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The Time Traveler of Rome

Short Story by Vatsar Agarwal, Lucknow

Chapter 1


Marcus Quinn adjusted the dials on his wrist-worn chronometer, feeling a familiar rush of energy as the machine hummed to life. The laboratory around him blurred, colors shifting, twisting—until suddenly, the air smelled of dust, sweat, and the distant scent of roasted meat. The sound of thousands of voices filled his ears, and the light of a Mediterranean sun shone down upon him.

He had arrived. Ancient Rome.

Dressed in a simple tunic and sandals—carefully selected to blend in—Marcus stepped forward, his boots crunching on the stone-paved road. He found himself in the Forum, the heart of the empire, where merchants hawked goods, orators delivered speeches, and patricians strolled in flowing togas.

A boy rushed past, nearly knocking him over. “Apologies, dominus!” the child called, disappearing into the crowd.

Marcus smiled. He had spent years preparing for this, studying Latin, Roman customs, and even practicing their mannerisms. Now, he was here, and he intended to witness history firsthand.

Moving carefully, he approached a group gathered near a raised platform. A senator was addressing the crowd, his voice carrying authority. Marcus recognized the name immediately—Marcus Tullius Cicero. To see the great orator in person was a privilege few in history could claim.

Suddenly, a hand clamped onto Marcus’s shoulder. He turned to see a burly man in a leather cuirass, a Roman soldier. “You there, who is your patron?” the man demanded.

Marcus hesitated. He had studied the social structures of Rome, but the question caught him off guard. Without a proper Roman sponsor, he might be taken for a runaway slave—or worse, a spy.

Thinking quickly, he bowed slightly. “I am a humble scholar from Greece, visiting to learn from the wisdom of Rome,” he said in practiced Latin.

The soldier eyed him suspiciously, but Greece was known for its philosophers and scholars. “Be sure you do not cause trouble,” the man warned before stepping away.

Marcus exhaled in relief.

For days, he wandered the streets, observing daily life—the grandeur of the Colosseum under construction, the bustling baths, the underground dealings of the Subura. He even managed to slip into the Senate House, listening as Julius Caesar’s name sparked heated debate. 


Chapter 2: The Shadow of the Empire  


Marcus Quinn stared at the flickering lights of his lab, his breath still uneven from the escape. His mind was a whirlwind—he had seen Cicero speak, walked the streets of the Eternal City, and stood at the heart of history. But the memory that lingered most was the shadowed alley, the two men who had known he was different.


Who were they?

Were they simple thieves looking for easy prey, or had they recognized something more? He had been careful—his Latin was flawless, his clothing authentic—but time travel was unpredictable. Had he left some clue, some detail that didn’t belong?

Marcus knew one thing: he had to go back.

Return to Rome

This time, he prepared more carefully. He adjusted his chronometer’s settings, ensuring he would reappear in a less conspicuous location. He also added a safeguard—an emergency beacon linked to the machine in his lab, allowing him to return instantly if necessary.

The machine hummed to life once more, the lab around him dissolving into light.

When the world stabilized, he found himself in a quiet courtyard, the scent of olive oil and baked bread filling the air. It was early morning in Rome, and the city was waking.

Marcus adjusted his tunic and stepped out onto the street. This time, he had a plan—he would avoid the Forum and instead seek out the intellectual heart of the city. If he wanted to observe history without drawing attention, he needed to move among scholars, philosophers, and scribes.

The Athenaeum, Rome’s center of learning, seemed like the perfect place to start.

A Name from the Past

The great hall of the Athenaeum was lined with scrolls and bustling with thinkers deep in debate. Marcus moved carefully, listening, absorbing. The discussions ranged from poetry to law, from military strategy to the works of Greek masters.

As he examined a scroll, a voice called out.

“You again.”

Marcus froze.

Turning slowly, he found himself face to face with a man in a dark tunic, one of the figures from the alley.

A cold realization settled over him. This wasn’t a coincidence. They had been looking for him.

The man stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You speak like a Roman, but you are not one. You move like a scholar, but I have never seen your kind before. Who are you?”

Marcus kept his expression neutral. “I am a traveler, here to learn.”

The man studied him carefully. “Indeed. A traveler. But from where?”

Marcus felt the weight of his chronometer hidden beneath his sleeve. He had to get out—fast. But something about the man’s tone stopped him. There was no immediate hostility. Instead, there was… curiosity.

Then the man did something unexpected. He smiled.

“You are not the first.”

Marcus’s pulse quickened. “What do you mean?”

The man glanced around, then gestured for him to follow. “Come. There is someone you must meet.”

Marcus hesitated. This could be a trap. But if there was even a chance that someone else had traveled through time before him, he had to know.

He adjusted his tunic, took a breath, and stepped forward.

The past had just become far more complicated. 


Chapter 3: The Keeper of Secrets 



Marcus followed the man through the winding streets of Rome, his mind racing with possibilities. Who else had traveled through time? Had someone left behind evidence, a clue, or worse—altered history?

They passed through a maze of alleyways before stopping at a nondescript villa tucked between larger estates. The man knocked three times in a distinct rhythm. A moment later, the door creaked open.

Inside, the air smelled of parchment and ink. Scrolls were stacked in every corner, and maps of the known world covered the walls. An elderly man, draped in a dark toga, sat at a wooden table, studying a strange device—one that looked far too advanced for ancient Rome.

Marcus’s breath caught.

The old man looked up, his sharp eyes locking onto Marcus. “So, another traveler arrives,” he said in flawless Latin. “Tell me, from when do you come?”

Marcus hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to deny everything. But the man’s gaze held no malice—only understanding.

“From the future,” Marcus admitted cautiously.

The man nodded as if he had expected the answer. “You may call me Lucius. And you are not the first to find yourself lost in time.”



The Short story continued here.....