Chapter 5: Secrets in the Deep

The dim torchlight flickered as Marcus Domitus descended into the damp stone chambers beneath the old fort. His boots splashed softly in shallow puddles, and the stale air smelled of mildew and rusted iron. Beneath the fort’s crumbled towers lay a dungeon long abandoned by the empire, now reeking of forgotten secrets.

At Marcus’s side, Gaius Varro grumbled as they ventured deeper into the gloom. "Remind me again why we’re chasing ghosts underground instead of skewering barbarians above?"

"Because some ghosts know things even the living don’t," Marcus replied, his voice low. His steps were deliberate, his senses sharp.

Seneca trailed behind them, clutching a brass lantern. The dim circle of light reflected off the walls, where ancient graffiti in forgotten languages scrawled across the stones. "If we find this informant alive, it’ll be a miracle," the engineer muttered.

Marcus didn’t respond. Miracles were in short supply these days.

At the far end of the corridor, they found the cell. Heavy iron bars, streaked with rust, blocked their path. Marcus signaled to Gaius, who planted his boot against the door and kicked it open with a metallic screech.

Inside, hunched against the far wall, sat a figure wrapped in tattered robes. His long hair hung in matted strands over his gaunt face, and his beard curled wildly over his chest. The man’s eyes, however, gleamed with eerie clarity despite his haggard appearance.

"You've come," the prisoner rasped, his voice rasping like dead leaves scraping against stone.

Marcus stepped closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Who are you?"

The man coughed—a dry, rattling sound—then smiled as if he were speaking with an old friend. "Names don’t matter down here. They took mine a long time ago. But you may call me... Darius." His eyes, though sunken, glinted with cunning.

"You're the informant," Marcus said. It wasn’t a question.

Darius gave a shallow nod. "The only one foolish enough to stay alive, I suppose."

Gaius leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "And what exactly is it you know that’s worth dragging us into this pit?"

The prisoner’s smile widened, revealing teeth that looked more like shards of bone. "You’re here because the empire’s enemies have learned what your leaders tried to bury centuries ago. They’ve found the truth about eterium. And that truth... will bring Rome to its knees."

Marcus felt the chill of those words sink into his bones. "Speak plainly," he ordered. "What truth?"

Darius chuckled softly. "Ah, captain... it’s not the Goths you should fear. The real enemy has been hiding in plain sight—woven into the empire’s fabric for centuries. And now they’ve surfaced. The ones who whisper from the dark. The ones who never forgot what your emperors sought to erase."

Marcus’s jaw clenched. "What do they want?"

Darius leaned forward, his expression sharpening. "They want control of the eterium fields beneath Rome—and the power to rewrite everything. But their methods aren’t simple conquest. They’ll erode your empire from within, and when it crumbles, they’ll be the ones left standing."

Gaius scoffed. "This is madness. If there were any truth to what you’re saying, the emperor would’ve known."

"Ah," Darius whispered, "but the emperor does know. Why do you think you’ve been sent north? Not to quell a rebellion—no, no. You’ve been sent here to stop a leak. A leak that’s been seeping through the cracks of history, hidden until now."

Marcus studied the prisoner’s eyes, searching for any hint of deceit, but found none. "If you know so much," he asked, "why are you still alive?"

Darius smiled bitterly. "Because dead men tell no tales, captain. And the emperor needs someone expendable to speak the truth... when the time comes."

Seneca shifted uneasily behind Marcus, his lantern casting long shadows that danced across the stone walls. "If this is true, then what’s our next move?"

Marcus exhaled slowly. "First, we find out who’s behind this. Then we end it—before they reach Rome."

"Too late for that, I’m afraid," Darius whispered. "They’re already inside your gates."

Before Marcus could press further, the distant sound of boots echoed down the corridor—sharp and urgent. A young soldier burst into the chamber, his face pale and rain-slicked from the storm outside.

"Captain!" the soldier gasped. "A rider from the northern front just arrived. He brings grave news."

Marcus's pulse quickened. "Speak."

The soldier straightened, swallowing hard. "The barbarian tribes... They’ve united. They’re marching toward Castra Octaviana with forces twice the size of ours. But worse than that—they’ve begun using... something unnatural."

Marcus’s heart sank. "Eterium?"

The soldier gave a fearful nod. "A weapon unlike anything we’ve seen. Our scouts say they burn through our fortifications like parchment. They’ve already overrun two outposts. Castra Octaviana will fall unless reinforcements arrive soon."

Gaius cursed under his breath, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Then we fight them here. We make this place our line in the sand."

Marcus shook his head. "No. If what Darius says is true, the frontlines aren’t where the real battle lies. We need to root out the ones pulling the strings—and fast."

Darius gave a slow, approving nod. "Ah, yes... Now you’re beginning to understand."

Marcus turned to Seneca, his mind already racing through possibilities. "Contact the Imperius. We fly at dawn."

"And where exactly are we flying to?" Gaius asked, raising an eyebrow.

Marcus’s gaze darkened. "To the heart of the rebellion—wherever that may be."

Darius chuckled softly from his corner, his laughter rasping like a broken instrument. "You’ll find it, captain. Oh, you will. Just be careful not to lose yourself in the process."

Marcus ignored the prisoner’s parting words as he gestured for Gaius to secure the chamber. "Lock him up. No one leaves without my command."

Gaius nodded and turned toward the door, but not before casting one last wary glance at the prisoner. "Something about that man feels... wrong."

Marcus said nothing. He knew Gaius was right, but there was no time for hesitation now. The storm was already upon them—and if they didn’t move quickly, Rome itself would be next.

They emerged from the underground chamber into the cold night, where the storm still raged over the forest. The soldiers stood waiting by the warship, ready for orders, their faces drawn with exhaustion and fear. Marcus could see the uncertainty in their eyes—but he could also see something else: the spark of loyalty, the resolve that had carried them through every battle thus far.

"We move at first light," Marcus told them, his voice steady. "The Imperius will carry us toward the enemy's heart. This fight isn’t just for Rome—it’s for everything we stand for. And we do not falter."

The soldiers saluted, their fists striking their chests in unison. Gaius gave Marcus a firm nod, the fire of determination returning to his eyes.

Seneca tapped the side of his lantern, checking the dwindling fuel. "This mission... it’s going to cost us, isn’t it?"

"Everything worth fighting for always does," Marcus replied quietly.

As the soldiers dispersed to prepare for the morning departure, Marcus stood alone beneath the storm-darkened sky. His thoughts returned to Darius’s warning—a warning that echoed like thunder in his mind.

The real enemy was already inside their gates.

And time was running out.