"Form the circular phalanx," Heron commanded.
We closed ranks in an instant, shields locking as we covered each other's backs. Spears jutted outward, and the wood groaned under tension.
All around us came dull, shuffling steps and unnatural sounds as if the earth itself groaned beneath some terrible burden. From the forest shadows, figures began to emerge. They resembled men in shape but were grotesquely twisted. Bits of armor clung to them Athenian, Spartan, and the mismatched gear of Perioikoi and helots.
"Spartans!" Heron cried.
The dead halted the ones wearing Spartan armor. The others continued forward… until, as if reluctantly following their kin, they resumed their advance.
"We will lay them to rest once more," Heron said firmly.
As the creatures drew near, I lunged with my spear. It pierced the chest of one corpse, sliding deep into its body. It made no sound, just impaled itself further as though it felt nothing. Its blade swung wide I blocked with my shield, shoved it back, and drew my sword. My strike met its neck. The blade cut through flesh and bone, the head dropping to the ground with a dull thud. The body swayed and collapsed beside it. The severed head twitched in spasms until I brought my heel down and crushed it. The corpse disintegrated, vanishing in a swirl of black mist.
"The head is their weak point," I said.
"You heard Damocles! Strike their heads!" Heron shouted.
I raised my spear again, now aiming solely for their skulls piercing, shattering, breaking again and again. Metal crunched into bone. I often relied on my Furious Storm technique to break through even the thickest helmets. Through trial and error, I'd learned I could use it twelve times before my strength waned.
Fortunately, their numbers were few. For warriors like us, this was no true threat.
"Gather their remains. We will bury them with proper rites. The Spartans will be sent home," Heron declared.
We collected what was left and laid the bodies in a shared grave. Over them, we placed coins in the proper number, as tradition demanded.
Caw.
A raven again. It descended slowly beside us, as if guiding death itself. A sudden wind swept through the clearing, making the coins rattle with the sound of metal.
"Seems their souls were taken after all," Heron said quietly, eyes still fixed on the remains. "It's rare. I've heard tales of the unrestful dead who rise from their graves, forgetting death. But such cases are few. Even after the bloodiest battles, where tens of thousands fall, only a handful of souls ever linger. And only those with unfinished business. Those who refused to leave this world."
"What could have caused it this time?" I asked, eyes never leaving the solitary raven.
"I don't know… but it's a dark omen. Hard times lie ahead," Heron replied grimly.
We buried the bodies and gathered the Spartans' remains. Heron chose three men to escort the fallen home.
Caw.
Even as we departed the battlefield, the raven followed us like a shadow, watching with a gaze that never wavered.
The night was far from over. When I was relieved of my watch, I laid down to rest. But sleep did not come.
Something was shifting. Even now, the world was beginning to twist in strange ways. Fate is a treacherous thing. Not even gods can escape what is foretold. Every effort to alter a prophecy only hastens its fulfillment.
********************************************
The contrast was stark between the land touched by death and the place we now approached, where life bloomed.
As we neared the village of Chrysapa, the forest became too alive. It was as if nature itself breathed more deeply here. Every tree pulsed with vitality; every leaf was vibrant and full. Even the beasts did not flee. We saw them often deer, foxes, small predators. They watched but did not run.
Around the village spread vast fields, and beyond them, lush orchards stretched into the distance. From the branches hung ripe, fragrant fruit, glistening with juice and sweet aroma. There was no doubt a nymph dwelled here. Only the power of such a spirit could bind so deeply with the land, breathing life into every blade of grass, every petal.
"Have you ever met a nymph?" I asked, unable to take my eyes from the wondrous scene.
"Once," Heron said after a pause. "A bear tore off my arm and infected me with madness. I should've died. But in a fevered haze, I saw a beautiful maiden before me. When I woke, I was lying on soft moss, my wounds nearly healed."
"Was it a nymph from these woods?" I asked again.
"Yes," he nodded. His gaze became distant, as if he were reliving that day.
Our arrival did not go unnoticed. A group of men emerged from the village, approaching cautiously.
"I am Polydeus," said one of them, an older man. "I oversee the peace of this village."
"It is good to see a Spartan brother in good health," Heron replied, his tone calm. "My name is Heron."
"I recognized you at once, Heron One-Eye. I still remember you from back then," Polydeus said with a faint smile.
"Ah yes, now I recall. You were much younger then. Forgive me, my memory fades," Heron said.
"I don't blame you. That was ten years ago. But enough pleasantries what brings you to our village?" Polydeus asked, his eyes locking with Heron's.
"We must speak with the nymph who dwells in these parts," Heron said. "We need her aid."
"We rarely interact with her," Polydeus replied. "From time to time, we offer her gifts fruits from our trees in exchange for her protection and bountiful harvests."
"I've sent one of my men to retrieve delicacies from across the sea. We will offer her fruit as tribute. I believe she will respond. Perhaps even agree to meet," Heron said.
"Then you are welcome in my village," Polydeus declared.
For their feats and martial merits, a Spartan could be rewarded with land worked by helots. Formally, he became the owner of the land surrounding such a village, but in practice, he served as the guardian of the law. The rest was left to the villagers themselves farmers, craftsmen, and elders.
We were given a place in an old barn, as no houses were available. However, we didn't mind: the soft hay was far more comfortable than the hard boards of the Spartan camps.
Now, all that was left was to wait for Telephus' return. If he traveled day and night, he should arrive by morning.
I decided to take a walk through the village. I wanted to explore a little, stretch my legs. They had clearly been fortunate not to be in the path of the Athenians the army had passed not far from here, and had fate been different, this village might have been lying in ruins.
As I walked toward the orchard, I stopped to inspect the fruits. I hadn't eaten anything sweet in a long time the taste of fruit had almost become a forgotten memory for me. However, just taking them without permission would be disrespectful. I was already scanning the area, looking for someone to ask for permission.
And then I saw her. The girl was gathering fruit nearby.
"My lady, may I take some fruit for myself and my brothers?" I asked politely.
It seemed I startled her; she almost dropped her basket and, trying to catch it, lost her balance. I stepped forward and gently caught her before she fell.
"I'm sorry if I frightened you," I said, helping her to her feet.
"It's nothing," she replied, looking straight into my eyes. There was a slight tremor in her voice. She shyly adjusted her dress, smoothing out the folds. "You may take as much as you like. We have no shortage of fruit."
"Thank you," I said. Shifting my shield behind my back and spreading the edge of my cloak before me, I began gathering the fruit, as if filling a sack.
"Are you one of the Spartans who arrived today?" she asked, now a bit more at ease, stepping closer.
"Yes. My name is Damocles. We've come with a request for the nymph," I replied, not taking my eyes off the task.
"I see..." she drawled, clearly intrigued. "What do you need from her?"
"Nymphs can speak with animals. We need her to speak with the ravens," I explained. "Only they can help us complete our mission."
"Do you often travel across Sparta like this?" she asked with a light smile, tilting her head slightly.
"I haven't been in this squad for long, but yes, we're always on the road," I replied, shrugging slightly.
"Could you tell me something from your travels?" she asked, her smile widening.
"Well, I'm a poor storyteller, and I don't even know your name," I said, glancing at her sideways with a barely perceptible warm smile.
"I'll tell you my name if you tell me a story," she teased. Her face was as beautiful as her smile.
Though I was long past my youth and had had my share of romances in the cities, I had never found love. Maybe I didn't want to. I knew that if I ever found a family, I might not be able to protect it from the inevitable dangers lurking ahead.