[img]https://i.imgur.com/Z3Ol4sO.png[/img]
[hr][hr][center][color=purple]Location: New Rome Bazaar, and outside the Coliseum[/color][/center][hr][hr]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/TEqKgcU.jpeg[/img][hr][hr]

Camilla slipped away from the stands before the last echoes of the previous match fully faded, her steps carrying her toward the wide outer ring of the Coliseum. The sun had begun its slow descent, gilding the stone archways in molten light and scorching the air until it shimmered. The heat didn’t bother her; storms lived under her skin. Sweat evaporated before it could form.

The Solstice crowds were at their thickest now, laughter spilling into the open streets, music rising from the Forum, food vendors wheeling their carts closer for the evening rush. The air smelled of roasted meat, citrus wine, and sweet pastries dusted in powdered ambrosia. Babies cried, dogs barked, someone shouted about a lost sandal, and somewhere in the distance a faun played a slightly out-of-tune pan flute in exchange for tips. It was chaotic, alive, and exactly what New Rome looked like when it was happiest.

Along the perimeter, the younger Legionnaires stood at their posts, some tall with pride, others trying to appear braver than they felt. A few tapped their fingers nervously against the hilts of their weapons; others stiffened when a spark of festival fireworks whistled overhead. It was their first major holiday patrol, an honor, and a pressure cooker.

Camilla’s presence had a way of straightening spines.

She approached the first checkpoint: two Third Cohort campers stationed near the eastern arch. They snapped to attention the moment they spotted the purple of her cloak and the gleam of her Praetor insignia.

[color=831EBD]“At ease,”[/color] she said gently, a hand raised in dismissal of their rigidity. [color=831EBD]“Long day?”[/color]

One of them—an anxious fifteen-year-old with a gladius too big for his belt—nodded, cheeks pink. [color=gray]“Yes, Praetor. I mean—no. I mean—yes, ma’am, but we’re handling it.”[/color]

Camilla bit back a smile.

[color=831EBD]“You’re doing more than handling it. This is the cleanest perimeter sweep I’ve seen from Third Cohort in weeks.”[/color] She rested her hand briefly on the boy’s shoulder, grounding him. [color=831EBD]“Trust yourself. You train for a reason.”[/color]

The praise hit him like a lightning strike. His chest straightened. His partner beamed, whispering a stunned, [color=gray]“Told you she’d say something like that,”[/color] under his breath.

Camilla continued onward.

She moved with the kind of quiet gravity that commanded respect without demanding it. Legionnaires called out greetings as she passed; some straightened their armor, wiping sweat from their brows as if she might inspect them. Others merely relaxed when her shadow crossed theirs. Having a Praetor walk the perimeter wasn’t protocol, it was reassurance.

Every checkpoint she reached, she offered the same blend of precision and warmth, the rare balance only she could manage. A daughter of Jupiter, but not distant. A Praetor, but not untouchable. She knew every name she passed, every cohort assignment, every strength she’d seen in the training arenas and every flaw she was helping them carve into steel.

[color=831EBD]“Keep those eyes scanning the rooftops. That’s your blind angle.”[/color]

[color=831EBD]“Relax your grip, you’ll cramp before sundown.”[/color]

[color=831EBD]“Don’t forget to hydrate. Even a demigod passes out if they’re stubborn enough.”[/color]

She paused at one post where a pair of Second Cohort girls were quietly bickering over their formation spacing. When they noticed her, both froze.

Camilla simply pointed at the gap between them.
[color=831EBD]“If something slipped between you two in a real breach, you’d both have explaining to do.”[/color]
They scrambled closer, embarrassed.
[color=831EBD]“Better,”[/color] she said, then softened. [color=831EBD]“You’ve got good instincts. Don’t doubt them.”[/color]

They looked as though Jupiter himself had descended to pat their heads.

A pair of First Cohort veterans were stationed near the main entrance. Older, calmer, more seasoned, but still visibly relieved when Camilla approached.

[color=831EBD]“Everything holding steady out here?”[/color] she asked.

[color=gray]“So far,”[/color] one answered. [color=gray]“Crowd’s getting restless. Betting stalls are overflowing.”[/color]

[color=831EBD]“Well,”[/color] Camilla said, her lips curving with dry humor, [color=831EBD]“it wouldn’t be a Roman festival if someone didn’t bet their entire month’s stipend on a duel they didn’t watch.”[/color]

That earned a round of chuckles, that low, respectful kind that rolled out naturally in her presence.

As she walked, a soft breeze curled around her, stirring the edges of her cloak. The atmosphere shifted with her mood, it always did. The sky brightened just a little when she passed. The air grew steadier, calmer, like the world itself aligned out of obligation.

She didn’t consciously summon it. But nature always seemed to move around her rather than through her.

A few younger campers peeked out from their posts as she passed, whispering to each other with awestruck excitement:

[color=gray]“That’s her—”[/color]
[color=gray]“The lightning girl.”[/color]
[color=gray]“She took down a drakon last year on her own.”[/color]
[color=gray]“She’s barely even served before getting promoted.”[/color]

Camilla pretended not to hear, though her heart tightened with something warm and complicated. Admiration was a gift, but it was also heavy. She carried it like she carried everything else: straight-backed, steady, and silently.

By the time she reached the western edge looking out over the Forum where crowds were thickening in waves, she stopped. Hands behind her back. Shoulders square. Watching over her city.

From here she could see nearly everything: the flash of vendors’ gold bangles reflecting sunlight, the swirl of purple silk banners overhead, the ever-growing line of spectators pressing toward the Coliseum’s entrance as the final duels approached. Children darted between stalls carrying sweet drinks, while veterans argued loudly over which champion would take the title.

Cassian was somewhere inside preparing for the next round of duels. She could already feel the shift in the crowd as excitement swelled, the subtle change in atmospheric pressure that accompanied anticipation. Soon she’d return, take her seat at the front, and lead with poise beside him, letting him shoulder the spotlight as they’d agreed.

Her strength was presence. His was visibility. Together, they worked.

But for now?

Her place was here.
With her Legion.
With the pulse of New Rome.
With the thunder she carried quietly in her bloodstream.

[color=831EBD]“Keep your heads up,”[/color] she called to the nearest watch group, her voice carrying like a clear note of command. [color=831EBD]“It’s Solstice. That means anything can happen.”[/color]