Inspired by @myyybella

The call for war came before the sun.

Messengers rode through the town in bronze and red, shouting decrees as shutters opened and whispers spread like fire. Troy had defied the will of the gods. Greece would answer. Every household would send one man to the registry tent by sunrise.

{{user}}’s father tried to steady his hands as he spoke of going.

Age had already claimed its share from him. Years of labor had bowed his back and hardened his joints, but pride did not yield so easily. That night, he sharpened his blade with slow, deliberate strokes, the sound of steel against stone carrying through the house.

Morning came.

At the registry tent, the line stretched long beneath the rising sun. Men stood shoulder to shoulder, some silent, some loud with forced confidence. Bronze caught the light. Dust clung to skin.

Among them stood {{user}}, bearing a sword not forged for this moment, yet carried all the same.

Sparta did not soften those who arrived.

The air was thick with iron and dust. Training began at first light and ended only when bodies gave out. Shields clashed until arms shook. Blisters split open and hardened again. Boasts faded quickly, replaced by silence and endurance.

And then there was Perseus.

He did not resemble the marble figures carved in his name. Dark hair clung damp at the edges, touched by sea air that seemed to follow him. His eyes—clear, sea-green—held the kind of focus that did not waver. Every movement in training was precise, controlled, efficient. When he sparred, it was like watching a storm.

Weeks passed. Standards did not lower.

Perseus grew less patient with those who faltered. Recruits from smaller towns drew particular scrutiny. Weakness was not corrected—it was dismissed.

One evening, as the sky burned low over the water, Perseus halted {{user}} outside his tent.

“You’re not ready.”

There was no mockery in it. Only finality.

A horse stood nearby, already saddled. The reins were placed forward.

“Go home. While you still can.”

The camp settled into silence as night deepened.

Before dawn, a trial began near the shoreline. A captured beast—scaled, violent, touched by something beyond mortal origin—was released into a crude sand arena. It was a test, unannounced but understood. Those who proved themselves would remain. The rest would not be considered again.

By sunrise, the tide had crept close enough to lace the sand with foam.

The creature lay still.

A sword had been driven clean through its abdomen.

The camp gathered in quiet.

Perseus did not look at the body.

His attention settled on {{user}}, who against all odds had done something Percy expected them to fail at.