—...we will not attack yet.
Luciano's voice cut through the incipient debate. He had remained silent, listening to the information and the tension. Now, all eyes were on him.
—Ariston, your logic is sound. A show of force is vital —Luciano said, nodding to his friend—. But information is more valuable than any quick victory. Renzo found ruins; that means there is history. The creatures they found are not the only inhabitants of this place, we know that.
He leaned over the table, resting his hands on the parchment.
—If we attack this tribe and they turn out to be the equivalent of a simple advance patrol, we will have alerted the entire local ecosystem without gaining anything useful. We do not have enough supplies for a war of attrition in unknown territory.
Luciano looked at Renzo.
—Captain, establish constant surveillance. Maximum caution. I want to know what they eat, how they hunt, if they have rituals, if they communicate with other groups, and if there is anything in the ruins that could be useful to us.
Renzo nodded and struck his chest. —It will be done.
—How committed are our resources? —he continued, looking towards Ovidio.
The magistrate, who had been scribbling on his tablet, straightened up.
—The engineers say we can recover most of the transports, but it will take us a week. Initial losses are manageable, but serious. We have lost about 15% of our grain rations due to the flooding of two holds, and half of our oil reserve. The good news is that the arsenal is almost intact. We have enough weapons to equip twelve thousand men for five years, even though we are only six thousand now.
—That is enough for the short term —Luciano murmured.
He ran a hand over his chin, calculating the days of survival those figures represented.
—Prioritize conservation —he ordered, looking up at the magistrate—. The oil will be vital for torches and machines, not for the kitchens; use wood from the forest for the fire. And Ovidio... secure that arsenal with your life. If we run out of food, at least we will have something to kill whatever tries to hunt us.
The magistrate nodded solemnly and stepped back, closing his report. Luciano stood up, a gesture that the rest of the table imitated in unison.
—You have your general orders. Build, watch, and organize. We do not know what is watching us from the thicket, but I want them to know that we are a Legion, not a shipwreck. Break ranks.
Luciano watched as the council began to disperse, but raised his hand to stop three men who had not yet received specific instructions.
—Brutus, Valerius, Dario. Stay for a moment.
Brutus Serranio, the tribune of the cavalry, stopped with a frown. He was a broad man, with scars crossing his arms like maps of old wars. He hated inaction.
—My riders are restless, Commander —Brutus growled, with that brutal honesty that characterized him—. The horses smell something on the wind. They don't like this forest. And I don't like having the cavalry bogged down in the sand either.
—You won't be bogged down, but I can't send you blindly into those trees —Luciano replied—. The forest is dense and the ground is uneven. If those creatures ambush us there, we will lose the advantage of the charge.
Luciano pointed to the camp's flanks on the map.
—Your cavalry will be our rapid reaction force within the perimeter. Keep two hundred mounted riders ready at all times at the ends of the beach. If something breaks Ariston's line, you will be the hammer that drives them back into the forest.
Brutus nodded, though he did not seem satisfied. —It will be a defensive job, then. It's not what we do best, but we will hold the line.
Luciano turned to Valerius Castor. The siege expert seemed to be calculating angles, his gaze lost on the hills.
—Valerius, how many scorpions and ballistae can we bring down from the ships before nightfall?
—We have twelve light ballistae on deck ready to be dismantled —Valerius replied with mechanical precision—. The heavy catapults are in the holds; it will take days to get them out. But I can have a light artillery battery covering the forest edge in three hours.
—Do it. I want you to aim for the natural clearings. If something comes out of there, I want it to be greeted with a shower of steel bolts before they touch our shields.
Finally, he looked at Dario Fulmen. The leader of the "Fulminarii" had a tense smile on his face. His troops, a strange mix of skirmishers and primitive grenadiers, were often viewed with suspicion by traditionalists like Brutus, but Luciano knew their value.
—Dario, your men are the only ones trained to fight without a rigid formation.
—We move with chaos, sir —Dario replied, playing with a small, wax-sealed ceramic sphere in his hands.
—I want you to place traps on the outer perimeter, beyond the sight line of the sentinels. Nothing that will kill our own scouts, but something that will make noise… or fire. If those green things decide to test our defenses tonight, I want them to regret taking the first step.
—Fire and noise —Dario put the sphere away on his belt—. Music to my ears.
With the last officers dispatched, the machinery of the Legion began to roar.
The camp, which hours earlier was a chaos of castaways, was now transforming into a fortress. Sura of Iron demonstrated why she was indispensable: under her shouts, engineers and carpenters began to drive sharp stakes into the sand, creating a rudimentary but effective palisade. The sound of hammers and saws competed with the roar of the sea.
Ovidio Telmar ran back and forth with his tablets, organizing the rations. The smell of stewed legumes and salted meat began to float in the air, a familiar aroma that did more to calm the soldiers' nerves than any heroic speech.
Afternoon gave way to twilight, and twilight to a deep, heavy darkness.
Luciano withdrew for a moment towards the shore, moving away from the bustle. He needed an instant of silence. Tiberius followed him, as always, maintaining a respectful but close distance.
The wind had changed. It no longer carried the smell of salt, but a sweet and rotten stench coming from the jungle.
—Sura says the palisade will cover 60% of the perimeter by midnight —Tiberius informed him in a low voice—. Helena has deployed the Crimson Spears in the blind spots. No one will sleep soundly, but they will sleep safe.
Luciano did not respond immediately. He was looking up at the sky. The storm clouds that had brought them had completely dissipated, leaving a clear firmament.
—Uncle —Luciano said, in a voice that chilled Tiberius's blood more than any battle threat—. Look up.
Tiberius looked up.
He had seen the stars of Arabigia, the northern skies, and the southern constellations. He knew the stars; they were the guide for any soldier and navigator.
But what he saw made his mouth go dry.
In the night sky shone a white moon, large and majestic, similar to the one they knew, although the markings on its surface were strange. But it was not alone.
Higher up, small, distant, and malevolent, shone a second moon. It was a sickly green color.
Its light did not illuminate; it seemed to stain the darkness, casting unnatural shadows on the waves and the sand. It was a virulent eye watching them from the void.
—Two moons —Tiberius whispered, unable to comprehend—. One white… and one green.
Luciano lowered his gaze to the dark forest, where the distant drums of the tribes had begun to sound, an erratic and savage rhythm that resonated in their bones.
—We are no longer on Earth, Tiberius —Luciano said, finally accepting the terrible truth—. The gods, or whatever governs this place, have brought us to a new hell.
Luciano turned back towards the camp, where the torches of six thousand Romans shone defiantly against the darkness of a world that wanted them dead.
—Let the men rest —he ordered, putting his helmet back on. His face hardened, hiding the fear beneath the commander's mask—. Tomorrow, Renzo will tell us what kind of demons live under that cursed moon.