“Gladiator II” spoilers follow.

Is an empire — or a nation, for that matter — doomed to self-destruct? Is a dream of a better life, a better society, a better world, something completely foolish, or might there still be worth in it? If, as Maximus Decimus Meridius (Russell Crowe) says in the first “Gladiator,” “what we do in life echoes in eternity,” will these echoes ever reach us on the mortal plane in time for real change to happen?

These and many more questions have been on my mind, if not all of our minds, in the last few weeks, and coincidentally, they are on the minds of the characters in (as well as the people who made) “Gladiator II.” Even before this month’s troubling events, it has felt like America, if not all Western society, has been headed for a reckoning. Thus, the world in which director Ridley Scott makes this legacy sequel is a markedly different one than when he made the original film 24 years ago. In addition to “Gladiator II” responding to the world of 2024, the film also must reckon with being a decades-after-the-fact sequel to a film which features the protagonist heroically perishing at its finale. As a result of that fact, many wild and ambitious ideas for a sequel have been pitched over the years, most infamously one by musician Nick Cave, which would’ve seen Crowe’s Maximus continually reincarnated for battle throughout history.

The “Gladiator II” we have instead, written by Scott’s “All the Money in the World” and “Napoleon” scribe David Scarpa, is essentially an echo of the first film’s story, in which a stalwart soldier is taken as a prisoner of war, sold into servitude in Rome by being made into a gladiator, then leads an insurrection against his oppressors, all in belief of a “dream of Rome” that isn’t corrupt. The big twist is that this character is Maximus’ heretofore secret son, Lucius (Paul Mescal), making his struggle one that is both literally and figuratively an echo of his father’s. It’s a predicament that Lucius himself seems to realize, leading to a clever ending which has things both ways: the film concludes with a definite victory as well as ambiguity regarding Rome’s future.

17 years after the end of “Gladiator,” the “dream of Rome” which Maximus and Marcus Aurelius fought and died for has not come to pass. Instead, under the rule of the mad, diseased, and possibly incestuous brother Emperors Geta (Joseph Quinn) and Caracalla (Fred Hechinger), Rome has only increased its aggressive expansion, laying waste to and taking ownership of numerous new lands with little thought paid to actually making use of and/or governing them. One of these lands is Numidia, on the North African coast, which happens to be the home of Lucius and his wife Arishat (Yuval Gonen), both of whom fight desperately to keep Rome out of their homeland. Sadly, the Numidians are defeated by General Marcus Acacius (Pedro Pascal), who has Arishat killed in the heat of battle, and whose legions capture and brand Lucius for use as a gladiator in the coliseum games.

Thus, Lucius wholeheartedly embraces a new dream for Rome: burning it to the ground, hopefully with Acacius’ severed head in his hands. Upon meeting the slave owner Macrinus (Denzel Washington), who seizes on Lucius as part of his own clearly ambitious designs, Lucius makes a bargain, allowing himself to be Macrinus’ “instrument” if Macrinus will eventually deliver Acacius to his sword. This quest for vengeance makes Lucius willfully ignorant of multiple truths: that Acacius is secretly plotting to help depose the corrupt Emperors and fight for a free Rome, that Macrinus, a former slave himself, is seeking to seize power and burn Rome down in a very literal sense, and most of all, that his parentage calls to him both in this life and the next.

That’s right: Lucius is not the offspring of Lucius Verus, as was established in the original film, but is actually the secret son of Maximus and Lucilla (Connie Nielsen), which makes him the grandson of Marcus Aurelius as well. Despite Lucilla pleading for her son to honor his father and forgive her new lover, Acacius, for his deeds during battle, Lucius cannot forgive being sent away from home upon Maximus’ death, nor can he forget his love for his wife. If Lucius represents Rome’s last hope, then it seems that it is indeed Rome’s destiny to fall.

However, Lucius cannot be willfully ignorant forever, especially because his relationship to the afterworld (a quality that he shares with his late father) won’t let him. As Lucius explains to his confidant, Ravi (Alexander Karim), he has a dream one night about crossing a river, and he initially interprets it as a sign of his fatalistic beliefs. Yet Ravi reminds him that it could also signify a point of change, and a combination of Lucius’ memories of his childhood, his mother and father, and visions of his wife causes him to start to see the bigger picture in front of him. When Macrinus makes good on his end of the bargain, and arranges for a newly disgraced General Acacius to fight Lucius in the arena upon exposure of his and Lucilla’s plot to overthrow the Emperors, Lucius refuses to take his revenge, causing the Emperors to have Acacius shot full of arrows.

Such an ignominious end for a hero of Rome is the last straw for Lucius’ changing views, and he begins to see the worth in fighting against the empire’s corruption in hopes of a better future. Obtaining Acacius’ ring from Lucilla, he arranges to have it sent to the General’s loyal legions just outside the city, preparing them to invade and take back power, even as the manipulative Macrinus kills Geta and puts the increasingly mad Caracalla in his pocket. Throughout the film, Lucius has demonstrated echoes of his father, in everything from his combat style to his picking up dirt from the Colosseum floor before battle. When Ravi introduces him to Maximus’ armor, preserved beneath the arena as part of a shrine, Lucius literally and figuratively puts it on. His father’s fight is now his, something that’s cemented even further as he galvanizes the other gladiators to fight for a free Rome. While the gladiators’ revolt begins to occur, Macrinus murders Lucilla, and Lucius’ mother dies in his arms, giving him a new target for his vengeance.

As Emperor Caracalla falls and his newly appointed right hand, Macrinus, stands ready to inherit the throne and see Rome devolve into chaos, it seems that such a fate is a hair’s breadth away from happening. The city’s army comes face to face with Acacius’ legions outside the gates, and it wouldn’t even take a push to let Rome fall in the hours ahead; all one would have to do is stand back and watch it happen. Yet Lucius is a changed man now, and instead of fleeing to safety or encouraging destruction, he races to the battlefield where he meets Macrinus head on, the two dueling to the death. Lucius avenges his mother and all the others that the vengeful Macrinus has harmed by literally disarming the man and letting him bleed out in the waters around Rome.

Again, Lucius reaches a personal turning point, one which has repercussions not just for himself but for all the people of Rome. Instead of being satiated with his revenge and leaving the empire to the figurative wolves, he gives a speech to the amassed armies, reminding them of his grandfather’s “dream of Rome” and how that dream can still be realized, even at this unlikely stage. Lucius’ newfound belief in a progressive future for the corrupt empire helps inspire both armies to lay down their arms, just as his revelation of his family heritage (and his being heir to the throne) helps calm the swelling storm of Rome’s citizenry, turning what could’ve been a fall into a revolution instead.

Returning to the now empty coliseum, Lucius touches the chariot where his mother was killed, then touches the ground where his father once fought and died. As clouds swell around him, Lucius breathes a quiet prayer for guidance: “Speak to me, father,” he says, having his Maverick moment. A vision of Maximus’ hand appears, sifting through wheat, implying that his spirit is close by.

Although “Gladiator II” ends with a very clear victory — the villains are soundly dismembered and dispatched, and our hero Lucius has both found retribution and a new purpose — Scott and Scarpa have left a good deal of ambiguity to contend with. Sure, this could all be in hopes of making a second sequel, with Lucius’ impending reign acting as a setup for further story. Yet this is no mere cliffhanger, especially when the film’s mercurial characterizations are taken under consideration. To wit: we know Lucius has not always been a believer or even a fan of Rome, and could still decide to let the empire fall. We also know that Maximus’ death did not bring about a united, progressive Rome as he may have hoped it would, and that things took a turn for the worse despite his sacrifice.

Through all of this, there is the fact that “Gladiator II” both acknowledges and ignores history, combining fact with fiction in a way that continues to upset historians, yet is part and parcel of what Scott’s interests with the material are. The misanthropic auteur seems very interested in exploring the notion of fate, recurrence, and faith, openly wondering with both films whether Rome (and, by extension, our modern society) is doomed to fall or if any hope remains. History is a rigid thing, a land understood only with hindsight, and often not understood (or remembered) soon enough to save the future. Yet rivers can change course, people can change their minds, and enlightenment is always a possibility.

The close of “Gladiator II” may be a stepping stone toward a third installment, one which would retroactively turn the films into something resembling the “Godfather” trilogy (which Scott has talked about in the press), where Lucius must deal with his newly accepted legacy and responsibilities. If this is the end of the battle for the saga of Rome and its gladiators, however. then the answers are left up to us. After all, we’re currently experiencing our own societal precipice, and we would do well to remember that the future is up to us if we want it to be. Whatever we do next will echo in eternity, so let us act as Lucius does, with strength and honor.