A knock on the door startled Isis as she looked towards it. Seth lowered his pen, stopping his work on the crossbow he was making and waited. Stepping in, a man wearing a set of loose-fitting robes walked in with a flattering smile and looked towards the two, bowing his head towards them.

"Forgive me for bothering you, but the Broker wishes to speak to you." The man looked towards Seth before staring deep into Isis’s eyes, "Alone."

"Alone. Why? Why can’t I come?" Seth asked, reaching into his blazer, resting a hand on the hand cannon. "Surely you must understand why I am a bit hesitant."

"Of course." The man turned around and looked down the corridor. Giving a nod, another pair of footsteps followed behind. Stepping behind the man, a young boy, around ten, stood looking at the three with confused, but proud eyes. Everything about the child was a clear reflection of another man, his brown hair and eyes a direct resemblance. "The broker understands your fears and, in return, will leave his son in your care. He called it an assurance."

"He will hand over his son as a hostage?" Isis said in surprise, making the messenger chuckle.

"A hostage is the wrong word. He prefers the term goodwill. Whilst my word may be meaningless, I can assure you that no harm will come to you, my lady. He simply wishes to discuss the next step of your agreement with the Evangelist." Narrowing his eyes, his smile grew, "Of course, you can disagree, but he warned that the deal will be made void the moment you do."

Seth rose for Isis and nodded, "Deal, but give the lady a moment., She must prepare." The man bowed his head again, crossing his arms and placing his hands into the opposite sleeve.

"Of course. But please, do not delay too long." Leaving Steh turned to Isis and clicked his tongue.

"Change how you’re dressed." Going to the wardrobe, he scanned the outfits Ceiceil had prepared and pulled out a white dress woven with golden-coloured thread. "Put this on." Seeing her raise an eyebrow, he smiled. "You must keep up appearances. It’s just the way it is." Nodding in understanding, she took the dress and waited for Seth to turn around. Slipping out of the clothes she was wearing, she put the dress on and looked at herself, smiling at her appearance. Seth turned back to face her after getting permission and walked over to his bag. Taking out a knife, he slipped it into her hand.

"Trust nothing he says. This man is nothing like the priest. He is pure evil, Isis. He holds nothing in his heart but power." Making sure she held the blade, he nodded, "If you must, do not attempt to kill him, but kill yourself. Becuase even if he dies, you will suffer an even worse fate than death." Looking to the door, his demeanour relaxed, "Although you don’t need to worry too much. That is most definitely his son. Even if he is worse than I think and doesn’t love him, he won’t do something that puts his child in danger and risks his reputation." 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

Isis smiled and placed the knife in her sleeve. Stepping out, the messenger smiled and pushed the boy into the room, leaving him there before turning around and guiding her out. Leaving the manor, Isis saw the massive entourage prepared, a line of carriages each surrounded by a group of guards. Carefully looking, she noticed that inside each carriage was empty, using it as a display of wealth and power rather than anything else.

Getting into a carriage, she watched the city, how everyone who saw the convoy backed away from it, slightly fearful, making sure to lower their gazes, even when no one looked at them. Even the Lessers who were trained to smile and be grateful did so. The ride was quick, the roads seemingly cleared ahead of time for their journey, and when it stopped, she stood outside a manor that bordered on being a palace, the large marble building a relic of the Old Kingdom, restored and expanded.

At its entrance, pillars, smaller than those at the Pantheon’s front door, but large in themselves, created a gateway to enter, where a set of ten guards stood like stone, watching everything. With a deep breath, she followed the messenger in and watched the long line of maids and butlers in neat parallel rows, bowing towards her, each one with identical smiles and posture. It wasn’t just their postures and outfits, but their haircuts and even faces that all looked nearly identical; the women with black shoulder-length hair and the men with trimmed black hair, brushed to the side.

The eeriness of it all gave her goosebumps, and to distract herself, she focused on the building instead, looking at the artworks that covered every wall. Next to it, the walls had carvings of people and animals protruding from the wall, each one designed to look a part of the building naturally, frozen in time when the place was created.

’Insane. Even Darion isn’t this rich. Thinking to herself, the messenger opened a door for her into the side room, where Justinian stood, masterfully chopping vegetables into small pieces.

"She has arrived." The messenger bowed and stepped back, leaving the room and closing the door behind them. Justinian didn’t acknowledge it, instead focusing on his salad, sprinkling herbs on top once he was finished. Taking a bite, he smiled in satisfaction at his own work and looked at her, walking around, eating without speaking. Five minutes passed off it, Isis tensely standing in place as he walked around, eating, a thin smile always on his face.

Only when he was finished did he put the bowl down and take a seat, nodding to the one opposite him. "So you made the correct choice. I must thank you for that." His tone was friendly, but Isis didn’t smile, still remembering his cold touch.

"I felt I didn’t have a choice." Her words caused a low chuckle.

"Sure, that’s one way of saying it, but on the other hand, you are now privileged to have my protection in this city." Leaning forward, he tilted his head, "So, shall we get to business?" Isis stiffened and nodded, wondering what type of deal she really made. "In around a week, you will stand before a crowd within the colosseum and tell your tale of how you escaped Cras and its horrid system. You will pretend to be a slave from there, not a visitor. You will tell this brave tale before a crowd and have them rally behind the idea of destroying this wretched system and, in turn, bringing the salvation of Danmor." Justinian smiled and shook his head, "It’s strange when I speak like that. It’s why Augustus is the preacher after all."

Isis let out a fake half-laugh at his attempt at a joke. "Is that all?" Justinian leaned forward and grabbed her hands, his hands working their way around her sleeves. Feeling soemthing, Isis went deathly pale as he smiled and slipped a hand into her sleeve, his cold hand sliding up her arm, grabbing the knife she had hidden.

Grabbing both the knife and her arm at the same time, he squeezed before pulling the blade out, playing with it, "I’m hurt. Truly, my dear." Staring at his reflection, he frowned and looked into her eyes, "Such a thing to do. Are you betraying me?" Playing with the knife, he placed the tip on his neck and slowly drew the outline of a collar on himself. "What must I do with you?"

Isis forgot how to breathe in that moment as Justinian continued to draw the outline of a collar on himself. For a moment that felt eternal, he wordlessly stared until stopping, placing the knife between them. Spinning the handle so it faced Isis, he leaned back, spreading his arms around the back of his chair, "So. Are you?" Isis stared at the blade and gulped, wondering what to do. Her mind raced, and, thinking only one thing, she touched the knife and spun it so the blade pointed towards her. "Correct choice."

"You said there was more." Quietly saying, hoping to move on, he nodded and clapped his hands.

"Yes. A sob story is one thing, but the people need more. We have the theology to justify it. We have Cras’ own reputation. So what we need is a call for justice, one with blood. The desperate cry of an ex slave who had faced the horrors and survived, crying before a city that shields her. For that, you will have to make another choice that you love." Interlocking his fingers, he softly chuckled, "A few masters who have betrayed the teaching of this city and its faith will be brought out. They are also Masters with deep ties to Cras. Before the entire crowd, you will say they must be punished. No mercy, no forgiveness. Punishment. Punishment for what they did to you and punishment for betraying God."

"I have to..?" Isis took a deep breath, understanding what Justinian was asking of her, "No. I said I would help, not decide who lives or dies."

"Incorrect." Loudly saying, Justinian looked at her with a blank look, "You will say they must be punished. I never said they would die; however. Punished."

"No, I can’t. I don’t want to decide. I have heard what punishment means here. I will not have a person’s death on my hands."

"THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE?" Justinian roared, slamming his hand on the table and getting up. Isis shook and flinched back as he smiled and fixed his collar. Walking around the table, he leaned over her and grabbed her chin, firmly holding it so she couldn’t look away. "You already decided to have people’s lives in your hands. The moment you choose to help, you damned Cras into a war that will kill thousands." Isis wished to look away from his intense gaze but couldn’t; her shaking eyes locked on his unmoving ones.

"I can’t. Please."

"You will." His reply was instant, spoken full of pity.

"And..." Isis took a deep breath, unsure why she was even saying what she was about to, "If I agree but don’t. If I show mercy." As if he wanted her to ask, his smile bloomed. Grabbing her arm, he forced her to stand and gently led her to the door connecting to the side room.

Opening it, Isis was assailed by the overwhelming smell of blood, as if a battle had just taken place inside. Fighting the urge to throw up, she looked away, but Justinian forcefully grabbed her face and twisted her head to look ahead. His fingers dug into her cheeks, making no attempt to be gentle as his other hand grabbed the back of her skull, worming its way through her hair to forcefully grip it.

Tied to a pole, a man twitched and spasmed, groaning in pain occasionally, standing in a pool of blood around his feet. Justinan’s head moved next to her ear, her tears rolling down his hand, "I am not like Augustus." Staring at the man, Isis rapidly breathed, trying to stay calm, seeing the man before her, the skin on his chest flayed off, his eyes were blindfolded with dried blood pouring from behind. His emotionless voice spoke once more, devoid of the joy that a sadist would have found in the man’s torment, completely indifferent to the violence he carried out. "Refuse or betray me, and I won’t hand you over to Cras. The people will be told that, but I won’t. You will be made a martyr. A show of Cras’s cruelty. I will make my people demand blood one way or another. They will never know the truth, however. Whatever truth that is, you decide."

His hand jerked again, feeling Isis winning the battle of strength, reassuring his strength and continuing to force her to stare ahead. Pushing her forward, he brought her closer until they were inches away from the flayed man, "Make your choice, my dear." Like an old friend, he said before letting go. Without his support, Isis collapsed to her knees, the white dress soaking up the blood beneath.