[table] [row] [sup][h3][b][color=2e2c2c] ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ [right]▅▅▅▅▅▅[/right] [/color][/b][/h3][/sup] [/row][row] [cell] [center][color=BBC922]___________________________________[/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/Rw7WQQ1.jpeg[/img] [color=gray]◇──◆──◇──◆[/color] [sub][color=BBC922]𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑[/color] [color=silver]Legionnaries, Loxias[/color][/sub] [color=gray]◇──◆──◇──◆[/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/x2Ycyt3.gif[/img] [color=gray]◇──◆──◇──◆[/color] [sub][color=BBC922]𝙻𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗[/color] [color=silver][sub]Medical Station, Forum and Coliseum[/sub][/color][/sub] [color=gray]◇──◆──◇──◆[/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/fz5tjhl.gif[/img] [color=BBC922]___________________________________[/color][/center] [/cell][cell] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/wLK02wG.png[/img] [color=gray]◇──◆──◇──◆[/color][/center] [indent][sup][color=silver] The festival air felt even warmer once Lucius stepped out of the shaded healer’s alcove behind the training arena. Sweat clung to the back of his neck beneath his curls, and he rolled his shoulders once, the faint ache of power-use lingering in the joints. Working a healing station during Solstice always meant back-to-back patients, bruised ribs, sprains, cuts that wouldn’t clot until he coaxed the warmth of Apollo through his fingertips. Gods knew he didn’t mind doing it; it soothed something in him. But after a few hours of it, he always felt hollowed out, as if some part of his light had been scooped out and used up. The alcove behind him was already filling with new voices, groans, laughter, the metallic echo of discarded gear hitting the floor. Chandler’s apprentices were sorting tinctures, restocking nectar vials, and shouting over one another about who’d borrowed the last roll of ambrosia-wrap. Lucius offered them a halfhearted wave as he stepped into the open air. He tugged his messenger-style med bag more securely across his chest and stepped into the main artery of New Rome just as a line of sparring victors limped out past him, slapping his shoulder in passing. [color=gray]“Thanks, Doc!”[/color] [color=gray]“Lucius, you’re a lifesaver, literally!”[/color] [color=gray]“Come see my next match? I’m defending my bracket!”[/color] Lucius waved them off with an easy, tired grin. [color=BBC922]“Hydrate, for gods’ sake. And don’t try to show off by fighting again if your knee is still clicking, Phelan, I will drag you to the ER myself.”[/color] Phelan yelped something unintelligible and disappeared into the crowd before Lucius could grab him by the collar. The Forum stretched ahead in a brilliant sprawl of steam, music, shouting, and color. Silk banners rippled overhead like molten sunlight. The smell of charred meat skewers mixed with sweet fried dough and the sharp herby tang of faun-made ale. Someone had set up a wooden stage for impromptu performances; a few kids were sword-dancing badly on top of it. A street vendor was aggressively waving a tray of 'Solstice Lucky Corncakes' at passerby, promising divine blessings with every bite. And beneath it all, that thrum. The heartbeat of Camp Jupiter when everyone celebrated the same thing at once. Lucius slowed, letting the world fold around him in sound and heat. He loved this place. He hated this place. Or maybe he hated that it still felt like it owned some piece of him. Not New Rome. Not the people. Just… the weight of what it meant to belong here. A group of younger legionnaires noticed him lingering, waving him over with frantic energy. Lucius approached before he could talk himself out of it. [color=gray]“Lucius! You’re back! Are you staying for the champion duel?”[/color] [color=gray]“Is it true you might return to active duty?”[/color] [color=gray]“Sir, I— I mean— Lucius, would you look at this?”[/color] One boy, maybe seventeen, stuck out his forearm. A swelling bruise was spreading under the skin, someone had smashed him with a shield, judging from the oblong shape. Lucius sighed through his nose. [color=BBC922]“You tried to block a blunt strike with bare bone.”[/color] He took the kid’s forearm gently in both hands. [color=BBC922]“Let this be a life lesson.”[/color] Golden warmth spread beneath his palms, soft and steady, dissolving the purple blotch. The kid inhaled sharply, relief flooding his face. [color=gray]“Thanks, sir.”[/color] [color=BBC922]“Don’t call me sir,”[/color] Lucius replied automatically. [color=BBC922]“I’m retired. For now.”[/color] For now. The words tasted like denial. He moved on before they could ask anything else, weaving through the festival crowd. A pair of fauns tried to recruit him into a rigged coin-toss game. A veteran slapped him on the back hard enough to jolt his teeth. A little girl wearing a cardboard gladius pointed at him and yelled, [color=gray]“DOCTOR LUC!”[/color] before her mother dragged her away. Lucius smiled despite the exhaustion. The Coliseum loomed ahead, massive and sun-drenched, its golden stones gleaming like a beacon. Inside, the roar of spectators crashed like a wave, signaling another bout nearly finished. The vibration ran through the stones under his feet. He should go in. He wanted to see who made it to the finals. And honestly? He wanted to make sure his stepfather’s medical team wasn’t drowning under an influx of idiots who didn’t know when to quit while they were winning. But his feet didn’t carry him inside just yet. Instead, he stopped at the edge of the Forum’s bonfire circle. The fire crackled high in the pit, sending sparks spiraling skyward. Children leapt over the embers, shrieking with laughter. Veterans lounged on benches with tankards, arguing about odds. A group of centurions were making a drinking competition out of speed eating watermelon slices. A faun band was attempting a very off-key rendition of 'Jupiter Triumphant.' And Lucius stood there, arms folded lightly, watching all of it with that hollow ache still sitting just beneath his ribs. He remembered summers like this, when he’d worn armor instead of civilian clothes, when duties and destiny had held him tight by the throat. When the Legion felt like the only thing he was built for. When he’d believed his healing was a weapon as sharp and vital as any blade. Could he really come back to the Legion? Put the red and gold on again? Stand at attention next to the men he would be responsible for? March, command, fight? Would he even be welcome? Or would he just be another “what-if” story, the Centurion who wasn’t, the soldier who vanished, the healer who walked away? Had he stepped too far away? Had retirement become more truth than rest? Above him, the banners snapped in a warm breeze, and the crowd’s cheer erupted as another duel ended, a massive roar that surged out of the Coliseum and rolled over the city like thunder. Lucius exhaled slowly. [color=BBC922]“Yeah,”[/color] he murmured to himself. [color=BBC922]“Not done thinking about it.”[/color] He straightened, adjusted his bag strap, and finally turned toward the Coliseum. The walkway leading toward the main entrance seemed to glow in the setting sun, like a path he’d walked a thousand times before. Whatever answer he found… he figured it would meet him somewhere inside that arena. Lucius barely made it three steps toward the Coliseum’s entrance before someone spoke behind him. [color=gray]“You walk like a soldier.”[/color] The voice was unfamiliar, smooth, but weathered by long roads and long stories. Lucius turned. A man stood beside the bonfire circle, leaning casually on a walking stick carved with winged horses spiraling up the length. He wasn’t old, mid-thirties maybe, but there was a gravity to him, the kind travelers carried when they’d seen too many corners of the world. His cloak was deep indigo, clasped with a silver pin shaped like a crescent moon. No legion insignia. No cohort markings. Not a Roman. Lucius frowned, automatically assessing threat, allegiance, intent. Old instincts rising like a tide. The stranger raised both hands slightly, palms outward. [color=gray]“Not here to bother you, Centurion.”[/color] Lucius stiffened. [color=BBC922]“I’m not—”[/color] [color=gray]“Right,”[/color] the man cut in mildly. [color=gray]“You’re ‘retired.’”[/color] He said it with that same tone healers used when humoring a stubborn patient. Lucius felt his jaw tighten. [color=BBC922]“You know me?”[/color] The man studied him as if he were examining the grain of a finely made blade. [color=gray]“I know a warrior who hasn’t set down his shield. Even if he thinks he has.”[/color] Lucius huffed a quiet breath through his nose, exasperated. [color=BBC922]“Look, if you’re here for medical attention—”[/color] [color=gray]“I’m here for perspective,”[/color] the stranger said simply. [color=gray]“Yours.”[/color] That stalled Lucius. [color=BBC922]“Mine?”[/color] The man stepped closer, tapping the staff once on the ground as two children dashed past them in a blur of laughter. The fire crackled at their backs, throwing orange reflections in the stranger’s eyes. [color=gray]“You’ve been walking the festival like a ghost,”[/color] he said. [color=gray]“Hands full of purpose, heart full of hesitation. You keep looking at the Coliseum like it’s a door you’re not sure you’re allowed to open.”[/color] Lucius swallowed, something uncomfortably sharp lodging in his throat. [color=BBC922]“You psychoanalyze all your conversations with strangers?”[/color] [color=gray]“Only the interesting ones.”[/color] Lucius ran a hand through his curls, shaking off the prickling at the back of his neck. [color=BBC922]“Look, I don’t know what you think you see, but I’m not- I’m not looking to join anything. Or return to anything.”[/color] [color=gray]“Is that what you tell them?”[/color] The man asked softly. Then, [color=gray]“…or is that what you tell yourself?”[/color] Lucius felt his breath hitch in a way he hated. He didn’t answer. The crowd roared again from inside the Coliseum. The stranger turned his head slightly, listening. [color=gray]“You know,”[/color] he murmured, [color=gray]“most people hesitate because they’re afraid of failure.”[/color] He looked back to Lucius. [color=gray]“But you… you hesitate because you’re afraid you might still succeed.”[/color] Lucius froze. The words struck bone. A single memory surfaced unbidden. His Second Cohort standing at attention in the morning fog. Forty young faces looking to him for direction. Forty lives trusting him. The weight of that. The honor of that. The loss of that. [color=BBC922]“I left for a reason,”[/color] Lucius said, voice low. [color=gray]“I’m sure you did,”[/color] the stranger replied. [color=gray]“But reasons change.”[/color] He tilted his head. [color=gray]“And sometimes… people outgrow their excuses.”[/color] Lucius forced a laugh to hide how much that hit him. [color=BBC922]“You talk like a prophet.”[/color] [color=gray]“I’m just a wanderer.”[/color] The man smiled, a small, calm expression, like he knew a hundred things Lucius didn’t. [color=gray]“But I’ve seen a thousand warriors at crossroads. And the ones who keep walking in circles are always the ones pretending they’re resting.”[/color] Lucius looked away, toward the massive stone arch of the Coliseum’s entrance. The stranger followed his gaze. [color=gray]“If you want to go in,”[/color] he murmured, [color=gray]“go in with intention. Not fear. Not guilt. Not nostalgia. Just… choice.”[/color] Lucius’s pulse thudded once, hard. [color=BBC922]“What’s your name?”[/color] he asked quietly. The stranger considered him for a long moment, then offered a slow, respectful nod. [color=BBC922]“Call me Loxias.”[/color] [color=BBC922]“Greek?”[/color] Lucius guessed. Loxias' smile broadened but didn’t confirm anything. [color=BBC922]“Call me what you like.”[/color] Then, with a curious finality: [color=BBC922]“We’ll speak again, Lucius Crassus.”[/color] And with that, Loxias pushed off with his walking stick and melted into the crowd, not vanishing, not magically disappearing, just, slipping away as if the festival parted around him to let him pass. Lucius stood rooted to the spot. Hands warm. Heart unsteady. Chest tight with something he hadn’t wanted to name. His feet shifted, once, twice, and then he found himself walking. Toward the entrance. Toward the roar. Toward whatever answer waited inside the golden arches of the Coliseum. And for the first time all afternoon. He didn’t feel hollow. He felt awake. [/color][/sup][/indent][/cell] [/row] [/table]