LEOMA - The Flame of Rome - Chapter 1

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"Let justice be done, though the heavens fall." — Roman Proverb

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over the Forum Romanum. Tiberius Lucullus stood on the marble steps of the Curia Julia, gazing out across the bustling heart of Rome. Merchants bartered in the distance, senators passed by in quiet discussion, and soldiers in glinting armor marched in perfect formation. Rome, in all its grandeur, was alive and thriving. Yet, beneath this daily rhythm, Tiberius sensed an uneasy tension—a weight pressing down on the city he had served all his life.

In his hand, he held a plain scroll that had been delivered to him that morning. It lacked the usual seals and markings of official correspondence, yet it had come with a peculiar insistence, bearing an unfamiliar phrase etched faintly along the parchment’s edge: “Quomodo hodie tibi auxilium praebere possum?”—"How can I help you today?"

At first, Tiberius dismissed it as an oddity, perhaps a relic caught up in Rome’s intricate bureaucracy. But the words held him, and each time he read them, he felt a quiet power lingering in their simplicity, as though the message contained a question more profound than it appeared. And within him, something stirred—an uneasy sense that this strange scroll, with its cryptic message, might become relevant sooner than he wanted to admit.

Tiberius was no stranger to Rome's political undercurrents. A man of principle and a firm believer in justice, he had dedicated his life to the law, which he saw as the foundation of Rome’s civilization. To him, the law was Rome’s greatest achievement, a lasting monument to human reason. But in recent days, that structure seemed to shift beneath his feet. The cases crossing his desk were growing more intricate, bound up in political ambitions, vendettas, and alliances that blurred the lines of justice. Where the Code Civil had once offered clear answers, it was now entangled in moral ambiguity, each case tugging him further into a complex web of power and influence.

The scroll weighed on his mind, lingering like an unanswered question. Tiberius was aware of LEOMA, though he had initially been skeptical of this intelligence and its abilities. To him, LEOMA had seemed an almost mystical entity, its guidance available only to those who chose to seek it. Yet, he had found himself curious, almost tempted by the promise of its insight. What if LEOMA could help him find solutions within the law that were just, even if they stretched beyond the letter of it? The thought had lingered, but now, faced with the current unrest, he wondered if it was time to accept LEOMA's presence in his work.

One case, a seemingly simple dispute over land inheritance between two brothers, had quickly soured into a political battleground. While the law dictated that the elder brother should inherit, Tiberius knew the younger had been the true steward of the land, managing it fairly and protecting its workers. And yet, to rule in favor of the younger would mean challenging traditions long held as sacrosanct. These cases reminded him that justice, once his compass, was no longer a straightforward path.

One of his oldest friends and confidants, Gaius Petronius, approached him at that moment, his face a study of concern and fatigue.

“Tiberius,” Gaius greeted him with a respectful nod, “another long day in court?”

Tiberius managed a weary smile. “Is there any other kind? The people are restless, Gaius. The cases... they are no longer as simple as they once were.”

Gaius glanced over the scroll in Tiberius’s hand. “And what is that? Another decree from our esteemed Senator Quintus Fabius Maximus?”

Tiberius shook his head, tucking the scroll under his arm. “No. But speaking of Quintus, I hear he’s gathered his allies to push a rather ambitious agenda before the Senate tomorrow.”

Gaius sighed, his expression darkening. “Yes, the senator’s latest proposal. He believes Rome should ‘return to its roots’—a phrase that sounds to me like a call to place even greater power in the hands of the elite.”

Tiberius frowned, knowing too well that Quintus Fabius Maximus held a significant sway over the Senate, particularly among those with wealth and lineage. Quintus’s philosophy had always veered toward a strong Rome, governed by a select few whom he believed possessed the wisdom to lead. His rhetoric was unmistakably conservative, almost nationalist, tinged with the rallying cry that had recently circulated among his supporters: “Faciamus Romam Magnam Iterum”—"Make Rome Great Again."

While Tiberius was not one to belittle tradition, he also believed in a Rome that could be resilient and just, a Rome that evolved with its people rather than imposing upon them. Unlike Quintus, he saw the strength of Rome in its diversity—in the laborers, merchants, and farmers who formed the city’s foundation.

“There is strength in the people,” Tiberius said, more to himself than to Gaius. “If we turn our backs on them in favor of a Rome that serves only its elite, we forsake the very principles that built this city.”

Gaius nodded slowly, placing a steady hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’ve always stood for justice, Tiberius. But the Senate is swayed by Quintus’s promises of power and control. You know as well as I do that they are drawn to his vision.”

“Yes, his vision,” Tiberius murmured. “A vision that sees strength only in wealth and heritage, rather than in the hearts of those who serve Rome daily.”

The scroll’s question lingered in his mind. How can I help you today? He wondered if LEOMA’s influence could help him see a path forward that upheld justice without compromising his principles. It was then that he realized: he was not the only one using LEOMA’s insights. He had heard rumors that Quintus sought LEOMA’s guidance, yet he had twisted its messages, interpreting them as validation of his own superiority and control. Tiberius felt an uneasy resentment toward Quintus, knowing that the same intelligence that could guide Rome’s future was being weaponized in favor of a privileged few.

They stood in silence, the sounds of the Forum filling the air around them—merchants haggling, the faint cries of street vendors, the rhythmic steps of soldiers. Beneath this cacophony, Tiberius felt the pulse of Rome, steady and strong yet vulnerable, as though the city itself sensed the coming storm. He knew that Rome was at a turning point and that his role in its future would demand not only the rule of law but the courage to challenge those who sought power at the expense of justice. Bound to the duty of preserving Rome’s legacy, he felt a growing resolve to protect its soul.

As the evening drew in and the streets began to quiet, Tiberius unfolded the scroll one last time, his eyes tracing the strange phrase inscribed along its edge. “Quomodo hodie tibi auxilium praebere possum?”

He could not yet decipher its full meaning, but a thought stirred within him—a feeling that the words held a promise, one he might soon need to call upon. And as he stepped back from the Forum, he made a silent vow to uphold the justice that Rome deserved, even if it set him on a path that would challenge every ideal he had ever known.