by R. M. Meluch
Spacefarers could be as superstitious as ancient mariners. The implausible sightings of the leopard ship would be dismissed as ghost stories. The actions of the Circle could be attributable to no one. Especially not to Caesar.
Because we are dead.
Credible people had watched them die.
The Ninth Circle existed at Numa’s will.
And all the broken pieces fit together. The brothers had everything they wanted. Well, not everything. Not half. But the main thing, the thing that made them whole. A purpose. A belonging. A reason for living.
They started down the path together. Orissus singing a drinking song, Faunus playing along on his panpipe made of cloke bones. Nox and Pallas tried to dance to the tune, but the way was too rocky. They stumbled a lot. Cinna walked with them.
And it became their motto, never to be spoken outside the Circle:
Semper Pro Roma / Numquam Nomene Sua
Always for Rome / Never in Her Name