Marius stood in the atrium, reciting Cicero under his breath.

  His tutor corrected him sharply, then softened. “It’s a good tongue, Marius,” the old man said, “even if fewer know how to use it well these days. And you speak it well.”

  Marius smiled, glowing with pride.

  Outside, the city moved like a memory of itself. Men in mismatched armor marched under banners with no eagles. Odoacer ruled now. “King of Italy,” they called him. The Senate still met. The consuls still wore togas. Coins still bore the face of an emperor no one had seen in years.

  Everything was still there, working. Just...different.

  His father used to speak of the Empire with certainty. Now he only said things like “Rome is not a place—it’s a way of being.”

  Which sounded wise until you tried to explain it to someone else.

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  That winter, the aqueduct cracked where it passed over the hill. The water still flowed, but more sluggishly. The city’s engineers proposed repairs. Funds were promised. Work crews even arrived with ladders.

  But after a week, they packed up. Something about a missing shipment of stone. Something about soldiers needing the money more.

  The crack remained.

  At dinner, his uncle said, “It will be fixed in the spring.”

  His mother smiled tersely. “It always is.”

  Then his father, quietly: “It used to be.”

  Marius chewed in silence, listening to the hollow ring of spoons on empty bowls. His little sister had taken to praying to both Christ and Jupiter, just in case. The elders sometimes said things were better under the old gods.

  One afternoon, as Marius walked home from his lessons, he saw a group of children throwing stones at the fallen statue of Minerva. One of them, barely older than his sister, yelled, “Watch over this!”

  The stone connected, chipping the goddess’s chin, deepening her frown.

  “Cut that out!” he’d shouted.

  But they didn’t. They laughed with an ugly cruelty that even took Marius aback.

  He turned away, unsure who or what he was angry at. It was just an old, toppled statue. Obviously, no one cared.

  So why did he?