The Oath of Rome

Prologue: The Oath

Rome, 217 BC

The flames crackled, illuminating the weathered faces of the men kneeling before the altar of the temple. The air was thick, heavy with the smell of incense and burning wax. Beneath the leaden sky of Rome, the twilight seemed to herald days of storm. At the center of the group, an elderly man with a face marked by wrinkles and years of battle, Titus Manlius, stood with his gaze fixed on the horizon, as if he could see the fate of the city through the curtain of smoke.

“Rome is on the edge of the abyss,” he said gravely, his voice vibrating in the heavy air. “Hannibal has already crushed our army three times, but this city will not fall so easily. Today, we swear on this altar to protect our homeland, even with our own blood.”

Lucius Valerius, the youngest among them, felt a knot in his stomach. He had always been proud to be a Roman soldier, but never before had he felt the burden of responsibility weigh so heavily on him. Hannibal, the feared Carthaginian general, was advancing toward Rome, and every day brought new reports of devastation. His eyes followed the dagger that Manlius raised toward the sky.

The old man sliced his own hand, letting the blood flow down the silver dagger and drip onto the marble of the altar. Marcus Flavius, Lucius’ childhood friend, was the second. He took the dagger with trembling hands, but without hesitation, he cut his own skin, his blood mingling with Manlius’s.

When it was Lucius’s turn, the young man lifted his gaze. The statues of the gods seemed to be watching him, judging his every move. The blade slid across his skin, and the blood flowed, red and hot. Despite the pain, he felt a resolute determination growing inside him. Rome would not fall under his watch.

The four men stood, their destinies now intertwined not only by the oath but by the weight of what was to come. “Prepare yourselves,” Manlius said in a low but firm voice. “The time for action is near. Hannibal is waiting for us.”