Chapter 582: Servilia's gratitude

Capítulo 582: Servilia’s gratitude

After Drakkias soared away into the darkness—carrying Medea, Ameriah, and Auria toward distant Tenebria—the night felt strangely quieter. The beating of the dragon’s wings faded into the distance, leaving only the soft crackle of torches and the muted hum of Rome settling into nighttime calm.

Nathan, Servilia, Freja, and Elin turned back toward the city together, eventually making their way to Servilia’s residence. The walk was relaxed, the cool air refreshing after the emotional farewells. They spoke about Rome—its future, its scars, and its possibilities—as they approached the estate.

“It’s a shame,” Servilia said with a warm, sincere smile as she pushed open the carved wooden doors. “The new Rome rising after Caesar’s fall might need people like you two.”

Freja shook her head lightly, smiling back. “That’s kind of you… but we really do prefer Alexandria.”

“Oh? Because of the warm weather? Rome basks in the sun as well,” Servilia teased lightly.

Elin laughed softly before answering, “Not exactly. Alexandria was the place we were summoned to—people treated us kindly there. Even now, with everything that happened, we want to clear up all misunderstandings and help however we can. At least… until we eventually find a way back home to our world.” She paused before adding, “And now that they’re rebuilding under Queen Cleopatra, it feels right for us to return.”

“Yes, Cleopatra…” Servilia nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve heard many good things about her despite the smear campaigns. A smart woman, fiercely devoted to her empire.”

Freja frowned a little. “I don’t know much about politics. The one who spoke to us back then wasn’t even the Pharaoh Ptolemy—just his advisor, Pothinus. And honestly… he didn’t seem trustworthy.”

“If you mean that bald, fat parasite,” Nathan said casually, “Cleopatra has probably already fed him to the crocodiles.”

Both Freja and Elin visibly recoiled in horror, their eyes widening.

Nathan didn’t bat an eye. If anything, he sounded almost approving. Cleopatra’s ruthlessness appealed to him in ways Rome’s decaying politics did not.

Servilia noticed the girls’ reactions and chuckled softly. “I know you’ve only been in this world for two years, but you’ll have to learn more about it if you want to survive. Even people like us—born with status—can be in danger at any moment.”

Freja and Elin exchanged a solemn look, nodding with newfound seriousness.

One thing was clear: their time in Rome had changed them, sharpened them, forced them to grow up faster than they expected.

When they stepped into the atrium, warm lamplight filled the space. Several work girls moved gracefully around the room, but upon spotting Servilia, they stopped in unison and bowed.

“Lady Servilia.”

“Take these two to the baths and treat them well,” Servilia instructed, gesturing toward Freja and Elin.

Two servants immediately stepped forward, guiding the pair away. Freja and Elin glanced briefly at Nathan and Servilia—an awkward mix of embarrassment and shyness—before disappearing deeper into the villa.

“They’re cute girls,” Servilia said with a soft giggle as she and Nathan continued toward her personal quarters.

Nathan’s gaze wandered across the interior—the polished floors, the scented torches, the serene decorations. His eyes lingered on the servants. Their postures, their expressions… not slaves. Or perhaps former slaves now under Servilia’s protection.

“You have new servants,” Nathan observed.

“I dismissed all the previous ones and chose only those who were loyal to me even back then,” Servilia replied. “People I can trust.”

“And your guards?”

“The soldiers sworn to the Junii family remain loyal,” she said. “Because of Caesar, I… neglected them. But I’ve called them back.”

Nathan’s expression didn’t change, but his voice softened with quiet caution. “Be careful.”

Servilia paused at the entrance to her private quarters, her smile steady but shaded with seriousness.

“I will,” she promised. “Are you that worried?” She asked entering inside.

“I am,” Nathan said plainly as he followed her deeper into the house. His voice was calm, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable. “You don’t know how many of Caesar’s allies are still hidden in Rome. Fulvius is doing an excellent job cleaning the city, but he’s not omniscient.”

Servilia let out a small, wry breath as she began lighting the candles scattered around her bedroom, one by one. Their warm glow gradually pushed back the darkness, revealing polished marble, soft fabrics, and faint traces of lavender incense.

“Well,” she said lightly, “as disgusting as it was… I did share a life with Caesar for a time. I know exactly who his allies were, and I have good eyes. I can recognize them even if they hide behind new masks.”

“I know,” Nathan replied, settling onto the bed. “And I have good eyes for women.”

There was no arrogance in his tone—just quiet certainty.

Servilia was among the most intelligent women he had ever met, standing on a level only few reached—like Cleopatra. Her only real mistake had been trusting Caesar. She was alone back then, grieving her father, the only powerful woman in a male-dominated Rome… and Caesar had offered her a hand, a future, a promise.

A lie.

Caesar had been a brilliant politician, a manipulator of the highest caliber.

Unfortunately for him, Nathan was worse.

Servilia’s smile deepened at Nathan’s comment. After lighting more candles, she approached him, her eyes half-lidded, and with a slow, deliberate motion, she pushed him gently onto his back.

“You do?” she murmured, amusement dancing in her voice as she climbed atop him with the confident grace of a woman who finally reclaimed control over her life.

Nathan’s hands slid to her hips without hesitation.

“I still haven’t properly thanked you for my son,” she whispered.

“I wasn’t the one who saved him,” Nathan reminded her.

“I already thanked Freja and the other girls,” Servilia said softly. “But without you, none of it would have been possible.”

Nathan sighed, his fingers trailing along her side. “Do you want the truth?”

Servilia tilted her head. “What truth?”

“I don’t care about Brutus,” he said bluntly.

“I know that,” she answered without hesitation.

“Then you understand that everything I did for him… I did for you.”

Servilia nodded slowly, her lips curving into a quiet, sincere smile as she lowered her body atop his. “I know. And I’m grateful.”

Nathan brushed a hand through her bronze-brown hair, his touch surprisingly tender. “When I decide to love a woman… I do everything in my power to make her happy.”

Her breath caught. Her eyes glistened with a thin shimmer of tears.

She had known power all her life, known fear, known betrayal. But she had never known this—this strange, grounding security. Not even Caesar, with all his titles and prestige, had ever made her feel so genuinely safe.

For a moment, a memory flickered—her father’s hand gently stroking her hair when she was a little girl. That same warmth was here now… yet different. Stronger. Intimate.

She smiled faintly, wiped a small tear with her thumb, and stood up.

“I’ll take a bath,” she said softly, her voice smoother than before. “Wait here for me… patiently.”

She left with a quiet flourish of her robe, candlelight dancing after her.

Nathan lay back on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. For a few precious seconds, he simply breathed, letting the calm of the room seep into him.

But then—

His brow tightened. The pain returned.

That crushing, suffocating, overwhelming agony that lived inside him like a coiled beast waiting to strike.

Whenever his mind shifted into seriousness—whenever he was focused, calm, or distracted by emotions—he could temporarily forget it. But once his guard weakened, the pain roared back and bit into him mercilessly.

He gritted his teeth.

There was nothing to do but endure it. To live with it until his body adapted. Until he forced himself to grow strong enough to withstand it.

A reluctant admiration surfaced in his mind, a bitter tribute he was compelled to offer.

Once again he had to give it to Pandora.

She had not merely guarded the Box; she had lived with it, an eternal warden bound to a core of concentrated malice. For hundreds of thousands of years, she had endured the silent, seeping radiation of its curses—a testament to a resilience that felt almost blasphemous.

The thought was a catalyst, a sharpening of his own resolve. If a woman be it blessed by Gods could withstand such an eternity, then he, as a man, would not scream. He would not flail.

With this conviction solidifying within him, he closed his eyes. The world of sight fell away, replaced by the brutal landscape of his own afflicted body. He turned his focus inward, not to flee the pain, but to confront its architecture. He sought not to dispel the curses—that was a fool’s hope—but to understand their contours, to map their venomous pathways. His consciousness groped through the miasma, a solitary hand reaching through utter darkness, straining to get a hand on it, to grasp the very texture of his suffering.

The logic was cold, but it was a lifeline: if he could do this, if he could force himself to sit in this furnace of agony every day for the coming years, the pain would, through sheer, brutal familiarity, diminish. Its edge would blunt. It would become a terrible, known country.

Time, in such a state, lost all meaning. It might have been minutes or hours before a new sensation—the soft, definite sound of approaching footsteps—pulled him back from the abyss. Slowly, laboriously, as if lifting great weights, he opened his eyes. The room swam into a blurry focus.

“You took your time,” he muttered, the voice of Nathan rough from disuse. He cleared his throat, blinking to clear the grit from his vision, and planted a hand on the bed to push himself up. But as the world sharpened and his gaze settled on the figures in the doorway.

It was not the visitor he had expected.

Standing there wasn’t Servilia…

….but Freja and Elin.