The walk back to the insula was silent at first, the sound of sandals echoing against the uneven street stones. The sky was already darkening, dyed a deep blue that heralded the night. Flavio, usually chatty and jovial, kept his head down, distractedly kicking loose pebbles along the path.

  "You know, Lucius," Flavio began, his deep voice coming out a little lower than usual. "Sometimes I think that... that I could be better."

  Lucius looked at his companion, noting the giant's slumped posture.

  "Better how, my friend?"

  "Like you and Marcus," he replied, glancing sideways with a glint of sadness in his eyes. "I feel a little envious, to be honest. You look at those scribbles on wood or papyrus and understand what they say. You know how to read, how to write, how to design machines that change people's lives. I... I'm just me, you know? I can't even write my own name in the dirt."

  Lucius stopped and faced his friend. The honest confession touched him deeply. He thought to himself that Flavio, for all his simplicity, was loyal to the core. Surely he must have been an invaluable friend to the old Lucius, the one who inhabited this body before him. Such loyalty was rare in any century.

  "You are a good man, Flavio. And a good friend. Perhaps the best a man could have," Lucius said firmly. "Intelligence lies not only in letters, but in heart and honor. But if that is what troubles you, I promise: I will teach you to read and write someday. And not only that. I will teach you everything I know."

  Flavio’s eyes went wide with surprise.

  "You... would do that? For me?"

  "Yes," Lucius replied without hesitation. "Because you are the only friend who truly understands me and who has never abandoned me."

  A wide, grateful smile spread across Flavio's bearded face. They reached the entrance to Lucius's building.

  "Tomorrow will be a long day," Lucius said, extending his hand to say goodbye.

  Flavio shook Lucius's hand, engulfing it with his huge palm, but soon pulled his friend into a bear hug. Lucius felt the air leave his lungs at the strength of the squeeze, but returned the gesture. The man was truly huge, a mountain of raw affection and strength.

  "Soon we’ll be marching together against the barbarians, brother!" Flavio exclaimed as he let him go, his spirits lifted.

  Lucius laughed, though the sound came out a bit forced.

  "Take care, Flavio. Until tomorrow."

  As he watched his friend walk away down the dark street, Lucius's mind hissed an uncomfortable truth: he didn't want to fight anyone. He didn't want to see blood, or barbarians, or snow. But fate didn't seem to care about his preferences.

  He turned and entered the building, climbing the familiar stairs. The smell of stale food and dampness permeated the air. His steps were heavy, the day’s exhaustion finally taking its toll.

  Upon reaching the hallway of his apartment, however, he froze. Something was wrong.

  The wooden door was ajar. A dark sliver invited danger. In all the days he had spent in this new life, Lucius had learned one absolute rule about Selena: she was cautious, bordering on paranoia. She locked the door with double bolts as soon as the sun set. She would never, under any circumstances, leave the entrance to her home unprotected.

  Lucius’s heart raced, pumping cold adrenaline into his veins. He pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside.

  Before his eyes could adjust to the gloom within, a brutal impact exploded against his cheekbone. A punch. Hard, sharp, and merciless.

  Lucius staggered back, his vision blurred for an instant, but he managed to stay on his feet. The door was shut with a dull thud behind him.

  As he regained focus, the scene that unfolded before him made his blood boil.

  Two burly men, looking like they lived by violence in the filthy alleys of Rome, stood before him, blocking the exit. But it was what he saw in the background that stole his breath.

  Sitting calmly at his table, slicing a piece of fruit with a small, curved knife, was the man from before. The collector. His posture was relaxed, as if he owned the house. He speared a piece of the fruit and offered it to Lucius's little daughter, who stood paralyzed beside him, eyes wide with terror, accepting the food out of pure fear.

  In the corner of the room, huddled in the shadows, was Selena. She was bound hand and foot. A gag of dirty cloth stifled her screams but could not hide the tears streaming down her face, nor the fresh purple bruises staining her pale skin. She looked at Lucius with despair.

  A primal fury, red and overwhelming, took hold of Lucius. A rage he had never felt in his previous, civilized, and safe life. That man had invaded his home, touched the woman he had come to care for as if she were truly his wife, and was terrorizing a child.

  The collector smiled at Lucius, chewing a piece of fruit with provocative slowness.

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  "Good evening, Lucius. We missed y..."

  The collector didn't finish the sentence. Lucius didn't think. He didn't calculate. He just acted.

  With a roar that tore from the back of his throat, he lunged forward. Out of pure impulse and hatred, he threw a desperate punch at the chin of the nearest henchman. The man, caught off guard by his victim's sudden ferocity, stumbled and fell, knocking over a chair.

  Lucius tried to charge the seated collector, his fingers clawed, wanting to rip that smile off his face. But the second henchman was faster. Strong arms wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms and locking his movement.

  "Hold that worm!" shouted the collector, his smile vanishing.

  The henchman who had fallen stood up, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. His eyes burned with rage.

  "Now you're going to learn," the thug snarled.

  The first blow hit Lucius in the stomach, doubling him over. The second struck his ribs, reigniting the old pain. He was thrown to the floor. Before he could try to get up, the kicks began. Heavy boots struck his back, his legs, his face. He curled up, trying to protect his head, feeling each impact break a little more of his resistance, while the muffled sound of Selena's crying echoed in the room.

  "Stop," the collector ordered, raising a hand with a lazy gesture.

  Immediately, the rain of kicks ceased. The two henchmen, obedient as trained dogs, grabbed Lucius by the arms and hoisted him from the floor. He could barely support his own weight; his legs trembled and the world spun in a painful blur. Blood trickled from a cut on his eyebrow, blinding one of his eyes, and the metallic taste of iron filled his mouth.

  The collector wiped the blade of the small knife on his tunic and sighed, shaking his head as if disappointed with a naughty child.

  "Funny how life is, isn't it, Lucius?" the man said, walking slowly toward him. "I really didn't want to hurt anyone. Neither you, nor your lovely wife. I'm a businessman; I prefer the sound of coins clinking to the sound of bones breaking."

  Lucius spat a mixture of saliva and blood onto the floor. He raised his head, fixing his good eye on his tormentor's face.

  "You're going to pay..." Lucius whispered, his voice hoarse and failing, but laden with a venomous promise. "You're going to pay for every finger you laid on her. You can beat me to death, I accept that... but her... she is innocent."

  The collector let out a short, dry laugh.

  "No one is innocent in Rome, my friend. Innocence is a luxury not even the Vestals possess anymore." He stepped closer, invading Lucius's personal space, and examined the debtor's swollen face. "But I must admit... that look. There is a determination there I haven't seen before. When you came crawling to ask for the loan, you looked like a scared rat. Now, you look like a cornered wolf."

  The man smiled, showing yellowed teeth.

  "I like that. It will be interesting to see that fire go out when you are a slave in the salt mines. The life of a slave breaks any spirit."

  As the man spoke, Lucius's mind plunged into a dark abyss. Why does everything always go wrong? The question echoed in his head, bitter and unfair. Even when he didn't want it, disaster found him. It was like that in his other life: he was young, had plans, a future... and cancer came, silent and relentless, without warning, and killed him. Now, here he was, trying to get back on his feet, trying to survive, and the stupid choices of the "other" Lucius condemned him again.

  Was he cursed? Was his destiny always to be a leaf in the wind, dragged by forces he couldn't control? That woman crying in the corner, that terrified child... they would suffer because of a debt that he, in his soul, had never contracted.

  "Things should be different..." he thought, helplessness burning more than his wounds. "I should be in control."

  The reverie was interrupted by the cold glint of metal. The collector raised the knife again, bringing the sharp point close to Lucius's cheek.

  "Your face is too smooth, unmarred," the man commented, with a casual and sadistic tone. "That's not good for reputation. When they ask what happened, I'll say you resisted. A scar will suit you well."

  He paused, his eyes shining with pure malice.

  "And as soon as we're done with you, Lucius... we're going to have a little fun with your wife. Right here. Right in front of you. So that the last thing you see as a free man is her humiliation."

  The sentence hit Lucius like lightning. Fear and resignation evaporated, replaced by an absolute, volcanic hatred. He was no longer the civilized engineer; he was an animal protecting his young.

  Lucius screamed. A guttural sound, full of rage and despair, trying to break free from the grip of the men holding him.

  "Shut him up!" ordered the collector, annoyed by the noise. He turned to Selena and mocked: "Your wife was much quieter while she was getting beaten to learn good manners."

  The instant the words left his mouth, a deafening crash shook the apartment.

  The door, which was already damaged, didn't simply open; it exploded inward with the force of a battering ram. Splintered wood flew through the air, and a figure filled the doorway, blocking the light from the corridor.

  There stood Flavio.

  He needed no questions. His eyes swept the scene in a fraction of a second: Lucius bleeding, Selena tied up, the armed men. The understanding was instant, and the reaction, brutal.

  One of the henchmen instinctively released Lucius's arm to intercept the newcomer. It was a fatal mistake. Flavio didn't slow his pace. He charged like a bull and delivered a single punch, a heavy, technical straight that met the thug's face with the sound of flesh and bone colliding violently. The man didn't even moan; his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the floor like a sack of sand, unconscious before even touching the wood.

  Lucius, fallen to his knees, looked up. He always knew Flavio was big, but in that moment, the difference was colossal. Lucius, with his average height of one meter seventy, felt like a child next to his friend. Flavio bordered on one meter ninety tall, a tower of muscle molded by heavy labor in the quarry, with shoulders that seemed too broad to pass through the door.

  The collector retreated, the sadistic smile vanishing instantly, replaced by panic.

  "Draw your daggers! Kill him!" shouted the boss, backing away from the giant.

  The second henchman, seeing his companion knocked out, didn't hesitate. He threw Lucius violently to the floor and drew a short blade from his waist. Unlike the first, this one seemed to know how to fight. He was smaller, but agile.

  Flavio roared and charged. The thug, quick as a snake, dodged the giant's first clumsy blow. Flavio had the strength of Hercules, but he lacked the training of a soldier or gladiator. His movements were wide, predictable.

  The thug saw the opening. He dove under Flavio's open guard and thrust the dagger.

  The blade pierced the side of Flavio's body, scraping a rib. The giant bellowed in pain, a sound that made the walls tremble. Blood stained his tunic instantly.

  But the thug made a miscalculation. He expected the pain to make the giant retreat. Instead, Flavio used the pain as fuel. He ignored the knife embedded in his flesh and used the proximity to snap the trap shut.

  His enormous hands, calloused by stone, wrapped around the arm of the thug holding the dagger. The man tried to pull the weapon back, tried to break free, but it was like trying to escape a hydraulic press.

  They looked each other in the eye. The thug saw death in Flavio's wild gaze.

  Without saying a word, Flavio twisted his torso and applied pressure. A dry, horrible snap was heard, the unmistakable sound of the arm bone snapping in half.