Man Of Many Names

It is a taciturn night of June, in the year 323 B.C.E.

The sun has just set, barely a few seconds ago.

The fabled city of Babylon had become silent. People and wildlife alike uttered no ostensible sound.

It was the kind of muteness where one could even hear the sound of a pin falling on the ground...

The water that ran through the Tigris and Euphrates gave the impression of having stopped its flow...

Everything resembled having being frozen in time...

As if it were the very Gods expressing their grief for all to see...

Tonight...

The King has died...

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He was being accompanied in his deathbed by his generals and friends...

Ptolemy, Eumenes, Perdiccas, Craterus, Antipater, Antigonus, and Lysimachus were the ones closest to him, in that order... Among them, several others stood further back...

Naturally, his first wife Roxana, his second wife Stateira and his third wife Parysatis were also by his side...

In total, 34 people were in that room, if you count the two servants trying their best to ease his pain...

Hundreds waited outside the royal chambers, all the way outside the palace's gates...

Thousands were crowding the streets of Babylon...

Everyone was completely shocked out of words... Word had spread almost immediately, as people started shouting the terrible news...

With their heads down and many with tears coming out... There were several cases of those who outright collapsed on the floor... Primarily within the palace...

Alexander The Great had breathed his last, from within the four walls of the palace of Nebuchadnezzar...

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His decade-long campaign created one of the largest empires ever known, after toppling the vast and wealthy Achaemenid Empire.

The breathtaking achievements of his short life ushered in the Hellenistic Age; as greek ideas spread across the territory of his former empire, fusing with local traditions to trigger new developments in science, art, politics, and language.

Few men have ever had such an impact over the course of history, as Megas Alexandros.

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His reputation as a brilliant, fearless and daring military commander remains undimmed to this day.

Having successfully conquered both lands and peoples that were thought to be unconquerable...

Bringing so various different cultures, races, and religions together under the same banner; even if briefly...

They became feats that no one would be able to replicate in the future, in so little time...

All of that and more, have made his existence into a milestone of human history...

To the point were a lot of people eventually talked about him and his life. Mostly it was in recognition and praise of his deeds...

But, as tends to be the case, that does not go without reservations...

Actually, there were prominent historical figures of the future that would speak of him... And not always in high regard...

For example, there is Napoleon Bonaparte.

He talked about him having started his campaign with the soul of Trajan... Only to end up possessing the heart of Nero and the morals of Heliogabalus...

And like him, there are many more examples... Some even being contemporaries of the King...

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But...

What lies beyond the praises of his supporters and the accusations of his detractors?

Who was he, really?

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Alexander III of Macedon...

Was he a noble figure, or a bloodthirsty warmonger?

Alexander The Great... or Alexander The Accursed?

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A Son of Zeus...? Or rather, a son of man...?

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Those were actually the questions going through his mind a few moments ago... just as he was asked by his old friend Ptolemy...

"Who is to be your successor, and inherit your empire, oh Great King?"

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Truth is, he didn't really know what to answer...

He hadn't really thought about it...

He simply hadn't expected that... he would really... die...

There were times where he would just -know- that he was a mortal...

Whenever he ate... Whenever he slept... and woke up trashed after a night of heavy drinking...

Whenever he had sex with an exotic beauty... Or multiple...

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But then again... He was dying. Not in the field of battle alongside his brave companions and pikemen...

But in a bed inside his palace...

There wasn't a call from the Gods... Or any of his ancestors...

Is the self-proclaimed descendant of Achilles, supposed to die in such a... pathetic way...?

Is this 'it'...?

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The World was completely silent... As if waiting for the imminent... They all knew: this was going to be the last they were going to hear from their King...

Alexander's last words...

And so, with great effort and pain showing in his paled face covered in sweat and skin lesions... He uttered his answer... That which would determine the fate of everyone that followed Hella's greatest hero...

"T-to... *cough* the strongest..."

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Alexander was anything but a fool...

Admittedly, he knew...

He knew... those words... would most likely herald the doom of his vast empire... And his beloved Macedon...

But those words were actually -meant- as a challenge...

If any of his generals were strong enough... smart enough... to succeed him...

He hoped that at least one of his generals... had what it took...

To rule over the territories they had conquered together... maybe even expand the empire beyond them...

Then it would mean that his life had a real meaning... That his legacy wouldn't be conditioned to just the proliferation of greek warfare and culture...

It would mean that the dream of unifying the world under one nation, could be truly achieved...

Even if not by his hand, his legacy would perdure through the lives and deaths of those who followed his dream...

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But that, in the end, was just a wild dream fueled by his ego...

He knew that he was alone in that dream...

Everyone followed him for their own selfish reasons. In actuality, he had exploited that fact, appealing to their sense of freedom.

The freedom to follow their own paths, guided by his strength and wisdom. But that too had a limit...

Maybe he -was- the fiend many called him out to be... The violent debaucher many declared that had replaced their brave young king...

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Hmph...

In the end, what did it matter?

His soul was about to join thousands of others in the journey to the underworld...

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Indeed...

No matter how renowned his name. No matter how much of a hero, or how much of a monster...

He had died the same as any other... from a mysterious disease...

He was dying the death of an old man, at a mere 32 years old...

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He had faced reality for the last time...

Alexander III of Macedon was... just another mortal...

And even though he had always known it for a fact, he always tried to convince himself otherwise... Ever since his mother talked about Zeus visiting her quarters and granting her his divine seed...

To be fair, he -believed- that for a moment...

He -wanted- to believe that...

That he was a divinity... That he stood above all, and that only glory awaited in his path...

And that--

-Wait...

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That silence is overcoming him...

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All thoughts are quieted down at last...

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No need to think... Just...

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Feel all of those predicaments... those conflicts and thoughts... finally take their place in the past...

Let the living worry about everything, or nothing at all...

At this point, he didn't care...

He was dying after all...

Now was the time for peaceful death...

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'Hah!'

'Maybe it wasn't so bad to die bedridden...'

-He mused.

'That way I can at least save some energy for the journey to Charon's ferry...'

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'Now I just... feel...'

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'Feel...'

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'Feel...?'

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'Is that grass under my body...??!!' -He was thinking in absolute consternation.

'And the warm sunrise hanging over me...??!!'

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Was the underworld supposed to feel like a morning on the plains of Larissa??!!

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He doesn't know where, what, why or when...

He just... knows... somehow...

That this can't be 'it'...

This can't be the meaningless end to his soul, otherwise known as the afterlife...

When he opened his eyes and saw the rich landscape... and that refreshing wind telling of spring...

A tranquil and yet powerful melody, slowly bringing with it the moist of morning dew...

Colorful flowers adorning a small hill 4 meters from where he lied resting completely on the grassy terrain... the same way he used to rest after a filling meal...

They were filling his nose with all kinds of sweet fragrances...

And... that sun...

Although slightly different in color and intensity...

He felt a familiar heat caress his dark blond stubble beard...

And that clear blue sky...

Such beauty couldn't belong to the land of the dead...

Or could it...?

Even though none of this is meaningless or empty...

'Is this... the afterlife...??!!' -He thought to himself in complete doubt.

'If not... what could it be?'

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Then... where was this place?

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What was the meaning of this?

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Was he allowed to live again...?

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Henceforth, a new tale of The Lion was just beginning...

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