Lucian trudged across the flat field, arms laden with wooden swords and shields, muttering curses under his breath. Drakon ambled behind him, drinking from a bottle of wine.

"Your form is getting sloppy," the old man called out, his words getting slurred. "Ever since we got to Thrace, you've been slacking on your training."

Lucian dropped the weapons with a clatter and turned to glare at his mentor. "Maybe I'd have more time to train if you and Stephanos weren't always out drinking and whoring around."

"A man's got needs," Drakon shrugged, taking another swig. "Besides, a little wine helps loosen the muscles." He tossed the empty bottle aside. "Now quit your bellyaching and pick up that sword."

Lucian rolled his eyes but did as he was told. He squared off against Drakon, wooden blade at the ready.

This is pointless, he thought. What good is training with fake swords against a drunk old man?

But he knew better than to argue. Drakon may be past his prime, but he was still a formidable fighter. And he needed to prove himself, to show that even a lowborn could become a great warrior.

"Keep your shield up," Drakon barked, circling around him. "Your enemies won't go easy on you just because you're tired or hungry or sick of training."

"I know that," Lucian snapped back. He swung his sword in a wide arc, but Drakon easily sidestepped the blow.

They exchanged several quick strikes, wood thudding against wood. Lucian gritted his teeth, trying to anticipate Drakon's next move. The old Spartan was crafty, his style unorthodox.

Lucian saw an opening and lunged forward, but it was a feint. Drakon whirled to the side and cracked him across the back with the flat of his blade. He stumbled and nearly dropped his shield.

"Pathetic," Drakon spat. "Is that the best you can do?"

The words stung, but Lucian used the pain to fuel his determination. He spun back around, unleashing a flurry of blows that drove Drakon back a few steps.

"Not bad," his mentor acknowledged. "But anger alone won't win your battles. You need focus. Discipline. Control."

As they clashed again, Stephanos wandered over, his own wine bottle in hand. He watched them trade strikes with a look of amusement. "You two at it again? I thought we came here to enjoy ourselves, not beat each other senseless."

Drakon landed a solid hit to Lucian's thigh, making him wince. "Pain is the only teacher that matters. The boy needs to be strong. The world out there won't go easy on him."

The old Spartan was right, loathe as Lucian was to admit it. He redoubled his efforts, ignoring the aches in his muscles and the sweat dripping into his eyes. He would master this, and every other skill he needed.

No matter how much it hurts. No matter how long it took. Lucian would forge himself into a blade strong enough to cut through any obstacle. On the training field, and in life.

The sun had reached its peak in the sky and the two had been practicing with their swords and shields since dawn. Stephanos, who had been observing them from the sidelines, was growing restless. He had watched as they sparred again and again, but now his attention was waning. The repetitive clanging of metal against metal and grunts of exertion were no longer enough to hold his interest.

"Stop!" Stephanos shouted as he took a long swig from his bottle. "This is getting boring, maybe the boy should spar with me for a change. I bet I could show him a thing or two."

The duo paused, turning to gaze at him.

"You sure about that?" Drakon asked. "The boy's been training hard. He might give you more of a fight than you bargained for."

A confident grin split his youthful features. "Oh, I'm sure. Come on, hand me a sword and shield. Let's see what the kid's made of."

"Alright then," Drakon shrugged and tossed the training weapons over to him. "Your funeral."

Lucian watched as Stephanos strode over to face him, a cocky swagger in his step. The Spartan man had always been brash, but this was the first time he'd directly challenged Lucian in a sword fight. A flicker of uncertainty coiled in his gut. Stephanos was older, more experienced. Did he really stand a chance? No. He couldn't think like that.

Lucian set his jaw, raising his sword and shield. "I'm ready whenever you are."

"Oh, I was born ready, kid."

He lunged forward, his sword a blur of motion. Lucian barely got his shield up in time to block the strike. The force of the blow sent shockwaves up his arm. Stephanos was fast. Faster than Drakon. And his style was different, more fluid and unpredictable.

Lucian countered with a thrust of his own, but Stephanos twisted away like a snake, his sword darting in to nick his ribs. "Too slow," he taunted. "You'll have to do better than that."

Gritting his teeth, Lucian redoubled his efforts. He feinted left, then slashed right, trying to catch Stephanos off guard. But the Spartan seemed to anticipate every move, dancing just out of reach with a maddening grin.

"Is this really the best you can do?" He goaded as their swords clashed again. "I thought the old mentor of yours was supposed to be teaching you how to fight, not how to flail around like a drunken helot."

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Anger surged through his veins. He knew Stephanos was trying to rile him up, to make him lose focus. But knowing didn't make the words sting any less.

Lucian channeled his anger into his next strike, putting all his strength behind it. Stephanos' eyes widened in surprise as he barely managed to deflect the blow. For a moment, Lucian thought he had him.

But then Stephanos' foot hooked around Lucian's ankle, yanking his leg out from under him. He crashed to the ground, sword flying from his grip. Before he could scramble back to his feet, the tip of Stephanos' blade pressed against his throat.

"Yield," he demanded.

Lucian glared up at him. He wanted to keep fighting, to wipe that smug look off his opponent’s face. But he knew when he was beaten.

"I yield," he ground out.

Stephanos laughed, stepping back and lowering his sword. "Better luck next time, kid. Maybe Drakon can teach you a few more tricks before then."

As Lucian climbed back to his feet, Drakon clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Don't let it get to you, boy. Stephanos has always been a tricky bastard to fight. You held your own well enough."

But as Lucian watched Stephanos saunter off, tossing his sword aside and reclaiming his wine, he couldn't help but feel like he'd failed. Failed Drakon, failed himself.

How was he ever going to become the warrior his family needed if he couldn't even beat a half-drunk braggart like Stephanos?

Lucian's hands clenched into fists at his sides. No. He refused to give up. He would train harder, push himself further. And next time, he vowed, he would be the one left standing.

He gathered up the training weapons, his muscles aching from the intense sparring session. As he and Drakon made their way down the street, the old Spartan took a long pull from his wine bottle.

"Where'd you even get that?" Lucian asked, eyeing the drink. "Thought you were out."

"I have my ways, boy. Don't you worry about it."

Lucian shook his head, deciding not to press the issue. "Any news from our hooded friend?"

A group of soldiers marched past, their armor clanking. Drakon waited until they were out of earshot before replying. "Not a damn thing. Starting to think he might've just taken that item and ran."

"It's been almost a week," Lucian said. "He should've contacted us by now. What if he scammed us?"

A gaggle of giggling teenage girls passed by, shooting curious glances at the two. The old warrior paid them no mind. "If that's the case, getting any information on these Persians is gonna be a hell of a lot harder."

"Speaking of, where are they hiding? We haven't seen a single Persian since we got to Selybria."

"Think about it, kid," Drakon said, taking another swig. "If you were trying to infiltrate a city, would you go announcing it to everyone? Nah, they're laying low. Waiting for the right moment to strike."

As they approached their lodging, Lucian's mind raced with unanswered questions and mounting concerns. He pushed open the door with a sigh. "Whatever. Let's just hope Stephanos has managed to find out something useful for once."

Drakon followed him inside, grumbling under his breath. "Wouldn't count on it."

They entered the room to find the Spartan sprawled out on his bed, snoring. Lucian set down the training weapons with a clatter, but the noise did nothing to rouse their sleeping compatriot.

"Home sweet home," Drakon muttered, collapsing onto his own bed.

Lucian grabbed a bunch of grapes from the table, popping one into his mouth. "Remind me again why we're relying on him to investigate? He's done nothing but laze about and drink since we got here."

Drakon glanced over at Stephanos, then took a long pull from his bottle. "Damned if I know. Maybe he's just taking his sweet time, trying to be thorough or some shit."

Without another word, the old warrior laid back and closed his eyes, apparently intent on joining Stephanos in slumber.

But Lucian was restless, his head was too full of worries to even consider sleep. He paced the room, absently munching on grapes, before finally giving up and heading back out into the street.

The fresh air helped clear his head a little as he wandered aimlessly, watching the people go about their daily lives.

As he continued his walk, the sound of lively music caught his attention. Lucian followed the melody to a nearby square, where a group of street performers had gathered a sizable crowd. The musicians played a mix of instruments - the clear, high notes of the aulòs flute, the plucked strings of the kithara lyre, and the steady beat of drums.

He paused to watch, momentarily forgetting his worries as he lost himself in the music. The performers moved with fluidity, their colored clothing swirling around them as they danced. The crowd clapped and cheered, some even joining in the dance.

For a moment, Lucian allowed himself to simply enjoy the moment, the joy and energy of the performance washing over him. But as the song ended and the crowd began to disperse.

Then, a flash of movement caught his eye. Lucian turned to see a familiar figure in the distance, talking to someone he couldn't quite make out. His heart stuttered. It was Mira.

It couldn’t be.

Lucian quickly ducked behind the wall of a nearby temple, praying she hadn't spotted him. Carefully, he peeked around the corner, watching as she continued her conversation with the unknown individual.

A few minutes later, Mira finished and began walking in his direction. He pressed himself against the wall as her footsteps grew closer. Just as she was about to pass by, a group of temple worshippers emerged, offering a perfect opportunity for Lucian to blend in and escape notice.

He followed the group inside, the scent of burning incense tickling his nose. The worshippers knelt before a statue of Poseidon, murmuring prayers and leaving offerings of fruits and coins. Lucian mimicked their actions, keeping his head bowed until he was certain Mira had passed.

Slipping back outside, Lucian let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Questions swirled in his mind. Why was she in Selybria? Who had she been talking to? He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He had a sinking feeling that Mira's presence here was no coincidence.

Lucian trailed Mira at a safe distance as she navigated the winding streets. She stopped at various houses, engaging in hushed conversations with suspicious-looking individuals. Lucian's instincts screamed that something was amiss.

At one point, Mira glanced over her shoulder, and Lucian barely managed to duck behind a cart laden with freshly baked bread. The vendor shot him a curious look, but Lucian simply grabbed a loaf and tossed a drachma on the cart before hurrying away.

As the sun began to set, Mira approached a run-down house on the outskirts of town. Lucian's brow furrowed. He'd never seen this place before.

Mira knocked on the door, and a haggard woman answered. Lucian crept closer, straining to hear their conversation.

"Have you seen two men recently? A young one and an old one?" She asked.

Lucian's blood ran cold. She was looking for him and Drakon. But why?

The woman shook her head. "No, I haven't seen anyone like that. What's this about?"

"It's important. If you see them, send word immediately."

Lucian had to warn Drakon. They needed to leave Selybria, to find somewhere safe.

But as he spun around, he found himself face-to-face with a hulking, armored man. Lucian barely had time to register the man's presence before a heavy blow struck him on the back of the head and everything went black.