Demi-God

Lucian heaved the last bundle of wheat onto his broad shoulder, sweat trickling down his sunburnt neck as he trudged towards the barn. His muscles ached from the labor, but he wouldn't dare show fatigue in front of his mother and sister.

"Careful with that, you'll throw your back out," his sister, Lexi, chided, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

"Better my back than our stomachs come winter," Lucian grunted, dropping the wheat with a soft thud on the growing pile inside the barn.

"Your father would be proud," their mother said, planting seedlings into the earth. "He was always the first to rise for harvest, even before the roosters."

"Was he as big as Lucian?" Lexi asked as she knelt beside their mother, helping to press seeds into the soil.

"Your father was a force of nature," their mother replied, a wistful smile dancing on her lips. "Strong as an ox, but with the tenderness of a lamb when it came to you two."

"I wish I remembered him more," Lucian sighed, joining them in the field after closing the barn doors.

"War is a thief, my children," their mother murmured. "It steals more than lives; it takes away memories, leaving only shadows in its wake."

"Damn war," Lucian spat, slamming his fist into the palm of his other hand. "Took him before we could even learn how to hold a sword properly."

"Language, son," his mother scolded, though there was no real fire behind her words. "Your father died with honor, fighting for Sparta. Remember that."

"An honor that got us nothing but this patch of dirt and endless toil," Lucian muttered, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the Spartan warriors trained.

In the center of the courtyard stands a large, circular stone, its rough edges carved with intricate designs. A man, his bulging muscles glistening in the sun, grapples with a young Spartan boy. There are cheers and shouts from other Spartan men who surround them, their eyes fixed on the match. It was part of the Spartan training. The Agoge. Lucian observes their training whenever he can, studying their movements from afar. How he wished he could join their ranks as their equal.

"Look at them," Lexi said, following his gaze. "They make it look so easy, like dancing."

"They're not dancing. They're learning how to kill," Lucian corrected her.

"Kill?"

"Yes. Spartans always train to kill. That’s why they’re banned from wrestling in the Olympics because they often forget it's a sport, not a battle to the death. Martial skill is everything to them."

"Even so," Lexi mused, "there's something mesmerizing about the way they move. Like they're part of something bigger than themselves."

"Sometimes I wonder..."

"What do you wonder?" she prodded, tilting her head to catch his eye.

"Nothing," Lucian snapped, too quickly. "Just... if things were different, you know?"

Their mother stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees. "Lucian, your path is different, but no less honorable. You work the land, you protect your family. There's honor in that."

"Sure doesn't feel like it when that bastard comes around," Lucian said, glancing over his shoulder at the distant figures of Damon and his companion, who seemed to be in deep conversation.

"Then let's not give him a reason to bother us today," their mother said. "Back to work, both of you. We have enough to worry about without inviting trouble from the likes of him."

Lexi nodded and Lucian felt a surge of protectiveness for his sister. He couldn't change their lot in life, but by the gods, he'd make sure she never suffered at the hands of men like Damon.

"Right, back to work," he agreed, forcing himself to turn away from the warriors and refocus on the tasks at hand.

Lucian's muscles ached as he hoisted another bundle of wheat onto his shoulders, the golden stalks prickling against his neck. He trudged towards the barn, sweat tracing lines through the dust on his skin. As he stacked the load with the others, his gaze wandered to the crest of a distant hill where a figure caught his attention.

It was a Spartan girl standing like a statue bathed in sunlight, her posture regal even from afar. Her hair, the color of ripe olives, was pulled back into a braid that hung down her warrior's tunic. She was watching the wrestling match, admiring the fluidity of the combatants. Lucian felt a sense of unease, not recognizing the girl from his village. Spartans did not frequent this part of the countryside, especially not alone. He dropped the bundle and wiped the sweat from his brow, considering whether he should investigate or continue his work undisturbed.

"Who's that?" he whispered to himself, squinting against the glare of the midday sun.

"Who's who?" Lexi's voice chirped from behind him, and he almost jumped.

"Nothing, just..." He trailed off, but Lexi had already followed his gaze.

"Ah, so there are girls who can make you stop working," she teased, nudging him with her elbow. "She's way out of your league, you know."

"Shut it," Lucian said, though his eyes didn't leave the girl. "I was just wondering who she is."

"Careful," Lexi grinned. "A slave like you can't afford to wonder too much about Spartan maidens. It's troublesome."

Lucian grunted, knowing she was right. But something about the girl drew his thoughts away from the endless cycle of labor. Something that hinted at more than just idle curiosity. He shook his head, trying to dispel the distraction.

"Back to work," he repeated, trying to convince himself as much as his sister. "Gotta finish before sundown."

Their conversation was cut short by a commotion nearby. Damon was striding through the field, his companion in tow, heading straight for an old man bent over his work. The slave, gray-haired and stooped, hurriedly tried to gather scattered tools as Damon approached.

"Hey! Pick up the pace, old man!" he barked, kicking dirt at the helot. "You're slower than a snail!"

Anger flared in Lucian's chest, his hands clenching involuntarily. "That son of a—"

"Lucian, don't," his mother cautioned, grabbing his arm with a firm grip. "It's not our fight."

"I said pick that old man up," Damon continued. The old man flinched, reaching for a fallen sickle with trembling hands.

Lucian knew him. He was named Aegeus, and despite his age, he was one of the hardest workers in the fields. He was born mute and is always being bullied by the Spartans because of his condition. It made Lucian sick to see two men making fun of an elder.

"You know what your life is worth here, huh?" Damon said as he thrust his spear into the ground, then proceeded to urinate on Aegeus' face. "That’s what I think of it."

Lucian couldn't stand it anymore as Damon tormented the helpless. With a sharp twist, he broke free from his mother's grasp. Lexi reached out, trying to hold him back, but he shoved her hand aside and strode toward the Spartan.

"Leave him alone," he growled.

Damon turned, a smile curling his lips. "Well, what do we have here? If it isn’t the half-breed."

Lucian didn’t answer. He just stood there, his stance firm and eyes locked with Damon's, radiating a silent challenge.

"You heard me," he finally said. "Leave him alone."

Damon’s grin stretched from ear to ear as he caught his companion’s eye, and they both erupted into a fit of laughter. He then turned back to face Lucian, still chuckling under his breath. "And what if I don't? What are you going to do half-breed?"

They locked eyes, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a blade. Lucian's fist tightened at his side.

"Ah, so you want to fight, huh?" Damon drawled, noticing the clenched fist.

"Kill him, Damon," his companion urged.

"Shut up," he snapped without breaking eye contact with the man. "I don't need advice on dealing with stray dogs. I can do this on my own."

The nearby helots began to gather as they saw the commotion, their hushed conversations and sharp intakes of breath creating a low murmur of tension. Damon looked around at the gathering crowd, a smirk on his face as if he was feeding off the attention.

"Come on then," he continued, shrugging off his armor. "You want to fight a real Spartan warrior? Then let’s see what you’ve got, hero."

"Looking forward to it," Lucian raised his fists and made a defensive stance.

The two fighters circled each other, their eyes locked in a fierce stare. The crowd surrounding them began to cheer and chant their names. Briefly, Lucian looked towards the spectators, and Damon saw his opportunity. With a swift movement, he lunged towards Lucian, throwing a right hook towards his face. But Lucian was quick and agile, dodging the blow, and in one fluid motion, grabbed onto Damon's arm and used his momentum to throw him to the ground with a resounding thud. Dust flew up as the Spartan hit the floor, and the crowd erupted into cheers and applause.

Damon scrambled up, his face red with embarrassment. "You'll pay for that, you filthy mongrel!"

Lucian didn't waste a moment, standing ready for the next attack. "Then, come at me."

Damon wasted no time and lunged at Lucian with a left hook then right, which he swiftly dodged. As a counter, Lucian grabbed Damon's head in a tight grip and delivered a swift knee to his face, causing blood to gush from Spartan’s nose as he stumbled backwards. He wiped the blood with the back of his hand, a maddened glint sparking in his eye as he prepared for another charge.

The onlookers' cheers grew louder, some calling out advice, others simply basking in the thrill of the fight.

"Give it up," Lucian said. "You're outmatched."

Damon scoffed, spitting blood onto the dirt. "Never," he said through gritted teeth. "Slaves like you can never defeat a true Spartan warrior."

"Except you, apparently."

"You…you!" Damon pointed a finger at Lucian, his anger boiling over. "I'll have you whipped for this insolence!"

"You can threaten all you want. But here and now, your words are as empty as your fighting style."

With an angry roar, Damon charged forward like a raging beast, flailing his fists in a frenzy. But Lucian was ready, blocking blow by blow until countered with a swift punch to Damon's gut that left him momentarily winded. Seizing the opportunity, Lucian unleashed a barrage of savage strikes to Damon's face, each impact shaking the ground and stirring up clouds of dust until it seemed like the entire world was caught in their violent clash.

As the dust settled, and through the haze, the crowd saw Damon sprawled on the ground, gasping for air, his face swollen and bloody. Lucian stood over him, chest heaving.

"What’s the meaning of this?!" A voice thundered from the edge of the circle of onlookers. The crowd parted to reveal an imposing figure, clad in a red cloak and bronze armor. With him are two burly guards, spears at their side. He waved his hands commanding his men to disperse the crowd.

"You, Xanthos," the man pointed at Damon’s companion. "Explain what happened here!"

"General Brasidas," Xanthos kneeled down. "My lord, it was a fight, just a fight among men. Damon and this helot..." He gestured towards Lucian.

"Helot?" General Brasidas interrupted, his gaze shifting to the young man. "And why would my men be brawling with a slave?"

"He started it, my lord."

"You haven’t answered my question."

"My lord, may I…" Lucian stepped forward, bowing.

"Stop," Brasidas raised his hand. "Don’t speak." He studied Lucian for a moment. "Your face…it looks familiar."

"My father, sir. He’s a Spartan."

"A Spartan? Who is your father?"

"Nicander, my lord."

"Nicander," Brasidas stroked his chin, as if the name dredged up a long-buried memory. "Yes, I knew of him. A fine warrior. Fought bravely in the battle of Mantinea." He then crossed his arms. "If that’s the case, why are you here toiling the fields? You should be a soldier."

"Unfortunately, my mother is a slave, my lord. I can never be a citizen of Sparta."

"Well," Brasidas glanced at Damon as he stood up wiping his blood away. "With your skills in fighting, Spartan or not, you’ll be a great addition in the army."

"What?!" Damon shouted, shoving Xanthos aside, ignoring the blood trickling down from his nose. "He's nothing but a bastard son of a helot whore!"

As Lucian was about to lunge forward, Brasidas held him back by tapping his chest before turning to face Damon. "Stop with the insults. You on the other hand have much to learn about restraint and respect. A true Spartan warrior knows when to speak and when to hold his tongue."

"Surely you don't mean to take him over us true Spartan blood?"

"Spartan blood? I saw the fight between you two. He was playing you around like a lyre. Skill speaks louder than blood here. And in the field of battle, I'd rather have a man who can fight with the ferocity of a lion than someone who simply boasts of his lineage. If this boy here wanted to kill you, he would have done it easily."

Damon clenched his jaw. "This is preposterous!"

"What is preposterous is your attitude. I seek warriors, not whiners. You will report to me for extra training, starting at dawn. Now, leave us," Brasidas turned his attention back to Lucian, who was still kneeling on the ground. "You’ve shown some skill there, boy. It's a shame that you’ll waste your time farming here."

"Y..you’re not going to punish me?" Lucian's eyes flicked to the side, where he spotted Damon and Xanthos making their way off the field.

"Why? I saw the whole thing. You defended that old mute man by standing up to him."

"But I fought a Spartan soldier."

"He offered it, did he? I’d say he did that to himself. He got what he deserved."

"I see. Thank you, my lord."

"It’s a good thing I was the one who saw it. If it was General Bahram or another, you might be in shackles now. But come, stand up. Tell me your name."

He slowly rose to his feet, dusting off the dirt from his hands. "My name is Lucian, my lord."

"Lucian. I’ll remember that name. You have the heart of a true warrior."