Equō nē crēdite, Teucrī!

In the dim light of the eastern horizon, on what tradition holds as April 24, 1183 BCE, the city of Troy, proud and impregnable for a decade, finally succumbed to the cleverest of tricks and the fiercest of wrath. Flames licked the sky. Statues crumbled. The gods, once patrons of heroes and city alike, now watched in silence as the once-glorious citadel groaned under the weight of Greek vengeance. This is not a tale of gentle endings, but one of blood, deception, and divine manipulation. If you believe the poets, and today, we shall, then the fall of Troy was less a collapse and more a cursed symphony played out beneath the stars.