AndyB_writes

Born in exile, Pyrrhus of Epirus rises to reclaim his lost kingdom, proving himself a warrior as fierce as his ancestor, Achilles. From the battlefields of Greece to the war-torn lands of Italy, he wages war against powerful enemies, including Macedon, Rome, and shifting allies who betray him at every turn. As he builds an empire through blood and conquest, Pyrrhus seeks not just victory, but immortality—a place among the greatest legends of history.

But war demands sacrifice. And the price of ambition is steep.


Years after his father’s fall, Alexander II of Epirus is forced into exile, raised in a land of warriors. As a young king, he reclaims his throne and seeks to restore his father’s legacy. But he soon faces an even greater threat—Rome, an empire that will not bow to kings or gods.

Outnumbered and surrounded by betrayal, Alexander must decide what kind of ruler he will be—one who fights for his people, or one who fights for history. As war consumes the land, his destiny unfolds in a battle that will determine not only his fate, but the fate of all who defy the rise of an empire.

Crown and Blood

The torches flickered along the marble halls of Molossia, their light casting restless shadows on the polished stone. The air smelled of burnt wood and blood.

Queen Phthia moved swiftly, her breath uneven, clutching the small bundle in her arms—her son, Pyrrhus, heir to the throne of Epirus. The child did not cry. Even at two years old, his silent gaze seemed to pierce the darkness.

"My lady!" a soldier called from behind. His armor was splattered with blood. "The city is lost! Neoptolemus has taken the palace!"

Phthia's grip on her son tightened. She had known this day would come. Cassander of Macedon, the most powerful warlord in Greece, had made sure of it. With his backing, Neoptolemus had claimed her husband's throne. And now, they would kill her son to secure their rule.

"We must leave, now!" another guard urged.

Phthia nodded and pulled her cloak tighter around Pyrrhus. There was no time for tears.

"Where can we take him?" she asked, her voice steady.

The captain of her guards, Echecrates, stepped forward. "Illyria, my lady. King Glaukias owes us a debt."

Phthia hesitated. The Illyrians were warriors, barbarians. Could she trust them with her son?

Outside the city walls, the night burned red. The screams of the fallen echoed as the palace gates collapsed. Phthia did not look back.

They rode through the mountains for days, hiding from Macedonian patrols. The journey was brutal. Phthia barely slept, holding Pyrrhus close, whispering promises she prayed she could keep.

By the time they reached King Glaukias' stronghold, Phthia could barely stand.

She fell to her knees before the Illyrian king. "Take him," she pleaded. "Raise him. Make him strong."

Glaukias studied the boy, then smiled. "The child does not look away," he said. "Yes... I will raise him among warriors."

Phthia kissed Pyrrhus's forehead. "You will return," she whispered.

And so, Pyrrhus of Epirus was raised not in a palace, but among warriors.

One day, he would reclaim his throne.

A King in Exile