They pushed through the wooden door of the tavern, a wave of noise washing over them as they entered. Oil lamps create a vibrant glow across the room. Thick wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, dark with age and smoke.

It was packed, voices filling the air. Men hunched over tables, engaged in discussions and raucous laughter. In one corner, a group huddled around a game of knucklebones, shouting encouragement and groans with each throw.

Servers, both men and women, wove through the crowd. They wore simple tunics in various tones, cinched at the waist with leather belts. Some balanced large clay amphorae on their shoulders, dispensing wine into the patrons' cups. Others carried wooden platters laden with food - chunks of bread, olives, and various meats.

The walls were adorned with an eclectic mix of decorations. Shields and weapons hung as trophies and good luck charms. Near the bar, a large board displayed the day's menu and prices, scrawled in chalk.

The bar itself was a long, worn wooden counter, behind which stood several large clay vessels, their necks sealed with cloth. A burly man with a thick beard worked the taps, filling cups and jugs.

Drakon elbowed his way through the crowd, Lucian close behind. They managed to snag a small table in a corner, the wood sticky with spilled wine and etched with countless names and symbols from previous patrons.

As they settled onto the worn wooden benches, a young server approached, her dark hair tied back with a simple cloth.

"What'll it be?" she asked.

Drakon grinned at her. "A jug of your house wine, my dear. And what's good to eat today?"

The server rattled off the options. "We've got fresh bread, goat cheese, and olives. The cook's made a nice fish stew, and we've got some roasted lamb left."

"Sounds perfect. We'll take it all. And throw in some of those figs I see on that table over there."

"Sure. Anything else?"

"That’s all my dear."

As the server left to fetch their order, Drakon leaned back, surveying the room. "Now this, my boy, is how you really get to know a place. Food, drink, and local gossip. We'll learn more here in one night than we would in a week of wandering the streets."

"We both know you’re only here for the food and drinks."

"Of course I am," he chuckled. "But that doesn't mean we can't glean some useful information while we're at it. You never know when a stray bit of gossip might lead us."

The tavern's atmosphere grew more boisterous as the night wore on. The duo found themselves at the center of a growing circle of new friends, their table crowded with empty cups and plates picked clean of food.

"So, tell me," a burly merchant slurred, leaning in close to Drakon, "what brings you fellas to Thrace? You don't look like the locals."

Drakon grinned, refilling his cup from the communal jug. "Adventure, my friend! The open road, new horizons, and... ah... what was the other thing, Lucian?"

"Beautiful women?" Lucian supplied with a smirk.

"That's it!" Drakon roared, raising his cup. "To beautiful women!"

The table erupted in cheers, everyone drinking. A serving girl passed by, and Drakon caught her arm gently.

"My dear," he said, his words slightly slurred, "you are a vision of loveliness. Tell me, do you have a husband?"

The girl laughed, extracting her arm. "None that would stop me from talking to a charming stranger like yourself."

"Oh ho!" Drakon exclaimed. "Did you hear that, Lucian? I still got it!"

Lucian shook his head. "Don't let it go to your head, you old fart."

As the night progressed, the tavern seemed to shrink, everyone drawing closer together in shared fellowship. Stories were exchanged, jokes told, and songs sung with increasing volume and decreasing skill.

Drakon, never one to shy away from the spotlight, found himself standing on a table, swaying slightly as he regaled the crowd with a bawdy tale from his youth.

"And there I was," he proclaimed, gesturing wildly, "naked as the day I was born, with nothing but a fig leaf to cover my dignity!"

The crowd roared with laughter, egging him on. Lucian watched, torn between embarrassment and admiration for his companion’s ability to command a room.

"But wait!" Drakon continued, nearly losing his balance. "The best part is yet to come! For you see, the priestess of Aphrodite..."

His words were drowned out by a cheer as someone struck up a familiar drinking song. The old Spartan, never missing a beat, launched into the tune with enthusiasm, his voice carrying above the rest.

"Oh, the gods may have their nectar,

But for me, it's wine that's best,

It warms the heart and lifts the spirit,

And puts hair upon your chest!"

The entire tavern joined in, cups raised high, voices merging into a joyous, if off-key, chorus. Lucian found himself swept up in the moment, singing along.

The night blurred into early morning, Lucian's memories became fragmented. He vaguely recalled Drakon challenging a group of sailors to a drinking contest, arm-wrestling matches that ended in spilled wine and raucous laughter, and at one point, a heated debate about the merits of various Greek city-states that nearly came to blows before dissolving into drunken hugs.

The next thing, sunlight was stabbing at his eyes through a grimy window. His head throbbed, and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with wool. Groaning, he pushed himself up, taking in his surroundings.

They were in a small, cluttered room at the back of the tavern, presumably used for storage. Crates and barrels lined the walls, and the air smelled of stale wine and sweat.

Drakon lay sprawled on his back nearby, snoring loudly. His clothes were disheveled, and there was a garland of wilted flowers draped around his neck that Lucian didn't remember seeing the night before.

"Gods above," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "What a night."

He nudged Drakon with his foot, eliciting only a grunt and a louder snore. Sighing, Lucian stood up, his legs shaky.

"Come on," he said, giving Drakon a harder shake. "Time to face the day."

The old man’s eyes cracked open, bloodshot and unfocused. "Wha... where are we? Is the party over?"

"Long over," Lucian replied. "How much do you remember?"

Drakon sat up, wincing. "Bits and pieces. There was singing, wasn't there? And... did I propose marriage to someone?"

"Not that I recall, but I wouldn't rule it out."

As they stumbled out of the storage room and into the main tavern, they were greeted by knowing looks and good-natured chuckles from the staff cleaning up from the night before.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Well," Drakon said, squinting in the morning light, "I'd say that was a successful first night in Thrace, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Drakon stumbled towards the bar, bracing himself against the counter as he addressed one of the staff members, a middle-aged woman wiping down tables.

"Excuse me, my good lady," he said. "I find myself in need of some... clarification about last night's events. Care to fill in some gaps for an old fool?"

The woman snorted, pausing her work. "Oh, you're that one, eh? Figured you'd be asking come morning."

"Me? The one? What are you talking about?"

A younger server, overhearing the conversation, chimed in. "You don't remember? Gods, you were the life of the party!"

"Was I now? Care to elaborate?"

The older woman shook her head, chuckling. "Where to start? You challenged half the tavern to drinking contests, for one. Lost most of 'em too, but you kept at it."

"Then there was the singing," the younger server added, barely containing his laughter. "You got up on the table and belted out every drinking song known to man, and a few I think you made up on the spot."

"Ah yes, I do recall some musical endeavors. Was I any good?"

"Good?" the older woman scoffed. "You were loud, I'll give you that. Tone-deaf as a rock, but enthusiastic."

"Don't forget the dancing," another staff member called out from across the room. "You tried to teach everyone some Spartan war dance. Knocked over three tables in the process."

"Wait, I never knew Spartans do war dances. Do they?"

Lucian, who had been listening with amusement, spoke up. "Spartan dance? You didn't..."

"Now, now, I'm sure it was just a harmless jig. Nothing to worry about," he turned back to the staff. "What else? Might as well hear it all."

The younger server leaned in. "Well, there was that moment with the merchant's wife. You know, the one with the..." He gestured vaguely at his chest.

"Oh gods. What did I do?"

"Nothing too bad," the older woman assured him. "Just proposed marriage. Twice. Her husband found it hilarious, thankfully. Even bought you a drink after."

Drakon let out a relieved sigh. "Well, that's not so bad then. At least I didn't start any fights, right?"

The staff members exchanged glances. "Well..." the younger one began.

"Oh no," Lucian muttered.

"It wasn't really a fight," the older woman explained. "More of a... heated debate. About the best way to cook octopus, of all things. You and this fisherman got into it pretty good. Ended with you both arm-in-arm, swearing eternal friendship and planning a fishing trip."

"Sounds about right. Any idea where I got these flowers?" He pointed to the wilted garland still hanging around his neck.

"Ah, that was from the old widow Clea," the younger server said. "You recited some poetry for her, and she was so touched she made that for you on the spot."

"Huh? Don't suppose any of you remember what I did with my left sandal?"

The staff members looked at each other, shrugging.

"Sorry, that's a mystery even to us," the older woman said.

Drakon sighed, then straightened up as best he could. "Well, I appreciate your candor, good people. I don't suppose there's any chance of getting some of that hangover cure I've heard Thracians are famous for?"

The older woman smiled. "Coming right up. You're gonna need it."

As she moved to prepare the remedy, Drakon turned to Lucian with a wry grin. "See, my boy? This is how you make memories in a new city. Even if you can't remember them yourself."

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"So I've been told," Drakon replied. "Now, let's see about settling our tab and finding that missing sandal."

After settling their payment and locating Drakon's missing sandal, which was inexplicably hanging from a chandelier, they made their way to their horses. To their relief, the animals were still tethered where they'd left them, looking no worse for wear despite their owners' night of debauchery.

"Well, at least someone stayed sober," Drakon patted his mount's neck.

They set off, leaving the city gates behind them as they took the road towards Selybria. The morning air was crisp, helping to clear their heads as they rode. However, as they crested a small hill, the sound of raised voices caught their attention.

"What's that commotion?" Lucian asked, squinting against the sun.

Drakon shaded his eyes with his hand. "Looks like a market of some kind. But not your usual type..."

As they drew closer, the nature of the market became clear. Lucian's stomach twisted as he saw the rows of people—men, women, and even children—standing on raised platforms, chains binding their wrists and ankles.

"A slave market," Lucian muttered.

"Seems so. Not a pretty sight, but common enough in these parts."

Lucian observed the buyers came from different parts of Greece. One wears a distinctive Corinthian helmet, while another, a scarred man with a cruel smirk, wears the royal purple of the Lydian Empire. There’s another that wore a tunic adorned with red intricate patterns, likely hailing from the wealthy city-states of Ionia.

"I think I’m going to check this out."

"Are you sure?"

"It will only be for a little while."

They slowed their horses, unable to look away from the scene before them. Merchants shouted prices, potential buyers examined the slaves like livestock while armed guards stood watch.

A young woman caught Lucian's eye. She stood tall despite her chains, her gaze defiant as a buyer inspected her.

"How much for this one?" the buyer called out.

The merchant grinned, revealing several missing teeth. "Ah, you've got a good eye! This one's strong, good for field work and household duties. Five hundred drachmas."

"Five hundred?" the buyer scoffed. "She's skin and bones. Three hundred."

"Four fifty, and not a drachma less. She's got spirit, this one. Break her in right, and she'll serve you well."

Lucian's hands tightened on his reins. "This is wrong. We can't just—"

"Easy, boy," Drakon cut him off with a sharp look. "I know how you feel, but we can't interfere. It's not our place."

"Not our place? How can you say that? We're just going to ride by and pretend we didn't see this?"

"What would you have us do? Buy them all? We don't have the means for that. Start a fight? We'd be outnumbered and likely end up in chains ourselves, and not to mention feeding and taking care of them. We can’t do anything at this point. These slaves built Greece, without them, we all starve to death. It’s just a fact."

"So we let others suffer so we can live in luxury."

"If you put it that way, yes. It’s just a fact of life. You know that better than anyone. You are a slave aren’t you?"

"Yeah, but…seeing this makes my blood boil. Makes me wonder if my mother went through this."

"Unlikely, whenever us Spartans take a land, we enslave the people and put them to work, we don’t buy them."

"Like my mother?"

Drakon glanced at him. "Like your mother."

A cry drew their attention back to the market. A small boy, no more than seven or eight, was being torn away from his mother.

"Mama! Mama!" the child wailed, reaching out.

The mother struggled against her chains, her face a mask of anguish. "Please, please don't take him! I'll work harder, I swear it!"

The merchant backhanded her, sending her sprawling. "Quiet, you! You'll fetch a better price without the brat anyway."

Lucian's blood boiled. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd dismounted and was striding towards the platform.

"Hey, boy!" Drakon called after him. "Don't do anything stupid!"

But Lucian wasn't listening. He approached the merchant, his voice loud enough to draw attention. "How much for the boy and his mother?"

The merchant eyed him. "They're not for sale together. The boy goes to the mines, the woman to the household."

"I asked how much!"

The merchant named a price that made Lucian's head spin. It was far more than they could afford. But as he opened his mouth to argue, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"What in Hades do you think you're doing?!" Drakon pulled him back.

Lucian tried to shake him off. "I can't just stand by and watch this. We have to do something!"

"Are you out of your mind? We can't interfere here. It's not our place, and we don't have the means."

"But that child, the mother—"

"I know, boy. I know it's hard to watch. But think this through. What exactly is your plan here?"

"I... I thought we could buy them. Free them."

"With what money? We barely have enough to cover our own expenses. And even if we could afford it, then what? We can't take slaves with us on our journey. We'd be putting them in danger, not to mention ourselves."

The reality of the situation began to sink in, and Lucian's shoulders slumped. "But we can't just do nothing."

Drakon sighed, releasing his arm. "Sometimes, that's exactly what we have to do. The world is full of injustice, and we can't right every wrong we come across. It's a hard lesson, but one you need to learn."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as the transactions continued in the market. The cries of the separated mother and child rang in their ears.

"Come on," Drakon turned back towards their horses. "We need to move on. Selybria awaits, and we've already lost time with last night's... activities."

Lucian hesitated, his gaze still fixed on the slave market. "I hate this."

"I know. But hate won't change the world. Remember this feeling, use it to fuel your training. Maybe someday you'll be in a position to make a difference. But for now, we have our own path to follow."

With a heavy heart, he allowed himself to be led back to the horses.