Type-Moon: Does even a sneak peek make it official?

Life in Antioch and life in Rome were worlds apart. For Domitius, who had grown up in Rome, the greatest difference lay in how time seemed to pass.

This small city, standing on the northeastern shores of the Mediterranean, was a place where poverty was an everyday sight. There were no elegant gardens, no grand halls, no guarded inns—only the smell of freshly cooked food wafting through the narrow streets, drifting between neighbors. The animals, lazily fed, yawned in the sun. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. The laughter and chatter of children echoed nearby. It all felt as though life was happening right beside her.

Though they had only been here for two days, Domitius inexplicably felt that time slipped by far too quickly in this place. Gradually, the golden-haired girl also came to learn that beyond her teacher Novia, her grandmaster Paul, and the Saintess Martha, there were others—the Eleven Apostles.

The Eleven Apostles were said to be the direct disciples of the Holy Son, Jesus, the very one Novia preached about. Yet, it seemed they all held great respect for Paul.

The reason Domitius came to this conclusion was because Paul had shown her a letter, written to him by a man named Peter.

She had, of course, asked her teacher where these people were now. But Novia had brushed off the question with vague words: "You'll meet them when the time is right."

Since Novia had spoken so, Domitius naturally didn't press further. To her, Novia's status now far exceeded her own. She was his disciple, and he had even relieved her constant headaches—by both reason and emotion, she owed him obedience.

Ever since her mother, Agrippina, had handed her over to Novia for baptism and to become his student, Domitius had barely seen her mother at all. Not because she was forbidden to, but because her mother was occupied with court affairs, assisting Emperor Claudius.

As for her mother's ambitions and her own fate as a pawn in those ambitions, Domitius had long since come to accept it.

Her father had been born into a noble family but was infamous for cruelty and debauchery. Her mother, young Agrippina, was a member of the imperial family, skilled in manipulation.

When Domitius was just three years old, her father died of excess and indulgence. At the time, the Roman Emperor Caligula stripped her of her inheritance rights and exiled her mother, Agrippina, after she failed to seduce and assassinate him. Young Domitius was left penniless and destitute.

Fortunately, an aunt had taken her in, sparing her from a life on the streets. But even then, her circumstances were dire—survival itself was a daily struggle, and merely staying alive was a blessing.

A year later, with the death of the tyrannical Caligula, Domitius' fortunes turned overnight. His successor, Emperor Claudius—Caligula's uncle—restored all her confiscated inheritance and rehabilitated Agrippina's name.

But Agrippina was far from meek. Not long after returning to Rome, she ensnared the wealthiest man in the empire and held a lavish, grand wedding with him. With whispers and sweet words, she soon convinced the tycoon to bring her child—Domitius—into their household.

As expected, it took only a few short years before Agrippina schemed away the man's entire fortune, transferring vast wealth to Domitius' name. Naturally, the tycoon himself met his end as well.

Domitius was under no illusions—her mother was a dangerous woman. She knew all too well why Agrippina had entered the imperial court, and what was expected of her as a pawn in those plans.

Throughout her years, some had helped her, greeted her warmly, while others had kicked her when she was down, only seeking their own advantage. The entire Roman court was a cesspool of schemes and treachery, where conflict—both open and covert—was as commonplace as birdsong in the morning.

Thus, when she learned her mother had arranged for her to be baptized by Novia, Domitius wasn't surprised. Nothing was strange in Rome.

At the age of twelve, one was already of marriageable age in the Roman Empire. The individual had no say in the matter—arrangements were simply made for them. At first, Domitius assumed "baptism" was just a euphemism for a physical transaction.

It was only the next day that she realized she had misunderstood.

Still, Domitius found it strange. Beyond her body, she had nothing of real value—so why had Novia agreed to such an unprofitable deal with her mother? Foolishness? Impossible. A man who had risen from nothing at such a young age to his current status couldn't be so easily deceived.

This puzzle had nagged at her ever since.

If he truly wanted a disciple, with Novia's youth, he could easily adopt an infant and raise them from birth, rather than choosing someone like her—a girl old enough to think for herself. No matter how she looked at it, it was an unwise choice. Not to mention, her mother was a notoriously difficult woman to deal with.

Domitius remained bewildered. But that didn't prevent her from holding deep admiration for her teacher.

Perhaps it was due to her childhood, when she had once wandered the streets and barely survived thanks to the kindness of ordinary citizens.

She had always cherished the nameless masses, and so, seeing Novia—a man beloved by the people—experiencing life alongside him, it was only natural that admiration bloomed in her heart.

Yet, despite her apparent indifference to these things, unease still gnawed at her.

In the Roman court, everyone was entangled in an intricate web of schemes.

Take marriage among children, for instance. Without sufficient benefits for both families, such unions were impossible.

For Domitius, "growing up" had always been an immediate, brutal lesson.

It wasn't punishment that taught you—it was the reality that even blood ties meant nothing. Cross the lines of power and self-interest, and family turned into mortal enemies in the blink of an eye.

"If you ever need help, just tell me, Domitius."

Her teacher's words… they always felt vague to Domitius. What counted as the right course of action? What was a mistake? Until you suffered the consequences, it was all a blur.

"Teacher… words like that… they don't mean much."

If you need help, tell me. Those words from the silver-haired boy gave her no real sense of security.

"…Turns out Rome's nights can be that cold, huh."

She still remembered the words she'd muttered instinctively that night, abandoned on the streets.

If you had nothing worth trading away, you would be discarded sooner or later.

The unease from the day her parents abandoned her as a child still lingered in her heart.