"There it is," Drakon pointed ahead. "Selybria. Smaller than Thrace, but a key spot for trade in these parts."

As they approached, the city's silhouette gradually emerged on the horizon. The road wound its way down towards the coast, offering glimpses of the sprawling port town nestled against the shoreline.

Lucian squinted, taking in the sight. The city's stone walls rose up from the landscape, a patchwork of mudbrick buildings visible beyond. Atop the highest point, a temple gleamed in the sunlight.

Drawing closer, the bustle of port life became apparent. Ships of various sizes dotted the harbor, their masts creating a forest of wood against the blue sea. Sailors and dockworkers swarmed around the vessels, loading and unloading cargo.

The main road leading into the city was crowded with travelers and merchants. Carts laden with goods trundled past, while traders led donkeys bearing heavy loads. It smelled of salt, fish, and the sweat of hard labor.

"Look at that," Lucian remarked, gesturing to a group of men hauling amphorae from a newly docked ship. "They work like a well-oiled machine."

"Yup," Drakon nodded. "That's the lifeblood of a place like this. Every hand has its purpose."

They passed through the city gates, the guards gave them only a cursory glance. Inside, the streets narrowed, forcing them to dismount and lead their horses. The pathways twisted and turned, lined with closely packed houses of mudbrick and wood. Children darted between the legs of adults, playing games and running errands.

"Watch it!" a woman called out as she emptied a bucket of water into the street, narrowly missing Lucian's feet.

"Sorry," he said.

The central agora was alive with activity. Vendors shouted their wares with the aroma of fresh bread, grilled meats, and exotic spices. In one corner, a group of men huddled around a speaker, hanging on his every word as he shared news from distant lands.

"This is where the real pulse of the city beats," Drakon said, his eyes scanning the crowd. "You want to know what's really going on in Selybria? This is where you'll hear it."

"Really? Have you been here?"

"Long time ago when I was serving in the Spartan army. Different city back then."

"How so?"

"Well, for one thing," he pointed at the corner, "see that store over there? Used to be a fish stall back then. Now it's a place to buy exotic silks and rare spices."

They made their way through the market, Lucian's attention caught by the variety of goods on display. Bolts of colorful fabric from far-off lands, shiny metal tools, and an array of foods he'd never seen before.

As they climbed towards the temple, the view of the harbor spread out before them. Ships of all sizes dotted the water, from small fishing boats to large merchant vessels. The docks were a hive of activity, with goods being loaded and unloaded, fishermen bringing in their daily catch, and sailors preparing for their next voyage.

"It's not as grand as some places we've seen," Drakon admitted, "but there's a certain charm to it, don't you think?"

Lucian nodded, taking in the scene. "It feels... alive."

"That's the nature of a place like this. Everyone's got to pull their weight. It's not an easy life, but it's an honest one."

As the sun began to set, Lucian found himself reflecting on the journey that had brought them here. From the mountains of Sparta to the port of Selybria, each step had brought new challenges and experiences.

"So," he asked, "what's next?"

"What do you think? We look for that man Stavros called ‘The Whisperer’."

"You think he’s here?"

"Let's find ourselves a tavern. I've got a feeling we can find something there that will be worth hearing."

Lucian and Drakon found themselves standing before a tavern that stood out from the rest of modest buildings. Its exterior was adorned with wooden carvings of famous myths and a polished brass sign that read "The Golden Amphora" swung gently in the breeze.

They tied their horses to a sturdy post outside and pushed open the door. The interior was a different to the raucous tavern they'd visited in Thrace. Plush rugs covered the floor, muffling their footsteps. Instead of rough wooden benches, ornate chairs surrounded tables inlaid with mother-of-pearl designs.

It was sparsely populated. A couple of well-dressed people sat in one corner, speaking in hushed tones. A lone figure in a hooded cloak nursed a drink at the bar.

Lucian leaned in close. "This place feels... off. You sure we're in the right spot?"

Drakon shrugged. "Let's find out."

They settled at a table near the center of the room. A young woman in a clean, pressed tunic approached them, her demeanor polite but reserved.

"Welcome to The Golden Amphora," she said. "What can I bring you?"

Drakon smiled and said, "Whatever's fresh for the day, my dear. And a jug of your house wine."

The server nodded, making a mental note.

"Oh, and one more thing. We're looking for someone. Perhaps you've heard of him? Goes by the name of 'The Whisperer'."

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The change in the server's demeanor was immediate. Her face went pale, and she glanced around, as if afraid someone might have overheard.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, and without another word, turned and disappearing through a door behind the bar.

The two exchanged puzzled looks.

"Well, that was strange," Lucian muttered. "What do you think that was about?"

"I'm not sure, but it seems our friend 'The Whisperer' is a touchy subject around here."

"You think we're in danger?"

"Not yet. But keep your wits about you. I have a feeling things here are more complicated than they appear."

They fell into a tense silence, both acutely aware of the few other patrons in the tavern. The lone figure at the bar seemed to have shifted slightly, as if listening to their conversation. The merchants in the corner had stopped talking and were now taking furtive glances in their direction.

"Maybe we should go," Lucian whispered.

But before Drakon could respond, the server reappeared, carrying a tray laden with food and wine. Her hands shook slightly as she set the items on their table.

"Enjoy your meal," she said, avoiding eye contact and turning to leave.

"Wait," Drakon caught her wrist. "We meant no harm with our question. We're just travelers seeking information."

The server hesitated and leaned in close. "If you value your lives, don't ask about The Whisperer again. Not here. Not anywhere in Selybria."

With that, she pulled away and hurried off, leaving them to ponder her ominous warning.

"Well," Drakon said, pouring them each a cup of wine, "it seems we've stumbled into something interesting."

They continued their meal, speaking in low tones about their next move when the hooded figure from the bar approached their table. His face was obscured by the shadow of his cowl, but his voice was smooth and controlled.

"I couldn't help but overhear," the man said. "You're looking for The Whisperer."

Drakon's hand tightened around his cup. "And what if we are?"

"I might be able to help."

"That so?" he leaned back. "And how do we know if what you're saying is true?"

The hooded man gestured to an empty chair. "May I?"

Lucian nodded, and the stranger sat down.

"So," he said, leaning forward, "what do you know about The Whisperer?"

The man's lips curled into a slight smile. "He knows what's going on in this town. Everything. The Whisperer is a powerful individual with eyes and ears everywhere. Nothing happens in Selybria without his knowledge."

"That's just general information," Drakon snorted. "We need specifics like where is this ‘Whisperer’ located?"

"Ah," the man said, raising a finger. "That's not information I give away freely. But I can arrange a meeting with him... for a price."

Lucian glanced at Drakon before asking, "How much?"

The hooded man leaned back. "For something this sensitive? Five hundred drachmas."

"Five hundred? That's robbery!" Drakon nearly choked on his wine.

"It's the price of discretion," the man countered. "And believe me, when dealing with The Whisperer, discretion is worth every coin."

"That's more than we can afford. Is there no other way?" Lucian frowned.

The stranger drummed his fingers on the table. "Perhaps... there might be another option. The Whisperer always has need of certain... services. If you're willing to perform a task, it could serve as payment."

"What kind of task?"

"Nothing too difficult," the man assured them. "There's a merchant arriving tomorrow. He'll be carrying a small wooden box. All you need to do is acquire that box and bring it to a designated location."

"You mean steal it," Lucian said.

The hooded man shrugged. "Call it what you will. That's the offer. Take it or leave it."

The two exchanged a long look, silently communicating. Finally, the old Spartan turned back to the stranger.

"We'll need time to consider your offer," he said.

"Of course," the man nodded, standing up. "I'll be here tomorrow at sundown. If you decide to accept, come with an answer then." He paused, then added, "And gentlemen? I wouldn't mention this conversation to anyone else. For your own safety." He turned and walked out of the tavern.

"Well," Drakon muttered, refilling their cups, "looks like Selybria is going to be more interesting than we thought."

"Yeah, but the question is: are we ready for this kind of 'interesting'?"

Drakon drained the last of his wine and stood up, stretching. "Come on, boy. Let's find a place to rest our heads and think this over."

"Yeah, let’s."

They left The Golden Amphora, untying their horses and leading them through the darkening streets of Selybria. After a short search, they came across a modest inn called "The Sailor's Rest."

The two-story building was constructed of weathered wood, its paint peeling from years of exposure to the salty air. A hand-painted sign depicting a sleeping sailor swung gently above the door.

The two entered, the floorboards creaking under their feet. The common room was sparsely furnished but clean, with a few patrons scattered about, most nursing drinks and engaged in quiet conversation. The air smelled of wood smoke and something savory cooking in the back.

Drakon approached the innkeeper, a portly man with a thick beard. "Evening. Got a room for two?"

The innkeeper nodded, fishing out a key. "Second floor, third door on the right. Three drachmas for the night, includes breakfast."

After paying and securing their horses in the small stable out back, they climbed the narrow staircase to their room. The door opened with a groan, revealing a small but tidy space. Two narrow beds with straw mattresses were pushed against opposite walls. A single window overlooked the street below, its shutters weathered but sturdy. A wash basin stood in one corner, and a small table with two chairs occupied the other.

Lucian dropped his pack on one of the beds, the frame creaking under the weight. "Well, it's not luxurious, but it'll do."

"I suppose," Drakon nodded, setting his own belongings down. "We've slept in worse places. At least there's a roof over our heads."

They settled into their beds, feeling the smooth sheets against their skin.

"So," Lucian said, sitting on the edge of his bed, "what do you think we should do about this Whisperer business?"

"That, my boy, is the question of the hour."

"Well, should we accept it?"

"I’m not really sure."

"Why not?"

"I didn’t say no. I said I’m not sure."

Lucian laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Perhaps we should get the information through alternative means."

"How?"

"I don’t know, something that doesn’t involve paying a lot of money."

Drakon scratched his chin. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."

"Why?"

"We need accurate information. Asking the locals is like asking a blind man to describe the sunrise. We can't rely on hearsay for something as important as this. We need to know how many Persians are going to invade Greece."

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"We do what that man says. We steal that box."

"I don’t know. That mission might be very dangerous," Lucian said. "I’m not a thief."

"Neither am I, but we have no choice."

Lucian sighed. "Then, it's settled. We’re going to steal that box."