Chapter 1: First kill

390 BC in Sparta - She Who Became a Spartan

"To your feet! The weak die here, boy!" Felix's roar shattered the stillness of the training grounds.

Lysander's body screamed as she forced herself upright, every muscle trembling from three years in the Spartan agoge. Her small frame ached, bones brittle beneath the lie she wore like armor. Get up, she hissed to herself, biting back the softer voice that threatened to slip out—the one that would betray her as no boy at all. Her vision swam, exhaustion dragging at her like chains, but she couldn't falter. Not here, where weakness was a death sentence.

A boot slammed into her back, flattening her into the dirt. The world tilted, darkness curling at the edges of her sight. Sleep… just for a moment. Tempting, but unthinkable. She'd clawed her way into this brutal brotherhood, masquerading as one of them. To surrender now would unravel everything—her disguise, her survival, her very life.

"Disgrace!" Felix's wooden rod crashed down again, a searing stripe across her shoulder. "Yield?"

Lysander's eyes snapped open, dust stinging them raw. Around her, the other boys watched—some wide-eyed with terror, others numb from their own beatings. Then she saw him.

Damon. Golden hair glinting in the sun, green eyes piercing even from across the field. He didn't shout or gesture grandly. He just mouthed one word: Stand.

Something ignited in her chest—defiance, or maybe something more dangerous. She hauled herself up, legs shaking, back blazing. For him? For me? Does it matter? She stumbled into the circle of recruits, her gaze snagging on Damon again. A faint smile tugged at his lips, unreadable but warm, a flicker of light in this pit of cruelty.

"You! Here!" Felix barked, jabbing a finger at Damon.

Damon stepped forward, calm and steady, meeting Felix's glare without a flinch. Lysander's pulse thudded against her ribs. He's too gentle for this place. Too… something. Felix lunged, a predator testing prey, but Damon moved like water—dodging, weaving, landing a kick that sent the master staggering. A gasp rippled through the boys. No one had dared that before.

Then came the counterblow—a brutal strike to Damon's head. He crumpled, blood streaking his temple, but rose again, jaw set. Stronger than he looks, Lysander thought. But is it enough?

"You'll make a fine warrior," Felix grunted, waving him back to the line.

Damon's eyes flicked to her, then away, his expression a locked door. He's hiding something too, she sensed, nails digging into her palms.

"Enough!" Felix bellowed. "To the barracks!"

"Not yet," Gaius cut in, his voice a venomous hiss. He pointed at Lysander and another boy, Darius. "You two. Here."

Gaius, the crueler of the masters, grinned with sadistic glee. Felix crossed his arms, jaw tight, disapproval simmering beneath his silence. Lysander stepped forward, her heart a frantic bird battering her chest. Darius shuffled beside her, pale and trembling.

"Cowards," Gaius sneered. "What do we do with cowards?"

"Maim! Punish!" the boys chanted, their voices rising like a storm. A rock sailed past Lysander's head, and she ducked, her bound chest throbbing beneath her tunic.

"Silence!" Gaius's eyes glinted with malice. "You're a disgrace. Prove yourselves."

"No… please," Darius whimpered.

"Names?" Gaius snapped.

"Darius," the boy mumbled.

"Lysander," she said, forcing her voice low and steady, hiding the tremor that clawed at her throat.

"Fight," Gaius ordered, his grin widening. "Until one falls. Surrender means death."

Her knees buckled, but she locked them in place. Fight him? He's just scared, like me. She couldn't—not without risking her secret. A girl's strength, a girl's hesitation—they'd see through her in an instant.

"Begin!"

Silence stretched taut. Then Darius lunged, his fist crashing into her jaw. Pain exploded, blood flooding her mouth. She staggered, catching herself before she fell, and saw his face—fear gone, replaced by a wild, desperate edge. He swung again.

Instinct surged. She ducked, driving her fist into his cheek. A crack split the air, and he yelped, clutching his face. He charged, fists flailing, and they collided in a frantic tangle of blows. Her nose throbbed, her lip split, but she fought back—Survive. Win. Darius shifted, shoving her from behind. She hit the dirt, and his arm snaked around her neck, squeezing.

Air vanished. Panic clawed her chest as she thrashed, clawing at his grip. The boys jeered, their faces a blur of cruelty. Through the haze, she glimpsed Damon—stepping forward, fists clenched, green eyes blazing. He cares?

Her fingers brushed a jagged rock. With a ragged gasp, she smashed it against Darius's temple. His hold slackened, and she sucked in air, rolling to pin him. Blood streamed from his head, his movements sluggish. She straddled him, fists raining down, rage and guilt warring inside her. What am I becoming?

He went still, eyes half-open, swollen. Finish him, Gaius's voice echoed in her skull.

"No!" she rasped, voice cracking.

Gaius struck the back of her head. "No mercy, boy! End it!"

Darius's lips parted, a silent plea. He looked broken, helpless—a mirror of her own terror.

She tightened her grip on the rock. Forgive me. His eyes widened as she brought it down. A wet crunch, a spray of warmth, and silence swallowed the chaos. Darius stared skyward, lifeless.

Lysander dropped the rock, hands shaking. She'd killed him. A boy, like her—or what they thought she was.

That night, the barracks were a cavern of shadow and rough breathing. Darius's face haunted her—his fear, his stillness, the blood on her hands. She curled on her mat, bruises pulsing with every heartbeat, trying to banish the image. The other boys slept, their snores a jagged rhythm in the dark.

A shadow moved. She tensed, breath catching, then froze as Damon settled beside her. His green eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, his face close enough to feel his warmth.

"Today was brutal," he whispered, voice soft but heavy with something ancient. "You had no choice."

"I killed him," she croaked, the words raw and jagged.

"You had to." He pulled a hunk of bread from his cloak, its scent earthy and real. "You missed supper. Eat."

Her stomach twisted—hunger warring with nausea—but she took it, wincing as she sat up. The bruises on her ribs flared, and she bit back a groan. She broke the bread in half, offering him a piece. "Share?"

His eyes softened, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He took it with a nod, and they ate in silence, the bread rough but grounding. It steadied her, tethered her to something beyond the blood and dirt.

"Thank you," she murmured, voice barely above a breath. "I won't forget this."

"You're welcome." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "I can teach you to fight better—tricks Gaius and Felix won't see coming. They'll have to watch you in awe."

He offered his hand, palm rough but steady. "I'm Damon."

She hesitated, her smaller hand hovering. If he felt it—too soft, too slight—he might guess. But she clasped it, her grip firm, masking the tremor. "Lysander."

His touch lingered, warm and sure, and her pulse quickened. He can't know. Not ever. But as he pulled away, his smile held a promise—friendship, maybe more—and a danger she couldn't escape. In this brutal world, he was a thread of light, and she feared how easily it could burn her down.