Alexander looked over the lush greenery of Babylon. His body was wracked in pain. His thoughts were muddled. He had seen men, countless men, in the same condition. He knew his time was coming. Did he have a few more days? Hours? Could he muster up the strength to choose? He knew his son would never rule. But who would he choose? Ptolemy? Perdiccas? Arridaeus? Melanger?

No matter whom he chose he knew that after him there would follow days of kings, empires and revolutions. And he’d learned that blood looks just the same when you open a vein.