Demi-God

Lucian eyed the makeshift target—a weathered wine bottle perched atop a jagged stone—then glanced back at Drakon, who nodded with a smug grin. Rolling his shoulders to loosen them, Lucian gripped the spear and in one fluid motion, sent it whistling through the air. It struck true, shattering the bottle into a spray of glass shards.

"Zeus's beard," Drakon muttered under his breath as he set up another bottle, this time a good twenty paces farther. "Do it again."

Squinting against the sun's descent, Lucian exhaled slowly, focusing on the distant target. The spear flew from his hand, its tip glinting briefly before it speared the second bottle with a satisfying pop.

"Damn, boy," Drakon said, eyebrows arched high. He set up yet another bottle, further still.

Twice more they repeated this dance—Drakon setting up targets and Lucian knocking them down with incredible precision.

"Looks like the gods graced you with more than just skills," Drakon said, clapping Lucian on the back. "You've got a hell of an arm."

"Thanks," Lucian replied, though his attention had already shifted to the evening sky. "I’ve learned to throw a spear before I can even walk."

"Let me guess, your father taught you that?"

"You guess it. We should head back. It's almost dinner time."

"Lead the way," Drakon said, falling into step beside him as they began their walk home.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while until Lucian made a sidelong glance at Drakon, who was taking a swig from his ever-present wineskin.

"Why do you want to come home with me?"

"Well," Drakon said with a shrug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "I don't really have anywhere to go."

"Didn't you have a place before Sparta?"

"Streets, mostly," Drakon took another gulp. "And sometimes the homes of generous women after... well, you know."

"Look, I can't have you crashing at my place. It's crowded enough as it is."

"Ah, don't worry about that." Drakon gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "I can sleep outside. Think of me as your personal guard dog."

"Guard dog?" Lucian snorted. "More like a drunken wolf. If you're going to stay, you'd better behave."

"Behave?" Drakon chuckled darkly. "I'm always behaving."

"Right," Lucian said with an eye roll. "You know what I mean."

"Fine, fine," Drakon conceded, but there was a playful glint in his eyes that made Lucian question whether the old warrior understood the agreement at all.

Lucian's home stood modestly at the edge of their small plot, its walls made of sun-baked bricks and a thatched roof in need of repair. A humble structure, it bore the stoic resilience of those who dwelt within. The setting sun made long shadows over the dusty courtyard as they arrived, accentuating the wear of time on its facade.

"Lucian! You're back late," called Lexi, emerging from the doorway with hands on her hips. Her eyes darted to the old man beside her brother, taking in the sight of the weathered figure guzzling wine as if it were water from a life-giving spring. "Who's this?"

Drakon paused mid-swig, wiping his mouth with a sleeve before stumbling forward with an attempt at charm that came off more as a leer. "Ah, the sister," he slurred, reaching out to pat her head. "Hey there little fella."

"Get off me, you drunken old fool!" Lexi's frown was fierce, her foot snapping up instinctively.

Her kick landed squarely, and with a grunt, Drakon crumpled to the ground, clutching himself.

Lucian couldn't help but laugh – a deep, belly-laugh that shook his shoulders. "Gods above, Lexi, you don't hold back, do you?"

The commotion drew their mother, Ianthe, outside. "What's all this then?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing at the sight of Drakon writhing on the dirt.

"Mother, this is Drakon. He's my... master," Lucian explained, trying to regain composure.

"Drakon?" Ianthe's voice hitched. "Not the Drakon?"

"Uh, yeah," Lucian shifted uncomfortably under his mother's intense gaze. "Why? Do you know him?"

With surprising gentleness, Ianthe reached down to help the old man sit up. "This is the legendary Wolf of Sparta."

"Who's the Wolf of Sparta?" Lexi piped up, rubbing her foot, still glaring at the recovering man.

Ianthe assisted Drakon to a nearby log, helping him settle with the care one might show a wounded animal. "There have been stories," she began. "Your father used to tell me about a warrior unmatched in battle, wielding a sword and shield like extensions of his body. He moved with the ferocity of a lion, tearing through enemies as easily as we breathe air. Your father watched him from afar, full of admiration. He’d never seen someone like him. His moves are like that of Ares and his feet were smooth like Hermes."

They all turned to look at Drakon, now seated and trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity. Lucian shook his head in disbelief. "I can't wrap my head around it. The Drakon, a legend... And now, just a drunken old man exiled from glory."

"Watch your mouth, boy," Drakon growled, pointing a shaky finger at him. "I may be past my prime, but my skill hasn't forgotten its dance."

Despite the man's disheveled state, there was still a hint of the formidable warrior in his narrowed eyes.

"Come inside, my lord. Join us for dinner," Ianthe offered. "It would be our privilege."

"Well, since you insisted, I will accept," Drakon grunted, accepting her invitation. "It’s nice to have some semblance of respect here."

As he lumbered towards the house, he stuck his tongue out teasingly at Lexi, a childish gesture that earned him another scornful look.

"Jerk," Lexi muttered under her breath, crossing her arms as she watched the old warrior shuffle inside.

Lucian's hands moved rhythmically as he chopped the vegetables, the blade of his knife tapping a steady beat on the wooden cutting board. Lexi was across from him, peeling tubers, her fingers dirt-stained but nimble.

"Make sure to cut those carrots evenly, Lucian," Ianthe instructed without looking up from the bubbling pot over the fire. "And Lexi, darling, don't waste too much. We can't afford it."

"Got it, Mother," Lucian replied, glancing at the carrots before him. "Don't worry about Lexi; she’s been peeling like a miser since she could hold a knife."

"Shut up, brother," Lexi retorted. She flicked a peel in his direction, which landed with a soft plop next to his pile of vegetables.

"Hey!" Lucian protested, but he couldn't suppress a grin. "I'll toss you into the water barrel if you do that again."

"Ah, I’d like to see you try!" Lexi shot back, brandishing her peeler like a tiny sword.

"Enough, you two," Ianthe chided. "Alexia, pass me the jug, will you?"

"Mother, you really have to stop calling me by my full name. It's just Lexi," she sighed, handing over the earthenware jug.

"Of course, my little warrior," Ianthe said, taking the jug and adding water to the stew. She caught Lucian’s eye and winked.

From his peripheral vision, Lucian noticed Drakon sitting off to the side, his bulky frame resting against the wall of the house. The old man had a cup in his hand, its contents likely more potent than water.

"Hey old man, don't you think you should help out here?" he called out, hefting a pail of water from the well and setting it down with a thud.

"Helping? I am helping, boy. Guarding this place, aren’t I?" Drakon grumbled, taking a deliberate sip from his cup.

"Guarding? How long is he planning to 'guard' our house?" Lexi whispered under her breath, her brows knitting together in a frown.

"I don't know," Lucian muttered back, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

"That old man can't stay here forever."

"Already said that to him, but he is stubborn as a rock."

"Stubborn as an ox more like it," Lexi agreed, slicing a bit more into a turnip.

"Drakon can stay for now," Ianthe interrupted, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. "It’ll be great to have an extra pair of hands around, fix the roof maybe. Plus, he’s completely harmless."

"Harmless? The other day we were running away from the Spartan guards because that old buffon stole a girl’s undergarment."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, I almost got arrested because of him! I say we don't need that kind of help."

"Lucian, we can’t just throw him away. Plus, he’s training you remember? Think of it as a sort of payment for his services."

Lucian placed their plates and utensils on the table, mentally weighing his mother's words. "I suppose so," he conceded after a moment.

"Even if he's harmless, I don't like the idea of having a perverted old man in the house," Lexi muttered, pouring water into cups and placing them on the table alongside the food.

"Oi! I heard that!" Drakon shouted from his corner.

"Good, wasn't hiding it," Lexi called back, meeting Drakon's gaze with a challenging glare.

"Let's not argue," Ianthe said. "We have food to finish preparing. Lucian, the bread. Lexi, check on the greens. Let’s eat soon."

With a final clink of pottery, the last of the steaming dishes took its rightful place at the center of the worn wooden table. Lucian eased into his seat, the bench creaking under his weight. Lexi followed suit, smoothing her apron over her lap with a huff. Ianthe, ever the matriarch, stood at the head of the table, her presence as commanding as any Spartan commander's.

"Alright," she announced, "everything's ready."

Drakon, who'd been eyeing the food like a starved wolf, lurched forward, his gnarled hand reaching for the loaf of bread. But as the rest of the family stilled, he caught himself, slowly retracting his arm and sending a puzzled glance around.

"Mother?" Lucian prompted, nodding toward her.

Ianthe bowed her head, closing her eyes. Her voice was low but carried through the room like the gentle roll of distant thunder. "Great gods of Olympus, hear our humble prayer."

Drakon's mouth snapped shut, and with a grunt, he awkwardly mimicked Ianthe's gesture, bowing his head as well.

"We thank you for the bounty before us," she continued, "for the strength of our limbs and the resolve of our spirits. May your favor shine upon our home and guide our hands in battle and peace."

Lucian watched from beneath lowered lashes as his mother weaved words into offerings, a silent reverence swelling within him. Even Lexi, usually so quick with a biting remark, remained silent, her expression softened in the glow of candlelight.

"Protect our kin and lead our souls in the dance of life and death. For we are children of Sparta, forged in your divine fires, honed by your will. To you, we owe all."

"May it be so," Drakon murmured.

Ianthe lifted her head, and her eyes swept over her family, the lines of worry softening just for a moment. "Now, let's eat. We've earned it."

As if released from a spell, forks and knives clamored against plates, and the night's earlier tensions dissipated into the sizzling sounds and rich aromas of the meal. They ate, not as master and servant, not as exile and native, but as people bound by hunger, by blood, and by the ever-watchful eyes of the gods above.

——

Lucian's nose twitched, the scent of smoke infiltrating his dreams until the discomfort tugged him back to consciousness. He lay there for a moment, disoriented, before his eyes snapped open, darting around the interior of their home where his sister Lexi and mother Ianthe slept soundly. Something’s not right. Smoke meant trouble. With a surge of adrenaline, he threw off his blanket and stumbled outside.

There, he saw golden stalks, now crackling and hissing with flames as they devoured the wheatfield. The smoke billowed up into the sky in swirling plumes, darkening the once blue horizon. Ashes drifted down like gentle snowflakes, settling onto the already dry ground with a soft whisper. This is bad. This is really bad.

"Drakon!" Lucian hissed, shaking the slumbering the old man who lay sprawled nearby, an empty bottle still clutched in his hand.

"Wha—?" he groaned, squinting up at the young man through bleary eyes. "What is it?"

"Fire," Lucian said, pointing towards the dark silhouette of the fields.

"By the gods," Drakon muttered, pushing himself up to his feet as he saw the extent of the flames. "That's no accident. I’ll go get the water. You wake the others."

"Ok," Lucian nodded as he turned on his heel and rushed back inside.

He burst through the front door and opened his sister's door, her peaceful slumber shattered by his urgent whispers.

"Fire!" Lucian rasped. "Lexi, mother, wake up! There's a fire outside!"

Ianthe's eyes flew open. "A fire? Where?"

"Out in the field," Lucian replied, already moving to grab a bucket from the corner. "Hurry, we need to put it out!"

"What, not the crops," Lexi muttered, jumping out of bed. "We’ve been working on that for months."

Both women didn't waste a second, grabbing buckets and hurrying outside, following Lucian's lead.

Chaos unfolded as other helots emerged from their homes, alerted by the glow in the distance near the fields. They came running, carrying whatever could hold water—buckets, pots, even helmets. The community knew that fire spared no one.

"Keep it away from the barn!" Drakon bellowed over the crackling flames and the shouts of frantic neighbors. "Don’t just stand there gawking, splash it!"

Lucian, Ianthe, and Lexi fell into a rhythm, dousing the fire. Sweat mixed with soot streaked their faces, but they worked with single-minded focus.

As Lucian heaved another bucketful onto the flames, he caught a glimpse of something unsettling. A figure stood in the distance, beyond the reach of the fire’s light. Damon leaned casually against a tree, a smile playing across his lips as he watched the helots' struggle. Was this his doing? A staged disaster to see them suffer?

"Lucian! Focus!" Drakon's sharp command snapped him back to the task at hand.

But the image of Damon's smug grin says it all. If he has something to do with this fire, there would be a reckoning. Lucian's muscles tensed with the thought, but he couldn't afford the distraction—not now. There would be time for vengeance later.