99 AC / 54 HA
Octavian
"Are you set?" Father asked, extending a gauntleted hand toward me.
He was dressed for war: a matte black, long-tailed coat with a high collar that rose just enough to mask his jawline. Emerald trims and a velvet inner lining proudly displayed our house colors. Beneath the coat, his form was protected by reinforced leather armor—interlocking charcoal plates layered over a darkened mesh, etched with subtle, glowing green runic filigree.
I grimaced, staring at his outstretched hand. "I fail to understand how this ever lasted as a sustainable method of travel."
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "That is just poor sportsmanship, Octavian. Just because you cannot execute it properly does not mean you should badmouth the game."
"Believe me, from where I stand, splinching myself is no game," I muttered wearily.
"Aye, but that is only a risk when a green boy does the work," he said nonchalantly, before his ancient, electric eyes hardened. "And I am not green, boy."
I didn't even have time to flinch before he seized my forearm.
CRACK.
"Wait, no, I'm not—"
The words were violently ripped from my throat. The air compressed, crushing my lungs, before abruptly spitting me out into a completely different world. The heavy red canvas of a command tent instantly surrounded me. The familiar, wretched sensation of nausea rolled through my gut. I hunched over, grabbing the edge of a heavy oak table, fighting staunchly to keep my bile from spilling across the deployment maps.
"I still have yet to diminish the sound of that distortion," Father murmured distantly, entirely unaffected by the spatial jump.
"Deus," several voices gasped. The heavy clanking of iron plates and mail immediately followed as the men in the tent dropped to the dirt. "Princeps."
Having regained a fraction of my bearings, I turned and glared at my father. He merely waved a dismissive hand at me.
"Now, now, Octavian, you have apparated with me more times than I can count—"
"And yet, I prefer a portkey above all else," I interrupted, my voice hoarse from the acid in my throat. "It is a much safer and far more elegant method than this violent travesty."
"A method that unfortunately does not function outside the Imperial wards. And, as your luck would have it, we are indeed outside the wards," Father stated plainly.
I chose not to argue the point further. I finally took stock of the room. Four figures knelt before us in the dirt, their heads bowed, right fists pressed firmly over their hearts in the Imperial salute.
Suddenly, the tent flaps parted. Two legionaries in heavy red and black plate rushed inside, spears drawn. "General, are you hale? We heard a loud crack from within the—"
They froze. Seeing their commanders kneeling in the dirt, their eyes darted to us. The fight instantly drained from their faces, and they collapsed to their knees without another word.
"You may rise. Claudius, Titus, Rufus..." Father's glowing eyes drifted to the fourth man. "Interesting. I do not know your name, young man."
The youngest officer finally looked up, raw awe reflecting in his auburn eyes. "I am called Alexius, Deus."
"I see. You may rise, Alexius," Father commanded softly.
General Titus turned a blistering glare on the two trembling sentries by the flap. "Return to your posts. Speak nothing of what you saw here, or I will have your tongues." It was a command and a deadly promise woven into one. The soldiers scrambled out of the tent like frightened mice.
Titus rose slowly. He was an aging man with a balding head, a clean-shaven face, and cold black eyes, yet he carried himself with absolute, terrifying discipline.
Father ignored the interruption, casually inspecting the strategic maps and casualty reports scattered across the heavy oak table.
I stepped forward, wiping a sheen of cold sweat from my brow. "How did their last charge end?"
Grand General Claudius stepped forward. He was of a similar age to Rufus, though he still kept a full head of hair. His neutral expression carried a grim lethality, accentuated by a thick, bristling white moustache. Like all commanders of the legions, he was tall, lean, and heavily muscled despite his advancing years. Pale battle scars adorned his exposed forearms, worn proudly as medals of valour.
"It was stopped a mere hour before you arrived, Princeps," Claudius reported, his voice like grinding stone. "Deus commanded the halt."
Rufus quickly pulled a heavy wooden chair forward for my father, while Alexius hurriedly did the same for me.
"What are our current casualties?" I asked, sinking heavily into the seat.
"We have counted eight thousand dead so far," Claudius answered grimly. "I hazard it will rise to perhaps eleven thousand by the time the corpse-gatherers finish their work."
"And what of the enemy's losses?" Father asked. He took his seat, motioning with a flick of his wrist for the generals to do the same.
"Far greater than ours," Titus replied coldly. "We will know the exact toll once the scouts return from the perimeter."
Father nodded slowly. "How are the preparations for the Inquisition?"
"Admiral Quintus has relayed that the fresh Legion carrying the elephants and the heavy siege engines is prepared. They remain hidden within the eastern woods and hills," Claudius explained. "Paladin Maria has also sent a missive. She requested that her Order lead the vanguard of this new Legion. I acquiesced, and dispatched riders with martial orders for her to force-march them to our position by the dead of night."
"Very well. Everything seems to be in order." Father stood, the emerald runes on his leather armor pulsing faintly in the dim light. He fixed his glowing gaze on me. "I trust you to command the siege from here, Octavian. Handle any unforeseen circumstances that may arise."
"By your will, Aeternus," I said resolutely, pushing myself to my feet.
Father offered a brief, satisfied smile. Then, the very fabric of space bent violently around his form. The void swallowed him whole.
CRACK.