Pyrrhus's fleet sailed toward Sicily, its banners fluttering in the wind.
The war with Rome had drained him. If he was to win, he needed allies.
And so, he turned to Carthage.
In the grand hall of Syracuse, the Carthaginian emissary stood before him, his dark eyes unreadable.
"King Pyrrhus," the emissary said smoothly. "Carthage has watched your war with great interest."
Pyrrhus folded his arms. "Then you know I need more men. More ships."
The emissary smirked. "And in return?"
Pyrrhus exhaled. "An alliance. When I take Italy, Carthage will share in the spoils."
The emissary studied him for a long moment.
Then he shook his head.
"You misunderstand us, Pyrrhus. We do not seek to share in your victories."
Pyrrhus's golden eyes darkened. "Then what do you seek?"
The emissary smiled coldly. "Your failure."
Pyrrhus gritted his teeth.
Carthage had already made its choice.
They would not help him.
He had no more allies left.
And for the first time, Pyrrhus felt the walls closing in.