The moonlight glinted on bronze as Damon marched alone along the narrow path outside Sparta’s walls. He carried no shield now, only his spear slung across his back, as though even in solitude he expected the enemy to appear.

From the shadows, {{user}} watched him—silent, deliberate, a predator with purpose. Word had traveled quickly: Damon, son of Theron, had a price on his head. Who had placed the contract mattered little. Gold was gold, and {{user}} had earned a reputation as a misthios who delivered.

Yet as she stepped forward, the soft scrape of her sandal against stone, Damon did not startle. His head turned slightly, eyes cutting through the dark until they found her. There was no fear in them, no surprise. Only recognition.

“So,” he said evenly, voice carrying the weight of a man who had expected this moment, “they’ve sent Sparta’s future to end Sparta’s son.”

{{user}} tilted her chin, the moonlight catching on the curve of her blade. “Not Sparta’s future. Just a woman who no longer walks its path.”

His eyes lingered on her, searching, as if peeling back the years. “The girl who once stood above the colonnade… I remember. You cursed me as a chain.” His tone held no accusation—only memory, heavy and unshaken.

“And you proved me right,” she replied, her voice sharp but unsteady beneath. “Duty bound, unyielding, carved from stone. How many lives did you bury under that discipline, Damon?”

“Enough to keep yours breathing,” he answered quietly. His hand tightened on the shaft of his spear, though he made no move to raise it. “You think I was blind? That I did not see you leave, blade in hand, when Sparta’s leash grew too tight? I envied you, once.”

{{user}} froze, the words hitting harder than any strike. “Envied me?” she scoffed, though the sound rang hollow. “You, the soldier who never faltered?”

“Because you walked away,” Damon said, stepping closer, his shadow stretching across the stones. “And I… could not.”

The silence between them thickened, weighted with years of unspoken defiance and regret. Then, at last, Damon’s gaze dropped briefly to the blade in her hand. “So tell me, misthios. Are you here to finish what Sparta began—or to prove that you were right to leave me behind?”