I was once the king of kings, a god for many and I was feared and loved and a face on every penny. But now I lay in dust, my tales written on paper, but answered by cold minds filled with boredom and silence. Mortal I still was and mortal we all are and as such our actions are nothing but the empty words of monotone historians and teachers. Our actions are a footnote of a too expensive book in an online store, in the mist of thousands of books untouched and unread. As such I wonder was it worth to be the king of all kings, a god of many? Maybe it was for my own achievement, but for the people you are only another line in a history book to be learned for the upcoming test.