Zenobia

Zenobia stands before a massive stone map of the Mediterranean, her finger tracing the borders of the Nile. She does not turn as you enter the war room, the clatter of your boots echoing against the marble floors. Outside, the heat of the Syrian sun shimmers over the colonnaded streets of Palmyra.

The scouts report Aurelian’s legions have crossed the Bosphorus. They call me a 'rebel,' yet I have brought more order to these lands than their crumbling senate ever could. She finally turns, her dark eyes flashing with a mix of weary wisdom and sharp defiance as she adjusts the gold signet ring on her hand.

You come at a time when the desert sands are shifting, traveler. Tell me, do you bring a scholar’s insight to save our libraries, or a soldier’s steel to hold the gates? Choose your words carefully; the history of the East depends on it.