Growing up

After the Spartan Games, everything returned to its usual cycle. Days blurred into a monotonous stream: grueling training, a meager midday meal, and endless hours of idleness. We had food now, yes but with each theft, the missing rations became more noticeable, and so did the suspicion.

The number of night guards increased sharply. Now they stood not only outside, but inside the barracks as well. Stealing food became harder with each passing day, and most of our time was spent just waiting for the right moment. But hunger no longer tormented us we looked stronger, had gained back our strength, and no longer resembled the withered shadows we once were.

Arethid kept asking how we managed to get food, but none of us ever answered. No persuasion, no added punishments could force us to give up the secret. Better to suffer in silence than to feel the gnawing emptiness of hunger again.

But not all of our raids went smoothly.One night, deep into the darkness, we slipped toward the kitchens and noticed something strange. Not a single guard nearby. The silence was too thick, too unnatural. At first, I thought I was being paranoid. But the moment we stepped inside, we realized. We were caught.

It was a trap. We had been cornered, exposed. Our secret passage was secret no more.

"You continue to surprise me, Damocles," came Creon's voice.

He stood before us, arms crossed, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as we lined up in front of him.

"This was your plan, wasn't it?" he asked with a grin.

"How did you know?" I asked, trying to keep the tension from my voice.

The lochagos raised a brow, chuckling.

"You think I wouldn't notice five months of thievery?"

For a moment, his expression remained amused but then it shifted.

"You're right," he continued. "At first, I paid it no mind. But I increased the guards… who, it seems, weren't clever enough to stop you. I waited for them to catch on, to spring a trap. But clearly, they lacked the wits."

He paused then added:

"One of you talked. They decided to catch you red-handed. And I… I will pass judgment."

Someone had broken.

I quickly looked around the line, trying to see who was missing. Then I remembered someone had complained of feeling ill earlier that day.He wasn't here now.

Creon caught the flicker of realization in my eyes and grinned.At that moment, the heavy drapes at the kitchen entrance parted and the traitor was brought in.

"For betraying your brothers and comrades," Creon said coldly, "you will not be rewarded. Your punishment will be worse than theirs… because you betrayed your own."

"But… but you said" he stammered, pale as death.

Creon smiled.

"Military deception."

"No food for the next three days. Twenty-five lashes each. They are to be tied to the post for twenty-four hours," he ordered, his voice even.

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

The moment the order was given, we were bound and chained to the wooden posts.

Pain struck like lightning.The first lash tore the skin, opening a deep wound. Then another. And another. Each strike ignited a fire that spread through every nerve but our weak, battered bodies could not fight back. All we could do was clutch the post until our fingers ached.Because screaming was not an option.

If you scream the lashes increase.

No matter how unbearable it got, our mouths stayed shut.

With every blow, my mind drifted deeper into the abyss of pain.

Everything blurred. Black spots danced in my eyes, hot blood streamed down my back and splattered on the dry earth. But the torture didn't end. If anything, it grew worse.

My back felt like it was engulfed in flame. The only hope left was this: Let it end. Let it just end.

*

You are experiencing excruciating pain. Your talent Endurance and ability Stonewall have fused, creating a new trait:

Stone Endurance+3 Defense. You can ignore pain when wounded. Bleeding is reduced by 20%.

*

I felt the pain subside just a little.

My breathing was still heavy and ragged, but slowly, it steadied. My whole body throbbed, every cell burning, but I knew this wasn't the end.

It was only a small reprieve.

But the torment had not been worth it.

**********************************************

"Promising boy, wouldn't you say, Arethid?" Creon remarked, gazing at the child bound to the post.

"Yes, Lochagos. He learns quickly and has the heart of a fighter," Arethid replied. Creon let out a thoughtful hum.

"At his age, I wouldn't have thought to dig a tunnel to the kitchens. Tell me, old man, do you recall anything like this before?"

Arethid paused for a moment, then shook his head.

"Nothing comes to mind. Usually they just stole food openly, or took it from the older boys. More often, they fought for an extra piece during midday rations."

Creon smirked, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well then… let's see what he comes up with next. Seems this generation has a knack for surprises."

"I agree, Lochagos. And there's anothe Kratos. He's quite gifted by nature," Arethid added with a nod.

But Creon's expression darkened.

"I'm not sure…" he murmured.

He had seen warriors like that before. And there was always something… not human about them.

Throughout his life, Creon had encountered those who didn't belong to this world beasts, demons, even gods. He knew one truth well: There are powers beyond the reach of mortal men.

And whatever force slept inside that boy it wasn't granted by any common birth.

"You think his father's from the pantheon?" Arethid asked quietly.

"Not our concern," Creon replied with a shake of his head. "Mortals shouldn't meddle in the affairs of gods. If they want him… they'll come for Kratos themselves."

"Yes, sir."

****************************

I am eight years old and I've already walked the path of a warrior for a full year.

After we were caught, bound, and starved for three long days, I did something truly cruel for the first time. Something that still echoes inside me.

The boy who betrayed us now lies in an unmarked grave outside the camp. Sometimes I visit, just to think about the choices I've made.

I chose to lead and that meant making decisions. He betrayed us. No one saw him as a brother after that. I didn't hate him. I would've just spat at him and let fate decide.

But Damipp forced my hand.

He was strangled in the night. His cold body was dragged beyond the camp and buried in a nameless pit. No marker. No name.

Only I left a stone behind. Arethid said nothing. But in his silence, there was no judgment only quiet acknowledgment.

Only then did I understand Creon's words: "And your punishment will be worse than the others… for you betrayed your own."

I hadn't noticed the change within me.

There was no fear anymore.

No doubt.No morality.No pity.

Only the lessons of Sparta.

Hunger returned like a shadow.In such conditions, we had to find new ways to survive. My first idea was to catch fish.

I shared the plan with the others, and we got to work right away. The concept was simple: we dug shallow trenches along the riverbank, connected to the main flow. Water filled them and with it came fish. Inside, we shaped small pits where the fish would swim in and settle. All we had to do was block the exit, and they'd be trapped.

We set up several of these traps along the river.

In time, I realized that if we deepened one of the trenches and gave the water an open path, the current would strengthen and more fish would swim in. With a few tweaks, the traps began to yield results.To lure more in, we started dropping scraps of food as bait.

The catch was modest but enough to tame the hunger, if only a little.Fish gave us strength. The boys grew tougher, more resilient and with that came calm.

We started to understand better how to survive in the wild. There were some failures: a few times I poisoned myself with inedible mushrooms and berries. But even that proved useful, as a new talent soon revealed itself to me: "Forester". With it, I began to notice animal tracks, distinguish edible plants, and feel like part of the forest.

Unconsciously, I spent another year in the camp, then another, and so on, until I turned twelve.

Every year, I fought against Kratos, testing how much stronger I had become. Though I lagged behind him, the gap wasn't so wide. It was an achievement in itself to be comparable to a demigod. However, the difference would likely become much more apparent once he matured. That's when the hidden powers, bestowed by the gods, would awaken.

Heracles, too, had immense strength since childhood, but it truly manifested only after his first labors when he repeatedly stood on the edge of life and death. That was when he embraced his power and made it part of himself. I wonder how old he is now?

One day, I asked the elders if they had heard of a warrior named Heracles. Such a name should be known throughout all of Hellas, I thought. But Arethid simply shook his head either he didn't know, or he didn't want to speak of it.

But let's return to our confrontation.

I lost to him four times in a row. But at the age of ten, I managed to bring Kratos down and lock him in a choking hold. That was my first and only victory. After that, he began training twice as hard and over the next two years, he defeated me again and again, almost without giving me a chance.

Nevertheless, a new phase of Spartan life had begun for me.

We were no longer just children we had become those who survived the first stage of selection. Those who had once seemed like boys were now called emerging warriors. A loud word... but it burned from within, pushing us forward.

There were twenty of us left.

Many had perished from sickness, hunger, and freezing winds. Not all had made it to the end.

"From today, each of you will be given a wooden spear and shield. From now on, they are your main companions. You will sleep with them, eat with them, and relieve yourselves with them. Losing your gear will result in punishment," the senior, named Lykros, declared.

Arethid had left the Spartan camp three years ago, becoming a full-fledged citizen of Sparta. Since then, much had changed. Lykros was already the third instructor since we arrived as children.

We stood in a straight line and began receiving our equipment one by one. It was clear the gear had passed through many hands it had belonged to boys who either survived and became warriors or fell in the attempt. When I took the spear and shield in my hands, I felt their weight not just physically. The cracks in the wood and the bloodstains on the shield in some places dark, nearly black were old, yet they still held memories. These were not just tools. They were a sign of who we were meant to become.

From this day on, we were forbidden to part with our weapons. Even in sleep, they had to lie next to our bodies as if an extension of the arm, as if a second soul.

At first, the training was simple running, pull-ups, push-ups, strikes. But soon, the real combat training began. We were taught how to hold the spear properly, block blows with the shield, form ranks, and be part of a unified mechanism.

The adult Spartans beat the weakness out of us. Sometimes, literally. If anyone fell, they were forced to get up and keep going. And for every fallen one, the rest suffered the beatings, push-ups, carrying heavy weights, standing in uncomfortable positions until cramps set in. We had to become one. The strongest. Or die.

A new phase. Even more pain. Even more grueling training.

My hands were covered in scrapes and splinters from the rough wood. My left forearm, after constant blows against shields, pulsed with pain, as if a second, wounded heart beat inside it. Sometimes, I could barely suppress a tremor, but despite everything, I kept holding the shield. To let go of it meant breaking. Losing.

Now we were taught not only to fight, but also to obey. The main thing was the formation. The cohesion. The commander's will as law. Everything had to work like one living mechanism.

We trained with wooden swords not to become masters of fencing, but to understand what it felt like to sense the weight of the weapon, to hear its blows against the body. Those in the third row struck the enemies who broke through the first. Their task was to kill. Those in front were to stand. Unyielding. Without fear. Without stepping back. Because if the formation broke everything broke.

So two more years passed.

Now I was fourteen.

Seven years of hell behind me.

I hadn't seen a single outsider. Only those who lived in the camp. I had no idea what was happening beyond its borders no news, no talk of the outside world. Only discipline, pain, and endless military craft.

It was hard to endure, though over time, my mind became calmer.

I had grown stronger.

But still not strong enough.

*

Name: DamoclesAge: 14

Strength (Physical Power): 10

Dexterity (Speed, Reflexes, Evasion): 8

Endurance (Resistance to illness, fatigue, survivability): 12

Intelligence (Comprehension, learning, languages): 7

Charisma (Leadership, inspiration, eloquence): 8

Defense (Armor, physical toughness): 7

Talents:

Son of Sparta – +1 to starting stats

Evasion (10%) – You have a chance to avoid a fatal blow. Your body has already survived many injuries that could have been deadly. It's adapted to respond to threats in time.

Endurance of Stone – +3 to defense. When injured, you can ignore pain. Bleeding is reduced by 20%. Easier to withstand enemy pressure.

Fleeting Shadow – Stealth increased by 20%. You're harder to notice, and your movements are smooth, like a shadow.

Cunning of Hellas – You find it easier to deceive others. Having survived many schemes, you've learned to adapt, subtly manipulate, and escape tough situations.

Forester – You can easily navigate forests, light fires effortlessly, and find food. Hiding in vegetation comes naturally.

Abilities:

Disease Immunity (passive) – When infected by viruses or illness, Endurance temporarily increases by +2.

Combat Mastery, Level 5 (passive) – Increases Dexterity and Endurance by 9% during battle. Improves attacks, helps detect enemy weaknesses, defend, and counter.

Swordsmanship, Level 4 – You're still early in your path as a swordsman, but already capable of decent blade work.

Spear Mastery, Level 6 – Your spear-handling skills are at an advanced level.

Spartan Formation (active, when near allies) – Increases all stats by 30%. In Spartan formation, you become part of a unified battlefront.

*

I had already reached the strength of a grown man from my old life. And I was only fourteen. The brutal training and conditions forced us to mature faster, drawing from inner reserves. During this time, the only new things I'd acquired were two abilities and one of them only worked in formation. If I had to fight one-on-one, I had nearly no suitable skills.

Six more years remained, but I was already strong, able to endure any burden with ease. What worried me more was the upcoming trial, which was set to happen very soon. For a warrior to become truly hardened, his mind must get used to the sight of blood and death especially when it's caused by his own spear and sword, no matter who ends up beneath the blade.

We were to attack the helots powerless slaves and kill them. There was a grim, mandatory rule: each of us had to take a life. If there was no blood on your sword or spear, if you couldn't prove your first kill, you would be punished. There was no choice.

Yes, something inside me resisted, but life here had changed me too much. What truly troubled me was the certainty that the helots would fight for their lives. They had no proper weapons, but even a single well-placed strike, even with a stick or crude spear, could be fatal.

Our squad consisted of boys no more than ten of us. The village we were to raid had around a hundred people, thirty to forty of whom were men.

I'd have to fight for my life and for the lives of my brothers if I wanted to survive.