The horn's wail split the dawn, sharp and merciless. Leonidas dragged himself from the reed mat, every muscle stiff, his back raw from yesterday's rods. His shield felt heavier than ever as he strapped it to his arm. He didn't need the overseers' sneers to know: today would be worse.
The yard was already hot, the sun glaring off the dust. Two hundred boys formed into squads. Leonidas's group had barely taken their place when the veteran with the crooked nose singled them out with a bark.
"You—again!"
The command came like a whip crack. They slammed their shields together, spears snapping forward.
"Again!"
The impact rattled his bones, and before he'd even drawn breath, the word came again.
"Again!"
Other squads drilled once, maybe twice, before being sent to water. Leonidas's squad had no reprieve. The rods came down harder. A lash struck Doros's calf, splitting skin. Another smashed across Nikandros's shoulder. Leonidas took two across the back that burned like fire, each strike driving the breath from his lungs.
By midmorning, their tunics clung to their bodies, soaked through with sweat. The yard's dust became mud where it mixed with blood. Leonidas's arms trembled so violently he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his shield aloft. Every time it sagged, the rod found him.
Kyros broke first. His shield dipped, his steps faltered. The rod came down on him three times in quick succession. He cried out, tears mixing with the dust on his face, but the overseer only snarled, "Stand, or die on your knees!"
They pushed forward again. Nikandros, usually the loudest, had gone quiet. His chest heaved, but his eyes burned with hatred—directed not at the overseers, but at Leonidas. Lysander muttered curses under his breath, each word trembling with exhaustion. Only Doros gritted his teeth and kept moving, sweat pouring from his face but his shield steady. And Theron… Theron's face was unreadable, his movements precise, neither faster nor slower than before.
From the sidelines, Phaedon's squad lounged in the shade. They laughed when Kyros stumbled. They sneered when Leonidas took another lash. Every jeer was a dagger, and Leonidas could feel the resentment of his own squad sharpening with each blow.
When at last they were given a short reprieve, the six of them collapsed against the barracks wall. The wood of Leonidas's shield scraped his raw shoulder as he let it fall. His lungs felt scorched, his body trembling like a bowstring pulled to breaking.
Nikandros spat blood into the dirt and turned on him. "This is on you," he hissed. His voice was low, hoarse, but venomous. "You couldn't keep quiet. You had to make Phaedon look like a fool. Now we pay the price every hour."
Leonidas pressed his back against the wall, ribs throbbing. "If I hadn't spoken, we'd have broken yesterday. You saw it. We'd have been humiliated anyway."
Nikandros's jaw tightened. "Better humiliated once than beaten to pieces every day."
Doros shook his head, rubbing the welt on his shin. "No. The peasant's right. The harder the stone, the sharper the edge. We'll be stronger than the others if we survive."
Kyros snapped at him, his voice cracking. "Survive? You think this is forging us? They're breaking us. You're blind if you can't see it."
The silence that followed was thick. Even Lysander muttered, "He's right. This isn't training—it's cruelty."
And then Theron spoke. His tone was calm, quiet, but it cut through their despair like a blade. "You all saw the clash yesterday. Without him"—he nodded toward Leonidas—"we'd have collapsed. He saw what none of us did. That wasn't luck. That was skill. You don't have to like it, but if you want to live, you'd better listen."
The words hit like hammer blows. Nikandros's glare faltered, though his pride wouldn't let him yield. Kyros scowled but dropped his eyes. Even Lysander stopped muttering.
Leonidas met Theron's gaze. For the first time, the boy's sharp eyes revealed something beyond cold distance: judgment—and approval. A silent acknowledgment, brief but undeniable.
The overseer's roar shattered the moment. "Up! Shields high!"
Groans filled the air as they dragged themselves upright again. Leonidas's body screamed, but his mind was steady. Every lash, every drop of sweat, every tremor in his arms was another turn of the grinding stone. Yes, they were being punished. Yes, they were being pushed to collapse.
But stones under pressure did not always crumble. Sometimes, they became unbreakable.