As the chariot reached the palace, the Emperor stepped down, no longer feeling like a god, but like a man. He turned to the slave. "And tomorrow?"
"Look at this," the Emperor muttered, gesturing to the eternal city. "My legacy is written in granite." Pro Memoria
But tucked in the shadow behind him stood a slave, small and unremarkable, clutching the rim of the chariot. As the Emperor waved to the masses, the slave leaned forward, his breath cold against the ruler’s ear. As the chariot reached the palace, the Emperor