"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."

  Paulus's voice cracked, hoarse from absolute exhaustion. He knelt on the bitterly cold marble of the small chapel, beneath an old wooden crucifix illuminated by the flickering remains of candles that had nearly burned out.

  "O Lord God Almighty, source of all wisdom and truth," Paulus began his prayer, his voice trembling yet full of devotion. "You who granted wisdom to Your servant Solomon to judge Your people with justice, look upon this humble servant. Grant me Your Holy Spirit, so that every word that leaves my tongue is the truth that comes from You."

  He took a deep breath, closing his eyes tightly.

  "Do not let my anger cloud justice, and do not let my grief over the passing of Johannes extinguish this courage. My tongue is but weak flesh, so speak through me. Reveal the truth amid this storm of slander, so that the blood of those who have sacrificed does not cry out in vain from the ground. And protect that boy, Romulus. If he is the fire You have chosen to light this darkness, then make me the guardian of his light. Give me steadfastness of heart before the wolves, in the name of Your only Son, Jesus Christ, the Great Judge. Amen."

  Paulus pressed his forehead against the cold floor, letting the silence of the chapel absorb his heavy breaths. Outside the high windows, the grey streaks began to turn into a sharp, pale gold. The sun had risen, marking the end of a long night in which Paulus had not closed his eyes for a single second. His eyes were red and burning, but the nervous tension and the weight of his great responsibility provided an unnatural sharpness to his mind.

  The tolling of the first bell, Prima, shook the morning air from the basilica of the blessed Apostle Peter. Its heavy, slow ring was not merely a call to prayer, but a signal for the beginning of a judgment that would determine the course of Italy's history.

  Paulus stood stiffly, his bones creaking from fatigue. On the wooden table behind him lay a pristine white alb with a narrow gold-embroidered edge, the vestment Johannes had meant to wear today. Paulus reached for the Paulus reached for the folded linen, donning it slowly. The robe felt incredibly heavy, as if he were not wearing a liturgical garment, but a suit of war armor laden with the responsibility of his late companion. Beneath the white folds, the secret scroll from Gelasius and Johannes's gold ring were hidden, gripped tightly in his palm.

  While a heavy stillness gripped the interior of the church, the area outside the gates of Saint Peter’s precincts resembled a volcanic crater ready to explode.

  Drusus stood tall in front of his line of soldiers. Of the hundred men of the Scholae, armored as cataphracts, who had ridden out from Ravenna, only ninety-eight remained. Two had been dispatched back north carrying secret messages, leaving ninety-eight men of steel led by Drusus as the final fortress amidst the surrounding crowd. Together with Drusus, a total of ninety-nine soldiers stood on high alert.

  The people of Rome had crowded the square since dawn to learn the outcome of the synod. Thousands of pairs of eyes stared with pure hostility. Fear of barbarians and hunger had been twisted by Theodore's tongue into pure hatred. They whispered, and their voices sounded like the growl of hungry wild animals.

  "Murderer!" someone shouted from the crowd.

  A stone flew, striking the bronze shield of one of the soldiers with a sickening clang. Soon after, insults began to fall like rain. Some people started throwing stones at the troops who had dismounted and tied their horses in the rear line. Drusus did not flinch. The soldiers stood in a tight formation, their shields interlocking, completely sealing off the gates of Saint Peter’s precincts from the outside world.

  "Hold your positions," Drusus commanded in a low voice, his tone steady even though a small stone had just grazed his helmet. "Do not draw your swords unless I command it. We are here to keep the peace, not to give them a reason to burn this place down."

  Drusus knew that if Paulus failed inside that hall, these ninety-nine lives outside would be the first to be devoured by the fury of the Roman people.

  The bells rang again. Prime had passed, and the hour of Terce crept nearer. Paulus walked down the cold stone corridors toward the Synod Hall. His footsteps, wrapped in leather sandals, echoed softly, mingling with the low murmur coming from the hall which was already beginning to fill with attendees.

  At the threshold of the great door, a man of sturdy build stood leaning against a marble pillar, observing the crowd with a gaze that seemed capable of piercing through walls. It was Felix. He did not look like a bishop preparing for the holy rites, he appeared more like a general counting the number of enemies on a battlefield.

  "This floor is far too cold for the knees of a man my age, yet you seem capable of kneeling upon it all night long, Deacon Paulus."

  Paulus startled, halting his steps. He bowed, though his back felt as stiff as dry wood. "Father. Forgive me, this exhaustion has dulled my eyes so that I did not notice your presence."

  Felix did not answer immediately. He stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the pristine white robe Paulus was wearing, a robe that seemed a size too large for his weary frame. "Johannes's robe. Do you wear it because you wish to feel holy, or because you need protection from his spirit so as not to crumble before Theodore?"

  "I wear it because it is the only thing left that was not scorched by the fire, Bishop Felix," Paulus replied, his voice heavier than usual.

  Felix gave a low chuckle, a sound more like a dry hiss. "The fire. All of Rome whispers of a green fire that cannot be quenched by water. They say the boy brought hell to Ravenna. But I am more curious about something else. How does a boy who usually does nothing but cry when he loses his sandals suddenly behead Odoacer as if he were slicing a loaf of bread? Is it a miracle, or merely madness polished into a legend by your people?"

  Paulus looked at Felix, realizing that the man before him was not seeking religious comfort. He was testing whether Paulus carried the truth or merely a political fable.

  "It was courage born from a total absence of choice, Father," Paulus whispered.

  Felix fell silent for a moment, then he leaned toward Paulus. "Listen to me well. Many out there may think this throne is already secure, but Rome does not run on wishful thinking. Julius Nepos still lives in Dalmatia, waiting like a ghost who wishes to reclaim his throne. Meanwhile, in Ravenna, there is a boy with an impossible fire. Do you want to know where I stand?"

  Felix shook his head slowly. "I have not yet chosen. My heart is still as hard as this marble. But the outcome of today's hearing, the way you answer Theodore, and how you explain your little emperor will be the decider. If you fail, I will be the first to advise the Pope to turn toward Nepos."

  Felix then waved a hand toward the rows of seats in the front that were beginning to fill. "Look at those seated there. That is Bishop Faustus from the conservative faction, and beside him is Bishop Epiphanius. They are not men easily impressed by tales of sorcery. They will sit right beside the Holy Father's throne later, waiting to skin your every sentence."

  Just as Paulus was about to answer, the heavy and arrogant thud of footsteps broke the atmosphere. Theodore stepped inside with a wide stride, escorted by assistants carrying a tightly sealed bronze vessel, as if he were carrying tangible proof of the devil's existence.

  Paulus was listening to Felix, but his eyes were instinctively drawn toward Theodore. Theodore turned as well, catching Paulus's gaze. For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still. Theodore gave a thin smile laden with disgust, a look that said today was the day Paulus's career and perhaps his life would end.

  Paulus stood frozen, his breath hitching at such pure arrogance, until he felt the firm grip of Felix's hand on his shoulder.

  "Paulus? Are you still breathing?" Felix rebuked him sharply.

  Paulus startled, turning back to Felix with a look of shock he could not hide. "Ah, yes... forgive me, Bishop Felix. His arrogance... it feels so real."

  "Arrogance always feels more real than faith to men like him," Felix turned his body, preparing to head toward the front row. "Go inside. And remember, the Pope may be old, but he still hates to look like a fool in front of the senators. Do not make your explanation sound like a bedtime story if you want that boy to keep his throne."

  The atmosphere inside the hall, which had been noisy with the whispers of senators and clerics, suddenly fell silent as if the oxygen had just been sucked out of the room. At the far end of the hall, the double oak doors plated in bronze opened slowly.

  The procession began.

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  Deacons walked in the lead carrying incense, the smoke rising high and creating a layer of white mist with the sharp aroma of ancient frankincense. Behind them, holding a shimmering processional cross, was Gelasius. He walked with a flat expression and piercing eyes, every step filled with precision, reflecting the cold intelligence that surrounded him.

  Then, the figure appeared.

  Pope Simplicius walked very slowly. He looked so fragile. His heavy liturgical robes seemed to weigh down his frail shoulders. However, despite his body being ravaged by age, the authority radiating from his pale face still bowed every head in the room. Gelasius walked right beside him, ready to reach out should the Pope falter, yet Simplicius continued to step with a forced, lingering strength until he reached the elevated Throne of Peter.

  The Pope did not sit down immediately. He stood leaning on his staff, gazing at the crowd of people filling the hall.

  "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti," the Pope's voice sounded faint yet resonated with an undeniable authority.

  "Amen," the entire room answered in unison, a thunderous sound that bounced off the high ceiling of the hall.

  Pope Simplicius folded his hands and bowed his head. "Before we begin this heavy task, our heart is struck by a deep sorrow. News has reached us that our beloved brother, Johannes, bishop of Ravenna, has returned to the Father's embrace. He was a pillar of the church, a faithful servant until his last breath for the sake of the peace of the empire. Let us pray for a moment that his soul may rest in eternal light."

  A gripping silence enveloped the hall. Paulus closed his eyes tightly, feeling the weight of the robe he wore grow even heavier as his mentor's name was mentioned with full honor. After the brief prayer ended, Pope Simplicius slowly sat upon his throne with the assistance of Gelasius.

  The Pope then signaled Gelasius to take over. Gelasius stepped forward, opening an official parchment with a movement that was calm yet firm.

  "By order of the Holy Father, this Synod is held to answer the anxiety that is currently gripping the heart of the faithful," Gelasius began. "We gather to examine a report that transcends human reasoning. News regarding a green fire that does not originate from nature, which accompanies the resurgence of our young Emperor, Romulus Augustus. The Church must determine its holy position today."

  Gelasius looked at the attendees one by one before continuing. "This Synod is called to seek the pure truth. Is this fire a sign of God's grace descended to save Rome from the brink of destruction, or is it a dark deception that will lead us into heresy? Today's decision will not only determine the fate of one throne in Ravenna, but also the direction of the souls of all Christians under the shadow of the empire."

  Gelasius then glanced toward Theodore, then back to Paulus. "Let testimony and evidence speak. Theodore of Milan, the Holy Father grants you the first opportunity to deliver your indictment."

  Theodore rose from his seat with a sharp, jolting movement, his robes billowing as he stepped into the center of the hall. He did not immediately read the charges; instead, he turned toward the Pope and the senior bishops, his face flushed with a well-rehearsed fury.

  "Holy Father, before I begin, I must voice a grave objection on behalf of the honor of this assembly!" Theodore's voice boomed, echoing off the stone walls. "Outside these walls, a hundred heavy armed soldiers from Ravenna stand ready as if we were captives in our own home. This is blatant intimidation! In fact, the tension they brought has already claimed a life since they set foot in this city. A poor mother breathed her last upon the Milvian Bridge because of their presence. Shall we allow this holy trial to proceed under the shadow of swords that have already tasted the blood of our own citizens?"

  The atmosphere began to heat up, but Felix simply leaned back in his seat, fiddling with the edge of his ring as if watching a tedious theater performance.

  "Theodore, Theodore," Felix interrupted with a drawling tone, though his eyes flashed with sharpness. "Isn't fact such a slippery thing in your hands? We all know that poor woman on the Milvian Bridge died in a mass chaos that also swallowed the life of Archbishop Johannes, whom we so deeply revere. A tragedy born from uncontrollable mob panic, was it not? Besides, isn't the City of Rome still administratively under the law of the Emperor who reigns in Ravenna? An Emperor has every right to send his troops into his own lands. Unless, of course, you are trying to teach us how to perform a rebellion through the vocabulary of intimidation?"

  Theodore did not explode in anger. Instead, he took a long breath and bowed respectfully toward Felix with a thin smile full of hypocrisy. "I deeply appreciate the sharpness of your logic, Bishop Felix. However, if the blood of the common people is considered a mere administrative matter, then let God be the judge of our consciences. I am not here to debate the placement of troops, but rather what they carry behind their shields."

  Theodore then unfurled a parchment roll, tattered yet sealed with the official crest of Emperor Julius Nepos. He read it with a voice that was heavy and full of emphasis.

  "For the sake of the salvation of all the faithful, know that the fire blazing in the hands of the son of Orestes is a curse that transcends human reason. It is not a fire of wood or oil. That green flame knows no end even when doused with seawater; instead, it dances upon the waves as if drinking them for fuel. I have seen the skin of my brave soldiers melt like wax, their flesh blackening in an instant without leaving ash, and their bones shattering into dust that reeks of sulfur. This is a madness that could only be born from the womb of hell. If the Church does not act swiftly, this dark sorcerous fire will consume all of Italy, turning our holy land into a field of charred bones."

  Theodore closed the parchment slowly, letting a chilling silence envelop every corner of the hall. He looked at Pope Simplicius with eyes that seemed wet with false concern.

  "Nepos did not merely set ink to paper, Holy Father. He sent a warning for all our souls before it is too late. And to prove that this horror is not merely a shadow from Dalmatia, I request permission to bring in two eyewitnesses. Two men who managed to save themselves from the slaughter in the Adriatic Sea, when Nepos's fleet was swallowed by that devilish fire. They will testify how the laws of God and nature were destroyed before their very eyes."

  Pope Simplicius gave a weak but certain hand gesture. The side doors of the hall opened, and two men were led inside by church guards. Both walked with a staggering gait, as if the weight of their own bodies was an unbearable burden. Once they stood in the center of the hall, Gelasius stepped forward.

  "The Holy Father grants permission for one of you to speak on behalf of both," Gelasius said. "Speak only the truth under the gaze of God, for in this place, a lie is a betrayal of Heaven."

  One of them, a man with half his face pulled tight by a horrific jagged scar, began to speak with a broken and dramatic voice.

  "We were part of the fleet carrying wheat supplies for the starving people of Ravenna," he began. "But as our ships began to approach the harbor, we were not welcomed as bringers of aid. The sky over those waters suddenly turned a sickly green, a color like the rotting bile of a demon."

  The assembly froze as the man continued his tale.

  "At first there was no sound, only a suffocating silence before the fire struck our deck. When the flames ignited, the seawater actually exploded upon contact! Instead of extinguishing the fire, the water seemed to act as fuel for those cursed flames. I saw my comrade try to save himself by leaping into the sea, but the green fire chased him across the waves, crawling over the water as if it possessed a bloodthirsty life of its own."

  The witness pointed to the horrific scar on his neck with a trembling hand. "That fire does not merely burn flesh; it devours it. I watched my comrade scream as his skin melted like wax placed over hot coals. His flesh peeled away from the bone while he was still standing and screaming! His eyes burst within their sockets as the fire pierced his skull, turning his head into a ghastly green lantern before he sank. No ash remained, only black dust that reeked of sulfur and stinging, rotten meat!"

  "By God, is this possible?!" a bishop from the back row shouted, his face deathly pale.

  "How can fire drink seawater to burn?" a senator asked, his voice shaking with terror. "This is no human weapon; this is the darkest sorcery that has ever existed!"

  Echoes of questions and screams of horror filled the sacred hall. The atmosphere that had once been cautious now shattered into a chaos of fear driven discussion. They stared at Paulus with accusing eyes.

  Gelasius stepped forward, cutting through the noise. He looked at the witness. "Is there anything else you wish to convey to this holy assembly?"

  The witness shook his head quickly. "No more, Domine. I cannot bear to remember those horrific things any longer."

  Upon hearing this, the row of bishops surrounding the Pope's throne began to whisper among themselves. Felix leaned his body forward, staring straight into the eyes of the witness.

  "Tell us exactly what you saw at that moment," Felix asked. "Did that fire emerge from an intermediary object? Such as an amulet, a statue, or perhaps from the hands of a human being? Or did you see a non human creature, a demon perhaps, summoning it? Or did you actually only see a fire burning from spilled oil upon the water?"

  The witness suddenly went rigid. He instinctively shifted his gaze toward Theodore. Theodore gave an extremely subtle shake of his head, nearly invisible to the ordinary eye.

  The witness swallowed hard, his voice now sounding very hesitant. "I... I do not know. It was very dark, there was smoke everywhere. All I know is that our ship was suddenly consumed by fire. I did not see where it came from, only the destruction that remained."

  Seeing the witness's hesitation, Theodore immediately stood up to close the gap.

  "Let us not waste time guessing from which object the fire originated," Theodore interrupted. "Let us focus on who commanded it. Let us not forget what happened to Odoacer at the hands of Romulus, Paulus. He beheaded a man with his own hands. Yes, Odoacer was a foe, but he was still a human being. A grown man's head severed by the small hands of a child? What kind of strength possessed those muscles?"

  Theodore paced back and forth in the center of the hall, his voice now laced with sarcasm. "And let us not forget that the remnants of those barbarian troops were left alive and now roam Ravenna as his loyal guards. It seems Romulus did not learn from the mistake of his father, Orestes, who tried to control wolves with bare hands. Or perhaps, he has no need for fear because he is now part of an even darker pack of wolves."

  The attendees grew rowdy once more. The whispers of frightened senators clashed with the trepidation of the priests, creating a restless hum. Seeing the growing chaos, Pope Simplicius slowly raised his right hand. The authority radiating from it immediately commanded the attention of the entire room.

  Gelasius instantly caught the signal. He stepped forward and shouted in an incredibly firm tone.

  "Silentium!"

  Gelasius's booming voice immediately silenced the hall. A gripping hush once again enveloped the room, leaving only the faint sound of the driving rain outside. Every eye was now fixed on the fragile figure upon the Throne of Peter.

  Pope Simplicius took a long breath, one that sounded heavy and weary. He looked directly at Paulus, ignoring Theodore who still stood with a face full of triumph.

  "I have heard all that I must hear," the Pope said in a voice that was calm yet vibrated with authority. "All testimonies and all fears have been laid out upon this holy floor."

  The Pope then leaned his body slightly forward, his gaze locking onto Paulus's eyes.

  "Now, Paulus, speak. Deliver your defense on behalf of the Emperor before God the All-Seeing. Tell us the truth that you have brought from Ravenna."