The Laurel and the Circuit

The whirring of gears and a sudden whoosh of displaced air marked Dr. Lena Morano’s arrival. Dust swirled around her boots as the shimmer of the temporal rift vanished behind her. She blinked, adjusting her optical implants. The coordinates were perfect—Rome, 58 BCE.

The sun was high, casting golden light over a bustling forum. Merchants shouted in Latin, cloaked senators strolled in heated debate, and slaves hurried with amphorae. Lena grinned beneath her cloak. Her translator chip hummed softly, catching the cadence of the ancient tongue.

She’d studied this moment for years. Her mission: observe the early orations of a young Julius Caesar. But time, as always, had other plans.

Within minutes, she’d attracted attention. Not for her tech—hidden under folds of coarse linen—but for her eyes. They shimmered faintly, reflecting data streams only she could see.

A boy with curly hair and a mischievous smile approached. “Are you a Vestal? Or a goddess, perhaps?”

Lena chuckled. “Neither. Just a traveler.”

The boy tilted his head. “You speak oddly. Where is your home?”

“Far from here,” she replied. “And far from now.”

He frowned but smiled again. “Come. You must see the races. I’ll show you the best view.”

Intrigued, she followed him through the labyrinthine streets to the Circus Maximus. The roar of the crowd rose like thunder as chariots blurred past. Lena’s HUD flickered—anomalies detected. One of the racers shouldn’t be here.

Zooming in, she spotted a medallion glinting around a driver’s neck—etched with binary code. Another time traveler.

She cursed softly. Her cover was blown.

As the chariot rounded a bend, the driver locked eyes with her. He smirked, tapped his medallion, and vanished in a flash of blue light. The crowd gasped, calling it a miracle of the gods.

Lena knew better. The chase was on.

Before she could leave, the boy tugged her sleeve. “Will you return, traveler?”

She smiled sadly. “Maybe. Or maybe I already have.”

With that, she tapped her wrist console. Rome faded in a blur of circuits and laurel leaves.

The city would remember her not by name—but in whispered myths of a silver-eyed goddess who walked among emperors.