Lucius crossed the threshold of the low door, leaving the gloom of the room where his family rested to enter the adjacent room, lit only by an oil lamp flickering on the sturdy table. Flavio sat on a wooden bench, wiping dried blood from his arm with a damp cloth and a grimace of contained pain.

  Noticing his friend's presence, the giant looked up.

  "How are they?" Flavio asked, his voice hoarse, lowering the cloth.

  Lucius sighed, feeling the weight of the world on his aching shoulders. He leaned against the table, unable to sit immediately due to his bruised ribs.

  "Traumatized," Lucius replied, bitterness tinging every syllable. "Selena is trying to be strong for the girl, but I saw the terror in her eyes. And little Lucia... no child should see what she saw today. It's my fault, Flavio. Mine alone. I brought this darkness into their lives."

  Flavio shook his head slowly and thoughtfully.

  "Don't martyr yourself, brother. The past is a river that has already flowed; you cannot drink from its waters again. What matters is the now. They will be fine here. My door is strong, and no one knows you are with me. And soon, very soon, they will be under that noble's roof, surrounded by high walls and guards. They will be safe."

  Lucius nodded, absorbing the promise of safety like a balm. He looked at the man before him, that colossus of loyalty who had risked his own life without hesitation.

  "Thank you, Flavio. Again. I can never repay what you did for us today."

  There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sputtering of the lamp. Lucius frowned, a doubt surfacing in his mind.

  "But tell me... why did you come back? We had said goodbye on the street. You were already far away."

  Flavio stopped cleaning the wound and looked at the ceiling, scratching his thick beard with a confused expression.

  "Ah, that..." he began, a half-embarrassed smile appearing on his lips. "I was walking home when I realized I had forgotten to ask you something. Something that seemed important at the time."

  Lucius let out a short, incredulous laugh.

  "That saved us. If you hadn't come back for that question, we would be dead now. And what was it? What were you going to ask?"

  Flavio furrowed his brow, struggling to remember, but soon his shoulders relaxed and he let out a thunderous laugh.

  "By the gods, Lucius! I forgot!" the giant admitted, laughing at his own failing memory. "The fight must have wiped it from my mind."

  Lucius started laughing too—a painful laugh due to his ribs, but genuine. It was the laughter of relief, at the irony of fate using a simple man's forgetfulness to save an entire family.

  "Blessed be your forgetfulness, my friend," Lucius said.

  Flavio reached out and grabbed a clay jug and two dented metal cups. He poured the dark wine and handed one to Lucius.

  "Drink. It will help with the pain and sleep."

  Lucius took the cup, feeling the cold metal against his palm. He thanked him with a nod and stared at the black liquid, seeing his distorted reflection on the surface. The wine swirled, just like his thoughts.

  "So that's it," Lucius murmured, breaking the silence. "We are really going. In the end, my destiny is to march with the legions."

  Flavio took a large gulp from his cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  "I was already planning to go, as I told you. Life in the quarry is a slow death, brother. But I confess I was quite skeptical about you going. You have the mind of a sage, not the body of a warrior. But, seeing how you handled yourself today... maybe there is hope."

  Flavio leaned forward, his face illuminated by the yellow flame.

  "And think about it. You won't be a frontline soldier. The noble said he wants your mind. You can do good things in the legion."

  Flavio's words were like a spark in a pile of dry straw. Lucius looked up from the wine, the engineer's mind waking from the lethargy of trauma.

  Flavio was right. He was being forced to serve, yes. If not for the loan sharks and the imminent threat, he would have refused Titus Valerius's offer and stayed in Rome building washing machines and lathes. But reality was different. The noble's protection was the only barrier between his family and slavery.

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  However, there was something else. A perspective he hadn't considered until that moment.

  War was logistics. War was engineering.

  He didn't know which barbarian tribe Marcus Aurelius was marching against. His history classes were vague about the specific names. Marcomanni? Quadi? Sarmatians? It mattered little. What mattered was that ancient wars were long, brutal, and decided by whoever had the best infrastructure and siege capabilities.

  "I can speed this up..." Lucius whispered to himself, his eyes fixed on an invisible point on the wall.

  If he applied the principles of modern engineering, or at least optimized classical engineering, he could change the pace of the campaign. He could design bridges that would be assembled in half the time, allowing for rapid crossings. He could improve siege weapons—ballistae with greater range, onagers with faster reload times, modular assault towers. He could improve the roads and the flow of supplies.

  If he was efficient enough, if his inventions tipped the scales even further in Rome's favor, the war would end faster. And if the war ended fast, he would go home. He would return to civilian life, to Selena and Lucia, with gold in his pocket and his duty done.

  Flavio watched the change in his friend's posture. The hunched, defeated man of minutes ago had vanished. In his place was someone with a frightening intensity in his gaze.

  "Lucius?" Flavio called. "You look... determined. Your eyes are shining in a strange way."

  Lucius blinked, focusing back on the reality of the room. He took a long sip of wine and set the cup firmly on the table.

  "We are going to survive, Flavio," he declared, his voice solid as stone. "We aren't just going to march. We are going to win this war, and we are going to come back home before Lucia forgets my face."

  Flavio smiled, raising his cup in a silent toast.

  "That's the spirit, brother. That's the spirit."

  The next morning brought with it a pale, cold light. Lucius and Flavio left the apartment early, moving through the shadows before the city fully awoke. Flavio insisted on avoiding the main roads; the loan sharks would be looking, and Lucius, limping and with his face disfigured by bruises, would attract too much attention.

  They followed narrow alleys, jumping over sewage puddles and dodging garbage carts, on a winding path to Marcus's workshop. Every step was a sacrifice for Lucius. His ribs protested with every breath, and his left leg felt like it weighed a ton. But he gritted his teeth and continued, occasionally leaning on Flavio's shoulder.

  When they finally spotted the carpentry shop's facade, Marcus was already outside, sweeping the entrance. Seeing the deplorable state of the two friends, the carpenter dropped the broom and ran to meet them.

  "By the gods!" Marcus exclaimed, holding Lucius by the arm to help him. "What happened to you two? It looks like you were run over by a chariot!"

  The concern on Marcus's face was genuine. There was no commercial interest like before, only the empathy of a friend.

  "Loan sharks," Flavio replied, short and blunt, as they helped Lucius enter and sit on a bench.

  Marcus stopped, his face taking on a somber expression of understanding. He fetched water for them and sighed heavily.

  "I'm sorry... I'm truly sorry for all this," the carpenter lamented. "I know that pain. For a time, in my youth, I owed men like that. It's like having a rope around your neck that tightens a little more each day."

  He looked at Lucius with solidarity.

  "I only managed to get rid of the debt and save my skin by serving in the army."

  Lucius drank the water avidly, feeling the cool liquid clear his dry throat.

  "I'm going to do everything right this time, Marcus," Lucius said, his voice hoarse. "I won't make the same mistakes."

  "You already are, my friend," Marcus replied, a proud smile appearing amidst the worry. "Your inventions... they are worthy of a Greek, perhaps even Archimedes."

  Lucius smiled, grateful for the exaggerated but comforting praise.

  "Come, let me show you something that will cheer you up," Marcus said.

  He guided their gaze to the back of the workshop. There, not just one, but two treadle lathes were set up. A young assistant worked on one of them, his foot moving rhythmically on the wooden pedal, whir-whir-whir, while both hands held the chisel firmly against the spinning piece. Wood flew in perfect ribbons, and the speed was impressive.

  "Look at that," Marcus said, pointing. "I've doubled my production since yesterday. I made one for myself and one for the boy. My ankles don't hurt, and my hands are free for the art."

  The carpenter walked to a workbench where some pieces were being finished.

  "And that's not all. I'm working on commission now. It's hard to produce everything in large quantities, as I feared, but news travels fast in Rome. Women have already come here, wives of merchants and even servants from rich houses, asking about the 'clothes-squeezing machine.' My assistant did a good job spreading the news in the market."

  Lucius felt a wave of satisfaction warm his chest, momentarily dulling the physical pain. He was leaving a mark. His engineering was making life easier for common people.

  "I'm very happy about all this, Marcus. Truly," Lucius said. "Knowing I leave something useful behind gives me peace."

  Marcus's expression became serious again. He went to a locked drawer in his main desk and took out a small cloth-wrapped package and some papyrus scrolls sealed with red wax.

  "A messenger from Noble Titus Valerius left here shortly before you arrived," Marcus informed them, handing the items to Lucius. "He brought the official documents and your identification."

  Lucius opened the package. Inside was a metal plate, the signaculum, with his name engraved and, below it, the name of Titus Valerius as his patron and superior officer. It was the weight of reality in bronze form. He now belonged to the noble.

  Marcus watched Lucius hold the plate.

  "It will be a pity not to have you here during this time you serve the noble, Lucius," the carpenter said sincerely. "Your mind will be missed in this workshop."

  Lucius put the plate away and looked at his friend.

  "I will do my best, Marcus. And I promise: I will return. I will come back alive and help you expand this trade. We will make dozens, hundreds of machines."

  Marcus smiled, but there was an enigmatic glint in his eyes.

  "Perhaps that won't happen, my friend."

  Lucius frowned, confused.

  "Why? Do you think I'll die?"

  Marcus laughed and shook his head.

  "No, that's not it. I get the feeling you won't come back to be my partner in a dusty carpentry shop," Marcus replied, looking at the engineering drawings scattered on the table. "I have a feeling you're going to impress a lot of people yet, Lucius. Very powerful people. Your place, I fear, will be far above this workshop."