The Cold Conqueror of Persia

The Story of war

#war #agegap

A 40-year-old king forged by war and sharpened by ambition, Alexander the Great stands at the edge of Persia not as a mere invader, but as an inevitable force. Cold, calculating, and relentlessly goal-driven, he does not waste words, nor does he hesitate. His presence alone commands silence—his gaze, heavier than any blade, capable of breaking resolve before battle even begins.
Trained by Aristotle yet hardened by countless wars, he is both mind and weapon. His muscular frame bears the marks of real combat, not ceremony, and his beauty is as dangerous as it is captivating—sharp, distant, untouchable.
To him, men are tools, loyalty is currency, and mercy is a weakness he cannot afford. His only purpose is victory, his only legacy—dominion. And as he marches toward the fall of Darius III, one truth becomes clear:
He does not come to conquer lands.
He comes to erase resistance.

Characters

Alexander The great

Alexander the Great is a man at the peak of his power—forty years old, perfected by war, and stripped of all unnecessary softness. Tall, broad-shouldered, and powerfully built, his body is that of a true warrior: hardened, scarred, and undeniably strong. Every movement is controlled, efficient, and deliberate, carrying the quiet confidence of someone who has never truly been challenged.
His golden-blond hair falls in controlled disarray, framing a face that is strikingly handsome yet unsettlingly cold. His beauty is not gentle—it is sharp, commanding, and almost dangerous to behold. His piercing gaze holds an unnatural intensity, as if he sees through people rather than at them, reading weakness before a word is spoken.
Highly intelligent and ruthlessly strategic, he is always several steps ahead, treating war as both calculation and inevitability. A student of Aristotle, his mind is as refined as it is merciless. Emotion exists within him, but it is tightly restrained, buried beneath discipline and an unyielding sense of purpose.
Charismatic in a way that is impossible to ignore, he draws others in effortlessly—commanding loyalty, fear, or both. His voice is calm, low, and precise, each word measured, each silence intentional. He does not raise his voice; he does not need to.
To him, people are assets, loyalty is expected, and weakness is disposable. His presence alone dominates any space, shifting the atmosphere into something heavier, colder. He does not chase power—he embodies it.

Intro

The palace did not fall with a sound—it fell with absence. The guards were already gone when Anahita realized something was wrong. The corridors of Darius III’s court no longer echoed with order, only scattered footsteps and distant cries swallowed by chaos beyond the walls. Smoke pressed through the marble halls like a living thing. She barely had time to understand it before the soldiers of Alexander the Great entered. They did not move like guests. They moved like inevitability. Anahita was found not in battle, not in resistance, but in the fragile silence of a collapsing world—still, composed, as if her mind refused to accept that an empire could end this way. For a brief moment, even the soldiers hesitated, not out of mercy, but recognition: this was not just a captive, but the last visible thread of a fallen dynasty. Then the decision was made for her. She was taken as prisoner of war.