The icy wind blowing from the Danube carried the scent of ozone and freshly cut wood, mixed with the palpable expectation hanging over the southern bank. Where days before there had been only mud, turbulent water, and the usual confusion of a military crossing, now stood a monument to engineering and audacity.

  Titus Valerius stood on the bank, the purple cloak of his Praefectus Castrorum rank flapping violently in the wind. Beside him, Lucius maintained a respectful posture, but his eyes, circled by dark rings from sleepless nights, shone with the creator's pride. Behind them, a small crowd of soldiers, Immunes, and officers from other cohorts had formed spontaneously. The buzz was inevitable.

  What they saw defied traditional Roman aesthetic understanding. It wasn't the heavy, eternal stone arches of aqueducts, nor the unstable boats tied with ropes. It was a geometric structure, aggressive and light. The pale wood of pine and oak formed a web of triangles stretching over the dark waters, seeming to float with an arrogance that mocked gravity. The bridge was 90% complete, lacking only the final connection to the enemy bank, where an advanced team protected by shields was already preparing the ground.

  "It is truly impressive, Lucius..." murmured Valerius, his voice struggling to be heard over the roar of the current. He narrowed his eyes, trying to understand how those thin beams supported the weight of the wide deck. "It looks fragile to the eye, like a bird's skeleton, but my reports say it is solid as rock. Explain it to me again. How? And how so fast?"

  Lucius took a step forward, pointing to the bridge's lateral structure.

  "The speed comes from the method, sir. We didn't fight the river by driving a forest of piles into its bed. We assembled the bridge on dry land," Lucius explained, gesturing to the assembly areas in the rear. "We made the pieces like assembling a fitting toy. The cranes just put them in place. While one team prepared the foundation, the other already had the bridge ready. The work was parallel, not sequential."

  He moved his hand, tracing the shape of the triangles in the air.

  "And the strength... the strength comes from geometry, noble Valerius. Those triangles on the sides. They force the wood to work together.

  When a cart passes, the weight tries to push down, but the diagonal beams pull up and to the sides. The whole structure tenses and relaxes like a muscle, distributing the load. We use less wood to cover greater distances."

  Valerius nodded slowly, absorbing the explanation. The logic was flawless, though the sight was alien.

  "I want to see it up close," the noble decided, taking a step toward the access ramp. "I want to walk on the part that is already ready."

  Lucius hesitated, slightly blocking the path with his body.

  "Sir, the structure is safe, but it is still a construction site. There are loose tools, exposed nails, and the side railing hasn't been fully fixed yet. One false step..."

  "I have marched with the legions for thirty years, Lucius. I won't trip on a nail," Valerius cut in, with a smile that admitted no refusal. "If I am to send thousands of men to death or glory across this structure, the least I can do is test its firmness under my own boots. Let's go."

  Left with no choice, Lucius signaled two guards from the noble's personal escort and followed Valerius.

  Walking on the bridge was a unique sensory experience. Unlike pontoon bridges, which swayed and groaned with the current, that structure felt anchored to the earth itself. The wooden deck underfoot was wide and firm. The sound of Valerius's boots echoed dry and solid.

  They walked to the current limit of construction, stopping where the bridge ended abruptly over the middle of the river, awaiting the last section. The wind there was stronger, and the water rushed furiously meters below, foaming against the few support piles.

  Valerius grabbed one of the lateral truss beams, shaking it hard. The structure didn't even vibrate.

  "Incredible," the noble admitted, looking at the horizon, to the northern bank, where the Germanic forest looked like a dark green, hostile wall. "It doesn't sway. It doesn't creak. It is a road suspended in the air."

  He turned to Lucius, the wind ruffling his gray hair.

  "You are doing an impressive job, Lucius. More than impressive. This changes war logistics. If we can cross rivers with this speed and stability, Germania will have nowhere to hide."

  "Thank you, sir. I only apply what nature teaches," Lucius replied, maintaining a modest tone but feeling the relief of seeing his theory validated in practice.

  "Don't be so modest," Valerius chided good-naturedly. "Let's go back before we disturb your men. I am sure the Emperor will want to meet the architect of this marvel personally when he sees it."

  They turned around and began walking back to the safety of the southern bank. Lucius walked a step behind the noble, his eyes scanning the landscape out of habit, a reflex acquired in training days and the constant paranoia of being in war territory.

  He looked at the opposite bank, beyond the tree line, where the hill rose slightly. The distance was great, perhaps five hundred meters or more. To an untrained eye, it was just forest and shadow.

  But then, something happened.

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  A flash.

  A quick, intense reflection of light, like a small sun blinking amidst the dense foliage.

  Lucius stopped instantly, squinting. The reflection repeated. It wasn't the diffuse shine of the sun on a wet rock or a puddle. It was focused, circular. It was the reflection of the sun on a convex lens.

  His heart raced, pumping ice into his veins. He focused his vision on that point. For a fraction of a second, between the branches of an ancient pine, he saw a figure.

  It wasn't an animal. It was a man. He was partially hidden by shadows, but Lucius could distinguish the silhouette. The man held something before his face. Two short tubes, joined by a central bridge. He lowered them for a moment, and the reflection ceased.

  Binoculars.

  The word exploded in Lucius's mind, screaming with the force of a thousand trumpets. Rudimentary binoculars, perhaps made of bronze and roughly polished glass, but undeniably a binocular optical instrument of magnification.

  That shouldn't exist, Lucius thought, panic clawing at his throat. Simple telescopes, maybe, in Alexandria or China, very rudimentary. But portable binoculars? In the hands of a barbarian on the Danube frontier?

  "Lucius?" Valerius's voice brought him back. The noble had stopped and was looking at him with curiosity. "What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

  "I..." Lucius swallowed hard, pointing toward the distant hill. "Sir, I thought I saw someone. There, on that hill, among the tall pines. About five hundred paces away."

  Valerius turned immediately, his trained general's eyes scanning the indicated area. The guards also turned, hands going to sword hilts.

  "Where?" asked the noble, tense.

  "Behind that crooked oak, near the gray rock," Lucius indicated. "There was a reflection. Like light hitting polished metal or... glass."

  Valerius narrowed his eyes, fixing his gaze on the distance for long seconds. The wind swayed the branches. Nothing moved but nature.

  "I see no one now," said the noble, but he didn't relax his posture.

  "I am sure, sir," Lucius insisted, urgency in his voice. "There was someone there. And... he seemed to be watching us."

  Valerius frowned, worry shadowing his face.

  "Must be a barbarian scout," concluded the noble, voice cold. "Spying on our defenses, assessing our strength."

  He turned to the decurion commanding the escort at the bridge entrance.

  "You! Take ten men, mount up, and cross by the boats now! I want you to scour that hill. If you find any footprint, any sign of life, hunt them down. If you find a man, bring him alive. If he resists, bring his head."

  "Yes, sir!" The officer struck his chest and ran to organize the patrol.

  Valerius looked back at the forest, thoughtful.

  "It is strange," the noble murmured. "If it really is a barbarian scout... None of our patrols have seen a single German within a twenty-mile radius since we arrived here. They evaporated. And now, suddenly, a lone observer?"

  "What do you think it means?" asked Lucius, fearing the answer, his mind still spinning with the technological implication of what he had seen.

  Valerius shook his head.

  "I don't know yet, Lucius. But in war, anomalies usually precede disasters. This is not something good."

  Another day passed, and the tension of the scout incident was temporarily muffled by the triumph of engineering.

  The bridge was ready.

  Under the clear light of the next morning, the completed structure stretched from one bank to the other, an expressway over the chaos of the waters. The last section had been fitted during the night, and the Immunes had nailed the last floorboards at dawn.

  Lucius stood in the center of the bridge, accompanied by Aelius and a group of fifty engineers and workers. They weren't just looking; they were testing. Lucius had ordered two carts loaded with stones, simulating maximum supply weight, to be brought to the middle of the central span, the point of greatest tension.

  The wood creaked slightly, settling, but didn't yield. The truss held the load, distributing the weight perfectly to the piles.

  Lucius jumped on the deck, feeling the firmness. He looked at Aelius, whose face was lit by a smile of relief and pure professional joy.

  "It holds, sir," Aelius said, laughing. "It holds double that!"

  "You did very well, Aelius," Lucius praised, shaking the architect's hand. "Your coordination was impeccable. This bridge is as much yours as mine."

  He turned to the men, raising his voice.

  "Men! You accomplished the impossible. Rome went to sleep with a river in its path and woke up with a road. Be proud!"

  The soldiers shouted in approval, banging their tools against the wood.

  "But the work isn't over," Lucius reminded, lowering his tone for Aelius. "Now that we've proven the concept works, we have to replicate it in the other sectors. But this one here... this is already enough to pass two legions and their supplies continuously. We opened the door to Germania."

  The next scene was a living tableau of the Roman war machine in motion.

  Legio XII Fulminata was on the march.

  Lucius watched from a high point near the entrance of the newly built bridge. The sound was a physical vibration in the air: thousands of boots marching in unison, the clink of armor, the neighing of horses, and the creak of supply cart wheels—including the first units of his Capsa Modularis, following in the rear.

  It was a spectacle of terrifying discipline. The cohorts advanced in perfect columns, golden and red standards shining under the pale sun. Soldiers' faces were masks of stoic determination, gazes fixed on the horizon, ready to bring the Pax Romana on the tip of a gladius.

  At the head of the column, mounted on his white battle horse, was Titus Valerius. He wore his full general's armor, purple cloak flowing behind him, the transverse-crested helmet marking his rank. Beside him, other high-ranking officers and some men of the Emperor's Praetorian Guard. Valerius looked in Lucius's direction for a brief moment and gave a discreet nod, a silent acknowledgment between warrior and architect.

  Lucius returned the nod, feeling a mix of pride and melancholy. The bridge he had designed was supporting the weight of the Empire.

  Beside him, Aelius watched the march with reverence.

  "I thought you would go with them, Chief Engineer," commented Aelius. "After all, you came from Rome with the Fulminata. It is your legion."

  Lucius didn't take his eyes off the passing column of men.

  "I have responsibilities here, Aelius," he replied, voice distant. "Someone needs to ensure the rear is as strong as the front. And someone needs to prepare the way for reinforcements."

  As he spoke, Lucius's eyes frantically scanned the rows of passing soldiers. He was looking for a specific figure. A man who stood out by height and shoulder width, even among robust legionaries.

  He was looking for Flavio.

  Row after row passed. Young faces, old faces, scars, beards, identical helmets. Lucius narrowed his eyes, trying to penetrate the uniformity of the mass. He saw men who reminded him of his friend, but as they approached, they were strangers.

  The First Cohort passed. The Second. The Third...

  Lucius felt a tightness in his chest. The probability of seeing a single soldier amidst five thousand was small, he knew. Flavio could be on the other side of the column, or perhaps had already crossed on another pontoon bridge earlier with the vanguard.

  But the silence of absence screamed in his mind.

  "I hope you stay well, my friend," Lucius whispered, his words lost in the noise of the march. "Don't die for a golden eagle. Die of old age, fat and happy on your own farm."

  The legion continued to march, swallowed by the open mouth of the truss bridge, disappearing towards the dark forests of Germania.