At the zenith of British Imperialism, the sun never set on the empire that ruled over 300 million people across the globe. But one fateful day, before the RMS Titanic Struck the Iceberg leading to its tragic demise, the British Isles and its few col...
"Hope is the companion of power, and mother of success;
for who so hopes strongly has within him the gift of miracles.."
- Samuel Smiles
Southern Embéron, Πυανεψιόν12th
Μεγάλη Αρχαία Πόλη της Τραπεζούντας, Flavian Walls, Golden Gate
Within the walls of the Great (Flavian) Walls
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As the sun began its ascent, casting its golden rays upon the world below, a somber scene unfolded beneath the curtain walls. Countless souls, strewn across the field as far as the eye could discern, bore witness to the ferocity of the battle that had raged just a day prior. Many soldiers, their faces obscured by blood and grime, stood or sat along the battlements, weariness etched into their features alongside horrors and sadness.
Amidst the melancholy, an aged priest entered the scene, his countenance heavy with sorrow. He began his ritualistic chant, traversing the blood-stained walls, invoking prayers for the protection of the soldiers, beseeching the guardian angel of the city to watch over them. In his hands, he cradled a golden pearl, symbolizing the presence of their celestial protector.
Soon after emerging from the shadows behind the priest, a figure materialized, causing a ripple of astonishment among the weary soldiers. It was Megalos Dimarchos, the Grand-Mayor of the ancient city, clad in the legendary gold-adamantite armor worn by every past mayors since the city's inception—a gift, whispered legends, from celestial beings themselves. Accompanied by a small retinue of personal guards and seasoned generals, his presence commanded respect and awe.
As the soldiers instinctively knelt before him, Megalos Dimarchos raised a hand, halting their gesture of reverence.
"No need, stratos (soldiers)," he spoke softly, his voice carrying the weight of authority and compassion.
Drawing near to the battlements, he surveyed the grim landscape beyond—the battlefield littered with the fallen, and beyond, the ominous glow of countless bonfires signaling the vastness of the enemy horde. His expression darkened with realization, yet his resolve remained unyielding.
Ascending to the highest vantage point of the watchtower, Megalos Dimarchos addressed his brave soldiers with a voice that resonated with purpose and determination.
"Brave stratos!" he called out, his words ringing clear across the expanse below.
"We know well the trials that await us, but let not fear cloud our hearts!"
