[ AN: Julia is Nyo!Rome ]

He sighed, fanning himself with the bamboo fan he brought with him. It was hot and humid, but he shouldn't complain, it was nothing too different from his port cities at home, and so much better than the deserts of Asia Minor. He looked back at the boat he took to get here from Antioch, sitting contently on the blue waters.

It was quite a journey here, and he was excited to find Julia again. He wanted to mention the new religion that seemed to have popped up and flourished. And the lack of the Roman (well, Greek) temples. He wanted to talk about wonderful new inventions and adventures that he had seen while he was at home and on his way here. There were many questions he had to ask her, and he was tired of being a professional prince. At least after adopting a child and his wife's death, he felt he deserved some kind of comfort from someone who might understand. He wasn't sure if Julia would make fun of him for still looking like a teenager, but even that he would welcome.

It had been oddly difficult to find his way here, and everything seemed different. Antioch didn't look the same, and neither did Rome. He couldn't quite place what was different, since it had been so long. Perhaps it simply looked… simpler. The harbour was smaller, and he couldn't see great stone buildings in the distance. The town didn't seem as busy either, but that could very well be an illusion. It had been over six hundred years after all.

Once the traders came back from dealing with come business that they had to settle, (some strange shady business, he was sure,) Yao followed them through the town toward the inn they would be staying at before they travelled to Wel – Venezia? Some place farther north, he knew that much. One of the traders excitedly caught Yao's attention before pointing to what seemed like ruins… ruins?

Yao knew this place. He looked around to see more pieces of stone pillars, slabs of concrete, and forsaken foundations around him. He could hardly breath, he could hardly believe his eyes as he looked around in shock. He was sure – there was a tugging in his soul – that he had talked, laughed, eaten and slept here before.

"Miss Julia?" He called out, half expecting his old friend to come out from behind one of the broken pillars, or even tap him on the shoulder and step away, laughing. But she didn't appear. He could almost hear her voice, arguing with him and teasing him. He could almost hear her sigh as she spoke of Greece. Struck with a sudden tugging, he stepped into the ruins, oblivious to the concerned shouts of his companions.

It came back. Their discussions in the garden. Speaking of everything from philosophy to mathematics to government. When she pointed up at the different buildings, the different nuances in architecture that made it so beautiful. Their little squabbles about the secrets of silk (he never did tell her the simple technique). And that time when she first let him try grape wine and he drank too much, eventually being pulled to bed by Julia. It was only then that he got the terrible dread, a strange knowing that she was no longer here. No longer in Rome, nor anywhere else he could travel to.

Weeds proliferated the old gardens, vine growing over the rubble, around his feet. Pieces of the beautiful painted walls lay about the harsh blueprint that the foundation stones made, the cement and rotting wood laid out a gruesome echo of a masterpiece. An insect crawled over the teen's foot and he kicked it away, more horrified that he might have been if he had been anywhere else. He slipped his hand into his bag and pulled out a some silk, folded in his hands, along with jade and gold. He had brought silk clothing for her – red and purple and gold, as well as jade and gold pins for her beautiful hair. Curse the fact that he couldn't burn the silk or the jewellery. Was there even a memorial? He desperately scoured the forsaken ruins with his eyes, but found nothing.

How could one expect a nineteen year old, not even a fully grown man, to take this in? He fell down, the sharp stones cutting into his knees, sitting on the overgrown grasses. He glanced between the robes he had brought her and the rubble around him. He couldn't stop the tears falling from his face, even as he tried to smile, a feeble attempt honour her memory.

"I talked to some of my emperors about the kinds of things you did in the west. It made for some funny stories." He laughed a bit, trying to hold back his tears. "We also learned so much, so many different ways that we could handle government, and currency, and trade, from what you had told me.

"I – I also got married. To a princess. She sort of reminded me of you, even more stubborn, if you believe that. She was intelligent and preferred to plan wars with the generals than to sit in the garden quietly. I also adopted a little boy, a country to the east. He's the most beautiful, obedient child you could imagine. He's staying with his own prince right now…

"Julia… did you know… That after I returned to the Middle Kingdom, a civil war broke out? I guess the state wasn't as unified as I told you. We lost most of our people. It was the most painful thing I've ever experienced.

"I was going to tell you more about silk cultivation, but I guess people here got a hold it of eventually."

He picked at some of the fine fibres sticking out of the robe, the smallest evidence of being frayed at all on the six month journey. Gripping the cloth tighter, he could no longer hold his tears back. He buried his face in his hands, it was all he could to hide his lack of composure.

"Julia, how could they – how dare they cast you off without a memory, without a thought? Without – without any respect as to who had made this city into an empire? Without regard as to who lead the armies out to conquer the land? Who established the government, the economy, the culture that affected the entire world?"

His voice cracked, hoarse from the strain and the salt air. The humidity felt suffocating, and the breeze seemed to mock him with memories that would never be replayed. There was no lustre, no awe, no wonder left in Rome. It was torn down, lost, dead.

He flinched at a gentle tap on his shoulder, a trader sat beside him, concerned for the boy. After observing the withdrawn teenager, the trader commented quietly.

"You never told us that you could speak old Latin so well…"