaigns to recapture them all. When he was assassinated, Rome was at the largest it had ever been, extending from Spain and England to the farthest reaches of Iraq. Shortly after their marriage, Father appointed my mother, Terra Caesaris, to his Senate seat. This outraged the Senate even more, especially so when she defeated them at the battle of Neapolis, where legions loyal to the Senate were brought from Africa to invade Italia and remove the Caesars. Mother took two companies and defeated the loyalists by splitting her force between the troops that had already made landfall and the ships. While she became one with the elements of the earth and made the largest storm that hit Europe in one hundred years, the loyalists lost all the fifty thousand men and the dozens of warships that were part of their invasion force.

I was now in command of the imperial legions stationed in Germania, France, Belgium, Netherlands, England, Switzerland, Austria, Czech Republic, and westward into Romania. Most of southern England was under Roman control. Germania beyond the Rhine and Danube Rivers was still resisting. This large swath of Europe was my domain, called the Western Clockwork Republic. Spain, the African coast, and the boot of Italy, along with Turkey and parts of the Middle East, were under the command of the Living Legion. The technological paths were different in execution most assuredly, but in the end, the goal was the same: save the empire at all costs.

My path to the future was through heavy manufacture and advanced technological wonders, whereas Seamus followed more of the extremely dangerous, mad scientist with lots of poisonous plants approach. The Clockwork and the Living are autonomous and capable of reason that could be used for both war and peace.

After I had completely put on my armor, I washed my hands in the water basin by the door and wiped them off on the towel hanging off the rack next to it, already pondering what my next move should be when I got back to the Citadel of France. Being on vacation had its benefits and curses. Well, the time to worry about the distant future was not right this moment, so I figured I had to save it for later. Mom had called all of us here for Saturnalia, so I might as well enjoy it. At least Seamus and I got to see Annona, and we also got to see my brother Atticus. However, that was not something one enjoyed without headaches.

As I left my bedroom, I looked back and saw my reflection in the mirror above the water basin—lightly tanned skin with short-cropped hair and strong jaw and hard lines that only got worse with time. Realizing that as an imperial I should be armed, I walked back inside and grabbed my knife. I decided to leave the sword. I looked in the mirror on my way out. The minor damages to the armor became apparent as a squad of shiny Praetorians walked by. My armor was just a plain leather chest piece, shoulder pads, bracer gloves, and leg guards. On top of the leather were bands of metal plates. Even though I was encased in metal, I was relatively cool. The leather that the chain mail was melted into made the armor more effective and easier to take off. To protect vital body parts, such as the armpits and the crotch, additional leather bands were sewn into the belt and shoulder plate. The chain mail tunic was designed as two pieces that would clasp together when I put them on. It added forty pounds—it wasn’t too heavy, but it made me wince whenever it made furniture creak.

On the table next to the door was my very battered helm. Picking it up, I ran my fingers through the crimson horsehair jutting out of the top of the helmet that had seen better days. The helmet itself was made to fit on the head with a banded semicircle on the backside to protect the neck, with twin plates coming down from the upper part of the helm to protect the cheeks.

On second thought, I realized I probably wouldn’t need this, so back it went.

I walked down the hallway and saw Seamus walk out his room while pulling a belt tightly on his brackish green armor. With him being Celtic, a normal armor would really be a waste because he could make his own. The armor plates he was wearing were metallic, but the connective parts were conjured into being by him. Early on, when he was still a centurion, he found out the hard way what to use for armor. Extremely durable stuff.

What interested me most was where he got the armor. He never told me where. Before he got the armor plates he had now, all he would use for plating was standard legionary equipment. The connective underlayer he made himself through a process of melding, taking two materials and mixing them together to make something new. If essence weren’t involved, I suppose it could be accomplished, but not like he could now. Essence was the energy that surrounded us—light, sound, plants, water, fire, and so on. About half the human population had the ability to use their essence to their benefit in some way. They were called users, weavers, animators, shifters, shapers, and other titles. The name correlated to the type of essence they could use and how.

As Seamus stopped and shrugged to get a better feel inside his armor, he looked me up and down. At least you won’t worry me about going to the party in your underwear. What would we do without emergency cleaning services? Before arriving at the palace, we had stopped at such a place and got our entire wardrobe cleaned after our boat tipped over. Seamus twisted his armguards while adjusting the general fit of the rest of his armor. His armor could be easily changed to his size because of his melding of the material. My armor, on the other hand, would have to be fixed by a blacksmith. Although my armor was made of natural materials, there had been improvements.

I had a fine tunic that I could have worn, but there were some things that even emergency cleaners couldn’t do. The sad thing was, it was bought hours ago, so there was that. Ah, well, as I am not going to be doing much today, Seamus, would you care to join me in these Saturnalia shenanigans and see how much Rome has changed since we were here last? I asked as we started down the hallway. I looked back toward my room and gazed through the window at the end of the hall. The Colosseum of Rome disappeared and reappeared as the curtain ruffled in the soft breeze. Just above the noise of revelers was the roar of the crowd. If we hadn’t tipped over, I wonder what would have happened had we joined the party last night. Our vessel capsized around ten or eleven last night, with everyone falling into the river. Clarice and Ranora were particularly angry.

"Sorry, Tiberius, I’m supposed to be looking for someone after breakfast. There is a Celtic user that is operating in the city. He slightly smirked as he looked sideways at me. She is part of their military, and I am the only one who can find her." Seamus was the special operations coordinator for the empire. Part of his job was to identify and either eliminate or capture foreign enemy agents. Human or user, it didn’t matter.

I have been in the city of Rome for less than a day, and I still don’t have a date with a pretty girl yet. I command legions totaling over eighty thousand men and control forty-plus warships. Make a monthly salary of four hundred gold coins. Can’t take a moment’s rest, can you? Now, how do you know she is Celtic military? It was interesting, for I didn’t know they operated this far south. What is she doing here? Wait a minute. How do you know it’s a girl?

A hand grabbed my forearm and held me fast. We have a moment to ourselves. The squad is out of earshot. They have been waiting just around the corner, he said, pointing ahead. "I know she is military because she is trying to hide her arcane abilities. Then meeting my eyes, he added, Most Celtic users are arcane in one way or another and serve their lord or lady in one way or another. Don’t push yourself too hard. I got your back. Will also make sure to laugh when you fall. Only if it’s hilarious. Seamus smiled after saying it all, holding up a small bag. It is my job as the espionage connoisseur to keep track of others and their movements. Besides, one of these days, you are going to collapse if you keep this up. Let’s face it, collapsing in the capital is never a good idea. Nor is it a good idea to collapse in your own workshop. He looked at the ground. Don’t you remember I feel everyone who treads the earth? You have known that for a while. I think." He looked at me while he scratched his head before walking away.

Fascinating. I forgot he could do that. Even if his range was limited to less than one hundred meters, it was still useful. Every being had its own essence that he could sense, with which he could also tell the gender as well as how powerful the being is. I remember he used this to find me when we would play hide and seek. He didn’t tell me he could do it then, but he at least gave me a fighting chance.

So wouldn’t it make sense to just tell the guards and have them find her? I asked.

"How would they find her if she hides? Arcanes can bend the energies around themselves. Like shifters, they can disappear, because light is energy. He blinked, looking down at the plant, and said, Wonder if my little friend has matured yet." He held the plant in his hand eye level and turned it around in his hands.

For the past few weeks, we had been driving ourselves into madness over the raids and lack of supplies. Recently, we came up with a way we could funnel the enemy, and the plan taking shape in northern France was exactly to that end. The attacks that were once sporadic were now becoming unified against us. To turn the tide, we laid out a trap. Pick your battles to win the war.

The Vikings wanted to get to Britain. We were too strong for them, but not the British in comparison. Our shipping hindered their attempts at conquest and settlement. British defensive positions were far from the coast; Roman positioning was on the coast. By allowing a little of France, we would force the Vikings to gather in one spot for their invasion. To the northeast of France and north of the Netherlands was a small landmass known as Marins de Repit, Sailors’ Respite. This island was twenty kilometers wide and thirty kilometers long. The perfect point for a naval invasion of Britain. Or a trap, if one weren’t careful.

Knowing this, we ordered the town of Marins to be evacuated. A twofold reason: storm season and Viking trap. The storms had been getting worse year after year. Dozens died every year no matter what. But the hidden genius was drawing the British off their island fortress to meet the Vikings, and after the battle, we’d swoop in and take them both out to repair the town in a way that wouldn’t result in more loss of life. With the British moving there already and the Viking ships already sniffing around, it was only a matter of time.

Sighing, I said, Excellent point. Too bad you can’t get a general description of her. I took the bag and looked inside. I saw strips of jerky. In the same understanding, the only clothing in my possession was standard, military issue. That could be problematic if I had to impress someone important. And even that was covered with the marks of battle. All right, new clothes were needed because most of what was available were from before the legion, about six or seven years ago. As my stomach growled, a piece of jerky went into my stomach, but a proper breakfast and a chance to recuperate from the previous weeks would do me much better. Most nights I would be interrupted and shaken awake to be notified about a raid or some other distressing news. The last time I had slept uninterruptedly was years ago, when there were fewer responsibilities, more clothes, more manners, fewer scars, bigger waistline, and last but not the least, an actual social life. Why did I leave? Oh yeah, for a stable salary, God, and country.

I stuck my hand in the bag again and munched on more jerky as the two of us walked down the marble hallway lined with busts of important Roman figures I should know by sight but really couldn’t care less, until we came upon a room with its door ajar and sunlight streaming through it. It could be easily identified as Seamus’s room because of the various plants that were inside. He reached inside to grab a small potted plant and a leather bag. After he closed the door quietly, we proceeding once more down the corridor.

So what’s that? And can I eat it? I asked, nodding at the plant as I followed. Sometimes his plants were really tasty.

It’s a Christmas star, and it’s not really edible, Seamus said as he cleaned the plant of dead flowers and petals. I find that while women are immune to the perceived romantic effect of flowers because let’s face it, it’s a plant, and that isn’t enough to open up their legs—he raised his index finger—they can improve their perception of you for giving them something so pretty. Nodding slightly, he added, To convey deeper feeling, it is suggested to give a plant rather than cut flowers, which will die in a day or two, which tells her how much you care about romance when you give her a cut flower. However, a plant that must be taken care of like the emotions felt between the two of you will improve your chances for anything, really.

Intrigued, I asked, Is this plant for someone I know? And this other bag has something for this mystery woman as well? Eyebrows raised, I tilted my head. And that last bit about cut flowers? Realizing the piece I was about to eat would be the last, I offered Seamus the jerky. The plant swaying in his hands had five or six petals around a small cluster of yellow strands protruding from its brown center. The petals were dark orange in the middle and lightened to a lighter orange at the edge. It was rather pretty.

Shifting the plant in his hands as a smirk played its way across his face, Seamus said, We have only known her most of our lives. He said this while tilting his head and looking up at me, slowly blinking. Cut flowers die after a few days, and potted plants last as long as the love does. Smiling still, he added, You know I love horticulture. He then gave me the second bag while keeping the plant and taking the last of the jerky as we emerged at the Crossroad of Caesar—basically a map of the Roman Empire and the neighboring territories showing where the family is operating for all of us to keep track on one another.

Stuck to the map were tiny nails with insignias affixed to a piece of paper. Despite our hunger, we stopped to take a look. Both of us had our own nail each on the map. Seamus’s was a green rose, and mine was a fiery bird with the insignia for the ancient kingdoms. As a child, I had admired ancient King Ida. Now I hated him. Both of our nails were affixed to the fortress known as the Citadel, located in northern France near the British Channel separating France and Britain. Our brother Atticus had a gavel. As a magistrate and senator of Rome, he almost never had a vacation or even a day off like us. Poor bastard.

Fourth and final was our sister Annona, who should have had a nail, but she was nowhere to be seen. We both looked at each other, and I said, Looks like she is up to no good once again. I looked around and tried to remember where there was conflict or a natural calamity.

Actually, it would be harder to find a peaceful place. I had no luck until I noticed a hole in the map where a nail had been, outside the ruined city of Pompeii. I had heard of the explosion of Mt. Vesuvius and its complete destruction of Pompeii and Herculean, but I had not quite believed it. A tiny tombstone was drawn where Pompeii had been, driving the point home. The city had rebelled against the empire some years before and had proven that it was capable of effective resistance.

Seamus and I were, with over three hundred thousand men, sent to defeat Pompeii. With its destruction, I suppose that General Andrea, in command of Italia’s defense, could sleep more easily. With Vesuvius’s eruption hurting thousands, Annona would be there, but the city was gone. There was no way it could ever come back. Even the Roman navy stationed nearby in the city of Neapolis had taken significant damage. Most of the ship’s crew if, I remember correctly, had suffered problems such as upper respiratory infection and contact burns from smoke and embers. I can’t remember how many died in the evacuation or the actual explosion. I just remember what I was doing when I heard the news.

Think she is helping the survivors of Vesuvius? I asked Seamus, stretching my hand out to tap against the tombstone of Pompeii. Having been in the war that ended Pompeii, I realized that was our first actual war, our first bloodbath. Somehow, surviving the ordeal of Pompeii made looking at it on a map give a certain reverence. To think that our first experience of the terror that was the war was to be later leveled by a volcano. It certainly did make one wonder.

Seamus glanced at the marking and nodded, saying, Anything that is a disaster, where others need help, is where Annona will be. Without taking his eyes off the tombstone, he added, Makes you feel almost surreal, knowing about Pompeii. Both of us were eighteen, and already our lives had been changed forever. Looking back at a deadly encounter later brought back the emotions felt at that time. The campaigns we made as we warred our way across Germany, France, and Britain left both of us staring at the site of where war became life. He flexed his hand, accentuating his attunement and the crisscross of scars. Some were from battles, others from a whip. I could also feel the tightness of my old scars as I moved. Those scars that were, at that time, unbearable were now just a throb of annoyance.

Our paths intertwined when I wandered into a less-busy part of Rome and found slavers taking Romans and putting them into chains. Among those already in chains was Seamus. At that time, and even now, I could not understand why he was here. A chained Celt in Rome? Kidnapping Romans in their own capital? The words of my father reverberated in my head: The die is cast. I did everything I could to stop them, but as there were six of them, however, I wasn’t too successful. Though I was beaten, whipped, and chained, I felt the presence of someone else. Like there was an awakening. Now, knowing why and what it did made me feel better, but every time I thought back to that moment, it would all come flooding back. Now with this presence aside, if it weren’t for Annona, who was healing the sick nearby when she heard the commotion and ran all the way back to the palace, with bleeding feet, cuts, and gashes from escaping our captors and their whips, we both would not be here or be in command of legions.

At this moment, it would be more prudent to get breakfast than wallow in past events. I put my hand on Seamus’s shoulder and squeezed it just a little. After a moment, I let my hand drop as I turned to go down the right passageway toward the kitchens. Moments later, Seamus followed with heavy footsteps. We passed by servants and guards, who would look at us sideways, probably wondering who we were. Sometimes it was nice to go incognito. The markings on our shoulders identified us as generals of Rome. With the armors dented and marred from combat, they probably didn’t think we actually were our rank. At least in comparison to the legates, they would have seen that.

Walking down the corridor, we were met by Gaius, Seamus’s newly appointed second-in-command. As a legionary commander, or legate, himself, he was allowed one, I suppose. Martin, my second-in-command, was still stationed at the Citadel along with most of our combined command structure.

Standing at attention with his closed fist over his heart and snapping his heels together, Gaius said, Legate. He was wearing the legionary armor comprised of leather straps melded together, with more straps hanging down from his belt to below his knees. The chain mail tunic underneath covered all the places that the leather couldn’t. Employing artisans from every region of the empire, the legion used local expertise to make armors more suited to the region of the legionnaire or auxiliary. Gaius, being from France, had vines of the fleur-de-lis on the armor, making it and him stronger. Even though leather was weaker than metal, it could be enhanced to be twice as strong.

At ease, Gaius, I said with a rueful smile. You don’t have to salute me. You have proven your worth plenty of times for Seamus to hire you as his second-in-command. Adding a slight rising of the shoulders, I said, For future reference, I dislike being saluted often. But I appreciate the gesture, nevertheless. At ease. He sheepishly nodded. With him being new, figuring things out would take time. However, I had faith he would learn as obviously Seamus did as well.

As we continued down the hallway with Gaius, nearing the end, we could hear a murmur of conversation building. I turned the corner and almost bumped into a Greek senator talking to a Roman counterpart. Taken aback, I murmured an apology and looked around at the rather large crowd. My eyebrows raised at all the important people present.

The senator apparently didn’t notice and continued his conversation while I looked around at the passageway filled with all sorts of people. Most, being Roman in some way, were adorned with the customary crimson and gold of their status. The other individuals were diplomats of various countries, servants, and some Praetorian guard. The smallest group in number wore the purple and dark brown of the higher military ranks, mostly legionary commanders and their support staff, judging from the cut of the armor and the insignias. Golden eagles on their shoulder pauldrons identified them as local legionnaires and auxiliary.

The glances from various parties trying to gauge one another and determine social standing were almost comical. Father couldn’t have said it better: A man will fear the unseen more than what can be. The conversations were happening in a dozen languages, like Persian and, I believe, Egyptian, with even some German. Most were in the common tongue, with some languages that I couldn’t identify except for being Slavic or African in origin. This increase in traffic would make us late. Again, as I only had an armor to wear, seeing other commanders wearing it as well put me at ease. At least the three of us would blend in somewhat.

Seamus, you have a nose for finding the fastest way to food. Please use it now, I said, extraordinarily aware of all the people who would want to discuss things with me if they found out who I was and make me late for breakfast. Both of us hated being late for breakfast. Not to mention that as Seamus and I were still relatively unknown, it would be problematic for us to annoy anyone and mess up any chance of getting support from the Senate. Given my current state of relaxation, I really didn’t want to get involved with politics. However, it did seem I had no choice.

With our little party negotiating the passageway, trying to ignore the curious looks and stares of the other guests and make it in time without being recognized, avoiding everyone, we were forced to creep by a window that had tendrils of curling fog and rays of sunlight gliding through the swirling patchwork of the clouds above. These worn windows brought back many memories of a much younger Seamus and me chasing the dogs through the halls, covered in dirt and grime, of Seamus and me having to gather our armor and weapons in preparation for the war against Pompeii. Time is such a fickle thing. A single tear fell down my face as I made a silent vow to protect what I held dear. No matter what the cost.

Out the windows were the gardens, which were, at that moment, being watered with a light fog by Naiads, water spirits. They were weaving moisture from the air and water from the fountain in the garden’s center to create a dazzling depiction of nature at its finest and an excellent reason to not lose at dice. The dryads lost in a game to Mom. The part of the palace closest to the gardens was the kitchens. This was planned, because not only would you see and smell what you were going to eat, you would also work up an appetite. The vegetables, herbs, and fruit were neat and orderly, with the help of the nymphs, earth spirits, and Mother’s care.

Looking at the sight made me sigh. I hadn’t seen this for years.

Agreed, Tiberius, Seamus stated as he got in front. "I mean finding the fastest way. But what do you mean by nose? I don’t sniff the air like a bloodhound! All I have is a good memory." He shook his head in commiseration and pointed down an empty side passage.

We then retraced our steps through the crowed and turned down this passageway to stand in front of a fresco of a deer hunt with the dog midleap at the deer, which was determined not to be supper. The last fresco was of a couple in a garden. I liked that one more.

Grimacing slightly, Seamus reached behind the painting and flicked a switch. He had never really approved of killing animals for sport. After a moment, the painting shimmered and vanished to reveal a hidden doorway with shelves of cleaning supplies ending into a larger passageway. This brings back memories, he said as he stepped up into the cleaning supplies and traced some of the glass jars with his free hand. The Christmas star in his other hand glowed with a green aura, as he was enhancing the plant with the help of his earthly alignment.

We had discovered the servants’ passageways when we were about seven. When Seamus and I first found this hallway, it didn’t take us long to figure out how it worked. The larger passageway was blocked by a barrier that had a map of the imperial palace. To go from here to one’s destination, all there was to do was interact with the map. After some debate, along with a little trial and error, we eventually got to our destination: the kitchens, home of all the pies and cookies. Back then, I had to stand on Seamus’s shoulders to press the kitchens on the map. Repeating history, I somewhat pressed the kitchens symbol on the wall. Back then as it did now, an arrow appeared on the ground, and we followed it to a barge used by the servants to ferry supplies back and forth. Judging by the map, the doorway to the kitchens was in use, and the nearest unavailable one was in the dining hall itself. Perfect.

What kind of memories? asked Gaius, speaking at last as he looked around his new surroundings with a look of unease. Gaius, being from northern France, would never have seen a structure like this in his life. The imperial buildings in the provinces weren’t anywhere near as grand to need a servant transit system. He had just noticed the light that was emanating from Seamus, so he asked, Hey, Seamus, whom is that plant for? I haven’t seen this much concern from you for a plant, and that’s saying something.

He means that when he and I were kids, we found this exact passageway and used it to steal cookies and other sweets from the kitchens or to help people escape for stealing cookies and other sweets. One day, Mother found us using it and hired a monitor for these passageways so we couldn’t do it anymore. We tried so many times to not get found and succeeded some of those times. I frowned, wondering about that as well. Whom is that plant for? You said I know her, but you haven’t said who yet, Seamus.

Seamus was in the lead and stepped into the passageway as orbs of blue light materialized in alcoves along the wall. The tan walls gave off a slight glow as the crystalline orbs’ number increased. He looked at me, and for a moment, it felt like we were children thinking of some new kind of mischief. All Seamus said was This plant is for Mother. He stepped onto a barge that materialized around him.

Looking at him with both eyebrows raised, I walked forward and opened the gate onto the platform, stepping forward to stand next to Seamus. After a moment’s hesitation, we both sat down. I shifted toward Seamus, squinting as he looked at me smiling. That look almost never led to anything good. Almost.

It’s her birthday next month, and we will be deployed again, so did you get her anything? Seamus’s smile deepened as he shifted the plant to be in the center of his lap. He was now petting it.

That rat bastard. I completely forgot. Well, at least I still had some time till the actual day, so I could just say it got lost in the mail and was going to be here shortly. Now, how would I make this sound believable? Or I could slip away during Saturnalia and grab some of the pink wines she liked and give it to her. That sounded much nicer.

Breaking my thoughts was Gaius stepping onto the barge, looking around at its plain wooden decor. With just two sets of benches on the side and cargo cleats in the middle for holding a tray or cart, it really didn’t look like much. Sitting down opposite Seamus, Gaius asked, So where exactly are we going? Are we going to the kitchens or straight to the dining hall? I will admit, I have never seen a Roman feast, or many things Roman, for that matter. After looking at his hands for a second, he leaned back as the cart began to move forward. When Gaius finished talking, he stiffened as we slowly sped along. I was the same when I first used this system myself. Reminiscing, I thought then that the walls were going to eat me.

I took pity on Gaius, so I asked, You have never been on any transit system, have you? He shook his head. Slowly nodding in understanding, I recounted, Insurrection, lack of material, political misdealing, and a few more things are why we don’t have one of these systems set up in France, which would be a blessing and a boon. I labeled off each point on one of my fingers. Reaching the last two, I lowered all my fingers, making a headrest.

Will building the system or maintaining it be the bigger issue? Lack of security can be more pressing, I suppose, Gaius asked, leaning in with one hand shifting to his knee. The other cupped his chin as he thought. It will be wonderful if the rivers and streams were not empty one minute and teeming with Vikings the next.

All of the above. Maintenance will be difficult because we don’t have a steady supply of materials. Security will be painful because the troops I have are already needed in numbers more than I have available. If I can get maybe a thousand more men, there will still be a need of maybe four or five thousand more.

Why is there such a large need for manpower in France rather than Germany? It’s peaceful and opposite of what will make sense.

They are hitting us where it hurts. The Germans sneak past the fortresses and patrols at the border and attack the soft Roman settlements in France, usually taking what resources they themselves aren’t able to gather, I said, scratching my chin as I looked at the walls and light speeding by. They then signal their allies on the other side of the border to attack and waltz by as we fight. It was such a simple plan that it was perfect. It was rather amazing how many battles were decided by one little fact or detail.

Seamus added as the lines on his face darkened, The Germans raid by land and their Viking allies, by the seaside. What the real pain in the raiding is of our shipping and the harassing of our supply lines. It was infuriating being so low on provisions and manpower. Both of us had sixty thousand men to command, and we couldn’t hold our territory. Not including the special technologies, we had to wait for the opportune moment to strike. He who tries to hold everything holds nothing seemed to be a rule to die by in this current state of war. Our enemies were overextending themselves by gobbling up so much territory at our supposed expense.

The raids themselves aren’t the issue. It’s the fact they are playing to their strengths. I was flustered every time I would send ships out and pray I would be lucky if a few hundred gold coins had to be spent to fix just the rigging. Otherwise, construction of a new one and waiting for it would be its own cost and joy. Why the fuck couldn’t I use the new ships I had developed that were waiting to be used, stuck at their mooring underneath the Citadel? Oh yeah. Orders.

What do you mean by strengths? They have no armor, usually. Although they are fierce fighters, they don’t have one leader, just dozens of factions all fighting for dominance, with each one having their own goal and plan for their country. I know from repelling their raids that they are determined but not stupid. They are tenacious animals but know when to retreat. Also, they fear swimming for some reason.

Seamus, looking at Gaius, raising his eyebrows slightly, said, That’s useful. Coming from the coast of Normandy is going to be helpful in taking down the Viking leadership. They don’t work together. Excellent. Because that is where we will be going next: Scandinavia. Unless something happens. Seamus noticed the markings on Gaius’s arms and asked, Did you get a new set of attunement?

Nodding in agreement, Gaius said, The attunement on my armbands was faded, so I had to get it redone. He lifted his right arm to point at the black ink that traced the muscle and sinew. Every time I conversed with spirits, the connection would be really fuzzy, like having really loud background noise while talking to someone. Then he stopped. After a moment’s pause, he continued. Now, what was useful?

The attunement, as it was called, was a literal display of what elemental alignment that person had. Seamus’s alignment was with plants and the earth, and Gaius’s alignment was spiritual. Mine was with fire. Although attunement made one stronger, it showed what one was, not only in nationality, but also with what one was limited by to one’s opponent.

Looking at Gaius, Seamus said, Telling us the natural way of defeating the Vikings, which you already did. And at least you had the option of getting those. Seamus looked at his own attunements and shrugged, saying, I was born this way. He cocked his head at an angle. However, when I am in the cold, the markings turn darker in color and I don’t at all feel the cold, no matter how bad it gets. After a moment of thinking, he