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VelvetWhispers
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Aug 24, 2024
- Location
- Paris
The torches flickered in the cool night air, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls of the Roman villa. Merneith moved with practiced silence through the columns of the peristyle garden, her eyes sharp as they swept over the meticulously maintained hedges and marble statues. The scent of night-blooming jasmine hung heavy in the air, a sweet contrast to the tension tightening in her chest. She was no stranger to danger—Egypt had taught her that much. But this, this felt different. More dangerous, more perilous than the streets of Alexandria ever were.
The garden felt too quiet, even for the late hour. The usual murmur of servants whispering in the distance had been replaced by an eerie stillness. The only sound was the soft crunch of gravel beneath her sandals as she moved, careful to avoid the telltale crack of a branch or the rustle of leaves. She had learned to be silent in her years of servitude, blending into the background, unseen and unheard. But tonight, she needed to be seen. By him.
She spotted Tiberius Macrinius Appius Brucetus standing near the fountain, his back turned to her, his posture rigid. The moonlight glinted off his armor, the fine detail of the bronze catching the silver light. Even in the dim glow, he radiated power—an immovable force in a world of shifting sands.
He must have sensed her presence because he turned, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto hers. For a moment, they stood there, two figures in the night, the weight of unspoken words heavy between them. She had spent countless nights deciphering his moods, reading the subtleties of his expressions. But tonight, his face was a mask, carefully composed, hiding whatever thoughts stirred beneath the surface.
"Merneith," his voice cut through the silence, low and commanding, but she could detect the undercurrent of tension lacing his words. "What news?"
She approached him slowly, her heart pounding in her chest as she considered how much to reveal. In the months she had served him, they had formed a tenuous alliance—built not on trust, but on necessity. The plot against him, whispered in the corridors of Rome, had drawn them together, though their partnership remained fragile. She was still his slave, after all. A woman bound by chains, even if those chains were invisible in the dark.
"Dominus," she began, inclining her head in a gesture of respect, though her eyes never left his. "I overheard two men speaking near the kitchens. They spoke of a meeting, late tonight, in the catacombs beneath the city."
She saw the flash of concern in his eyes, quickly masked by his usual stoic demeanor. "The catacombs," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "They grow bolder."
"Yes," she replied, stepping closer, lowering her voice as if the shadows themselves were listening. "They mentioned your name, Tiberius. And the name of the senator—Cassius."
His eyes sharpened at the mention of the senator's name. Cassius had always been a snake, hiding venom beneath the guise of political ambition. Tiberius knew that, and so did Merneith. The senator had been gaining influence, undermining Tiberius' efforts at every turn. And now, it seemed, he was ready to strike.
"Did they say what time?" Tiberius asked, his voice calm, but Merneith could sense the fire beneath it.
"Midnight. They're moving weapons through the underground tunnels. If they succeed, they'll ambush you at the Senate, accuse you of treason before you can strike back." She paused, weighing her next words carefully. "You must act, Tiberius. Tonight."
His gaze bore into hers, searching for something—doubt, fear, or perhaps loyalty. What he found, she wasn't sure, but after a moment, he nodded. "Very well," he said, his voice a quiet storm. "We go to the catacombs."
"We?" Merneith's eyebrows arched, surprise flickering across her features.
"Yes, we," he replied, stepping closer, his breath warm against her cheek.
His words sent a shiver down her spine, though whether from fear or something else, she could not say. Trust was a dangerous thing, especially between a Roman patrician and an Egyptian slave. Yet here they were, bound by a common enemy, forced to rely on one another.
Merneith swallowed, nodding in agreement. "Then we must go now. Time is against us."
As they made their way through the villa, Tiberius' presence was a constant reminder of the fine line she walked. He moved with the grace of a predator, silent and lethal, his hand never far from the hilt of his gladius. She felt his eyes on her as they slipped through the shadows, and though his gaze was inscrutable, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was studying her—testing her resolve.
The streets of Rome were dark and winding, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by an eerie quiet. The only sounds were the distant echoes of their footsteps and the occasional rustle of wind through the narrow alleyways. Merneith kept her head low, her senses sharp, every nerve in her body alert to the slightest movement.
As they neared the entrance to the catacombs, a shiver of unease crept down her spine. The heavy stone doors loomed before them, ominous and foreboding. She had never ventured into the catacombs before—few slaves had. It was a place of death, where the bones of the forgotten lay in silence. And yet, tonight, it would be a place of danger.
**Chapter: "The Serpent's Whisper"**
The air in the catacombs was thick with dampness, the walls slick with moisture as Merneith moved cautiously, her bare feet silent on the stone floor. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat, every distant echo a possible assassin. The torch in her hand flickered as they descended further into the labyrinth beneath Rome, the oppressive darkness pressing in on them.
Behind her, the steady clank of armor and the muted footsteps of Tiberius Macrinius Appius Brucetus' guards filled the silence. Four of them, all handpicked by Tiberius himself—loyal, battle-hardened men who would follow him into the depths of Hades if he commanded it. But even their presence did little to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in Merneith's mind. They were here to protect their general, not her, and she knew that in a world where power was currency, she was expendable.
Tiberius walked at the front, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow in the torchlight. His expression was unreadable, as it often was, but Merneith could sense the tension in him. He was a man used to commanding legions, yet now he was forced to rely on a former Egyptian noblewoman turned slave to navigate the treacherous waters of Roman conspiracy.
"Stay close," Tiberius' voice cut through the quiet, low and commanding. It wasn't directed at her, but at the guards. Still, Merneith couldn't help but feel the weight of his words.
They reached a junction in the tunnels, and Tiberius paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied the branching paths. His hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his gladius, the well-worn grip a familiar comfort in these uncertain depths.
"Left leads to the catacomb chambers," Merneith whispered, stepping up beside him. She kept her voice low, her eyes scanning the dark passageways. "It's where the traitors meet. But they'll have lookouts—perhaps even traps. We should proceed with caution."
One of the guards, a tall man with a scar cutting across his cheek, nodded grimly. "If they know we're coming, they'll be ready."
Tiberius met Merneith's gaze, his blue eyes searching hers for a moment. She could feel the unspoken question there—how much can I trust you? It was a question she had no easy answer for, but the truth was, their fates were now intertwined. If the plot against him succeeded, she would be dead long before she could taste freedom.
"Advance in pairs," Tiberius ordered, his voice steady. "Stay alert."
The guards nodded, two of them moving ahead to scout the left tunnel. Merneith watched them disappear into the darkness, the tension tightening her chest. Every moment felt like a taut thread ready to snap, every sound a harbinger of death. She could feel Tiberius' presence beside her—solid, unwavering—yet she knew that even he was not invincible.
Minutes passed, and then a shout echoed through the tunnel, followed by the unmistakable clash of steel. Tiberius reacted instantly, drawing his gladius and charging down the passage with the remaining two guards flanking him. Merneith hesitated for only a heartbeat before following, her heart pounding in her chest.
As she rounded the corner, the scene before her was chaos. The two guards had engaged with shadowy figures—assassins clad in dark robes, their blades gleaming in the dim light. The clash of metal rang through the air, and Merneith's eyes darted to the fallen bodies—one of Tiberius' men lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
Tiberius fought with the precision of a seasoned warrior, his movements controlled and deadly. But as more figures emerged from the shadows, it was clear they were outnumbered. Merneith's mind raced. She had to act.
Spotting a discarded sword on the ground, she grabbed it, the weight unfamiliar in her hands. But there was no time to think—only to survive. She lunged at one of the assassins who was advancing on Tiberius from behind. The blade connected with a sickening crunch, and the man crumpled to the ground.
Tiberius spun around, his eyes locking onto hers. There was surprise there, mixed with something else—something she didn't have time to analyze.
"Behind you!" she shouted, and Tiberius turned just in time to parry a blow aimed at his head.
The battle was brutal and swift, and when the last of the assassins fell, the catacombs were eerily silent once more. Merneith stood there, breathing heavily, the bloodstained sword in her trembling hand. The guards, those who remained standing, were equally exhausted, but their training kept them vigilant, eyes scanning the shadows for any further threats.
Tiberius approached her, his gladius still dripping with blood. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.
"I did what I had to," Merneith whispered, her voice shaking slightly as she lowered the sword.
Tiberius' gaze softened, just for a moment, before hardening again. He reached out, brushing a strand of her dark hair from her face with a gentleness that startled her.
"You're more than I ever imagined," he murmured, his voice low and filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "More than just a slave."
The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Merneith's heart pounded in her chest, not from fear, but from something else—something she didn't dare name.
But before either of them could say another word, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the tunnel. Reinforcements. The moment shattered, and Tiberius stepped back, his expression once again a mask of control.
"We need to move," he said, his voice all business now. "There will be more coming."
Merneith nodded, pushing aside the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume her. There would be time to think about this later—if they survived.
As they fled the catacombs, with the remaining guards flanking them, Merneith couldn't shake the feeling that this night had changed everything. The danger was far from over, and the plot against Tiberius was only beginning to unravel. But whatever lay ahead, one thing was certain—they were in this together, for better or worse.
In a world as perilous as theirs, trust was a rare commodity. And yet, despite everything, Merneith found herself clinging to the fragile bond they had forged in the darkness of the catacombs.
The garden felt too quiet, even for the late hour. The usual murmur of servants whispering in the distance had been replaced by an eerie stillness. The only sound was the soft crunch of gravel beneath her sandals as she moved, careful to avoid the telltale crack of a branch or the rustle of leaves. She had learned to be silent in her years of servitude, blending into the background, unseen and unheard. But tonight, she needed to be seen. By him.
She spotted Tiberius Macrinius Appius Brucetus standing near the fountain, his back turned to her, his posture rigid. The moonlight glinted off his armor, the fine detail of the bronze catching the silver light. Even in the dim glow, he radiated power—an immovable force in a world of shifting sands.
He must have sensed her presence because he turned, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto hers. For a moment, they stood there, two figures in the night, the weight of unspoken words heavy between them. She had spent countless nights deciphering his moods, reading the subtleties of his expressions. But tonight, his face was a mask, carefully composed, hiding whatever thoughts stirred beneath the surface.
"Merneith," his voice cut through the silence, low and commanding, but she could detect the undercurrent of tension lacing his words. "What news?"
She approached him slowly, her heart pounding in her chest as she considered how much to reveal. In the months she had served him, they had formed a tenuous alliance—built not on trust, but on necessity. The plot against him, whispered in the corridors of Rome, had drawn them together, though their partnership remained fragile. She was still his slave, after all. A woman bound by chains, even if those chains were invisible in the dark.
"Dominus," she began, inclining her head in a gesture of respect, though her eyes never left his. "I overheard two men speaking near the kitchens. They spoke of a meeting, late tonight, in the catacombs beneath the city."
She saw the flash of concern in his eyes, quickly masked by his usual stoic demeanor. "The catacombs," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "They grow bolder."
"Yes," she replied, stepping closer, lowering her voice as if the shadows themselves were listening. "They mentioned your name, Tiberius. And the name of the senator—Cassius."
His eyes sharpened at the mention of the senator's name. Cassius had always been a snake, hiding venom beneath the guise of political ambition. Tiberius knew that, and so did Merneith. The senator had been gaining influence, undermining Tiberius' efforts at every turn. And now, it seemed, he was ready to strike.
"Did they say what time?" Tiberius asked, his voice calm, but Merneith could sense the fire beneath it.
"Midnight. They're moving weapons through the underground tunnels. If they succeed, they'll ambush you at the Senate, accuse you of treason before you can strike back." She paused, weighing her next words carefully. "You must act, Tiberius. Tonight."
His gaze bore into hers, searching for something—doubt, fear, or perhaps loyalty. What he found, she wasn't sure, but after a moment, he nodded. "Very well," he said, his voice a quiet storm. "We go to the catacombs."
"We?" Merneith's eyebrows arched, surprise flickering across her features.
"Yes, we," he replied, stepping closer, his breath warm against her cheek.
His words sent a shiver down her spine, though whether from fear or something else, she could not say. Trust was a dangerous thing, especially between a Roman patrician and an Egyptian slave. Yet here they were, bound by a common enemy, forced to rely on one another.
Merneith swallowed, nodding in agreement. "Then we must go now. Time is against us."
As they made their way through the villa, Tiberius' presence was a constant reminder of the fine line she walked. He moved with the grace of a predator, silent and lethal, his hand never far from the hilt of his gladius. She felt his eyes on her as they slipped through the shadows, and though his gaze was inscrutable, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was studying her—testing her resolve.
The streets of Rome were dark and winding, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by an eerie quiet. The only sounds were the distant echoes of their footsteps and the occasional rustle of wind through the narrow alleyways. Merneith kept her head low, her senses sharp, every nerve in her body alert to the slightest movement.
As they neared the entrance to the catacombs, a shiver of unease crept down her spine. The heavy stone doors loomed before them, ominous and foreboding. She had never ventured into the catacombs before—few slaves had. It was a place of death, where the bones of the forgotten lay in silence. And yet, tonight, it would be a place of danger.
**Chapter: "The Serpent's Whisper"**
The air in the catacombs was thick with dampness, the walls slick with moisture as Merneith moved cautiously, her bare feet silent on the stone floor. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat, every distant echo a possible assassin. The torch in her hand flickered as they descended further into the labyrinth beneath Rome, the oppressive darkness pressing in on them.
Behind her, the steady clank of armor and the muted footsteps of Tiberius Macrinius Appius Brucetus' guards filled the silence. Four of them, all handpicked by Tiberius himself—loyal, battle-hardened men who would follow him into the depths of Hades if he commanded it. But even their presence did little to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in Merneith's mind. They were here to protect their general, not her, and she knew that in a world where power was currency, she was expendable.
Tiberius walked at the front, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow in the torchlight. His expression was unreadable, as it often was, but Merneith could sense the tension in him. He was a man used to commanding legions, yet now he was forced to rely on a former Egyptian noblewoman turned slave to navigate the treacherous waters of Roman conspiracy.
"Stay close," Tiberius' voice cut through the quiet, low and commanding. It wasn't directed at her, but at the guards. Still, Merneith couldn't help but feel the weight of his words.
They reached a junction in the tunnels, and Tiberius paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied the branching paths. His hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his gladius, the well-worn grip a familiar comfort in these uncertain depths.
"Left leads to the catacomb chambers," Merneith whispered, stepping up beside him. She kept her voice low, her eyes scanning the dark passageways. "It's where the traitors meet. But they'll have lookouts—perhaps even traps. We should proceed with caution."
One of the guards, a tall man with a scar cutting across his cheek, nodded grimly. "If they know we're coming, they'll be ready."
Tiberius met Merneith's gaze, his blue eyes searching hers for a moment. She could feel the unspoken question there—how much can I trust you? It was a question she had no easy answer for, but the truth was, their fates were now intertwined. If the plot against him succeeded, she would be dead long before she could taste freedom.
"Advance in pairs," Tiberius ordered, his voice steady. "Stay alert."
The guards nodded, two of them moving ahead to scout the left tunnel. Merneith watched them disappear into the darkness, the tension tightening her chest. Every moment felt like a taut thread ready to snap, every sound a harbinger of death. She could feel Tiberius' presence beside her—solid, unwavering—yet she knew that even he was not invincible.
Minutes passed, and then a shout echoed through the tunnel, followed by the unmistakable clash of steel. Tiberius reacted instantly, drawing his gladius and charging down the passage with the remaining two guards flanking him. Merneith hesitated for only a heartbeat before following, her heart pounding in her chest.
As she rounded the corner, the scene before her was chaos. The two guards had engaged with shadowy figures—assassins clad in dark robes, their blades gleaming in the dim light. The clash of metal rang through the air, and Merneith's eyes darted to the fallen bodies—one of Tiberius' men lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
Tiberius fought with the precision of a seasoned warrior, his movements controlled and deadly. But as more figures emerged from the shadows, it was clear they were outnumbered. Merneith's mind raced. She had to act.
Spotting a discarded sword on the ground, she grabbed it, the weight unfamiliar in her hands. But there was no time to think—only to survive. She lunged at one of the assassins who was advancing on Tiberius from behind. The blade connected with a sickening crunch, and the man crumpled to the ground.
Tiberius spun around, his eyes locking onto hers. There was surprise there, mixed with something else—something she didn't have time to analyze.
"Behind you!" she shouted, and Tiberius turned just in time to parry a blow aimed at his head.
The battle was brutal and swift, and when the last of the assassins fell, the catacombs were eerily silent once more. Merneith stood there, breathing heavily, the bloodstained sword in her trembling hand. The guards, those who remained standing, were equally exhausted, but their training kept them vigilant, eyes scanning the shadows for any further threats.
Tiberius approached her, his gladius still dripping with blood. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.
"I did what I had to," Merneith whispered, her voice shaking slightly as she lowered the sword.
Tiberius' gaze softened, just for a moment, before hardening again. He reached out, brushing a strand of her dark hair from her face with a gentleness that startled her.
"You're more than I ever imagined," he murmured, his voice low and filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "More than just a slave."
The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Merneith's heart pounded in her chest, not from fear, but from something else—something she didn't dare name.
But before either of them could say another word, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the tunnel. Reinforcements. The moment shattered, and Tiberius stepped back, his expression once again a mask of control.
"We need to move," he said, his voice all business now. "There will be more coming."
Merneith nodded, pushing aside the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume her. There would be time to think about this later—if they survived.
As they fled the catacombs, with the remaining guards flanking them, Merneith couldn't shake the feeling that this night had changed everything. The danger was far from over, and the plot against Tiberius was only beginning to unravel. But whatever lay ahead, one thing was certain—they were in this together, for better or worse.
In a world as perilous as theirs, trust was a rare commodity. And yet, despite everything, Merneith found herself clinging to the fragile bond they had forged in the darkness of the catacombs.