The thunderous echo of iron on marble reverberated throughout the vast, looming senate chamber. The towering, metal doors of the expansive hall swung smoothly on well-oiled hinges, flashing those within a glimpse of the elegantly fashioned Eagles that dwelt eternally on the faces of that hollowed gate.

Golden mantles crackled with white flame that challenged the haunting shadows of the building far into the corners of the chamber. The dull, drawling sound of rain pounded the ceiling above, broken only by the occasional clap of thunder.

Into this chamber, walking through the threshold, came the silhouette of a young man, flanked by two others similar in age and appearance. His nose was short and sharp, exuding an air of dominance that, combined with icy blue eyes, formed a cold, calculating atmosphere that hung around him like a perpetual frost. A soft, white toga clad his narrow frame, adorned with nothing but a simple purple sash which was held in place by a delicate gold pin. Short, black hair crowned his head like a shadow.

Those on either side of him were dressed similarly, but wore red sashes opposed to purple and carried short daggers in their belts.

The chamber was filled with a sea of senators, each adorned with the markings of their rank and seated on white stone benches, arranged in a large circle around a podium at its center. As the young man entered the hollow center of the chamber, which was marked with an elegantly carved dark wooden pedestal, all the men stood as one and all applauded. Powerful echoing filled the chamber, drowning out the ominous sounds of the weather. Of those present, one among them came forward and met the young senator, clasping his hand and pulling him in an embrace.

Once they had released their affectionate hold, the man turned to the pedestal and addressed the Senate with a booming voice that held confidence and power, alluring to his position of importance in the ruling body.

"Brothers! Fellow Romans! Leaders of this historic Republic! For these seventeen long years, has not the toil of our nation been the weight of our minds? Woe for the betrayal of our once-kin, Mark Antony, who led this glowing nation into the darkening days of a lengthy and disgraceful civil war." The strong voice faltered for but a moment before the man turned, gesturing to the young senator who had made such a presence only moments before. "And yet, as Vulcan heats the iron of his blades before hammering them into strength, so has the pain of this war strengthened our legacy in bringing forth the greatest of our number. For who among us can claim that Octavian, the heir of the late hero Caesar, is not so as claimed?"

Another round of applause filled the tall halls, enticing a bold smile from Octavian, who stood confidently as the speech was given. Raising his hand, the senator continued.

"It is in these days of trial that we see the beauty of our true strength, which dwells within the hearts of our courageous kin. Who else would be so audacious as to take the necessary step to declare war on one of our own? Yet in his harsh decision wisdom was revealed like gold beneath a layer of rock. And so in the light of these words I leave the floor of our Republic open for the discussion of edicts." Stepping back for a moment, a tense sensation filled the hearts of the men as they waited excitedly for what was inevitably to come.

The man standing to the right of Octavian raised a strong hand and spoke in a loud voice, "To the honorable men who sit now before me and who represent the voice of the people of our glorious Roman Republic, I make a motion that Octavian heir-of-Caesar should be given full power over the Senate and with it the resources and weight of the Roman nation."

As soon as the last word had left his lips, reverberating like a bell across the tiers of sitting senators, the second companion who stood at Octavian's right lifted his hand and spoke, "I second this motion brought forth by the honorable senator Artorius before the Roman Senate, in accordance with the laws of our Republic."

Still standing at the podium in the center of the room, the first speaker smiled broadly and signaled the murmuring congress. "As Roman Consul over this assembly, I call now to order a vote in which this edict should be weighted." In a break of etiquette, the Senate erupted in cheers, each official standing from his bench once more and roaring in one voice the praise of the proclamation.

Should Jupiter himself have let loose a torrent of such pounding thunder as to strike the heart of the earth and bring down the foundations of the mountains, to those who stood in that hall none would have been heard above the deafening shout of approval.

But among all this, there was one who did not stand with those around him nor bring his hands together in joy or raise his voice with jubilation. In the far back, many tiers from where the podium stood, was a weathered and ragged gentleman. His toga was not bright or pressed like those of the young men and his brow was beaten and wrinkled. Silver hair adorned his head like a crown and his knurled hands stiffly clasped a short, kinked walking stick. Smoldering brown eyes glared downward in a mixture of pain, sadness, and regret that combined into a raging pit of emotion. His hand clenched viciously at the head of his staff and what remained of his teeth clenched.

As the tumultuous and rousing cries of the Senate quieted and its members took their seats, his stooping and hunched form struggled to stand from the bench that hesitantly supported him. Just as the Consul opened his mouth, the aged official spoke in a raspy voice.

"Noble Consul Popillius, is it not the custom of this Senate to hold debate over an edict before it should be lifted to the absolute will of this body?"

Murmuring broke out in the crowd, some harsher than others, like the conspiring voices of the night. Popillius started with surprise, but after a moment responded to the aged man's inquisition.

"Though the point brought by your lips is fair, it seems my eyes that there is little need for the formality you present."

Standing taller with the aid of his staff, the aged senator answered, "Then your eyes have deceived you, young man, for there is still one who is not convinced of the intentions of the one who comes before us today." These remarks elicited gasps from the crowd. It was in the moment that Octavian turned his full attention to the one who spoke amid the crowd, his quizzical brow searching and ultimately alighting on the old man. A scowl cut across his handsome face, ushering a dark draft.

Popillius cocked his head with a scowl nearly matching Octavian's. "Surely you speak in jest, friend."

"No, it is not so."

Further murmuring spread through the crowd, crackling through this dialogue like the hungry sounds of flames anxious to devour. But despite this, the aged senator stood only taller and his countenance more resolute.

From the opposite side of the circular room, a second Senator stood. He was younger, perhaps roughly the age of Octavian if not still lesser in years. Raising his voice over the muttering crowd, he shouted, "Well? Will not the justice of this Senate uphold the law even in the affairs of its meeting? For if we are not to follow our own custom, who else will?"

A third wave of conversation broke out among the ranks of legislators, but this time approval mixed with dissent.

Popillius raised his hands to silence the crowd and slowly nodded grimly. "Indeed, we will honor the customs of our ancestors. But I hardly count it as necessary. As we all know the advantages of the edict currently held upon the floor of this Senate, may one come forward to speak in opposition of it?"

The elderly man raised his staff, "I will do this." The entire crowd looked to him, most in astonishment. There were some who seethed with hatred for this one who would hinder their progress and others who merely awaited anxiously the comedy that was surely to come. Still others were just confused, thinking perhaps this was just a ploy to upkeep formalities, and more still who were anxious only to end the session and return to their wives, concubines, and luxuries of home.

But among the Senate there were a few who met the eyes of the Aged. There were some who saw in his face the lines of regret and the marks of determination. They were the several who looked into his eyes and saw the battles he had fought, the men he had loved and feared, and the smoldering embers of a man the likes of which had long since departed the den of bureaucracy and corruption that they currently dwelt in. This was a man with a belief and, more precious still, courage that would voice it. All had seen the daggers in the belts of Octavian's fellows. All had noticed the reckless passion that had taken control of nearly every Senator minutes before, though at the time they had not seen it for what it was. But still this Aged stood before them. Looking into his eyes, these few felt the fire of his heart and its sparks began to burn in them too.