Hard times breed great men. Great men create good times. Good times create fickle men. And fickle men bring the hard times again.
It was a wheel that turned and turned. No one could step off, no matter how high they climbed.
Alpheo had learned that lesson long before he wore silk. He'd crawled through gutters, through blood and shit, and discovered early that surviving mattered more than looking brave. He wasn't a hero. Heroes died young.
He was a cockroach, the last thing still crawling when the fire burned out.
When he looked at the world now, he saw where the wheel rested. This was the age of hardship again. The ground was shifting, the air heavy with the scent of war and ruin. Yet for men like him, there was opportunity in the cracks,if you were quick enough to slip through before they closed.
An all-against-all.
And somewhere in the spin of it, a new order would rise. For a time, at least. Until the wheel turned again. He hoped to have his time up there, even if short...
