Education

INT. ROMAN VILLA – STUDY ROOM – DAY

The scent of ink and parchment filled the air. Sunlight poured through the marble pillars, casting long shadows over the polished wooden desk. At its center sat a young boy, no older than five—Lucius Aelius Varro.

His small hands clutched a wax tablet and stylus, his young mind racing as he traced unfamiliar words onto the surface. Latin. The tongue of Rome. The language of power.

At his side, an elderly tutor, draped in a fine white toga, observed with hawk-like precision. Gaius Marcius, a respected grammaticus, had been entrusted with the education of the young patrician.

GAIUS MARCIUS (stern):

"Lucius, again. Read the sentence aloud."

Lucius exhaled, shifting his grip on the stylus. Though his tongue was still adjusting to the rigid structure of Latin, the echoes of his past life—of Ethan Walker—gave him a small but crucial advantage.

His knowledge of English grammar provided a rough foundation, yet Latin's inflections, case endings, and lack of direct word order were a different beast entirely. But he did not falter.

LUCIUS (slow, careful):

"Puella aquam portat…" (The girl carries water...)

The tutor gave a slow nod, unimpressed yet acknowledging progress.

GAIUS MARCIUS:

"A decent attempt, but your pronunciation is stiff. Latin is not merely words—it is authority. Speak with confidence. Again!"

Lucius clenched his jaw, inhaled, and tried again.

This time, his voice carried clarity. Strength. A fragment of the unyielding will that had defined him in his past life.

The tutor studied him with curiosity. He had taught many children of Rome's nobility, yet this boy… He absorbed knowledge faster than expected.

Perhaps he would become more than a mere senator's son.

EXT. TRAINING GROUNDS – ROMAN VILLA – LATE AFTERNOON

The villa's private courtyard was a place of refinement—a lush garden, a marble fountain, and an open-air training area lined with sand and wooden dummies.

Standing under the hot Italian sun, Lucius faced his father—Tiberius Aelius Varro.

A man of rigid discipline and unwavering ambition, Tiberius was not content with raising a mere politician. He wanted a warrior. A survivor.

For in Rome, only the strong thrived.

Tiberius, dressed in a plain tunic, held out a wooden training gladius.

TIBERIUS (firmly):

"A Roman must be strong in both mind and body. You've had enough lessons for today. Now, we test your mettle."

Lucius took the sword, its weight unfamiliar yet natural. He had never held a sword in his past life—but he had fought, struggled, and endured pain beyond measure.

His father expected clumsy, weak strikes.

Instead, Lucius moved.

He adjusted his grip. Planted his feet. Raised the gladius in a guarded stance.

Tiberius' brows furrowed. This was not how a five-year-old should hold a sword.

TIBERIUS (narrowing his eyes):

"Who taught you this?"

Lucius hesitated for the briefest second. No child should have instincts like this.

But he met his father's gaze and spoke with unwavering confidence.

LUCIUS:

"No one. My body simply understands."

A moment of silence. Then, a small smirk formed on Tiberius' lips.

TIBERIUS:

"Good. Let's see if your body understands pain as well."

With zero hesitation, Tiberius struck.

Lucius barely dodged. His body moved, reacting on instinct, yet his stamina was still that of a child. He stumbled. Fell.

Pain flared in his ribs as his father's strike connected—not hard enough to injure, but enough to teach.

TIBERIUS:

"Strength is nothing without endurance. Get up."

Lucius grit his teeth, pushing himself up. His father's smirk widened.

TRAINING MONTAGE:

Lucius running barefoot across the villa's courtyard, his lungs burning.

Tiberius drilling him on proper form, forcing him to hold a wooden sword for hours until his arms gave out.

Lucius doing push-ups and sit-ups, struggling at first, but improving rapidly.

Servants whispering—no five-year-old should be training like this.

Yet Tiberius only pushed harder.

He saw potential. He saw greatness.

And he would forge his son into something far beyond a mere politician.

INT. ROMAN VILLA – STUDY ROOM – NIGHT

Lucius sat alone, exhausted yet resolute, staring at the wax tablet in front of him. His body ached, but his mind burned brighter than ever.

This world… this era…

Rome was rising.

And he would rise with it.

To be continued…

AN: I hope for great Feedback, thanks and see you in the next one, Bye-bye!