The news of Lucilla's approach changed the atmosphere of the march. A new tension, sharp and personal, settled over the command staff. General Maximus grew even more grim, his hand rarely straying from his sword as he ordered the Praetorian guards accompanying Alex to be subtly reinforced by his own trusted legionaries. Perennis, meanwhile, became a ghost, flitting about his duties with a nervous energy, terrified of being caught in the crossfire between the two imperial siblings.
Alex maintained an outward calm, but inwardly, his mind was a storm of anxiety. This was the test he feared most. It was one thing to outmaneuver senators and generals who only knew him as a title. It was another thing entirely to face the one person in the world who knew Commodus intimately—his moods, his habits, his memories. A single slip could unravel everything.
The imperial procession was now just a few days' march from Rome, winding its way through the green hills of Etruria. They made camp in a wide, pleasant valley, and the scouts soon reported the approach of a small, elite entourage bearing the personal standard of the Augusta. The confrontation was imminent.
Alex retreated to his carriage for a final, frantic preparation session. The laptop's battery icon was a terrifying, brilliant red. 14%. He didn't have power for complex simulations, only for a rapid data-dump.
"Lyra, I need everything," he whispered, his voice tight. "My childhood. Give me a crash course. Key memories, inside jokes, our relationship, the emotional tenor. What did I call her? What did she call me? What was the last argument we had before I left for the frontier?"
"Accessing biographical and psychological profiles," Lyra responded. A stream of text, images, and audio notes filled the screen. "You referred to her as 'Lucia' in private moments, a childhood affection she disdained in public. She called you 'Lucius,' never Commodus. Your relationship was deeply competitive, marked by jealousy on her part for your status as heir, and by resentment on your part for her intellectual superiority. Your last major interaction was a bitter argument after a gladiatorial match, where you praised the brute strength of a Thracian gladiator, and she mocked you for your 'plebeian tastes.' Your dynamic is one of mutual condescension."
The data flowed into him. He absorbed names of tutors, childhood pets, favorite foods, hated rivals. He was cramming for the most important exam of his life.
An hour later, she arrived. Lucilla rode into camp at the head of a cohort of Praetorians, their armor polished to a mirror shine, a stark contrast to the campaign-worn look of Alex's legions. She dismounted her white mare with a fluid, athletic grace, her purple traveling cloak doing little to hide a figure honed by expensive exercise and a lifetime of privilege. She was as beautiful, intelligent, and imperious as the historians had described, with sharp, assessing eyes that missed nothing. This was not a family reunion. It was an inspection. An interrogation.
They met in the open space before his command tent. Alex stood with Maximus at his side, a silent, granite guardian. Lucilla stood with her own Praetorian captain, creating a tense, symmetrical standoff.
"Brother," she said, her voice smooth and melodic, but with an underlying edge of steel. "You have led us all on quite a chase. We had not expected you in Italy until the harvest moon."
"The gods blessed our journey with speed, sister," Alex replied, his voice even, using the formal term for her. He did not move to embrace her. Lyra's profile had been clear: their relationship was not one of physical affection.
"So it would seem," she said, her eyes raking over him, taking in his disciplined posture, the calm authority in his gaze. "The gods, or some other influence. You have changed."
"War changes a man," he said simply. "As does the weight of an empire."
She suggested a private meal, to "catch up, as family should." It was a command, not a request. They retired to his tent, which now felt small and confining. Maximus and her Praetorian captain stood guard outside, a silent testament to the distrust between the two camps.
The meal was a verbal chess match, with every sentence a move and every question a probe, searching for a weakness in his defense.
"Do you remember the lame pony, Hector?" she began, her tone deceptively casual as a servant poured them wine. "The one father gave you for your tenth birthday? You were so proud of him. You cried for a week when he threw you into the mud in front of the entire household."
It was a test of memory, designed to see if he possessed the specific, embarrassing anecdote of a shared childhood. Lyra's data stream had included it.
Alex allowed a small, cold smile. "I remember the mud, Lucia," he said, using the childhood name. He saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes. "But I also remember you were the one who put a burr under his saddle just before I mounted. Your jealousy was always so… unsubtle."
Her own smile tightened. He had not only recalled the memory but had turned it back on her, perfectly matching the competitive, resentful dynamic Lyra had described. Check.
She changed tactics, probing his new character. "These edicts you have sent ahead… they are the talk of Rome. Who would have thought my brother, who once cared more for the gymnasium than the grain dole, would become such a meticulous administrator? What has gotten into you, Lucius?"
"Grief is a harsh but effective tutor, sister," he said, repeating the line he had prepared. It was becoming his mantra. "When one stares into the face of mortality, as I did when father died, childish things lose their savor. The empire is not a game. It is a sacred duty."
"Duty?" she scoffed softly, taking a delicate bite of roasted quail. "You always considered duty a tedious burden, something to be endured before you could return to your wrestlers and chariots."
"And you always considered my interests vulgar," he countered smoothly. "Perhaps we have both underestimated each other. Perhaps we have both grown."
The meal continued like this, a duel of subtext and veiled accusations. She was relentless, a master of insinuation. He, powered by Lyra's data and his own growing confidence, was an immovable wall. He answered every question, parried every thrust. He did not make a single mistake.
And that, he realized, was his biggest mistake.
As the meal concluded, Lucilla rose, her expression a mask of polite civility. "Well, brother. This has been… illuminating. I am glad to see you so… composed. Rome awaits you."
She left without another word, her entourage mounting up and riding south without delay. She had no proof. He had passed every test. But as Alex watched her go, a cold certainty settled in his stomach. She was more convinced than ever. His very perfection was the proof. The real Commodus was a creature of loud, boorish pride, of emotional outbursts and clumsy arrogance. He would have failed her tests. He would have boasted, or gotten angry, or tried too hard to impress her. This cool, competent, unreadable stranger who wore his brother's face was, to her, an abomination. The battle lines were no longer just political; they were drawn in the heart of his stolen family.
Maximus came to stand beside him, his gaze fixed on the cloud of dust that was Lucilla's departing party.
"Caesar," the general said, his voice a low growl of warning. "Your sister… she looks at you not as a brother, but as a wolf looks at a rival occupying its territory. There is no love there. Only ambition."
Alex nodded grimly, the exhaustion of the performance washing over him. He felt drained, more tired than after any physical battle. He looked down at the laptop, which he had tucked into a satchel. He pulled it out and flipped it open. The battery icon was a single, terrifying sliver of red. 12%.
He was days away from Rome. Days away from a city full of enemies, led by his own sister. And his greatest weapon, his only true advantage, was about to die.
Lyra's synthesized voice spoke in his ear, and for the first time, he thought he could detect an algorithmically generated note of urgency in her tone.
"Alex, her questions were not random. They were a structured diagnostic. My analysis of her micro-expressions, her vocal patterns, and her logical progression indicates she is no longer merely suspicious. She has concluded you are an imposter."
The screen displayed a warning. "She is now actively hunting for your weakness, your 'tell.' She will be watching for any anomaly, any anachronism. From this moment on, in Rome, any mistake, any slip of the tongue, any action that is even slightly out of character, could be your last."
Alex closed the laptop, saving what little power he had left. He looked south. Through a gap in the hills, for the very first time, he could see a faint, brownish haze on the horizon. The sprawling, smoky, magnificent and deadly silhouette of the city itself. Rome.