READ A SAMPLE - FILE ONE: THE LEGIONARY

A reincarnation romance across centuries begins here.
Two soldiers in ancient Rome. One soul bond older than memory.
And a cosmic archivist who insists he does not meddle in mortal affairs.

Start with three moments that hint at the heart of the story.

Excerpt One: The Gatekeeper’s Voice

From the Gatekeeper Prologue

Look, I don’t make the rules—I only report them.
Yes, every soul has a mate.
No, they are not assigned.
No, they are not guaranteed to find each other.
And absolutely not—before you ask—they don’t receive a cosmic itinerary that says:
“Thursday, 3:14 p.m. — meet your beloved behind the olive press.”

(to the trainee)
Stop taking notes like that. It was an example, not an exam question.

You are here to observe, not interfere.
No nudging.
No whispering into the mortal subconscious.
And for the love of the First Archivist, do not rearrange anyone’s destiny stamps again. Your probationary review was… memorable.

Right. Settle in.
We’ve got a particularly stubborn pair this cycle—promising, but chronically allergic to timing.
Let’s begin.

Excerpt Two: Marcus & Aelius — Building Their Bond

One afternoon, Marcus found Aelius struggling with a leather harness strap on his pack that had twisted itself into a pretzel-like disaster.

“Again?” Marcus said, crouching beside him.

“It attacked me,” Aelius replied solemnly.

Marcus took the strap, untangled it, and retied it properly.

Aelius watched him as if Marcus were performing some kind of magic.

“How do you do that?” Aelius whispered.

“It’s a strap.”

“Yes, but you understand straps.”

Marcus offered a rare smile.
Aelius brightened like a lamp being lit.

They practiced sword-work together whenever they could.
Aelius taught Marcus to loosen his stance, to let weight shift naturally.
Marcus taught Aelius how to tighten formation without losing balance.

They corrected each other’s grips.
They steadied each other’s elbows.
They laughed.
They swore.
They bruised.
They grew.

Excerpt Three: Back-to-Back in Battle

Marcus raised his shield, tightened his grip, anchored his feet—but he was separated from half his unit in the chaos. He pushed through bodies, scanning for threats—

And saw Aelius—

alone, off to the side, shield angled wrong, a Sarmatian spear aimed directly at his chest.

Marcus didn’t think.
He ran.

His shield collided with the spear shaft, wrenching it aside. Aelius stumbled, caught himself, swung just in time to block another blow.

And then they fell into formation—
back-to-back,
perfect,
natural,
as if they had always been meant to fight this way.

Marcus blocked left; Aelius struck right.
Aelius stepped back; Marcus stepped forward.
Shields overlapped. Movements mirrored.

Marcus didn’t understand how he knew where Aelius would move.
Aelius didn’t understand how Marcus anticipated every strike.
But they did.

Horsemen swept past.
Arrows grazed Marcus’s shoulder.
Aelius’s shield cracked.
Marcus’s spear splintered.

Still they fought—
breathing in rhythm,
moving as one,
protecting each other without question.

The attackers withdrew as suddenly as they’d struck, vanishing back into the fog.

Aelius leaned against Marcus’s shoulder, laughing breathlessly.
“You fight,” he said, “like you know exactly where I’ll be.”

Marcus swallowed, heart pounding.
“You do the same.”

Aelius turned toward him.
The look they exchanged lasted too long.
Unspoken.
Unexplained.
Undeniable.