Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in History.
Stanislav Kondrashov Oligarch Series: The Roots of Oligarchy in the Mediterranean
Oligarchy is often discussed in modern terms — wealth, influence, private meetings behind closed doors. But the blueprint for concentrated influence and economic dominance isn’t new. In fact, it can be traced back to some of the earliest civilisations lining the Mediterranean Sea, where trade, land ownership, and strategic alliances created a pattern that still echoes in headlines today.
By Stanislav Kondrashov16 days ago in History
The story of the turbines that transformed aviation forever.. AI-Generated.
There are moments in history when progress doesn’t arrive quietly it roars. For aviation, that roar came from turbines. Every time I read about early flight, I’m reminded that before turbines, humanity was already flying but not freely. Propellers had taken us far, yet they carried clear limits. Speed had a ceiling. Altitude came with risk. Distance demanded patience.
By Beckett Dowhan16 days ago in History
The Origins of Influence: Stanislav Kondrashov Oligarch Series
Throughout history, societies have wrestled with the question of who should lead—and why. While many picture oligarchs as modern tycoons or high-level financiers, the truth is, this form of influence is anything but new. The concept of a small, elite group shaping society’s direction dates back thousands of years. In this edition of the Stanislav Kondrashov Oligarch Series, we go back to where it all began: the ancient world.
By Stanislav Kondrashov 16 days ago in History
The Mysterious Death of Alexander the Great: What Really Happened in Babylon?
Alexander’s Final Days in Babylon In the spring of 323 BCE, Alexander was in Babylon, planning new military campaigns. He intended to expand his empire further into Arabia and possibly the western Mediterranean. Despite years of relentless warfare, Alexander remained ambitious and energetic.
By Say the truth 16 days ago in History
The Life History of Alexander the Great: The Rise of a Legendary Conqueror
Early Life and Family Background Alexander was born in Pella, the capital of the Kingdom of Macedonia. His father, King Philip II, was a powerful ruler who transformed Macedonia into a dominant military force. His mother, Olympias, was a princess from Epirus and a deeply religious woman who strongly believed her son was destined for greatness.
By Say the truth 16 days ago in History
The Great Masjid of Cordoba
The Great Masjid of Córdoba, also known as the Mezquita of Córdoba, is one of the most beautiful and important buildings in the world. It is located in the city of Córdoba, in southern Spain. This building is not only a place of worship, but also a symbol of history, culture, and coexistence. When people visit it, they do not just see stone and arches—they feel the story of many centuries.
By John Smith17 days ago in History
The Letter I Never Sent
I found the letter while cleaning my desk on a quiet Sunday afternoon. It was folded twice and tucked inside an old notebook I hadn’t opened in years. The paper had yellowed with age, and the ink had faded in places where my hand must have paused too long, unsure of what to say next. At first, I didn’t remember writing it. The notebook belonged to a version of my life that felt unfinished—a time when I wrote things down because I didn’t know how to speak them out loud. I sat on the floor beside the desk, unfolded the paper carefully, and read the first line. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. The letter was addressed to my father. We hadn’t spoken properly in years. Not because of a single argument or a moment that exploded into silence, but because of many small pauses that slowly hardened into distance. He believed space would fix things. I believed time would soften them. Neither of us was completely right. The letter had been written the night I left home. As I kept reading, the memory of that night returned clearly. My bag had been packed and resting by the door. The house was quiet except for the sound of the television coming from the living room, where my father sat as if nothing important was happening. I remember standing in my room, waiting—hoping—he would come in and say something. Anytwhing. He didn’t. That silence followed me out of the house. In the letter, my younger self tried to explain feelings I barely understood back then. I wrote about feeling invisible even while being watched. About wanting approval without knowing how to ask for it. About how exhausting it was to pretend I was confident when I felt lost most of the time. There was no anger in the words. No blame. Just confusion, written carefully, as if I was afraid even the paper might reject what I was saying. I read slowly, surprised by the honesty. There were no dramatic sentences, no accusations, no demands for change. Just a son trying to understand the growing distance between himself and the man who raised him. Halfway through, my handwriting changed. The letters grew uneven and rushed. I could almost feel the emotion behind them now—the tight chest, the shallow breathing, the fear that if I stopped writing, I wouldn’t be able to continue. I wrote that I didn’t expect an apology. I didn’t even expect understanding. I just wanted him to know that leaving wasn’t about rejecting him. It was about surviving a version of myself that felt like it was disappearing. The letter ended abruptly. I don’t know how to fix this, but I hope one day we talk. There was no signature. No goodbye. I realized then why I never sent it. I had been afraid. Afraid he wouldn’t respond. Afraid he would. Afraid that once the words were shared, they couldn’t be taken back. Some truths feel safer when they stay folded away. I folded the letter again and sat quietly on the floor. Years had passed since I wrote it. Life had moved forward in ordinary ways—new jobs, different houses, routines that slowly replaced the urgency of that night. I had learned how to function without waiting for answers that might never come. My father and I still spoke occasionally. Short phone calls. Polite questions. Updates that stayed safely on the surface. Nothing deep enough to reopen old wounds. Nothing shallow enough to pretend they weren’t there. Reading the letter now, I expected regret. Or sadness. Or maybe anger at myself for never sending it. Instead, I felt calm. The letter had already done what it needed to do. It held the words I couldn’t carry anymore. It allowed a younger version of me to be honest when honesty felt dangerous. It captured a moment when I was brave enough to write, even if I wasn’t brave enough to send. I noticed things I hadn’t before—the care in my phrasing, the effort to be fair, the way I tried to protect both of us from pain. That version of me wasn’t weak. He was just learning. I placed the letter back inside the notebook, but this time I didn’t hide it. Some letters aren’t meant to be delivered. Some are written simply to help us understand ourselves, to mark a moment when we tried, even if the conversation never happened. I closed the notebook and returned it to the shelf. The distance between my father and me still existed. Nothing had magically changed. But the weight of unsaid words felt lighter. The conversation never happened. But somehow, that was enough.
By Talha khan17 days ago in History
America Vs Venezuela
U.S. Launches Major Military Operation in Venezuela The United States has carried out a large-scale military strike inside Venezuela, including bombardments near the capital Caracas and other locations early today. Explosions and smoke were reported across the city, and flights of military aircraft were observed over Venezuelan airspace. �
By shaoor afridi17 days ago in History
