Melita sat at the kitchen table, glancing at Aree’s bruised cheek. Aree clenched his fists. “He’s still here.” Not trusting her voice, she nodded, inviting Aree to sit beside her. He pulled the chair and took a seat. “Make him go, or I will.”

  Icarius entered, hair wild and eyes bleary. “Good morning, Melita. Aree.”

  Aree’s expression turned steely as he crossed his arms defiantly. “Only my friends call me Aree. It’s Arakos, son of Ptolos, to you.”

  Icarius chuckled, his gaze shifting to Melita. “Ptolos? Melita, you never mentioned that! Harmonia will get a laugh out of this.”

  Without hesitation, Melita grabbed his beard, pulling him down to her level. “Respect my former husband and my son, Icarius. This is our home.”

  Icarius straightened, his smile gone, a nod of respect in its place. “No offense.” He turned to Aree, “Ptolos was an important member of our expedition. But it would have been important information to share before now.” He ended his sentence, imitating Ptolos’ usual gripes before chortling loudly.

  Melita bit her lip to suppress a laugh, recognizing the gravity of the moment. Not now. Not before Aree. The Spartian’s imitation was terrible, but on point, and she walked into that one. She returned to her chair, pushing her son back to his. “Icarius, please sit, we have to talk.” To Icarius, “Seriously.” And for Aree, “Politely.”

  Aree frowned, his eyes glued to the Spartian, his little arms folded over his chest.

  Melita put a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Icarius is the weapon master. He will teach you how to be the best warrior in Athenion. Like Arakos.” She stopped herself from adding, like your father.”

  The boy’s eyes shifted towards his mother. “Him?” He pointed to the Spartian with surprise. His eyes flitted around, and he clenched his chin thoughtfully.

  Icarius smiled, his gaze serious. “A true warrior trains not for anger, but for strength. Can you learn that, Arakos?”

  Aree’s tense shoulders soften slightly, his gaze flickering between Icarius and his mother as if searching for an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted.

  “I’ll train you like one of my own, and you’ll come back a warrior — if that’s what you really want,” Icarius said.

  “Aeolia… There is room to walk. And breathe.” Melita’s voice filled with warmth as she spoke about her home country. “He has animals, you could even milk a goat. And there are other children living there… I’m sure they will want to be your friends. His wife is mine, and she will take good care of you.”

  Aree looked to his mother, uncertain.

  “I came to Athenion to buy horses. Ever ridden a horse, Aree? A warrior without a horse is only half-prepared.” Icarius smirked as though inviting Aree to challenge him.

  Aree jumped up, sending his chair dancing across the kitchen. His arms taut along his small body. He huffed in anger, poised to lash out.

  Melita gasped as her heart raced watching Aree’s silent defiance; he was his father’s son, in deed and spirit.

  Icarius nodded at Aree with respect. “Good… Good.” Melita wondered whether he admired her son’s inner fire or the restraint he displayed.

  Melita held Aree close, her voice low but firm. “That’s enough, Icarius.” She ran her hand over his hair, as if to shield him from the tension filling the room. The boy tried to escape but she wrapped him and held him until he relaxed. She spoke, her voice calm and soothing. “Please sit, Aree…”

  Icarius’s eyes narrowed, a glint of pride hidden within his stern gaze. “I see fire in you, Arakos. That fire can forge a warrior, or burn him. You’re just a boy with a man’s choice to make.”

  Melita pulled her chair closer to the boy. “Aree, do you want to train with a master man-at-arms?”

  Aree fixed his gaze on Icarius, his jaw set in determination. “Can I beat the Spartian and his children?”

  “Yes you will, Aree, yes you will!” Icarius guaranteed.

  “Arakos to you, Spartian.” The boy replied.

  Melita gripped the back of her chair, struggling to steady herself. “Do you want to go? Just promise you’ll come back.” Her voice betrayed her hidden dread, a mother’s worry hidden behind hopeful words.

  He looked from side to side before giving a short “Yes.” She flinched at the word sealing his fate.

  “Then it is decided. We leave tomorrow, I need time to make sacrifices and buy a few supplies we need. Enjoy your mother.” He looked to Melita to confirm her approval and walked out the shop.

  With Icarius gone, Melita found herself gripping the back of Aree’s chair. Her hand lingered on his shoulder, her grip tightening, as she finally asked, ‘Are you sure, Aree?’”

  “I’ll beat him.” Aree whispered, his chin lifting defiantly. Melita’s fingers trembled as she cupped his face, imprinting the weight of his words in her heart.

  Melita held Aree close, her hands trembling as she whispered, “My brave boy... Go make your father proud.” She forced a smile, her own fears masked behind gentle words. She always knew what his answer would be.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  * * *

  The morning sun cast long shadows over the kitchen as Melita tightened the strap on Aree’s pack. Melita wrapped Aree’s clothes into her old satchel. He stood close by, a blank expression on his young face, grunting noncommittal answers to his mother’s prompts. After securing the pack, she sat on the edge of his bed and invited him to sit by her side.

  “I have a gift for you. It’s something of a tradition in our family,” she said.

  He peered over her shoulder, trying to glimpse the surprise. He frowned when she produced a notebook. Bound with leather and containing crisp off-white pages, it resembled her own. The one she didn’t want him to find. The one that contained answers to everything: his true parentage. Where his father was. She flipped the blank pages to show him.

  Aree grunted in confusion. “It’s a silly gift…”

  “Your father taught me this during our days adventuring together. Writing down your adventures is a great way to remember them. We recorded every place we went and every experience we had. Take it with you wherever you go. Do you understand? It should always be with you. Always. Write in it every day.” Melita waited for Aree to answer.

  Aree’s fingers tightened on the notebook’s edge turning the blank pages slowly. “Why? Soldiers don’t have time for writing. I don’t need a book to remember things.”

  “A general needs to know how to read and write. It’s important. That way you will be able to tell me everything about your adventure while you are away from home.” Melita hugged him.

  Aree paused at the first page, noticing his mother’s neat handwriting filling the page. He read the Olympian characters aloud without fluidity. “This book belongs to Arakos. Son of Melita, daughter of Hermes.” He looked up to his mother. “Who’s Hermes?”

  “That’s my father’s name… Like the god.” Melita bit her lip, unsure of how to begin explaining her family’s complex legacy. She looked away, reluctant to say any more. Instead of naming Aree’s father, as is tradition, she wrote her own name. In doing so, she revealed that her father was Hermes, god of merchants. And thieves. There would be time to explain to Aree later.

  “Like the genous man in the Agora…” He didn’t seem concerned. “And what are those?” He pointed to a series of characters he did not recognize at the bottom of the page.

  “These symbols are ancient and dangerous; only a few can understand them. If someone recognizes them, stay away. This is a warning that you are under my protection.” She tapped his nose playfully. It read My father Arakos belongs to House Ougozar, in a dark, forbidden language. “Write wherever you go in there. Write the names of those who go with you. Write whenever you head to a new place. Or go with other people.”

  Aree nodded but said nothing. At the top of the first page, he wrote Home with Mom, writing with his tongue pulled out. He showed Melita with a wide grin. “Like this?”

  “Yes, just like that. Practice writing so it’s clear for everyone to read.” She kissed his forehead. “Now put it with the rest of your things”

  He placed the notebook in his bag, making sure it was snug inside.

  * * *

  Melita kept herself occupied, preparing a modest fish stew that, though bland, was more satisfying than expected. Icarius returned at nightfall, announcing his intention to depart at dawn. Melita served them dinner but could not eat herself, her stomach was tied in knots. She watched Aree eating with a vacant smile. Aree kept his gaze fixed on Icarius, silently observing as the man devoured his meal. The Spartian did most of the talking, retelling his adventures of the day, as he ate and drank his fill.

  Dinner over, Kore entered the kitchen surprised to see Icarius there. “Don’t mind me, I’ll stay out of the way.”

  “I made fish stew, want some?” Melita offered.

  “I already ate,” Kore replied.

  “So, what sort of work are you doing with Melita?” Icarius asked. “A beautiful girl in a place like this… I mean.”

  Kore shied at the compliment. “We are doing research for a prince.”

  “A prince, you say? Must mean a good bit of silver coming in, eh?” Icarius reclined on his chair, crossing his fingers behind his neck.

  Silence followed.

  “You are getting paid aren’t you?” Icarius frowned as he looked from one woman to the other who both remained quiet.

  Aree stood before his mother. “Mind your business, Spartian.”

  Melita cut in. “Aree, manners.”

  “Arakos is right, Melita. It’s not my place to ask. I’ll ready my pack and leave you girls to it. Come, Arakos, let’s go to bed, we have a long day tomorrow.”

  Aree first refused but relented. “Good night.” He headed for his room. When Melita got up, added. “I’m fine mom.” She swallowed hard watching her son leave.

  Icarius broke the silence, though his expression showed he already suspected the truth. “Surely, the prince isn’t expecting this for free… I know of a god of merchants who would never accept such a deal.”

  “We haven’t found what we’re looking for. Not yet,” Kore interjected, attempting to clarify their position once more.

  “If you can’t defeat it, then make it leave.” Icarius said.

  “And how would we do that with a gigantic underground worm? It’s not as if we could just ride it out of town!”

  “It’s alive isn’t it?”

  Melita gave a small nod.

  “It would chase a mate anywhere, even to a distant Miss Titan. The same way I’m going back to my little barbarian tigress tomorrow.” Icarius gave a complicit smile. “And if it’s a Lady Titan, she will preen for a Mister Titan… Same result.”

  “I thought I read a papyrus about something like that,” Kore tapped her temple with a finger. “Something by Anaxander?”

  Melita’s eyes widened as she darted past Icarius into the store. She snapped her fingers to create a magical light, scouring through the collection of books until she pulled out a collection of papyri. She opened and closed several, mumbling to herself. After creating a stack of half-open papyri, her enthusiasm faded. Opening the final one, she squealed with glee, “Queens of the Minosian Sea, by Anaxander!”. She unfurled the pages until she squealed with joy. “Queen Elysia! She gave the Spartian a big hug. “Icarius, you’re a genius. I can’t thank you enough for this.. Kore, come, we have work to do!”

  * * *

  As the first light of dawn crept across the sky, Icarius wrapped Melita in a farewell hug. “Stay safe. Don’t do anything foolish.”

  “Promise me, Icarius—watch over my son. He’s all I have now,” she replied. “If anything happens to him, not even Harmonia can shield you from my wrath.”

  Icarius gave a solemn nod. “You know, when your prince wants someone to tackle that monster in Ekkos. Contact me, I’ll help.”

  That brought a smile to Melita. “You don’t have time for that, you must train my little Arakos. Make him into a warrior first.”

  Aree emerged from the shop, his satchel weighing heavily on his shoulder and a stick he once wielded as a makeshift spear. Walking past his mother, he said a simple “Bye.”

  She stopped him, turned him and looked around at his little face with great tenderness. She pulled him into a final embrace, feeling the tension in his body. “Be good and listen to Icarius and Harmonia. I love you.”

  The boy glanced back. “Me too.” Icarius strode away down Scribe Alley, their footsteps echoing in the quiet dawn. When Icarius placed a hand on the boy’s head, Aree immediately slapped it away. "Don’t touch me, Spartian." He scowled at the large man.

  Melita watched until they were out of sight, her heart heavier than she’d imagined. His first step into the world that would shape him into a man. All the rationalization and justification did not prevent her from running into the house. Melita retreated to drown her sorrow in solitude, the wine an empty comfort.