The boar burst from the undergrowth, bristles raised, tusks slashing the air. Its squeal shook the trees.
Leonidas met it head-on, spear low. The point bit shallow, sliding across hide like stone. Nikandros rammed his weapon into the flank, blood spraying, but the beast only grew wilder. Doros lunged too soon, his strike skidding off uselessly. The animal spun, tusks snapping so close Doros felt the hot stink of its breath.
"Brace!" Menon shouted.
Two of his boys locked their shafts together. The boar crashed against them, splintering one spear, hurling its wielder to the ground. The wounded boy dragged himself through the mud, leaving a red trail.
Theron stepped in calmly, planting his spear into the dirt at an angle. The beast barreled, slammed against it, twisted sideways with a shriek.
"Now!" Leonidas roared.
They struck together. Nikandros drove into the neck, Menon into the ribs, Doros finally landing true. Leonidas put his full weight behind the shoulder thrust, muscles burning as bone resisted. Then the point slid deep.
The boar staggered, legs buckling. It lunged once more, tusks tearing across Nikandros' side in a shallow cut before collapsing hard into the dirt. It thrashed once, twice, then went still.
Silence followed. Steam rose from the body, the air thick with the stink of blood and sweat.
Nikandros spat, voice sharp. "That was ours. They'd be dead without us."
Menon snarled, scar twisting. "And you'd be starving without us. Don't fool yourself."
Leonidas planted his spear upright, voice flat and cutting. "It lives, we all die. It dies, we all eat. Argue again, and I'll bury the loudest one beside it."
No one answered.
---
They dragged the carcass back bound in rope and branches. By dusk, smoke curled from their fire, the meat sizzling and spitting fat into the flames. Grease ran down their hands as they tore at strips, hunger silencing every quarrel. Even the wounded boy forced down his share, eyes half-closed with relief.
For the first time in days, their bellies were not empty. For the first time, the fire felt warm.
But the forest never let them rest.
---
The sound came first: branches cracking, deliberate footsteps, many at once. Not beasts. Boys.
Leonidas was on his feet in an instant, spear raised. Menon rose with him, his squad jittering with nerves.
Figures emerged from the treeline. Not one squad. Not two. More. Faces familiar in the firelight—boys they had sparred with in the agoge, boys who should have been rivals, not allies.
Now they stood together, their eyes hollow, their hands tight on spears.
At their head was Diodoros. Broad-shouldered, scarless, smirk sharp as a blade. His squad was swollen, unnatural—three, maybe four squads pressed into one, forced together by fear.
"Look at you," Diodoros drawled, his voice smooth, carrying over the fire. "Filthy, bruised, bleeding. And yet—" his smirk widened, "—you eat like kings."
Nikandros stepped forward, eyes blazing. "You want it? Come and take it."
Diodoros laughed, deep and cruel. "Oh, I will. But you misunderstand, Nikandros. This isn't just my squad. These"—he swept his arm wide at the faces behind him—"are the wise ones. The ones who chose strength over pride. The ones who understood that resistance is a good way to die early."
Leonidas' gaze swept over them. He recognized faces—boys who had shared bread in the mess hall, boys who had sparred with him only weeks before. Now they stood silent, eyes lowered, spears ready but not proud. Broken into submission.
"You forced them," Leonidas said, voice low.
Diodoros shrugged. "Call it force. I call it leadership. I call it winning." He stepped closer, firelight glinting in his eyes. "And tonight, I'll win again. You'll hand over that carcass, and maybe I'll let you keep the bones."
Menon's boys shifted uneasily. Doros' breath came fast, sweat dripping down his temple. Nikandros tightened his grip on his spear until his knuckles shone white.
Theron's voice broke the silence, calm but cold. "You take it, you bleed for it. Even twenty spears won't walk away clean."
Diodoros' grin faltered for a heartbeat, but his eyes never left Leonidas.
Leonidas stepped forward, firelight cutting sharp across his face. His voice was quiet, steady.
"Try us."
The clearing froze—twenty against twelve, unity forged by fear against unity forged by fire.
The night held its breath, waiting for blood.