The Mirage had called her back.
Carys had entered the portal as a modern woman—wrapped in the tailored sophistication of her crimson blazer—but the woman who stepped out into ancient Rome was no longer defined by time. The fabric of her blazer had transformed, merging with a Roman cape of deep, imperial red that draped regally from her shoulders. Her modern ensemble was gone, replaced with armor that felt both foreign and familiar, as though the Mirage itself had reshaped her to fit her destiny.
She stood in the grand hall of a Roman palace, its arched ceilings adorned with frescoes of gods and heroes. Natural light poured through towering windows, glinting off the gold accents of her dark leather armor. A fitted breastplate hugged her frame, embossed with intricate designs that told the stories of Rome’s victories. Decorative gold buttons lined its edges, emphasizing strength and authority. Pauldrons on both shoulders gleamed, their edges sculpted into lion heads—a subtle nod to the Lion Gate she had crossed through to arrive here.
Her hands, encased in armored gloves, flexed as she surveyed her surroundings. Every detail of her outfit seemed designed for both battle and command. She was no ordinary soldier; she was a symbol—a Centurion.
A New Role in Ancient Rome
The shift was immediate. Carys’ arrival had sparked whispers in the palace corridors. A woman Centurion was rare, almost unheard of, but the soldiers recognized her presence as more than coincidence. Rome’s military had never been kind to women in its ranks, but those who wore the armor bore their scars and victories with pride. She joined one such battalion, a secretive unit of female warriors trusted with the empire’s most delicate missions.
“Centurion Carys,” the Tribune announced, his voice reverberating through the hall. “Your orders come directly from Caesar Nero. You are to lead the Silent Blades to the northern front. Our spies report unrest among the Celtic tribes. Rome cannot afford to appear weak.”
Carys inclined her head, the red cape shifting gracefully with the motion. She knew better than to argue in this world, though her mind churned with questions. Nero, whom she had already faced and escaped in the Mirage’s first trial, now loomed larger than ever, issuing commands as though he hadn’t been consumed by his hubris in another timeline.
The pendant in her pocket—the shard of obsidian that had brought her here—remained cool against her skin. It had been a beacon before, guiding her through uncertainty. Now, it felt dormant, waiting for her next move.
The March to Destiny
Carys and her battalion marched under the Roman sun, the red sands of the empire stretching endlessly around them. Her armor gleamed, a testament to her rank and the trust Nero had placed in her. The women who followed her bore matching breastplates and capes, though none carried the same aura of command that radiated from Carys.
As they traveled, her mind wandered to the paradox of her existence here. She wasn’t Roman, nor a soldier by trade, yet she moved among them as if she had always belonged. The transformation wasn’t just physical—it was mental. Her steps carried the weight of responsibility, and her voice commanded respect when she issued orders.
A Battle in the Mist
By the time they reached the Celtic lands, a heavy mist had settled over the hills. The scouts reported movement ahead—figures darting like shadows through the trees. Carys dismounted her horse, the red cape trailing behind her like a banner of defiance.
The battle came swiftly. Her unit clashed with the Celts under the canopy of twisted oaks, the sounds of swords meeting shields echoing through the fog. Carys fought with precision, her armored gloves gripping a blade she had never been trained to wield, yet somehow handled with skill. The obsidian pendant burned against her chest, feeding her strength and clarity.
Through the chaos, she spotted the enemy leader—a towering woman clad in animal pelts, her war cry piercing the din. Carys surged forward, the weight of the Mirage propelling her into a confrontation that felt like destiny. Their blades met with a thunderous clash.
The Truth Revealed
As Carys landed the final blow, the mist around them seemed to shift. Time warped, and the battlefield dissolved into a mosaic of light. The Celtic leader’s form faded, her face replaced by a figure Carys knew too well.
Nero.
He stood amidst the swirling chaos, his crimson robes blending into the mirage. “You’ve proven yourself, traveler,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “But do you understand what you fight for?”
The pendant in Carys’ hand pulsed, its light growing until it swallowed the vision of Nero whole. The Mirage was testing her again, weaving her destiny into the fabric of time. As she stepped forward into the unknown, her crimson cape billowed behind her, a symbol of resilience, power, and the unyielding force of those who dare to defy fate.
The Source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Crimson Double-Breasted Blazer with Black Turtleneck and Navy Trousers: Timeless Urban Chic for Fall
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