The night whispered between tents and stacked armor. There were no songs, no laughter. Only silence — sharp and tense, like the blade of a pugio waiting for its time.
Sextus sat outside his tent, cleaning his gladius for what felt like the hundredth time. Not out of need, but out of habit. To avoid thinking. To avoid feeling.
"You and that gladius are going to polish the moon," said a voice behind him.
It was Scaeva.
He held his helmet in one hand, no armor on, a folded cloak draped over his wounded shoulder. His step was still firm, though slower than before. He sat beside Sextus without asking. He didn't need to.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
"Do you remember the first man you killed?" Scaeva asked at last.
Sextus nodded slowly.
"In the forest. Before the river. My hands were shaking."
"And now?"
"Now they don't shake. But they ache after."
Scaeva smiled — barely.
"That means you're still human."
He went quiet again, then pulled something from inside his cloak: a vitis of pale wood. The symbol of command. Not as thick as a centurion's, but more solid than a common soldier's.
"I want you to carry this tomorrow," he said, offering it to him. "From now on, you're the optio of this century. My second."
Sextus stayed still. He didn't reach out right away.
"What about the others?" he asked. "There are veterans who've been here longer. Who've bled more."
"And you carry the weight. They follow you without question. They look to you when I shout an order. That's not something you're taught. It's something you earn. And you've earned it."
Sextus took the vitis. Held it in his fingers as if it weighed more than it looked.
"I don't know if I'm ready."
"No one is the first time," said Scaeva. "Not Caesar. Not me. Not you. But the battle won't wait for you to be."
They both stood at the same time.
"Tomorrow, when we charge, you'll keep the cohort together from the line. If I fall, you command."
"Then don't fall," Sextus replied with a half-smile.
Scaeva let out a rough, voiceless laugh.
"I'll try, boy."
And then he walked away, leaving Sextus alone under the starry sky, with a vitis in his hand and the weight of a hundred men on his shoulders.