Dawn of a New Rome

Constantine crossed the atrium beneath mosaics that still glittered with gold leaf, the remnants of his father's last renovations catching stray sunlight. Marble echoed beneath his boots. Every stride brought a quiet hush, broken only by the muted clatter of the Protectores fanning out, securing alcoves and side passages with efficient routine. A clerk with a sheaf of tablets tried to bow and announce himself, but Valerius guided him aside with a silent look. No raised voices, no panic-just the inevitable calm of a power shift settling across the palace.

The bronze doors to the audience hall stood half open. Constantine entered without pausing, cloak trailing behind. Junius Tiberianus waited at the far end, shoulders drawn back, flanked by six treasury guards who stared at the floor. Scrolls cluttered the table at his elbow-orders never sent, calculations that already belonged to yesterday. The air smelled of old wax and the nervous sweat of men unsure if they would see another sunrise.

The prefect tried for dignity, arranging his toga with careful fingers. Even so, his eyes were bloodshot, his jaw tight with sleepless nights. "Constantinus," he began, voice echoing off marble, "your arrival is… precipitous. Reports from Rome contradict each other. For the safety of the provinces, I believed it prudent to wait for clarity-"

"Clarity stands before you now," Constantine replied. His tone was even, his voice carrying across the chamber without effort. "The Rhine frontier is quiet. Britain follows my standard. Samarobriva opened its gates. Trier has done the same. The legions outside these walls wait for an Augustus, not a scribe. Speak your mind, but choose quickly. The moment for hesitation has passed."

Tiberianus's gaze drifted past Constantine to the Chi-Rho standard glowing in the doorway, then to the armed guards flanking the walls. "I have managed Gaul for fifteen years. I know the weight of its taxes, the state of its harvests, the temper of its guilds. It is not a child's task."

"A child did not ride through your gates," Constantine replied. "Your emperor stands before you. Kneel and keep your ledgers. Or stand in the way and risk everything you have tried so carefully to balance."

He advanced three steady paces, stopping within reach. The gulf of age between them seemed to shrink, Tiberianus suddenly old and tired, Constantine young but unyielding. From the square beyond the walls, horns sounded as the Sixth Victrix secured the bridge and checkpoints. The echoes reverberated through the marble ceiling like distant thunder-reminding all inside who now held command.

"I have no wish to spill Roman blood in this hall," Constantine said, quieter now, but with no less force. "But do not mistake restraint for weakness. The loyalty of the legions hangs on your next breath. Make your choice."

Tiberianus's shoulders slumped as the weight of indecision left him. He bent to one knee on the cold floor, head bowed. "Ave, Caesar. Ave, Augustus." The second title caught in his throat, yet it rang loud enough for the guards nearby. They dropped their spear points in salute. A few exhaled, as if a tension had finally snapped.

Constantine offered his hand. When Tiberianus stood again, the moment of submission already belonged to memory and to rumor, which would soon run through every hall and market of the city. "Convene the civic council at dusk," Constantine commanded. "Announce the transfer of authority, open the treasury for legion pay at once, and prepare proclamations for every town between the Loire and the Alps."

Tiberianus nodded, his composure returning. "It shall be done."

"Good. Gaul needs grain, not speeches," Constantine said. He turned to Valerius. "Post detachments at the mint and the food depots. Send word to Crocus. His riders may rest their horses in the northern camp. There will be no looting."

Valerius allowed himself a thin smile. "The king will complain, but he will obey."

Officials scattered to fulfill the new orders, relief mixing with exhaustion in their hurried steps. The machinery of administration began to turn again. Constantine strode through the inner corridors, each one opening before him with the quiet speed of a well-oiled hinge. He passed rooms crowded with clerks, torchlight reflecting off brass, the busy hum of messengers already racing toward new assignments.

At the palace's edge, he stepped onto a wide balcony overlooking the Moselle. Afternoon sunlight danced on the water's curve. Below, the city's tiled roofs gleamed. Banners of the Sixth fluttered above the black stones of the Porta Nigra. Far off, the clatter of wagons and distant laughter floated up-life resuming under new rule. Somewhere, a child shouted, then a woman's voice answered, and Constantine felt the city itself begin to breathe again.

He rested his hands on the stone railing, letting the cold wind bite his skin. For a brief moment, he let his mind drift. Alistair's ghost murmured lists and probabilities, but those tools felt lighter now. The burden of command belonged to Constantine-no longer shared with the shadow of a world he had left behind. In the distance, the threat of Severus's armies and Galerius's intrigue still lingered. Rome's politics would not wait, and neither would the ambitions of other men. But today, the capital of the West had bowed, and the empire felt steady beneath his feet.

He closed his eyes and drew a slow, cold breath. The storm was not over. It had barely begun. Yet for this hour, there was quiet-a conquered city settling into the rule of a new Augustus, an empire remade not by fire or sack, but by certainty and discipline.

Behind him, the palace bustled with preparation: councilors gathered for the evening meeting, scribes assembled proclamations, and soldiers returned to their posts. Constantine took one last look over the Moselle, the banners, and the streets that stretched to every horizon.

He turned and reentered the palace. Every step sounded firmer now. He had claimed a city, imposed order, and set the empire's machinery moving once again. Each hour would bring new tests-new decisions to make, rivals to outmaneuver, and crises to solve. But today, the empire stood as it must: not in ruins, not in doubt, but under the unblinking gaze of a ruler prepared to hold the West until the world itself changed shape around him.