The Sisyphus Empire
The world reset at midnight. Solon woke up in the same bed, in the same room, with the same cold breeze rattling the windowpane. He didn't scream. He didn't cry. He simply looked at the calendar on the wall and sighed. This was the 4,102nd time he had lived this life. In every iteration, the pattern was the same. He would rise, he would organize the fragmented city-states, he would outmaneuver...
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