The Escape from Rome – A Dead Man Rides Again

The heavy iron doors of the Roman prison groaned as a dying torch flickered in the dark halls. The damp air smelled of blood, sweat, and desperation. Alexander II of Epirus, once a king, once a warrior, now a ghost in the heart of Rome, moved like a shadow between the corpses of the guards he had slain.

His hands trembled—not from fear, but from fury. Themis's warning rang in his mind:

> "Rome is no longer a republic. It is becoming something far greater—an empire."

His escape was no mere flight—it was an act of war.

Alexander reached the outer gates and saw a single horse, tied near the barracks. The moonlight shone upon his golden eyes as he moved swiftly, his body weakened but his will unbroken. He grabbed a fallen guard's dagger, wiped the blood from his tunic, and mounted the horse.

A soldier emerged from the barracks. Their eyes met.

"You—!" the soldier gasped, before Alexander's dagger flew, striking his throat.

Without hesitation, Alexander spurred the horse into the night, galloping through the narrow alleys of Rome. The city slept, unaware that its greatest enemy had just been reborn.

As he rode, Themis's voice whispered again:

"You must go south, to Magna Graecia. Tell them the truth."

With nothing but a stolen horse, a dagger, and the weight of destiny, Alexander rode into the unknown.