The horn tore them awake while the sky was still black. No food. No water. The overseers' rods struck against the walls until the boys stumbled from their mats, eyes hollow, bodies trembling from yesterday's march.
"Shields. Spears. March."
The order was as merciless as the day before. They moved like shadows, their line staggering out of camp and back into the hills. The rocks shredded their sandals, cutting deep into swollen feet. Dust clung to their sweat-soaked bodies, the night's cool fading quickly into another scorching day.
Leonidas could feel the tremors in his own legs, each step a rebellion against his will. But he forced his eyes outward, cataloging, learning. Nikandros staggered beside him, his jaw locked, curses ground between his teeth. Pride alone dragged him forward, and Leonidas knew pride was a fire that could burn a man hollow before it burned out.
Doros trudged like an ox, steady, unyielding, though his breathing had grown ragged, his shoulders sagging under the shield. He was near his limit, yet he pressed on. Kyros was breaking—his lips cracked and bleeding, his shield dragging until it clattered against rocks. Every few steps he stumbled, and each time it was Theron who caught him, shoving him upright without a word.
Lysander cursed the sun, the rocks, the overseers, even the gods themselves, his words a steady rhythm that carried him when strength alone could not. His fury gave him momentum, but Leonidas saw the strain in his eyes, the cracks forming.
And Theron… Theron was not untouched. Sweat streamed down his face, his steps slowed, but his rhythm never broke. He carried himself as though the world weighed less on his shoulders than on anyone else's.
By midday, boys began to collapse. Some lay sprawled on the rocks, their lips blue, their eyes glassy. The overseers struck them with rods, dragged them by their ankles, jeering as they were hauled back to camp. "Sparta has no use for dust!" they roared.
Phaedon's squad moved ahead of Leonidas's group, their laughter carrying across the stones. One boy tossed a pebble under Kyros's feet, and he tripped hard, his knees splitting on jagged rock. He let out a sob, scrambling to rise.
Nikandros snarled, lunging before Leonidas grabbed his arm. "Not now," Leonidas hissed. "Save it."
"Cowards," Nikandros spat, his voice hoarse. "I'll see them bleed."
"Not if you fall first," Leonidas snapped.
They pressed on. The hills seemed endless, every crest revealing another climb. The sun blazed high, blistering, merciless. Lips split, tongues swelled, eyes blurred. Leonidas felt the world tilt, the edges of his vision narrowing. His shield dragged, his arm trembled. He thought of dropping it just once—but forced the thought down like poison.
Kyros finally collapsed fully, his body refusing to rise. Theron stood over him, his eyes cold. "He moves, or he dies."
Leonidas crouched beside the boy, gripping his face. "Look at me. One step. Just one. You can do that. Then another. Don't think of the hill. Just me."
Kyros's lips trembled. With a sob, he pushed to his knees. Doros shifted to support him. Lysander cursed, but moved aside to steady the shield line. Together, they pulled Kyros forward, step by painful step.
When the horn finally blared, the boys collapsed in the dust. Shields clattered like thunder, spears falling from nerveless hands. Leonidas dropped onto his back, the sky spinning above him. His lungs felt like fire, his body like lead.
The overseers paced among the broken, rods tapping against palms. "This is the second day," one barked. "Tomorrow, we march again. Only stone will remain. Sparta does not coddle dust."
Leonidas turned his head, catching sight of his men sprawled in the dirt. Nikandros groaned, his eyes fierce even through exhaustion. Doros sat slumped, his breaths loud but steady. Kyros whimpered softly, his body shaking. Lysander muttered curses, even as sleep claimed him. Theron sat upright still, his gaze locked on the horizon, his chest rising and falling like the tide.
Leonidas's vision blurred, but his mind remained sharp. He had seen the cracks in each of them, and the sparks too. Tomorrow would push them further, maybe too far. But if they endured… if they endured, the wall would be stronger than stone.