Demi-God

Damon's eyes snapped open, blinking against the harsh morning light. The world swam before his eyes, a dizzying kaleidoscope of greens and blues. His mind reeled as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Why was everything upside down?

He tried to move his arms and legs but found them bound tight, the ropes cutting into his skin. Panic surged through him. What in Hades was going on?

"So you're awake now," a gruff voice called out.

Damon twisted his neck, ignoring the shooting pain, and saw Drakon lounging against a tree trunk, a wineskin in hand. The old fool had a smug grin plastered across his weathered face.

"Let me down from here, you crazy bastard!" Damon snarled, straining against his bonds. The ropes only seemed to tighten, mocking his efforts.

Drakon took a long swig from the wineskin and smacked his lips. "Nah, I don't really feel like it."

Damon's eyes darted to the branch suspending him. It creaked ominously under his weight, tiny fissures spreading along its length. Below him, the placid surface of a lake glittered in the sunlight. The pieces clicked into place.

"I swear by the gods, you're going to pay for this!" he roared, face reddening with anger and the blood rushing to his head.

Drakon heaved himself to his feet with a grunt. He ambled over to a nearby boulder, where a rope was secured, leading up to Damon's restraints. With a wicked grin, he gave the rope a sharp tug.

Damon plummeted, a scream tearing from his throat before he hit the water with a tremendous splash. Icy coldness engulfed him, flooding his nose and mouth. He thrashed wildly, bubbles streaming from his lips.

Just as his lungs were about to burst, he felt himself being hauled upwards. He burst from the water, sputtering and coughing, lake water streaming down his face.

"What was that? I can't hear you," Drakon called out, cupping a hand to his ear.

"I said," Damon choked out between coughs, "when I get out of here, I'm going to have you executed for—"

But before he could finish, Drakon let the rope slide through his fingers. Damon plunged back into the lake with a yelp, silenced by another mouthful of water. The harder he struggled, the more hopelessly tangled he seemed to become.

"You fucking drunk!" Damon yelled as he was yanked back out of the water, spitting out a mouthful of lake water. His black hair was plastered to his head, rivulets running down his face. "Stop fucking doing that!"

Drakon wagged a finger at him. "I'll consider it once you shut up and start being a good little boy."

He opened his mouth to unleash a torrent of curses, but a distant shout interrupted him.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Drakon turned to see General Brasidas dismounting from his horse, his guards flanking him. Lucian slid off his own mount, trailing behind the general.

"Ah, my friend," he called out, waving the wineskin in greeting. "I'm glad you're here."

Brasidas strode towards them, his brow furrowed. "Lucian said you wanted to show me something?"

Drakon gestured grandly at Damon's predicament. "This is it!"

"General!" Damon shouted. "Order this crazy old fool to let me down! He's out of his damn mind!"

The old warrior held up his hands. "Now hold on, I have a perfectly good explanation for this."

Brasidas crossed his arms over his chest. "Then let's hear it."

"This piece of shit tried to kill me and Lucian," Drakon growled, jabbing a finger at Damon.

Brasidas turned to Lucian. "Is this true?"

He nodded. "Damon confessed to burning my family's wheat field. The guards blamed us for it and whipped me and my family because of him!"

"Lies!" Damon thrashed against his bonds. The branch creaked. "They're both filthy liars!"

"What happened next?" Brasidas asked.

Lucian swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides. "I didn't know it was Damon at first, but I had my suspicions. We needed a confession." He glanced at the old man.

"So that's where Drakon came in," Brasidas mused, stroking his beard.

Lucian nodded. "He helped me get Damon drunk at the Syssitia, hoping he'd spill the truth. But the bastard outsmarted us. Next thing I know, Drakon and I are tied up and being dragged up Mount Taygetus."

Drakon spat on the ground. "The little shit confessed on the way up. Bragged about burning the field."

"And how did he end up in the tree?" Brasidas shot his thumb behind.

"We fought them at the top," Lucian said. "Damon and his men."

"And you won?"

"Yes, sir."

Drakon clapped Brasidas on the shoulder, a grin splitting his weathered face. "The boy did it with his hands tied behind his back. Should've seen it!"

Pride surged through Lucian's veins, tempered by the weight of the general's assessing gaze. He met Brasidas's eyes, his chin lifted. Let him judge me by my actions, not my blood.

The General studied Lucian for a moment before turning back to Damon. "Is what they say true?"

Damon's face twisted into a snarl. "They're lying, especially the half-breed!" He jerked his chin at Lucian. "You can't possibly believe this horseshit!"

Drakon snorted. "You're just pissed that Lucian beat you fair and square, even while tied up."

"Enough!" Brasidas snapped and leveled a hard look at Drakon. "Do you have any witnesses?"

"No witnesses!" Damon crowed. "It's their word against mine, and who are you going to believe, General? A washed-up drunk and his pet half-breed, or a true Spartan blooded warrior?"

"Damon, I swear, by the gods, I will have your tongue sliced up for saying those insulting words! Now let me do my job here."

Drakon held up a finger, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Funny you should mention witnesses..."

He disappeared behind a cluster of bushes, emerging a moment later dragging two naked men, gagged and bound. Lucian recognized them immediately - Damon's cronies from the mountain. Drakon ripped the gag from one man's mouth and hauled him up by the hair.

"Tell him!" the old man roared, shoving the soldier towards Brasidas. "Tell your general the truth, you sniveling worm!"

Brasidas's gaze flicked to Lucian. "Who are these men?"

"Damon's guards from the mountain, my lord."

The General crouched down, his eyes boring into the terrified guard's. "Is what they say true? Did Damon burn the field and attack these men?"

The guard nodded, tears and snot streaming down his face. "Yes, yes! It's all true my lord, every word. I heard it myself."

Drakon threw his head back and laughed, the sound ringing through the clearing. "The truth shall set you free, boys!"

Brasidas rose to his feet, his face hardening into an unreadable mask. He signaled to his men. "Cut him down."

As the guards hurried to obey, sawing through the ropes binding Damon to the tree branch, Brasidas pointed at the man. "Arrest him and his men. They will face judgment for their crimes against Sparta."

"I'm innocent!" Damon screeched as the guards dragged him away, kicking and cursing. "You can't do this to me! I'm a Spartan!"

Lucian watched him go, a fierce, wild joy surging through him. It was over. Damon would pay for what he'd done, and Lucian's family could finally find some measure of peace.

"Thank you," he rasped, clasping the old warrior's forearm. "For everything."

"You did good, kid. Real good," Drakon's eyes followed Brasidas and his men as they took the defeated trio away, mounted on their horses.

"Do you think Damon would come after me after this?"

"Not for a while, kid. Not for a while."

"But he said that he’ll kill my family."

"I wouldn’t worry about that."

"Why?"

"He will be assigned to another area, far away from your family by that time."

"How did you know that?"

"Let’s just say," Drakon smirked, "I have some friends in high places. Your family will be safe. Now come on, let’s get back to training."

"Really? No rest day?"

He laughed. "Spartans don't rest, boy. You should know that by now. The world doesn't stop turning for any man, and neither do we. There's always a bigger battle ahead."

——

Drakon dropped the Spartan chest armor with a heavy thud, dust rising up from the dry earth where it settled. Beside it, he placed the shield, its wooden surface scarred from battles and the leather rimming worn at the edges. Lucian watched with his arms folded across his chest, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"Tell me you didn't just lift that from the Spartan barracks."

"Something like that," Drakon replied, scratching the stubble on his weathered chin.

Lucian sighed, exasperated. "And why is it here?"

"Look," the old man started, tapping the iron chest plate. "Knowing how to swing your sword isn't enough. This here," he patted the armor, "This is what's going to save your ass when you're out there."

"Alright, I'm listening," Lucian relented, unfolding his arms and stepping closer.

"Good," Drakon leaned against the shield. "Because, let's face it, kid, a sword is one thing, but armor? That’s your lifeline. You'll be outnumbered more times than not. Your gear has to be top-notch."

"Great pep talk, but have you seen the price tag on these things?" Lucian gestured to the armor. "I can't afford this. How am I supposed to kit myself out?"

"We'll worry about the cost later," Drakon grunted. "First, you need to learn. Come here."

Lucian approached, and Drakon continued. "First rule: never enter a battle without armor; it's like walking onto the field butt naked."

"Got it," he nodded.

"This," Drakon said, giving the armor a solid knock, "is iron. It'll take the brunt of swords, spears, arrows... But it ain't invincible. Take too many hits, and it'll bend, break. So you've got to be smart, dodge when you can."

"Right, so don't get hit. Noted."

"Smartass," Drakon muttered before moving on to the shield. He ran his hand over the wood and leather. "Now, this here is essential. A Spartan shield isn't just for show. It's your main line of defense, your buddy in the melee. It's wide enough to protect your body, but it's not just about you. In a phalanx, your shield is for the guy to your left. You protect his right side, he protects yours."

"Teamwork."

"Exactly."

"Why wood and leather though? Wouldn't iron stop more blows?" Lucian asked, examining the shield's craftsmanship.

"Sure, iron would stop more, but can you imagine lugging that around all day plus your sword?" Drakon shook his head. "Too heavy. Wood's plentiful, easier to carry, and does the job well enough. In the army, simplicity and practicality rules, think like a soldier not like a slave."

"So what's the point of all this?"

"The point," Drakon gave Lucian a pointed look. "Starting today, we train with the armor on. You need to feel its weight, move in it, make it part of you."

"Train in it, huh?" Lucian mused, eyeing the gear.

"Yes, and once your body is comfortable in using it, I’ll even teach you how to use it offensively."

"Really? You can use the armor in an offensive manner?"

"Yes, the shield is not just for protection, if your sword is not within reach or you lose it in the fray, the shield's edge can be as deadly as any blade when used correctly. But that's an advanced technique. For now, focus on defense."

"Alright, let's see what this stuff can do."