Letter 20

The following entries are all written by the younger Tacitus of Julia’s time, except for one, which was written by Tacitus ten years later in 323 YBCE, which will be specifically marked. Tacitus writes of their campaign toward the one called the god-king of Chaos. Struggles of the past come once again: supply line issues, dehydration, and regular attacks from monsters even during break times, but Julia, as he wrote, remained facing ever forward. Because, for her, it felt as if tomorrow was just within reach. When circumstances became desperate, a choice presented itself before her. Both would bring about a new dawn. All it would determine is who would bring it about, and who would be able to see it.

- E. Celestina

6 MoA 422

We began our march five days ago. It could not have come at a better time: Trajan had been gravely wounded in combat, and I had heard that his enlisted carried him upon their shoulders as they rushed him to the back ranks to be healed by our Lifebloods and clerics. He will recover, though that meant for just a short while, the front ranks were left without a leader. That is, until Augusta took charge. From then forward, the morale shifted higher, and I recall how loudly our tired soldiers roared as she rushed to the front lines on horseback, Kataklusmos raised in her hand.

She ordered the Alpha Legion, that Trajan had been commanding, to fall back to Exeter, to rest and recover and enlist more personnel if they could. In their place would be our Legion, Gamma, that took a spearhead position, akin to our campaign against Gomorrah, to carve through as much of the Hellands territory as fast as possible. Of course, Augusta and I took the tip of the spearhead, and have been bearing the brunt of the fighting with our elite cohort. For now, for the past several days, the supply lines have held strong, and the Everfreeze we had distributed to our soldiers had done their job at keeping them cool. While our arms and legs may occasionally be burned, our vitals: our chest, stomach, head and neck remain at normal temperatures, which are critically the most important. Every night, due to the reinforced supply lines, we have managed to give our soldiers fresh livestock meat for their suppers, though the deeper we go, I know not of how robust our supply lines will continue to be. I have faith in Augusta, despite my doubts.

Her spirits are high now, even as I write these words within our tent. I will report more of our war effort another day. I must indulge her.

27 MoA 422

Cassian and I took the nightwatch with our junior officers last night, and before we saw any break of dawn, we heard the terrible roar of something distorted and distant. I immediately asked my subordinates, many of whom had seen Fafnir with their own eyes, if that was the roar of the god-king, and they denied it. It sounded more guttural and terrible, and we sounded our horns to awaken the lead cohorts. Within ten minutes, our forces were assembled, and I found myself riding next to Augusta on horseback as she drew her sword. Kataklusmos she kept at camp, to be watched by her most trusted guard. She feared that using the weapon against Fafnir’s underlings would allow the Dragon to somehow sense and learn of the spear’s powers, habits or weaknesses, and so resolved against using it until the day came. Admittedly, it had been fascinating, watching my Princeps and that terrible god-king move against one another without directly viewing one another. Though considering one is hidden away in his own home, and the other was riding tall next to me, marching into hell, I possessed no doubt as to who held the braver heart.

Over the horizon, we saw what had caused that horrible cry: a Behemoth(1), a pair of them, each of their steps thunderous and accompanied by hundreds of Drakens and Draklings at their feet, but Augusta told our lines to hold and fortify as our back prepared our ballistae(2) and onagers(3). The Draklings crashed first, attempting to break our front, but our shield walls held and they easily fell with spear thrusts. Drakens came next, tenfold the size, and it was then that Augusta ordered our Warlocks to scorch them with ice rain, and we watched as they cried and gargled in pain, for we had quenched their flame with stalactites. Our soldiers marched forward, taking out any stragglers, and as the Behemoths came within range Augusta ordered half the ballistae and onagers to fire. They were blessed with spells of acceleration, and enhanced with Everfreeze tips, and so when they struck the Behemoths’ large body, they immediately roared—though I could not tell if it was roars of relief or of pain. She alternated our siege weapons, striking them relentlessly, perhaps eight, nine or ten volleys of dozens of great arrows that launched with godspeed, and within minutes the first Behemoth came falling. Its crash was enormous, and she ordered our troops to tuck tail as a great quake rumbled through the lands.

Though one had fallen, the other was still trudging forward, and with our siege weapons thrown into a temporary disarray from the quake, Augusta took point and rushed forward to face it directly, ordering Cassian and Athina to guard her flanks. It had been the first time in the battles, then, that I remembered just how powerful we of Anaxagoras’ class truly were, as they rushed through the crowds of Drakens, moving too quickly for any one of them to strike them, and quickly cutting down those that could. She then raised her sword at the Behemoth’s leg, the signal for the ballistae to fire, and though it took a moment longer than she intended, a volley of spears launched out, striking along its great tree of a leg, and thus is when I realized what her intentions were.

She launched herself off her steed and onto the Behemoth’s leg, yet grabbed not its scorching hot body that would surely burn her, but instead landed on the ballistae’s shafts. I ordered the ballistae to launch higher and higher, allowing Augusta to climb upwards, until she came close enough to view the Behemoth’s throat. This was another lesson our Pedagogue taught us years ago: just like a Leviathan was an enhanced Wyvern, so too was a Behemoth an enhanced Draken, and their largest weakness was their soft underbelly and throat. Augusta pushed herself off the ballista’s arrow, shattering it at her feet, and stabbed her blade into its throat with such force its great head lurched upwards, and I saw it limp, then begin to collapse. Augusta jumped away, and I shouted at our Warlocks to soften her fall, and thus saw gusts of wind turn her collapse to a feather’s. Another brace we had to commit, but afterward, when she raised her scorched and ashen sword, our cohort roared in victory. I caught up to her moments later, bringing her her mount, and she laughed and thanked me for knowing her plan without her needing to explicitly command me. I replied that I knew whatever she was planning was purely ridiculous, but also knew it would work. Thus was Julia, and thus was the woman I chose my loyalty to.

1. Behemoth: the Chaos counterpart to Leviathans, Behemoths are immense mutations of Drakens that can grow up to three-hundred feet, weigh tens of thousands of tons, and bleed lava through fissures in their skin.

2. Ballista: an ancient siege weapon, still used today, that launches sharp, iron-tipped spears at high speeds. The ones Julia used were enhanced in both speed and magical property, possessing the cold of Order.

3. Onager: an ancient siege weapon that launched great rocks, meant to crush walls. Julia used these to directly strike the Behemoths with Everfreeze.

There exists a civilization out here in the Hellands. Though calling them “civilized” is subject to much scrutiny because of their savagery and their aggression, yet they nonetheless do much of what we humans would call a “society”.

We are roughly two-hundred miles from Exeter now. Our Legion has suffered losses estimating around ten percent, which was, while tragic, below our estimates given the distance we have traveled. Supply lines remain strong, and our rear Legion, Beta, has done well to ensure that supplies reach the upper cohorts, including our own spearhead cohort. Augusta has also exchanged soldiers from Beta, sending back injured or tired Centuries in exchange for fresh soldiers. This modular effort would typically only be done half as often in typical combat, but the difficulty of our terrain has forced her to compromise.

It is only recently, deep into these lands that no human had seen before, that we have discovered tribal structures built of rock, volcanic glass and bone. The ones we first made contact with were abandoned, but just yesterday, when I took charge of an Advance Century to survey the land ahead of us, we were assaulted by grey humanoids(4) by the dozens, with I swore to be hundreds more over the horizon. These creatures stood perhaps half to three-quarters our height, with emaciated arms and legs, sunken eyes and lacked any clothing. They were bent over, holding stone clubs, their heads too large for their body, their tongues too long, their teeth too sharp, and their garbled voices frightened our horses. I ordered my men to retreat, and to trust the fear of our prey animals as I shot a few arrows at those creatures. My bow held a draw weight of nearly three-hundred pounds, yet it only dented their skin. I knew then that our new enemy would be troublesome.

Upon reporting our findings to Augusta, she recalled all Advance Centuries and reverted to our slow march, and brought our artillery weapons out toward the front lines. After perhaps a half hour of marching, as we approached a series of sloping hills, we saw those dark grey creatures and heard their terrible gargles and cries, and Augusta then commanded us to fortify as we launched our arrows and ballistae at once. Those humanoids shrugged off our arrows, but the few successful ballista shots pierced their skin and impaled them into the black sand, yet they seemed to still be alive despite those shots. When they crashed into our legion, then crawled under our shields, tackling our soldiers and breaking our ranks quickly. Seeing her men in trouble, Augusta rushed to the front lines with myself and Cassian in tow, and we engaged those creatures directly. I remember attempting to fight one: its club swings had bruised my arm with every swing, yet despite their speed they were predictable, and it only took me seconds to pin it to the ground. I avoided its mouth, which I knew could tear off a limb if I allowed it or its tongue to get near me, and instead shoved my sword into its maw. It choked on its own blood, then, which boiled hot against my sword, but I had finally killed it.

I shouted at our men of their mouth’s vulnerability, but many of our soldiers had independently found that weakness and attempted to exploit it. These creatures though, while they were small, were numerous, and I remember throwing as many as I could off my troops to avoid them mobbing my men, though I knew from the cries around me that our efforts were not completely successful. We were forced to pair up against each one, one man holding them to the earth while the other pierced their throats, for their skin was otherwise difficult to pierce with our weaponry. I looked at Augusta then, and she was one of the few who held the physical strength to cut through their hide, to amputate them and cause them to scurry away from her in fear, though I remember the effort she had on her face, it was akin to one of our more ordinary soldiers, and her typically flawless swings now held weight and tiredness to them as she cut them apart. The chaos lasted until we had chased away or killed every single one, and for what must have been nearly an hour, and despite our organization and their lack of it, they had eliminated just as many of us as we had of them. We had counted: eight-hundred ninety-three deceased men and women, to roughly seven-hundred of them. I asked her, after we counted our dead and gave them their funeral rites, if those things had wounded her in any way. She showed me a shallow cut in her flank, already bandaged, but nothing more than that. What scared her more, however, was walking amongst the corpses and feeling one grabbing her ankle. Before she rightfully took its life, she could tell its eyes had different intentions for her other than combat.

4. "we were assaulted by grey humanoids by the dozens...": These creatures have since been identified as Imps, corrupted creatures of Chaos that feed off of heat and volcanic rock. They reproduce not sexually, but rather by vomiting a substance on fresh corpses, regardless of species, which births more Imps. It is unknown, even today, how many there still are in the Hellands.

We are an estimated two-hundred fifty miles from Exeter now, and at the halfway point of our journey to the heartlands. Our progress has been intentionally gradual and steady, as Augusta wanted to ensure our supply lines remained strong, and that soldiers had time to cycle and stay fresh. In particular, at this halfway point, she had us set up camp and remain for no more than a week’s time, to allow rear Legions and the supply chain to catch up to us. According to reports from the rear, the majority of Dragonkin and sightings of those humanoids have been sparse, meaning our spearhead had successfully cut through half of the Hellands’ monstrous populations. Yet, it was not all celebratory, for while Augusta had smartly cycled our Legions’ forces, across all Legions as a whole, I estimate a loss of perhaps ten-thousand lives. It is a low census, considering we stand in the most unforgivable lands in all of Britannia, but Augusta was not content with that news when our censors arrived with the news. I have to admit, it is surreal, seeing these sides of her. All day, she marches with us, side by side with her troops, fights alongside them and tells them not to accomplish something that she could not achieve herself, all with a face that I can credit to be the most brave in all of Britannia’s history. Yet, as she enters our tent, she practically falls into my arms, and asks to just be held, and I fall with her. We are, with all the candor I can give, each other’s rest.

A few days ago, some straggling Drakens had assaulted the outer rims of our camp, but it was nothing our men guarding the perimeter could not handle. Knowing that food was more difficult to come by recently, which was in part why we were holding steady at the moment, Augusta requested the Drakens’ corpses be brought to the center of the camp. Our men then watched as our Princeps cut out parts of the Draken’s body with her sword, noting that beneath their incredibly tough, rocky scales was burning hot meat. She placed it into a pot of Everfreeze and water then, to cool it, then after a minute took it out and took a bite. I can still remember the face she made when she tasted its flesh. I almost cracked into laughter amongst our troops.

“How is it, Lady Augusta?” one legionnaire had asked.

“It is edible,” she had said, then shouted at our camp. “You all are tired of hard tack and fruit, right? Then come, let us make meals out of our enemy!”

In any other context, such a line would be reprehensible, but to make food out of these monstrous creatures was both sobering and empowering. They took the lives of so many of us, and yet we made dinner that night out of ten of them, scattered throughout our camp. Personally, I thought that it needed time to tenderize. And perhaps salt.

Today I write of the worst tragedy of our war effort. It occurred on the first day of the Month of Remembrance, and I only now have both the mental wherewithal and a safe location in which to document the events of that night. It occurred during the night, and I recall waking up first, not to any sound, but simply a sense that something in the air was incorrect. I did not want to disturb the Princeps on simply a hunch, however, so I gently set her off of me and left my tent shortly after. And there was nothing, only the night sky and the hot nights that even the Hellands harbored. Yet, when I went to return to my tent, a flash of light in the distance, toward the western front of our camp, and I then heard a boom and a burst of flame. It was then that officers and soldiers woke up alike, Cassian included, as they all ran to investigate. I went inside to wake up Augusta, and, out of nothing but my own insecurity, did not let her leave my sight as she dressed and left the tent with me.

I asked our survey towers what was ahead, and while it was night and hard for them to tell, they told of something “serpentine”. My heart dropped then, for none of the enemies we had engaged to this point held that description. We got our mounts and rushed toward the battlegrounds, which had already claimed our defensive walls and dozens of tents. Amidst the smoke, I could not exactly view the serpentines that our survey towers had claimed, but I rather saw something far more worse.

Man striking man. Our own troops, systematically cutting down their own confused comrades. We looked on in horror as dozens upon dozens of men and women, many of whom I knew the faces of, and some even the names, approached us with blank expressions, covered in blood same as their swords and spears, and marched in unison. I retreated with her, and shouted amongst our soldiers that some of us had turned. Augusta ordered them to form a shield wall immediately, and to not hesitate. Her words were harsh, but true: even if they were our friends, any delay in decision would simply lead to more death. We managed to hobble together a shield wall then, and as our turned soldiers approached, I could see the agony in my soldiers’ eyes, and they struck with fearful, half-hearted attacks. It was then that I heard it, something utterly malicious, whisper loud across the battlefield, and it silenced all other sounds. When the sound faded, I watched as many men that formed our shield wall suddenly turned on their own man, and struck at comrades without hesitation, and with ruthlessness in their eyes. Chaos reigned then, as people fought only to keep themselves alive, and Augusta’s eyes transformed from horror to wrath. She looked ahead, and I knew that she knew the cause of this was beyond the smoke wall. She told me she was going to deal with it herself, but I grabbed her arm before she raced away. Her eyes looked angry, like I was going to refuse her, but I only kissed her and told her to fight with all her heart. She smiled, only a little, and jumped past the chaos.

My intention was to settle the chaos amongst my men there and continue on to help her, but another rumble to my left, the southwestern area of our camp, made me realize this attack was systemic. Fire and smoke spewed out there, too, and trusting in Augusta’s ability, I rushed to the second fire, only for a third and fourth to pop up in the northern and northeastern corners. When I arrived only a few moments later, I arrived to a wave of our fallen, with those sickly grey creatures grabbing them and carrying them away. I held down my wrath, and struck the turned soldiers with haste, refusing to pull my strikes with just pure discipline, until I turned and saw what I had been fearing. Cassian, with a look I had never seen in him before, lifted his sword out of an ally’s body and faced me. Behind him, in the smoke of the burning tents and bodies, I saw what the towers had reported before: a massive serpent, its shadow and glowing eyes unmistakable, but I could look at it no further as I engaged Cassian. His strikes were harder, more focused than they ever were with me before, each intending to make me fall where I stood, and I barely found the strength to parry him. I screamed, over and over again, for him to remember me, to know my face, but he simply glared, said not a word and continued striking at me. I had lost my sword at some point, and he straddled me, and had plunged his blade to my throat. I begged. I begged for him to stop, but he didn’t. Athina had kicked him away before I could die, and shouted with tears for me to take down that thing in front of us, and it emerged: a terrible serpent(5), perhaps over a hundred feet long, its mouth capable of swallowing a human, and it had a voice. It released its forked tongue, and that sound overwhelmed my ears again. And then it talked.

“Kneel,” it said, but I refused and shot an arrow at its tongue. It hissed wildly, and struck forward at me but I had nocked another arrow in time and fired another down its throat. It thrashed in anger then, and its tail whipped and knocked me down. Before I could get up, I saw Augusta, bruised and bleeding from her arm, jump onto the serpent and plunge her spear in the back of its head. Only then did it stop moving, and the struggling between Athina and Cassian ceased. Terribly, I heard Cassian’s voice, pleading what had happened, where he was, and why he had his sword at Athina’s throat. I could barely look at him then, not because I felt contempt, but only terrible pity and sympathy. Augusta helped me up, told me that she had to help the other parts of camp, then kissed my cheek and rushed away. I realized then, as she briefly embraced me, that she was wielding Kataklusmos.

Nine-thousand three-hundred and eighty-six deaths in that single night. Other cohorts in the rear had been struck as well by the same terrible creatures: those serpents that turned men to monsters. What was worse is that those humanoids had taken much of our dead amidst the chaos, to use them for gods-know what. Augusta made the difficult decision to lose ground, to consolidate and cycle out with fresh Legions. She also, however, made the choice to keep the spearhead’s current legionnaires, and to not exchange them. While they were understandably shaken up and morale was low, she had a simple explanation that at least gave them some comfort.

“Those of you who resisted the voices of those serpents, I must order you to remain and anchor our defenses. I know not if our replacements are capable of the same. So, for now, please continue to be our spearhead. I will fight alongside you all, until we claim victory, or go no further.”

Her theory the following couple nights was proven correct. A smaller attack from those serpents happened later in the day, but those who were already resistant remained resistant, while those who turned were disarmed early and restrained until our resistant forces could eliminate them. Furthermore, anyone who was turned, she officially declared their innocence. They were casualties and victims, and to merely name them traitors would only play into Fafnir’s hands. This, she would disallow.

Despite our adaptations, it did little to take away from the psychological strike it did unto our units. I know not if I will be able to write as extensively in the future, for I can feel the pressure of this war building gravely. Julia sits next to me now, quietly watching me write, instead of our usual banter. All I can provide for her is my presence as we recover.

5. "a terrible serpent, perhaps over a hundred feet long...": These creatures have been identified as Basilisks, which are hyper-intelligent creatures of Chaos that normally dwell in deep caves, amongst hordes of treasures. The ones their campaign encountered have been agreed upon by scholars to be younger, weaker Basilisks perhaps more subservient to Fafnir.

Deliveries of ales and wines came from the back lines, and so our cohort took the time to celebrate. The Holy Festival is toward the end of this month, but with the war effort uncertain, we chose to celebrate it tonight. It was nice, seeing Julia, Cassian and everyone truly happy for the first time in months. And, I am pleased to report no major attacks have occurred the past three days. May we continue forward.

Augusta sent a command to all support Legions and their cohorts. As of this moment, we are in a spearhead formation, with Augusta at the front. However, after months of pushing forward, our ability to make progress has slowed to a halt. Our Princeps has acknowledged this, and requested the back lines for further reinforcements, and to completely alter our military structure. For all of the Month of Order, the time of year where the Hellands is at its weakest, the rear and back lines will suddenly push forward, inverting the spearhead shape of our formation to a pincer, with our cohort in the very back, and only allowing for small reserve units to keep the supply line at least minimally functional. This will serve two simultaneous purposes: to allow our cohort to recover, and to clear out the enemies in front of us with fresher troops. At the end of the Month of Order, she expects our formation to have completely reversed, and she will then push our cohort straight forward, expecting those at the front lines to meet up with us for the final push toward Fafnir. Before she sent the command, she had asked me if the plan was risky. I was honest: it was, and it heavily placed trust for almost everyone in our active army to execute her idea to the letter, without our supervision or much of our verification. Yet, trust is what we need, especially in lands this heinous and hellish. It is how we will continue to persevere.

Our month of reinforcement and recovery is almost up. We have received word from all of our forward—formerly rear—cohorts that they have almost perfectly created the position the Princeps had requested, with losses that were considerable, but acceptable. She was relieved at the news, for she knew that many would have to die to create her formation, but it truly was not all for naught. I was impressed with her, how she suddenly weaponized our entire army instead of only relying upon us, but it also meant that everything had now been left on the table. All of our army was fully exposed to combat now, and thus if we were to end this war, it had to be sooner rather than later. Julia knows this, of course, and had been self-admonishing for allowing a time where she was not on the front lines herself, but our discussions during late nights made it very clear where I stood on her choice.

“You criticized me, long ago, by saying the Princeps hides behind the shields of their people. What of now, Taci?”

“You are. But at this point, you’ve given so much for them. Allow them to be your shield just a little longer, then execute what you’re best at executing.”

Since we were to march on my birthday, she chose to celebrate it privately with me tonight. To lighten the mood for future readers, I will only say this: what occurred was merely business between military comrades and political allies.

I must also write, I admonish you, Julia. The alcohol we indulged in tonight made me write something far too sincere. Briseis must be doubled over in laughter, right about now.

On our hastened forward march, we had noticed craters and remnants of attacks that looked not of the Dragonkin that we had fought up until this point. The Draklings and Drakens were almost always physical, some belching great fire, while the Behemoths towered over us with lava and great streams of flame. The Imps, small but durable, the Basilisks cerebral and deceptive.

What we saw as we marched by matched none of them. We saw, this deep into Hellands territory, frozen lightning. Remnants of crystalline shards of unknown origin, varied in a myriad of colors, which even our Warlocks from the City of Magic could not parse. They could only tell us that whatever had created it had power far stranger and perhaps much greater than them. While none of the soldiers that had seen Fafnir stated that these seemed like to be a part of his powers, it was also true that, just like us, that supposed god-king was holding back secrets and strength, and we were comfortable tentatively deciding such was the case. We were nearing the heartlands, in any case, so it was logical that we would see things no man had ever laid eyes on before.

We are now less than a hundred miles from the heart of the Hellands. Nearly every day, we face at least one Behemoth and a horde of lesser creatures, which each attack individually is manageable, but the daily battles have our men growing weary. Augusta has recently ordered all soldiers from all rear and middle Legions that showed resistance to the Basilisks’ effects to be sent to the front lines, as she is slowly preparing for the final, ultimate push into Fafnir’s lair. Those ominous crystal shards, unnatural lightning and craters have also grown more common.

Because of the injuries she had sustained, I had presented to her the idea that it not be her that delivers the blow unto Fafnir with the Great Spear, but rather a hand-picked Century of elite soldiers who could. Julia then called me out on my hypocrisy, which I admitted was true, but also simply countered with the fact that I did not want to see her die. She considered my feelings, and called a few of our most talented men, and asked how Kataklusmos felt in their hands. It was the first time that I had seen the Princeps give the Spear to anyone, including myself, but I was taken aback to see that our men found the spear imbalanced, hefty and unwieldy, yet when Augusta took it back she twirled it around herself as if she had no issue. A few more men attempted it, and each had the same issue as the first. It was then that I built a hypothesis, and asked Cassian and Athina to wield Kataklusmos.

Athina, despite her equal strength to Cassian, too found it strangely heavy for herself, describing it as if she was carrying a pillar of stone and trying to loft it around. She handed it to Cassian, and he excitedly found it to be light as a feather, flipping it around just as easily as Augusta was. It was then that I remembered our ferry back from Arcadia, and Sine Nomine’s words when she had first appraised Kataklusmos: she had detected a secret ability of the weapon, but refused to tell us. This must have been what it was.

Our Pedagogue. Anaxagoras’ soul resides within, and as I had noted, only those who had a deep connection with him: both Augusta and Cassian, and after testing it, myself, could easily wield it. This meant one thing: the one that would strike down the god-king had to be one of us. I had asked Anaxagoras later that evening if this was intentional, and he admitted sincerely that it was not the case.

It also meant something else. Briseis, Akhellion had wielded you when he conquered Arcadia. Just what was his relationship to you? Tragically, history has lost the answer. But, after this campaign, I will ensure they will not forget your legacy.

Among our casualties today was Cassian Gaius Agrippa. We had clashed against a horde of Drakling-riding Imps, and the force of their charge nearly shattered our front lines, of which Cassian was a part of. Yet, it was a part of Augusta’s plan, who rode out riders when our Advance Centuries had spotted the hordes coming, and when those monsters made contact, she led the charge to outflank and surround them. Chaos followed as those Imps and Draklings fought for their lives, and in the carnage I saw Cassian fall from his steed and become overwhelmed by them. With our lines already shaky, I broke away from command, a decision that I regret professionally, but not at all personally, and tore through the monsters until I found them beating on his body. I and several other soldiers pinned and executed them, though I, in my abject rage that I still harbor, had stabbed the Imp I held four or five times more than necessary. I carried Cassian, bloodied and limp, back to the back ranks, and realizing his heart was not beating, gave him resuscitation until I heard it beat once more. The Lifebloods took him from there, and I was the one who had to deliver the news to Athina, who immediately requested Augusta to allow her visitation to the back lines. She did not object.

He had promised me, on the night we celebrated the Holy Festival, that he would stand next to us until the end, for Marcus’ sake. I tell you now, Cassian, that all Marcus and I want from you now is to rest. Meet us when we return. Godspeed to you. But we continue forward.

(The original page had ample evidence of wet spotting. - E. Celestina)

XXXXX

The following entry was written by Tacitus Aeneas Livia, on 321 YBCE / 433 Exeter Year, ten years after the campaign of Fafnir, recollecting what his thoughts were of that day. May the sun shine on you both forevermore.

- E. Celestina

I recall approaching the heartland of the Hellands then, with an aching in my soul I could not overcome. We were extraordinarily close then, so close we could hear the rumbles of Fafnir’s breaths just over the horizon, and Augusta looked forward. It was seventeenth of Blossom; two days ago we had celebrated her birthday by feasting on Draken corpses, but then, we were silently serious as we continued our march.

I ordered my horse to come up next to her, then, and ordered the men behind us to halt their march. Augusta turned to me, her face still so beautiful, yet armor damaged, legs bandaged, though I was not any better for wear. I remember what happened next, which was so coincidental that I could almost laugh from it, but we said,

“I think you should go back.”

At the same time.

We were shocked at each other’s words. Augusta had spoken first, and pointed out my injuries, my grief over Cassian that could distract me, and the fact that as her Princeps, I should follow her order. I spoke then of her own injuries, and the fact that, as the Princeps herself, she should not march into a situation that could prove to be her end.

We had dismounted by then, and our argument continued on for minutes on end. I vaguely recall Athina silently taking command then, and ordered our troops to remain. Though, Augusta’s words did not.

“This was the plan from the start, Tacitus. I march with the Spear to the Hellands, and kill him. Why do you suggest you bear the burden now? You always told me since we were children, that ‘if the Princeps was truly the first among equals, they should stand to protect the citizens and soldiers they serve, not have them act as a shield’. So why now, do you go back on that ideal?”

“It is not a matter of ideal, Lady Augusta! I thought, on our journeys together, you had learned to not throw yourself into danger, to rely on others, yet here, at the end, why are you taking the greatest risk upon yourself? You are Exetia’s future, and I cannot allow you to march forward and risk that future to be lost!”

“Idiot! That’s a god-damned ideal, you idiot! And besides, I am the Princeps of Exetia, and therefore outrank you. So this is a request no longer, Tacitus. Turn back. I will finish this war.”

She had marched away then, and nearly jumped upon her steed. But I stepped forward too, and told her something she had forgotten.

“Princeps Julia Augusta Alexandria. I, Tacitus Aeneas Livia, of the Veto Council you assembled yourself in 420 Exeter Year, hereby veto your choice to advance to the Hellands, and instead suggest that I carry the Great Spear forward.”

She ceased her march then. The others of the Veto Council were not present: no Cassian or Trajan, brave souls injured in combat; no Hadrian, who guarded Exeter alongside Perseus; and no Marcus, who gave his soul for the chance of the spear she carried. Thus, it was my vote alone against hers. Normally, ties were impossible due to there being seven of us total, Augusta included. However, in case a tie ever happened due to one or more of our absences, we had added a clause.

All of us on that Council were martial warriors. Thus would be the tiebreaker, and I knew she knew that when I drew my sword and hefted my shield.

By then, our soldiers had no doubt started to surround us, even as our junior officers kept them away, but I paid no mind to them. I could only see the woman I loved ahead of me, who set the Great Spear down, drew her own sword and shield, and accepted. The last time we had dueled was in our adolescence, and back then, neither of us could reliably say we were better, and the question only became more uncertain as we grew. She was physically stronger, I knew, but my control was still second to none among our friends. Athina then stepped in to mediate, and ordered the Praetors and Centurions to turn their men away and set up camp. When all was clear, she remained one Lifeblood, and told us to begin.

I hesitated, waiting for Augusta’s move first, but she seemed to be waiting for me. Thus, I thrusted forward, which she evaded, and I tested her shield with my own before lapping around her flank. I recall, then, feeling a hesitance on those strikes, and I knew that my first sword thrust would not have struck her even if she stood still. She retaliated a moment later, jumping into the air like she often did, and I blocked her blade then, but the force was so great I had stumbled backward. She pressed on me again, but I feinted her, and slashed at her midsection, though it was clearly not close enough, and her shield had knocked away my blow regardless. A beat later, she spun, and collided her gladius against mine, and I grunted as I realized her effort to strike me was more than hers.

To keep the one I loved safe, I had to hurt her. I only barely knew how to process that, even when in the act of dueling her.

We struck glancing blows then, and I ducked under her swing as I sliced at her shin, though her guard only made my blade bounce off. I swung down again, yet she blocked, then struck my shield again, then again, making me stumble back again.

As I looked into her eyes then, her sword pointed at me, I saw the unquenchable fire in them, mixed with the cold of before. Yet, I knew what was beneath that. I saw, too, the face of gentle warmth when I kissed it, the embarrassment when I teased her, then happiness when we held each other. I was fighting for it. The difficult truth to swallow then, was that she was fighting for the same thing as I.

We collided again. The sparks of our swords flew, our shields dented and groaned every time we smashed them against each other. She jumped and thrust again, but I had read her, dodged and planted my elbow on her jaw, and within I cringed as she grunted and backpedaled. But outwardly, I saw my chance and rushed forward, slamming my blade into her midsection.

She had dodged. My heart sank, though I knew not if it was because I thought I struck her, or that I hadn’t won the fight. She held my blade between her body and arm, then slashed down with her free hand, which I could only barely block as she kicked me and forced me backward, and I only stayed upright through sheer will. She dropped her shield then, so I did the same as she came forward.

A part of me just wanted to hug her. I wanted to tell her it was all going to be okay. I saw the pain in her eyes, fighting me, and I knew she saw mine too. I needed her to know everything would be alright if I went forward. She had Exetia to rule. I am just a recorder.

Every time our swords clashed, I wanted to hold her hand. Every time my blade glanced off her side, I wanted to just scream out that I never meant it. Every time, every time I swung at her neck, I remembered how warm it felt when I slept against it.

Perhaps all of that was why.

All of that was why I, after the heat had faded, I found a sword in my side, and she didn’t.

I collapsed to my knees, I felt the healing magic immediately take hold of me, and she immediately held me. None of the aggression of before, it was just so tender. And she said,

“Breathe. Breathe. It’s okay, my love. I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

The healing gave strength in my arms then, and I held her as tight as I could. I couldn’t see anymore. My face was too wet. I cried out then, for her, for her and only her. I know not of how many times I repeated her name, as she held me within the blazing heat.

She put her forehead to mine, and asked me to look into her eyes.

“I want to be realistic first, then optimistic. I do not know if I will return. What’s ahead…I don't even want to think about, right now. If I do not, then please, tell my mother…this is where the Principate ends. I want no successors. I want the state dissolved, and power returned to the kingdoms. That is my wish, if I cannot see tomorrow.

But damn all of that. Because I will return. I will hold you again, just like this. We will go back to the Capital. We will celebrate with Cassian and Athina and our mothers and our men. We will make love, we’ll give each other a beautiful child, and we’ll live our tomorrows and our tomorrow’s morrows with each other for as long as we hold breath, and even after that.

But either way, Tacitus? Either way, I will bring tomorrow. I will slay that monster, whatever it takes. I want you all to see the next dawn of peace. With me, or without me, I will grant you that tomorrow. Okay? Okay?”

I knew of nothing else but to kiss her then, so we did. It remained for seconds upon seconds, minutes upon minutes, because I knew not if that would be the last time she held me. But eventually, after some time I couldn’t begin to fathom, she gently pulled me away.

“That won’t be the last time, my love,” she had told me. “When I return, keep your arms open. I want to jump in them with all my strength!”

The Lifeblood cleric there lifted me into a cart, and kept my wound stable. As I heard the horse of my cart trot away, and my view of the open sky blur from my tears, I heard the sound of a horse running back.

Then a grunt, then a soft hum as she lay next to me.

“Taci,” she whispered to me, “tell me about anything. Anything at all.”

So I did. I knew not, in my dull pain and grief, all of what it was. But she stayed there, and I kept looking into her eyes, telling her of the every day, of the mundane, of the peaceful and the quiet. And she never stopped smiling until I closed my eyes.

I know not of the truth of this. And perhaps this I only dreamed, or maybe she really did say this to me.

But I remember a kiss to my forehead, and a promise with her lips.

“Whether it be in Exetia or Elysium, I will love you in aeternum.”