Pallas stood at the center of the Tullanium. These ancient walls have buried thousands in their histories. Political enemies of the Kings, traitors of the Republic, and even wrongly accused citizens. The walls have drank their fair share of blood and have heard their share of useless pleas for mercy. The executioner pushed Pallas forward into the square, where a group of people have gathered to witness his death. Raising his head calmly, Pallas sighed into the wind. The rope was wrapped tightly around his neck. The executioner's hands tightened. Pallas felt the ropes biting into his flesh, tearing at his throat. His hands instinctively tried to raise up and pry the rope away, but he willed them down. He would not give his enemies the pleasure of watching him squirm in death.

Seconds seemed like hours, minutes turned to days. Finally, his vision blackened and he felt his soul falling away from his body.

One of the oldest lines in Rome had been extinguished.