In the winter months, when the legions had been stood down from the frontier, the Roman city of Aquilonia should have known peace. Yet a troubling series of thefts unsettled its merchants: carts of fruits and vegetables stolen in the night, and even amphorae spirited away from the docks without sound or trace.

Legatus Jamal Marques, charged with order in the city, took it upon himself to investigate. After an incident with a stolen cart, he commanded his men to aid the afflicted merchants and recover what had been lost. While overseeing the search, Jamal encountered Domina Arcadia Calavia, a noblewoman known for her storm-grey eyes and enigmatic presence. She was found deep in thought, as though already half-possessed by muses or omens.

Their exchange was at once political and personal. Jamal spoke of the need to quash the thefts swiftly, lest resentment grow among the people and embers of unrest catch fire. Arcadia, with a knowing smile, suggested setting a trap, for hunger steals only what it needs—these thefts must be driven by greed, mischief, or design. She reminded Jamal of the earthquake that had shaken Aquilonia, interpreting it not as chance but as a warning from the gods. She spoke of consulting the Oracle, hinting that mortal struggles might be threads woven into a greater divine tapestry.

Their words carried the sharpness of strategy but also a current of intimacy. Jamal bowed to her, his hand briefly grazing her hip, provoking a sly remark from Arcadia about his sudden shift from omens to touch. He withdrew, promising to return to the barracks for news of the thief.

There, he found Milo, a local centurion wintering in Aquilonia. Cloaked against the cold, Milo reported that he had ordered the watches at the gates and markets to be vigilant, but confessed that unease spread among the soldiers. Rumours whispered of spirits awakened by the quake, for the thefts seemed too silent and too curious for ordinary thieves. Milo himself remained sceptical, though his caution betrayed that even seasoned men could not wholly shake the thought of omens. Noting Arcadia’s presence lingering in the twilight, he half-smiled and remarked to Jamal that perhaps the Domina already knew how such a game would end.

Thus, with the city watchful, the noblewoman thoughtful, and the soldiers uneasy, Aquilonia stood at the threshold of mystery—its fate hanging between mortal cunning and divine will.