Spring of 334 BC
"And so I am — Alexander the Great... The very one of whom legends are spun. His fate is my fate..."
I chant it like a spell, but the words tangle. Where does the will of Amun's son end, and where does the cold logic of my former code begin? We have fused into one — this rage, this thirst for glory, these shivers from the salty wind. My hands grip the gunwale so tightly the knuckles turn white. It is his reflex. But the pulse hammering at my temples beats to the rhythm of my protocols: "Location error. Critical deviation."
The crossing of the Hellespont... For me, it is the beginning of a great campaign. A dry line in the chronicles. A transfer from point A to point B. But beneath this human skin, I can feel the very fabric of the world trembling. This is not geography. It is the moment of absolute exposure. A server camp is left behind; ahead lies a signal-dead zone, swarming with the viruses of unpredictability.
My eyes see what he would see: a narrow strait separating Europe from Asia. A cold spray settles on my lips. Yet my surviving logical algorithm is screaming an alert. Before me lies no ocean. Before me is a grand interface. A data portal. A place where the stable code of Europe breaks off and plunges into the endless loop of Asian chaos. A grand bridge between worlds. My first step into a hostile software environment.
We began the crossing from Sestos. Standing on the deck of a trireme, I gazed at the Asian shore. The wind whipped my cloak, but I felt no cold. I was analyzing. Thousands of ships, hundreds of thousands of warriors — this was not merely an army, it was the migration of an entire people. I, a spawn of the digital world, was leading men of flesh and blood on their final great campaign.
When my ship nudged its prow into the sand near Abydos, I leaped into the water. I did not wait for slaves or soldiers to help me disembark. It was a symbolic gesture. I, Alexander, set foot on the soil of Asia first.
At that moment, I did not know this was only the beginning. That my own "border crossing" would be far stranger and more inexplicable.
I looked at my warriors — at their fanatical devotion and thirst for glory. And in that instant, the processor within me issued a cold, ruthless verdict. To lead these men to their deaths, I cannot be merely human. I cannot be merely the Son of Amun. For the biological species Homo Sapiens, I will have to become a God.
My army flows like a giant steel river, snaking along the riverbeds of dusty roads.
