Servilia stood frozen in place, her breath caught mid-inhale, her eyes wide with disbelief as they locked onto the figure perched atop the open roof of her grand atrium.
The man's stark white hair shimmered like moonlight against the shadowed tiles of her estate. His presence was utterly surreal—like a statue come to life. He stood there, immobile yet full of latent energy, crimson eyes glinting faintly in the dim glow of the setting sun that spilled across the marble pillars. Those eyes… eyes that held no warmth, no anger, no joy—only a calm, calculating void. An expression so void of emotion that it unsettled even her, a woman raised amidst whispers and intrigues, trained to read the subtlest flicker on a senator's face or the twitch of a general's brow.
And then, recognition struck her like a thunderclap.
Septimius.
"Wh…What are you?" she gasped, her voice rising in disbelief, teetering on the edge of dread.
