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 earth trembled beneath the march of Rome's three legions.

Veterans from the wars in Italy, Carthage, and Greece.

Inside the walls of Ambracia, Alexander and his generals stood over the war map.

Drakon leaned forward, his hands gripping the table.

"They mean to burn Epirus to the ground," he said. "We must strike before they reach us."

Alexander stared at the map, tracing his fingers along the rivers and valleys.

"If we fight them in the open, we die."

Drakon exhaled sharply. "Then what? We sit behind these walls and wait for them to starve us out?"

Alexander's golden eyes burned with determination. "No. We draw them in—make them think we are weak."

Drakon nodded slowly. "And when they get close?"

Alexander's smirk was cold and sharp.

The Romans arrived at dawn, their banners looming over the battlefield like a storm.

The legions formed in perfect ranks, shields locked, spears ready.

Lucius Atilius sat atop his horse, his gaze calculating.

"This king fights like a wolf," he muttered.

A centurion beside him nodded. "Then we hunt him like one."

The horns sounded, and the final battle began.

The Epirote archers struck first, raining fire down upon the Roman front lines.

They advanced, shields raised, pushing toward the city walls.

Alexander rode at the head of his cavalry, his sword flashing.

From the mountains, hidden Illyrian warriors descended upon the Roman flanks, their axes tearing through the lines.

For a moment, victory seemed possible.

Then—the Triarii entered the field.

The Triarii, Rome's deadliest warriors, moved with precision, cutting through the Epirote ranks like scythes through wheat.

Drakon fought like a demon, his axe shattering shields.

But he could make Rome remember his name.

Bloodied, wounded, and exhausted, Alexander raised his sword high.

The last of his warriors rallied behind him, charging one final time.

He fell to his knees, the world spinning.

Drakon, covered in blood, fought beside him.

The Romans stood over Alexander, their weapons raised.

Lucius Atilius approached, staring down at the fallen king.

"Alexander of Epirus," he said. "Rome does not forget its enemies."

The Final Stand