This Fire Burns - Chapter 20

[July 23, 2007]

Fucking Mondays.

My hands were jammed deep into the pockets of my sweatpants as I trudged across the camp grounds, heading for the Field of Mars. 

The high from our victory party yesterday only made the crash into this morning’s reality feel that much worse. It had been a good win, with Gwen acting as the cohort’s sole commander. She’d handled it nicely, not that I expected any different. She’d already gotten some practice during the two weeks Jason and I were gone on our quest.

Now I’m gonna spend a week with a collection of legionnaires with sticks jammed so far up their asses that they probably think breathing in unison is a valid strategy for intimidation.

Okay, maybe I was exaggerating. But only a little. I didn’t really like them, but they were the First Cohort for a reason. The fact that they were already out here training proved their dedication, at least. If I were in charge, I’d be using that juicy First Cohort privilege to get a better schedule. And with the exception of one particular waste of oxygen, they were all just normal legionnaires doing their jobs.

Reaching the edge of the field, I saw them already going through warm-ups in a perfectly synchronized row. As I got closer, I scanned their ranks and realized Octavian wasn’t among them. The gods truly favored me today.

I strolled over to the two centurions standing at the head of the formation. “Titus. Maria. Mornin’.”

Titus, the male Centurion, and also one of Marcus’s half brothers, sized me up for a second before giving me a curt nod. “Serif. Good of you to join us.”

His partner, Maria, offered a slightly more welcoming expression, though her eyes were just as analytical as she took me in. “We were just about to begin the briefing.” She turned back to her cohort. “As you all know, for this week’s training, we will be joined by Serif of the Fifth Cohort.”

While she handled the announcement, Titus stayed with me.

“We’ve been discussing the best way to integrate you,” he said. “Given your… unique skillset, forcing you into a standard formation would be inefficient. Our current idea is for you to be an independent weapon. The tip of the spear, if you will. Your primary role would be to disrupt enemies. While they’re focused on you, the rest of the cohort would execute flanking maneuvers to dismantle them.”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I expected from this cohort at all. Actually, it was pretty similar to how I already operated with the Fifth during war games.

“Yeah, no problem,” I said with a shrug. “I can work with that.”

His eyes widened slightly, like he was expecting an argument.

“To get a feel for this dynamic,” Maria continued announcing to everyone else, “today’s exercise will be a mock war game. You will be split into two teams. The attackers will consist of thirty-seven legionnaires. The defenders will have twenty-five. Serif will be joining the defenders.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Titus added, giving me a stern look. “Your role is support. Your job is to create openings for your team, enabling their advance. You are not to single-handedly wipe out the opposition. We need to see how you operate with a squad. Understood?”

Is this guy seriously trying to act all big right now?

I rolled my eyes. “Jeez, you can hop off my dick. I already said I’m fine with that.”

A few of the legionnaires closest to us stiffened at my tone.

“He means no disrespect,” Maria said smoothly, stepping in. “We just need to understand your cohesion with our formations. I will take command of the defending team, and Titus will lead the attackers.”

The two centurions quickly split the cohort into their designated teams, and we headed to opposite sides of the field to begin our ten-minute planning phase. As Maria gathered the smaller defending team into a huddle, I got straight to the point.

“So I guess I’ll just provide aerial support and toss some fireballs their way. Keep them busy while you guys do… whatever it is you’re gonna do.”

A couple legionnaires nearby bristled at the casual dismissal, though Maria didn’t seem all that surprised.

“That’s fine.” She addressed the others in the circle. “You heard him. He’ll be our disruption. That means we hold a tight defensive formation. Don’t break rank until we have an opening. Clear?”

“Yes, Centurion Maria!” they answered in unison.

“Cool, you guys can work out the rest of the details,” I said, stepping out of the huddle. I didn’t need to be in the know for their part of the plan. My job was simple.

After a few minutes, a horn echoed across the field, signaling the start.

BWWWOOOOM!

I flew to the air and saw Titus’s team moving as one, their shields locked on all sides and overhead in a perfect testudo formation that I knew made all the Romans around here hard. 

Forming a pair of softball-sized fireballs in my hands, I lobbed them down. They burst across the top shields, blackening them but doing nothing more. The attacking team momentarily faltered before their discipline took over and they continued their slow but steady advance.

Huh, that’s actually kind of effective since I have to hold back right now.

It wasn’t anything new, all of the cohorts used it in the war games before. Back then, I would just dial up my firepower and blast right through them. For obvious reasons, I wasn’t doing that this time.

Scanning their formation, I looked for a weakness. And there it was. Well, two, actually. The testudo wasn't useful at close range, so I could swoop down and snatch a shield or two, but I’d already agreed to being the aerial support. Besides, I could go after the other weakness: their feet and ankles which weren’t covered by their shields.

I let loose a stream of fire, controlling them so they stayed low. Several of them yelped as the flames licked at their feet, forcing them to break step.

“Defending team, engage now!” Maria roared.

My team let out a war cry and charged, splitting into two groups that slammed into the disorganized flanks of the now-faltering testudo. The attackers had no choice but to break their formation, parrying and blocking as individuals.

My job became a lot easier now that they couldn’t focus on me. I stayed airborne, peppering them with rapid-fire blasts, each one small but packing enough heat to make someone flinch or break their guard. Each little distraction gave one of my teammates a chance to land a hit.

This really was a good way to prepare for when we’d go out to clear the city. Both sides were gaining something valuable right now. The attackers were learning to survive being surrounded in a disadvantageous position, while the defenders practiced coordinating attacks when they had less numbers. Of course, the real monsters wouldn’t be organized enough to make it past my ranged attacks. And more importantly, I wouldn’t be holding back in the real battle. The First would probably get even less action, but I didn’t really care if they found that boring. The alternative was them risking injury or death.

After another few minutes of this, the attackers, unable to gain any momentum, were picked off one by one until they surrendered.

As the legionnaires separated, Titus and Maria met at the center of the field.

“A decisive victory for the defenders,” Titus said, his voice clipped but not angry. “A good first run. Take a fifteen-minute break. Get some water. If you need it, nectar and ambrosia are available, but be mindful of your limits.”

I landed a few feet away from them.

“Do you require any provisions, Serif?” Maria asked.

“Nah, I’m good. No one really tried to get any hits on me from way up in the air.” I paused, an idea forming in my head. “You know, next time you should probably get some archers to try targeting me. When we’re out there, we won’t just be dealing with monsters on the ground. You’ve got Stymphalian birds, Harpies, and probably some other flying threats. Having your legionnaires practice coordination on the ground while archers cover the air would be more realistic.”

I walked away after a second, leaving her to discuss it with her fellow centurion. A girl approached me, offering me a water bottle. “Nice work up there, Serif.”

“Thanks,” I said, accepting it.

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[Octavian]

The air up in the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus felt heavy, as it always did. There was that lingering sense of ancient power that pressed down on a person’s shoulders and demanded reverence. 

Octavian knelt on the cold marble floor, his head bowed before the colossal Imperial Gold statue of the god-king. Beside him, carefully placed on a velvet cloth, was his ritual satchel, the vessel containing the offerings necessary to pierce the veil of the present.

Outside, the other legionnaires were likely sweating under the sun, clashing shields and grunting like mindless barbarians. Octavian didn’t particularly mind being surrounded by them on most days. Barbarians could be useful tools, as long as a firm, intelligent hand was there to guide them. This temple was the true heart of the legion’s power. And he, Octavian, was its sole keeper. He would be the one who would guide Rome forward.

He wasn’t here today for his own curiosity, though he often cited that as a reason to avoid the legion’s more… physical duties. The Praetors had requested—no, required—his sight. Marcus and Serena, for all their tactical acumen, were blind. In their time serving as the leaders of the legion, they failed to accomplish anything noteworthy. They were mere caretakers who maintained the status quo, nothing good or bad about them, and ultimately destined to be forgotten by the annals of time. They yearned for at least one success, one that was big enough to bring meaning to their leadership. And who did they turn to for that?

To him.

At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter if they were the ones who wore the capes when he was the one who saw the future. They could lead the charge, but he would be the one to tell them which direction to run. Every decision of importance, every quest, every declaration of war… it all began here. With him.

His family had been a part of Camp Jupiter for over a century. They bore the blood of Apollo, a legacy passed down through generations, an unbroken line of seers and augurs. The gift of prophecy was their inheritance, their birthright. In this entire camp, filled with the direct offspring of so many powerful gods, Octavian was the only one who carried the ability of foresight.

That was what separated him from the others. What made him superior.

He unconsciously lifted his head, glancing at the golden lightning bolt clutched in the statue’s massive fist. A symbol of absolute, unquestionable power. The kind that could shatter mountains and boil the seas. The kind of power that now walked in the camp in two very different forms.

Am I truly superior to them? To the one who carries the blood of this very god in his veins, who can call down the same lightning, whose existence itself guaranteed divine favor of the highest order? And to the other one… the inferno that burns so brightly, holding his head high when none of the gods have claimed he’s earned their favor?

That intrusive thought was a weakness, and he crushed it instantly. The son of Jupiter had the respect of the legion, yes. He was a perfect soldier, a living symbol of Roman virtue, but that was all he was. A symbol. He followed orders and inspired with his presence, but he possessed no vision of his own. His power was in his name, a borrowed greatness, a reflection of his father’s glory.

And the other one. The anomaly. He had the adoration of the mobs, won through sheer power and a rebellious charm that appealed to the legion’s dregs. Popular, yes, but he was like a firecracker—explosive and breathtaking when he was taking action, but destined to burn out just as quickly. With no history, no lineage, and none of the deep understanding of the traditions that kept the legion alive for millennia, how could Octavian expect him to actually become an actual threat. To do so would be an insult to his brilliance.

The two of them had so much power, but only in the moment. Their strength was ephemeral and fleeting. Octavian’s power, the ability to perceive destiny itself, was eternal. The Praetors, Grace, the fire-wielder, and anyone else would all be footnotes in the Twelfth Legion’s long history. But the legacy of his family would endure. His children, his children’s children, with each and every passing generation…

He stopped himself with disgust. Was he really about to resign himself to settling for mediocrity for now, while setting up the foundation for the future? Of course not. Serif had already shown disdain for leadership. He would never want to lead. And each and every passing day, he continued to influence Jason Grace, eroding his ambition too. Sooner or later, neither of them would want the purple cape, leaving the spot open for Octavian.

With his ambition reaffirmed, he turned his attention to the offering beside him, prepared to execute the sacred duty that proved his true power.

Reaching into the ritual satchel, Octavian took out a panda bear plush. Its button eyes stared back at him with a vacant expression. He sighed as he placed the stuffed animal in the center of the offering plate.

This is so demeaning. Teddy bears. The Senate, in their infinite cowardice, decided that live sacrifices are ‘too messy’ for the modern legion. Fools, the whole lot of them. If they just allowed me to use proper offerings, then the visions would be crystal clear, the messages undeniable! But no. I’m forced to work with this.

He drew his knife, an heirloom of his family that was made entirely out of Imperial Gold.

“Great Jupiter Optimus Maximus, father of gods and men, ruler of all,” he intoned. “I come before you to seek guidance for your legion. Grant this offering your divine favor.” He paused, focusing inward. “And to my divine ancestor, Phoebus Apollo, he who sees all that passes under the sun, I ask for clarity so that I may guide Rome in your honor!”

With his prayer complete, Octavian plunged the knife into the bear’s soft belly and sliced upwards, the movement effortless after the experience of having done this hundreds of times. He began to pull the white cotton stuffing out, carefully arranging it on the plate before him.

Once done, he set the knife aside and closed his eyes, awaiting a vision or whisper from the divine.

Suddenly, a wave of burning cold and freezing heat hit him all at once. The hairs on his arms stood on end, yet a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. It felt as if he were standing naked in a blizzard while simultaneously wearing a winter coat in the desert. He gritted his teeth and endured the paradoxical sensation. Then, as quickly as it had come, the ancient power receded.

Octavian opened his eyes. The stuffing on the plate was no longer a random pile. It had rearranged itself into a divine message.

THE SLEEPING SHOULD NOT BE WOKEN.

THE CHAINED SHOULD NOT BE FREED.

DO NOT TREAD UPON THE PEAK TO THE EAST, NOR THE PEAK TO THE WEST.

He stared at the words, feeling triumphant.

Normally, the omens were vague. When he read for a probation about to be promoted, he would see an instantaneous image of a symbol, giving him an idea of who the divine parent was. Sometimes for the more important ones, he’d also feel a brief nudge, letting him know about their future importance within the legion. The only true exception had been Serif. For him, Octavian received a direct approval from Jupiter, which was weird, but only that. No hint of parentage or measure of destiny.

This message was a sign that things were looking up for him again. They chose to speak to their messenger once more.

And it was easily the clearest message he had ever received. Zero ambiguity. The peak to the east had to be Mount Diablo. The one to the west, Mount Tamalpais. He didn’t know who was sleeping or who was chained, but the gods had just handed him a vital warning.

He would, of course, tell the Praetors that the omens for the mission were favorable. After all, they weren’t going to either of the mountains. But he’d keep the true message to himself. Knowledge this potent was a source of power, not something to be given away freely to those who could not appreciate its significance.

------------------------------

I made my way back toward the Fifth Cohort barracks after my training session with the First, actually feeling kind of tired for once.

Fucking slave drivers. Those guys live and breathe for this stuff. It’s like they think if they stop training for more than a short break, Jupiter would smite them for slacking.

We’d gone at it over and over. I really should’ve kept my mouth shut about them targeting me in the air. All that did was give them ideas. Instead of cruising above the field, watching everyone face-plant for my entertainment, I got dragged into endless rounds of anti-air ambush training.

I pushed open the doors to the common room and was immediately greeted by the usual chaotic energy.

In the corner, Dakota was looming over Haley and Felix, my two designated business lackeys, with a look of desperate longing. 

“Come on, you two, I know he gave you some of the new product,” he whispered, looking around suspiciously as if the FBI were about to raid the room. “You gotta tell me. Does the boss have any more of the… good stuff? The special reserve?”

Felix held up his hands. “We told you, Dakota, he’s out of stock. Even we don’t have access to the supply.”

“But I neeeeed it,” Dakota whined. “The regular ones just don’t hit the same anymore.”

Haley spotted me and immediately rushed over, probably grateful for the chance to escape the interrogation. “Hey, Serif! You survived your first day with the First Cohort. How was it?”

“Intense as hell,” I admitted, rolling a knot out of my neck. “They’re no joke, you know? You guys better kick your training up a notch if you want even a chance out there. Remember, I’m on the other team for the next war games, and I’ve got no plans of going easy on you.”

She snorted. “That’s Jason’s problem to figure out. Speaking of, if you two went all out now, who do you think would win?”

I paused. We’d sparred plenty of times, but ever since that first duel that nearly destroyed the war machines, we’d never really gone at it anywhere near as hard. A real rematch would be interesting.

“Of course I’d win,” I declared with a smirk. “No one’s ever gonna beat me. Besides, that’s all the more reason for you to work hard. While Jason’s busy losing to me, you’ll have to win the games on your own.”

Felix laughed from across the room. “We’ll be ready. Oh, by the way, something weird happened while you were gone.”

“Hm?”

“A necklace appeared on your bed,” he answered. “No one saw who left it. Maybe you’ve got a secret admirer.”

With my curiosity piqued, I went to the bedrooms and stopped at my bunk. Sure enough, there was a chain necklace on my pillow. I picked it up. A jolt went through me as I felt a strange heat emanating from it, a heat that felt like my own power being reflected right back at me. I didn’t need to guess what this was.

Bringing it closer to inspect it, I saw that the chain itself was thick silver. The pendant hanging from it was a stylized flame sculpted from what looked like a ruby

Huh, Bellona’s way cooler than I thought.

A war goddess could have easily stamped her own symbol all over it, like a little spear or a shield, but she’d chosen something that represented me. It was a surprisingly personal touch from a deity I’d only met once.

I slipped the chain over my head. The silver was cool against my skin for only a moment before it warmed up to my body temperature. 

Now, how to change its form? Jason has to flip his coin, so this must have a trigger too.

I tapped the flame symbol a few times. Nothing. I turned it around, spun it a little, tried pulling on it. Still nothing. If it wasn’t tied to a physical motion, maybe it had to do with my fire specifically? That way only I could use it.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my hand around the pendant and ignited my palm, channeling the weak flame into it. The ruby instantly grew hot, making the chain unlatch itself and slide off my neck. The pendant stretched, reshaping into the hilt and crossguard. The chain lengthened, straightening into the blade.

Sol Aeternus settled to my hand, back in its true form.

I turned my sword around, checking it over. The sun emblem was still there at the base of the blade, still golden instead of any hint of the red I briefly expected from the ruby. There were no new engravings or decorations either. It looked exactly the same.

Absentmindedly, I ran my finger along the flat of the blade.

A sharp sting made me hiss and pull back my hand. A thin cut marked my fingertip. The flat of the blade, a part that was supposed to be completely harmless, somehow sliced my skin like paper.

Holy shit. Bellona wasn’t kidding about the blessing. The entire weapon is a conceptual edge. Guess that makes it a real blade of war now.

“Serif?”

I looked over to see Jason approaching, briefly glancing at my sword before looking at me with an unreadable expression.

“You got a minute? I’d like to talk.”

“Sure,” I said, willing Sol Aeternus back into its necklace form with a thought, and then followed him outside.

He leaned against the wall. “One week until we march out. It feels like everyone’s holding their breath. And then there’s you.” He had an exasperated smile. “Doesn’t anything ever get under your skin?”

“Nah, you should know how I am by now,” I replied with a shrug. “This thing’s gonna be lightwork.”

“I wish everyone felt that way,” he sighed, looking out toward the hills. “This tension… it’s getting to some of us more than others. I’m worried about Gwen. She seems off. I don’t think she’s ready for next Monday.”

So he’s noticed it too.

“She is,” I told him. “I’m sure of it. I just don’t think she believes it herself right now.”

“Probably,” Jason agreed, pushing off the wall. “She keeps looking to me for approval on calls she already knows are right. It’s like she doesn’t trust her own instincts anymore. That kind of self-doubt can get someone killed in Oakland. She’s going to second-guess herself before a critical order, and someone’s going to pay for it.”

“Bit harsh,” I acknowledged, “but it’s an easy problem to fix. We both agree she’s capable of it. She just needs to see that for herself.”

“So what kind of crazy plan do you have for this? You always have one.”

He was putting me on the spot, but luckily, I’d been thinking about this particular issue ever since my conversation with Gwen on our way to the storehouse.

“What about the next war games?” I suggested. “It’s the only place to give her a chance before the real battlefield. We just need to create a situation where she has no choice but to take command.”

“How exactly are we going to do that?” Jason asked skeptically. “We’ll have a strategy going in. All she’d have to do is follow it.”

“We’ll throw whatever plan you guys make into the wind,” I said, a wide grin spreading across my face. “The second the horns blow, I’m flying out there, and I’ll get rid of the person she’d normally rely on. I’m sure you can figure out the rest now.”

It took him a moment before the realization dawned in his eyes. 

“…I get it,” he said. “You’re forcing her hand. As the Fifth’s Senior Centurion, our cohort’s always turned to me for orders. If we’re locked in a duel, they lose their commander on the field. At the same time, it’s not an instant loss for us since your team loses their strongest weapon. While I’m occupied with you, Gwen will have no choice but to take command and come up with a new plan on the spot.”

“The results don’t matter either. She’ll learn the sky doesn’t fall just because you’re not holding her hand,” I elaborated, then tapped the pendant hanging around my neck. “And hey, it’ll even be fun for us. I just got my sword back, properly blessed and all that good stuff. Let’s find out how your puny Ivlivs stacks up against Sol Aeternus.”

He laughed. “Then let’s make it a good one.”