Pella

Prince Euenios looks over to the Olympian mountains, what separates Thessaly from the Macedonians in the north. He knows, Antigonos II may have struggled to keep the Kingdom peaceful, but he is still a warrior in his own right, he should be able to defend one city right?

But that's the thing, those were genuine barbarians, but the Romans are different… barbarians.

While Alexander was conquering the entire known world, the Romans were conquering the entire region in southern Italia, then came over here as the friends of the Greeks, but slowly we realized the wolves that the Romans are.

Their belief in Cassus Belli is a clever way to get what they want.

In this side of the world, the Macedonian hoplite ruled, but in the new world order, the Legion rules the world. If Macedonia is to survive this new century, we need to adopt… But that's easier just said than done.

The air was thick with the smell of sweat and metal, as the soldiers of Pella gathered in the city square for their daily training. The sun had barely risen above the horizon, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets, but the clanging of swords and the grunts of exertion could already be heard echoing through the city.

The prince watched them with a furrowed brow, his eyes scanning the lines for signs of weakness, for any chink in the armor that could be exploited by their Roman foes.

His mind raced with thoughts of strategy and tactics, trying to find a way to bridge the gap between the traditional Greek military and the innovative Roman warfare that had swept across the continent.

But the phalanx has worked so well in the narrow passes of Greece, the gridlock formations perfect for fighting in those conditions. The Roman troops are just lighter, more adaptable and can carry themselves farther.

Prince Euenios walked among the soldiers, his eyes taking in every detail of their equipment and stance. The Greeks were heavily armored, their bronze shields and helmets gleaming in the early light. Their spears, the long sarissas, were a formidable sight, designed to keep the enemy at bay and allow for a tight, unyielding formation.

But one cavalry charge later and it's over. Maybe instead of the sarissas, 21 foot spears, the Macedonians should look back, to Homer. The weapon of Achilles, the Spartan doru.

Sparta has always been a thorn on the Macedon sides, these peoples are arrogant and proud, and now with population decline and the loss of their helots, for the last 60 years they have not bent the knee to Macedon, even siding with the Romans in the past few years alongside those heathens in Attica.

Now they have formed another league, the Greek City States are holding on to their independence, and the last Macedon city in the isthmus in Corinth, though the place is mostly a puppet, the Macedonian council in the city is still as stubborn as ever.

But with the word of Antigonos II Gonatas, the City has begrudgingly started mobilizing soldiers for the Macedon army.

Euenios's heart sank as he watched a young recruit fumble with his weapon, the fear evident in his trembling hands. The prince knew that fear, had felt it in his own heart when he first took up arms.

He approached the boy, placing a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. "Steady now," he said, his voice carrying the confidence of a born leader. "The Romans may be different, but we are the descendants of warriors. We will find a way to stand against them."

He didn't believe his own words.

The war is long from over.

But he didn't expect the Romans to return now.

No one did, but it was inevitable.

In the finality of the year of 268, the Biremes are ready, and a thousand men have arranged themselves in the blue port of Thessalonica, these men coming with him to Iberia, may never return to Greece.

There were a few Greek colonies in Iberia, but just like the city states in southern Italia, they were not united. Just 5 years ago, the death of King Pyrrhus of Epirus has made the Greeks aware of the threat to the west.

And the Romans turned their eyes to the east.

Waking up the next morning, feeling the spring air of Thessaly, a thousand men in armor board the ships, alongside the servants, and a few transport ships come into view. The azure water port may have her last transports.

Prince Euenios stood at the prow of the lead ship, the salt-laden wind whipping at his cloak as the vessels sliced through the waves of the Aegean Sea. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety as he thought of the long journey ahead and the battles they would undoubtedly face.

The ships cut through the water, the oarsmen synchronized in their rhythm, each dip and pull a testament to their discipline and training, superior and above the entire world, second to only to Carthage, undoubtably a power that will outlive all of them.

The sails billowed with the wind, carrying them closer to the distant horizon where the sun was just beginning to dip below the edge of the world.

He knew that the Greeks had once been masters of the sea, with ships that had carried them to the shores of Asia and beyond. But now, their wooden vessels seemed almost primitive compared to the Roman galleys that patrolled the Mediterranean.

Only the Biremes have kept up, but the Macedonians have not designed their own ships in a long time, or even at all, as the shipwrights in Attica were the best in the world, and the Macedonians have always borrowed from their Greek betters.

He watched as the coastline grew smaller and smaller, the city of Pella becoming a mere speck on the horizon. The weight of his responsibility grew heavier with each passing moment, the fate of his homeland resting on the shoulders of the men beside him.