Chapter 2: Preparing for war
I stumbled forward, my legs shaking under the sudden strain. The sunlight was blinding after the darkness of my cell. I squinted, trying to take in the sight before me. A sprawling courtyard lay ahead, filled with other slaves in varying states of health and despair. Guards patrolled the area, their eyes sharp and unforgiving.
The man who had dragged me out of my cell released his grip on my arm, pushing me towards the center of the courtyard. I fell to my knees, my body weak and trembling. I could feel the eyes of the other slaves on me, but no one moved to help.
As I struggled to my feet, the sounds of combat training filled the air. The clash of wooden swords, the grunts of exertion, and the barked orders of the trainers created a chaotic symphony. I looked around, seeing groups of men and boys practicing their drills, their movements sharp and disciplined.
"Σήκω σκλάβος!" the man barked again, his voice harsh. He grabbed my arm and yanked me upright, dragging me across the courtyard. I stumbled, trying to keep up, my eyes darting around to take in my surroundings. The other slaves training looked hardened, their eyes filled with a mixture of determination and resignation.
We reached the far side of the courtyard, where a large wooden door stood. The guard pushed it open, and a warm breeze flowed by, carrying with it the scents of sweat and dust. Colors I hadn't seen in years appeared vibrant and bright, a stark contrast to the dull gray of my cell.
The guard shoved me through the door, and I found myself in a large room filled with rows of beds, similar to a military bunkhouse. Other slaves and men were already there, some sitting on their bunks, others standing and talking in hushed tones. The room buzzed with a nervous energy, everyone aware of the uncertain future that lay ahead.
The guard finally released his grip on me and pointed to an empty bunk. "Εδώ θα μείνεις," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. I nodded, not understanding the words but grasping the intent. He turned and left, leaving me standing there, feeling lost and disoriented.
I made my way to the bunk and sat down, my body aching and my mind racing. I glanced around, trying to assess the situation. The men here seemed tougher, more accustomed to this harsh reality. Some were older, with scars that told stories of battles survived. Others were closer to my age, their eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.
As I sat there, trying to catch my breath, I couldn't help but wonder about the man who had dragged me here. He was tall and imposing, his demeanor ruthless. I knew that surviving this place would mean understanding people like him, learning to navigate their commands and whims.
For now, though, I had to focus on regaining my strength. The training I had seen in the courtyard was intense, and I would need every ounce of energy to endure it. The thought of freedom, distant as it was, flickered in my mind. It was a small spark of hope, a reason to keep going.
I lay down on the bunk, closing my eyes for a moment. I couldn't afford to think about names or futures just yet. I had to survive the present, and that would take everything I had.
As I lay on the bunk, trying to regain my strength, my thoughts drifted back to my childhood. Before my father sold me into this wretched life, I had worked for a Persian merchant. The memories of those days were hazy, but the language had stuck with me. I could still understand it well, a skill that might prove invaluable.
If I could somehow kill the guard and escape to Persia, I might blend in. I was tall and angelic-looking, even though I was now ragged, bony, and starved. With enough food and rest, I might regain some semblance of strength and appearance.
I sat up and looked around the bunkhouse, searching for someone who might have information. Eventually, my eyes settled on a slave who seemed a bit older and more experienced. He sat on his bunk, sharpening a piece of wood with a small, crude knife.
I approached him cautiously. "Do you speak Persian?" I asked in a low voice, hoping he would understand.
The man's eyes widened in surprise, then he nodded. "I do," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you want to know?"
"What's happening here? Why are we being brought out and trained?" I asked, glancing around to make sure no guards were nearby.
He sighed, setting aside the piece of wood. "We're being sent to the front lines. The Greeks need more bodies to fight the Persians. They'll train us just enough to set up camps and handle basic combat, but most of us are expected to die quickly."
Three weeks. That's how long we had before being thrown into battle. I had to figure out a way to escape before then. Once we reached the battlefield, I might be able to slip away under the chaos of war.
I looked at the man intently. "Have you heard of anyone escaping before?"
He shook his head. "Not that I know of. The guards are ruthless, and the punishment for trying is death."
I nodded, considering my options. I needed to regain my strength and observe the routines and weaknesses of the guards. With my understanding of Persian, I might be able to pass as one of them once I escaped. But first, I had to survive the training and find the right moment to act.
For now, I would endure. I would learn and bide my time. And when the opportunity presented itself, I would take it, no matter the risk.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
AllMightyOne
AllMightyOne What are your thoughts? Kind of nervous.
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