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

  Decanus Lucius Valerius Nanus

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

  The sun beat down relentlessly, approaching its zenith. By Roman reckoning, it must have been nearing the ninth hour since sunrise, the air thick and heavy with a heat that shimmered above the pale sand. We had returned to the main camp perhaps an hour before, weary from the forced march through the jungle, the discovery of the displaced farmstead, and the escort duty back. The path we’d hacked through the dense vegetation had made the return swifter, but the humidity under the canopy and the constant tension had drained us. Now, back within the relative security of our hastily erected fort, I sought a moment's respite. I found a spot in the sliver of shade cast by the western palisade, eased myself down onto the sandy ground, and leaned back against the rough-hewn stakes. My muscles, though strangely less sore than they ought to be, still hummed with fatigue. Sweat trickled down my temples, stinging my eyes. Around me, the camp bustled – men improving fortifications, others cleaning equipment, the low murmur of conversation overlaid with the rhythmic thud of mallets and the scrape of shovels.

  I, Lucius Valerius Nanus, Decanus of the first contubernium of the First Century, am not typically one to seek rest when work is to be done. My cognomen, "Nanus," meaning dwarf, is a persistent irony bestowed upon me by some forgotten latrine wit during basic training – I stand a head taller than most men in the Legion, and years of campaigning have packed muscle onto my frame. Strength, speed, discipline – these are the foundations of a good soldier, and I’ve strived to embody them. But even iron feels the heat of the forge. This place, this inexplicable shore, demanded endurance beyond the mere physical.

  As I caught my breath, watching my men settle nearby, a flicker of intense light caught my eye. Far off, over the seemingly endless sea of trees to the southeast, another pulse of that now-familiar, terrifying blue-white energy lit the sky. It was briefer this time, less dramatic than the one that had heralded the arrival of the farmers, but unmistakable. A collective sigh seemed to pass through the camp. Not panic, not like the first time, but a weary, apprehensive acknowledgement. What now? More castaways? Another shift in our already incomprehensible reality?

  I saw Optio Clemens stride purposefully towards the men of the second contubernium, his voice sharp with command. He pointed southeast, gesturing. A moment later, that squad, looking resigned but ready, began gathering their gear. Scouting the light’s location, undoubtedly. Clemens then turned and walked towards me, his expression set in lines of duty that mirrored my own fatigue.

  I rose immediately, muscles tightening despite their weariness, and snapped a crisp salute as he approached. Formality, even here, perhaps especially here, was the glue holding us together.

  "Nanus," Clemens greeted me, returning the salute with a weary nod. "I know you and your men just returned. I know you pushed hard through that jungle, and everyone feels this damnable heat. We all do." He paused, wiping sweat from his own brow. "But duty calls. It doesn't look like these… light shows… are going to stop anytime soon. They raise more questions than they answer, and meanwhile, our primary task remains. Praefectus Valens wants this coastline mapped. We still know nothing beyond a few miles north and south."

  He gestured down the beach to the south. "I need your contubernium to take on a longer reconnaissance. Follow the beach south. Map the coastline, terrain features, river mouths, potential resources, any signs of native settlement – anything. I want you provisioned for a week. Load up a couple of the surviving packhorses." His eyes hardened slightly. "If you encounter other people, others who might have been… misplaced… like Shimon's family or those pale northerners who arrived while we were gone, try to avoid direct contact unless necessary. Observation and mapping are your priorities. If you find serious trouble – hostile natives, dangerous beasts, anything that threatens your squad – break contact immediately and return. We haven't seen any real enemies here yet, haven't even spotted any large predators, but this place feels deceptive. Keep your eyes open."

  A week-long reconnaissance. Mapping an unknown shore. It was standard legionary work, yet nothing about our situation felt standard. Still, orders were orders, and the strategic need was undeniable. "Yes, sir," I acknowledged, keeping my voice steady. I saluted again.

  "Good man," Clemens said, clapping me briefly on the shoulder. "Move out as soon as you're ready. Report back in seven days, or sooner if circumstances dictate." He then turned and continued down the line of resting centuries, presumably issuing further orders to other Decani.

  I turned back to my men, my contubernium, my brothers in arms, sprawled in the shade. Eight of us in total, a tight-knit unit forged in the crucible of Britannia's endless campaigns. They looked up expectantly as I approached.

  "Alright, listen up!" My voice cut through their weary quiet. "New orders. We're moving out again. Long-range reconnaissance, south along the coast. One week." Groans were kept internal, but I saw the fatigue in their eyes. Discipline held. "Crassus," I looked at Marcus Cornelius Crassus, my second-in-command in everything but rank. Built like a small bull, strong as any two other men, Crassus was a veteran I trusted implicitly. His cognomen, 'Crassus,' meaning thick or fat, wasn't entirely inaccurate – he carried more weight than most legionaries, yet moved with surprising speed and possessed immense strength. Only I could best him in sheer physical power within our squad, and we worked together well. "Get us two packhorses from the remount pool. Sound ones, if any remain."

  Crassus nodded, already pushing himself up. I thought I heard a faint mutter – something about "never a moment's peace" – but his voice was too low, his face impassive as he lumbered off towards the makeshift corral. He could be ornery, Crassus, but his loyalty was unquestionable.

  "Naso! Felix!" I called to Titus Antonius Naso and Numerius Pomponius Felix. Naso, named for his prominent nose, was perpetually curious, a trait that occasionally led him into minor trouble, but he was reliable in a fight. Felix, true to his name meaning 'Lucky,' had an uncanny knack for… acquiring things. Small, interesting objects often found their way into his possession, usually returned discreetly later when the momentary compulsion passed. His tent-mates knew if something small went missing, Felix was the first port of call. "You two, head to the acting quartermaster. Draw rations for eight men for seven days – standard marching issue, plus any supplemental items they might have procured. Waterskins filled, sharpening stones, spare cordage, basic medical supplies. Get enough to load the horses properly."

  Naso's eyes lit up slightly at the prospect of a new mission, while Felix gave a quick nod, his eyes already scanning the grounds around him as if looking for loose treasure. They headed off together.

  "Robustus, Calvus, Pulcher, Macer – help me get the contubernium's camp packed." Quintus Marius Robustus, living up to his name, was strong, hardy, and possessed a refreshingly direct way of thinking, utterly lacking subtlety. Gaius Cornelius Calvus, bald as an egg like his father before him, was laconic, stoic, enduring hardship without complaint, his occasional witty remarks surprisingly sharp. Decimus Aemilius Pulcher was almost unfairly handsome – olive skin, angular features, dark hair, and arresting golden eyes that had charmed many a barmaid from Londinium to Eboracum. Despite his pretty-boy looks, he was a capable soldier. And finally, Sextus Vibius Macer, the smallest in the squad, thin despite a healthy appetite, yet clever, hardworking, and surprisingly resilient, having survived numerous scrapes without injury. They rose without comment, except perhaps for a weary sigh from Pulcher, and began efficiently breaking down our shelters and packing our personal gear. "We leave within the hour."

  "Yes, sir!" came the unified response. The contubernium was in motion.

  It took us nearly the full hour. Gathering supplies from the disorganized stores, securing sturdy packhorses, distributing ammunition – pila, darts for the lighter throwing spears – and ensuring every man had his essential kit: helmet, shield, gladius, pugio, digging tool, mess kit, cloak, and personal items. By the time we were ready, the sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the sand. It was likely around the tenth hour, maybe half-past, when we finally filed out of the southern gate of the camp, leaving the relative security and the bulk of the Legion behind.

  We marched south along the beach, the endless expanse of the turquoise ocean to our left, the dense, mysterious jungle wall to our right. The walking was easier here than in the jungle, the firm, damp sand near the waterline providing good footing. A light breeze blew off the sea, offering some relief from the oppressive heat. We moved at a steady legionary pace, falling into the familiar rhythm of the march.

  We continued until the sun dipped below the ocean horizon, painting the sky in breathtaking hues of orange and purple once more. As twilight deepened, around the first hour of the night, I called a halt. We made camp on the beach itself, choosing a spot well above the high-tide line, near a cluster of large rocks that offered a slight windbreak. Tents were erected quickly, a small fire kindled using driftwood, and the horses were hobbled nearby to graze on sparse beach grasses. Nanus took the first watch, pacing the perimeter, scanning the darkening sea and the black wall of the jungle.

  Later, around the third hour of the night, we sat around the small, crackling fire, eating our standard rations – hard biscuit, dried meat, a little cheese. The sound of the waves was a constant, soothing presence. Above, the sky was a black velvet cloth scattered with unfamiliar stars, brighter and more numerous than any I had seen before. The silence, apart from the fire and the sea, felt immense.

  Pulcher broke the quiet. "Seven days just walking down a beach. At least the view is better than marching through some bog in northern Britannia."

  "Aye," agreed Robustus, chewing methodically. "And warmer."

  Naso, ever curious, peered into the darkness. "Anyone else find it strange we haven't seen any real wildlife? Besides birds and those little lizards? No deer, no boar… not even wolves howling at night."

  "Perhaps this place is newly made," Calvus offered dryly, staring into the flames. "Or abandoned."

  "Or everything dangerous sleeps soundly," Macer added quietly from his spot slightly away from the fire.

  "Whatever the cause," I said, voicing the thought I’d had earlier, "I confess I’m happy to be out of the miserable wet and cold of Britannia. My bones haven’t felt this good in years."

  A murmur of agreement went around the fire. Every man there bore the aches and pains of hard service in harsh climates.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Crassus suddenly grunted, shifting his position and pointing to a thick, puckered scar on his calf, clearly visible in the firelight. "Remember when I got this, Nanus?"

  I nodded, the memory sharp. "How could I forget? Battle of the River Bodera, against the Maeatae. We were locked shield-to-shield, holding the line near the ford. One of their painted savages lunged under the wall, got you with a spear just above the greave. Nasty wound." I recalled the aftermath vividly. "Your whole leg swelled up like a wineskin. Postumius, the Medicus, thought you might lose it. You could barely walk for a month afterward. Is it bothering you now? All this marching?"

  Crassus shook his head, a look of genuine surprise on his broad face. "That’s just it, Nanus. It doesn’t hurt. Not a twinge. Hasn’t since we woke up here. None of my old aches do." He looked around at the others. "And I’m not sore, not really tired, even after hacking through that cursed jungle this morning and marching all afternoon. Felt it yesterday, sure, but this morning? Woke up feeling strong."

  Nods of agreement rippled through the group. Pulcher stretched languidly. "He's right. I expected to be stiff as a board this morning. Nothing."

  "My shoulder usually acts up in damp weather or after heavy work," added Macer. "Feels fine now."

  Robustus, ever direct, stated the obvious conclusion. "I've noticed it too. Not sore. This place is strange." He lowered his voice slightly. "It's like… like there's magic in the air. Something that heals."

  Magic. The word hung there, uncomfortable but increasingly plausible in a world where legions could be teleported across unknown distances by balls of light. I found myself nodding slowly. "Perhaps." Then, another thought surfaced, one that had been nagging at the edge of my consciousness since the night before. "I think I’ve noticed something even stranger, though. Something more fundamental."

  The men looked at me expectantly.

  "The moon," I said quietly. "It should be nearing the half, waxing towards full. Yet last night, the sky was clear, and there was no moon. And tonight…" I scanned the star-dusted heavens again. "Nowhere to be seen. And the stars… look at them. Do you recognize a single constellation? Ursa Major? Hercules? Orion?" Blank shakes of the head. "I've served all over the Empire, from the deserts of Aegyptus to the forests of Germania, garrisoned on the Danube and marched under the Syrian sun. The stars shift, yes, depending on how far north or south you are. But the patterns, the familiar guides… they are always there. And Luna, our Moon, is always constant in her phases." I looked back at my men, my unease palpable. "Here? The stars are alien. And I haven't seen a moon at all. It’s… unsettling. More than the lights, more than feeling unexpectedly healthy. It feels fundamentally wrong. I confess, I’m trying not to think about it too much."

  A heavy silence fell over the contubernium, the implications sinking in. Different stars, no moon… it spoke not just of displacement on Earth, but perhaps something far more profound. After a while, the conversation died down, replaced by the crackle of the fire and the sigh of the waves. One by one, the men sought the tent and the oblivion of sleep.

  I took the first watch, as befitted my rank. The responsibility felt heavier under these alien stars. I paced the small perimeter, gladius loose in its scabbard, eyes scanning the blackness where the jungle met the sand, listening to the unfamiliar nocturnal sounds. Later, Crassus relieved me, his bulk a reassuring presence as he took up the vigil.

  We awoke the next day before the sun breached the horizon. Gaius Cornelius Calvus, true to form, was the first one stirring, quietly arranging his gear with his usual stoic efficiency. The rest of us followed shortly after. The routine of breaking camp was swift and practiced. Tents struck, gear loaded onto the patient horses, ashes of the fire scattered. Shortly after sunrise, we were marching south again.

  The sea beside us teemed with life. We saw fish, silver shapes, leaping from the turquoise water, sometimes in schools, sometimes alone. Their presence was a welcome sight, a reminder that this world, however strange, sustained life. Around the fourth hour, with the sun climbing and the heat building, I called a halt for a mid-day break and meal.

  Seeing the fish earlier had given Naso an idea. While the rest of us sought shade, he and Felix fashioned crude fishing poles from sticks and spare cordage, using scraps of dried meat as bait. They waded out into the gentle surf, casting their lines with hopeful determination. Within minutes, Felix let out a triumphant yell, hauling in a small, wriggling fish of a vibrant red colour I’d never seen before. He quickly caught two more in the same spot. Naso, fishing right beside him, using the same bait, caught nothing but frustration. Felix just grinned, shrugging. His luck held, even here.

  Soon, the fish were gutted, scaled, and sizzling over a small fire. The smell was delicious, a welcome change from the monotony of hardtack and salted meat. Eating fresh, cooked fish under the shade of strange, broad-leafed coastal trees felt almost normal, a small victory against the overwhelming strangeness of our circumstances.

  During the break, Macer wandered off discreetly towards the jungle edge to relieve himself. He returned a few minutes later holding a small cluster of dark purple globes. "Decanus," he said quietly, holding them out. "These look like grapes. Growing on a vine back there."

  They did resemble small grapes, though the leaves on the vine he pointed out were subtly different. "Did you try any?" I asked, suspicion warring with the hope for fresh food.

  Macer nodded. "Just one, sir. Tastes sweet. Very good."

  I considered. Poisonous berries often mimicked edible ones. But Macer seemed fine so far. "Alright. Collect a small pouch full. But no one else eats any until we're certain they agree with you. We'll check on you this evening. If you're still standing and not spewing your guts out, we might have found another source of rations."

  We marched on as the afternoon wore, reaching our target distance for the day by the time the sun began its descent again, around the usual first hour of the night. Macer reported feeling perfectly fine, even refreshed, after eating the 'grapes.' Another small mystery – edible fruit, readily available. We made camp, ate our rations (supplemented by Felix's remaining fish), and settled into the now-familiar routine. The conversation was more subdued tonight, the novelty replaced by the steady grind of marching and the lingering unease from my observation about the stars. Naso took the first watch, Felix the second.

  Calvus, inevitably, was the first awake the following morning. The day unfolded much like the one before. March south, break, forage cautiously (more 'grapes' for Macer, Felix tried fishing again with similar luck), march again, make camp. And the next day, the same. Routine settled upon us, a necessary armour against the unknown. We mapped the coastline diligently – inlets, streams flowing from the jungle, rocky outcrops, stretches of mangrove-like trees with tangled roots extending into the water. We saw no signs of settlements, no footprints other than our own, no large animals. Only birds, lizards, insects, and the abundance of sea life.

  It was on the fourth night of our expedition, camped again on the open beach, that the routine shattered. The fire crackled merrily. It was late, perhaps the seventh hour of the night, well past midnight. Most of the men were asleep in the tent. Naso, having drawn first watch again, was sitting on a log near the fire, carefully cleaning a couple of fish Felix had managed to catch just before sunset. He was using his pugio, the standard legionary dagger. He finished scoring one fish, placed it carefully on a flat rock near the embers, and reached back to the log beside him for his dagger to start the next.

  It wasn't there.

  He frowned, patting the rough bark of the log. He looked around his feet, thinking perhaps he’d dropped it. Nothing. "Odd," he muttered. He glanced towards the tent where Felix slept. "Hey, Felix!" he called, not too loudly. "Did you grab my knife? Need it back."

  A sleepy mumble came from the tent. "Wha…? No. Sleeping." Then, more awake, "Why? Lose something again?"

  Felix, roused by the call, emerged from the tent, rubbing his eyes. He stood up, stretching, and glanced around the firelit area. His eyes suddenly widened, fixed on something just beyond the edge of the firelight, near the log where Naso sat.

  Naso, seeing Felix's expression, turned slowly.

  Standing there, barely visible in the flickering shadows, was a small figure, perhaps the height of a young child. But it wasn't human. Its skin was the colour of polished onyx, utterly black, absorbing the firelight. It was hairless, with large, dark eyes that seemed to glitter. Its ears were long and sharply pointed. And clutched in its small, three-fingered hand, held up as if in fascination, was Naso's missing pugio.

  Naso recoiled, scrambling backwards off the log. "What the…" he choked out, shock rendering him momentarily speechless.

  The creature looked from the dagger towards Naso. A thin, lipless mouth stretched across its dark face, revealing small, needle-sharp fangs, like those of a feral cat. It smiled. Then, with startling speed, it lunged, slashing downwards with the stolen dagger aimed at Naso's leg.

  Naso, reacting on pure instinct honed by years of battle, threw himself backwards, the blade slicing empty air where his thigh had been. He rolled, coming up into a crouch, his gladius rasping from its scabbard in a single, fluid motion.

  The commotion – Naso's shout, the clatter of his shield as he’d scrambled back – brought the rest of us bursting from the tent, weapons in hand. Robustus, Crassus, Pulcher, Calvus, Macer, and I formed a ragged line, shields up, swords drawn, facing the unexpected threat.

  The onyx creature froze, its large eyes darting between Naso and the rest of us. Seeing itself outnumbered, it hissed – a low, sibilant sound – turned, and darted away from the firelight, vanishing into the pitch-black jungle edge with uncanny speed. Still clutching Naso's pugio.

  Silence fell, broken only by our heavy breathing and the crackling fire.

  "By all the gods below," Felix breathed, staring into the darkness where the creature had disappeared. "What was that thing?"

  Naso, still breathing hard, wiped sweat from his brow. "Looked like a demon to me. I'm gonna call it a demon." He spat on the ground. "The mean little shit stole my knife."

  My mind raced, adrenaline sharpening my thoughts. Small, fast, intelligent enough to steal, and aggressive. And it came from the jungle. "Alright!" I snapped, taking command. "No time for speculation. That thing might have friends. Crassus, Robustus – build up the fire! Get it blazing! Pulcher, Macer – make torches from spare branches, get them lit and positioned around the camp perimeter. Extend the light! Calvus – double-check the horses, make sure they're secure and calm them if needed. Naso, stay alert here." I turned to Felix. "Felix, you have the best eyes for tracking in this squad. Come with me. I want to see where that creature came from, and where it went."

  "Yes, sir!" The practiced responses were immediate. My men moved with purpose, fear channeled into action.

  Felix and I moved cautiously away from the firelight towards the spot where the creature had vanished. Felix knelt, examining the ground with intense focus, even in the poor light. "Got tracks, sir. Small, three-toed. Heading straight for the jungle."

  We followed, moving slowly, scanning the darkness, gladius ready. The trail was faint, but Felix’s 'luck' seemed to extend to tracking. He pointed out a scuffed patch of leaves here, a bent twig there. The trail led us perhaps fifty paces into the dense undergrowth, stopping abruptly at the base of an absolutely colossal tree, its trunk thicker than any three men could encircle, soaring up into the unseen canopy. Set into the base of this monstrous tree was a dark hole, an opening slightly larger than a man could comfortably crawl through.

  And emanating from the depths of that hole was a faint, pulsing light. It was the same blue-white as the light that brought us here, but much dimmer, barely illuminating the entrance, and it seemed stationary, not expanding or moving. A low hum, almost below the threshold of hearing, seemed to emanate from it.

  "Gods," Felix whispered, taking an involuntary step back. "It lives in there? With… with that light?"

  A cold dread trickled down my spine. A burrow. A nest? Leading to… what? Another place? And inhabited by those onyx-skinned, knife-wielding creatures. If there was one, there could be more. Many more. Staying here, camped so close to their lair, was madness.

  "We've found its burrow," I said, my voice tight. "Enough. Let's get back to the others. We're packing up and moving out. Now. We're too close to this thing, and if there are more of them in that hole…" I didn't need to finish the sentence.

  We hurried back to the firelit camp. "Pack everything! Quickly and quietly!" I ordered the waiting men. "We're leaving. Now. Found the creature's lair, too close for comfort."

  No questions were asked. Fear lent speed to their hands. Tents were struck, gear bundled, horses loaded in record time. Within minutes, we were marching south again, plunging into the darkness along the beach, leaving the fire and the unsettling proximity of that massive tree and its glowing hole behind. We marched all night, fatigue forgotten, replaced by adrenaline and gnawing anxiety. Every snap of a twig from the jungle, every rustle in the coastal scrub, made us jump. We saw no more of the little onyx demons, but the knowledge that they were there, lurking in the darkness, potentially watching us from the trees, turned the remainder of the night into a tense, nerve-wracking ordeal. Our reconnaissance mission had just become considerably more complicated. And much, much more dangerous.