𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 ᵉᵖⁱᶜ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜᵃˡ

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

Chapter 2. THE FOX AND THE FLAME

❝Even among the unpolished stones, a rare gem can shine brightest.❞

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

Countdown: 16 years remaining

The courtyard bustled with life in the golden warmth of mid-morning.

Metallic clinks of swords meeting shields was accompanied by the rhythmic crunch of boots against the dry earth.

Soldiers—some seasoned and hardened, others still fresh-faced and eager—were sparring in pairs; each clash a testament to their discipline.

It was a place alive with energy—where strength and skill were on full display.

You stood at the edge of it all with a jug of water balanced carefully in your hands. Beads of sweat glistened on your brow, though not from exertion.

The summer heat was oppressive and unrelenting; tempered only by the occasional breeze that stirred the scents of sweat, leather, and oiled metal.

A playful grin spread across your lips as you approached the soldiers, your steps light and purposeful.

The worn hem of your chiton swished around your legs, the sun catching the vibrant undertones of your skin, drawing more than a few lingering glances.

"Thirsty boys?" you called while tilting the jug invitingly.

Heads turned. First one soldier, then another, until a dozen pairs of eyes were fixed on you.

Some even paused mid-swing in sparring to glance your way, their expressions ranged from amused to openly appreciative.

"You know we are," teased a soldier named Lycomedes; a man in his late twenties with a crooked smile that revealed a missing tooth. "But don't think we don't know your game. You bring the water and we teach you tricks, eh?"

You giggled, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you handed him a cup. "You wound me Lycomedes. Can't I simply care for our brave protectors without an ulterior motive?"

A wiry soldier named Andron laughed as he wiped sweat from his brow, his fingers brushing yours when reaching for a cup.

"Careful lads. She's got the eyes of a fox and the tongue of a bard. Flatter her too much and she'll have ya doing her chores while she steals your heart!"

"Steal your hearts?" you repeated, feigning offense as you tipped the jug to fill the cup. "I'd never dream of such a thing. Now chores on the other hand..."

The soldiers laughed, the sound mingling with the clang of practice swords. 

"You're trouble that's what you are," Lycomedes said with a widening grin. "But we wouldn't have it any other way."

You simply grin in response, moving through the group, pouring water as you felt a familiar warmth settle over you.

These men—so fierce on the battlefield—softened in your presence; their gruff exteriors melting away under the weight of your charm.

 "Hey Orion," you sweetly call out one of the newer recruits' name, your lashes fluttering coyly. "You mind showing me that move again? You know, the one where you disarmed Theras yesterday."

The young boy flushed under your gaze but quickly put up a front of confidence. "You mean this?" In a flash, his hand darted out, catching the hilt of his practice sword.

With a swift flick of his wrist he mimed a move that sent his imaginary opponent's weapon flying.

You clapped your hands, eyes wide with mock admiration. "So fast! You'll have to show me step by step. How else am I to defend myself against ruffians?"

"Ruffians? You're more likely to charm them into surrender." Orion teased with a smirk.

The banter continued light and teasing as you continue to pass out water and absorb every tidbit of advice they offered.

Each time they demonstrated a move you mimicked it, sometimes with surprising accuracy, sometimes drawing laughter with your exaggerated failures.

It was in these moments that you thrived—a delicate dance of innocence and cunning, endearing yourself to the grizzled warriors who couldn't resist your infectious spirit.

As you spun around to refill another cup, the sound of soft footfalls on stone drew your attention to the walkway above the courtyard.

Penelope.

The sun caught the intricate embroidery of her lilac gown as she walked ahead with her head held high; a vision of serene authority.

Her long dark hair framed her face with strays of elegant braids decorated throughout.

She carried herself like a Queen in waiting—untouchable, unshakable.

Beside her, Iphthime was the picture of youthful exuberance. She gestured animatedly as she spoke, her voice carrying faintly on the breeze.

She too was radiant; the quintessential Spartan beauty with features soft and delicate.

You couldn't help but marvel at the contrast between the sisters.

Penelope, ever composed, seemed like a marble statue come to life while Iphthime was fire that drew others to her warmth.

"Little fox!" Andron barked, jolting you back to the present.

"She's distracted by loftier sights," Lycomedes teased, following your gaze to the walkway. "Can't say I blame her."

You grinned unashamed. "Lady Penelope moves like she's stepping through the stars. How could anyone look away?"

Before he could reply further, Andron tapped your shoulder. "Come on! Show me what you've learned. Let's see if Lycomedes has been teaching you anything useful or if you're just collecting compliments."

A wooden practice sword was tossed your way. Eager to prove yourself, you stepped forward and caught it.

It was heavier than you expected, the weight causing you to stumble slightly as you squared your shoulders.

A few nearby soldiers formed a loose circle, their laughter and cheers encouraging you as you mimicked the stances they demonstrated.

And even though your form was far from perfect the soldiers still clapped and cheered as you managed a somewhat decent swing.

"Not bad for someone your size," Andron teased, ruffling your hair.

"Give me a year," you retorted puffing out your chest. "I'll be better than all of you."

For a moment you forgot the weight of the world beyond the courtyard.

Here—surrounded by the clang of steel and the warmth of camaraderie—you felt almost invincible.

Above, Penelope lingered at the edge of the walkway, her sharp eyes observing the scene below. Iphthime had moved ahead, but Penelope stayed.

Her expression unreadable. Was she annoyed by your antics? Amused? It was impossible to tell.

You caught her gaze and offered a quick playful salute with your sword.

For a moment her face remained impassive. Then, just barely, the corner of her mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile.

You turn back as other soldiers took turns showing you techniques.

Some were practical—basic footwork and defensive maneuvers—while others were purely for show, meant to impress and amuse.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The air was different at night.

It is when the heat of the day gave way to the cool caress of the evening breeze. When the moon hung high, casting silver light across the cobblestone and grass.

In a hidden clearing just outside the palace walls, you and Penelope stood face-to-face, wooden practice swords gripped tightly in your hands.

"So," Penelope began, a smirk tugging at her lips, "what did you learn today?"

You grinned, twirling your practice sword with exaggerated flair. "Something new," you replied. "Let's see if it works on you."

Her smirk widened. "Confidence suits you. But don't forget, I've beaten you every time."

"There's a first time for everything," you shot back, lunging forward.

The clash of wood against wood echoed through the clearing as she parried your strike, her movements quick and precise.

It went on like this for what felt like hours—quips and counters, blades clashing in a rhythm that neither of you wanted to break.

"Again," Penelope said firmly, her chest rising and falling with exertion.

Stray strands of her dark hair stuck to her forehead, loosened from the braid that hung down her back.

You smile sharpened as you raise your sword. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to bruise your pride any more than I already have tonight."

"Don't flatter yourself," she shot back, adjusting her stance. "I'm still ahead by six wins this week."

"Only because you cheat," you teased, sidestepping her feint as her blade sliced through the air just shy of your shoulder.

"I do not cheat!" she snapped, eyes narrowing.

"You distract me with all your noblewoman grace," you said, parrying her next swing. "It's unfair. How's a humble servant like me supposed to concentrate?"

"Maybe try focusing instead of running your mouth!" she countered, driving forward with a quick jab that caught you off guard.

The tip of her wooden blade hit your side, eliciting a grunt as you staggered back. Penelope grinned triumphantly but her moment of victory was short-lived.

"Nice one," you said, shifting your stance and lunging forward with speed that surprised even you.

Your blade tapped her shoulder, and she stumbled slightly, her grin fading into a scowl.

Recovering swiftly, Penelope lunges, her strikes swift and precise. You barely dodged, twisting your body to avoid the sharp edge of her practice sword.

"That move again?" you taunt as you step back just out of her reach. "You've done it three times already tonight. Maybe I haven't done as good of a job on reciting the soldiers' lessons."

Her laugh was soft but carried an edge. "Very funny."

She surged forward again. Each swing forced you to retreat, your feet scuffing against the cool stone.

You parried as best you could, gritting your teeth as the force of her blows reverberated through your arms.

"Not bad," Penelope admitted, her eyes gleaming in the torchlight. "But you're leaving your left side wide open."

You grinned, taking advantage of her momentary distraction. With a quick pivot you ducked under her guard and swept her legs out from under her.

She hit the ground with a startled gasp, her sword skittering away.

Standing over her with your practice sword pointed at her chest, you couldn't resist a triumphant smirk. "Wide open you say?"

Penelope's glare melted into a begrudging smile. "Beginner's luck," she muttered, accepting your hand as you helped her to her feet.

You both stood there drenched in sweat, your chests heaving as you stood apart panting and grinning, the tension of the match giving way to camaraderie.

"That's a draw," Penelope said reluctantly, falling to the ground with a huff.

"A draw?" you echoed, feigning shock as you toss sword aside and collapsed onto the cool grass beside her. "That's practically a win for me. You never let me get this close."

"Don't let it go to your head," she replied, sitting beside you and wiping her brow with the edge of her tunic. "You're only improving because I'm an excellent spar partner."

You laughed, leaning back on your hands as you looked up at the stars. The silence between you was comfortable, the kind born of shared struggle and trust.

After a moment of silence, Penelope suddenly pulls a small leather-bound book from her satchel. "Here. This just arrived in the library. Thought you'd want first dibs."

Your eyes lit up as you snatched it from her hands and run your fingers over the embossed cover. "A treatise on naval strategy?" you breathed, flipping through the pages. "Penelope you spoil me." 

"Hardly," Penelope replied as she lean back on her hands. "You're the only one who reads half these things anyway."

Ever since that fateful night on the balcony, your lives had followed this unspoken rhythm.

By day, Penelope is the perfect noblewoman—poised, graceful, and dutiful. She endures Icarus's wrath without complaint, bearing the weight of the family's expectations as a good daughter should.

At night, however, everything changes.

The confines of nobility fall away; replaced by the freedom of sparring, learning, and growing.

Penelope would bring books and scrolls from the library, teaching you to read and write in stolen moments.

And in return you share what you've learned from the soldiers—new techniques, strategies, and stories of battles long past.

With only the Moon and Stars as witness, the two of you practiced. Every parry, every strike, every strategic maneuver was tested and refined in your moonlit sessions.

Over time Penelope's strikes had grown sharper, her movements more deliberate. Her body—once slender and delicate, now bore the lean muscles of a warrior.

You, on the other hand, had discovered a deep love for the art of strategy.

The battles you read about became puzzles to solve, the lessons from the soldiers a foundation for crafting your own mock skirmishes.

You'd recreate famous conflicts for you and Penelope to fight through, testing each other's minds as well as your bodies.

Your efforts did not go unnoticed.

"Mind if I join you?" A deep voice calls out from the shadows, startling you and Penelope from your nightly lessons.

You both break away and stand next to each other with hardened faces. Though it was hard to see, you could make out a tall form wearing a baggy cloak.

"Who are you?" Penelope demanded, her sword raised defensively. "Show yourself."

The deep voice chuckled. "No need for such hostility." Stepping into the light, it was revealed to be an old man with a rugged face and eyes that gleamed like molten gold.

"I am simply a mere traveler," he said, his voice deep and wispy. "A mere traveler who couldn't help but notice such dedication."

"Leave," you said sharply, stepping in front of Penelope as he takes another step. "This isn't your concern."

The man chuckled once again, his gaze flicking between the two of you. "Fiery and bold. I like that." He looked to Penelope. "Would you care to indulge me in a match?"

Penelope hesitates, glancing at you before ultimately nodding. "If you think you can keep up," she said boldly despite the wariness in her eyes.

Knowing her say is final, you simply take a step back, hands gripped on your sword and eyes lingering on the man in case of sudden movements.

A gleeful smile decorated his wrinkled face as he yanks off his cloak to reveal a sword of his own attached to his hip.

"Ready when you are~" the old man teases. He grabs the sword and gives it a couple of experimental swings as he moves into a relaxed stance.

The sparring match that followed was brutal.

Penelope met his challenge head-on, her sword flashing in the pale moonlight as she lunged, parried, and struck.

But the old man was on a level neither of you could have anticipated.

His strikes came with blinding speed, movements so fluid they seemed almost supernatural.

Within moments Penelope was on the defensive, her breath coming in sharp bursts as she fought to keep up.

Every time her blade met his and the force of the impact rattled through her arms she held firm.

And even when the old man's strikes sent her sprawling, her body hitting the dirt with a sickening thud, she picked herself up without hesitation.

Her determination blazed like a fire, the spark in her eyes refusing to be extinguished.

"You've got spirit," the man remarked mid-swing, his voice even and composed despite their fierce exchange.

Penelope gritted her teeth, blocking another attack. "You'll need more than that to break me."

You stood at the edge as you watched. It took everything in you not to intervene. Your fists clenched as instincts screamed at you to protect her, but you knew better.

Penelope wouldn't forgive you for stepping in.

Minutes bled into what felt like hours, the sounds of their clashing swords echoing in the stillness of the night.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the old man laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Enough," he said, stepping back and letting his sword fall to. His tone was laced with approval, his sharp eyes fixed on Penelope as she staggered to her feet. "You've proven yourself."

Before either of you could react it happened.

With a flash of golden light, the old man's began to shift. His weathered figure melted away; instead replaced by a towering man draped in bronze and crimson.

His armor gleamed with an otherworldly glow, the intricate carvings on his breastplate depicting battles long forgotten.

A crimson cape billowed behind him heavy and regal as if carried by an invisible wind. In his hand he held a spear, its golden tip gleaming as if forged from the stars themselves.

His helmet was a masterpiece—sharp edges and a darkened visor that made the faint molten color of his eyes glow even more.

Every inch of him exuded power, violence, and an indomitable presence that seemed to fill the courtyard.

You felt your breath hitch as you took in the sight of the God standing before you.

"Ares," you whispered, the name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

The God's fiery gaze flicked to you, and for a moment the weight of his attention was almost unbearable.

But then he smiled—a sharp wolfish grin that sent a thrill of both fear and exhilaration through you.

"You've caught my attention, Penelope," he said, his voice a deep rumbling growl. "You fight with the heart of a warrior—a flame that refuses to be extinguished, no matter how the odds are stacked against you. I see potential in you girl. The kind of potential that could carve legends."

Penelope straightened, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as she met his gaze.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and though her chest still heaved from exertion, her expression was resolute.

"You've impressed me," Ares continued. "And that is no small feat."

His voice softened slightly, though it lost none of its authority. "From this night on, you are my student. I will make you into the warrior you were born to be. Your fire will burn brighter under my guidance."

Penelope's lips parted in shock, but before she could respond, Ares turned his gaze to you.

"And you," his eyes narrow slightly. "You have not gone unnoticed either."

You froze, your mind racing as he continued.

"Your strategies, your cunning...you see battle not as a brute's game—but as a puzzle to be solved. And yet you are no stranger to the fight itself. That kind of balance, that kind of brilliance, is rare."

His gaze flickered with something unreadable—pride perhaps, or frustration. "But I cannot claim you. Someone else has their eyes on you already."

Confusion decorated your face. "Who?"

As if in answer, a faint rustling came from the trees bordering the wall.

You turned your head just in time to see a massive owl perched on a high branch, its feathers a soft mix of whites and browns.

Its golden eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, locking onto you with an eerie intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

The owl tilted its head, watching you in complete silence, its presence both unsettling and oddly comforting.

"That," Ares voice pull your attention back to him, "is your answer." He let out a low, almost amused chuckle. "Athena does not let her favorites go unnoticed."

The owl flapped its wings once before vanishing into the darkness, leaving you staring after it.

"But the choice is yours," Ares continued. "Athena may favor intellect and cunning, but war is not fought with the mind alone. If you ever wish to know what it truly means to harness power, to embrace your spirit as a warrior...you will come to me."

His gaze shifted back to Penelope, the fire in his eyes burning brighter.

"For now I have my student," he declared, his voice ringing with finality. "I look forward to seeing what you are capable of Penelope of Sparta, Daughter of Icarius."

With a sharp slam of his spear against the ground, his form shimmered once more and disappeared, leaving the clearing in silence.

Penelope let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her legs nearly giving out as she sank onto the ground.

You could only stand there still staring at the spot where Ares had vanished.

The words he had spoken, the promise of guidance, and the unspoken challenge from Athena all swirled together in your thoughts.

"Well," Penelope said finally, her voice shaky but filled with a faint trace of humor, "I guess that means we both have some decisions to make."

You managed a weak smile, your gaze flicking once more to the treetops where the owl had been.

The Gods were watching....

And the path ahead was growing more complicated with every step.