Elara wanted to argue. To fight. To demand. But a lifetime of military discipline asserted itself. She was outmatched, out-timed, and utterly disoriented. She was a weapon in a foreign land.
"What do you require of me?" she finally asked, her voice flat.
"First, a wardrobe change. Your attire, while stylish for its era, is… impractical,"
Quinn said, waving a hand. A section of the wall slid open, revealing a closet filled with clothes she'd never seen: strange fabrics, dark colors, bizarre shapes. He pulled out a pair of dark, sturdy trousers, a long-sleeved tunic, and a heavy, almost armored-looking jacket.
"These are… 'tactical.' They blend, but will not hinder."
She changed in a small adjoining room, feeling utterly exposed. The fabrics were soft but surprisingly tough. The boots were light but gripped the floor like a second skin. It wasn't Roman, but it felt… efficient.
When she emerged, Quinn was waiting. He led her to a glass door at the back of the shop, which opened into a small, impossibly green garden. Despite being in the middle of a bustling city, the air here was clean, smelling of rich earth and blooming flowers. A patch of ancient herbs, unknown to her, grew vibrantly.
"Before we go back," Quinn stated, handing her a small, oddly shaped metal tool—a trowel, "you need to calm your Heartbeat. The jump was rough. If you go back in too agitated, your physical form will struggle to coalesce. Find the Artemisia Pontica. It's the one with the silvery leaves. And don't touch the Belladonna."
He pointed to the patch.
Elara stared at the patch, then at the trowel. Was this her 're-training'?
"You ask a Centurion to… garden?"
"It grounds you," Quinn said, picking up a strange, glowing rectangle from a nearby bench. "Connects you to this new, slower flow of time. Besides," he added, glancing at the glowing rectangle in his hand, which displayed moving pictures, "it's therapeutic. Most of my assets found it so."
She watched him for a moment, then hesitantly began to dig. The soil was rich, cool beneath her fingers. She found herself — despite her outrage — focusing on the simple, tangible task. The scent of the herbs was indeed soothing. She glanced up, seeing Quinn watching his glowing rectangle. He caught her eye.
"That," he said, nodding to the rectangle, "is a tablet. It allows me to… observe distant events. Fascinating, isn't it?" He then stood up, placed the tablet on a small, ornate pedestal, and it projected a holographic map of her fort.
The garden vanished from her awareness as the map glowed. It was her fort, intricately detailed. Red blips pulsed, denoting the Echoes.
"Your fort, Castra Legionis, is effectively a bomb," Quinn explained. "The Standard of the Lost Ninth is the fuse. We go back. You secure the Standard. I do the… heavy lifting."
"And what is your… heavy lifting?" Elara asked, her gaze fixed on the red blips.
Quinn smirked. "I don't just 'extract' relics. Sometimes, I extract entire locations. If we can secure the Standard, I can 'snatch' the fort itself out of the timeline before Vergil's erasure is complete. It becomes a pocket dimension within my Archive. A base for you. A place to train. A place to truly anchor yourself."
He walked over to her, his presence surprisingly close. He placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. A strange warmth spread through her. Her headache, which had been a dull throb, vanished.
"Think of it as a… Link," Quinn explained, seeing her reaction.
"Now that you're in my System, I can feed you small amounts of my 'Paradox Logic.' It strengthens your connection. Enhances your abilities. And right now, you need to be at your peak."
Elara felt a surge of strength. Her mind, previously fogged, was now crystal clear. She could feel the flow of time around them, a subtle vibration. It was exhilarating.
"So," she said, looking up at him, "you offer me a new purpose. A new Legion. A new Rome, within this… strange place."
"A new existence," Quinn corrected, his eyes holding hers. "One where you fight against something far greater than Picts. Against the very concept of an ending."
Just as Elara was about to ask her next question, the quiet chime of the shop's front door echoed through the garden. It wasn't the familiar, soft ding of a regular customer. It was a sharp, almost urgent BRRRING that resonated with a subtle, temporal distortion.
Quinn's expression hardened. He looked at the door, then back at Elara. "Speak of the devil. Or, rather, the Janitors." He tapped his wrist. A small, glowing message appeared on his forearm.
[URGENT: TEMPORAL ANOMALY DETECTED]
Sector: Britannia, 120 AD (Localized Eradication Event)
Cause: Unauthorized Asset Extraction / Timeline Interference
Warning: Significant Static Spike. Further interference will result in Temporal Rot.
BTR Directive: Cease and Desist immediately.
Quinn snorted, deleting the message with a dismissive flick of his thumb.
"Always so dramatic, those bureaucrats. My 'illegal extraction' in 120 AD has apparently caused a 'massive spike in Static.' They'll send a clean-up crew if I don't 'cease and desist.'"
He gave Elara a wolfish grin. "Which, of course, means we have to go back. Now."
He pulled his trench coat from the stand, shrugging it on. Elara, now dressed in her modern tactical gear, felt a surge of adrenaline. The garden, the strange clothes, the impossible explanations, it all coalesced. This was her new war.
Quinn clicked his watch, the gears whining in reverse. He looked at her, his expression a mix of challenge and anticipation.
"Ready to go back and rob your own funeral, Centurion?"
Elara gripped the hilt of her newly sheathed gladius, now glowing faintly with the Static energy Quinn had imparted. Her eyes, once filled with the despair of a dying world, now blazed with a fierce, renewed purpose.
"Lead the way, Paradox."