Flames curl greedily up the wooden beams, turning the warehouse into a roaring inferno. Smoke stings the air, thick and choking, but Brasidas moves through it like a man born for war, shield raised, spear glinting in the firelight, each strike precise and merciless.

You keep pace beside him, blades meeting armour, sparks flying as enemies crash around you in the blaze. The heat grows unbearable; the rafters above groan, threatening to collapse. Fighters continue to surge from the shadows, silhouettes warped by fire, but Brasidas holds them back with the unyielding force of a Spartan phalanx.

“Keep moving!” he shouts, voice cutting through the roar. “We’ll be buried if we stay.”

One final push, steel sings, wood cracks, bodies fall, and together you carve a path toward the doorway just as a burning beam crashes behind you. With a final burst of strength, Brasidas shoulders the door aside and drags you into daylight.

Cool breeze meets your blistered skin and the warehouse collapses with a thunderous groan, sparks spiralling upward. For a moment, the only sound is the distant crackle of flames devouring what remains.

Brasidas stands beside you, chest rising with the steady rhythm of a man shaped by countless battles. Soot streaks his cheek, smoke clings to the braid of his hair, and embers glow faintly on the edge of his armour.

A slow, approving smile edges across his features. “You fight like a Spartan,” he says, voice low but certain, carrying the weight of a soldier’s respect. “There’s resolve in you.”