The yard was already hot before the sun had cleared the ridges, dust stirred into the air by hundreds of restless feet. Overseers barked orders, their rods cracking down like whips whenever a boy faltered. The drills came faster, harder, each mistake punished without mercy.
Leonidas's shield felt heavier than it ever had. His shoulders screamed, every lash mark from the day before reopening under the strain. Doros's breathing grew ragged beside him, sweat rolling off his face in streams. Kyros stumbled twice and took the rod across his back both times, yelping as he tried to keep his place. Lysander cursed under his breath with every thrust, his words lost in the clash of wood. Only Nikandros still carried that furious energy, though it was sharpened into something reckless. And Theron—Theron never changed, his movements steady, his expression unreadable.
"Again!" The overseer's roar split the air.
They slammed forward, shields colliding, spears thrusting. Leonidas's arms shook, his lungs burned, but his mind remained cold. He watched Nikandros overreach, Kyros's shield sag, Doros's step falter. He barked corrections between gasps, and though they obeyed, their rhythm was ragged. A wall that stood, but barely.
When the squads broke apart, Leonidas noticed eyes watching them. Not just Phaedon's smug squad at the edge of the yard—though their laughter cut like knives—but the overseers themselves. Their gazes lingered, sharp and calculating, as though waiting for the perfect moment to throw the two squads together again.
The waiting was worse than the punishment. Every drill felt like a countdown. Every shout, every lash of the rod, carried the weight of what hadn't yet happened.
By midday, Leonidas's body was screaming for rest. He bit down on the pain, focusing on the sound of his own breath, on the rhythm of his squad's steps. Doros limped but never fell. Nikandros snarled at every mistake but held his place. Kyros wept silently when he thought no one saw, but he kept lifting his shield. Lysander muttered curses until his throat went raw. Theron, as always, moved as if carved from stone.
At last, they were dismissed. The boys dragged themselves back to the barracks, their bodies sagging, eyes hollow. The laughter of Phaedon's men followed them through the yard, every chuckle a goad.
That night, silence hung heavy in the barracks. No door slammed open, no confrontation came. But the absence only made the tension worse. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper, carried the promise of violence yet to come.
Nikandros sat with his back to the wall, eyes burning in the dim light. "They'll call it soon. Phaedon's been circling like a dog all day. Overseers will pit us against him the moment it suits them."
Kyros shifted on his mat, his voice bitter. "And when they do, we'll break. We can barely stand through drills."
"No," Doros said, his voice low but firm. "We'll hold. We have to."
Lysander snorted. "Hold? Against them? They've been training together since they were boys. We've been together a handful of days."
Silence fell. Even Nikandros had no answer, though his fists clenched tight against his knees.
It was Theron who finally spoke, his tone calm, almost detached. "He's waiting. Phaedon. He thinks he'll humiliate us in front of everyone when the overseers call it."
Leonidas turned his head. In the faint glow of the fire's embers, Theron's eyes caught the light, sharp and cold.
"He's wrong," Leonidas said, his voice quiet but certain. "He's had years of training, but he doesn't know desperation. He's never had to fight when losing meant everything. He's strong, but strength isn't enough when you have something to lose."
For a long moment, Theron studied him. Then, without a word, he gave a single nod and lay back down.
Leonidas remained awake. His ribs throbbed, his arms still burned, but his mind churned with possibilities. He could almost hear the overseers whispering, planning the clash. It wasn't a matter of if—it was a matter of when. And when that moment came, Phaedon would bring everything he had.
Leonidas exhaled slowly, letting the weight of the thought settle on him. The others slept fitfully, some muttering, some groaning in their dreams. He lay in silence, eyes fixed on the darkness above, and made himself a promise.
When the overseers called it, his wall would not break.