The city was in ruins. Fires burned everywhere. The streets were flooded with bronze armored Greek hoplites. The Trojan army had crumbled under the sheer weight of their numbers. Hope for saving the city was lost. Only hope to survive remained. Anyone who could still move was making their way out of what remained of their magnificent city. A few local commanders attempted to stage a defense or to prevent those gripped with panic from escaping the massacre, but it was a fool hearty notion. The City of Troy had fallen to the Greeks.

As the Trojan survivors trickled through whatever portal was available, Kyros made his way outside. He watched his brothers and father perish in the Greek flames. Many of his comrades in arms were dead; very few remained alive. Such a wholesale slaughter had never been seen by him at anytime. It was completely discouraging. 

Kyros found a young woman and her son. He took the woman by the hand, assuring her, he would help her to safety. The three ran towards the mountains with the few others who survived the carnage. There was not thought to what they would do next or even if they could rebuild their city. Their thoughts were solely lain upon the desire to survive; escaping the rampaging Grecian soldiers bent on killing everyone who resided in this once beautiful gem of a city on the Eastern Aegean Sea. All hope was lost. Despair remained.