Demi-God

"Gentlemen, please, make yourselves comfortable," the Whisperer said. "I'm sure you must be famished after what you’ve encountered."

Lucian's eyes widened as he took in the feast before them. The table groaned under the weight of roasted meats, fresh fruits, and steaming loaves of bread. Platters of olives, cheese, and dried figs dotted the spaces between larger dishes. At the center stood a massive roasted boar, its crisp skin glistening in the candlelight.

Without waiting for further invitation, he took a seat and began piling food onto his plate. Drakon and Stephanos followed suit, though with slightly more restraint.

The Whisperer remained standing, watching them with an amused expression. Drakon, between mouthfuls of roasted lamb, attempted to catch her eye.

"You know," he said, flashing what he clearly thought was a charming smile, "it's not often we dine with such a beautiful host."

The Whisperer's expression didn't change. "I'm sure you say that to all the informants you meet."

"Only to the pretty ones."

"I’m sure that flattery works on other women, but that won’t work on me. Thanks for the compliment anyway."

Drakon's smile faltered for a moment before he shrugged and returned to his meal. "You could have said nothing but…ok whatever," he whispered.

Stephanos, meanwhile, had already drained his first cup of wine and was eyeing one of the serving girls. "Hey there, sweetheart," he called out, "how about you come over here and keep me company?"

The girl rolled her eyes and ignored him, continuing to refill water glasses around the table.

Lucian barely noticed any of this, too focused on shoveling food into his mouth. He tore into a loaf of bread, using it to soak up the juices from the roasted meat on his plate.

As the initial hunger pangs subsided, Stephanos turned his attention to their host. "So," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "we can't keep calling you 'The Whisperer.' What's your real name?"

"You may call me Thais."

Drakon grunted, reaching for another piece of meat. Lucian, however, looked up from his plate, curiosity piqued.

"Why do they call you The Whisperer?" he asked between bites.

Thais smiled. "Ah, now that's an interesting story. You see, in my line of work, information is everything. And the best information... well, it's often shared in whispers. Secrets, rumors, things people don't want others to hear. I've made quite a name for myself by collecting these whispers." She paused, taking a sip from her own cup. "Over time, people started coming to me for information. They'd say, 'Ask The Whisperer, she'll know.' And the name stuck."

Lucian wanted to ask more, to press her about what she knew of his mother, but he was acutely aware of Drakon and Stephanos' presence. The conversation he'd had with Thais earlier about his divine heritage was not something he could share with them. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he asked, "And how did you get into this... line of work?"

Thais' expression grew distant for a moment. "Let's just say I learned early on that knowledge is power. In a world where I had little else, information became my currency, my protection."

Drakon, who had been silent for most of the conversation, suddenly spoke up. "Enough chit-chat. We're here for a reason, aren't we? What can you tell us about the Persians?"

Thais turned to him. "All in good time, my impatient friend. First, let's enjoy this meal. After all, it's not every day I have such... interesting guests."

"Didn’t I already tell you about Persians?" Stephanos said to the old man.

"Yeah," taking a bite of his chicken, "But I wasn’t listening."

"Oh, yeah I forgot. You never listen to anyone but yourself."

"Exactly."

Lucian shoveled food into his mouth, barely pausing to breathe. His companions exchanged looks of surprise at his voracious appetite.

"Slow down," Drakon said. "The food's not going anywhere."

Stephanos nodded. "I've never seen anyone eat like that. Are you feeling alright?"

With his mouth full, Lucian mumbled an excuse about being extra hungry from their recent travels. He didn't want to explain that his newfound divine powers required more fuel than a normal person's. Instead, he focused on his plate, piling more meat and bread onto it.

"Leave him be," Drakon said with a shrug. "A growing boy needs his strength."

Stephanos seemed unconvinced but let the matter drop. The two older men returned to their own meals, occasionally glancing at their young companion as he continued to devour everything in sight.

Lucian knew he should probably slow down, but the gnawing hunger in his gut overrode any sense of decorum. He'd deal with their questions later. For now, all that mattered was satisfying the demands of his body.

Drakon tore into a chunk of bread, his eyes fixed on Thais. "So, about these fishmongers—Aristos and Kyra. What's their deal?"

She leaned back in her chair, swirling the wine in her cup. "They're an interesting pair, those two. Been running their stall down by the docks for years now."

"Interesting how?" Stephanos raised an eyebrow.

"Well," setting her cup down, "Aristos is a big guy, built like an ox. Used to be a sailor before he lost his leg in a storm. Now he hauls in the catch every morning, rain or shine."

Drakon nodded, his mouth full of food. He swallowed and asked, "And Kyra?"

"Kyra's the brains of the operation. Sharp as a tack, that one. She can haggle with the best of them and always seems to know what's going on around the docks."

"Sounds like they've got a good setup," Stephanos mused.

"Oh, they do," Thais said. "But there's more to them than just selling fish."

"What do you mean?"

She leaned in closer. "Word is, they've got connections. The kind that can get you things—or information—that might be hard to come by otherwise."

The two exchanged a glance.

"What kind of information?" Stephanos asked.

"That depends on what you're looking for, I suppose. But if there's something going on in this city, chances are Kyra knows about it."

Drakon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "And Aristos? What's his role in all this?"

"Muscle, mostly," she replied. "He might look slow, but don't let that fool you. I've seen him break up fights at the docks with his bare hands."

Stephanos drummed his fingers on the table. "How do they manage to stay out of trouble? Surely the authorities must know about their... side business."

"That's the beauty of it. They're just fishmongers, as far as anyone can prove. And they're good at what they do. People like them, trust them. Makes it easy for them to hear things, you know?"

"And you think they might know something about the Persians? Or the dead Spartan scout?" Drakon asked.

"If anyone does, it'd be them. But be careful how you approach them. They're not the type to give up information easily, especially to strangers."

"Any advice on how to get them talking?" Stephanos asked.

Thais thought for a moment. "Kyra's got a weakness for exotic spices. If you've got any to trade, that might open some doors. As for Aristos, well, he's always looking for strong hands to help with the morning haul. Offer to lend a hand, and he might warm up to you."

"Thanks," Drakon nodded, a plan already forming in his mind. "This is helpful."

"Just be careful. They may seem friendly, but they didn't get where they are by being naive. If they suspect you're more than just curious travelers, they'll clam up faster than you can blink."

Stephanos raised his cup. "We'll tread lightly. Thanks for the information."

The fishmongers seemed like their best lead, but approaching them would require caution and strategy. They had a lot to consider before making their next move.

As the last morsels of food disappeared from their plates, Thais rose from her seat. "I trust you've all had your fill," she said, her eyes scanning the faces of her guests. "Now, let me show you to your rooms for the night."

Lucian exchanged glances with his friends, and they pushed back from the table, the scraping of chairs against the stone floor filled through the dining hall.

Thais led the way, her sandals clicking on the polished marble as she guided them through the winding corridors of her opulent home. Two young slave girls followed close behind, their arms laden with fresh linens and pitchers of water.

"Drakon, this will be your chamber," Thais announced, pushing open a heavy wooden door. The room beyond was spacious, dominated by a large bed draped in rich fabrics. A window overlooked the courtyard, allowing the cool night breeze to filter in.

"It'll do," he muttered, stumbling into the room without further ceremony.

Thais raised an eyebrow at his brusque manner but said nothing, instead turning to lead Stephanos and Lucian further down the hall.

"Stephanos, you'll be here," she said, indicating another door. This room was similar to the old Spartan, though slightly smaller. A writing desk sat in one corner, stocked with parchment and ink.

Stephanos’ eyes darted around the room as if searching for potential threats or escape routes. Old habits die hard, it seemed.

"And finally, Lucian," Thais said, her voice softening as she addressed the young man. "Your room is just here."

He stepped into the chamber, eyes widening at the luxury surrounding him. The bed was piled high with soft furs, and a small balcony offered a breathtaking view of the city below.

"This is... too much," he stammered, unused to such extravagance.

"Nonsense. You're my guests, and you'll be treated as such." She gestured to the slave girls, who bustled into each room, setting down their burdens and preparing the beds for sleep.

"Is there anything else you require?"

He shook his head, aware of how exhausted he felt. "No, thank you. This is more than enough."

"Very well," Thais bowed. "Sleep well, all of you. We have much to discuss in the morning."

With that, she swept out of the room, leaving the boy alone with his thoughts. He sank onto the edge of the bed, marveling at its softness. It was a far cry from the hard ground he'd grown accustomed to sleeping on during their journey.

As he lay back, staring up at the intricately painted ceiling, Lucian couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to change dramatically. The revelations of the day swirled in his mind - the key to Mount Olympus, the mysterious god pursuing his mother. It was almost too much to process.

With a heavy sigh, Lucian closed his eyes, willing sleep to come, savoring this moment of peace and comfort, knowing all too well how rare such moments could be.

Lucian tossed and turned in his sleep when a voice suddenly echoed in his mind. He tried to ignore it, shifting to his side and burrowing deeper into his blankets.

But the voice persisted, calling his name with increasing urgency.

"Who the hell is that?" he muttered, finally sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

He peered out the window and saw a familiar figure standing at the bottom of the house. It was Linus, his face illuminated by the pale moonlight.

"Come down and meet me," Linus's voice resonated in Lucian's head.

"Another cryptic message, I bet."

He quickly dressed and made his way down the stairs, careful not to wake anyone. The house was silent, everyone else still deep in slumber.

As he stepped into the courtyard, Lucian approached his uncle.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"We have much to discuss."

"You can't just keep popping up like this and expect me to drop everything. What's going on?"

"I know this is difficult for you, but there are things you need to know. Things about your heritage, your powers, and the dangers that lie ahead."

"And you couldn't wait until morning to tell me this?"

"Time is of the essence. Our enemies are moving, and we must be prepared."

"Our enemies?" Lucian echoed. "Who exactly are we talking about here?"

Linus glanced around the courtyard, as if checking for eavesdroppers. "Not here. Let's walk. I'll explain everything as we go."

Lucian hesitated for a moment, then followed behind. "Fine. But I want straight answers this time. No more riddles or half-truths."

"When did I give you riddles?"

"Like all the time."