The streets of Rome stretched out in the sunlight, but they felt cold. A boy, no more than thirteen years , wandered through them with no direction. His messy dark hair fell over his tired eyes, and he didn't know or care where he was going.
He had no name—at least, none he could remember. The city felt like a huge prison, with voices and footsteps all around him, but none of them seemed to belong to his world. He drifted through the busy market, unnoticed and unimportant, just another shadow in the crowd.
Merchants shouted about their fruits, fabrics, spices, and trinkets. The air smelled sweet with olives and bread, but the boy didn't care. Hunger was nothing new to him. He kept walking, like always, without stopping.
There was something missing in his mind, a feeling of emptiness he couldn't explain. Maybe, long ago, there had been more—a face, a voice, maybe even a name. But those memories felt distant, like a dream half-forgotten. All that was left was a strange sense of loss, though he didn't know what was missing.
Suddenly, a sharp voice broke through his thoughts. "You! Boy!"
He flinched. His body froze like it always did when someone called him. He didn't need to turn to know it was Caius, the overseer, whose heavy footsteps always came before his harsh words.
"Get back to the villa," Caius said, his voice rough and impatient. "You have work to do."
The boy nodded and followed without thinking. His body moved automatically, as if it knew what to do even when he didn't. The villa was a place of wealth and power, but for him, it was just another place where he had to keep working.
Someone had told him once that he belonged there, among the other servants, doing whatever the rich and powerful wanted. But who had said that? He couldn't remember. Like everything else in his past, it was covered in fog.
When they reached the villa, the large iron gates opened to reveal a grand estate. He stepped inside, his bare feet cold on the smooth marble floors. The halls were lined with rich tapestries and golden statues, but none of it mattered to him. Laughter from the dining room and the clinking of fancy dishes felt like sounds from a world he could never be part of.
"Faster, slave!" someone shouted from the dining room. The boy rushed inside, carrying a heavy jug of wine. He reached the grand table where the senator's family feasted, their plates full of food he had only dreamed of.
As he poured the wine, he could feel their eyes on him, though they didn't truly see him. He was invisible, just like all the other servants.
"Why do we keep that boy around?" someone muttered, not caring if he heard. "He's barely worth the trouble."
The words stung, though he didn't know why. They weren't new. He had heard similar things before. He kept his head down, his eyes focused on the jug, his hands steady even as a storm brewed inside him.
He didn't know why their words hurt so much. Maybe it was because he felt, deep down, that they were right. Without a name, without a past, what was he? Just a boy, lost in the city, with no idea who he really was.
But there was something—just a flicker—deep inside him that wouldn't go away. A feeling, or maybe a memory, of something more. He couldn't explain it, but it was there, just out of reach.
For now, he would endure. He would keep serving, as he always had. But as he set the jug down and stepped away from the table, sunlight caught his eye through the window. And for a brief moment, he let himself wonder.
Who am I, really?
The thought vanished as quickly as it came, swallowed up by the noise and his tasks. But it had been there—like a shadow of something forgotten, waiting to be found.
