Thea swept through the kitchen, her eyes scanning the room where the scent of roasting meat mingled with the tang of freshly chopped herbs. Slaves moved with urgency, anticipating her next command.

"Althea," she called to a young slave stirring a pot over the fire, "make sure that lamb doesn't burn, it needs to be perfect. And stir it like you mean it, girl."

"Of course, Mistress Thea," Althea replied as she adjusted the pot and quickened her stirring.

"Philo," Thea addressed another, who was slicing olives with deft fingers, "speed up, we haven't got all night. And for Zeus' sake, keep them uniform."

"Understood, mistress," he nodded without looking up, his knife now flying faster through the ripe fruit.

"Where's that wine?" Thea’s voice cut through the clatter of pottery and sizzling pans.

A slave hurried forward, nearly tripping over his own feet, carrying jugs of wine.

"Here, mistress!" he panted, setting them down carefully.

"Dammit, be careful! That's good wine. Now, go help set the table, and don't spill a drop," she commanded.

Carme, her young daughter, darted between the slaves, placing utensils alongside plates. Her mother watched her for a moment, pride softening her features before she turned to Drakon, who leaned against the doorway watching the orchestrated chaos with amusement.

"Drakon, come, sit at the table. They will serve us shortly," Thea said, gesturing toward the dining area. "I trust your appetite is as strong as your reputation."

"Only if the food can match my expectations," he replied, pushing away from the doorframe and sauntering over to the table with a smirk.

Meanwhile, Lucian wandered through the house, taking in the opulent surroundings that were foreign to him. It’s a one-story structure with vibrant vines and flowers draping down from the roof and along the walls. Natural light streams in from skylights, bathing the interior in a warm glow. The upper walls are adorned with colorful paintings and tapestries, depicting scenes of mythology and gods. In the center of the room, there is a human-sized statue of Zeus, Apollo, and Athena, surrounded by smaller ones of various other gods and goddesses. The colors and details of them are striking, bringing life to the room.

In the courtyard, there is a fountain that gurgles serenely. Lucian’s eyes lingered on the small statue of Ares, god of war, which seemed to watch over the water with divine indifference.

"Never seen anything quite like this," he muttered under his breath.

As he ventured further, the walls proudly bore the spoils of warfare and artistry. Shields and swords hung beside fine tapestries and paintings, each telling stories of conquests and culture.

He continued exploring until he reached the kitchen. There, amidst the heat and haze, slaves chopping vegetables, cutting meat, and tending to dishes. The room is large in space filled with heat and haze. The walls are adorned with hanging pots and pans, while various utensils adorn hooks and shelves. The smell of spices and cooking food fills the air, with large pots bubbling on the stovetop and meats roasting on a spit in the fireplace. Despite the activities, the kitchen is organized, with everything having its designated place.

"Lucian!" Drakon's voice boomed from the dining hall, breaking Lucian's observation. "Stop gawking and come join us. The food won't eat itself!"

"Coming," he called back, taking one last glance at the industrious scene before making his way to the table.

"Drakon, you should have seen her face," Thea chuckled. "The priestess stood there, drenched in olive oil because the amphora slipped right through her hands! Right in the middle of the sanctuary!"

Drakon barked a laugh, nearly spitting out his wine. "By Zeus, I would’ve paid a handful of drachma to see that!"

"Of course, she tried to maintain her composure," Thea continued, mimicking a haughty stance, "claiming it was an offering gone awry."

"An offering to the gods of clumsiness, perhaps," Drakon added with a snort.

Their laughter rang through the hall as a slave placed the last dish on the table—a succulent roast surrounded by figs and nuts.

"Enough merriment for now," Thea said, glancing around the room. "Carme, join us, dear."

Carme approached, taking her place at the table beside Thea. Lucian could not help but notice the contrast between Carme's composed bearing and the easy banter of the older pair.

"Let's give thanks," Thea intoned, raising her hands as silence descended upon the room.

Lucian bowed his head in respect, observing the ritual through lowered lashes.

"Great gods who watch over us," Thea began, her voice solemn yet clear, "we offer our gratitude for the bounty before us. May our deeds honor you as your blessings sustain us."

A chorus of murmured assents followed, and as they lifted their heads, Lucian's gaze swept across the table. Platters showcased honey-drenched bread slices, bowls overflowing with plump olives and creamy cheese, and skewers of grilled meat releasing mouthwatering scents. A clay pot simmered with a hearty lentil and vegetable stew, while fresh fruits glistened like vibrant jewels amidst the feast.

"Let's eat," Thea declared, breaking the revenant hush.

With that, conversation resumed, the clatter of utensils against plates punctuating the din as they all reached for the food, savoring the flavors of a meal hard-earned and well-deserved.

Thea ladled some steaming soup into her bowl, the hearty aroma wafting through the dining hall. She glanced over at Drakon, who was tearing into a hunk of roasted meat.

"So tell me, how did you and your slave boy here come to travel together?" she asked.

Drakon paused mid-chew and glanced at Lucian, who was quietly eating a piece of bread, before turning back to Thea. He swallowed and replied, "Bought the boy from some Athenian merchant a while back. I need someone to help out, you know."

Thea raised an eyebrow. "An Athenian, eh? You don't say." She looked at Lucian with renewed interest. "What brings an Athenian lad all the way to Sparta?"

Lucian kept his eyes down, focusing intently on his bread. Best to stay quiet and let the old man do the talking. No point in stirring up more questions.

Drakon took another bite of meat and chewed thoughtfully before responding. "Hell if I know. Merchants bring in all types. Boy's strong and follow orders, that's what matters."

Thea nodded, sipping her soup. "I hear that. My household slaves came by way of a Carthaginian trader, if you can believe it."

"Carthage? Where's that, Mother?" piped up Carme. The girl had a curious gleam in her eye as she glanced between the adults.

"Far to the west, across the sea," Drakon grunted. "Heard they've got some mean warriors out that way too. Tough as Spartans, some say."

Thea chuckled. "I don't know about all that. But it takes all kinds to make the world turn, I suppose."

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Just then, the sound of heavy footsteps came from the entryway. A tall, broad-shouldered man strode in, his bronze armor glinting in the firelight.

"Stephanos!" Thea exclaimed, rising to her feet. "Welcome home, my son!"

Carme leapt up, her soup forgotten, and ran to embrace her brother. Stephanos laughed, setting down his shield to wrap his arms around them both.

"By the gods, it's good to be back. I've missed you both."

"Us too," Carme said.

His gaze fell on the table and the two strangers seated there. Stephanos's brow furrowed. "I see we have company."

Thea stepped back and gestured to the table. "Yes, this is Drakon, an old friend of your father's. And his slave, Lucian."

Both men stood respectfully as Stephanos approached, his keen eyes assessing them. Lucian could feel the weight of the warrior's gaze, evaluating his every detail. He fought the urge to fidget.

Stephanos crossed his arms over his chest, his mouth twisting in a dubious frown. "Drakon? The Wolf of Sparta? I expected someone...younger."

Drakon met his stare. "Yes, that's me. The years may have slowed my sword arm, but my mind is sharp as ever."

"So my father says," Stephanos replied, not sounding entirely convinced. "But any fool can claim to be the legendary warrior."

"Stephanos! Mind your tongue," Thea scolded. "Drakon is an honored guest."

The young warrior waved off his mother's reprimand. "If he's truly the Wolf of Sparta, he'll have no trouble proving it. How about a friendly bout, old man? Test the truth of these tales."

Carme gasped. "Brother, you can't be serious!"

But Stephanos was already gesturing for a slave to help remove his armor. "Hand to hand combat. No blades. We'll see if he fights like the warrior of legend."

Drakon rubbed his chin, considering. Then he glanced at Lucian. "Actually, I'll have my man here stand in my stead. A test of my training, if you will."

Lucian's head snapped up. "Wait, what? You want me to fight him?" he hissed under his breath.

Is the old fool trying to get him killed?

"You'll do fine, boy," Drakon murmured. "Time to put those drills to use." He clapped Lucian on the shoulder and shoved him forward.

"Fine by me," Stephanos smirked. "If he's truly your apprentice, he should be a decent match."

"Wait, you trained him?" Thea raised an eyebrow while glancing at Drakon.

"Yes, I did."

"But I thought that you bought him as a slave?"

"That I did, but I saw the boy’s potential in fighting, and so I trained him. He’ll be a fine addition to the Spartan army."

Lucian walked out to the courtyard, the packed dirt hard beneath his sandaled feet. Stephanos stripped down to his tunic and turned to face him, hands raised in a fighter's stance.

He swallowed hard and mirrored his pose, fists clenched before his face. All his training, all those brutal lessons, had led to this moment.

Drakon's growling voice came into his mind: Never hesitate. Strike fast and aggressive. Let instinct guide you.

Lucian exhaled slowly, pushing down the thrum of nerves. He could do this. He had to do this. For himself, and for the family honor he carried in his veins.

Stephanos flashed a predatory grin, bouncing lightly on his toes. "Come on then. Show me what you're made of."

"Ok, here’s goes nothing."

Tension crackles in the air as Lucian and Stephanos circle each other, their eyes locked in concentration. Lucian raises his fists, adopting a defensive stance with his elbows tucked close to his body. Stephanos mirrors his opponent's posture, both fighters probing for weaknesses in the other's guard.

For several heartbeats, they continue this dance of caution, each man trying to read the other's intentions. The others hold their collective breath, sensing the imminent explosion of violence.

Suddenly, Stephanos springs into action and lunges forward, his body a blur of motion. A quick feint to the right draws Lucian's attention, followed by another to the left that causes his opponent to shift his weight.

Lucian reacts instinctively, twisting his torso to avoid the incoming fist. But Stephanos, having anticipated this evasion, smoothly alters the trajectory of his strike. In a display of lightning-fast reflexes, he transforms the hook into an uppercut that connects to his opponent’s chin. Lucian's head snaps back, his eyes momentarily glazing over as the force of the blow sends him staggering backward. He fights to maintain his footing, his legs wobbling beneath him.

Lucian shook his head, trying to clear the stars from his vision. He could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. Stephanos advanced, a smug smile playing across his lips.

"Is that all you've got, slave? I expected more from the Wolf's apprentice."

He spat out a glob of blood as he regained his balance. Stephanos's taunt ignited a spark of defiance within him. He wouldn't let this arrogant warrior best him so easily.

"I'm just getting started," Lucian growled, his eyes narrowing as he shifted his stance, centering his weight.

"Is that so? Show me."

Lucian exploded into action, launching himself at Stephanos with a ferocious barrage of strikes. His fists became a blur, unleashing a storm of jabs and hooks. The Spartan warrior's experience showed as he blocked and parried each blow with almost no effort, but Lucian's assault forced Stephanos to give ground.

Stephanos, however, was far from defeated. As he retreated, his mind raced, formulating a counter-strategy. In a sudden move, he planted his foot firmly, the impact resonating through the floor. Every muscle in his body coiled like a spring as he concentrated his power into his right fist while his left arm moved in a defensive arc, shielding his body.

With a warrior's roar, he pivoted, using the momentum of his turn to unleash a devastating punch. Lucian, recognizing the danger, brought up his guard. The impact was thunderous. Though he blocked the blow, the sheer force shattered his defense, leaving him exposed for a crucial moment.

It was the opening Stephanos had been waiting for. He surged forward, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. A tempest of blows rained down on Lucian—sharp jabs to the face, hooks to the body, each strike was powerful.

Lucian fought to regain control, trying to push back, but Stephanos' onslaught was overwhelming. The Spartan's fists seemed to be everywhere at once. His strikes created a vortex of force and the air itself seemed to warp around his fists.

In a final, decisive move, Stephanos unleashed a thunderous right hook which caused a sickening crunch. Drakon felt the ground shake for a while.

Lucian's world spun. His legs buckled beneath him as he crashed to the ground, his body rolling across the dirt.

"By the gods," Drakon knelt beside Lucian's crumpled form, his weathered hands gripping the young man's shoulders. "Hey, kid. Can you hear me? Are you alright?"

With effort, the old man helped his apprentice to a sitting position. The young fighter's eyes were unfocused, his breathing ragged.

Stephanos stood a few paces away, hands resting on his hips in a posture of casual dominance. His lips curled into a smile as he surveyed his handiwork. "I knew you weren't the Wolf of Sparta," he declared. "Just another pretender trying to claim a title he hasn't earned."

Lucian's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. His mind was a fog, thoughts slipping away like smoke whenever he tried to grasp them.

"Stephanos," Carme admonished. "Did you really need to be that rough? This was supposed to be a training bout, not a death match."

He scoffed. "Don't tell me you're feeling pity for this slave? He knew what he was getting into when he stepped into this fight."

"He's still a human being," Carme retorted. "There's no honor in needless brutality."

Drakon, ignoring the siblings' argument, focused on Lucian. He cupped the young man's face in his calloused hands, noting the glazed look in his eyes. With a grimace, he delivered a sharp, stinging slap to his cheek.

"Hey, kid," he called out. "Snap out of it. Come back to us."

The shock of the slap seemed to jolt Lucian back to awareness. His eyes blinked rapidly.

"I—what happened?" he mumbled, his words slightly slurred. The fog in his mind began to clear, replaced by a throbbing pain that seemed to encompass his entire body.

"You took quite a beating. But you're still in one piece. That's something to be proud of."

Lucian's memories of the fight came flooding back, along with a wave of shame and frustration. He struggled to push himself to his feet, determined not to appear weak in front of Stephanos and the others.

"Easy now," Drakon cautioned, supporting the boy’s arm as he stood. "There's no rush. Take a moment to find your legs."

"Dammit. I lost," he coughed, wincing as pain lanced through his ribs.

"It’s ok. You fought well for your first real bout."

"But I’m no match for him."

"That’s not true. He’s just more experienced than you, that’s all."

"Yeah, but compared to Damon, this guy is the real deal. His strikes are very powerful. It’s like I’m fighting Hercules himself."

"How about another round?" Stephanos called out, flexing his muscular arms. "I'm just getting warmed up."

Drakon held up a weathered hand. "I think the boy's had enough for one day. He showed spirit, and that's what counts."

"Nonsense! He can take another one."

"Stephanos, that is enough!" Thea's voice rang out. "The young man has proven his mettle. There is no need to belabor the point."

"No!" Lucian exclaimed. "I want another round."

Drakon shot him a warning look. "Boy, you're in no condition-"

"I can do this," he interrupted. "I want another round."

Stephanos grinned, cracking his knuckles. "That's more like it."