The daggers came from everywhere.
Senators I'd called friends. Men I'd promoted. Brutus—my Brutus—standing there with blood on his blade like he'd just killed a stranger.
Et tu, Brute?
The last thing I saw was his face. Guilty, but not guilty enough to stop.
Then nothing.
Pain.
That's what woke me up. Not the pain in my chest—that was gone. A different pain. In my throat. Like someone had tried to cut it open.
I tried to speak. Nothing came out but a rasp. My voice sounded... wrong. Younger. Rougher.
My eyes opened.
Above me: a ceiling painted with gods and clouds. Gold trim. Frescoes. This wasn't the Senate floor. This wasn't even close.
Where the hell was I?
I pushed myself up. My hands—not my hands. Younger. Smoother. No scars from Gaul, no calluses from gripping a sword for twenty years.
I stumbled to a mirror.
A stranger stared back.
Young face. Curly hair. Eyes that looked... crazy. Like the guy had seen too much and snapped.
I touched my throat. Blood, still wet. But the wound was closing. Healing, right in front of my eyes.
"What in Hades..."
A scroll on the table. Sealed with wax. Address on the outside:
"To Emperor Nero"
I read it three times. The words didn't change.
Nero.
The Nero. The one who burned Rome. The one who killed his own mother. The one who—according to every senator who ever badmouthed him—fiddled while the city turned to ash.
The most hated name in Rome.
And I was in his body.
"Gods," I whispered. My new voice cracked. "You've got to be kidding me."
Then the memories hit.
Not mine. His.
A little boy, scared of his mother. A woman who looked at him like he was a tool, not a son. Who climbed into bed with him—I pushed that thought away fast.
A teenager, suddenly emperor. Scared. Alone. People telling him what to do, all the time, every day.
A young man, watching Rome burn. Standing on a tower, playing his lyre, because he didn't know what else to do. Because the fire was beautiful and terrifying and he was just... watching. Like everyone else. But they needed someone to blame.
A man, running. Always running. From the Senate. From the truth. From himself.
Then the villa outside Rome. The horses. The soldiers coming.
The knife at his throat.
The last thought, before he pushed:
I can't do this anymore.
I stood there for a long time.
Then I laughed.
Not a happy laugh. The kind of laugh you make when the universe plays the worst joke imaginable and you're the punchline.
"The great conqueror," I said to the empty room. "Conqueror of Gaul. Victor of the Civil War. Dictator for life. And now... this. A coward's body. A madman's name."
I looked at the mirror again. At those crazy eyes.
"But here's the thing, Nero. I'm not you."
Boots. Outside. Coming fast. Multiple men. Armed—I could tell by the weight of the steps.
Old habits. Twenty years of camp life. You learn to hear things.
I straightened my tunic. Found the senator's voice—the one that filled the Forum, that made armies listen.
The door burst open.
Three soldiers. Full armor. Swords out. The one in front had a scar across his whole face, like someone had tried to chop him in half and missed.
He stopped dead when he saw me standing there. Like he expected to find a corpse, not a man ready to talk.
"Your—Your Majesty!" The scarred guy dropped to one knee. The others followed. "Thank the gods you're alive! Epaphroditus sent us—the Senate's men are already at the city gates! You have to leave. Now. There's still time—"
"Time for what?"
He looked up, confused. "To... to run, Majesty. Galba's army is—"
"Galba." I rolled the name around. A memory surfaced—some old general the Senate had propped up. Not a real threat. "How many men?"
"Five thousand. Maybe more. Your Majesty, please, there's a horse waiting—"
I cut him off. "How many men we have?"
He blinked. "Majesty?"
"Our soldiers. The ones still loyal. How many?"
He swallowed. "The German guard. Maybe... two hundred. Outside the villa."
Two hundred. Against five thousand.
I remembered crossing the Rubicon. I'd had five hundred men then. Not much more. And on the other side? All of Rome.
Caesar against the world. Again.
I walked to the window. Outside, torches. Thousands of them. The Senate's army, waiting for sunrise.
They thought they'd find a coward.
They were wrong.
"Scarface."
"Majesty?"
"What's your name?"
"Lucius, Majesty. Lucius Vorenus."
"Listen carefully, Lucius Vorenus. You're going to tell me everything about this villa. Every door. Every window. Every wall a man can climb."
He stared. "Majesty... are we... fighting?"
I turned to him. Smiled. The smile that made Gauls piss themselves.
"We're not running."