In the heart of Alexandria, the situation was beginning to spiral beyond control. Chaos didn't erupt from blades clashing or siege weapons thundering—it was far more insidious, far more unnerving. The wails and anguished screams that echoed through the cobbled streets of the ancient city were not the cries of people under attack, but rather of civilians caught in the merciless currents of war, collateral in a game played by rulers and kings.
And yet, no enemy swords had been raised against them.
Not a single spear had been pointed at the people. No torches were hurled, no homes intentionally burned by either side. Cleopatra, Amun Ra's luminous queen-in-waiting, had issued an uncompromising command: not one soldier—neither Roman nor Egyptian—was to harm her people. Not even Caesar, her formidable Roman ally, dared defy it.
