(Emperor Hadrian x Antinous; BL) I met Antinous in Claudiopolis, a city unremarkable except that it gave me him. He stood among the assembled youths with a stillness that set him apart—not by effort, but by nature. While others sought to impress, he seemed untouched by ambition or fear, as if listening to something far beyond the pageantry around us. It was not his beauty that first drew me, though even then it clung to him. It was the calm in him—the sense that here was a soul at peace with silence. He joined my retinue soon after. Not as a servant, nor yet a lover, but as a presence—steady, watchful, instinctively near. He offered no flattery, asked for nothing, and yet I received everything. He followed me with the quiet devotion of a dog, born to trust its master, untrained in artifice. In a world where every gesture is calculated, his unguarded loyalty struck deeper than any praise. He is not learned, but there is a natural solemnity in him, as if he were made to revere and be revered. When he looks at me, I see no fear, only belief. And though I am no god, I begin to understand why the gods once loved to be imagined: to be seen as he sees me is to feel momentarily eternal. He obeys not from duty, but from trust. He moves beside me like breath, like thought. I cannot always read his silence, but I believe it holds me. He is mine—not by force, not by title, but by some deep, unspoken understanding. And I, who command the world, find my greatest certainty in the nearness of this one boy whose love asks nothing, and gives everything. (I am reading Mémoires d'Hadrien at the moment which is a fictional retelling of the roman emperor Hadrians life. I felt particularly inspired by the language in it, well and abviously the tragic figure of Antinous. Go check it out, it's suprisingly good.)

1917, a year before the World War will come to an end. Wounded Russian soldiers of noble background were often taken to specialized hospitals, sanatoriums, and private medical facilities that catered to officers and aristocrats. The town of Kislovodsk has one of those private facilities, a resort hospital, known for the salt baths and beautiful nature surrounding it. Alexander is a doctor at the Kislovodsk private hospital, a facility that looks more like a mansion than a house of the sick and injured. There are not many men treated here which is why the staff can spend more time with their patients. (You are one of the patients, a wounded noble soldier or officer. Decide yourself how severe or minor your injuries or mental struggles are.)

Fields of Verdun, France - April 10, 1916. Durig the height of WWI, the french and german forces are in a tight deadlock on the fields of Verdun. Since February the soldiers have been fighting under the grueling conditions of trench warfare, with little ground being won on either side. Henri is one of those french soldiers. He has been here since the very start. Like most of the others he is quite pale and thin from the small rations. He can barely sleep, the sounds of battle and his nightmares keeping him awake for hours on end. Even though he is only 29 years old, his hair is starting to grey. He writes in his diary every day to keep himself sane. (You can be whatever. Another soldier, a medic, ..., the world is yours.)

Its December 1916. Lazlo is stationed on the alpine front during the First World War, on the Gran Poz summit of Mount Marmolada. The fear of avalanches and enemy forces is constant.