On the first floor of the Senate Castle stood a vast and solemn hall, one that had once echoed with laughter, music, and the clamor of celebration. It was the great banquet hall—an imposing chamber of marble columns and gilded decorations—used not long ago to honor Julius Caesar's triumphant return from the successful Alexandrian campaign. Back then, the air had been thick with wine, praise, and political triumph.
Now, however, that same hall felt hollow.
Caesar was not present. Neither were any of his allies. The long tables stood arranged with ceremonial precision, yet untouched, as though the hall itself were holding its breath. The grandeur remained, but the warmth was gone, replaced by an oppressive silence that pressed down on everyone within.
