The Eternal Gate of Rome

Rome might have survived, but if it did,it would have repressed progress

In a cluttered antique shop in Lisbon, 2025, Clara Mendes, a 32-year-old historian, stumbled upon a tarnished bronze amulet inscribed with Latin runes. Its description claimed it was a "key to the Eternal City," dismissed as a tourist trinket. Intrigued, Clara bought it for a few euros.
That night, while studying the amulet under a magnifying glass, she accidentally pressed its center. A pulse of light enveloped her, and she found herself sprawled on a cobblestone street, surrounded by towering marble columns and citizens in togas.


She had crossed into a world where Rome never fell. The year, as she later learned, was 2778 AUC (2025 CE in her world), and the Roman Empire spanned Europe and Africa, its legions maintaining iron control. Technology here diverged sharply: senators and the imperial elite wielded advanced devices—holographic tablets, automated chariots powered by crystalline energy, and neural implants for communication. The masses, however, lived in a pre-industrial state, using aqueducts and oil lamps, while smaller nations like Britannia Minor (Scotland) and Aethiopia Libera (southern Africa) had discovered gunpowder and rudimentary electricity, jealously guarding their secrets from Roman spies.
Clara, mistaken for a foreign scholar due to her modern clothes, was detained by the Praetorian Guard. Her amulet, now dormant, was confiscated. She was brought before Senator Lucius Vorenus, a cunning patrician who recognized the amulet’s potential. Using a translation device, Clara explained her origins, claiming to be from a distant province. Vorenus, intrigued by her knowledge of "lost histories," offered her a deal: help him unlock the amulet’s power, and he’d ensure her safety.


Clara, realizing the amulet was her only way home, played along. She studied Roman tech, marveling at its blend of ancient aesthetics and futuristic function—think togas with nano-fibers and forums lit by plasma orbs. She learned the Senate restricted tech to maintain control, fearing rebellion if the plebs or barbarians gained access. Meanwhile, rumors spread of a rebellion in Aethiopia Libera, where chieftains armed with muskets and Tesla-like coils resisted Roman expansion.


As weeks passed, Clara bonded with Aelia, a freedwoman scribe who suspected Vorenus’s motives. Aelia revealed that the amulet resembled artifacts from the Cult of Janus, a secret sect that once guarded portals between worlds. The cult had been purged centuries ago, but its knowledge survived in forbidden texts. Together, they infiltrated the Imperial Archives, evading drones disguised as bronze eagles. Clara found a scroll describing the amulet’s activation: a blood offering under a full moon at the Temple of Janus.


Vorenus, however, had been tracking them. He ambushed Clara at the temple, demanding the amulet’s power to conquer her world and cement his legacy. Aelia, wielding a stolen senator’s stun-rod, delayed him long enough for Clara to prick her finger and chant the runes. The portal flared open, revealing Lisbon’s skyline. Vorenus lunged, but Aelia tackled him, shouting for Clara to go.


Clara dove through, landing back in her apartment, the amulet crumbling to dust. She tried to process the experience, but her notes and clothes from the other world remained proof. Days later, she heard news of strange seismic activity near Lisbon’s coast, and fishermen reported seeing a Roman galley vanish into a storm. Clara knew the gate was unstable—and that Vorenus might still be searching for her world.


She published her findings as fiction, fearing disbelief, but began researching Janus myths, determined to protect her world from Rome’s eternal grasp.