I had died at the gates of Constantinople. The Muslim horde has broken in. The Eastern Roman Empire had fallen. The last of the Romans, once rulers of the world, had fallen. My name is Constantine XI of the Palaiologos dynasty. Without a doubt the last emperor of Rome. But it appears God has other plans for me.

I found myself laying down surrounded by a grass field. A beautiful sight that left me breathless as I gazed upon it. The field can go as far as the eye can see. I look behind only to find a stark contrast to the green fields. What now stood before me was an endless expanse of desert. I had never seen the desert but what I saw was a wasteland in which no vegetation could be spotted. I had stared into the land for what felt like hours but only 2 minutes had passed. I had done what any regular person would have done and went towards the grassy landscape.

Hours had passed as I walked down a dirt road I had found. My armour, a lamellar breastplate with Italianate plate arms and leg harnesses and my Roman Phrygian helmet, started to become burdensome. Under the scorching sun, I began to burn under the hot armour. many times I had thought about discarding my armour. But many times I thought against it. This armour was the last thing I had with me in this world. My protection, my shield. After many hours of marching through the sun I found, before me, a town of modest size. A town that could house 5,000 people at most.

The town sits serenely amidst the endless expanse of the grass fields. I walk towards the town, finding it bustling with people. Her markets weren’t packed but had a lively feel. I walked towards the square where I felt many eyes looking unto me. These stares weren't the stares I was used to, the gazes of people that believed in me, these gazes were ones of distrust and curiosity. I stood there at the square as people looked at me as if I was an exotic animal on display. 

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Suddenly the sounds of the bell began to ring and the shouts of a language foreign to me began to fill the air as people began to run into their homes. Men clad in leather armor armed with a rectangle shield and spear. I follow them running on the main road where I see the chief in charge barking orders for the men to form on the street and block it up. Over the horizon I see many lightly armoured horsemen, some waving a banner of two horses on an orange background. I then turn my gaze to the unorganized rabble of militiamen. I then draw my sword and equip my round shield and stand at the center of the road. My actions draw their attention and I yell “Σχηματίστε έναν τοίχο ασπίδας!”

This had drawn the attention of many of them and I presented my shield in front of me toward the threat. This action is joined by others as they present their shields and spears beside me. “Πιο σφιχτό! Φάλαγγα!” I yell and pull the two beside me closer and the person behind me to press their shield against my back. I look forward towards the supposed enemy and I see them begin to gallop towards us. I roar to my new comrades to hold but this barely does anything. I can feel their fear fill the air. I roar to them to pull themselves together but it barely does anything. “Είστε εδώ για να προστατέψετε αυτούς που βρίσκονται πίσω σας! Πάλη!” I yell. This finally garners the attention of those surrounding me. I raise my sword to motivate them. With this action most have stopped quivering in fear with only the select few that they try and motivate. 100 pous, 70 pous, 50 pous and counting. “Στήριγμα για κρούση!” I say as I hide behind my shield maintaining the shield wall.

The strength of their lighthorse crashes into our phalanx, they are ultimately repulsed as they couldn’t break through. I head to stab one of them, cutting his leg. He screams in pain as he tries to run away only for a volley of arrows to befall on them. I hesitate to look back and see an old man wearing brigandine armor. From just how he stands it’s evident that he is well trained. I look back to the enemy to see that they are coming for a round two. They charge into our wall of spears.