Dawn of a New Rome

The world was changing beneath Constantine's feet. Some days, he could almost sense the land itself swelling, rivers shifting their banks, fields rolling out toward the horizon like green banners. In the city, the pace of life only quickened. News from the provinces arrived by steam-cart, sometimes twice in a day. Markets overflowed with strange fruits and copperware from distant kingdoms. Every new face in the crowd was a reminder that the boundaries of Rome were as fluid as the world itself.

But beneath all the bustle, an unease grew. Rumor worked its slow poison, more dangerous than any blade. Whispers followed Constantine through the palace: that the world was growing wider and stranger, that even the Emperor could not predict what tomorrow would bring. He saw it in the eyes of his councilors, in the wary glances of his sons, and in the careful silence of Valerius, who had grown old in the service of two emperors and did not trust in miracles.

Constantine awoke before dawn most days now. He stood at his window as the city roused, watching the first barges pole their way down the river, the smoke of the bakeries spiraling into the mist. His study was filled with maps-old ones curling at the corners, new ones marked with hastily drawn lines and names he did not recognize. There was a restlessness in him that no victory could quite quiet.

A letter arrived from Valentinus, who had traveled east to oversee the new mines in Armenia. The script was cramped, the wax broken and resealed. The news was both promising and strange. "They have found veins of ore deeper than any our miners remember," Valentinus wrote. "But the men say the rock itself shifts overnight, closing passages, revealing others. Some have seen lights in the deep, and a few have vanished altogether. The local priests demand sacrifices to calm the earth. I have forbidden it, but unrest simmers."

Constantine pressed his lips together as he read. He had no time for superstition, but could not ignore the fact that the old certainties seemed to be failing. He sent orders for more engineers, more guards, and for a physician trained in the new sciences to accompany Valentinus.

Later, he walked the city with Marcus at his side. The people bowed as he passed, but their eyes followed him longer than usual, curious or anxious or simply tired. At the harbor, new ships lay berthed-some with hulls of dark wood veined with copper, others with the high, curling prows of traders from the far western isles. He watched as porters argued over cargo, as customs officials checked every manifest for forbidden goods or hidden weapons. The grain warehouses were full for now, but everyone knew that could change with a single bad season.

Marcus pointed to a cluster of foreigners near the fish market. "Merchants from the Ashen Coast," he said. "Their speech is rough, but they pay well."

Constantine nodded. "Let them trade. But watch them. The last thing we need is another dispute over tariffs."

They continued through the city, past the forges and the smithies, past boys wrestling in the mud and girls chasing goats through the alleys. Constantine found a certain peace in these walks. In the workshop district, he paused to speak with a group of artisans laboring over a new design for water pipes. The youngest, a girl of no more than twelve, explained how the copper fittings allowed for easier repairs. Constantine listened carefully, praised her work, and made a note to recommend her to the guildmaster.

He returned to the palace to find a delegation from the southern provinces waiting. They brought gifts-olive oil, cured meat, finely woven carpets-and a long list of grievances. Their leader, a round man named Decimus, spoke for them all.

"Augustus, we are loyal. We pay our taxes, we supply your armies. But the new laws are a burden. The inspectors demand bribes, and the new machines have put many men out of work. Some say the gods are angry."

Constantine listened, masking his impatience. He had heard the same complaints in different voices a hundred times. Still, he answered carefully. "You will have new inspectors, ones who fear me more than they love gold. As for the machines, they are here to stay. I will see to it that new schools are opened. Those willing to learn will find work. Those who do not-" He shrugged, letting the rest go unsaid.

Decimus bowed, satisfied for now. The delegation left, their gifts carefully catalogued by palace clerks.

In the afternoon, Constantine convened his council. The mood was tense. Valerius reported that Veles, the Slavic warlord, was rumored to have crossed the Black River with an army of exiles and mercenaries. "His magic is not mere trickery," Valerius warned. "He commands real power, or his followers believe he does, which is nearly as dangerous."

Valentinus, newly returned from the mines, added his own report. "The ground moves in strange ways. I have seen stones lift themselves from the earth, as if drawn by a hidden hand. Our best engineers cannot explain it."

Helena, serene but firm, suggested an offering at the new basilica to calm the people. Constantine shook his head. "We do not buy loyalty with incense. Double the bread ration. Send priests to the districts, but let them teach, not frighten. And find me men who know the old ways-shamans, herbalists, anyone who remembers how to speak to the land. If the world is changing, I will not be caught unprepared."

That night, Constantine dined alone in his study. The Book of the Unseen lay open, its pages stubborn as ever. He read passages by lamplight, hunting for anything that would explain the shifting world outside his walls. Sometimes, he thought he heard the book whisper, but when he looked again, the text was unchanged.

He slept poorly, haunted by dreams of a city swallowed by vines, of rivers running backward, of stars that fell like stones into the sea. In the dreams, he was always alone, a crown of iron growing heavier on his brow.

The next day, a messenger arrived from the western border. The man was young, exhausted, and his horse near collapse. "Augustus, the sky split in the night. The men say they saw shapes, like eagles of fire, flying north. Three villages vanished by morning-no sign of fire, no bodies, just empty fields and broken fences."

Constantine listened, questioning the messenger carefully. He sent word to his best scouts to investigate and ordered priests and engineers to the region. "We will not surrender to fear," he said. "We will find the truth, no matter what it costs."

He met with his sons in the late afternoon. Constantine II was eager, almost reckless, hungry for command. Constantius, the second son, was cautious, always thinking three steps ahead. Constans, the youngest, seemed to live half in the world and half in dreams, forever sketching ships and towers in the margins of his lessons.

Constantine put them through their paces, forcing them to explain the latest troop movements, the balance of food stores, the rise and fall of city revenues. "This is your world," he told them, "not the world of our fathers. Learn it, shape it, or be swept away by it."

That evening, he visited the northern walls. The city below glowed with thousands of lamps, the smoke of the forges curling up into the sky. Soldiers drilled in the torchlight, their movements sharp and disciplined. Valerius greeted him at the gate.

"We are ready for anything," the old general said. "But the men are uneasy. They hear stories, see things they cannot explain."

Constantine clasped his arm. "Hold them steady. The world will not wait for us to catch our breath."

In the quiet hours before dawn, Constantine walked alone in the gardens. The air was thick with the scent of night-blooming flowers. He watched the moon move behind the palace towers and thought of the lands beyond his reach: the jungles of the south, the steppe kingdoms rising in the east, the cold islands to the north, where barbarian kings dreamed of empire.

He felt, for a moment, the scale of his task. The world was no longer a closed circle but a tapestry being woven anew every day. Each thread was a life, a hope, a danger. He could not control them all, but he would not stop trying.

When dawn broke, he stood once more at his window, watching as the city woke to the clatter of hooves, the ring of steel, the voices of merchants and children and soldiers. He wondered how many more mornings he would have like this, how long he could hold the world together by sheer force of will.

But for now, he was Emperor. The crown was heavy, the world uncertain, but the city still stood, and so would he.