Livia wanted to come.

Nobody was surprised.

Lucius refused before she finished speaking. Marcus refused after that, much more quietly, which somehow made it worse. Arthur did not need perfect Latin to understand the argument that followed. Livia believed she was useful. Lucius believed she was bleeding, feverish, and entirely too fond of dying in inconvenient places.

For once, Marcus agreed with the physician.

That did not please Livia.

She sat on the edge of the bed with Gaius’s map spread across her lap and one hand pressed against the bandage at her side. Her red curls were loose around her shoulders, and her large eyes moved from the parchment to Arthur with the sharp focus of someone who hated being left behind. The wound had taken color from her face, but not her temper.

Arthur almost told her she looked terrible.

He decided he enjoyed living.

Instead, he crouched beside the bed and pointed at the mark near the old bath complex. Then he pointed at himself and Marcus. Finally, he pointed at her and shook his head.

Livia glared.

Arthur gave her his most apologetic smile.

It did not help.

She said something to Marcus, then tapped the map twice. Marcus listened carefully. Whatever she said mattered, because his expression changed. After a moment, he nodded and took a small wax tablet from her.

Arthur looked at him.

Marcus held up two fingers, then pointed at his own eyes.

Watch carefully.

That much was clear.

A few minutes later, they left Lucius’s house with the map, a covered lamp, and a short knife Marcus had pressed into Arthur’s hand.

Arthur stared at it.

Marcus pointed at the knife, then at Arthur, then made a cutting motion.

"Right," Arthur muttered. "For ropes. Not heroic last stands."

Marcus looked at him blankly.

"Good. We agree."

They moved through Rome before sunrise, when the city was not yet awake but no longer asleep. Bakers were already working. Slaves carried water. A few carts rolled through the streets with the tired confidence of people who had done the same journey too many times to care about the dark.

The old bath complex stood in a neglected part of the city, squeezed between newer buildings and forgotten walls. It had probably been respectable once. Now weeds grew between cracked stones, and part of the outer structure had collapsed inward. A faded mosaic near the entrance showed dolphins swimming through blue waves, though time had stolen most of their color.

Arthur paused for a second despite himself.

Even abandoned ruins were younger here than the ruins of his own world.

That thought felt strange enough to make his head hurt.

Marcus moved first, leading him around the side of the building instead of through the main entrance. The map marked no door. It marked a wall near the rear, close to a drainage channel half-covered by broken stone and old debris.

Arthur looked at the narrow opening.

Then at Marcus.

"No," he said.

Marcus ignored him and began clearing the stones.

"Of course," Arthur muttered. "Why would the secret path beneath Rome be comfortable?"

The opening was barely wide enough for a grown man. Marcus went in first with the lamp held low. Arthur followed more slowly, trying not to think about spiders, snakes, collapsing tunnels, or the fact that he was crawling under an ancient city because a dead clerk had hidden a map behind a wall.

The air changed almost immediately.

Above ground, Rome smelled of smoke, bread, sweat, animals, and sewage. Below, the smells became older and heavier. Damp stone. Stale air. Rot. Something metallic that Arthur did not want to identify.

The passage sloped downward.

Marcus kept one hand near his sword and moved carefully. Arthur followed close behind, one hand on the wall to steady himself. The stone was cold and wet beneath his fingers.

After several minutes, the passage widened enough for them to stand properly. The ceiling remained low, but at least Arthur no longer had to crouch. The walls were old brick and stone, patched in places with newer work. Rome had been built over itself so many times that even the ground beneath the city seemed to have a history of its own.

Arthur found that oddly horrifying.

Marcus stopped.

Arthur nearly walked into him.

The soldier lifted the lamp.

Ahead of them, the tunnel split in two.

Arthur unfolded the map with some difficulty. The parchment did not show every turn, only a rough path marked by symbols and short notes. Gaius had not drawn it as a guide for tourists. He had drawn it like a man afraid of running out of time.

Marcus pointed left.

Arthur checked the map and nodded.

Left.

They continued.

The first sign that someone had been there recently came after another hundred paces.

A footprint.

Not old.

The mud near the wall had been disturbed, and the print was clear enough that even Arthur could see it. Marcus crouched, touched the ground, and then looked down the tunnel.

His face hardened.

They were not alone down here.

Or at least they had not been alone recently.

Arthur swallowed and tightened his grip on the knife.

It made him feel only slightly less useless.

They moved more slowly after that. The tunnel curved beneath the city, passing under streets and buildings Arthur could only imagine above them. Twice, they heard faint sounds from somewhere overhead: wheels on stone, a muffled shout, the distant echo of Rome continuing its life without knowing what lay beneath it.

Then they found the first chain.

It hung from an iron ring fixed into the wall.

Old rust covered most of it, but not all.

Arthur stared at the polished section near the end.

Used recently.

Marcus touched it and said nothing.

That was worse than any curse.

A few paces farther, they found another ring. Then another. The tunnel opened into a low chamber supported by thick stone pillars. At first, Arthur saw only shadows and broken crates. Then Marcus raised the lamp higher.

The room came into view piece by piece.

Wooden cages.

Rope.

Chains.

A pile of discarded sandals.

Arthur stopped breathing.

There were too many sandals.

Small ones.

Large ones.

Cheap ones patched again and again.

Not goods.

Not grain.

People.

This was where they had been held.

The thought entered his mind with such force that he almost stepped back. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that Marcus was still moving forward, calm and deadly in a way Arthur envied.

Arthur forced himself to follow.

The chamber was empty now, but not clean. Dark stains marked the floor near one wall. Straw lay scattered inside the cages. A clay cup had been crushed beneath someone’s foot. On one of the wooden bars, Arthur saw scratches cut into the surface.

Marks.

Days counted.

He reached out and touched them.

One.

Two.

Three.

More than twenty.

His stomach twisted.

Films had lied to him.

Blood in films looked dramatic.

Real blood smelled.

So did fear, when enough people had been trapped in one place for long enough.

Arthur stepped away and pressed one hand over his mouth.

Marcus watched him for a moment, not unkindly. Then he turned back to the chamber and began searching.

They found records in a sealed clay jar hidden beneath a loose stone. Not many. A few scraps. Enough. Names, numbers, and symbols matching the map. Arthur recognized two names from Gaius’s list.

He felt suddenly cold.

Gaius had been right.

The witness had been right.

And now Arthur was standing inside the proof.

A sound came from the far side of the chamber.

Arthur froze.

Marcus moved instantly, sword drawn and lamp lowered. The sound came again, weaker this time. Not footsteps. Not a threat.

A breath.

Someone was alive.

They found him behind a broken stack of crates, half-hidden beneath a dirty cloak. He was young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, with sunken cheeks and wrists rubbed raw from rope. One eye was swollen nearly shut. When Marcus pulled the cloak aside, the boy flinched so hard he struck his head against the wall.

Arthur dropped the knife.

He could not help it.

The sound made the boy flinch again.

"Damn it," Arthur whispered.

Marcus spoke softly, slower than usual. The boy did not answer. His lips were cracked, and when Arthur reached for the water flask Marcus carried, the boy’s gaze fixed on it with desperate hunger.

They gave him only a little at first. Lucius would probably have shouted at them for giving too much too quickly, and Arthur had learned to fear Lucius’s medical opinions.

The boy drank, coughed, and tried to speak.

Marcus leaned closer.

The first words were too weak to understand. The second attempt was clearer.

Arthur caught only one word.

Ostia.

Marcus went still.

Arthur knew that name.

The port.

The mouth of the Tiber.

Rome’s gateway to the sea.

The missing people were not just being moved beneath the city.

They were being moved out of it.

Arthur looked around the chamber again, and the space seemed to grow larger and darker with every breath. Warehouse XVII had led beneath Rome. Beneath Rome led to cages. The cages led to Ostia.

And Ostia led anywhere. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

A cold flicker of blue light appeared at the edge of his vision.

Arthur froze.

Not now.

Not here.

The light sharpened for half a second, forming words in the darkness between him and the cages.

Civilization Impact Detected.

Data Updated.

Authority: 1

The message vanished.

Arthur stared at the empty air.

Marcus was still focused on the boy. He had seen nothing.

Of course he had seen nothing.

Arthur looked down at his hands, then at the wounded boy, then at the cages.

Authority.

So that was how it began.

Not with a sword.

Not with power.

With proof.

With one life still breathing in a place where dozens had vanished.

Arthur picked up the knife from the floor and slipped it back into his belt.

Then he helped Marcus lift the boy.

They had come below Rome looking for a secret.

They had found a road.

And somewhere at the end of it, people were being sold into the dark.