The tavern air hung thick with smoke and the stench of cheap wine. Drakon hunched over the rickety table, dice clutched in his hand. A crowd pressed in around him, their breath hot on his neck as they watched with hungry eyes.

"Come on, old man," a voice called from the back. "Show us what you've got!"

Drakon's lips curled into a tight smile. He shook the dice, the clatter drowning out the murmurs of the onlookers. With a flick of his wrist, he sent them tumbling across the table.

The crowd leaned in. A moment of silence, then-

"Seven!" someone shouted. "The man's done it again!"

Cheers erupted. Drakon's opponent, a dock worker with arms like tree trunks, cursed and slammed his fist on the table. "One more," he growled. "Double or nothing."

"You sure about that, friend? Luck's not on your side tonight."

"Just roll the fucking dice."

Shrugging, Drakon scooped up the dice. He rattled them in his palm, made a show of blowing on them for luck, then let them fly.

The tavern held its breath. The dice bounced, spun, and came to rest.

"Nine!" The cry went up. "Drakon wins again!"

The crowd roared. Coins clinked as bets were settled. Drakon reached for his winnings, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

But before his fingers could touch the pile of coins, a meaty hand slammed down on top of them. The old man looked up to see his opponent's face, red with anger.

"Not so fast," the man snarled. He snatched up the dice, holding them close to his face. "These ain't right. You've been using loaded dice, you cheating bastard!"

Drakon’s eyes darted to the exit. "Now friend, that's a serious accusation. I assure you, those dice are as true as the day is long."

"Bullshit!" The man's fist crashed down on the table, sending coins scattering. "I've lost three times in a row. No one's that lucky!"

"Maybe you're just that unlucky," Drakon countered, pushing back his chair. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

The dock worker's hand shot out, grabbing the old man's tunic. "You ain't going nowhere until I get my money back, cheat!"

"Come on, I didn’t cheat. You’re making assumptions. You just can’t handle that you’re losing badly to me."

For a moment, the tavern was silent, tension mounting. Then, with a roar, the dock worker swung his fist at Drakon's face.

The old man’s instincts kicked in. He ducked and the punch whisted over his head. But instead of finding its intended target, the fist connected squarely with the jaw of an unsuspecting onlooker.

The man staggered back, clutching his face. "What the fuck?" he sputtered, spitting blood.

His companion, a wiry man with a patchy beard, stepped forward. "Hey, whatcha do that for?" he demanded, glaring at the dock worker.

"I didn't— this old man ducked!" He jabbed a finger at Drakon, who was slowly rising from the floor.

He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Now, now, gentlemen. Let's not get carried away. I didn't mean to duck, it was just a reflex. You know how it is, right?" He flashed a disarming smile. "Why don't we all sit down, have a drink, and forget this whole misunderstanding?"

The dock worker's eyes narrowed. "The only thing I'm forgetting is how many teeth I'm gonna knock out of your lying mouth!" He swung again, his fist cutting through the air.

Once more, Drakon's body reacted before his mind could catch up. He dropped low, the punch sailing over him and catching another bystander square in the nose. The crack of cartilage was audible even over the tavern's noise.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" the newly injured man bellowed, blood streaming down his face. "That’s it. Somebody hit somebody!"

The tavern erupted into chaos. The injured men's friends surged forward, not bothering to figure out who was to blame. Fists flew, chairs were overturned, and the air filled with curses and the sound of breaking glass.

In the midst of the mayhem, Drakon saw his opportunity. As bodies pressed in around him, he crouched low, hands scooping up as many coins as he could reach. The cold metal clinked in his pockets, a sweet melody amid the brawl.

"Come here my pretties," he said, laughing. "Oh, so many pretties!"

Keeping low, he began to weave his way through the forest of legs. A bottle shattered near his head, showering him with glass and cheap wine. He ignored it, focused solely on his escape.

He caught sight of the door, tantalizingly close. But between him and freedom stood a wall of brawling bodies. Drakon took a deep breath, then plunged forward.

He ducked under wild swings, slipped between grappling opponents, and at one point even crawled between a man's legs. Elbows caught him in the ribs, feet nearly trampled his hands, but still he pressed on.

Finally, he burst out of the melee, stumbled the last few steps to the door, yanked it open, and spilled out into the cool night air.

The sudden quiet of the street was jarring after the chaos of the tavern.He took a deep breath, savoring his escape. But his relief was short-lived.

"There he is!" The dock worker's bellow cut through the night. "Get him!"

His head snapped around. The large man was framed in the tavern doorway. Behind him, a mob of angry patrons surged forward, their eyes locked on him.

"Shit," Drakon muttered. Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted down the street, the coins in his pockets jingling with each step. Behind him, he could hear the shouts of his pursuers and the thunder of their footsteps.

His mind raced as fast as his feet. He knew these streets well, but so did many of his chasers. He couldn't outrun them forever and needed a plan fast.

He darted down an alley, hoping to lose some of his pursuers in the maze of back streets. The sounds behind him grew slightly fainter, but he could still hear them calling to each other, coordinating their search.

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As Drakon sprinted through the winding alleys, he spotted a darkened alcove between two houses then ducked into the shadows, pressing his back against the cool stone wall. His chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath, straining his ears for any sign of pursuit.

When he was sure the immediate danger had passed, Drakon reached into his pockets. His fingers closed around the cool metal of the coins he'd snatched. Pulling out a handful, he held them up to the moonlight, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

His tongue came out, wetting his lips as he counted his ill-gotten gains. The weight of the drachmas in his palm sent a thrill through him.

"Oh, the things I could buy with this," he muttered to himself.

Visions of luxury danced in his head. Fine wines, exotic foods, and most tantalizing of all - women. Lots of women. He could already picture himself surrounded by a bevy of beautiful courtesans, their laughter like music, their touch like silk. His eyes sparkled at the thought, his grin widening.

But his moment of greedy reverie was short-lived.

"There he is!" A shout pierced the night air. "Get him!"

His head snapped up. At the end of the alley stood one of the men from the tavern, pointing directly at him. Behind the man, Drakon could hear the growing rumble of approaching footsteps.

"Fuck," he spat, shoving the coins back into his pockets. "Gotta go."

Without wasting another second, he burst from his hiding spot and took off running once more. The brief rest had done little to rejuvenate him, and his legs already felt heavy.

As he rounded a corner, spotted a large oak tree standing at the edge of a small square and made a beeline for it. Drakon pressed his back against the rough bark, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. He strained his ears, listening for any sign that his pursuers were closing in.

"I think they’re gone," he whispered. "Good. Time for me to—"

As his breathing slowed, he became aware of movement nearby. He peered around the trunk of the tree, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

A young girl, no more than twelve, walked across the square. Her arms were laden with loaves of bread, the aroma wafting through the air and making his stomach growl. The girl approached a group of children huddled in a nearby alley. Their clothes were little more than rags, hanging off their thin frames. Dirt smudged their faces and matted their hair.

"Here," the girl said. She held out the loaves of bread. "I got as much as I could."

A boy, perhaps a year or two younger than the girl, reached out. "Thanks, Melissa," he said. "We were starting to think you weren't coming back."

Her face fell. "I'm sorry it took so long. The baker nearly caught me this time."

An even younger child, a girl with tangled blonde hair, tugged at her sleeve. "Did you get caught? Are we in trouble?"

Melissa knelt down, wrapping an arm around the younger girl's shoulders. "No, little one. We're safe. Now come on, let's eat before it gets cold."

The children tore into the bread. Drakon watched. He recognized the look in their eyes - the desperation of those forced to live on the streets, never knowing where their next meal would come from.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Two guards marched into the square, their armor clanking with each step. Behind them, a portly man in a flour-stained apron pointed an accusing finger at the girl.

"That's her!" the baker shouted. "That's the little thief who's been stealing from my shop!"

The guards advanced on the group of children. Melissa stepped in front of her siblings, her chin raised defiantly despite the fear in her eyes.

"Please," she said, her voice wavering. "We were hungry. We haven't eaten in days."

One of the guards reached for Melissa's arm. "Save your excuses for the magistrate, girl. You're coming with us."

The other children clung to Melissa, their cries filling the air.

"No, you can't take her!"

"Please, we need her!"

"It's not her fault!"

The guard shoved the children aside, his grip tightening on the girl's arm. "Enough! The law is the law. Theft is punishable by imprisonment, no matter the age of the thief."

Drakon felt his fists clench at his sides. He knew he should stay hidden, that getting involved would only bring trouble. But as he watched the tears stream down the gil’s face, something inside him snapped.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Drakon stepped out from behind the tree. He plastered a look of relief on his face and called out, "There you are! I've been looking all over for you!"

All eyes turned to him as he strode across the square. Drakon reached the group and placed a hand on Melissa's shoulder, firmly pulling her away from the guard.

"What's going on here?" He asked, feigning confusion. "Has my daughter done something wrong?"

The baker sputtered, his face turning red. "Your daughter? This little thief has been stealing bread from my shop for weeks!"

Drakon's eyes widened in mock surprise. He turned to the girl. "Is this true? Have you been taking bread without paying?"

Melissa hesitated for a moment, then nodded, playing along with the old man’s ruse. "I'm sorry, Father. We were so hungry, and I didn't know what else to do."

Drakon turned back to the baker, reaching into his pocket. "I apologize for my daughter's actions. Here, let me pay you for what she's taken."

"Keep your money. I want her arrested and thrown in prison. She needs to learn there are consequences for her actions."

"Come now, surely that's not necessary. She's just a child. I'll make sure she's properly punished at home."

"I don't care," the baker spat. "Guards, take her away."

As one of the guards reached for the girl again, Drakon's demeanor changed in an instant. His easy smile vanished, replaced by a cold look. He stepped forward, placing himself between Melissa and the guards.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," he said.

The baker tried to push past Drakon. "Get out of the way, you fool!"

Drakon's hand shot out, shoving the baker hard in the chest. The man stumbled backward, his arms windmilling as he lost his balance and hit the ground with a heavy thud, the air rushing from his lungs.

The guards reacted instantly, leveling their spears at Drakon's chest.

"Stand down," one of them barked. "Or you'll be joining the girl in a cell."

"I assure you, if you don't want to get your asses kicked, you'd better not point those things at me."

The guards exchanged a glance, then burst into laughter.

"Big words from an old man," the first guard sneered. He lunged forward, thrusting his spear at Drakon's midsection.

He moved with a speed that belied his age and sidestepped the attack, his hand closing around the shaft of the spear. In one fluid motion, he yanked the weapon from the guard's grasp and lashed out with a kick. His foot connected with the guard's shield, the force of the blow sending the man sprawling.

Without missing a beat, Drakon spun to face the second guard. He leveled the captured spear, its tip hovering a few feet from the man.

"This is your last chance," he said. "Give up now, or I'll be forced to knock you out too."

The guard's eyes darted between Drakon and his fallen comrade, who is now sitting up. For a moment, it seemed he might back down. Then, with a roar of anger, he charged forward.

Drakon sighed, almost disappointed by the guard's stubbornness. As the man closed in, he swung the spear in a low arc. The shaft caught the guard's ankles, sweeping his feet out from under him. The guard toppled forward, his helmeted head striking the ground with a resounding clang. He lay still, unconscious before he even realized what had happened.

Drakon turned, ready to face the baker, but the man was already fleeing. He watched as his fat figure disappeared around a corner, no doubt off to find more guards.

With the immediate threat neutralized, the old Spartan turned back to Melissa and the other children. They stared at him with awe and fear. Drakon knelt down, bringing himself to their eye level.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Melissa nodded. "Yes, thank you. But... why did you help us?"

Drakon reached into his pocket, pulling out the coins he'd won in the tavern. He pressed them into the girl's hand, closing her fingers around the money.

"Because sometimes, even old scoundrels like me need to do the right thing," he said with a wink. "Now, take this and use it to feed your siblings. And try to stay out of trouble, yeah?"

Before the children could respond, Drakon stood and walked away. As he reached the edge of the square, he paused and looked back. The children were still staring after him.

Drakon allowed himself a small smile. Then, with a quick glance to make sure no more guards were approaching, slipped into the shadows of an alley and disappeared into the night.