Demi-God

The searing midday sun beat down on the gathering of helots, their eyes fixed on the grim spectacle before them. Lucian's arms ached from being strung up to the wooden post, his body sagging under its own weight, while beside him, Lexi and Ianthe struggled against their bonds.

"Let this be a lesson," General Bahram's voice boomed across the field. Despite the bulk of his armor, his biceps and chest muscles bulged through the metal plates. His jet-black hair was pulled back into a tight bun, revealing sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline. His brown eyes held an intense focus as he stroked his thick beard. His men stood ready, whips coiled in their hands like sleeping serpents. "Negligence has consequences. Your fields feed our warriors, fuel our might. To let them burn is to starve Sparta!"

Lucian clenched his teeth, bracing for the agony to come, as one of the soldiers stepped forward. The whip cracked, biting into the boy’s flesh. He stifled a groan, refusing to give Bahram the satisfaction of hearing his pain.

"Again!" shouted the General, and his soldier complied, sending another lash across Lucian's back.

The hot sting was followed by the coppery scent of blood that began to trickle down his skin. He bit his lips, trying to focus on anything but the pain.

"We didn’t burn our crops!" Lexi spat.

"I don’t care," he said. "Hit her next!"

The whip found Alexis next, eliciting a sharp cry that gashed Lucian's heart.

"Stop, please! She’s only a child!" Ianthe shouted, wriggling her restraints.

"Silence!" Bahram snapped. "Your defiance fuels the flames just as your carelessness did! Let me remind you that Spartans do not tolerate excuses. You will produce double the yield next harvest to compensate for your negligence, or you will all suffer a far worse fate."

Ianthe remained quiet, her gaze locked on her children as the lash descended upon her, making her body twist involuntarily, muscles tensing as red welts appeared on her skin.

"See what happens when you fail your duty?" Bahram continued, pacing before the assembled crowd. "Your suffering serves as a reminder—Sparta does not tolerate failure! All of you will work harder, ensuring that no other field meets the same fate. Your children shall not grow on the backs of Spartan leniency!"

As the punishment wore on, Lucian fought to keep consciousness, his vision blurring with each lash. Through the haze of pain, he caught sight of Drakon, standing at a distance, watching the scene unfold. The old warrior's jaw was clenched, his eyes stormy with unspoken anger.

He could feel the eyes of the other helots upon them, their silent sympathy tainted with fear and resignation. No one dared interrupt; no one dared question. Their fates were all tied to the whims of the Spartans, their lives dangling precariously at the edge of a sword.

"Enough!" Bahram finally commanded. His soldiers ceased, leaving behind streaks of red on sweat-glistened skin. "Set them down."

As Lucian and his family were hoisted down, their legs weak and trembling, Drakon moved quickly to support them.

"What's an exiled Spartan doing here in Sparta?" Bahram asked.

Drakon turned slowly to face the General, his expression unreadable. Soldiers nearby tightened their grips on their spears, but Bahram raised his hand, halting their advance. "Answer me, Drakon!"

But the old man merely stared back, silent and defiant, then returned his attention to aiding Lucian, helping him drape an arm over his broad shoulder. "Let's get you home," he said. "You’re in really bad shape."

Lucian nodded, the world spinning around him as they began the slow walk back to what little they had left. Behind them, Bahram's glare bore into their backs, but for now, he remained silent, letting them leave with the remnants of their dignity.

The door to their humble dwelling creaked open, and Drakon's broad frame filled the entrance, Lucian and his sister Lexi each perched precariously on one of his shoulders. Ianthe followed behind, her steps faltering with every movement.

"Careful now," Drakon grunted as he gently lowered Lexi onto a chair.

He moved to do the same for Ianthe, ensuring she was seated before turning back to Lexi.

"Let me see those wounds," he said.

Lucian began tearing strips from a clean cloth. "I can take care of myself. See to them first."

"Stubborn like your father," Drakon muttered, but there was no heat in it.

He took the strips and soaked them in cool water before pressing them against the raw welts on their backs. Then, he wrapped the cloth around Lexi's torso, securing the makeshift bandage with a knot.

"Thank you..." she whispered.

"Save your strength, girl. You’ll need it," Drakon replied, moving over to Ianthe to repeat the process.

Lucian watched as the exiled soldier cared for his family, his own body screaming with pain. He had learned to suppress both the discomfort and any outward show of emotion. Pain was a constant companion to a slave.

He turned his head away, the memory of the fire burning in his mind. There had to be more to this, a reason why they were targeted.

"This was no accident," Lucian thought once Drakon finished tending to Ianthe's wounds. "Someone wanted to send a message."

And there is only one person who could have done it; Damon. Who else would have such a strong desire to see them suffer? Who else had a vendetta for losing in a battle? It could only be Damon, without any doubt.

As night fell, the house grew silent save for the occasional crackle of the fire. Ianthe and Lexi, exhausted by pain, had succumbed to sleep. Drakon leaned against the doorframe, a rough-spun flask in hand. His gaze was fixed on the stars scattered across the dark canvas above, but his mind was undoubtedly elsewhere.

"Hey," Lucian's voice broke the silence as he approached, clutching his bandaged chest. "I owe you thanks... for helping us today."

Drakon took a swig from his flask, then offered it to Lucian, who shook his head. "Don't mention it, boy. It’s the least I can do."

Lucian glanced back at his sleeping sister and mother. "I couldn't have managed without you."

"Anyone would've done the same," Drakon said, settling down onto the ground outside the door with a heavy sigh.

"That’s not true. Other slaves are too scared to help us. Only you stood up against the Spartans, even after everything."

Drakon shrugged. "Fear makes men do nothing when they should act. But I've spent too much time regretting actions not taken. Besides, I didn't have much to lose, did I?"

"I suppose so. Who is that General anyway?" Lucian asked after a moment of quiet, leaning against the wall beside the doorway.

"General Bahram," Drakon spat out the name like a curse.

"Bahram? Is he as good as Brasidas?"

"He's bad news, my friend."

"Bad? How bad are we talking about?"

"Killed more men than I've seen years, and that's saying something," Drakon took another pull from the flask, his eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight. "He fights like a man possessed on the battlefield—merciless to enemies. But to helots?" He shook his head. "What happened today... that was just him playing nice."

"Nice..." Lucian's voice trailed off.

"Yes. I saw him once, when we fought the Athenians, I was with Brasidas, General Bahram was with another battalion. He commanded his soldiers to cut down retreating men, no quarter given. Not even the innocent where spared."

"You and the others pillaged a settlement in Athens?"

"Brasidas didn’t agree with pillaging the people. We want the settlement intact. But Bahram was different, he didn't care. To him, it was all part of the strategy, terror as a weapon. He wanted the people scared of Sparta."

"Didn’t Brasidas stop him?"

"He tried, but it was no use. Bahram killed and stole as many possessions as they could. His soldiers killed many and raped the women."

"That’s awful."

"You have no idea. Being there was like witnessing a massacre. But that's the way of war. The strong prey on the weak, and what are we but fodder for the ambitions of men like Bahram?"

"You did your best."

"No, I didn’t. I wish I did. I just stood there and did nothing, because that’s what I was ordered to do. A soldier’s life is to follow orders, but that day, I realized some orders shouldn't be followed. My consciousness, it eats at me ‘till this day. The screams, the smell of blood and fire...all of it, made us wonder if this action brings glory to Sparta. It didn’t. None of it did. Targeting innocents? This is just pure evil."

"Was that the turning point of your vision of the Spartan army?"

"Not really. I still believe that the army can do much better. It has hope."

"With Bahram there, I doubt it. He's going to be a problem for us in the future."

Drakon nodded. "A big one. If he sets his eyes on your family."

"So, what do we do?"

"Survive, boy. Keep your head down, do what must be done. Men like Bahram... they come and go. Sparta remains."

"Is that what you did?"

"Once upon a time," Drakon murmured, his gaze drifting back to the heavens. "Now, I'm just an old ghost haunting the place I once called home."

"Even ghosts can wield swords."

"True enough. But swords aren't the only way to fight a war."

"Then teach me the other ways," Lucian pressed, meeting the old man’s gaze.

"Get some rest, boy," was all Drakon said in response, taking another long drink from his flask. "We'll talk when the sun rises."

Lucian nodded, though he knew sleep would be a stranger to him tonight. Instead, he stood beside Drakon, sharing the silence.

"I've been thinking about the fire..." he began, tipping his head towards the horizon where their blackened field lay in the distance.

Drakon grunted, taking another swig before offering the bottle. "Oh?"

"Pretty sure it was Damon."

"Your rival?

"Yeah."

"Got proof?"

"None," Lucian admitted, snatching the bottle and taking a drink. The rough wine burned down his throat, setting his thoughts ablaze.

"Figures," Drakon muttered, reclaiming his flask. "So what? Are you planning something stupid?"

"Stupid?" Lucian's lips twisted into a grim smile. "Something like that. I want payback."

"Payback, huh? That's a dangerous game, boy."

"Is that a problem?"

"Problem?" Drakon snorted, leaning back against the rough wall. "Hell no. Count me in."

"Really?" Lucian arched an eyebrow. "Why would you help me?"

"Because I'm old, miserable, and bored out of my damn mind. I need a bit of action to feel alive again."

"Even if it means going against someone like Damon?"

"Yes," Drakon's chuckle was dry as dust. "What's life without a few scars to make the stories worth telling?"

"He has lots of friends around him."

"Then the odds are against them."

A slow grin spread across Lucian's face. "You're crazy, old man."

"Maybe," Drakon acknowledged with a shrug. "But crazy beats dead any day."

"Then we'll be crazy together," Lucian decided, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

"Don't be a damn fool. Heal up first. Rushing it only makes you die faster. You think you can take on Damon with your guts hanging out?"

"Don’t worry. I’ll heal as fast as I can. I’m not about to let him think he's gotten the better of me."

"Good. Because we're gonna need you whole if we're going to pull this off."