Baking in the midday sun, the young champion was an impressive sight, many within the camp surprised when learning of his true age. The boy was close to adulthood at fifteen years of age, yet his body was impressively built like the veterans who spent all their life on the battlefield. Scars which crisscrossed his back and chest helped to tell the story, with his armor on these marks were visually obscured, but completely visible now as he dragged the harnessed log up the steep hillside.

A day and a half had passed since his initial awakening, his teacher remained in his comatose state, with the difference being the treatment his body was receiving. After his interaction with Mera the boy had taken her words into account, it was true he knew very little about the world, and that relying upon the words of those who spent their lives within the fighting pits was not the best course of action. Timeaus, the older man with the scarred face had also assisted in introducing the boy to the others within the camp, showing him the ins and outs while providing some commonsense warnings.

One of these warnings, or those he had warned of quickly made himself known, Malakos the other leader of the camp was overtly welcoming to the new arrival. Going so far as to invite him to a wrestling match between himself and some of the men that evening, an invitation that Timeaus rapidly responded to. “The boy is under my tutelage Mede; I’ll be sure to show him around… besides this is the first I’m hearing about any wrestling match… It would be best you cancel the event, wouldn’t want the boys to be exhausted when the enemy could be marching up the hill any day now.”

“Fine… I guess you might be right. I’ll see to the defenses as always, and you should put away the drink and get to preparing the plan of attack for when the enemy arrives shouldn’t you?” Malakos stared down the larger man, unfazed by his gruff, rugged ferocity. The Medean was lean and athletic, it could be seen in his movements and the clarity of his abdomen, but he was dwarfed by the bearded giant who easily stood a whole head or two above him. Ignoring the boulder like warrior in front, Malakos switched his attention to the young boy at his side, “It’s too bad we won’t have a chance to bond, I’m sure you’d get along well with some of the other boys… For now, we will need to postpone the introductions, maybe next time in the capital I’ll get to show how to really have fun and let loose.” Nimbly sidestepping the incoming fist, Malakos danced out of range of Timeaus, chuckling as he disappeared into the crowds of workers.

“Careful around that one, he’s a schmoozer. Not dangerous or anything, can be a bit persistent and rather annoying… but if there is anyone you want organizing your baggage train and watching the rear, he’s the one. Come on keep close, there are some newcomers I’ve been training, promised I’d let them meet with you when you woke up.” Taking firm hold of his shoulder, the big man dragged the younger boy over to the edge of the plateau. Just below on the path leading to the camp a group of scarred men were hard at work digging holes in the hardened earth.

The men noticed the shadow obscuring their work and turned to meet the newcomers, with two of the men and the young champion immediately crying out in joy. “Spurius, Paulus, how did you two get free?” These Rustikan brothers originated from the tribal regions where the Perenti, a loose confederation of clans and tribal warbands reigned. The two were captured in raids, a continuation of the century long conflict between the tribes and the ever-expanding Ociri republic. However, unlike the young champion, the two were older when they were captured, possessing names, memories of their family, and one another.

“Hello again little champion, honestly I did not expect to ever see you again after your final battle. Our former master was forceful in his attempts to maintain his hold upon you… but I guess my brother and I should be thankful; the master of these people has promised us freedom in exchange for our service. Five years within their armies, not as slaves but as soldiers, then my brother and I will be free.” Paulus, the older of the two brothers was also the more tempered. A sense of excitement and purpose could be seen within his expression, but still possessed some reservations as to the promises and whether they would be kept.

The younger brother, Spurius seemed to hold no such reservations, excitedly shoveling the hard sunbaked dirt, “We will be able to cross the sea… to return to our homeland and finally see our family again. I wonder if mother will remember my face, how will fath-” Paulus jabbed his younger brother in the side, cutting him off before signaling in the direction of their young friend.

With head lowered the champion unconsciously hid his expression from the others, although he had tried to forget, it was natural to desire such things as a family, an identity. The boy had neither, he had lived his life without a name, living only by the moniker’s granted by the slave masters who had separated him from his family to begin with. Neither brother knew how to approach the situation, luckily another old acquaintance stood up.

A pair of hands softly rested on the boy’s shoulders, followed closely by a middle-aged man kneeling before him and looking up into his tear-stained eyes. “It’s okay child, you are free now, showing your emotions do not make you weak. It is natural to feel for the things we have lost… or for those we will never see. We must always keep moving forward to honor those came before, we yet live while many of our friends died in that hellish pit. Always remember their sacrifice and move forward with your head held high.” Viriato, known as the uncle or older brother among the slave fighters of Myrmien. The man cared for many of the younger recruits, did what he could to ease them into their new lives. More surprisingly had survived to his mid-thirties, other than Vishnamitra he was one of the oldest fighters left in the arena.

Wiping away the wetness from his face, the boy peered into the man’s grey pupils, “Thank you Uncle Viriato, I am glad to see some of you made it out. If you could tell me, is Polyxenius here?” The reaction of the former slaves was all the boy needed, his question answered with silence, the meaning clear.

“Boy, hold your head high. One day you may free those left behind, for now though, there is work to be done. Our former captor’s march here as we speak, we have no desire to return to their hands, or to see these good people butchered. Follow the commander, he will show you where your assistance is most needed… We will remain here and assist in preparing the defenses. May Cocydus guide your path.” Viriato bowed his head in honor of the boy before returning to his work, leading the former slave fighters in their task.

“Looks like Maatilani made a good decision when picking the new warriors. In either case boy, let’s leave them to their work. You need to contribute around here if you want to make an impression on the girl… at least you need to make up for your earlier mistake. A good start is helping around the camp, Mera will approach on her own later. But you are going to need to learn some of our customs, and probably some general knowledge to avoid a repeat.” Timeaus spent the rest of the afternoon introducing the boy to other members of the convoy and teaching him about Temrenos. Mainly just general knowledge and some history about the city and the surrounding area.

That was mainly how the last day and a half had passed, Timeaus introducing the boy to others, passing on some general tidbits of knowledge. Malakos as always introducing himself and inviting others to nightly matches, all the while his boyish aides staring down the new arrival. Viriato for his part led the former slaves turned soldiers in their duties, both assisting in the construction of defenses and training in the tactics employed by the Temrenosian soldiers. With the young champion finally reaching the plateau, the third and final log trailing behind, alongside none other than Mera’s older brother Apollonius.

It was unlikely to be coincidental, for almost as soon as they had dragged the object over the crest of the hill Mera could be seen waltzing over in their direction. The boy had yet to notice, he like all the others had collapsed in exhaustion, draped across the earth like a fish grasping for air. His eyes peered straight upwards into the heavens above, taking care to shield his eyes from the harsh glare of the midday sun.

“Need a drink?” Surprise filled the boy’s eyes as he finally took notice of the girl sitting to his left. His mind in turmoil and his body unable to form a reply, appearing the fool yet again.