trilogÍa pax machina
BOOK I: THE SCAR OF MARCH

Eduardo kwiatkowski

© 2026 eduardo kwiatkowski. all the derechos reserved.

COMPRAR EN AMAZON

Sinopsis
Roma, 44 bc. cesar july, perpetual dictator, conqueror of the galia, master of the known world, enters the senate in the idus of march. he won't walk.
But he won't be dead either.
When the first strike and antonium frame fails with the guard, cesar is suspended between life and death. for months of convalescence, the most powerful man in the world experiences something he had never experienced: absolute impotence. and in that silence, you see, you think, remember the look of brute among the conspirators, you understand that an empire held only by the sword dies when the sword breaks.
The scar of marchit's the story of a transformation. the arrogant general who enters the senate waiting for adulation, the wounded statesman who understands that immortality is not in the conquests but in the institutions. from the roma of legions to the roma of ideas.
But ideas have enemies. the senate sees his power threatened. the generals see their purpose questioned. the priests see their gods explained. and in the shadows, the conspirators who failed once expect a second chance.
Cesar is fifteen years old to change the world before his body, never fully recovered, finally betrays him. it's not enough time. it'll have to be enough.



Table of contents
PART I: THE ATTACK
March - june 44 bc.
Chapter 1 - idus
Chapter 2 - the edge that failed
Chapter 3 - the longest night
Chapter 4 - the vultures of the senate
Chapter 5 - the heir arrives
Chapter 6 - the dictator's coma
PART II: THE AWAKENING
July 44 - march 43 bc.
Chapter 7 - the eyes that open
Chapter 8 - the broken body
Chapter 9 - the hand of others
Chapter 10 - the remote toy
Chapter 11 - the first order
Chapter 12 - the visit of the raw
Chapter 13 - the calculation error

PARTE III: LA PRIMERA REFORMA
43 - 40 a.c.
Chapter 14 - the new covenant
Chapter 15 - empty honors
Chapter 16 - the assembly of prefects
Chapter 17 - the test of bread
Chapter 18 - the wax chain
Chapter 19 - the day matrix
Chapter 20 - The Last Threat
Chapter 21 - the law of the two chambers
Chapter 22 - the provincial courts
Chapter 23 - the pact of the three
PART IV: THE MACHINE OF KNOWLEDGE
40 - 38 a.c.
Chapter 24 - atheneum caesaris
Chapter 25 - first pupils
Chapter 26 - Utile eoliphile
Chapter 27 - the restless gods
Chapter 28 - the maximum pontiff redefines
Chapter 29 - holy resistance
PARTE V: LA SEMILLA DEL SISTEMA
37 - 32 a.c.
Chapter 30 - the multiplied mechanism
Chapter 31 - the joint embassy
Chapter 32 - the secret of gunpowder
Chapter 33 - thunder in the alpes
Chapter 34 - processed legions
Chapter 35 - the mutiny that was not
PART VI: THE LEGACY
31 - 29 a.c.
Chapter 36 - the tired body
Chapter 37 - the eligibility test
Chapter 38 - children of merit
Chapter 39 - the will
Chapter 40 - The Last Dictation
Chapter 41 — perpetual death
Chapter 42 - the architect's funeral
Chapter 43 - the first test





Glossary
A
Aedil (edil):A judge linked to urban supply, markets, works and public order.
Amphora:Standard measurement / container; in the book it appears as a practical unit of flow ("amphora per minute").
Arnes (hand in hand):Support device to stabilize a damaged hand; physical symbol of limit and adaptation.
Assembly of prefects:Administrative body where decisions are made by assigned procedures, records and responsibilities.
B
(water) pump:Mechanism to extract or boost water; its effectiveness redefines what "work" means in the world of the book.
Bronce glued:Molded metal; useful, but with limits to pressure, fatigue and heat.
Gross (junio mark):A senatorial figure; associated with the dilemma between political honour and the effectiveness of the new order.
C
Calendas (kalendae):First day of the roman month; it serves for timelines and logistics.
Boiler:Container where water is boiled to generate steam; power and risk in the same piece.
Calpurnia:Intimate figure close to cesar; it holds the human when power becomes system.
Expansion chamber:Intermediate volume to stabilize pressure and soften the steam blow.
Casio:Senator / conspirator; represents the direct, violent and simplifying response to complex problems.
Wax chain:Permission metaphor: stamps, copies and administrative ritual that allow or prevent the opening of a door.
Ciconon:Speaker and symbol of power per word; his look works as a moral thermometer of transformation.
Clepsidra:Water clock; allows to measure shifts, times and routines without depending on "humors" or favoritism.
Scientiae costs:"guardian of method"; institutional function linked to knowledge, teaching and continuity.
Ctesibio:Old technical reference; it appears as an intellectual antecedent of pressure systems and pistons.
D
Demetrio:Foreign student; useful figure to see social friction, belonging and suspicion.
Eligibility decree:Rule that links government and training; makes knowledge (validated) a political requirement.
Dictation:Act of dictating technical/administrative texts; counterpuesto a la epica as a form of legacy.
AND
Economy of obedience:Central idea: power is organized by reducing uncertainty and cost of control (rather than by charism).
Edict:Written public order; the book opposes "discourse" as a tool of government.
Eolípila:Steam associated with heron; it goes from curiosity to technology with consequences.
Atonement:Gesture / rite to calm collective fear and reorder meaning to a disturbing event.
F
Forum:Public center; place where rumor, hunger, honor, figures and fear are struck.
Fruitii (reformed):Information and control apparatus; its form and function are redefined in the saga.
Fire / vulcan:Sacred and political language; fire is a physical phenomenon and, at the same time, a story.
G
Grain (grain prefecture):Supply system; social thermometer: if the grain fails, everything else becomes debatable.
Steam crane:Lifting machine; symbol of the city that learns to move weight with method, not with muscle.
H
Heron (from a distance):Engineer; embodies the ethics of the workshop: repeat, measure, correct, accept the real risk.
Shake iron:Material more resistant to pressure and vibration; preferred for critical parts.
Hispania / new cardago:Province and mining area; scenario where the technique is tested against rock, logistics and human cost.
I
Idus:Date loaded with symbolic weight; the calendar as political memory.
Impío (impietas):Religious accusation with social power; it can dislegitimize even what "works.".
Political engineering:Design of institutions, positions and procedures for power to continue without being dependent on an individual.
J
Jupiter:Greater deity; his "voice" in the city often depends on who interprets the signs.
L
Lepid:It is a bridge between ritual and convenience; it moves where religion and politics are confused.
Legion / legion:Military core; in the book the identity of the soldier runs into non-epic tasks.
Lictor:Symbol of formal authority; ritual presence of power.
M
Magister militum:Superior military function; organizes border, discipline and external response.
Manual (administrative):Method text; legacy that tries to return repeatable what previously depended on the genius.
Life-long bite:Formula / idea of permanence; death as proof of the system (if it survived, it was real).
N
Nefas:It is invoked to stop, prohibit or mark an act as dangerous.
New covenant:Name of the institutional turn: from honor and improvisation to written rule and control.
O
Octavian:Administrator; flow, file and control thinking; turns policy into procedure.
Middle officers (centurions / tribune):Intermediate controls; place where prestige is measured and disputed.
Public policy:In the saga: practical normality (water / bread / safety) rather than solemnity.
P
Pax machina:World motto: peace by infrastructure, technique and administration.
Piston:Mechanical element that translates pressure into motion; bridge between idea and useful work.
Pontiffs / high school of pontiffs:Religious institution; archive of rite and symbolic permission.
Pontifex maximus:Supreme religious authority; when he speaks, he speaks order.
Porcia:Female elite figure; self-intelligence and will; their presence introduces intimate politics.
Prefect:Official with assigned responsibility; the city becomes governable when the "culprit" has a name.
Princeps senatus:Senatorial primacy; position of institutional weight rather than explicit "royalty.".
Prodigio:A sign interpreted as divine; the phenomenon matters less than the public reading it generates.
R
Regia:Seat of the religious order; sacred office where the rite becomes politics.
(double):Anti-corruption principle: double, compare, track; truth as a coincidence between copies.
Remaches:Material solution to fragility; symbol of the roma that replaces prayer by assembly.
Holy resistance:Name with which a religious-social reaction circulates; its strength is in the account rather than in iron.
Restoration:Word that promises to "return" to a known order; it is usually a flag before it plans.
S
(old):Inherited authority; it opens doors by custom.
Double seal:Enhanced validation; seeks the permit to leave a trace.
Societas veritatis:The name of a society / circle; its aesthetics and language appeal to "truth" as a weapon.
Spurinna:Augur; specialist in meaning, fear and reading of heaven; rival of any system that takes away mystery.
Subura/skilin / trastevere:Neighborhoods where the city sits before being explained; the rumor travels better than the decree.
T
Tablilla:Registration support; when the world is archived, the tablet gains power.
Testamento institucional:Document that prioritizes functions and rules; seeks to prevent the legacy from being a name fight.
Tito ahenobarbo:Intermediate operator; shows how a system is touched by the edges (secretaries, seals, doors).
Toga:Class symbol; contrasts with stained hands, workshops and tablets.
Tribuno:Intermediate military / political position; hinge between troops and decision.
V
Valve:Control / safety piece; allows to release pressure to avoid breaking.
Vercorix:Provincial character; its trajectory serves to measure how real "merit" is in practice.
Vigiles:Urban body; its function goes from street to file: patrol, shut down, report.
Vitruvio:Technical authority; it brings language of materials, failures and structure to the heart of power.
Functional characters (quick reminder)
Cesar:System architect; changes epic for continuity.
Octavian:Flow, record, redundancy; administration as power.
Antonio:Presence, loyalty and strength; the street understands it before the senate.
Calpurnia:Care and intimate truth; the human cost of the project.
Ciconon:Word and loss; the rhetoric faced with the machine.
Spurinna:An interpreter of fear; battle for meaning.
Porcia:Self-will; low-voice, but effective politics.




chapter 1 - idus
The morning had that indecent glow that he liked to put on his tragedies.
Calpurnia woke up before dawn, with his throat closed, as if someone had squeezed his voice with a cold hand. he didn't scream. he sat down, the blankets fell on his knees, listening to the silence of the house: the tenuous creeping of a lamp, the far passage of a slave who hastened to exist, the rumor of the city that was not yet a city but a promise.
I had dreamed again. the same dream, with variations that made it worse.
He saw a statue of cesar - not marble, of meat carved in pride - open as a fountain. from his arms, jets came out that were not water. the romans approached with their hands as if they asked for blessing; they washed their faces with that blood and smiled, grateful, as if death were a perfume.
In the dream, the senate was not a building. it was a mouth.
"don't go," he said, when he saw him move in the dark.
He had risen up as always: without haste, no doubt, as if the day belonged to him by decree. the perpetual dictator did not need sunrise; the sunrise needed him to authorize them.
"again, calpurnia," he replied, without looking at it at all. he had a roar voice of sleep and command. the senate is waiting today.
Calpurnia got out of bed with a quick move for her age. he took his forearm, feeling under the skin the muscle still firm, the vein that stoned like a private drum. he wasn't a weak man. that's what scared her: that the force was also breaking.
he looked for words like he's looking for a knife in the dark. today is the day.
Cesar smiled, barely. a smile from those who hear superstitions as they hear cradle songs: useful to sleep the other, not to believe them.
- today's one more day.
"no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.".
The word floated for a second, full of centuries. cesar let go softly, as if he did not want to humiliate her, but not to allow a woman - even her wife - to put a hand on the course of a roma.
- the idus are a date, not an arrow.
He came to the table where the toga was waiting. the slaves had ironed every fold as if they were ironing the world. the white, heavy fabric was a symbol in itself: purity exhibited, power disguised in simplicity.
He followed him, and his voice came down, not by submission but by fear of fear.
"it is not the date," he said. it's... the air.
Cesar turned, and for a moment he looked at her. in another man there would have been tenderness. in it, there was something more dangerous: calculation.
"what air?" he asked, as if i could put it on a list.
Calpurnia tragó saliva.
- the air before something breaks.
Cesar held his gaze. the power, sometimes, was that: the ability to keep moving even when the body asks for brake.
—si no voy —dijo—, ganan.
Calpurnia did not need to ask who "they" were.
- what if you go... and they win, too?
He didn't answer. he left that question in the air as a gun is left on a table: to remember that it exists.
As he went out into the court, already with his robe on, he saw a skinny man standing in a column. spurinna. he was not there as a visitor; he was there as a shadow.
"cesar," said the diviner, with a calm that he did not ask for permission.
Cesar raised the cursor of the mouth.
- with your idus again?
Spurinna looked at him as he looks at a man who doesn't understand the edge of the cliff.
- take care of the idus.
Nothing more. no theor. no explanation. just that phrase, dry, placed like a stone on the way.
He continued to walk, as if the stone was not, as if the road was his.
Calpurnia accompanied him to the main door outside, the liquors were waiting with their fasces and that stone expression that turned them into dangerous furniture. the sun was beginning to rise, illuminating the roofs with indecent clarity.
"i ask you," she said, grabbing him in the sleeve. for once... listen.
Cesar bowed his head, as if he accepted the prayer. and maybe, in some corner of his mind, he accepted it. but acceptance was another thing: a way to promise without changing anything.
- i'll be back before noon.
Calpurnia knew that was not a promise. it was a formula.
Cesar came out.
Roma expected him as an animal expected the man who fed him: with anxiety and resentment.
The journey to the pompey theater was a procession of contradictions. people would open, some would acclaim, others would observe in silence, and many would pretend to be just walls. cesar walked in the center, wrapped in his robe, accompanied by an antonic frame, which went by his side with the position of those who know that the city can bite.
"i don't like this," he murmured, without turning his head.
"you never liked the senate," replied he.
- i don't like the noise. it's... twisted.
Cesar looked around. the light was the same, the buildings were the same, the movement was the same. but antonium had that soldier's intuition: he didn't name danger, he smelled it.
They came to the pompey theater, where the marble shone like it was washed with water and lie. the improvised curia smelled of old incense and sweat.
At the entrance, a man approached with a tablet in his hand. it was artemidor. he had the face of the one running inside.
"cesar..." he whispered. "i read this. please. it's urgent.
Cesar took the tablet for courtesy, not interest. and just then, a senator got ahead of him with a too wide smile and interrupted him with a sentence on state matters. the tablet was left in the hand of cesar, but his attention had already been kidnapped by the habit: to listen, to settle, to advance.
Antonian frame frowned.
—leéla.
Cesar was about to do it when trebonium approached an antonic frame with a friendly gesture, an open hand, a meek voice.
i need your opinion on a question of veterans.
"not now," said antonic frame, dry, and tried to pass.
Tremonium crossed his body. it was not violence; it wasobstacle. a soft, calculated block, like that of someone who hopes the other does not want to "make scandal.".
AND THEN THE GRIP CAME.
Tremonium took his arm, first as an invitation. then as an insistence. then as a disguised fear: the fingers tightened more than necessary, as if the time was a rope and he could stretch it a second longer.
"just a minute," he said, "and his voice broke into a syllable that was not roman.".
He saw the white knuckles. he saw the fine sweat. he saw - and that was the worst - that trebonium was not arguing: he was holding back.
"i told you no," he grunted an antonic frame, and the voice was no longer political: it was from the camp.
Tremonium didn't let go. he hung himself a second longer, sticky, desperate in his cordiality, as if he knew if he lost everything.
Then the sound came.
It wasn't a clear cry. it was a mass of voices, a roar that belonged not to a man but to a panic crowd. and inside that roar, an antonic frame heard a name.
—¡cÉsar!
Trebonium was cold, and that microsegond of doubt was all that antonic frame needed.
He didn't push it "like a door." he ripped it off.
He nailed his shoulder to his chest, turned it and stamped it against a column of the hall with clean, efficient violence. trebonium hit the marble with his back and doubled, without air, with dignity turned to dust.
Antonian frame didn't look at him.
"guard!" he cried. "with me!"!
The men who guarded the entrance reacted late, confused by the absurd idea that the senate was in danger. but the antonic frame was already in place, and the urgency in his body was contagious.
I didn't know they'd left him alone.
Inside, the senate was an amphitheater without visible blood. banks, faces, robes: everything seemed ordered for a ceremony. the conspirators were spread out as if they were a natural part of the decoration.
Raw near the center, serene by force. cassio with the eyes of a famine. cordial gross decimus, too cordial. pale hulk, with restless hands as if looking for something inside the noose.
Cesar advanced to his seat, saluting with his head, receiving reverence and looks that lasted a fraction of a second more than convenient. everything was normal.
AND YET EVERYTHING WAS WRONG.
Se sentó.
The first senator came up with a petition. a common gesture, a common excuse. cessating heard it with the patience of those who believe that the world can expect their attention.
Another one comes up and another one.
The circle was closed with a perfect nature.
Cesar felt the closeness of bodies, the accumulated heat of breathing. a moment of discomfort, minimum. his right hand stood on the arm of the seat, prepared without knowing for what.
Casca was behind.
He didn't see it. but he felt something, like a change in the air. a silence that was not silence, but concentration.
AND THEN, ONE HAND PULLED HIS NOOSE FROM THE SHOULDER.
what....
Casca had the dagger in his hand.
The leaf shone for a second.
AND WENT DOWN.

chapter 2 - the edge that failed
He wasn't a killer. he was a man who had convinced himself that he should become one for the sake of a roma.
That conviction became useless at the real moment. because reality has a cruel detail: it trembles.
The hand of the hulk trembled.
The leaf went down where it shouldn't.
The dagger shrunk the neck of cesar, cutting skin and pride, but not sinking enough. a shallow, hot, humiliating cut.
Cesar felt the pain first as a surprise. he had felt worse pain. but this was different. it was intimate. it was a betrayal that entered the flesh.
He turned with a speed that no one expected from a man of his own. he grabbed the glove doll, pressing hard.
"what are you doing, dwarf?" he spat, and his voice was a whip.
He opened his mouth, but no republic or freedom came out. a gasp came out, like a trapped animal.
AND THAT SECOND - THAT ONLY SECOND THAT CESAR HELD TO HULK - WAS THE EDGE THAT FAILED. THE MINIMUM DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A QUICK DEATH AND A BUTCHER'S.
Cassius saw the mistake and moved on.
—¡ahora!
The first dagger that followed found meat on the side, but not where it should. another sought his chest and was lost in fabric and movement: the robe rose like a clumsy veil, getting between the leaf and the body. another found his arm when he cowed, he lifted it instinctively to cover himself.
The senate was filled with a noise that was neither cry nor word: the noise of chaos.
The non-conspirators rose up as if the floor had become dead. some ran. others became petrified, unable to understand that politics could become physical.
Cesar stood up all of a sudden. the toga was wrapped in his legs like a trap. he tried to let go, and that clumsy saved him and condemned him at the same time: the body, twisted, turned, changing, did not offer a clean target.
The leaves wanted a point. chaos gave surfaces.
A leaf cut his thigh. another tore his shoulder. a edge opened the outer part of the forearm, where there was tendon and anger, but not immediate life. cessar went back, turning, using arms as shields, pushing with the body, colliding against banks and other people's robes. a blow that would have been to the heart slipped through the collarbone and diverted through the tight fabric.
The leaves looked for the heart, but they found arms, thighs and fabric. the chaos was killing him, but he was protecting him too.
"a traitor!" someone shouted, and the word became literal.
Cesar tried to make way. there were no liquors inside. roma, in the name of civility, had disarmed the man who had conquered the world.
He stumbled, fell on his side, and in the fall he shrank by instinct: knees up, closed shoulders, the forearms crossed over his chest. the noose was raised as an extra skin, wrapping it, making each stab look more like a cut than an execution.
One metal pierced his low, painful, deep side... but down. another one opened his calf. another entered his arm when he tried to get up. it was not a coordinated attack; it was a multitude of hands wanting to show courage in the same direction.
Cesar saw faces.
AND AMONG THEM, ONE WHO SHOULD NOT BE THERE AS AN ENEMY.
Gross.
He didn't attack immediately. he looked.
That look was worse than the dagger.
"gross..." he said, "and the word came out like a rest." it wasn't a question. it was a recognition.
Raw clenched his lips. his hand was on the handle.
AND THEN, AS IF THE GESTURE WAS INEVITABLE, HE RAISED THE DAGGER.
He did not do it with rabies. he did it with that terrible calm of those who believe in doing a duty.
The leaf came in, yes... but not where the body ends. he entered a place that does not bleed the same: in the idea that cesar had of the world.
Cesar lost balance. the noose opened. the marble - cold, impeccable - was stained.
Around, they kept stabbing.
Not because it was necessary, but because everyone needed his hand to be recorded in that act, as a vote.
22 times.
Twenty-three little truth. none, by itself, enough. together, a sentence of blood that, by pure luck and disorder, found no clean closure.
Outside, antonic frame was already breaking the world.
The door opened at once.
Antonian frame entered as a fire enters, behind it, the guard.
The sound of metal, of sandals, of disciplined breathing went through chaos like a spear.
The conspirators froze for a second. that second was enough for fear to change sides.
"stop!" he roared an antonic frame.
Some retreated. others raised the daggers, undecided: to attack now was to declare war in the senate, and they still wanted their act to look like a "decision," not a battle.
Antonian frame saw cesar on the ground and the world was reduced to one point.
He knelt next to him. he held his head carefully, as if he held a vessel that should not be broken.
—medicaltraigan —ordeno—. hey!
His eyes were open. that was the most disturbing thing: i was looking.
It wasn't a dying man's look. it was the look of a man who is taking note.
Raw was immobile, the dagger is low, the eyes are nailed to cesar as if he expected an acquittal or a curse.
He saw it.
AND THAT IMAGE - RAW WITH THE LEAF, THE STILL GESTURE, THE DUTY TURNED INTO THE EDGE - WAS LEFT INSIDE AS A SEAL.
Deeper than any wound.
The guard raised to cess. the white noose stuck to the blood like a wet lie. the marble was left behind, red, and the senate - that mouth - kept swallowing screams.
"cessar tried to talk." he coughed. the iron in the mouth. antonic frame pressed it against his chest.
—in hables —dijo—. in the hour.
Cesar breathed one time and another.
Every breath was more short, but it was there.
Suspended.
Between life and death.
AND WHEN THE WORLD BECAME NARROW AND DARK, THE LAST THING THAT DIDN'T GO OUT WAS NOT THE PAIN.
It was the face of a brute raising the dagger.
That scene wasn't gonna end with the fainting.
I was gonna start there.