The death of everything

POV: Heron

I'm over forty now, and fighting for this long has grown difficult. My bones ache, my breath shortens, my arms grow weary. But I have no right to rest not while the mission endures. And as long as she lives, any thought of peace is betrayal.

These words within me clenched my grip on the spear and drove my strikes forward, each blow weakening the enemy further. It wasn't just faith in myself, but in our commander as long as he stood here with us, this gorge would remain unbroken.

Truth be told, without the metal golems, we couldn't have held this position with so few losses. The madness of the Persian forces rivaled our martial discipline. Dark magic… and the horrors it summoned.

The battle has raged for two days now, yet I can't shake the memory of Atreus's fight with the demon Atrox. I think more and more that this is a feint they mean to strike elsewhere, while draining our strength here. All that remains is to steel the spirit and prepare for whatever comes next.

"Heron!" a scout's voice rang out. He was rushing toward me, unarmed no shield, no spear. We never part with our gear, not even in death. That meant the situation was worse than dire. He collapsed before me, gasping for breath.

"What is it, soldier?" I asked.

"The enemy… they've found a way around," the Spartan panted.

The very thing I feared. The mountains were thought impassable, the gorge the only route through. But there were other paths, narrow and steep. Treacherous, yes but not impossible.

"Has the fighting begun already?" I asked, searching the scout's face. We'd stationed a garrison of a thousand Spartans there they were meant to hold the line until reinforcements arrived.

"As soon as we spotted the enemy unit, I rode here at once," he reported between breaths.

"Spartans! Form ranks!" I bellowed. "Morai Two, Three, and Four move out! Head for the hidden pass!"

With the order given, I rushed to the front where the fighting against the Persians raged. Atreus was there. I quickly found him among the brothers.

"Atreus! They've found the hidden trail the Persians are going around," I shouted over the din of battle.

"The dark gods have had their hand in this..." he muttered grimly. "Have you already sent reinforcements?"

"Yes. Three morai."

"Not enough. There are many paths, and the enemy outnumbers us. Send two more," he commanded firmly.

"But that will leave only three thousand Spartans here. Will it be enough?" I asked, unable to hide my doubt.

"The metal golems will hold the gorge. And we need those three thousand to launch an assault if the enemy sets up siege engines," he explained. Then, narrowing his eyes as if spotting something in the distance, he gazed thoughtfully toward the enemy flank. "Don't send the two morai straight to the pass. Break them into groups and scatter them along the routes make them a reserve force. If needed, they can quickly reinforce any weak point and serve as a link between us."

"It will be done," I answered, and hurried to relay the orders. Once I confirmed the units had received the command and begun their march, I returned to camp. But peace eluded me. The day had brought yet another grim revelation.

"What do you mean there will be no food shipments?!" I asked, clenching my fists. Standing before me was a messenger from Athens.

"The enemy fleet has reached our shores. All resources are being redirected to defend the city," he said calmly.

"All resources?! Our army is holding back half a million Persian soldiers in these mountains! Without food, those hordes will pour into your lands like a plague!" I shouted, unable to restrain my fury.

"That is Athena's command," he replied coldly.

"Athena?" I exhaled heavily. "Has her old feud with Ares blinded her so fully she would sacrifice us all? She would trade our lives for her pride?"

"I am only a messenger. I know nothing more," he answered, lowering his gaze.

I clenched my jaw, forcing down my rage. I had to think. Where could we find food? Equipment? Our spears and shields were wearing down at an alarming rate. Dark magic corrodes more than flesh it eats away at steel and bone alike. Without a supply line, catastrophe looms: no food to eat, no arms to fight with.

"Tell your goddess this," I said, locking eyes with him. "Without those supplies, the Spartans will not hold this gorge." But even as I spoke the words, I knew the truth we would hold it, even with bare fists if we must. And we would hold it.

"I'll deliver your message," the envoy said curtly before hurrying away, eager to be gone from my sight.

I never imagined I'd be caught in matters of politics and logistics. Yet someone had to take on the burden. I reported to Atreus and received new orders the only path left to us in this desperate hour: send scouts to the forests and the sea to forage and hunt. It felt as though the gods themselves did not want us to prevail.

But we had our own god. The one who stood with us.

Atrox had said Atreus feared ascending to the Pantheon a god among gods. But his heart remained as pure as the day I first met him. And if not him who else could lead us forward?

The battles grew bloodier. The more bodies that fell, the stronger the Persian magic became. They drew power from the dead, unleashing plague, weakness, and curses upon us. And yet, all of it broke against Atreus's will, as he stood between the darkness and our line.

A week of constant fighting had drained our stores. Food was nearly gone. Ammunition, too. More and more Spartans entered battle without full armor. We had no choice but to take extreme measures: common spears without metal tips. Swords and shields were running low.

It was Hephaestus who eased this burden. Every weapon he had time to forge, he sent to us. But even he, master of the forge and creator of artifacts beyond mortal comprehension, could not arm an entire army in such a short span. He was a god but still a god of craft, not miracles.

The food crisis, too, found partial relief through Atreus. The Golden Grove yielded just enough grain to sustain us. But I saw the toll it took on him. The more we needed him, the more his strength waned. On the first day of battle, he had been like a mountain unyielding, unbreakable. But now, after a week…

Atreus still stands. He fights through days and nights without pause so we will fight too.

"Report, Kreon," he said during our small war council.

"Only four thousand Spartans remain fully equipped," I said bitterly. "Two thousand more are partially armed. The rest… have no weapons at all."

"And our total numbers?" Atreus asked.

"Eight thousand," I admitted with a heavy sigh. Two thousand had fallen in the past week warriors who gave their lives answering duty's call.

"How many enemies have we slain?" he asked again. He couldn't allow weakness to show now.

"Over one hundred thousand. A fifth of their entire force has been crushed."

Atreus fell silent, his gaze drifting across the faces of the Spartans.

"We won't last another week," he said. "I cannot leave the gorge. But you can."

He extended a compass to me its edge inscribed with ancient runes, glowing faintly with power.

"Go to Athens. Then the other city-states. Find weapons. Find food. Find anything that gives us a chance."

I took the compass perhaps the only thing that could still save us.

I accepted the mission and swore I would complete it. No matter the cost. My first stop was Athens. When I saw the city in flames, I understood why we never received aid. Battles raged in the streets, and the only thing keeping the enemy from total victory was the fortress atop the cliffs.

I left Athens behind and continued my journey, searching the other poleis for any hope, any aid.