The training fields of Spartacus echoed with shouts, clashing wood, and the dull thud of bodies hitting dirt. Boys wrestled and sparred beneath the watchful eyes of the elders, each driven to prove themselves worthy of the name Spartan.
Atreus stood among them, smaller than most, his frame wiry, his grip tight around the practice spear. Across from him, Cassian smirked.
"You'll never be a warrior," Cassian taunted, tossing his spear lazily in one hand before hurling it.
Atreus sidestepped with calm precision, the spear embedding itself into the ground where he had been a moment before. He didn't answer, only reset his stance, his eyes steady.
Taren laughed from the sidelines. "Fox-footed again! Always dodging, never striking. What will you do when there's nowhere to run?"
"Hide," Marcellus added with a grin. "That's what he does best."
Atreus tightened his jaw but said nothing. His silence only seemed to fuel their mockery.
From the edge of the field, Ata leaned on a gnarled staff, his weathered face unreadable. He had fought wars long before these boys were born, his reputation one of patience and cunning. He said nothing yet, only observed, his eyes fixed on Atreus more often than the others.
Cassian lunged forward now, spear thrusting toward Atreus' chest. Atreus twisted aside, using Cassian's momentum to shove him off balance. Cassian stumbled, face-first into the dirt.
Snickers erupted from the boys watching.
"You dare—" Cassian scrambled to his feet, fury in his eyes.
Atreus lifted his own spear, but his voice was quiet, almost calm. "You attack with strength. But strength without thought is nothing."
The elders murmured among themselves. One, gray-bearded and scarred, leaned toward another. "Observe him. Small in frame, but sharp. A fox among wolves."
Ata finally spoke, his voice carrying with deliberate weight. "Cunning wins wars as often as strength. Remember that, all of you."
Some of the boys rolled their eyes. Cassian spat to the side. "Cunning is for cowards."
Ata's gaze lingered on Atreus, a faint shadow crossing his features before his expression softened. "Or for survivors."
The boys returned to their sparring, but Ata remained still, watching, his eyes calculating. When Atreus blocked another strike, using minimal effort to turn Cassian's aggression against him, Ata's lips twitched into something between pride and something else—something harder to read.
Later, as the sun dipped and the boys dispersed, Ata called to him.
"Atreus. Stay."
Atreus hesitated, then approached.
"You learn quickly," Ata said, studying him. "Too quickly, perhaps. Do not let their mockery poison you. They mistake silence for weakness, when often silence listens best."
Atreus frowned. "Why help me? My father barely looks at me. The others only see failure."
Ata's expression was unreadable in the fading light. "Because the world does not need more brutes who swing blindly. It needs men who think… men who endure." His hand briefly tightened on his staff. "But remember, boy—" he corrected himself, "—remember, man… those who are clever also draw the sharpest envy."
The words lingered as Atreus left. He thought Ata a mentor, perhaps even a friend. Yet, unseen by him, Ata's eyes followed with a calculating gleam, as though weighing him against a future only he could see.