This Fire Burns - Chapter 19

[Marcus]

“…and it means our current security reports are wrong. A significant threat to Rome has been allowed to fester right under our noses.”

Marcus kept his face perfectly composed as he watched her, but inwardly he was admiring just how amazing she always was. Serena had just finished summarizing the quest debrief for the Senate, presenting the deeply concerning news with her usual unshakable authority. It was a quality he wondered if he could ever truly emulate.

She makes them accept the crisis before they have time to fear it. That’s the strength of a daughter of Peace. She reminds you that peace is something you have to fight for.

To the surprise of no one present, Octavian rose, offering the room a placating, almost sorrowful smile, as if he regretted having to be the sole voice of reason.

“Praetor,” he began, his voice oozing false concern, “while this is indeed a… colorful tale, we must take due diligence before we commit the legion’s resources. Are we certain this isn’t a slight exaggeration?” His eyes swept the chamber, pausing near Jason Grace before settling back on the dais. “Perhaps a younger demigod’s attempt to garner more glory upon his return?”

That had become the Augur’s favorite tactic as of late. In the past, he hadn’t needed to be so overt when making his political moves. Part of that was due to him being new and less confident to make enemies, but the other part was due to him not having any particular target. The Son of Jupiter, while powerful, was a known quantity. So long as you had Rome’s best interest, he wouldn’t protest. But Serif… Serif was an uncontrollable storm, and his growing reputation had clearly made Octavian desperate. 

Even Marcus had initially felt the impulse, the urge to control the boy, to rein him and turn him into a proper weapon for the legion. But through their observations, he and Serena had seen something else in him: A fierce loyalty that, in the end, served Rome. In his own chaotic way, Serif had become a pillar of the Twelfth Legion. A pillar they had to trust.

He was about to stop Octavian, but the Fifth’s centurion shot up first.

“They’re heroes of the legion,” Gwen snapped. “They returned from a quest given by a goddess. Are you accusing them of lying to the Praetors, Augur?”

She didn’t have Serena’s political grace that let her effortlessly command a room or Octavian’s subtle rhetoric that made others reach his conclusions without him stating them directly. But her bluntness was a weapon in its own right. Unfortunately for her, it was one that few could successfully wield against Octavian.

A brief flash of annoyance crossed the Augur’s face before he plastered on a patronizing smile. “Of course not, Centurion. I am merely suggesting an overreaction. While I find your loyalty to your new cohort admirable, we must be logical here.”

“Ignoring a direct report from a quest isn’t logical, it’s—”

“We cannot send the legion into a panic over this!” Octavian exclaimed, turning away from her to address the Senate at large. “After all, the two legionnaires handled the situation with ease. If this ‘horde’ was so easily dispatched, can we truly call it a significant threat? Or are we allowing ourselves to be swept up in the drama of a hero’s return?”

“With all due respect, Augur, the numbers support the Praetors’ concern.” Alicia, the centurion from the Second Cohort and Serena’s successor, spoke up. “For the last year, the number of probatio arriving from the Wolf House has been cut in half. We used to see nearly forty recruits annually. This year, we’ve seen fewer than fifteen. This report provides an explanation. Monsters are intercepting them before they reach us.”

Octavian glanced at Hank, the centurion from the Fourth. It was such a brief look that a person would have missed it unless they were looking for it specifically.

“Or we’re experiencing a period where the gods are uh... less active,” Hank said, shifting in his seat. “The numbers being different for a single year isn’t enough for us to come to conclusions.”

Jason, who had been silent until now, stood. “That is unlikely, Centurion. On our way back to camp, Serif and I visited the Wolf House. Lady Lupa is currently training thirteen potential legionnaires. Her training cycle lasts roughly three months. If those numbers stay the same, we should expect at least fifty recruits a year, which is even higher than our previous average.”

Hank faltered for a moment before responding. “There are other variables to consider. Lady Lupa might have deemed more of them unfit to join the legion than usual.”

“Even so, the numbers wouldn’t drop this sharply,” Jason countered firmly. “A decrease to thirty, or even twenty-five, might be understandable. But this is just grasping at straws. The Augur said it best: we must be logical here. Wouldn’t you agree, Augur?”

Octavian’s thin lips pressed together, looking as if he’d just swallowed a lemon. “Yes… Centurion Grace,” he forced out. “It seems there are some wrong assumptions born out of concern for the legion, but that concern is misplaced.”

His reluctant approval silenced what remained of the opposition.

“Then we are in agreement. The threat is real,” Serena announced. “We will not remain behind our walls while the enemy systematically weakens the legion. We must take action.”

“I’m authorizing a complete sweep of the surrounding cities,” Marcus declared. “We need two cohorts to volunteer for this task.”

“The Fifth Cohort volunteers,” Jason said, immediately raising his hand. “We will take Oakland.”

The centurion of the First raised his hand as well. “The First Cohort will not be outdone. We claim the duty of sweeping Berkeley.”

The centurion from the Third hesitantly cleared his throat. “Praetors, with respect, is two cohorts sufficient? If the enemy is this deeply entrenched, perhaps we should send two cohorts to each city for a more thorough operation.”

“Your caution is noted,” Marcus replied. “However, this is not an invasion. Sending all but one cohort outside our borders would leave Camp Jupiter defenseless. The strength of the two cohorts departing will be enough.”

Serena looked out over the assembled senators. “Then we have a proposed plan. Are there any objections to it?”

No one said anything.

“Then it has been decided,” she decreed. “The First and Fifth Cohorts will conduct a full sweep of Berkley and Oakland. A fortnight shall be dedicated to preparation. The war games on the twenty-eighth will serve as a test of their readiness. Following this, both cohorts will be granted one day to rest and make their final preparations before they march. They shall depart at dawn on the thirtieth. This meeting has concluded.”

Marcus watched the senators file out. The two centurions from the First were already in a heated discussion, planning their strategy. Gwen was doing the same with Jason, though their conversation seemed much more relaxed.

It was an unbalanced pairing. While the average legionnaire from the Fifth was still weaker than one from the First, their two outliers drastically improved their collective strength. 

Maybe I should accompany my former cohort. Just as he had the thought, the last line of the quest’s prophecy echoed in his mind. He had seen it only as a threat, the potential loss of a powerful legionnaire. But what if it was an opportunity?

He turned to his fellow praetor, who was gathering her notes. “Serena, do you have a moment?”

She looked over at him with a small, knowing smile on her face. “You have that look. The one you used to get right before you led a charge in the war games.” 

An unconscious grin spread across his own face. “We can make the prophecy work in our favor.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “Let me hear what it is you’re thinking about in that head of yours.”

“See, the last line said ‘one will stay, and another will choose exile’,” Marcus explained with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “It doesn’t have to be about leaving the legion. It could be about their cohorts. We can have one of them choose a temporary ‘exile’ to join the First for this operation.”

Serena stared at him for a long moment, then her smile widened. “You know, for a man of so few words, you have the most brilliant plans. You really should speak up more often during these meetings.”

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[July 14, 2007]

The Praetors had summoned me and Jason to their office to tell us about their plan, which, I had to admit, was kinda smart. Unfortunately, there was one flaw in their logic. A flaw shaped exactly like a certain scrawny, teddy-bear-gutting member of the First Cohort.

So I had to make the first move.

“NOT IT!”

Serena let out a sigh, as if she was expecting this exact reaction. “Serif, we need to discuss this rationally.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve done all the necessary calculations,” I said, holding up a finger. “You see, there’s this little greaseball in the First Cohort. And the problem with that is… grease is quite flammable. I rest my case.”

Jason, ever the noble martyr, stepped in. “Praetors, it’s fine. I’ll go. The First Cohort is disciplined. I will have no problems working alongside them.”

I nodded vigorously. “See? He gets it. Besides, I’m sure it would be an honor for the First to be led by the mighty son of Jupiter Optimus Prime.”

“Jupiter Optimus Maximus,” Marcus corrected. “And no, Jason will not be leading the First Cohort. A centurion’s duty is to lead their own cohort into battle. That is your fundamental responsibility.”

“And you are the senior Centurion of the Fifth,” Serena added, her gaze fixed on Jason. “For an operation of this importance, we cannot ask Centurion Gwendolyn to manage it alone.”

“No, you two don’t understand,” I insisted. “I’m being serious here. I can’t work with that little shit Octavian. If I see him on the verge of being mauled by a monster, I’m definitely not saving his ass. I’ll turn around, look the other way, hell, I’ll even whistle a little tune until it’s all over.”

Marcus remained completely unfazed. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Or else what?” I challenged. “Nothing you can do to stop me.”

“You’re right. We can’t stop you,” Serena conceded. “But that was never the point. Serif, you are, without question, the single most troublesome legionnaire the Twelfth Legion has ever seen. You break rules you don’t agree with, you avoid work, you do everything your own way. Because of that, we’ve observed you closely for two years.” Her voice softened. “And we know you’re not the type who could stand by and watch another legionnaire die. Even if it’s someone you despise. You care more about your fellow demigods than anyone else.”

What the fuck. They’re supposed to be mad because I’m being insubordinate!

I slumped back in my chair with a groan. “Fine. You can stop glazing me. I’ll do it.”

They smiled. A pair of matching, smug smiles.

Wait. Am I the tsundere here?

“Alright,” I said, pushing the thought away. “So how does this ‘exile’ actually work? Do I gotta pack my bags and move into their barracks? Or can I just show up on the day we march out and carry them all to victory?”

“You will join the First Cohort for all scheduled training drills between now and deployment,” Marcus stated firmly. “For the next two weeks, there will be three war games. You will also team up with them to ensure you can operate as a cohesive unit.”

“Nah, that’s a bit too much,” I countered. “I just got back here. I’m not about to leave my cohort that quickly.” I leaned forward, ready to give them my counteroffer. “How about this: I’ll join them for all their training sessions during the second week of preparations. And I’ll fight with them in the third war game, the one right before we leave. That’s enough time for them to get used to my style.”

Serena exchanged a look with Marcus, then nodded. “That is an acceptable compromise.”

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[July 15, 2007]

The last drill left half the cohort gasping for breath, leaning heavily on their shields. I’d actually joined them for regular combat training instead of doing my usual powers training with Jason, though I wasn’t feeling the burn quite like they were.

“Serif… my friend… my provider,” Dakota groaned, crawling on his hands and knees until he stopped right in front of me. “My body is willing, but my soul requires sustenance! Please, just one cookie… to see me through the darkness.”

“Hate to break it to you,” I said, pulling him up, “but I don’t have the free time these days. The supply’s all out. You’ll just have to settle for your Kool-Aid.”

He slipped from my arms and fully collapsed onto the ground. “It’s over… Leave me here. Tell my Cherry Kool-Aid that I loved it.”

Before I could pick him up again, Gwen clapped her hands. “Good work, everyone! That’s it for the morning session. Take a break. We’ll be back here for the afternoon session two hours after lunch.”

Once summer had started, our morning academic classes from the New Rome University students had ended, giving us a ton of free time. That free time was replaced with extra training to prepare for the upcoming mission. Still, swapping four hours of lectures for two hours of getting sweaty meant we had more time overall, so it wasn't all that bad.

As the cohort headed back toward the barracks, Gwen jogged over to me.

“Serif, can I get your help with something?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“The Praetors granted our cohort and the First extra supplies for the mission prep,” she explained. “We’re picking up the additional ambrosia and nectar from the Legionary Storehouse.”

“Nice,” I said. “We’re gonna need it. A few more days at this pace and Dakota might die of exhaustion instead of sugar withdrawal.”

“That’s what I was thinking too,” she agreed. “We went at it harder than usual today, and half the cohort was on the verge of collapsing. The afternoon session might actually break them without a boost.”

We started walking off the field together. 

Her words made me think of what Serena had said yesterday, about Gwen not being able to lead alone. Sure, Jason typically handled the actual combat leadership during war games, but Gwen could definitely do it too if she had to.

“Hey, Gwen,” I started, “you know I’m temporarily joining the First in a week, right? I was wondering, what if it was Jason going instead of me? Do you think you’d be able to lead the cohort for the next operation?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” She looked down at her feet as we walked. “I feel like I don’t do anything that different from before I became Centurion. I handle the duty rosters, break up the occasional squabble, run errands like this... it’s just chores. Jason handles the real strategy. You’re the one who leads the charge. I’m just an administrator for the things you two are too busy for.”

“Really? I don’t think so,” I countered, nudging her shoulder. “You make sure this cohort is more than just a bunch of soulless weapons. If someone’s struggling, you’re the first to notice and help them back up. You remember the little things that make everyone feel welcome. Like someone’s birthday, then planning a surprise for them. You’re the reason this place feels like a home. I’m sure you could handle the strategy if you had to.”

“Thanks, Serif,” she said, a small, uncertain smile on her face. “But that’s just the stuff between the fights. What happens in the middle of one? When the plan goes wrong and everyone turns to the Centurion for the next order? Jason knows what to do at that moment. You just deal with it the way you always do. I’m afraid I’d just freeze.”

“I don’t have all the answers,” I admitted. “You know as well as I do that I’m not really a leader. And I’ve also corrupted Jason, so he’s more like me now than he used to be. That means you're the anchor who stabilizes everything. Don’t downplay what you do.”

She let out a short laugh. “So I’m the glorified camp counselor who makes sure we’re all still standing while you two are off doing your thing? I guess I can live with that.”

“Mhm. Just tell Jason to take a step back sometimes. See how you handle things. You’ll have a safety net, so everything will be fine.”

We arrived at the Legionary Storehouse, a windowless building near the Principia. Two guards let us in. The place was as obsessively organized as you’d expect from a Roman legion. Another legionnaire, this one with a badge identifying him as the quartermaster, was sitting at a wooden desk, sorting through forms.

Gwen presented a signed requisition form from the Praetors, making the quartermaster stand up and lead us to the back. He unlocked a door, revealing a room filled with rows of small chests and a rack of sealed, gallon-sized jars.

“So how many are we taking?” I asked.

“Four jars of nectar and five chests of ambrosia,” Gwen said. “The nectar jars holds one hundred twenty-five doses and the ambrosia chests hold one hundred squares each. It should be more than enough to last us the entire mission.”

“Damn. That’s a lot,” I commented, helping the quartermaster load the supplies onto a dolly.

As I lifted the last jar, an idea started forming in my mind. People always said my food tasted divine. It was a joke, a branding thing, but… what if it wasn’t? What would happen if I actually used divine ingredients?

There’s only one way to find out.

“Yo,” I said to the quartermaster. “Is it possible to buy some ambrosia and nectar for personal use?”

He blinked. “Personal use? That’s… an expensive snack.”

“Money’s not an issue for me. So is it allowed?”

“It is,” he confirmed. “Just not common. The Senate set the price high to discourage waste. It’s one Denarius Aureus per five squares of ambrosia or a single flask of nectar.”

Ouch. A gold denarius was worth twenty-five of the regular silver ones. But thanks to two years of running a monopoly on the camp’s best snacks, I was easily the richest legionnaire in the entire legion.

“I don’t carry Aureus with me,” I said. “Will regular denarii be fine?”

He nodded. “The equivalent is acceptable.”

“I’ll take five squares and a flask, then.” I counted out the hefty sum and handed it over.

He retrieved a small pouch and a sealed flask, giving them to me. Gwen and I then left the storehouse, with me pushing the heavy dolly.

Gwen eyed me sideways. “Okay, I have to ask. What are you planning now?”

I grinned. “Just a little culinary experiment.”

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Jason had brought me to this bakery in New Rome after we ended our brief conflict when I first joined the Legion, back when I was a bit of a brat. He put in a good word for me to the owner, and in turn she gave me free reign of the kitchen when it wasn’t busy.

This was my real domain. Not the Field of Mars where I could smack around the other cohorts during the war games, or when I was outside annihilating monsters on our divine quest. Over here I could create food so good it brought actual hope to my cohort during their darkest days. Where flour and sugar became something that made people believe tomorrow would be better than today.

Everything was prepped. All that was left was the final component to complete this experiment.

I opened the flask of nectar and the pouch of ambrosia. Now that I was actually here, the reality of what I was attempting came to the front of my mind. I ignored the practical problems earlier when I bought this stuff.

Overdose. That was the big one. Too much ambrosia or nectar would make a demigod literally burn up with a fever. So how much was too much? There was no recipe for me to consult. Then there was the taste. The food of the gods always tasted like your absolute favorite food. What if my cookies suddenly tasted like a steak-and-cheese sub to someone? Disgusting. It would just be wrong. And what if the divine flavor overpowered my recipe entirely? Then it wouldn’t be my cooking anymore.

I stared at the golden liquid and the shimmering squares. I could back out now, save this stuff for an emergency and make my regular cookies instead. Everyone already loved them anyway.

But then something familiar settled over me. That feeling. The same one that always told me how long to bake without a timer, or guided my hand when I adjusted a spice by a pinch, and even saved my life when I was dealing with monsters. 

Screw it. I can’t waste my time with what ifs. This instinct’s never failed me before, and it’s not about to start now.

I let it guide me.

My hands moved on their own. Two squares of ambrosia went into the batter. Snapping a third, I broke it into what looked like an 8/11ths split, then tossed the bigger piece in. Then came the nectar. I tilted the flask carefully until I felt it was time to stop, which was around three ounces. As I mixed it all together, the dough began to glow with a golden light.

I portioned the dough onto a baking sheet, slid it into the oven, and waited.

Once they were done, I pulled the tray out. The appearance seemed normal. No golden glow anymore, so you couldn’t even tell what ingredients I used. That meant the only difference would be taste. 

Deciding not to wait for them to cool, I picked one up and took a bite.

“Finally. Some good fucking food.”

It tasted the same as my usual stuff, but the best part amplified even further. The feeling was like nostalgia and warmth and safety and indulgence and everything else was all mixed into one.

Since I’d used divine ingredients, it only felt right to share them with the gods. I took two of the cookies and held a small flame from my finger to them. The first one was obvious. For my grandmother. The second offering was for Vesta. It just felt right, an instinct I couldn’t explain, so I just went with it because my instinct was what led me to this new invention in the first place.

I packed the rest into a container. This was the fuel that would get the Fifth Cohort through the afternoon. This was the hope I could create.

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Author’s Note: For anyone curious, Rhea got one of the cookie sacrifices. Since Serif didn’t actually say ‘For Fortuna’ and intended for it to go to his grandmother, it went to Rhea by default. This won’t have any major impact on the main plot, but I might write a short omake exploring her reaction later (semi-canon?)