"Behold, the enemy's ships came, my cities were burned, and they did evil things in my country. Does not my brother know that all my troops and chariots are in the Land of Hatti, and all my ships are in the Land of Lukka?...Thus, the country is abandoned to itself. May my brother know it: the seven ships of the enemy that came here inflicted much damage upon us."

- Letter from the king of Ugarit,

to his brother the king of Alasiya.

It was not a good day to be king. Impatient, furious and worst of all, defeated. The aquiline features of the young king were drawn into a grim mask, teeth set as he paced up and down the hall of scribes.

His servants and advisors stood by, faces down, eyes pointed at the marble floor, as close to the wall as they could. Trying their best to imitate statues of stone fearing the young kings infamous fits of rage, known to claim the lives of unfortunate fools.

The young king was still in his royal bronze scale armor, he hadn't taken it off since the mornings battle. He also hadn't let anyone tend to the wound he had sustained on his arm.

Blood was throbbing at the kings temples, a dull pain behind his eyes crushing against the inside of his skull. It made him oblivious to his surroundings.

Damn them, damn them all!

Damn the Hittites who claimed his armies as a crutch for their crumbling empire. Leaving his holy city open to attack.

Were are they and their mighty army now?

And damn my ancestors who forged the accursed bonds with them!

The blood of Baal and Dagon must have run thin in his line even then, they should have fought the Hittites, carved out an independent kingdom of Ugarit with a crimson sword.

When his reign began it was already too late. The sons of Baal and Dagon were already stuarts in service of the accursed Hittites.

And now Ugarit will fall under him.

The young kings rage boiled up again.

He had the taste of power for only so short a time, And he had such grand designs!

There was to be an independent Ugarit under him and no one else!

And the people of the world should have seen what power there lay in rich Ugarit, city of merchants.

Like a lightnings strike he suddenly felt the burden of his heavy armor and the tight pull of the armors straps around his neck robbing him of his breath.

In a sudden fit of rage he stopped his pacing and began to rip on the armor like a madmen.

The startled servants immediately ran to his aid trying to relieve him from his bronzen burden while not hurting the still raging king in the process.

As the last strap opened the young king bolted to the window to breath in the fresh air coming from the sea.

The hectic merchant town of Ugarit was completely silent on this day.

An oppressive air lay like a thick suffocating sheet on the stalls and shops of the city. Families were cowering in the darkest corners of their houses, only whispering in hushed tones since this morning, when only half of the kings elite army had returned.

The only thing to be heard were the droning prayers coming from the temples of Baal and Dagon, pleading the heavens for help.

"The gods won't come! You damned old fool's!"

The king screamed on top of his voice, from the upper echelons of the palace were the hall of scribes had its seat his voice echoed down through the silent streets of the town beneath.

"They have forsaken us! Do you hear me! And rightly so! We have become whores! My line is a lie! My father didn't die in the glory of battle! He died in bed screaming from a rotten tooth! The sons of Baal and Dagon are no more."

He screamed, the veins on his head throbbing and his voice giving out. The red faced king slumped down behind the window breathing heavily.

"At least I can die in battle, last glory for the gods."

The servants were shocked in disbelieve at the words of the king and it took them a while to notice the old deaf scribe who gestured to show that the clay plate he was working on was finished.

No one had the courage to inform the king though.

Only the slapping of sandaled feet against the hard marble floor of the kings palace shook them out of their rigor.

A breathless errand boy appeared in the doorway and immediately threw himself on the ground.

"The furnaces are ready my lord!"

Slowly the king lifted his head.

"Send the messenger now. There is no more time for the seal."

"But without your regal seal he will be dismissed at the gates."

protested one of the advisors, muting himself immediately upon realizing his transgression.

"Do as I say!" commanded the prince in the booming voice of the ruler.

The errand boy immediately ran out again.

This is how it ends, pleading my little brother for help.

A disgrace, and there isn't even help for me, but as much as I despise my little brother, at least I can warn him of the storm. Now let me await this tempest, this bringer of the crimson floods which will drown my kingdom today.

"Man the walls now."

Ordered the king leaning his head against the wall.

"But my King a second attack is not to be expected until..."

The startled advisor fell backwards to the ground, for he caught a glimpse of a horizon filled with the ships of the enemy.