The Senate chamber stank of incense and cowardice.

Even with the fires still smoldering beyond the hills of Esquiline, the senators sat in their marble thrones like vultures around a carcass — robes pristine, eyes bloodshot, hands gripping scrolls they hoped would become decrees.

At the center, seated on the gilded throne of Nero, Julius felt the ancient air thicken around him.

As if the very walls of the Curia Julia waited for him to repeat history.

The names had already been whispered.

Now they were spoken aloud.

"The Christians must be held accountable."

"Yes. Their sect is unnatural. Subversive."

"They preach fire as a purification—"

"They claim our gods are false! What else could be the cause of divine wrath?"

Each declaration landed like a stone tossed into a stagnant well — louder ripples, uglier echoes.

Julius remained seated.

Still.

But his fingers, hidden beneath the folds of Nero's imperial toga, curled into a fist.

So this is where it begins, he thought.

The great betrayal.

Not of the Christians — of Rome itself.

Christians at this stage were still in their infancy and not yet radicalized against the pagans.

He stood.

The chamber fell silent.

Nero had rarely risen in Senate without drama.

But there was no theater now.

No flute, no chorus.

Only the sound of sandals against polished marble.

He walked down the steps toward the Senate floor, his gaze sweeping the room — judging, measuring.

Then, without warning, he pointed to the Primus Senator.

"You claim they did not help?"

The man blinked.

"I—yes, reports from the Aventine—"

"Lie,"

Julius said, voice firm.

"I stood beside them in the smoke. I saw their women form chains from cistern to fire. Their men helped brace the granaries when they were collapsing. Their children carried messages faster than any cohort runner."

He turned to another senator.

"You say they refused to pray?"

"Only to our gods,"

the man said, shrinking.

"They prayed,"

Julius said.

"To whom is irrelevant. Their mouths moved while they bled, and prayed for salvation not just of themselves or their breathren but for the whole city and all who inhabit it.."

A murmur spread through the chamber.

Julius advanced another step.

"And you—"

he pointed to another,

"—accused them of treason. Do you know what I found in Subura?"

The senator tried to answer, but Julius's voice cut over him.

"Barrels of pitch. Linen soaked in oil. Ladders prepared not for escape, but ignition. This fire was no act of divine judgment. It was planned."

Gasps rang out.

"Sabotage?"

Julius nodded.

"The fire was lit in multiple districts simultaneously. No wind carried it. No spark leapt across the Tiber. This was orchestrated."

He let the silence linger.

Then he added, slowly, with precision:

"And those who orchestrated it counted on you… to do exactly what you're doing now."

The Senate stilled.

Even the older men, once proud in their spite, looked shaken.

"If we act now against the Christians,"

Julius continued,

"we will not be delivering justice. We will be playing their game."

"And if the people demand blood?"

someone whispered.

"Then let them see the truth, and in doing so we will over them blood but not of the christians."

Forum Romanum – That Afternoon

The Senate had been forced to follow him.

He'd given them no choice.

One by one, still reeling from his declaration, the patricians were pulled from their ivory chamber and marched to the open air of the forum any who tried to argue or stay behind had a blade pulled on them by the praetorians until they complied.

Citizens gathered in thousands — soot-covered, hungry, grieving.

A sea of faces looking for salvation… or someone to crucify.

Julius stepped onto the rostrum.

He wore no crown.

No gold.

Only his soot-stained robes and the signet of Rome on his hand.

Behind him, the entire Senate stood in staggered lines, flanked by guards.

Before him, the city breathed — shallow and tense.

"I come before you not as Nero,"

he said, voice amplified by the design of the rostrum's curved arch.

"But as a Roman who walked the fire with you."

Murmurs spread.

Some recognized him.

Others had seen him in the streets.

"I know what has been whispered. That the Christians refused to help. That they rejoiced while your homes turned to ash."

He raised his voice.

"It is false."

The crowd stirred, unease threading through them like a drawn wire.

"I saw them,"

Julius continued.

"I commanded them. They pulled water from wells, broke walls to create firebreaks, and risked their lives for yours — whether you shared their god or not."

He turned slightly, gesturing to the senators behind him.

"But this fire… this tragedy… was not born of divine anger or foreign faith."

A long pause.

"It was lit by Romans."

Gasps.

"They set the flames while we slept. While we argued in halls about taxes and borderlands. They sought to turn you against one another. To make you rage so you would not ask."

A woman in the crowd shouted,

"Why? Why would they do this?"

Julius answered with steel in his tone.

"Because they fear change. Because they see me as a child, but they fear me as a man. And they feared you — united as nothing is more dangerous than when rome is united as one. So they hoped to burn away your faith, your families, and your hope in one sweep, causing a divide to beset us against one another."

The people were silent.

Even the wind held its breath.

Julius let them stew in the silence — then spoke the line he had prepared like a blade drawn slow from a sheath.

"They failed."

The roar that followed was not joy.

It was clarity.

Pain given a name.

A cause.

And not the Christians.

Julius turned back to the senators.

Several of them looked pale.

Others furious.

But none dared speak.

He would let the Root — or its ancient equivalent — find the names. The planners. The traitors.

They would be executed in shadow if not in spectacle.

But not today.

Today, he would rewrite history.

"Rome is a tolerant city, but Rome is not a tolerant Empire! to those who would attempt to sow discord among us be warned you will be found out, you will be held accountable, and you will be punished for your crimes against the roman people!"

This more than anything cause the people to listen each glancing around looking for signs of worry on others faces to find the traitors in their midst.

Only to hear the voice of their Emperor sound out once more.

"As for the Christians, know this for your efforts in aiding us in fighting off this crisis you shall be rewarded!"