Lucian and Drakon stood a couple of blocks away from their target. The house they watched was a two-story structure made of pale limestone, its facade adorned with carvings of sea creatures and waves. A wrought-iron gate surrounded a small courtyard, where two guards in leather armor paced back and forth, short swords at their hips and spears in hand.

"You're certain this is the Whisperer's house?" Drakon asked, his eyes narrowed as he studied the building.

Lucian nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"How'd you find out about this place?"

"I, uh, asked around," Lucian lied, avoiding his mentor's gaze. "Some locals gave me the information."

Drakon seems to mull this over for a moment. "Alright. As long as we get what we need, I don't really give a damn where you got your intel from."

Lucian let out a small sigh of relief, grateful that the old Spartan hadn't pushed the issue further. "So, what's our next move?" he asked, eager to change the subject.

Drakon scratched his chin. "We can't just stand here forever, watching the place. We'll run out of coin before we learn anything useful."

"What if we tried to sneak in?"

The old warrior chuckled. "And how do you propose we do that? Neither of us knows the first thing about breaking into a guarded house. We'd be caught before we made it past the gate."

"Fair point. So what options do we have?"

"Much as I hate to admit it, I think our best bet is to go along with that hooded bastard's plan. We need to get that box he mentioned."

"Are you sure about that?" Lucian asked, his stomach twisting at the thought of theft. "It seems risky."

"Of course it's risky. But we're out of options. We need information on the Persian invasion, and this Whisperer character seems to be our best lead. If stealing some merchant's box is what it takes to get an audience with him, then that's what we'll do."

Lucian chewed his lip, conflicted. On one hand, the idea of becoming a thief went against everything he believed in. On the other, the fate of Greece might depend on the information they could gather. "I don't like it. But you're right. We don't have much choice."

Drakon clapped him on the shoulder. "Look at it this way. We're not doing this for ourselves. We're doing it to protect our homeland. Sometimes, to do what's right, you have to do a little wrong along the way."

"I guess."

With uncovering the brutal methods of the Spartans a week ago, Lucian couldn't help but question his intentions. The thought of sacrificing himself for their cause now filled him with doubt. Was this truly a cause worth fighting for? Was saving the Spartans really worth risking his own life? Should he continue on this path, or turn back before it was too late? Their cause suddenly didn't seem as noble and righteous as he once believed. But one thing is for sure; his family is there, and that’s all the reason he needs to defend it.

"Come on," Drakon turned away from the Whisperer's house. "Let's head back to the tavern and wait for our hooded friend. The sooner we get this over with, the better."

As they walked away, Lucian cast one last glance at the house. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were getting in way over their heads. But with the threat of a Persian invasion looming, what other choice did they have?

The streets grew more crowded as they made their way back to The Golden Amphora. Merchants hawked their wares, children darted between the legs of adults, and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted from nearby bakeries. It all seemed so normal, so peaceful. He wondered how many of these people had any idea of the danger that might be coming their way.

"You're awfully quiet," Drakon observed as they neared the tavern.

"Just thinking about what we're about to do. It doesn't sit right with me."

"I know, boy. Let’s just do our job and end this war as fast as we can."

As they walked towards the tavern, Lucian's mind raced. They already knew the Whisperer's location, but that information alone seemed insufficient. All that effort with Linus, transforming into a dog, felt wasted. Yet, it had given him ideas about how he might use his powers in the future.

"Here we are," Drakon said as they pushed open the wooden door. The tavern was quieter than the night before, with only a few patrons scattered about. In a dark corner, the hooded figure from yesterday sat waiting.

They exchanged a glance before making their way over, and slid into seats across from the mysterious man, the wood creaking beneath them.

"You've returned," the man said. "Have you made your decision?"

Drakon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "We'll do it. We'll get your box."

The man's lips curled into a smile and leaned in. "Listen carefully. The merchant will arrive tomorrow at midday through the eastern gate. He'll be coming down the main road that leads to the agora." He paused, ensuring they were paying attention. "The man you're looking for is in his forties, with a thick black beard streaked with gray. He'll be wearing a deep blue chiton with gold embroidery at the hem and a matching himation draped over his left shoulder. Look for a golden brooch shaped like a lion's head pinning the himation at his right shoulder." The man's finger traced an invisible map on the table. "He'll be driving a cart pulled by two brown mules, not one. The cart will have a red canopy over it. The box you need to acquire will be under his seat – it's small, made of olive wood with silver inlays depicting scenes from the Iliad."

Drakon nodded. "And the drop-off point?"

"There's an abandoned shrine to Poseidon near the docks," the man continued. "It's the one with the crumbling façade and a faded trident painted above the door, located three buildings down from the harbormaster's office. Leave the box there at sunset, behind the fallen statue of the sea god. If it's there and undamaged, you'll receive instructions for meeting the Whisperer."

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"That's... very specific. How do you know all this?" Lucian said.

"In this city, information is currency, young man. And I deal in the richest of coins."

"Alright," Drakon nodded. "Anything else we need to know?"

He leaned back. "Just remember, discretion is key. If you're caught, we've never met. Understood?"

"Crystal clear."

As they stood to leave, Lucian couldn't shake a nagging feeling. "Wait," he said, turning back to the hooded man. "How will you know if we've left the box?"

The man chuckled. "The Whisperer has eyes everywhere, young man. You'd do well to remember that."

They left the tavern, stepping back into the sunlight. Lucian glanced at the old man. "So, what's our plan?"

"I’ll go over it with you, say, in a bath house."

"A bath house?"

"Yeah, why not? A little relaxation won’t hurt anyone."

They soon arrived at a large stone building, steam rising from its roof.

Inside, Drakon led them to a changing area. "Alright, listen up," he said, reaching for a small cloth. "This here's called a subligaculum. It's what you wear in the baths."

Lucian eyed the garment. "That tiny thing?"

"Yep. Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Now, take off your clothes and wrap this around your waist. Make sure it's tight - you don't want it falling off in the water."

"Ok."

As Lucian fumbled with the subligaculum, Drakon continued his instructions. "Leave your valuables here in this cubby. They've got slaves watching, but better safe than sorry."

Once they were both changed, Drakon led the way to the main bathing area. Lucian's eyes widened as they entered the vast chamber. The ceiling arched high above them, supported by massive marble columns. The statues lining the walls, he recognized many of them from the stories he'd heard growing up. Near the entrance stood a muscular figure of Heracles, his club resting on one shoulder. Further along, he spotted Achilles in full armor.

"Is that... Odysseus?" He asked, pointing to a statue of a bearded man with a cunning look in his eyes.

"Good eye," Drakon said. "And over there, that's Theseus. See the ball of string in his hand? That's from the labyrinth myth."

"That’s nice."

Other statues depicted gods in various poses. A majestic Zeus with his thunderbolt, a serene Athena with her owl, and a muscular Poseidon wielding his trident.

In one corner, Lucian spotted a group of three female figures. "Who are they?" he asked.

Drakon squinted. "Ah, those are the Three Graces. Aglaea, Euphrosyne, and Thalia. Goddesses of charm, beauty, and creativity."

"Beautiful."

The pool was truly enormous, stretching at least fifty paces in length and thirty in width. Crystal clear water flowed continuously from the mouths of bronze lion heads mounted along the walls, keeping the pool fresh and clean.

Lucian counted at least thirty people already in the water, with more lounging on benches around the edges.

"Holy shit," he muttered. "This place is incredible."

Drakon grinned. "Not bad, eh? Come on, let's get in before it gets too crowded."

They made their way to the pool's edge. Drakon eased himself in with a contented sigh, while Lucian hesitated.

"What's the matter?" The old man asked. "Water too hot for you?"

Lucian shook his head. "No, it's just... I've never been in a place like this before."

"Ah, right. Well, there's nothing to it. Just get in and relax. That's what we're here for."

"Is it ok?"

"Why wouldn't it be ok?"

"You know, because I’m a slave and all."

"No one knows you’re a slave here but me. Would you get in here and relax already?"

"Ok, sure."

"That’s the spirit."

Taking a deep breath, Lucian slipped into the water. The heat enveloped him, and he felt his muscles begin to unwind.

"See? Not so bad," Drakon said, leaning back against the pool's edge. "Now, just let yourself float. Let the water do the work."

Lucian tried to relax, but his mind kept wondering. "I can't stop thinking about tomorrow. What if something goes wrong?"

"That's exactly why we're here, boy. To clear our heads. We can't go into this all wound up. So for now, just focus on the water. Feel how it supports you. Listen to the voices around us, the splash of water. Let everything else fade away."

Lucian closed his eyes, trying to follow the old man's advice. Gradually, he felt the tension start to leave his body. The worries about tomorrow's task, the mysteries surrounding the Whisperer, even his own secret abilities - all of it seemed to melt away in the warm water.

"There you go," Drakon said. "That's the way. We'll worry about all that other stuff later. For now, just breathe."

As they soaked, the bathhouse grew busier. More people entered, their voices creating a low hum that filled the chamber. Slaves moved among the bathers, offering oils and scraping tools.

"You know," Lucian said after a while, "this isn't half bad."

"Told you. Nothing like a good bath to set you right. Now, what do you say we grab some of that oil and give our muscles a good rubdown?"

"Sure, why not," Lucian nodded, feeling more relaxed than he had in days.

They climbed out of the pool, water cascading off their bodies. A slave approached, carrying a tray of small clay bottles.

"Which scent would you prefer, sirs?" the slave asked. "We have olive, almond, and rose."

Drakon selected the olive oil, while Lucian opted for almond. They each took a bottle and moved to a nearby bench.

"Watch how I do this," Drakon instructed, pouring some oil into his palm. He began spreading it over his arms in long, firm strokes. "You want to really work it into the skin. Gets the blood flowing and loosens up the muscles."

Lucian mimicked his movements, the oil cool against his skin. "Like this?"

"That's it. Now do your chest and back. Don't be shy about it."

As they rubbed the oil into their bodies, Lucian noticed other bathers doing the same. Some were helping each other, reaching spots that were hard to get to alone.

"Hey, old man," he said, "mind getting my back?"

"Sure thing, boy. Turn around."

Lucian felt his calloused hands working the oil into his back muscles. The old Spartan's touch was firm but not rough, easing out knots Lucian hadn't even realized were there.

"Gods, that feels good," he mumbled.

"Years of practice. Alright, your turn. Do mine."

They switched places, and Lucian did his best to replicate Drakon's technique. He was surprised at how many scars crisscrossed the old warrior's back.

"Each one's got a story," Drakon said, as if reading Lucian's mind. "Maybe I'll tell you about them someday."

Once they were thoroughly oiled, they made their way back to the pool. The oil made their skin glisten in the soft light of the bathhouse.

"Now, ease yourself in slowly," Drakon advised. "Let the water and oil mix. It'll feel different this time."

Lucian followed Drakon's lead, sliding into the warm water. The oil created a slick feeling on his skin, and he found himself gliding through the water.

"This feels amazing," he said, floating on his back.

"Nothing quite like it. Now just relax and let the water do its work."