Chapter 1 – Frank:

 The first thing that should’ve tipped him off was the quiet. Rome, a city whose foundation rest on its gregarious history, was renowned for having a vibrant nightlife. Yet, as he wove through a maze of seemingly endless cobblestone back-streets and beneath the watchful gaze of towering, storied stone edifices, all Frank could hear was silence.

Where one might expect the echoes of distant laughter or music, only midnight’s encompassing hush could be found. Where the faint glow of far-off fires or soft stars should have pierced the night, only a pale beam from his Maglite could be seen. Where the familiar caress of a gentle nighttime breeze should have brushed his skin, only static air could be felt. The blanket of nightfall’s darkness had seemingly snuffed out the city’s life, leaving behind an unsettling ambience that whispered of foreboding. Yet, despite the ominous atmosphere Frank pressed forward. He had to. A sense of duty propelled him that demanded his unwavering resolve.

He glanced over his shoulder. There, following closely was the ever-dependable Amy Lynch. Frank Archer, a sturdy man, stood like a sentinel against the darkness. 20 years serving as a Pillar had etched his features with a web of scars telling a story of brutality and resolve. His gaze was piercing and expression stoic, exuding a rugged determination that was as unmistakable as it was formidable.

By comparison, Amy was a woman of paradoxes. Aged 26, to the untrained eye she appeared relaxed, comfortable, and all-together ordinary. Her frame was slender; comforted by charcoal curls, soft hazel eyes and pale skin with a scattering of light freckles, like breadcrumbs on a chopping board. With an understated elegance that belied her true brilliance, nobody would’ve picked Amy for anyone special. But, to those who knew her properly, she was in fact an enigmatic wonder.

Despite the dangers aligned to her station in life, Amy approached duties with courageous spirit and ceaseless optimism. Frank admired this. It kept him grounded in the important of their purpose. Afterall, in a world where hope had become hidden behind the fog of falsehood, optimism was a beacon that illuminated the path through.

Amy Lynch was a hidden gem waiting to be discovered, of that Frank was certain. She was the Pillar of strength, a bastion of hope and, perhaps most importantly, his friend.  

“Hey, wait up!”

Frank was suddenly pulled from his thoughts to realise how fast he’d been moving and slowed pace to draw opposite a breathless Amy.

“By all means please charge ahead,” she rasped sarcastically between laboured breaths. “We’re getting close now, aren’t we?”

The air grew dense, coiling its way like a python around Frank’s throat, squeezing tighter as the cyclic ticking of interlocked gears and copper on his wrist grew louder. Fortitudo sui, Fortitudo in unitate, Columnae Progressus – strength in self, strength in unity, pillars of progress. These were the words he’d sworn by and those that provided respite - light - amidst the darkness.

Eying his friend, her curls cascading like a midnight waterfall over a brow etched with concern, Frank gave the briefest of nods, if you could call it a nod. The gesture reflected more a nervous tick than any solid promise of affirmation. “Yeah, we’re almost there. Do you still have it?”

Amy paused for a moment, instinctively reaching for the inner pocket of her denim jacket where she felt a pointed, hard, lump. With a careful motion she withdrew the small, intricately stitched velvet pouch that had come to define their lives, its contents hidden from view. Frank’s gaze flickered to the item, tracing it with a cautious preparedness.

“Good.” Frank’s voice was steady and low, his expression a reflection of thoughtful consideration for what they were about to do. “I need you to pass it to me.”

Amy winced as the gravity of their situation bore down. A venture into the void of Rome’s endless abyss was the least of their concerns. The real fear lay in the question, what rests beyond the endless? What sat as a warden to hope behind that fog? The answer of course being nothing nice.

Amy understood this. She knew the risks ahead but also had come to accept, for the greater good, there was no turning back. Poor kid, Frank thought, it was unfair so much expectation should be put on someone so young.

Hands shaking, Amy unfurled the velvet pouch to unveil its secrets, before passing it over. Frank stood frozen as he accepted the item, its silver body and intricate crimson carvings gleaming off his flashlight, providing some relief from the enveloping darkness. Unconsciously, he began to trace these carvings, like a puppet being manipulated by some greater power. He knew they were at a turning point in history. In the night’s weaning hours they would either conquer the precipice of possibility or be lost, drowning in its shadow.

Frank began to refurl the pouch when, like the shrill call of cicadas on a starless night, a familiar voice cut through the silence.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Frank whipped around. Emerging from the encompassing darkness was an imposing figure, their form obscured by the billowing folds of a shade-hued cloak. As they approached, this cloak seemed to consume what little illumination from Frank’s MagLite had dared pierce the shroud of night, rendering most of their features indiscernible. Only a vague silhouette and single set of malevolent maple eyes hinted at the figure’s presence, a haunting spectre born from the depths of obscurity. Cassius.

“Frank, dear friend, long time no see.”

Icey tendrils snaked their ways down Frank’s nape, causing his platoon of hairs to stand at attention.

“Amy, get behind me,” Frank warned as he moved to make distance between them. Cassius and Frank had a history, one shrouded in sacrifice and harrowing loss. Like lions to gazelles, where he went Cassius pursued and death always followed.

“Poor Franky, so close. So much time wasted, avoiding the inevitable” Cassius mocked, his words dripping with venomous contempt. “Although, I am surprised by how well you and little Mrs. Lynch have held yourselves together. Afterall, aren’t pillars meant to crumble under pressure? The other two did.”

“Seeing red,” is a phrase often used to describe that moment one becomes so infuriated their vision gets tinted, like a matador bull. Frank, didn’t see red. No, the colour to paint his vision was a burning scarlet.

Every fibre of Frank’s being thrummed, a tempest of emotions swirling within him like a maelstrom of fire. His muscles constricted like tightly wound springs, poised to unleash a pit of pent-up rage. Glaring, he pulled his concealed pugio, a reminder of friends lost, and squared his shoulders for the impending confrontation.

“Why so serious?” Cassius sneered as he sardonically raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Before playing the hero, I suggest you look around.”

Emerging from the darkness were three more cloaked figures, their ominous silhouettes also blending in seamlessly with the night’s embrace. Safety and the promise of a prosperous tomorrow had become nothing more than vagrant dreams. They were surrounded.

“Whatever happens next, stay a pillar of strength,” Frank uttered to Amy through grit teeth. Their journey had been long and trying, a venture unworthy of any premature end. No, he would not let it finish here. They would not succumb nor dissolve meagrely into history’s abyss. “Now take this,” with a swift motion he passed her the pouch, “and run.”

Frank launched himself towards Cassius and capture, his pugio flashing like a beacon of defiance against those who hunted them. Amy, seizing the moment, scrambled for the labyrinthine alleys of Rome as their other adversaries began a relentless pursuit rivalled only by Quattuor Equites - the four horsemen.

Time would not be kind. It would grow old, withered and cruel, swallowing their existence inside an immense chasm before they crossed paths again.