Days? Weeks? Months? The passing of time blurred into a stagnant and endless stretch of nothing. There was no sunrise, no sunset, just concrete walls and stale air pressing in from every side.

  All he knew was the routine. Once a day, the harsh white light would flicker on, turning darkness into brightness. He would get a bottle of lukewarm water and a scrap of food which was barely enough to dull the ache of hunger, let alone sustain him. That was the only proof that time moved at all.

  They had told him this was only temporary. A holding cell, they told him. But how true was that? The words were very hollow now, like a cruel promise that offered no comfort. Each passing moment, if moments could even be measured here had made the idea of “temporary” feel more like a lie.

  How long could “temporary” last when every second dragged like a lifetime? Dr. Vulcan never returned after saying those words, but he could feel the silence he left behind. Was it the kind of silence that clawed at the edges of thought or the kind that pulled his mind inward, folding it in on itself?

  How could one stay sane in a place like this? Time didn’t exist here. Only the darkness and nothingness, and the crushing knowledge that he was utterly alone. Was this how all prisoners were kept? He wondered. Is this what Rome did to its enemies? Just buried them alive in tombs too small for rage or rebellion?

  The question always lingered. If Rome feared him, why not just kill him? They had the means and power to snuff him out without a second thought. Yet here he was, trapped in this… thing. No trial. No execution. Just existence without any meaning. But that wasn’t what haunted him most. It was THE silence, their silence.The Asventi.

  Not even a whisper. No presence curling behind his thoughts, no cold voice urging him toward violence or power. Just… nothing.They had invaded his mind, flooded his body with unnatural strength, and now, they were gone. Had they abandoned him? Were they waiting for something? Or worse, had Rome found a way to sever the connection entirely?

  The thought hit like a fist to the chest. If they could silence the Asventi, what else could they do to him? His breathing quickened, shallow and rapid, until he found a way to steady it. The walls felt tighter now, closer than before. The faint hum of the fan above seemed to buzz louder in his skull, drilling into the cracks of his thoughts.

  Get out—

  But there was no out. Only the walls and shadows with air that tasted like rust and rot. His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms until they broke the skin. The pain was sharp, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t real enough to fight back the panic swelling in his chest.

  Why won’t they speak to me?

  The silence wasn’t just absence, he thought it was rejection. Without the Asventi’s voice, without that creeping influence, there was nothing left to anchor him. Just the raw and exposed edges of a mind unraveling.

  His thoughts twisted into a loop. Why am I here? Why keep me alive? Why the silence?

  His head began to spin faster with each breath until every nerve felt stretched, ready to snap. He felt his pulse pound against his temples like a war drum. The ceiling’s dim light flickered in his memory, the last thing tethering him to time’s slow and grinding crawl.

  Stop thinking.

  But the silence wouldn’t let him. He slammed his fists against the concrete wall. Once. Twice. Again. The sharp sting shot up his arms, but it wasn’t enough—it didn’t break through the suffocating stillness around him.

  Let me out. Let me out. Let me out—

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  But the walls didn’t answer. The void swallowed every sound, every desperate breath, leaving only the echo of his failure. Ampelius sagged against the cold floor, trembling, chest heaving as exhaustion seeped into his bones.

  His thoughts dulled until there was no anger, no hatred, not even fear anymore. Just… emptiness. And in that hollow space, the crushing realization settled in: No one was coming. Not the Asventi. Not salvation. Only Rome’s cold, patient cruelty.

  After an eternity of time, the silence shattered with the sounds of boots, which echoed down the corridor. They were growing louder with every step. Ampelius barely had time to react before the locks on the door twisted and unlocked.

  The door groaned open, and light poured in. It was searing and merciless, very blinding after so long in the dark. Ampelius recoiled on instinct, raising an arm to shield his eyes. The light wasn’t just bright—it was violent, like staring into the sun after a lifetime in the shadows. He tried to push himself upright, to fight back against the weakness from his muscles. But his body betrayed him. Every effort melted into exhaustion, leaving him feel heavy and hollow.

  Shapes moved above him, and he could make out several figures standing over the hole, silhouettes outlined in the harsh white. His heart thudded weakly against his ribs, muscles sluggish from disuse, body heavy with exhaustion.

  Then, another shape leaned closer. A shadow against the light. He squinted through the glare, forcing his eyes to adjust. The outline sharpened, and then came the voice.

  “On behalf of Emperor Varro, we apologize for the delay in your transfer.”

  Dr. Vulcan. Ampelius’ breath caught in his throat. The man’s voice was distinct enough that he could remember it. He always spoke in a calm, almost practiced tone, as if every word had been carefully measured for maximum effect.

  “This invasion has cost Rome dearly. Such a waste of manpower and resources. But rest assured, we are regaining control. It is finally safe to move you.”

  Ampelius felt there was no sympathy in his tone. No anger, no triumph. Just an announcement of facts, although it was really stripped of anything human.

  But the words carried weight. On behalf of Emperor Varro. A reminder. This wasn’t just about him. Rome wasn’t done yet. They weren’t afraid, they were organized, prepared, and already recovering.

  The implication was clear: He never a threat to begin with. Ampelius tried to lift his head higher, to meet Vulcan’s gaze, but the light was too much. His body wouldn’t respond.

  "You’re weaker than I expected,” Vulcan murmured, almost as if noting an observation.

  “But then again, that’s to be expected under Rome’s care."

  For a moment, barely a breath, something had shifted beneath his skin. A pulse. A flicker of heat. Then, just as quickly, it vanished.

  "Let’s get you out of there." Dr. Vulcan’s voice changed tone slightly, as if this was nothing more than routine procedure.

  At once, the figures surrounding the hole moved. They were Roman guards, Ampelius assumed. They approached a large iron lever embedded into the wall beside the pit. Without a word, they began to crank it.

  Click. Grind. Click.

  The sound echoed through the space like breaking bones. The chains groaned under the strain, sending vibrations through the concrete walls as the crude mechanism came to life.

  Only then did Ampelius realize where he had been all this time. It wasn't a cell, but a cage buried beneath the ground. He was lying in a metal basket, crude yet functional, the rough edges digging into his back as it shuddered under the strain of metal chains.

  A low, rattling vibration crawled up through his spine as the basket lurched upward. His body, weak and sluggish, slumped against the cold metal as gravity pressed down on him with every creak and pull of the lever.

  Of course, Rome wouldn’t waste resources on anything more sophisticated. Why bother? A prisoner didn’t need comfort. He didn’t need dignity. He just needed to exist, at least until they were ready for something worse.

  The light grew stronger as the basket ascended, every inch closing the gap between him and the cold, clinical gaze of Dr. Vulcan. The air around him felt heavier and thicker, almost choking him with the weight of captivity.

  When the basket finally jerked to a halt, Ampelius found himself face-to-face with Vulcan’s shadowed outline. The man didn’t bother leaning down this time. He simply observed, hands clasped behind his back as an emperor of this small, cruel domain.

  “Efficient, isn’t it?” Vulcan’s voice was soft, almost thoughtful. “Simple systems never fail. You’ll come to appreciate that about Rome’s methods.”

  Ampelius couldn’t reply as his throat was too dry, his body too weak. The Asventi’s silence still bothered him, as they remained at the edges of his thoughts.

  The soldiers moved forward without hesitation, unfastening restraints and pulling him from the basket like dead weight. His body didn’t resist, it couldn’t. But somewhere deep inside, beneath the weakness, beneath the silence, the faintest pulse of defiance stirred.