The Illusion of Victory
The City That Would Not Fall
For ten long years, the Greeks battered the walls of Troy, but the city stood—its defenses unbroken, its spirit unyielding. With Achilles gone, Greek morale withered like a flame in the wind. Heroes had fallen, armies had dwindled, and hope was a distant memory.
But where swords failed, cunning would prevail.
Odysseus, the wily king of Ithaca, conceived a plan—not of strength, but of deceit. A symbol of surrender, crafted from the very wood of Troy’s besieged forests:
A giant wooden horse.
The Greeks pretended defeat. They burned their tents, boarded their ships, and vanished beyond the horizon, leaving behind the horse as an offering to the gods—a token of their supposed surrender. But hidden within its hollow belly were the finest Greek warriors, led by Odysseus himself.
The trap was set. Now, it was up to the Trojans to believe the lie.
The Fall of Reason
Voices Ignored, Warnings Unheeded
The Trojans emerged from their city, weary yet triumphant, believing the war was over. They marveled at the strange gift left behind—a horse as tall as the gates of Troy itself.
Debate erupted:
- Cassandra, cursed prophetess of Troy, screamed of doom, her visions of fire and blood dismissed as madness.
- Laocoön, the priest, warned, “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts!” In his fury, he hurled a spear into the horse’s side—yet fate would not be denied.
At that very moment, twin serpents, sent by the gods, rose from the sea, coiling around Laocoön and his sons, crushing them in their divine wrath. To the Trojans, this was a sign: the gods were angry with Laocoön, not the horse.
Convinced the horse was sacred, the Trojans dragged it into the city with songs of victory. That night, Troy celebrated, its people drunk with relief, its guards lax, its gates wide open.
The Night of Fire
The City That Burned
As midnight cloaked the city in shadow, Odysseus and his men crept from the belly of the horse. They slipped through the streets, silent as whispers, opening the gates for the Greek army that had returned under cover of darkness.
Troy awoke to fire and slaughter.
The Greeks showed no mercy. King Priam was cut down at the altar where he sought refuge. Hecuba was dragged from her palace, her cries lost in the roar of flames. Andromache watched as her son was torn from her arms, doomed like the city itself.
The gods who once favored Troy turned their faces away. The mighty city crumbled—not from battle, but from betrayal.
At dawn, Troy was no more.
—To be continued in Chapter 8: The Aftermath of Troy.