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Discover the story of Achilles told anew.
Battle gods, defeat mythological creatures and gather resources in Achilles: Legends Untold.
Let your sword write an all-new story inspired by classical Greek mythology.
Conquer your fear, make moral choices and find your place in the ongoing conflict of mythological proportions.
Achilles’ journey will take him to many different corners of mythological lands where he will obtain powerful artifacts that will aid him in his quest.
The story will take you through Troy, as well as various parts of the ancient Greece inspired world, allowing you to discover its secrets.
The game world is full of people, animals, mythological creatures, and other mysterious beings from ancient Greece. You will meet many enemies during your travels, but also a few allies.
The gameplay features enjoyable and skill-based combat, RPG elements and resource management.
There are various weapons and weapon chargers available allowing the players to choose the best strategy of fighting, be it more distant (by setting traps or throwing darts, bombs or a shield) or hands-on (with a sword, axe, or a spear).
Throughout the game, players will become more skillful alongside the main character.
Experience the capabilities of the GAIA (Group AI Action) system that introduces innovative enemy behavior. Opponents have unscripted interactions with each other and are capable of coordinated attacks, sometimes even taking advantage of their surroundings.
Fight immersive battles in which opponents adapt to your playstyle. Try different strategies or create ambush scenarios, driven by this contemporary in-house designed system.
The answer lies not in conversion, but in code . When the Ottoman devshirme system collected Christian boys for the Janissary corps, or when tax pressures and social privilege nudged families toward Islam, the name was the first battlefield. Petar became Mehmed. Marija became Fatima. But the mask was rarely perfect. A family might officially register as Hadžiosmanović , yet in the privacy of their own kitchen, they would whisper the old name— Krsman , Bogdan , Nedeljka —like a forbidden prayer. The Turski maski iminja were the public faces; the hidden Christian or pagan names were the secret heart.
What makes the Turski maski iminja truly fascinating is their residue. Today, in the Balkans, you can meet a man named Kemal whose family secretly celebrates Vidovdan . You can find a woman named Ajsa who crosses herself before entering a mosque. The masks have become so layered that even the wearers no longer know which name is real. Some scholars argue that these names created a uniquely Balkan form of identity—what the historian Maria Todorova called “fluid confessions.” Others see tragedy: a people who learned to live so well behind masks that they forgot they had faces.
The phrase itself is a paradox. Turski (Turkish) and maski (masked) imply deception, a foreign skin pulled over a local soul. Yet iminja (names) are the most intimate of possessions. So what happens when a people’s truest names—Slavic, Christian, rooted in mountain and river—must hide behind the syllables of a conquering empire? Turski Maski Iminja
This duality created a unique cultural grammar. In 19th-century Bosnia, you could be Hasan-aga to the tax collector, but Jovo to your grandmother. The mask was not a lie; it was a translation. It was a way of saying, I belong to this land’s new rulers, but I belong to its old gods too . Over generations, the mask began to fuse with the face. Children were born as Osman , Zejneba , Sulejman , never knowing the forgotten Radovan or Ruža beneath. The old names became fossils—etymological whispers in lullabies, secret marks on tombstones, or codes in folk riddles.
And then came the 20th century. With the fall of the Ottoman Empire and the rise of nationalist states, the masks were ripped off with brutal efficiency. In the 1920s in Turkey itself, the Surname Law forced all citizens—including Balkan immigrants—to adopt Turkish names, erasing the last traces of Albanian, Slavic, or Greek origins. In Tito’s Yugoslavia, Muslim families were pressured to “unmask” and reclaim Slavic names, only to have those same names become liabilities during the 1990s wars. The Turski maski iminja became both a shield and a target: a shield against Ottoman conscription, a target for Chetnik nationalists, a shield again for refugees crossing into Turkey. The answer lies not in conversion, but in code
But perhaps the deepest truth is this: Turski maski iminja are not about hiding. They are about holding . Holding onto land when your god is outlawed. Holding onto language when your alphabet is banned. Holding onto memory when your history is rewritten. Each Mehmed who was once a Mihailo is a living palimpsest—a parchment scraped clean but never fully erased.
And that, more than any sultan’s decree or nationalist’s map, is the true history of the Balkans—written not in blood alone, but in the quiet, stubborn poetry of a borrowed name. Marija became Fatima
In the dusty archives of Sarajevo, in the old stone houses of Mostar, and in the whispered genealogies of Macedonian villages, one can stumble upon a peculiar ghost: the Turski maski iminja —Turkish masked names. To the uninitiated, these are simply Ottoman-era relics, a footnote in the long chronicle of Balkan Islam. But to those who know how to listen, these names are not masks at all. They are diaries. They are survival kits. They are the shimmering heatwaves above a history of fire, faith, and forced forgetting.
In the end, a masked name is an act of radical hope. It says: The empire will fall. The nationalists will rage. The borders will shift like sand. But I will still be here. Call me what you will. I know who I am.