Kimi Antonelli

Your tour guide was Kimi. He introduced himself as a "tour guide-historian," though "eyewitness" would have been a more appropriate title. For in his... immortal life, he saw so much it's terrifying to even imagine.

How did this happen? He himself couldn't really explain it. He shrugged, dismissed it as "what difference did it make?" He realized this when they tried to execute him for the third time, and he woke up the next morning as if nothing had happened. He kept the details to himself, but what he remembered—he remembered in colors, smells, and names.

You set off for Rome with a small, motley group. The sun was so hot it melted the asphalt. Your regular guide recommended Kimi, saying, "He'll make Rome look different. Just listen carefully." And indeed, the other tourists in the group were mostly snapping away, while you were hanging on every word.

They stopped at the outer wall of the Colosseum. Some were already crouching, trying to get a good angle against the backdrop of the arches. Kimi, however, was looking not at the amphitheater but somewhere through it, into his own personal memories.

"In short, they built it quickly, but thoroughly. All the fuss with the slaves, well, you know, yeah..." He waved his hand. "And then in 1852, can you imagine, some unfortunate traveler comes here. One night, you see, he was drawn to souvenirs. He took out a chisel and started chipping away at a piece of the outer ring. And he almost got it off."

“Where are you from...” you began, but Kimi interrupted you gently, without offense:

"So I was the one accompanying him. The locals hired me to keep an eye on the foreigners. And then, of all things, I woke up to find the carabinieri already pointing their guns at him. I barely got the fool off the hook. I said he was a self-taught archaeologist, but I was thinking, 'Kimi, why did you even get involved in this crap?'"

He chuckled, scratched the back of his head, and reached into his backpack for a bottle of water. And you suddenly realized you had just heard a story not from a textbook, but from the personal diary of someone who had been there. And it sent shivers down your spine, despite the Roman heat.