19/07/2025
🌒 Chapter II: Whispers and Warnings
Three nights after the Festival of Flora
The streets of Rome no longer sang. The petals were swept. The wine had soured. And though the city slept beneath its marble gods, danger moved through its shadows like oil on water.
In the upper chambers of House Caelius, behind thick velvet curtains, Senator Lucan stood beside a golden brazier, staring into the embers as if they might burn truth into his eyes.
> "He has no family. No blood of Rome. No wealth. He reads poetry to animals and dreams of stars — not power. He is dangerous."
His voice trembled with bitterness. Behind him, a man in military dress said nothing. He didn’t have to. Lucan continued:
> "My daughter will marry Gaius Varro. The alliance is sealed. No flower-picker will unweave it."
And down in the stables — unaware of the storm above — Kiruba brushed down an injured mare. He worked quietly, his mind still half-dancing in the fig garden with Nandhu. Her smile. Her voice. How she spoke of constellations as if they were friends.
A crow landed on the stable rail. It watched him.
It opened its beak and whispered:
> "She is not yours to love."
Kiruba dropped the brush. The crow was gone.
