Lucian's muscles strained as he hoisted the rough-hewn rock above his head. Sweat trickled down his brow, stinging his eyes as he set it down with a thud. The forest around him was alive with the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves in the early morning breeze.

"Another round," he muttered to himself, glancing over at Drakon, who lay sprawled at the base of an olive tree, snoring.

A mostly empty wineskin rested on his rotund belly, rising and falling with each deep breath chanting names of women. Lucian shook his head; even in his slumber, Drakon’s mind was still perverted.

He reached for a log, its bark coarse against his calloused palms. As he began to lift, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He paused, the weight of the wood forgotten, as he saw a familiar figure in the distance. Carme, her hair like a ray of sunlight, walked down the road, accompanied by another woman.

"Market day, I bet," he murmured.

His heart quickened at the sight of her, the Spartan girl whose mere presence unsettled him more than any opponent in battle. He didn’t understand, but something in him longed to be closer. To speak with her as an equal, to see if the warmth in her eyes was real or just a trick of his yearning mind.

Lucian dropped the log and made a decision. Drakon wouldn't miss him for a while longer; the old warrior could sleep through an earthquake if it allowed him.

"Hey," he called out, not wanting to draw attention but needing to ensure the old warrior wouldn't wake and follow. "Are you alive?"

There was no response, just the steady cadence of his snores. Lucian nudged Drakon's feet twice with his foot, the motion barely disturbing the dust on the ground.

"Drakon!"

Still, nothing. Satisfied, Lucian's focus shifted back to Carme, who was now a small figure moving steadily away.

"Forgive me, old man," he whispered, making one last glance at his unconscious mentor before slipping into the trees, following the path Carme had taken.

He kept to the edge of the forest, using the foliage as cover, his gaze never straying from the two women ahead. When they continued their way, Lucian paused, pressing his back against the rough bark of a pine tree, watching as Carme and her friend chatted amiably, unaware of his presence.

"What the hell am I doing?" he thought. "I’m being a creep."

But his feet seemed to move of their own accord, propelling him forward. He waited until they passed a bend in the road, then darted across the open space to continue his pursuit.

He kept his distance, melting into the crowds that thronged the roads. The merchants were dressed in colorful tunics, their arms full with baskets and crates overflowing with goods. Some carried bags on their shoulders, while others pushed carts loaded down with their wares. The slaves were hunched over, struggling to carry heavy jars of food on their backs, their faces strained from the weight. The young Spartan boys were dressed in simple white tunics and sandals, their hair cropped short. Their instructor marched ahead of them, barking orders and urging them to move faster.

"Out of my way, helot," a guard snarled as Lucian edged too close, his eyes fixed on Carme's retreating figure. He merely nodded, dipping his head in deference to avoid confrontation.

"Where are you going?" he whispered as he pressed forward, his gaze locked onto the sway of her tied-back hair.

Finally, they turned off the main thoroughfare and approached a large house. It stands tall and majestic, its sheer size and grandeur evident in the towering columns that reach towards the sky. The doorway is adorned with intricate carvings of the fierce god of war, Ares, and the wise patron goddess of wisdom, Athena. The intricate details and expensive materials used in its construction speak of immense wealth and power. It is a symbol of status and privilege, something that Lucian can only dream of attaining.

He watched as Carme and her friend stepped inside, the door closing behind them with a finality that made his heart sink. Lucian glanced around, his instincts kicking in, searching for a place to lay low. Darting across the street, he found refuge beside another house, less grandiose but still sturdy, its walls promising discretion.

"Alright," he breathed, his back against the cool stone, "now what?"

The thrill of the chase had faded, leaving him with the reality of his situation – a slave shadowing a free woman, a dangerous game with consequences he could scarcely afford. But something within him refused to turn away, some stubborn spark of defiance that urged him to stay, to watch, to wait.

Suddenly, Lucian felt the rough fabric of his tunic pull tight against his throat before he was thrown airborne, crashing to the dusty ground with a grunt. His head spun from the impact, and he reached up to soothe the pain, only to squint into the sun at the figure looming over him.

"Damn it, what the hell?" he spat out dirt as he pushed himself onto his knees.

Drakon's heavy brow lifted in amused disapproval, his arms crossed over his broad chest like a barricade. "Should I be asking you the same question?"

Rubbing the back of his head, Lucian staggered to his feet and faced the old Spartan. "Just went for a walk," he said, brushing the dirt from his clothes with quick, irritated movements.

"Walk my ass," Drakon scoffed, narrowing his eyes. "You've got that look. It's a girl, isn't it? Don't feed me your horseshit, boy."

Lucian opened his mouth to argue, but the sudden appearance of Carme emerging from the house sliced through his thoughts. Panic surged, and he lunged for Drakon, yanking him behind the gnarled trunk of a nearby tree.

"Okay, okay, I confess," he hissed, pressing close to the rough bark. "I went out training because of a girl, happy now?"

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Peering to the side, Drakon caught sight of Carme and let out a whistle. "Wow, who's the hot girl?"

Carme sat at a large log, fingers threading vibrant strands of fabric into what looked like a tunic. Sunlight dappled through the trees, lighting patterns across her face like Aphrodite herself had decided to touch her with a bit of her divine beauty.

Her tunic is intricately decorated with golden threads and hints of deep red, adding a touch of regal elegance to her otherwise simple outfit. Her dark hair is neatly braided, showing off its luscious shine. Her skin is porcelain-like, smooth and flawless, radiating a natural beauty that surpasses that of other women. She stands out among the natural surroundings, like a goddess among mortals.

Lucian watched, momentarily entranced, his breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

"Back off, she's mine," he said.

"Get a grip," Drakon shook his head with a snort. "She's a Spartan. You're a slave. You know it doesn't work that way."

"Could be different for me."

"Could it be?" Drakon smacked him on the back of the head. "Wake the hell up! A Spartan girl will never marry a boy slave. That's reality, whether you like it or not."

"Hey, in case you've forgotten, I'm the son of a Spartan and a slave," Lucian shot back, rubbing the sore spot on his skull.

"Because of your father," he countered. "Your case ain't the norm."

"What's the difference—" Lucian began, but a voice cut through their heated exchange.

"Drakon?"

They both whipped around, startled, as Carme approached them.

The old man pointed to himself. "Me? Are you talking to me?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Unless my eyes deceive me, you are the one they call the Wolf of Sparta, aren't you?"

The two men exchanged a loaded glance before Drakon straightened, striding towards her with an air of rediscovered pride then bowed his head. "Why yes, my lady," he said, standing upright again. "May I ask how you know of me? Our paths have never crossed."

"Your reputation precedes you. My father speaks often of your valor. He has described you many times, and you fit his words."

"I apologize, but may I know the name of your father? Maybe I knew him in the past."

"His name is Lysander. He served with you in many battles at Athens."

Drakon's face took on a somber expression as he nodded in recognition. "A brave warrior, your father. Many didn't return from that place. May I know where he is right now?"

"Unfortunately, he already died at the hands of bandits on a journey through the Peloponnese. It's been some months now. I seek to honor his memory by learning from those who knew him best."

His expression hardened, and he bowed his head. "I’m so sorry. Lysander was one of the finest men I've ever fought alongside. His memory deserves to be honored in every breath we still draw as free men in this land."

"Don’t be. My father’s life is already in the hands of the gods."

"Then I am honored to meet his daughter," Drakon said, his eyes alight as he knelt down to kiss her hand. "To be known by such a beautiful maiden is a privilege indeed."

Behind his back, Lucian's hands clenched into fists, his face burning red with jealousy. "I promise, I’ll get you back at this drunken fool," he whispered.

"And who is this young man?" she inquired, her gaze drifting to where Lucian stood.

"Oh," Drakon stood up and gestured towards him. "This here is my slave, Lucian."

"Wha—" Lucian's gaze flickered from Drakon to Carme, her eyes mesmerizing him with their beautiful brown color. They seemed to sparkle like stars, drawing him in even more. "Uhm, yes," he bowed down, "my lady, it is a pleasure to meet you."

She scanned Lucian from top to bottom, carefully observing him for a brief moment before gesturing upward with her hand and turning back to Drakon.

"Your slave," she began. "He doesn't look like one."

"Why my lady? What does a slave look like to you?"

"I’m sorry," she said, realizing her words could have been taken as an insult. "I mean, he seems different from the others. Most are older and worn down by life. He has a... resilience about him."

Drakon chuckled. "I agree, he's a stubborn one. But don't let his looks deceive you; he's stronger than most. Though he’s dumb as a bag of rocks."

"Hey," Lucian whispered, leaning on the old man’s ear. "What the fuck are you on about? Why are you calling me dumb?"

"Listen kid, I’m helping you here."

"Helping me? How?"

"Don’t you want to see her often? I’m your key."

"Do you even know her father?"

"No, I got no fucking idea who Lysander is. I just went on to what she said."

"Then why didn’t you tell that to her you lying piece of shit?"

"Because sometimes you have to lie to women to get close to her."

"Oh, you are such a gift from the gods aren’t you?"

"Carme, Carme, where are you my dear?" The voice cut through the low hum of the evening air, causing Carme to turn, her hand instinctively rising in response.

"Over here, Mother," she called back, marking her spot amidst the swaying trees.

Her mother's form emerged from the house, a silhouette softened by the fading sunlight.

As she approached, her gaze landed on the two men flanking her daughter and a hint of surprise flickered across her features. "Oh, and who are these fine gentlemen here?"

"Mother, this is Drakon and Lucian," Carme said, gesturing to each in turn.

"Drakon," her mother repeated, the name seems to pique her curiosity. "Not the Wolf of Sparta, by any chance?"

Drakon lowered himself onto one knee and took the woman’s hand, pressing his lips onto it.

"Yes, that is who I am," he replied. "It's a pleasure to meet you, madam. And now I see where Carme gets her striking looks."

She watched as her mother's cheeks turned a faint shade of pink, an amused chuckle escaping her lips. "I've heard quite a bit about you from my late husband. Tales of your valor were his favorite bedtime stories for the children."

"Ah, I'm sorry for your loss," Drakon said, straightening up.

"Please, no need for apologies," she waved off the sentiment with a gentle hand. "That was a long time ago, and life has carried on as it tends to do."

"Speaking of life and carrying on," Carme interjected, "it's getting late and I was about to say that dinner is waiting. It would be an honor if you joined us, Drakon."

"That's kind of you, but I wouldn't want to impose—"

"Imposing? Nonsense!" Her mother's tone left no room for rejection. "You will dine with us. It's settled. After all, it's not every day we have a legend in our midst. And besides, I insist."

"As you wish, my lady," he replied with a slight bow before gesturing behind him. "Uhm, excuse me, slave. Please follow me."

Lucian nodded, masking the tightness in his chest with a curt bow. "As you wish...m...my lord," he hesitated, walking behind them.

"Oh, and after this, I want you to wipe my ass. Make it squeaky clean, ok?"

"I’ll wipe you with something alright, you fucking old fart," he mumbled.

Carme backed her mother's invitation with a smile. Drakon's stoic mask cracked just enough to reveal a hint of gratitude, though he remained silent, perhaps finding solace in the unexpected warmth of a Spartan hearth.