Darius walked in silence, bow across his back, knife at his hip, the xiphos hidden beneath his cloak.
The forest behind him had grown quieter with every step.
He didn't look back.
It had been over a month since he arrived in the wilds, and now that he was leaving… he realized something unsettling.
He didn't know how to get back.
The exact path that had brought him from the Agōgē to Arkantos' ridge was gone from his memory. His body had been broken then, crawling more than walking. The pain had blurred everything.
He stopped at the edge of a clearing, scanning the trees. North should've been the direction—but the trees all looked the same now. And he wasn't about to guess wrong and wander into Messenian territory.
He turned to Red.
The wolf stood beside him, tail low but calm, ears turning with every sound.
"Alright," Darius muttered, crouching down. "I need a favor."
Red tilted his head slightly.
"Find people. Humans. Not us. Can you do that?"
Red sniffed the air, then lowered his snout to the dirt. He padded in a small circle, nose twitching. Then he stopped. Sniffed again. Then started walking—not fast, but with purpose.
Darius didn't hesitate.
He followed.
The trek was uneven, winding. Sometimes Red veered off the path entirely, dipping down into gullies, weaving around thickets. Darius trusted him. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The wolf was focused.
Twice they crossed broken branches. Once, a sandal print. Not fresh, but clear.
Signs.
Signs of people.
By mid-morning, the scent trail must have grown stronger, because Red stopped hesitating. He moved faster, tail now raised, steps sharper.
Darius's grip on his bow tightened.
Then, as they rounded a bend through a grove of olive trees, he saw it.
Down in the valley below, nestled against the foot of the mountain—a village.
Stone houses with wooden beams. Smoke drifting lazily from chimneys. Goat pens. Walled gardens. People moved between stalls and carts. One watchtower and a few guards. Everything looked orderly.
Not Spartans.
But close.
A settlement of Villagers.
Darius exhaled slowly.
"Good boy," he whispered, resting a hand on Red's back.
Red didn't bark or wag his tail.
He just watched.
Silent. Steady.
Like a soldier before battle.
Darius approached the village gates with steady steps, his cloak drawn close against the wind. Amyclae stood behind a modest wooden palisade, reinforced at key points with stacked stone. A small tower loomed to the side, where two guards leaned lazily against spears, eyeing the road more out of habit than duty.
One of them—a younger man with sharp features and too much confidence—straightened when he saw Darius approach.
"A kid?" he muttered.
The older guard beside him glanced down, unimpressed.
Darius stopped at the entrance, just below the tower. He raised his chin.
"My name is Darius," he said. "I'm heading to Limnai. Just passing through."
The younger guard grinned.
"Well, Darius," he said, stepping forward, "we've got a toll in this village. Travelers pay for safety. Especially ones with weapons."
Darius frowned. "I don't have money."
The guard shrugged. "Then maybe that bow of yours will do."
Darius's eyes narrowed. "That's not going to happen."
The guard chuckled. "Really? Looks fancy. Probably more bow than a hunter's brat like you can handle."
Darius didn't answer. He just adjusted the strap across his chest slightly, keeping the bow in place, but letting the movement part his cloak just enough.
The xiphos glinted in the morning light.
The old guard saw it instantly—and moved faster than his age should've allowed.
WHACK!
The younger man stumbled forward, clutching the back of his head. "What the hell, Theros?!"
The older guard—Theros—grabbed his shoulder and gave him a look that froze the question in his throat.
"Let the boy pass," he said flatly. "It was just a joke, that's all."
Then he turned to Darius and forced a smile, stiff and uneasy.
"Don't mind him. There's no toll. Entry is free."
Darius didn't answer right away. His eyes flicked between the two guards, measuring their posture, their tone, the weight behind their words.
Then, with a short nod, he stepped past them.
Red followed close behind, silent as always.
The guards watched him go until he disappeared beyond the gate.
Only then did Theros finally exhale.
The younger one shook his head, still rubbing the back of his skull. "You're acting like he was some sort of threat. He's just a kid."
Theros turned slowly. "You idiot."
He pointed down the road Darius had taken.
"Did you see that blade? That was a xiphos. Standard Spartan issue—and not the kind villagers carry."
"So? Maybe he stole it."
"Look at his arms," Theros growled. "Look at how he moved. That kid is from the Agōgē. One of theirs."
The younger guard's expression shifted slightly. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
Theros shook his head.
"Those kids are trained to kill from the moment they can walk. And they're property of the state. If you hurt one—hell, if you touch one and someone finds out—you're dead. Not just punished. Dead. Your name erased, your family fined, your house burned to the ground."
He stared into the road, as if still seeing Darius walking.
"And even if no one found out… try killing one of them."
He glanced sideways, voice low.
"You'd lose. Or worse—you'd win, and they'd still come for you. Those boys are sacred."
The village of Amyclae was unlike anything Darius had seen since arriving in this world.
It was the first real sign of civilization.
As he stepped through the gates, the air hit him different—dense with smells and sounds. Roasted meat, baked bread, smoke, sweat, iron, and wild herbs. It wrapped around him like a heavy blanket. Red sneezed once beside him, nose twitching.
Stone houses leaned close to one another, their roofs tiled in red clay, some with vines crawling up their walls. Courtyards buzzed with activity—children shouting, dogs barking, chickens scattering. People moved quickly, but not with urgency.
Everything was lived-in. Everything had weight.
A market street unraveled ahead, narrow and noisy, canopies billowing in the wind. Merchants shouted over one another:
"Figs, ripe and fresh!"
"Clean wool! Dyed cloth from Gythium!"
"Spiced meat skewers—hot!"
Darius drifted between stalls, eyes sweeping from one stand to another. A woman grilled flatbread over a clay oven; the smell made his stomach tighten. Another sold roasted chickpeas in small cloth pouches, sprinkled with salt.
He kept moving.
Past the food, the clang of metal rang out.
A forge, burning bright in an open-front workshop. A smith pounded red-hot iron into shape while his apprentice manned the bellows. A row of finished spearheads gleamed on a rack, still warm from the flame.
Next to it, tucked between houses, was a shrine to Apollo. Small, worn by years, but respected. Offerings lined the base—flowers, feathers, a few coins, even a polished river stone. Darius gave it a glance, then lowered his head slightly. Just in case.
The people noticed him.
They didn't say anything. But they noticed.
The short hair. The scars. The wolf at his heel. His age didn't matter.
He was different.
Amyclae was rougher than he imagined a village would be. Louder. Messier. But it pulsed with life in a way the forest never had.
Just past the last row of homes, near the southern exit, he saw a caravan.
Three wagons stood lined up near the road. Men were loading crates and sacks, sweating under the sun. One dropped a pot and cursed. Horses snorted in the shade.
A woman in half-armor shouted directions with a firm voice. She moved like she'd fought before.
Near her, a man leaned against a signpost that read:
SEEKING ESCORT – Destination: Limnai – Departure next morning – Pay in silver or trade
Darius stopped a few paces away.
He didn't speak.
Red sat quietly beside him, staring forward.
Darius didn't hesitate.
He approached the wagons with a calm, steady stride, Red at his side. The men loading crates paused briefly to glance at him—some with curiosity, others with indifference.
The woman in armor spotted him first. She was tall, with sun-darkened skin and cropped black hair, a scar running from her chin to her neck. A short sword rested on her hip, and her leather armor was scuffed from use, not for show.
He stopped two steps away.
"I'd like to join your caravan to Limnai," he said simply.
She gave him a once-over—child, thin, sun-worn, a wolf by his side, and something strange glinting on his arm.
"I'm not looking for kids," she said. "We need fighters. You got coin?"
"No," Darius replied. He reached back and unfastened the flap of his rough boar-hide satchel.
"But I've got something better."
He pulled out a strip of smoked boar meat, still wrapped in bark and tied with leather cord. The scent was rich—deep, earthy, seasoned by fire and pine sap. He held it out to her.
She raised an eyebrow.
"That's your offer?"
He nodded. "There's more in here. Enough for your crew. Quality food for the road."
She crossed her arms, unimpressed.
"There's meat in the village already."
"Not like this," Darius said, voice flat. "Try it."
She stared at him a beat longer. Then, with a small grunt, she took the strip and tore off a bite.
She chewed once. Slower the second time. Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
She looked down at the meat. Then back at him.
"What did you use?"
"Pine sap. Wild herbs. River salt," he replied.
She took another bite, bigger this time.
Red sat beside him, tail curled, eyes calm but alert.
After a moment, the woman licked her thumb and handed the rest of the meat to a nearby guard. "Tell the others this is tonight's dinner."
Then she looked back to Darius.
"Fine. You're in."
"Thank you," he said.
As he passed her toward the wagons, another man stopped stacking boxes and caught a glimpse of the lion pelt strapped across Darius's satchel—the golden fur still thick and clean despite travel.
But it was the tooth-collar on his arm that made him do a double take.
"Is that from…?"
The woman shook her head and turned away, answering before the man could finish.
"I don't want to know."
Then, almost to herself, she added:
"Any boy that walks with a wolf at his side is either insane…"
She glanced at Red, then back at Darius as he moved silently toward the back of the caravan.
"…or someone worth keeping an eye on."
They spent the night in Amyclae, the caravan camped just outside the walls beneath the watchful eye of the town's outer torches.At first light, as gold bled through the misty hills, the wagons creaked to life and the road to Limnai opened before them.