Marius did not understand why everyone was whispering.

  The market still opened every morning. The sun still rose over the red rooftops, warm and bright. The baker still sold honeyed bread that stuck to his fingers.

  But the grown-ups had changed. Their eyes shifted too quickly. Their laughter never lasted. And sometimes, when they thought the children weren’t listening, they spoke in tight voices, like secrets could hold the world together.

  One morning, he walked with his father past the baths. The doors were shut and dusty, even though it wasn’t a feast day. Grass poked through the cobbles. A beggar slept against the wall, wrapped in an old cloak.

  “Why’s it closed?” Marius asked.

  His father frowned, tugging at his beard like he did when he didn’t want to answer. “Just a small repair, that’s all. They’ll light the furnaces again soon.”

  “But I heard Caius say there’s no more wood.”

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  “Caius likes to spin tales,” his father snapped. Then, softening: “Things are changing, son. Such is the nature of life. But it always goes back.”

  Marius thought about this. “They say things are changing everywhere. Not just here, but in Rome.”

  His father considered before answering. “Well, Rome has changed before. We faced the Gauls, the Carthaginians, the Vandals. Remus himself faced worse and came out stronger.”

  Marius had never met anyone named Remus, but the grown-ups said his name like a prayer.

  So, he smiled and nodded, even though he didn’t understand. It seemed the type of thing grown-ups did.

  Later that week, he followed his mother to the forum. There were fewer stalls than even a year ago. A statue of Mars had fallen on its side, nose broken off, arm pointing at nothing. No one moved to put it back on its pedestal, concerned with other things. An old senator stood on the rostrum and shouted about loyalty, honor, and eternal things, but the people mostly ignored him.

  Marius tugged at his mother’s hand. “Is the Emperor coming back soon?”

  Her mouth opened and closed once, twice. “Of course,” she said, smoothing his hair. “He’s just...far away.”

  That night, Marius lay in bed and watched the oil lamp flicker on the wall. The flame bent and wavered, but it stayed lit. Maybe life was like that, too. Things changed, but always went back to how they were, like his father said.

  And maybe, if he stared long enough, it would never go out.

  Comforted by the thought, Marius slept.