Banks of the Arar — Before dawn
The sky hadn't changed, but the air had.
It was denser. Not from the cold, but from the way men breathed differently—shorter, slower. Every movement was measured, every sound suppressed.There were no cavalry.No horns.Only footsteps.Footsteps like shadows.
Sextus adjusted his gladius for the third time without speaking. Faustus checked the straps on his shield as if his life depended on them.Veturius seemed to pray without actually doing so.Then, Atticus kissed two fingers and pressed them to the hilt of his gladius, then to his chest.
"To Mars," he muttered.
Faustus didn't ask. Veturius didn't mock him.At that hour, each man spoke to whatever he could.
Sextus turned his head when he noticed a faint flame a few steps away.Behind a curtain of shields, he saw Scaeva, alone, kneeling.In his hand was a small blackened bronze figurine, no larger than a finger.In front of him, a tiny fire fed with dry twigs and powdery soil.The centurion murmured old words as he sprinkled earth onto the flame, which crackled softly. Then he raised his face. He didn't seem surprised to see Sextus watching.
"You never offer anything to the gods, boy?"
Sextus shook his head slowly.
"I don't know how. They never listened to me."
Scaeva gave a crooked half-smile.
"Sometimes they don't listen to us either. But they still see us.The gods aren't there to give us luck.They're there to remind us we own nothing. Not victory. Not our return."
He stood, closing his fist around the image.
"And if I die today, I want Mars to know I showed up."
Across the river, the Tigurini were either sleeping or pretending to. Their fires were ashes. Their tents disordered.The enemy had relaxed.And Caesar had chosen that very moment.
The XIII would lead.The other legions would support the flanks.There would be no charge.Only contact.And after contact…fire.
Scaeva stopped in front of his men. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't rally them.He simply held up a closed fist, then slowly opened it.
"The general has trusted us with the opening strike.Today, Rome won't watch us.It will listen."
That was all.
As the sky began to pale, the men of the XIII were in position, crouched in mud and reeds.Pilum in hand.Shield rested, not strapped.Bodies tense, but cold.Words—already spent.
Sextus wasn't thinking of strategy.Only of the exact moment when they would break the silence… and shake the air with Rome's first cry.