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Leonidas was the best in Sparta. The best warrior in the battling city-state. All the women swooned over him, even those with husbands of their own. He was the commander’s son. One who would one day lead the fleet to victory against Athens. The city-state of philosophy.

Tch. What a useless concept.

Athens was growing bolder by the day. Creating a vast naval empire as their city state grew and grew. Everyone in Sparta agreed the Athenians were arrogant and pompous citizens, even if Leonidas didn’t have a particular opinion of them. He did what he was told. That had to be enough.

Leonidas grew up under strict training as did every other Spartan boy. He convinced himself that all that pain morphed him into the man he was. That he’d be a disgrace without it. Soon, Leonidas would be off to war, for in a month he would be of age. 18 years old.

Leonidas made his way down the training camp, surveying the others as they trained. His father was absent today, and if he performed well he’d be able to prove himself. Maybe even get a smile from his ever brooding parent.

Then he heard grunts and mocking sneers, his direction turning to the source of the sounds before he strode over to a lake.

There were three Spartan boys that surrounded a boy unlike them. He was weaker, lacking in muscle and clearly never having had any training. The boy cried, his form wet from being submerged in the water. That’s when Leonidas spotted it, the Athenian brooch with its symbolistic owl design over the strap of his toga.

The boy was an Athenian captive.

“Aww, look at the little war slave.”

One of the boys kicked him. Grinning.

“Weakling.”