Pro — Memoria

But tucked in the shadow behind him stood a slave, small and unremarkable, clutching the rim of the chariot. As the Emperor waved to the masses, the slave leaned forward, his breath cold against the ruler’s ear.

As the chariot reached the palace, the Emperor stepped down, no longer feeling like a god, but like a man. He turned to the slave. "And tomorrow?" Pro Memoria

The Emperor rode his golden chariot through the gates of Rome, the air thick with the scent of crushed laurel and the roar of a thousand cheering voices. He stood tall, invincible, his armor gleaming like a second sun. But tucked in the shadow behind him stood

The slave bowed low, a faint, knowing smile on his lips. "Tomorrow, I will whisper it again." Ghost - Pro Memoria He turned to the slave