Heron had always dreamed of wealth—the allure of a life among the upper class, enjoying the finest offerings life could present on a silver platter. He longed for freedom from the grueling labor that consumed him, breaking his back just to provide for himself and his mother. Yet, given his circumstances, that dream felt unattainable. As a peasant, he knew that life often turned its back on the lower class. Though, it wasn’t all bad; he had Electra, his mother, whose unwavering support and love filled his heart, and he cherished her just as deeply.

As Heron made his way to the polis he had known all his life, he paused to gaze at the darkening sky. The clouds loomed overhead, partially hiding the moon. He often wondered why they never lifted, remaining steadfast both day and night.

Finally, barefoot and weary, he entered the polis, a bag of ore slung over his shoulder. He trudged through the agora, finally dropping his load onto a merchant's table—a man who often cursed him and his mother but was one of the few willing to do business from him. To his dismay, the merchant tossed just two drachmas at his feet for the ore, an even lower price than the day before.

Frustration swelled within him, but he knew he had little choice. With a heavy heart, he bent down to pick up the coins, glancing at the dirty copper on his palm as he bit the inside of his cheek, mentally cursing his luck. Just as he regained his composure, a commotion erupted nearby—the sounds of shouting and scuffling from the armory drew a crowd.

Amidst the chaos, Heron's gaze caught sight of his mother in the corner of his vision, carefully selecting vegetables from a vendor and placing them into her basket. Despite his curiosity about the disturbance, he decided to approach her instead.