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 Epirote banners lay in the dirt, trampled beneath the iron march of Rome.

Alexander could barely move, his body broken, his breath shallow.

Blood pooled beneath him, staining the ground red like the dying sun.

And beside him—Drakon still fought.

Drakon, the fearless warlord, the lion of Epirus, stood surrounded by Roman legionnaires.

His axe was shattered, his armor cracked, his face covered in blood and sweat.

He roared, swinging the broken remains of his weapon, cutting down two more Romans before a spear pierced his stomach.

A Roman centurion stepped forward, blade raised.

Drakon, gritting his teeth, lunged one last time, dragging the centurion to the ground with him.

A dozen swords descended upon him.

And in that moment—Drakon of Illyria died a warrior's death.

Alexander watched his friend fall, but he could do nothing.

The Roman general, Lucius Atilius, approached, his expression unreadable.

The legionnaires dragged Alexander to his knees, shackles clamped onto his wrists.

"You should have surrendered," he muttered.

Alexander spat blood, his golden eyes still burning with defiance.

"I would rather die on my feet," he whispered.

Atilius studied him for a long moment.

"Oh, you will die, King of Epirus," he said. "But not today."

The Roman banners rose once more, and with them, Epirus fell into darkness.

The End of the Warrior