The kings had gathered in a spacious tent to discuss the course of the war. Among them were: Sobarin, king of Messenia; Cleon, ruler of Aegis; Lycaon, king of Arcadia; and Telephus, king of Argos.
The torchlight flickered across their tense faces. At first, nothing foretold disaster they had set up camp for the night. But closer to midnight, the surviving remnants of their army began to arrive. The first to appear were the cavalry a miserable handful, barely numbering a few hundred. The rest came on foot, without horses, exhausted and maimed. Then came the militia from Messenia.
"The war is lost," Cleon said grimly.
"You can't leave my polis to be torn apart by those Spartan savages!" Sobarin growled, his voice full of fury. "If they take my lands, you'll be next!"
"We'll fortify our borders and prepare for defense," Lycaon replied coldly.
"Fools!" Sobarin shouted. "You don't understand. Give them time and they'll become unstoppable. Nothing will be left of us! Can't you see that?"
"And what do you expect from us?" Telephus snapped. "Your army is broken. The Spartans already roam your lands. Our greatest asset is gone. All the horses we've bred over decades now belong to them. This is a catastrophe a collapse of our entire strategy. You were the loudest, boasting that your scouts were the best in all of Hellas, that no enemy would get through. And what's the result?"
The king of Messenia swelled with rage, his face turning red, fists clenched. But no words left his lips.
"And where was your army, king of Argos?" Lycaon asked sharply. "I didn't see you fighting beside us."
"It didn't arrive in time," Telephus replied irritably. "The Athenian fleet refused to provide ships to ferry my soldiers, claiming the sea was too dangerous."
"It's true," Cleon interjected. "The gods themselves appeared to me. A Kraken was sent against the Spartan fleet. We hoped the war would be over before they reached Messenia's shores. But fate chose otherwise."
"I didn't see Sparta's fleet fall near my shores," Sobarin said with restrained sarcasm. "Did they manage to defeat the Kraken?"
"I don't know for sure," Cleon, ruler of Aegis, replied with uncertainty. "My men saw the sea in turmoil waves like monsters. The Kraken was there, that much is certain. But what exactly happened… I cannot say."
Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice pierced the silence, as if it came from nowhere:
"Damocles."
Everyone froze. A man appeared before them was he a god?
He towered over the assembled kings, his piercing gaze sweeping across them, filled with contempt for mortals. It was as though a chill from the underworld brushed their spines.
The air in the tent grew heavy, like the moment before a storm.
"There is a Spartan," the stranger continued. "Damocles. He faced the Kraken and did not let the beast destroy Sparta's fleet. He is the one responsible for your defeat. Olympus has heard your prayers and come to aid you. Now it is your turn to aid Olympus."
He fell silent. A vial containing a reddish liquid was placed on the table with a dull thud.
********************
We held our defenses for another week, expecting a renewed attack. But soon it became clear the war was over. The tension began to fade. Scouts who had ventured deep into Arcadian and Aegidian territory reported no signs of enemy forces. From the tracks and abandoned belongings, it was evident they had retreated.
And yet, even after hearing the news, we did not return home. Instead, we crossed over to the borders of Aegis and Arcadia to begin constructing a line of fortifications.
We built watchtowers, sentry camps, and garrisons for the troops.
Victory demanded a celebration a grand feast was to be held in Sparta. But first came the formalities: to establish Sparta's new borders, assert authority, and begin integrating the conquered territories.
Meanwhile, in the war camp, a smaller feast was held for those who had stayed behind. No one was to feel forgotten or robbed of honor. At least two thousand Spartans would remain to ensure law and order, to prevent looting and chaos.
King Archimad summoned me several times. He questioned me about the battle with the Kraken how I had driven off the beast and about my other feats. He often praised me for my service.
When I told him that the mountains of Ithame had become infested with harpies, he made a decision: to establish several training camps in Messenia for Spartan youth. He wanted the young warriors to face real combat from the start, to carry out missions containing the harpies so they would not raid the villages.
In this war between Sparta and Messenia, our army had proven its superiority over a single polis. For centuries, the Greek city-states had maintained a fragile balance: when one polis grew too powerful, the others would unite against it. Borders shifted, but only slightly. Equilibrium was preserved.
But that war, five years ago, changed everything.
When the armies of Arcadia and Argos were crushed, their lands were left weakened. That gave us the freedom to act more boldly. In the coming years, there will be no war of that, I am certain. Sparta needs time to gather resources and heal its wounds. And the other states will bide their time, fortify their walls, train their new soldiers.
Sparta's fleet finally set sail for our fortress, moving along the coastline. We traveled by land, ensuring the route was safe. On the way, we drove out the last of the centaurs still roaming the outskirts.
We didn't linger. Soon, we returned to Sparta in triumph. For King Archimad, it was his first true victory so the feast had to be worthy of it.
Many Spartans reunited with their families. I... I watched it all with quiet sorrow.
Not everyone was greeted by joyful children or loving wives, but at least someone came out to meet them. Damippa was met by a Spartan woman, who kissed him.
In such moments, you want to stop thinking about the future. Just live here and now.Why do I even risk my life?
The feast began the moment we returned. Long wooden tables were laid out across the streets, piled high with food. Music, folk songs, dancing it was loud, vivid, a true celebration. For Sparta, it was a rare sight. Perhaps the most glorious and resounding victory in decades.
Everyone ate and drank, and so did I, with my brothers-in-arms. The resistance I'd built against poison had made me nearly immune to alcohol. The wine barely touched me. But still I drank, raised my cup, joined the toasts, and laughed along with the others.
All to the loud cheers of Damippa, who encouraged me every time I drained a whole jug in one go.
"Here, have some more wine," she said, leaning toward me with the pitcher. Her voice was light, almost melodic.
"Thank you," I nodded, filling my wooden cup and taking a sip.
"Your name is Damocles, isn't it?" she asked, sitting beside me and tilting her head slightly.
"It is," I replied curtly.
"I'll go drink with the squad," said Damippa suddenly, rising from the table and leaving us alone.
The Spartan woman asked me questions with keen interest, listening attentively without interrupting. At first, I answered out of courtesy brief, reserved. Then, gradually, with more warmth. Slowly, I began to lose myself in the words, the details perhaps even in who I was.
I remember us walking together along the evening streets. Her fingers brushed lightly against my hand. Then a kiss. I removed my armor, feeling the weight of the past days slip away with it. For a moment, something inside me whispered: something isn't right. A subtle dread passed over me like a shadow. But I pushed it away.
I wanted closeness. Rest.
Something flickered before my eyes brief and strange but I surrendered completely to desire.