It was still dark, yet every child around him was already up and ready for the day.
Darius stood up and stretched his legs first, then his arms and neck. It was a routine from his past life—to avoid stressing the muscles after sleep.
The other kids watched him as if he were insane. Why would he do that?
"Hey Darius, why are you doing that?" Cleon asked, curious about his strange new "friend."
"I'm stretching my body to avoid injuries during training—more injuries, I mean."
"And how does that help?"
"Cleon, stop talking to this idiot," another boy interrupted. His tone was full of disdain. "He's obviously trying to show off. We won't pity you. If you're weak-willed, don't drag the others down with you."
The one who spoke was Ajax. Big for his age, and respected by everyone around him.
"It's not that hard to understand," Darius replied. "Think about it. We sleep six or seven hours—our bodies are stiff from inactivity. If I jump straight into hard training, I'll risk tearing something. Stretching is like telling your body, 'Wake up. We've got work to do.' We need flexibility, we need to warm the muscles. Makes sense?"
"Show me again. I'll copy you."
"Sure."
The others stared at them with a mix of confusion and curiosity. Ajax scoffed and walked out of the barracks. Time to form ranks and avoid punishment.
Fifty boys stood in the courtyard, ten per row, backs straight like soldiers. Darius couldn't believe the discipline these kids had. Impressive. Terrifying.
As the sun rose, a young man approached from the older boys' quarters. He stopped in front of them, scanning every face—and lingering a moment longer on Darius.
The instructor had clearly told him: "This one doesn't eat."
"Attention!" the young man barked.
The children stood like iron posts.
"Pick a stone from the pile and climb the hill. A Cadet will be waiting. If you return and he doesn't hand me your tag..." He paused.
"...expect punishment."
Darius understood the implication: the Cadet had the power to make anyone disappear from the system. Questioning him was suicide.
But just as he was about to speak, another kid raised his voice.
"Sir, what if we bring the tags but the Cadet throws them away?"
He clearly had a personal grudge with someone older.
The young man smiled and walked up to him.
"That's a good question. And also... a problem."
"Thanks, sir!" the boy beamed, proud to earn points.
Then came the punch.
A fist to the gut. The kid bent over, vomit and blood spilling from his mouth.
Everyone froze.
"Pay attention. You are not allowed to speak without permission. You listen. You execute. Understood?"
"YES, SIR!"
"Any other questions?" the Prime asked, still smiling.
Silence.
"Start the exercise. NOW."
They're brutal, Darius thought. No doubt. But it works. This is how you break a child—and rebuild him into something else. This is fear training.
He grabbed a rock and followed the others. While climbing, he turned to Cleon.
"You said I hit my head, right? So let's say I don't remember anything. Tell me how this place works—who's in charge, who gets what, who we should avoid."
"Haha, that fall must've really messed you up," Cleon joked. "Alright then."
"We're Initiates—the bottom tier. Seven-year-olds and up. The next level is Cadets, around fifteen. They finish training and watch over us. Then you've got the Primes—the one yelling today. They're twenty, almost done with everything. They can decide your future. Don't mess with them."
"And the one who whipped me?"
"The Marshall. Chosen by the Eforos. He commands the camp. You were lucky—yesterday's punishment was light."
"Oh, and each group has a Protos—a leader. Ours is Ajax. He's the strongest."
"Does that come with perks?"
"Of course. More meat. Fewer punishments. The instructors protect them. They're seen as future warriors."
Darius nodded, processing everything. The structure was rigid—rank meant everything. The Protos position was the first target to aim for.
"Let's speed up, we're close," Cleon said, pointing to the Cadet waiting with a leather bag.
"Throw your tag in and run back. The last five don't eat today."
Chaos erupted. Everyone sprinted.
Cleon vanished instantly. That guy's fast.
"You're not running?" the Cadet asked, surprised to see Darius walking calmly.
"No need, sir. I'm under punishment. I don't get food anyway."
The Cadet raised a brow. "I see. Try hunting on the way back."
"Yes, sir."
Hunting's out. No bow. No knife. My body's shot. The only option: theft.
He arrived at camp last. Four other boys stood apart, stomachs empty, eyes hollow.
The Prime gave him a quick glance, dismissing him. A broken toy.
But Darius stepped forward anyway.
Here it comes, the man thought. He's going to beg for food. Pathetic.
"Sir. Am I allowed to get a bow from the armory? Or a fishing rod?"
That caught his attention. So that's the angle...
"A bow is fine," the Prime said. He won't draw it anyway. Too weak.
"Thank you, sir."
With the bow in hand, Darius began planning.
If I show up tomorrow with food, they'll think I hunted. No one will question it. That gives me time to act.
Recon report – Day one. Location: Limnai, outer district of Sparta. Chain of command: confirmed. Hunger: weaponized. Food: minimal, rationed. Target: stone building east of courtyard. One entrance. No rear door. Two Cadets on shifts. Night watch: weak.
Action window: midnight. Objective: infiltration.
Stomach: still empty. Resolve: full.
By dawn the next day, the boys gathered once more. Darius stood in the courtyard. Eyes alert. Bow in hand. And his stomach? Full.