The morning light invaded the room through the cracks in the windows, drawing lines of golden dust in the stagnant air. Lucius opened his eyes and waited. He waited for the beep of monitors, the smell of antiseptic, the sharp pain in his vital organs. But none of that came. What he felt was the rough straw of the mattress under his back and the smell of bread baking in the neighborhood.

  He sat up, running his hands over his face. Reality settled upon him with the weight of a marble slab. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a delusion after all. He was in Rome, alive, breathing the air of an ancient city. The absolute certainty, 100% palpable, brought a frightening clarity, but also a strange determination. If this was his new life, he wouldn't waste it.

  Lucius stood up and walked to the main room. Selena was already up, adjusting their little daughter's tunic. Seeing them, something shifted inside him. The previous day, shock had paralyzed him, but today he felt the need to act, to play the role fate had imposed on him.

  "Good morning," Lucius said, his voice firm and clear. He approached and lightly touched the woman's shoulder, an awkward gesture of affection he felt was necessary. Then, he patted the child's head.

  Selena stopped what she was doing and looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. The taciturn and tired husband of late seemed to have disappeared.

  "Good morning, Lucius," she replied hesitantly. "You look... different today. More alive. What happened? Yesterday you seemed to be in another world."

  Lucius smiled, a genuine smile that hadn't reached his face in a long time, neither in this life nor the previous one.

  "I had an idea, Selena. An idea that can help us," he said, his mind buzzing with the calculations and technical drawings he had mentally drafted during the night. "I thought of an instrument, a new tool that can make work easier at the quarry and construction sites. Today I intend to talk to a carpenter friend to see if we can build it."

  Selena watched him, looking for any sign of fever or madness, but found only a gleam of intelligence and hope.

  "An instrument?" she repeated, impressed. "I didn't know you thought about such things. I hope it works, husband."

  "If it works as I imagine," Lucius said, lowering his tone to something more confidential, "we will have enough money to never be in need again. I don't want us trapped in this room forever, nor for bread to be missing from the table."

  In Lucius's mind, that was more than an empty promise; it was a survival plan. He was a civil engineer. If he couldn't apply his knowledge to improve his living conditions in that primitive era, then he didn't deserve the second chance he had received. He refused to die of hunger or disease in the filth of an overcrowded insula.

  Before they could talk further, familiar knocks sounded on the door. Flavio had arrived.

  Lucius quickly said goodbye to his wife and daughter, feeling a strange pang of responsibility as he left them, and went out to meet his friend.

  The day at the quarry was brutal, an exhausting repetition of the previous one. The sun punished their skin, the supervisor shouted orders, and dust covered their bodies like a second skin. Lucius worked mechanically, his muscles protesting with every stone lifted, but his mind was far away, refining the wheel axle, calculating the load's center of gravity. With every trip with the heavy stretcher, he reaffirmed the need for his invention.

  When the sun finally began to set, dyeing the hills of Rome a bloody red, Lucius received his coins—a few denarii that barely paid for the effort expended.

  He and Flavio walked away from the confusion of dispersing workers, following a quieter side street. Flavio seemed thoughtful, kicking small stones as he walked.

  "So..." Flavio began, breaking the silence. "Are you really going through with that one-wheeled cart story? I thought it was just a daydream brought on by yesterday's fatigue."

  Lucius stopped and looked at his friend.

  "Yes, Flavio. I am. I need to try. I feel it will work."

  Flavio studied Lucius's face for a moment, looking for hesitation, but found none. The giant sighed and slapped his friend on the back, raising a cloud of dust.

  "Alright then. I liked the idea, to be honest. If that thing saves us from carrying weight like mules, it's worth a try," Flavio said with a half-smile. "Come on. I'll walk you to Marcus's workshop."

  Lucius exhaled, relieved, and mentally thanked the gods—or chance—that Flavio had volunteered. He was about to ask for exactly that favor, because, despite all his determination, there was a small crucial detail he didn't know: he had no idea where Marcus lived or what the carpenter's face looked like.

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  Marcus's carpentry shop was located on one of the city's most pulsating arteries, where the flow of people, animals, and goods didn't cease even with the approach of twilight. The smell of fresh sawdust and pine resin mixed with the street's usual odor, creating an olfactory border that marked the artisan's territory.

  However, before they could cross the entrance, Lucius froze. His feet seemed to have taken root in the stone pavement.

  In the background, dominating the landscape overwhelmingly, rose the titanic structure of the Flavian Amphitheatre. The construction was so close it seemed possible to touch it if he reached out; the grandeur of the travertine stone, the repeated arches climbing to the skies, and the magnitude of that ancient engineering hit Lucius with the force of a hammer. From there, a mere five kilometers or so away, the near horizon of the colossus projected over them, a mountain made by human hands. He stood open-mouthed, his neck tilted back, eyes scanning every detail of the monumental facade that, in his time, was a glorious ruin, but was now alive, complete, and intimidating.

  Flavio stopped beside him and let out a short, nasal laugh, giving his shoulder a light shove.

  "By Juno, Lucius! Why are you looking with that idiot face? It looks like you've never seen the Amphitheatre before," Flavio mocked, shaking his head. "You pass by here almost every week."

  Lucius blinked, being violently pulled back to reality. The awe of the temporal tourist needed to be contained.

  "Sorry," he murmured, lowering his head. "I was... distracted. Sometimes the grandeur of Rome catches us off guard."

  Before Flavio could reply, a man emerged from the workshop entrance, wiping his hands on a leather apron stained with oil and wood dust. He had a face marked by deep lines and eyes that carried a recent and heavy sadness.

  "It's a surprise to see you two here at this hour," the man said, forcing a tired smile that didn't reach his eyes.

  It was Marcus.

  Flavio's posture changed instantly, his joking tone giving way to solemn respect.

  "Marcus," Flavio greeted, tilting his head slightly. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I heard what the plague did."

  Lucius, feeling the weight of the moment and not knowing exactly what to say to comfort a man of that era, opted for simplicity.

  "I'm sorry, Marcus. Truly."

  The carpenter sighed, his gaze getting lost for a moment in the bustle of the street before focusing back on them.

  "It was hard," Marcus admitted, his voice hoarse. "The gods take whom they want, when they want. The house is empty and quiet, but... I have to work. The bills don't stop, and grief doesn't fill the belly."

  "You're right," Flavio agreed seriously. "Better days will come, my friend. Have faith."

  Marcus nodded, seeming to want to push away the dark cloud over the conversation. He clapped his hands together to shake off the remaining dust.

  "But tell me, what brings two stone breakers to my humble workshop? I don't believe you came to order fine furniture."

  "Lucius has an idea," Flavio stepped in, pointing at his companion with his thumb. "He says he has something for you."

  Marcus raised an eyebrow, curiosity awakening amidst the apathy. He looked at Lucius, sizing him up.

  "An idea? Well, I'm free at the moment. Come in, let's talk away from the street noise."

  The interior of the carpentry shop was a haven of woody scents. Iron and bronze tools hung organized on the walls, and wooden planks of various qualities were stacked in the corners. Marcus guided them to a sturdy table at the back of the workshop and grabbed a clay jug and three coarse ceramic cups.

  "Wine," Marcus offered, pouring the dark liquid. "It's not a Falernian, but it helps clear the throat."

  "I'll gladly accept," Flavio said, taking a cup.

  Lucius took his, observing the liquid. In his mind, an almost scientific curiosity lit up: it would be an interesting experience to taste real Roman wine. He brought the cup to his lips and took a sip. It was strong, slightly acidic, and had a trace of spices attempting to mask the oxidation—very different from the refined wines of the future, but it possessed a rustic character that seemed fitting for that world.

  Marcus took a generous gulp and set the cup on the table, crossing his arms.

  "So, Lucius. What do you have for me?"

  Lucius set down the wine and looked around, searching for something specific.

  "Do you have something I can draw on? And something to write with?" Lucius asked.

  The silence that followed was awkward. Marcus and Flavio exchanged a confused look.

  "Draw? Write?" Marcus repeated, frowning. "I thought you didn't know how to write, Lucius."

  "It's true," Flavio intervened, scratching his beard. "Since I've known you, you could barely read tavern signs. What's gotten into you today?"

  Lucius felt cold sweat break out on his back. He had forgotten that literacy wasn't universal, especially for a manual laborer. He needed a quick way out.

  "I... have been making an effort," Lucius lied, keeping his voice calm. "I've been watching the scribes in the forum when I can, and practicing in the dirt with sticks. I got tired of being ignorant. I learned enough to put my ideas on papyrus, or wood."

  The excuse was flimsy, but the determination in his voice seemed to convince the men. Marcus shrugged, accepting the explanation.

  "It's never too late to learn, I suppose," said the carpenter. He stood up and walked to a workbench, returning with a board of smooth, light wood and a piece of charcoal. "Use this."

  Lucius took the charcoal. The feel of the primitive tool in his hand was strange, but familiar. "Thanks, Marcus!" He took a deep breath and began to sketch.

  His movements were precise. First, the central wheel. Then, the slanted cargo box, optimized to keep the center of gravity low. Next, the two long handles that would serve for leverage and steering. He drew the joints, the fittings, and the supports.

  As he drew, Flavio and Marcus watched, fascinated by the confidence with which the lines appeared on the wood. The drawing wasn't a childish scribble; it was a technical design, with proportions and clarity.

  Lucius finished the sketch and began writing beside it, using the Latin that now flowed naturally in his mind and hand. He noted the material specifications.

  Lignum tantum. Nullum ferrum. (Wood only. No iron).

  He knew that metal would make the project too expensive and production unfeasible for them at that moment. The wheel would be solid, reinforced with harder wood, and the axle would be oak lubricated with animal tallow. He detailed the connections, ensuring everything could be done right there, in that workshop, without the need for a blacksmith.