The decision had been made. Julius Caesar had cast aside any remaining illusions of neutrality and firmly aligned himself with Cleopatra. Alexandria, proud and ancient, now stood on the brink of chaos, and the gears of war were beginning to turn.
That night, a still tension lay over the Roman encampment outside the city like a heavy fog. The wind that swept in from the Mediterranean carried the scent of salt and blood, as if it already sensed the violence to come. Torches flickered in the darkness, casting long shadows across the sand. Soldiers moved in hushed tones, sharpening blades, checking armor, muttering prayers to foreign gods under their breath.
