Ali_Gin

Every civilization in embryo aspires to be Rome while the one on deathbed laments it. Inspired by Rome, Gods’ Gaze is an epic historical fantasy of multiple POVs relying on authentic stratagems of twists and turns. No one gets to Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo out of trouble. 


"All warfare is based on deception, like the theater."


Evoking his late father’s words, Cato Duilius Claudius assumes the alias, Moon Xeator, and he vows to have his vengeance. In the upcoming years, he plots to restore the dual consulship, his father’s legacy, by bringing down the Praetor Magnum and the Triumvirate that slaughtered his family when he was a child. Aware that nothing would crush a man as much as the chink in his own armor, he sows suspicions among his foes and lures them into overreaching. He games the power structure in which all participants are corruptible. Those he keeps around, he taps into their fears, hates, and wants as grist for his mill. He turns his friends into pawns, as does his life a board of chess.


But the game he plays cuts both ways. His vengeance also brings home the bitterest misery, which is to know so much and still have control over so little. And there is no return for him now. He can’t look back as there is nothing behind; nor does he dare look forward, knowing the road ahead. All he has is the time at hand, and it all slips through him into ruins like quicksand. When he trades in what he holds dear only to arrive at his destination, what will he find there when nothing can ease the pain of his losses? 


Fleshed out by his flaws, Xeator never meant to choose good over evil. His journey rings true that every important idea is only valid as in a paradox with an opposing idea, and the power to rise obliterates, too.

Gods' Gaze

An eagle scythed across the night sky over the craggy peaks of snow. Around the crackling fire, Xeator leaned to his left, writing on a scroll of papyrus spread upon his lap. He handed the papyrus to Lorenzo sitting crossed-armed in shivers.

Lorenzo took it, plucking one hand out from under his armpit while thumping his feet. His eyes squinted as he read:

We don't know who is, or are, watching. Regardless, the message should be on its way to Julius now, informing him of our disposition, location, and today's incident.

Xeator obliged. While Lorenzo scribbled, he studied the lord's profile. The thought of his upbringing returned. What his past said about the man now, Xeator had not yet decided.

Lorenzo cupped his hands around his lips, huffing for warmth. He handed back the papyrus on which he listed his concerns:

Men's faith. It depends on the sick man's recovery. What's wrong with him? And what if he won't convalesce? Our location. Why are we stopping by the river? All strategies advise against billeting along rivers, especially fast-flowing ones like the Aztak. They're boundaries that can result in us being hemmed in.

Xeator pursed his lips, his feet scuffing the icy ground. Spinning the pen in the crook of his thumb, he gazed into the fire, behind which rumbled the Aztak in not too far a distance. He wrote in reply:

The man is Centurion Marius Ectorius. He's never sick. I slashed his shoulder and waist and stuck some dough on top. What you sucked on earlier - my sincerest apologies - were puls and wild berries kneaded in oil. When men see Marius healthy again tomorrow, they will arrive at the conclusion that by following you, they can defeat even the ill wish of the gods. We camp by the river exactly because it's against common practice. From the message the mole sent, Julius would presume that our choice of location was due to a lack of choices, that our men are indeed harrowed by pestilence. This should orchestrate a false sense of security that it'll be an easy feat if he attacks

That said, Julius is cautious. He has never met you on the battlefield before as for why he won't risk his own men in the first strike but send his Exonian ally. We want him to do that because we must meet the Exonian armies behind our borders, where they'll be fighting in Julius' territory equally unfamiliar to them as to us. If we try to decoy them into their territories beyond the borders, we lend them a great advantage over us.

Worse still, if our armies are seen behind Exonian borders, it would complicate the civil war and implicate competing foreign interests. With everyone slobbering over the control of the Dam, we can't give any party any excuse to meddle. This war mustn't drag on.

"What about the last question?" Lorenzo husked the question and sneezed.

"Let the sling bolt fly," Xeator replied, taking off his cloak. "Surely you've heard of the phrase before?" He passed on the cloak to Lorenzo. "I'd say, let the sling bolt fly for now. Had we plucked him out too early, who'd deliver us all the wrong messages?"

Gesturing his gratitude with a slight nod, Lorenzo donned the cloak as he rose to his feet. He tossed the scroll to the fire. Flame scorched, browning the edges, and the papyrus warped. "Get some rest, too," he said before retreating to his tent

The night quieted, only the river splashing relentlessly into rocks, amidst the skirling wind, the feral howls, and the atavistic throbs of the wild. Tongues of flames had devoured what was left of the scroll, sputtering sparks of an illegible maneuver. Xeator gazed across the fire at the tenebrous foothill afield. His thoughts raced. Who would benefit from trading their intelligence with Julius, in which ways, and to what extent?

He left for his own tent where he found no rest.

2.