This Fire Burns - Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own the original setting.

[Gwen]

The air was cold on the morning of December 23rd.

Gwen leaned against the outside wall of the Fifth Cohort barracks, holding a mug of hot chocolate in her hands. She could hear bursts of laughter from inside the barracks, even the Fifth found enjoyment on this day. Saturnalia, the best time of the year.

She took a slow sip and let her thoughts drift to their newest legionnaire.

She knew he was powerful. The rumors of him defeating a Praetor in the Gloria Periculum were already the stuff of legend. But she was worried. She’d been at the mess hall the night before and had seen him go to the Senate House with Jason for his induction. But when he came back, she noticed the absence of the SPQR tattoo on his forearm. Jason had confirmed he was officially a legionnaire, but the facts didn’t add up. How could you belong to the legion without its mark?

And that was the real danger. The Fifth knew better than anyone what it was like to be whispered about, judged before you even had a chance to fight back. They’d been the dumping ground for years, the joke of the legion. They just started clawing their way toward rebuilding their honor under Jason. Gwen had no intention of letting a strange new kid be isolated and picked apart by the rest of the camp. 

No demigod left behind, that was her rule. Especially not one who willingly picked them.

However, Serif joined at an inconvenient time. Saturnalia was all about community, but he’d arrived on the second to last day and even missed most of yesterday.  Everyone else had spent the past week enjoying feasts and games. All that’s really left for him is the last scramble for the Sigillaria gifts. There’s also Christmas in two more days, but that was a mortal observance, not the deep-rooted legion tradition that Saturnalia was.

The barracks door creaked open, and Gwen turned, expecting Dakota on a quest for more Kool-Aid mix. Instead, it was Serif, stretching his arms as he walked out wearing a t-shirt and shorts like the cold didn’t even exist. He looked annoyingly relaxed for someone who’d just gone through the weirdest induction ceremony in camp memory.

Still, she could be the first to welcome him. “Io Saturnalia!”

Serif paused mid-yawn, squinting at her. “Huh? ‘Rejoice, Saturnalia?’ Isn’t Saturn the big bad evil guy? You know, the Titan who ate his kids?”

Gwen snorted. “That’s the Greek version, Kronos. For us, Saturn is different. He ruled during the Golden Age. It was a time of absolute peace and prosperity for mortals. The God of Agriculture, the one who taught us how to farm and live well. We celebrate the king of a lost paradise, in the hope that we can one day build a world that peaceful again.”

Serif leaned against the railing, processing it. “So what does celebrating even involve?”

“We have massive feasts, gambling is legal everywhere, the reversal of roles for a week,” she said, ticking the points off on her fingers. “And we give handmade gifts, Sigillaria, to our friends.”

As if on cue, they spotted a scene unfolding down the path.

Hank, the gruff Centurion of the Fourth Cohort, wore a pileus cap while standing before a cluster of younger probatio. One of the boys wore a paper crown and pointed to a mound of gravel.

“Centurion,” the boy intoned with regal gravity, “see that pile of gravel? If Terminus were here, he’d have a fit. We must uphold standards even in his absence. Put all the light gray on the left and all the dark gray on the right. Be precise!”

Hank let out a groan but actually knelt and began sorting the tiny rocks.

Serif’s lips curved into a grin. “Wait, that’s allowed? We can just order a centurion to do dumb shit like that?”

Gwen laughed. “Not quite, that privilege goes to the Saturnalicius Princeps. The ‘Lord of Misrule.’ Every year we pick one, and for the entire week their word is law, as long as it’s not dangerous. It’s a reminder that even leaders must sometimes serve.”

“Damn, I missed my shot this year. Next Saturnalia, I’m getting that crown.”

“It’s a little cold, though.” He muttered a second later, almost surprised by the admission. A thin veil of fire cloaked his body, flickering an inch from his clothes and skin. The chill in the air around them was replaced by a comforting heat.

Gwen stared, momentarily speechless. She’d heard the whispers, sure, but this was the first time she’d seen his fire. And it wasn’t even a weapon now. He used it so casually, like it was the same as breathing to him.

At that moment, her plan solidified. A Sigillaria was the perfect way to show him he belonged. And she knew exactly what to make. She would go to the workshop and forge him a stylized flame, a symbol of the warmth and power that was uniquely his. 

A way to say, we see you.

------------------------------

[Serif]

No one should be forgotten.

Gwen gave me one last smile and ran off to do whatever it is people do during this holiday. 

Good talk, though. Very informative.

With nothing to do, my mind went to more practical matters. I'd seen a few people around camp exchanging silver coins, and my duffel bag full of regular money was starting to feel heavy. 

Guess there's one person to ask since Gwen is gone.

I went back inside the barracks and found my target in the common room. “Yo, Jason. What’s the deal with the money here? I’ve seen people paying for things with those silver coins.”

His posture straightened slightly. “Those are denarii. The official currency of the legion. They’re around ninety-seven percent pure silver, almost the same standard as during the reign of Emperor Augustus. It’s a point of pride for us. None of that degradation the future emperors pulled.”

“Okay, cool stuff,” I said, not really interested in the history lesson. “So where’s the currency exchange? I’ve got a ton of cash with me.”

He glanced at the bulging duffel bag under my bunk. “Where did you even get that much?”

“Claimed it from a monster I killed on my way here.”

“You took money from a monster?”

“Dude, it’s quite the profitable strategy! They’re practically walking ATMs. The two of us could make a fortune just hunting monsters and taking their stuff.”

He had a distant look on his face. “I guess I never really thought about it. I’ve been at camp for as long as I can remember.”

“Damn, that’s a tragedy. Guess we’ll have to sneak out sometime.”

Oh shit. Did I just suggest going AWOL to my cohort’s centurion?

Jason just stared at me for a second, then a small smile crept onto his usually stoic face. “I don't think we need to go that far. There’s an official exchange at the Forum. Come on, I'll take you there.”

He led me out past the city’s edge and through the arch with Terminus’s statue. He tossed his Ivlivs coin into the basket. I didn’t have a weapon to leave, so we just kept going. Terminus didn’t even shout at us, which had to be some kind of miracle.

We kept going through the Forum until we stopped at a place called "AERARIUM."

Inside, a woman in her late twenties wearing a purple tunic stood behind a counter serving another demigod.

When it was my turn, I got straight to the point. “What’s the exchange rate?”

The teller replied without looking up from her ledger. “Twenty United States dollars to one denarius.”

“Alright then.” I dropped the duffel bag onto the counter. “I’ve got around two thousand in there. I never actually counted it though. I’ll take your word for it, but if you scam me, I’ll kick your ass.”

She didn’t blink, just started sorting bills.

Jason gave me a look. “The tellers swear an oath to Mercury and Fides, the god of commerce and the goddess of trust respectively. They are divinely bound to honesty in their duties.”

Huh. That is quite convenient.

After a few minutes, the teller slid a leather pouch over to me. “ninety-seven denarii. The receipt’s in the bag.”

What an annoying number. One hundred would’ve been much cleaner.

Still, I picked it up, feeling the satisfying weight.

Just as we were about to leave the Forum, the female Praetor appeared at the door.

“There you are. Serif, you’re due for your orientation. I’ll walk you through everything you need to know about Camp Jupiter. Standard procedure for new legionnaires.”

Ah, yeah, that would be useful. I've been asking people for basic information ever since I got here.

Jason tilted his head. “Praetor, if I may? Normally, a cohort’s centurions are responsible for this. I was prepared to do so myself.”

She just smiled. “I thought it might be best coming from a Praetor this time. Serif deserves a proper introduction. Besides, this way I can personally answer any unusual questions.”

“Understood.”

“Let’s go to the Principia. It won’t take long,” she said, looking back at me.

------------------------------

So that was a fucking lie.

I stood in Praetor Serena’s office in the Principia, the magical projection finally fading into nothing. She told me the orientation “won’t take long.” Maybe time passes differently for Praetors, because I’d been trapped here for nearly two hours while she walked me through every possible aspect of Roman demigod life.

“Any questions?” she asked, like my brain wasn’t smoking.

“Yeah, actually. Is going to New Rome University worth anything in the mortal world, or is it just, you know, for show?”

It came out sounding more sarcastic than I meant, but it might be the one thing I was genuinely curious about. If I was gonna be stuck in this Roman larping camp, I wanted to know if all the training and books led anywhere.

“It is worth quite a bit,” she said. “The legion maintains strong relationships with several of the top mortal universities in the state. When you graduate from NRU, we can facilitate the issuance of an accredited degree from an affiliated mortal institution that aligns with your field of study—Stanford, Caltech, UCLA, UC Berkeley, whichever is most appropriate.”

I had to admit, that was better than I expected. Not that I needed any of it. But having that kind of safety net, especially for the other legionnaires, wasn’t something I was going to complain about.

I stood up and stretched, getting ready to leave. “You guys really thought this all the way through.”

“One last thing, Serif.”

I turned.

“While you chose to join the Fifth Cohort, you should be aware that you’ll be eligible to petition for a transfer to a higher-ranked cohort in a year. The First and Second would welcome your strength. Please consider it.”

“Good to know.” 

I understood what she was really saying, that there’s a path to the top if I want it. But for now, I had no interest in being the legion’s golden boy.

I let myself relax the second I stepped out of the Principia and into daylight. My time was finally my own. The good news was, the next few days were also free. Schedules didn’t go back to normal until after Christmas.

Which meant it was the perfect time to make up for what I missed.

I got here at the end of the festival. Everyone else had already swapped their little gifts, so I was left with nothing. I guess that it was a nice gesture and all that, but there’s a better present I can get myself.

Money.

Gambling is legal during Saturnalia, and from what I saw the other day, these Romans weren’t shy about throwing their coins around on sparring matches. 

So naturally, I have to get a piece of that pie. I’ll jump in there, kick some ass, and walk out rich. I have to remember to hold back with the fire though, I can't let them realize I’m the guy who beat the praetor in a match.

As I walked past the First Cohort’s barracks, a crowd caught my eye. A circle of legionnaires cheering around two kids locked in an arm wrestling match.

Interesting.

Honestly, this might be better than sparring. I could play the part: skinny kid from the Fifth Cohort, up against the big dogs from the First. That’s an untapped market if I’ve ever seen one.

I found an empty crate and dragged it to a nice central spot between two of the paths leading to the mess hall and the barracks. Then I took a small clay bowl from the barrack’s steps and dropped five denarii inside as seed money.

“Alright, listen up!” I projected my voice. “Arm wrestling with no stakes is just a waste of time. The winner takes everything in the pot, just toss one denarius to enter. Any takers, or are you all just here to spectate?”

I got a ripple of amused laughter from most of them, but one of the older ones stepped forward. He was a big guy, probably around twice my weight. 

“You’re kidding, right?” He looked down at me with a smirk on his face. 

I just gave him a confident grin. “Worried you’ll lose to a kid from the Fifth?” 

It was the perfect taunt for these people. Cohort pride was a button just waiting to be pushed.

His smirk vanished, replaced by a scowl as he tossed a denarius into the bowl. “You’re on.” 

We locked hands. His grip was strong, but I played it up even further by clenching my teeth as my arm trembled like I was already at my limit. The crowd leaned in, shouting encouragement at the other guy. For a good ten seconds, I let him think he had me. 

Then I stopped pretending and slammed his hand flat against the crate.

“Next!” I quickly said. 

Gotta keep the crowd invested. No breaks in between, so all they could focus on was winning the money before someone else got it.

And then it’s like blood in the water. Challenger after challenger stepped up, each one more determined than the last, none of them willing to let their cohort’s honor be bruised by a kid from the Fifth. 

I made sure to play it smart. Some matches I let run long, making it look like I was barely holding on. Others I ended almost instantly, just to keep everyone guessing. Each time, my pile of denarii grew bigger. 

Someone was even running side bets on how long it would take for me to run out of steam.

Then, just as I was locking hands with another poor soul, the crowd suddenly parted. Praetor Marcus was standing there, wearing a new cape and an unamused frown on his face.

Before he could even open his mouth, I released my opponent’s hand and threw him a jaunty salute. “Io Saturnalia, Marcus!” 

The greeting was my way of saying: It’s festival rules today, I’m not being unlawful.

“Great matches, everyone!” I said brightly, scooping the winnings into my pouch in one quick motion, then gave the crate a loving pat. “House is closed. See you next year.”

And I was gone before I could actually test Marcus’s patience.

While walking back to my cohort’s barracks, I counted my winnings in my head. 

I attracted them with the big prize and the comparatively low entry fee, and their pride kept them coming. I think it was a few over twenty-five challengers. One denarius from each meant a solid five hundred dollars. A decent amount to enjoy my time at camp. 

The Roman dream is alive and well.

Still grinning, I pushed open the door to the barracks, only to freeze in place.

Gwen was waiting just inside, leaning against a support post. She was holding a simple wooden box, and when I entered, she looked up and smiled at me.

“Welcome to Camp Jupiter, Serif.”

She opened the box and held it out.

Inside, nestled on a bit of cloth, was a small figure. It was a piece of polished wood carved into the shape of a flame.

I took it, still off guard. For a moment, all I could do was stare. 

Sure, it looked well-made, surprisingly so for something done by hand. But it probably wasn’t worth much. Maybe a denarius at best if you could find someone who liked trinkets. Nothing compared to the pouch of silver I had just earned.

Except it wasn’t about monetary value, was it? Someone had spent their free time, on a holiday, making something specifically for me. 

“I thought you might not get anything,” she added, seeing the confusion on my face. “Saturnalia can be a bad time to show up when you don’t know anyone.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I did.” She cut me off with a smile. “Looking out for each other is what we do here. Put it somewhere you’ll see it. Don’t lose it.”

“Right…” I mumbled, my eyes fixed on the gift instead of her. “Thanks.”

She flashed me one last grin and slipped out to rejoin the festivities, leaving me alone with the little wooden flame. I turned it over in my palm, tracing the grooves with my thumb. Its organic warmth was a strange contrast to the cold silver I’d been handling all day.

Well, shit. Now I have to get her something before the day is over.