Teleios E-Book

Asvoria K.

• Herausgeber: Asvoria K.
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 554

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

In the dusk of Hellas, the shadow of Rome began to stretch its dominance. Arete of Syracuse had lost her father and her beloved city. Following his last wish, Arete embarked on her odyssey to stop the strange malevolent forces behind which controlled the Roman Emperor Nero.

Guided by a determination in her heart, Arete traveled to the fabled city of Oraiapolis to find a mysterious Teleios, the perfect woman who was rumoured to be the living Aphrodite.

Along her journey traveling through different villages and cities, she fought against ferocious  creatures and forged unbreakable bonds with a diverse cadre of companions, each carrying the weight of their own life in their hearts.

What will transpire throughout their perilous journey that will shape their destinies? And what evil forces would seek to capture the Teleios for their own sinister ends?

"You will get those ancient Greco-Roman shits but nothing is historically accurate!"

~ Anonymous Reader

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2024 by Asvoria K.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover design and illustrations by Asvoria K.

All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the Library

eBook ISBN

978-981-18-8953-0

Paperback ISBN

978-981-18-9940-9

* * *

Website

https://asvoria.github.io/Author/

For everyone who has the ability to read…

When I have a little money, I buy books; and if I have any left, I buy food and clothes.

DESIDERIUS ERASMUS ROTERODAMUS

DISCLAIMER

Teleios is a work of ALTERNATE historical FICTION. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where names of real-life historical figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those names are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This story does not follow any famous tropes or plots of any legendary epic poems such as Iliad and Odyssey, nor it follows any historical facts regarding the Greco-Roman world of the said period. Thus, readers should be reminded that all content in this book is simply created by the author based on imagination, and should not expect any outcome that follows the widely accepted historical and mythological records.

CONTENT WARNING

Violence, gore, torture, body horror, sexual assault, slavery, suicide, and PTSD.

Inaccurate historical events.

NOTHING IS HISTORICALLY ACCURATE IN THIS STORY!

NOTHING!

NONE!

IT’S JUST A FICTION!

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

.

The Lady

I

The Accusation

II

The Thespian

III

The Eugine

IV

The Teleios

V

The Decision

VI

The Bounty

VII

The Maenad

VIII

The Cursed

IX

The Flower

X

The Reflection

XI

The Elders

XII

The Undercover

XIII

The Value

XIV

The Necessary Evil

XV

The Anvil

XVI

The Hetaira

XVII

The Statues

XVIII

The Demigod

XIX

The Election

XX

The Chaos

XXI

The Hydra

XXII

The Beauty

XXIII

The Chimeras

XXIV

The Temptation

XXV

The Cage

XXVI

The Maiden

XXVII

The Satire

XXVIII

The Noxii

XXIX

The Monster

XXX

The Voice

XXXI

The Freedom

XXXII

The Lesson

XXXIII

The Coward

XXXIV

The Expedition

XXXV

The Golden Spoon

XXXVI

The Chosen One

XXXVII

The Bloodline

XXXVIII

The Escape

XXXIX

The Hero

XL

The Sestina

XLI

The Minotaurs

XLII

The Oracle

XLIII

The Oath

XLIV

The Defence

XLV

The Loan

XLVI

The Grand Plan

XLVII

The Words of Wisdom

XLVIII

The Rejection

XLIX

The Festival

L

The Race

LI

The Womb

LII

The Seed

LIII

The Dining Hall

LIV

The Whirlwind

LV

The Perfect World

LVI

The Year Zero

Epilogue

Places

The Unnecessary Commentaries

Author’s Notes

About the Author

PROLOGUE

Ankhefenkhons, The Second of Wayekiye. The name was given by my father. I am the youngest descendant of the noblest Wayekiye family, the servant of Thoth. I am blessed with the privilege of being selected by my Lord to be His Oracle.

When I was sixteen, the Roman Emperor Octavius sent a messenger to my father…

For the cultural and religious exchange of wisdom!

They requested.

The youngest of Wayekiye.

They requested.

Praise Thoth! What an honour! It’s our family’s duty to preach the words of Thoth to this foreign Emperor. And I had been destined by my Lord when I was named after the great Ankhefenkhons who served the North.

And thus, with my servants and some gold, I travelled to Rome.

When I arrived, I saw Octavius, a glorious man of wisdom, on his throne. He named himself Augustus the Magnificent. But why? And my Lord’s voice whispered to me.

He is now Augustus! The greater! He abandoned his Octavius gentes. He erased his own name, that name tied to the plebeians, so that he may claim to be part of the patrician.

With three of his advisors, he gathered all the great leaders, priests, and aristocrats across all states to this synod.

“What’s your name?” The Emperor asked.

And I was surprised! He was talking to a young Macedonian boy around three years old.

“Chu-li-chan! He he he!” The round young boy replied with a cuddly smile on his face. But his innocent giggles stupefied the crowd.

“Julijan, that’s… that’s Julius in Greek.” The other men whispered in fear.

“He has the blood of Alexander of Thebes. Your Majesty.” One of his three advisors spoke in a deep tone.

“Like a little fat calf!” The Emperor huffed.

“Vittelius! This will be your name!” He ordered.

To my surprise, that wasn’t a cultural, nor a religious exchange!

“You! The black one! What is your name?”

“My name is Ankhefenkhons, The Second of Wayekiye, Your Majesty.”

“That’s… too complicated!”

“He is the blessed priest of Mercury, Your Majesty.” his advisors added.

Mercury who? I am loyal to my Master of Knowledge! The almighty Thoth! Who is Mercury?

“Ah, I see! The all-knowing messenger oracle. I’ll call you Petosiris!”

I was stunned, unable to move my mouth. Oh Thoth my Lord, have mercy upon me! My name! It was taken away from me! I felt a strong power, like a pair of invisible hands holding my jaw tight. For the first time in my life, as the priest of the messenger god, I’m unable to speak!

Take the young boy and leave!

Who? Who are you? Why?

I am Hermes, Mercury, Thoth, your God!

It was then the wisdom revealed to me through the voice of the greatest three names.

Take the young boy and leave!

Like the strong wind of a storm, the voice echoed into my head. While I drowned in a sudden silence, his three advisors, fully hidden under their plain black cloaks, approached me.

They came closer and closer, and Hermes’ voice came back louder and louder.

Take the young boy and run!

Fear rushed through my whole body, and I was petrified. The three… The Three! They surrounded me. The next moment, I felt a sudden fall.

Falling from the sky. Falling into a pool of water. Water? But it stung my skin, bitter on my tongue. I was naked, and bubbles forming, surrounding my entire body. But the bubbles burn like infernal fire.

The three, they pulled me out and lay me on a stone table. They peeled off my skin. In great pain, I screamed, but no voice came out of my mouth. Barely keeping my breath, I was drowned by my own blood. The silver needles going through my flesh, in and out, they stitched a piece of fair skin on me. But they soon realised it wasn’t enough.

“His bone is too thick!”

“We need his blessed soul!”

“But we only have one descendent of the Great.”

No! Descendent of the Great? The boy? Vitellius? No, no, no, no, no!

* * *

“Ay, Petosiris!” The woman woke me from my nightmare, pointing her finger to the dawning sky.

“Go back home, it’s getting late.” in worry, she said. And then, she turned into dust and was blown away by the twilight wind.

Not today.

The voice of my Lord echoed to me softly. Mercury? Hermes? Thoth? I’ve learned my lesson throughout my life… I was such a fool for having that moment of doubt on my Lord. When did it happen? Sixty years ago.

But now, my Lord has a mission for me to accomplish. I’ve been waiting for them, the Teleios.

Patting away the fallen leaves from my tunic. This fragile skin wasn’t mine, wasn’t Vitellius’s either; it pains me whenever the sun is up and high.

Octavius, no, Augustus, he had reneged his own words. It was neither a cultural exchange nor a religious matter. He gained a thirst for power.

One by one, the Hellens, Egypt, and Parthia, all fell to the Roman empire. I had seen it happen through these eyes that weren’t mine. From Augustus to Tiberius, then the crazy Caligula, then Claudius, and now, Nero.

I knew, I already knew, the Teleios, they were on their way to me. My Lord had told me everything through Hermes. But as a stubborn old soul, I am here waiting for them to come. I need to guide them towards the path of righteous freedom! They must not fall to the hands of those wretched Three.

.

THE LADY

“Ma’am, the head of our enemy, Barabban, is seen at the back of their third troops in their second division.” The cavalry had reconnoitred the surrounding terrain and came back to report his findings to a tall and lithe young lady.

She removed her helmet and released her blonde light curls above her shoulder. A long ponytail tied on top of her head, fashioned like a plume.

She was lightly armoured compared to her troops; leather skirt, shoulder pads, and elbow guards. Armed with a spear and a shield, she sat on top of a golden stallion.

Scanning her surroundings with her sharp emerald eyes, the tall oak trees were widely distributed, with very few shrubs on the floor. She carefully surveyed the land, meticulously mapping out the undulating hills and valleys. Not missing every piece of stone on the ground.

With a commanding gesture, she raised her hand, and the archers immediately sprang into action, readying their bows and arrows.

“They only have two divisions. We need to delay their front with long-range attacks!” The lady commanded. “Matea, bring our best combat troops and get near to Barabban as fast as possible! Take down their leader!”

“Yes, Ma’am!” A hoplite in a plain brown linothorax replied bluntly. Before she hopped onto a horse, the blonde lady threw the spear to her.

“Don’t pick up any gladius!” The lady added, looking straight at that hoplite with a stern expression. But Matea did not seem to care much about her words. The only weapon in her hand was that spear she had just given her.

She jumped onto a black stallion and left without waiting for the other troops who were supposed to follow her.

“Attack!”

It was the enemy’s war cry, and the lady felt challenged when she heard them.

“Fire!” she commanded. Their arrows rain on the approaching enemies, followed by balls of fire from their trebuchets.

* * *

Their enemy was strong; all their men were large and fierce. Especially Barabban – he was muscular and powerful. The name suggested that he was not a Greek but a foreigner from the East. With his mace, he broke skulls and crushed brains.

“Weaklings! All Syracuseans are weaklings!” he laughed.

When Matea and two other spearmen reached Barabban, the spearmen backed off a little.

“Aren’t we supposed to attack him together? Petraeus.” Said the larger spearman named Arctus.

“That crazy kyon can handle him by herself. We back the line!” Petraeus replied, and they immediately went on the defensive, fending off attacks from enemy troops.

Matea reached the monstrous Barabban, twice her size. The man flailing his mace at great speed. She dodged. The missing hits crushed the stones on the ground. She then kicked them towards him, aiming at his eyes. But his thick coil beard had blocked them.

With a grin on his face, he snorted to clear the dust from his nose. He couldn’t help but see her moves as if they were a child’s play.

Matea attacked him with her spear, but he swerved it with ease by kicking her spear and nearly crushed her with his mace. She dodged it. Again, again, and again. Until his mace hit a nearby tree trunk. While he unstuck his mace, Matea took the opportunity to stab him. But he was strong, so strong that he stopped the attack simply by grabbing on the spearhead single-handedly.

“Crappy spear skills! You are not from Syracuse!” Barabban smirked. He, indeed, was right.

Yanking the spear with force, he sent her hurtling towards the nearby trunk. Just as she was regaining her strength, he plunged the spear into her. She instantly rolled out of harm’s way, narrowly avoiding the powerful swing of his mace.

She made a turn to evade another blow while simultaneously getting close to his back and launching a spinning back fist towards his neck. But his forearm absorbed the impact, thwarting the attack.

“And you do not look like a Greek!” he said.

When they stood facing each other, Matea couldn’t help but notice their striking similarities - the matching tanned skin, black hair, and amber eyes.

“I came to Argos!” Barabban landed a kick on her stomach while catching her off guard.

“I saw Argos!” His kick was extremely powerful; it threw her away to a distance.

“I conquered Argos!” He threw away the spear and waved his mace towards her.

“Syracuse will be my next destination!” the man taunted while smashing his mace towards her.

She immediately rolled away and grabbed a nearby sword from the fallen enemy troop.

There was a sudden change in her expression, from emotionless to now, wearing a slight smile similar to Barraban’s. He swung his mace again towards her. With speed and strength, he stormed, but Matea did not avoid him this time. She sprinted forward, avoided his mace with the sword, sliding the blade along his staff, slicing Barabban’s fingers at the same time.

“Argh!” Screaming in anger, his mace fell to the ground.

Engulfed in rage, Barabban gave her an elbow strike, but his elbow hit her sword, blood spilling everywhere. She pushed his forearm and yanked the sword hard, amputating his whole arm.

Barabban fell to the ground. He never foresaw that coming. It wasn’t her strength that the sword cut through his armoured arm. But it was his own weight and his charging momentum against that sword.

Sensing yet another arriving slash, he picked up a shield with his other arm right away. Blocking her next attack on his vitals, but she did not, stabbing the sword to his thigh instead. Unexpected.

Her moves were all random, not like those of a well-trained warrior, but more like an insane ravenous predator craving for her hunt, or a tenacious prey lying as many harmful blows as she could to survive.

She stomped on his head and pulled out the sword from his thigh, stabbed it on his other arm, cutting his muscles, preventing him from retaliating.

“Argh!” Barabban screamed in pain. He was only able to jolt and pull himself away from her with his still-functioning arm.

She slashed his shoulder and stabbed the sword to his waist, and it wasn’t killing him. No, she was not allowed to kill him until the approval of the most honourable guest with a flip of a thumb. That was the rule of the game, and her role was to spill blood all over the arena—the more, the merrier.

Suddenly, a spear hit Barabban into his skull and ended his last breath. A bolas flew towards her and choked her neck. The Lady smacked Matea with an iron shield.

Swiftly, the Lady landed herself from her horse. With her shield, she pressed Matea’s arm against the ground and applied pressure until she released the sword.

With a graceful movement, the Lady kicked the sword up and caught it by its handle. In the blink of an eye, she cut down Barabban’s head and raised the spear that pierced through his skull.

“Barabban has fallen!” She shouted.

The soldiers around the area heard the news, and they paused their battle.

“Barabban has fallen! Barabban has fallen!” All the other troops echoed.

The Lady stood up and took a deep breath, and shouted:

“People of Argos! Your leader, Barabban, has fallen! You have heard about Syracuse! A land blessed by the goddess of war, Athena. A land of freedom, justice, and prosperity. We call for your surrender! You do not have to die; we will not take away your family and loved ones! Join Syracuse and you shall live without fear, without hunger and pain! I, Arete of Syracuse, propose my sincere offer to you! Surrender, and you shall live!”

The enemy’s troops dropped their weapons. With little hesitation, they raised the white flags with olive branches, and the battle ended with a loud cheer.

The Lady knew her strategy would work. She knew the people of Argos would easily surrender once Barabban was killed. After all, he was a barbarian who had terrorised them and started the conflict.

“Have you regained your sanity, Matea?” The Lady asked while still stepping on the rope of the bolas that choked on her.

“Y… yes, Ma’am…” she replied.

“Good, let’s go back to Syracuse…” She released her and gave a hand signal to her troop to retreat.

I

THE ACCUSATION

A beautiful morning in Syracuse, where everyone was busy preparing for a very important feast. Spearmen and soldiers gathered in the grand temple of Athena. There was no tension in preparing for a war, though.

“Haste, haste! Lord Amiran is already heading to the altar! Quick!” said the old wise man, Apollodorus, while patting away the dirt on a shield of a soldier near him.

The soldiers were all a little panicked. They rubbed oil on their skin, while the servants helped them to put up their bronze cuirass. Those plates were formed into the handsome shape of brawny abs, a symbol of the human bodily ideal.

“Teacher, we just won the battle against Argos! Why can’t my troops be presented as the best?” Catching after the old man, Arete questioned him.

“My Lady, why are you here? You are supposed to attend to your schedule with the townsmen.”

“Yes, but Caesar’s visit is an important event! And it’s a great opportunity to learn from my father on how to maintain diplomacy with Rome…”

“My Lady, go find something else to do! I’m very busy! Emperor Nero could arrive anytime now!” he shooed Arete away.

“My men are going to be very disappointed by that!” Arete shouted, but Apollodorus ignored her and walked away.

“It’s okay, Ma’am. We are happy to stay in Syracuse to serve you!.” Arctus came to her and tried to cheer her up. A stout man with short, curly brown hair. He was a major under Arete’s command.

“Well, I’m glad that you guys are okay with it.” Arete smiled lightly, trying to cover her disappointment.

“Ma’am, are we going to meet up with Chlorus tonight for a reunion? I heard he gained some great success in Rome.” Another soldier, Petraeus, was his name, a tall captain of the troops.

“Well, okay, you guys should have a reunion. But count me out; I have to attend a dinner with the officials tonight.”

“Hey, Ma’am, did you regret not answering Chlorus’s proposal two years ago?” asked Arctus.

“Hehe, but he must have wives with big stithos in Rome now,” Petraeus added with a joking tone.

Arete raised her guard. These two were Chlorus’s peers, her former colleagues. They were all trained together when they were young. They might have thought that their words were harmless jokes, but she remembered seeing them abandon their teammate that day. They let Matea solo with a man twice her size.

“Arctus, Petraeus, both of you failed your mission of taking down Barabban! You two are to clean the stables and groom all the horses by tomorrow!” Arete ordered with a serious expression. Although she was indeed offended by their jokes.

“But… but Ma’am!”

“This is an order!” Raising her voice, she insisted.

The two backed off a little. They stood straight like a soldier, remembering their position as her subordinates.

She walked away, found it difficult to deal with her troops, especially when she inherited the authority from Chlorus, the previous Stratigos, the general. She took over the role simply because she was the only daughter of Lord Amiran, one of the archons of Syracuse, sharing power with her teacher, the old Apollodorus. She knew she might not be respected by her subordinates, but she tried hard to win them over.

Those two, Arctus and Petraeus, were supposed to be promoted to serve Rome two years ago along with Chlorus. In fear of losing too many talents to Rome, Lord Amiran ordered them to stay in Syracuse to help her succeed in the role of a general. And Chlorus, he was the man who so daringly proposed to her on the day she came of age.

Arete took a deep breath. Apollodorus should have selected them this time! She wished to promote them to Rome, pushing them out of her way so that she could truly exercise her capability on the battlefield. Furthermore, they could have a better life serving Rome.

While she was on her way to the main altar, she saw Matea sitting alone amongst the regular hoplites. They were all lower rank soldiers who did not have metal cuirass. Matea was another problem Arete had to solve. She was unique, a prisoner given by Apollodorus so that Arete could train her to become part of her troop.

“The Epiteichismos strategy! You have to practice using the strength of our former enemies, prisoners, and slaves to build into our force.”

I. Presenting our offer! By giving captured soldiers the choice to fight for us, we could potentially bolster our military forces.

II. Utilising their expertise! Some captured soldiers might possess valuable skills and knowledge which were unfamiliar to us.

III. Integration and assimilation! Merging the captured soldiers into our forces could serve to assimilate our conquered populations…

All the old man’s lectures rushed into Arete’s mind and flooded her with a slight sense of anxiety.

An offer to achieve something…

And Arete remembered that she should offer something to Matea. The soldiers stood up straight when Arete walked past them towards her.

“You’ve done a good job, Matea. You’ll earn your freedom someday.” She said with a light smile, but Matea did not reply, not a single word.

Arete was still annoyed by Arctus and Petraeus, yet she wasn’t getting a response from a mere hoplite. She took back her smile, re-adjusted her tone and said, “Put your helmet on and get back to your formation!”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Matea and all the other hoplites replied immediately and ran towards their formation ground. But that response did not please Arete.

Respect is earned, not given. Deserved, not inherited. I am still far away from getting there. Chlorus.

Arete took a deep breath and sighed.

* * *

It was the day. The grand biannual visit of the Roman emperor, Caesar Nero.

A day when the best soldiers of a city-state would be chosen and transferred to serve Rome. According to the Roman advisors, those chosen warriors would be presented to the highest god, the three of his most holy names, Jupiter, Zeus, and Amun, as one God. They were told that this ritual would bring great blessings to future humankind when the warriors would be given women from well-born families to be their wives.

But Arete was worried about the security of her home state. When those well-trained spearmen were relocated to Rome, Syracuse lost her valuable talents. Lord Amiran did negotiate to have some of their lesser legionaries as an exchange. But those inferior soldiers were known to be either sick, too old, or too problematic to work with.

“Clear the way!” The guards shouted.

The sound of trumpets echoed throughout the entire city. All were in awe.

“Caesar has arrived!” They laid the golden carpet on the ground. The city gates were wide open.

Caesar’s parade entered the city with a grandeur caravan of stallions and chariots.

He was a handsome young man in his late twenties. Caesar Nero, the emperor of Rome. Sitting next to him was an elegant beauty, the empress Sporus. Holding a peacock feather fan, she covered half of her face. She was sharp, observant, and feared by many. Rumours about her were plenty, about how she came to be the only consort of Nero over ten years. It was a rare situation; unlike most emperors who indulged in a harem of beauties, Nero's devotion was reserved solely for Sporus.

Following behind Caesar’s chariot was General Chlorus. A peer to Nero by age. Calm and handsome, with a splendid physique. His soft, short brown hair combed back, revealing his bright grey eyes with a shade of blue. He was once a Syracusean warrior, Arete’s colleague.

Arete had heard the news about how Chlorus successfully won over the elders in Rome, earning their trust and favour.

Within a brief span, he climbed the ranks to achieve a highly esteemed position. He used to be a scaredy boy, though. Arete remembered that he often backed out when they had a duel.

* * *

Amiran came to greet Nero at the grand altar. He was a slender but muscular man in his middle-age; his attire was modest, considering his position as the archon of Syracuse. Although he shared the ruling power with Apollodorus, the older man saw him as his superior.

They gathered in the grand hall at the Temple of Athena. Such a large-scale gathering was normally held in the open agora of the city. But this event was not for the public.

“Summon Hector! The greatest warrior and the best spearmen of Syracuse!” The announcer shouted.

A group of stoutly built spearmen marched in with their flashy bronze cuirass. Hector, the commander of the troops, wore an ornate belt with a Triskele symbol plate in the middle.

“Salute!” He shouted. And his troops stood up straight and handsomely towards Nero.

Their movement was synchronised in perfect unison. Their clean formation was a testament to discipline and training.

“Your Eminence…” Amiran addressed.

“These are the best soldiers that I specially trained. Master of the arts of spears. Blessed by Athena, the Goddess of War!”

“Take down all your armour!” With a wave of his dismissive hand, Nero commanded without looking at them.

The soldiers removed their helmets, untied their shields and breastplates. Underneath the cuirass, they all carried a brawny, muscular physique. Every one of them looked flawless.

“Look, that’s why your troops weren’t presented, Lady Arete…” Apollodorus whispered into Arete’s ear while observing the event at the side of the great hall.

“It is not about the real battle experience or how many enemies you’ve killed,” he added. “Caesar loves muscular men.”

With a bit of a shock, Arete looked at her so-called best troops, who fought numerous victorious battles with her. All came in different shapes and sizes. Petraeus was tall and average, but he wasn’t good-looking with his face full of pimple scars. Despite his larger size, Arctus didn’t possess a muscular physique. There sure was a diversity of men and Matea, a woman. But they weren’t as good-looking as Hector and his troops.

Arete started to be suspicious of Arctus and Petraeus. Perhaps the truth about them staying in Syracuse was that they were both previously rejected by Caesar.

“Kalos Kagathos. The Romans took this witless little cultural view on physical beauty way more seriously than any Greeks.”

Nero walked towards Hector, and he swiftly unsheathed his gladius, ready to strike him. Hector expertly twirled his spear, the gleaming spearhead dangerously close to Nero’s neck. Gasps of disbelief filled the temple hall as everyone stood frozen in shock.

That was an offensive response he shouldn’t have pulled out!

With a sudden realisation of his error, Hector hastily withdrew his spear. He knelt, desperately trying to prevent himself from further provoking Caesar’s anger.

“Good job, Amiran! He is well-trained.” With calm precision, Nero slid his sword back into its scabbard.

“For Your Majesty, it is my duty,”

“Enough with the acting, take down this traitor!” The mercurial Nero exclaimed and pointed at the man.

The Roman soldiers kicked Amiran to the ground. They captured him and locked him up with chains.

“Aargh! Your Majesty, why!”

It was very sudden; everybody in the grand hall was shocked. Nobody dared to make any move. Not even Hector.

“You have betrayed me!”

“What have I done that makes Your Majesty accuse me of such a thing? I’m innocent!” Amiran pleaded in his chains.

Seeing her father in danger, Arete was about to shout out some words, but Apollodorus tapped her shoulder and stopped her.

“You took down three battles in a year!” Nero answered him loudly but with a lazy tone.

“But they are your enemies! My lord! You ordered the attacks! I simply respond to what you command!”

Nero acknowledged what Amiran was saying. With a flick of his finger, his soldiers forcefully pulled Amiran’s head up, facing straight towards Caesar.

“Yes, you did a great job, Amiran. I ordered you to kill them all! Destroy all the weaklings, but what have you done? You took them in as slaves and made them part of your army!”

Amiran stuttered, “Th… that’s not true, my lord! I didn’t take them in to fight. We just need them to…”

“Enough!”

Amiran was frozen.

“You admitted your crime! I ordered you to kill them, yet you freed them! I’ve sent my men to investigate about you, Amiran! You plan to form a strong army to go against Rome!”

Troubled, as Arete knew something. Her troops, Arctus, Petraeus, Matea… and all other members. She knew they were all previously slaves brought from different city-states.

“Lady Arete, you must leave now!” Said Apollodorus; he suddenly grabbed Arete’s hand and and pulled her to a side.

Amiran raised his head and spit out a mouth full of saliva on Nero’s face. His sudden action stunned Caesar and his guards.

“Your iron fist will fall, Nero! Ha ha ha!” Amiran laughed.

“Father!” Arete shouted in disbelief.

“We need to leave now! Arete! Let’s go!” Apollodorus pulled the lady away from the crowd. They ran out of the grand hall.

Hector and the Syracusean soldiers brandished their spears and launched an attack on Nero while Chlorus valiantly positioned himself as his shield.

Everything went into complete chaos as the temple hall turned into a battleground. Roman soldiers attacked the Syracuseans. Arctus and Petraeus jumped in and joined the fight, running towards Amiran, trying to save him. Matea ran towards the way where Apollodorus and Arete escaped.

“Chlorus, Amiran has a daughter! Capture her and bring her to me alive!” Nero ordered.

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Chlorus replied and moved himself out of the hall.

“I’m going with you!” Sporus, the empress, shouted to Chlorus.

She snatched a bow and a bag of arrows from a soldier standing beside her.

Puzzled, Chlorus furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of her action. Why would the empress want to follow him along?

II

THE THESPIAN

Arete and Apollodorus ran towards the city gate while chaos flooded the grand temple hall.

“Let me go! Teacher! I can’t leave my father! I must go back to him!” Arete exclaimed, trying to yank away the old man’s grip.

“My lady, I’ll explain it to you later. Please, we must leave now!” Anxiously, he replied.

While the Romans were getting closer, Sporus fired multiple arrows towards Arete. She loaded the bow, aimed, and shot like she had unlimited arrows. Apollodorus pushed the lady out of the gate. The arrow pierced through his chest, but the old man suppressed his pain; with all his strength, he ran to the side and pulled the gate lever. When another arrow hit him, he tripped and fell to the ground. The metal gate fell as well, and the sharp edge of the gate stabbed through his old, fragile body.

“Teacher!” Arete was traumatised.

“Go… go to Thebes…” he muttered as he took his last breath.

The closed gate stopped Sporus and Chlorus from getting out of the city. Arete immediately jumped onto her horse and rode away to escape, followed by a few of her soldiers.

Sporus kicked open the side wooden door next to the city gate; she was strong and fierce despite her elegant appearance. There was a determination in her deep green eyes as she was about to kill Arete. He felt threatened by the empress, for he was ordered to capture Arete alive.

They got out of the city and rode towards the direction where Arete’s troops were gone. Chlorus knew for sure that he must get to Arete before Sporus did so.

As Sporus was approaching Arete, she continuously fired the arrows. Arete ducked down, positioned herself over to make the horse run in full speed gallop. Sporus whipped her horse to speed up. Stunned, the empress was knocked down from her galloping horse by a spear. She fell to the ground. In pain, She immediately pulled herself up and dodged another spear attack that hit her chest. Something on her chest had protected her from this deadly stab… it came off. She kicked the attacker’s groin hard, then she pulled out a long dagger and slashed the attacker.

Sporus’s elegant dress was torn by that spear attack, revealing her half-naked body. She had a slightly muscular physique; her breasts were made out of metal lumps tied under her dress, and those were the things that had blocked the spear. And she realised the one who attacked her was Matea. Part of her linothorax came off due to Sporus’s dagger slash, revealing her chest full of scars.

“Amazons?!” Sporus realised Matea was not a man; the kick wasn’t painful to her at all. Amazons, they were rumoured about severing one side of their breast to ease the movement of arms while wielding weapons. But that was a rumour; Matea’s both breasts were severed. It was a sign of punishment for a woman, disabling her ability to raise any child. And she looks familiar to Sporus.

* * *

Arete’s horse galloped at full speed, but the Roman soldiers skilfully flung out their lassos, successfully capturing the stallion.

With a swift descent, she unleashed her spear upon the soldiers to defend herself. She fought back fiercely, stabbing and ultimately killing both of her attackers.

Arete’s shield clashed against Chlorus’s sword as she deflected his slashing attack with precision. But the lady was no match for his brute strength as he forcefully pushed her down onto the ground.

“Chlorus! You’ve betrayed us! Why are you fighting for Nero?” Arete exclaimed while she attempted to roll away from him. But he grabbed her left hand and locked her body from escaping.

“Your father left something for you…” he whispered to Arete. And she realised that he had put something in her left hand.

As Chlorus was pushing closer to Arete, he said, “Take care... I miss you…”

Agitated, Arete’s mind was filled with anger. With her right hand, which was still holding a spear, she cut open the lasso rope that had trapped Aethon’s hind legs. The released stallion attempted to kick Chlorus, but he immediately jumped away and freed the Lady. She quickly jumped onto the horse.

“General Chlorus, the empress is in danger!” A Roman soldier shouted.

* * *

As the intense battle raged on between Sporus and Matea, Sporus realised her disadvantageous position, armed only with a dagger while Matea wielded a formidable spear.

The soldiers who attempted to defend Sporus had been defeated. As Matea launched a series of relentless attacks, Sporus could do nothing but evade and dodge. Just as Matea was about to plunge the spear into Sporus’s chest, Chlorus intervened in her defence. He used a shield to divert the spearhead away from the empress, but it stabbed through his arm.

Matea was taken aback at that instant when she recognised the man.

“Matea! Let’s go!” Arete approached.

A loud trumpet sounded at the arrival of chariots and horses. Nero’s soldiers had arrived.

Matea leapt onto Arete’s horse, and they escaped. Chlorus made no attempt to chase after them. Faking a stumble, he deliberately tripped himself to the ground. He was not a good actor, though. The doubt in Sporus’ eyes was unmistakable as they locked onto him with intensity.

“My dear, are you fine?” Nero asked.

“My lord, I’m sorry! They escaped! I’m sorry!” Sporus cried. She ran towards Nero with an instant change in her expression, from an angry, disappointed face to a meek, fragile guise. Chlorus couldn't help but notice it; her mastery of acting skills surpassed him.

Nero gracefully descended from his chariot and with a sweep of his cape, shielded the half-naked Sporus from prying eyes as he embraced her.

“My dear, you should have just let Chlorus do his job!” Nero caressed and kissed Sporus on her forehead, but she leered at Chlorus, hinting at her suspicion of his hidden motives.

“Luckily, General Chlorus came to the rescue! Your Majesty!” Said a Roman soldier.

“Chlorus, you are forgiven for saving the empress! Healers! Take care of the general!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” The healers pulled out the spear in Chlorus’s arm. He suppressed his pain with a clenched jaw.

“Thank you, Your Majesty, for having mercy on me.” Chlorus knelt without looking at the emperor. Fearing his eye contact may trigger further questions about his intention to let Arete escape the scene.

* * *

They put down mad dogs, despite training them.

They kill the untamed ox, despite taming them.

They use the knife on sick sheep, despite healing them.

They destroy abnormal offspring at birth, children too.

If they are born weak or deformed, they drown.

Yet this is not the work of their anger,

But for their reason,

A goal to achieve The Teleios, the perfect.

But God has left all men free;

Nature has made no man a slave;

We wage war against injustice.

For no human is perfect without a flaw;

These are the words of Seneca reported from Rome.

Be free, my daughter Arete.

Go to Thebes, and make your decision.

It was written in the familiar handwriting of her father, Lord Amiran. Arete did not shed a tear. She was emotionally broken as she gazed over the dusk of Mount Etna, kneeling on the ground. She was late.

The body of Lord Amiran was crucified on top of the mountain. The vultures pierced through his stomach, feasting on his flesh. There was no word able to describe Arete’s pain. She thought she could save her father. But Nero’s men had killed him and hung his body there, right after she escaped from Syracuse.

Arete took down her father’s corpse. When a city-state has fallen, the laws of the former ruler shall abolished. So was her status as a free lady. Soldiers who had been following along, some dropped their weapons and armour, and left her without a farewell. Some were waiting for Arete’s words. But she said nothing.

Matea had already dug a hole in the ground. They buried the body. There were no tears in Arete’s eyes. They moved on… a journey to Thebes.

III

THE EUGINE

Orestes: “Ah! There is no exact way to test a man's worth; for human nature has confusion in it. I have seen before now the son of a noble father worth nothing, and good children from evil parents; famine in a rich man's spirit, and a mighty soul in a poor man's body. How, then, does one rightly distinguish and judge these things? By wealth? A sorry test to use.”

Euripides, Electra, 368 - 375

* * *

The journey could have been shorter if they travelled by the Ionian Sea, but it was impossible for Arete to return to Syracuse. They had no choice but to journey through the vast expanse of land. Through Brentesion, they then took a shorter sea route to Apollonia. After reaching the other side of the land, they embarked on yet another week-long journey before they reached their destination.

By the time they arrived at Thebes, Aethon was exhausted. Even though it was a noble steed, it was specifically bred for war, not for distance travel. Arete lifted a gold medallion with the symbol of a Boeotian shield in front of the city gate. That was one of the three items in the pouch which Chlorus passed to her on the day they escaped. A letter written by Lord Amiran, that medallion, and an unknown key.

The guards saw the medallion, and they immediately opened the gates for them. They recognised that item, which once belonged to a Theban noblewoman, the daughter of Lord Vitellus of Thebes, the leader of their city-state. The image of their pantheon, Dionysus, was carved on the other side of it.

Arete knew the reason behind her father’s instruction. This place was where her mother came from. Lord Vitellus was Arete’s maternal grandfather, but she had never been close to that side of her relatives.

A large elderly man rushed towards the city gates. His luxurious garments shimmered in the sunlight as he ran through the bustling city streets. His servants trailed behind him. Their imposing figures and weathered looks added to his entourage.

“Oh, Arete, my sweet grandchild, you must be tired and hungry! It must have been a long journey! Servants! Quick! Go prepare a feast for my Arete.” He ordered in a breathy, panting voice. A big smile etched on his face.

“Yes, my Lord!” The servants replied. They offloaded Aethon.

Arete showed Vitellus the pouch with the letter, the medallion, and the key. His expression changed when he saw the key, as he knew something bad had happened. Staring at it, he paused and took a deep breath. “My child, come, follow me…”

Vitellus brought them into the temple of Dionysus through the grand hall, where the Thebans were having a feast, drinking and singing. There was plenty of food on the table. Gold, silver and jewels were all over the floor, but nobody cared. They were all enjoying their moments, having scrumptious meals. Chubby little children were running around, playing and laughing.

Reflections of Syracuse city appeared in Arete’s mind.

The children of Syracuse loved to play hide and seek, too...

She bit her lips, trying to stop her mind from thinking about her home.

They walked through the grand hall, entering the kitchen area, which was larger than their temple. She felt like stepping into a different world, with the aroma of freshly baked bread and the bustling of chefs preparing meals. Their ingredients were plenty, and the meats were fat. The joy on their faces was palpable as they worked diligently, knowing that feasts and banquets awaited them every day.

As Arete continued to walk, she entered the library. She knew this place. Shelves filled with plenty of scrolls, but most of them were poems and songs about Romance, comedy, and entertainment. Not as the library in Syracuse, with scrolls and books written by Archimedes, and covered topics of philosophy, strategy, and history which Arete adores.

The symphony of lyres and the beats from toubelekis surrounded the library. The area was filled with loud cheers and songs. They had a performance. A group of large men with outlandish makeup were dancing on stage, and suddenly, they stripped away their clothes! They were not particularly good-looking, but everybody was cheering and laughing with joy. Arete looked away as the scene was too obscene for her.

Vitellus stopped in front of a large shelf. He pulled out a scroll, and the cupboard opened onto a secret pathway. They walked down the path and arrived at another door. When Vitellus used the key to unlock it, flashes of childhood memories returned to Arete. The door opened to a simple but large bedroom full of scrolls. Another kind of scrolls. Scrolls that had been hidden from the public eye. But this place was the place where Arete had spent most of her time before she was six.

“It had been a while, a little dusty, but the servants will prepare this place for you in no time!” 

“Servants!” Vitellus ordered.

The servants hurried into the room, diligently tidying up and adorning every corner. They brought in luxurious silks, ripe and fragrant fruits, and an array of intriguing items.

Arete remembered her days in this room. She was always there when she was young. They never allow her to leave. She looked at Vitellus with a confused expression. Vitellus noticed that.

“This place is safe. Don’t worry, my dear.” Said the old man.

But his words did not answer the question in Arete’s mind. Why did Amiran want her to be in Thebes? In his letter, he wanted her to make a decision, but what were the options for that decision he wanted her to make? Perhaps there were no options for her at all. He probably just wanted her to be safe. She remembered that he had kept her in this room to avoid Claudius, the former Caesar before Nero took over the throne.

“You! Don’t just stand there! Go help other servants!” Vitellus waved his hand towards Matea, who was with Arete throughout her journey. She followed the order and joined the other servants to clean up the place.

“Arete, tell Pappu what you need and what you want! You may have whatever you ordered. I will arrange ten maids, twenty servants and a hundred guards for you.”

“I can’t…” Arete mumbled.

“What? What is it, my dear?”

“How could I still live in peace? Knowing the fact that Syracuse was destroyed?”

“Don’t worry, my dear! You will be safe here in Thebes! The Romans won’t be able to find you! And you have everything here! Ah, let’s arrange a group of jesters and playmates for you?”

“I can’t! Pappu! I can’t!” She exclaimed.

“That is not the way it should be! I should gather and form a force to restore Syracuse!” She looked at Vitellus with a serious expression. A war, a revenge was what she wanted.

“Thebes do not train soldiers! Arete. I mean, not anymore! We had enough of it. We are tired of it! What we practice now is whatever they ask, we just give! Even the earth and water we give, we entertain! As simple as that! Yes! Just focus on making our silks and enjoy our peace and prosperity!” Vitellus replied.

“Life is to enjoy happiness! You can have all the good food and a good life here!” He continued with his tone, became nervous, and scratched his bald head.

“Why go to war? Why are you so stubborn, like Amiran?! If Claudius slaps your left cheek, just let him slap your right cheek! Balance it out, and you’ll have beautiful, blushed, puffy cheeks!” With his pitch increased, he squeezed his own cheeks, eyes blinking, attempting to make a face that cheered Arete up.

She took a deep breath. That was the reason she felt disconnected from her grandfather, the monarch of Thebes. After the fall of the city-state centuries ago, the restored Thebes no longer made any policies or moves against any neighbouring states. Never regained its former prominence and was always ruled by cowardly lords who would allow their men to be oppressed.

She disliked her grandfather and the Thebans. Although she had been living in the land until she was six. She never felt connected. Not as dearly as with people in Syracuse. The Thebans were Epicureans in general, seeking happiness through avoidance of conflicts, indulging in entertainment and drunkenness. Arete wasn’t able to accept such a way of life. She wasn’t able to live their Epicurean life, and leaving behind her war-torn home in Syracuse.

“Please! Pappu, tell me all about my father! What does his letter mean? Who is Seneca? I want to know the truth! I need to know the truth!”

Vitellus sank onto the long couch, feeling troubled; he let out a deep sigh.

“Out! Out! Out! All of you! I need private space with my granddaughter!”He shooed away the servants. They immediately dropped their work and ran out of the room.

After the last servant shut the door, Vitellus pulled out the letter and skimmed through it.

“Amiran, he started a secret plot to end the Teleios system.” He answered.

Arete was baffled, patiently waiting for his detailed explanation.

“I don’t remember when it started. But since Augustus’ reign, Rome had been breeding Eugenes. They organised sports and competitions to select the best warriors and populate them.”

“Is that the reason all city-states have to send their best-selected warriors to Rome?” The puzzle unravelled in Arete’s mind.

“Yes, but they… are just regular Eugenes.” Vitellus slightly choked when he replied.

“The Elders of Rome, they call for the Teleios, women who are almost divine. They are the chosen ones to breed into the next Caesar generation.”

“But Amiran attempted to destroy that.” Vitellus continued. His tone turned serious.

“I believe my father must have a very solid reason he wanted to crush it!”

“True indeed! The Teleios system is widening the gap of humanity. Caesar became stronger. Breeding away from his original patrician class, into a whole new realm closer to gods. While the weak will remain mere human.”

“But Amiran trained the slaves and the weak, and he sneaked them into Rome. He covered the bones with shiny fat. He tricked Nero into taking in the low-borns as part of his elite office, just like how Prometheus had tricked Zeus into taking that sacrificial share of bones and fats. Attempt to taint the noble bloodlines. But I think it is pointless…”

“No, it isn’t! I believe what my father did is for the justice of mankind!” Arete interrupted.

“Tell me! Arete!” Vitellus suddenly raised his voice in full authority.

“Why do you think a barbarian who is larger, stronger, and more powerful than you would follow your orders and accompany you all the way to Thebes?” Vitellus’s question took Arete aback. A question to which she already had an answer, but she wasn’t able to speak out about it. 

Inherited authority. If she wasn’t born into an elite family, in what term did she have the right to command another person to fight for her? Arete suddenly realised that her followers were no longer with her. A flashback to the moment when she arrived in Thebes with them recently. She had about ten men. After they entered the city, only eight left. When they entered the temple, she lost another two. Another two, gone in the kitchen. The other three were lost in the outer library. Matea was the one who followed her into the secret room. But in the end, she listened to Vitellus’s orders and left the room with all the other maids and servants.

As a daughter of a fallen archon, she no longer had any backers other than Vitellus, the monarch of a prosperous city-state. If she did not inherit his blood, she would be nobody.

And this bloodline needed to remain powerful to rule over others. To maintain that authority, her descendants must either become stronger or weaken the other, widening that ability gap to keep others enslaved.

Vitellus turned and walked to the door.

“Pappu… She can speak our language.” Arete replied weakly.

“Have some good rest, my dear Arete. Tired heads can’t think properly.” Vitellus left the room.

IV

THE TELEIOS

“Who moved my bread!” A well-dressed lady shouted at the servants. With a short but robust frame, she sported a head of double-braided, chestnut hair. Her adorable chubby cheeks were unable to hold the anger in her, which was shown through her fiery red eyes.

“Some of my lunch was missing! My… gah… ahem… fancy bread! And the sweet apples! Who took it!” She asked again.

“The food… was moved to Lady Arete’s room…” a servant answered in tremble.

“Arete who? How dare you take from the table of the Teleios?”

“We… we’re sorry, Lady Agave. It was… It was Lord Vitellus who ordered us to move some of your food to Lady Arete’s room. Lady Arete of Syracuse.”

The lady was stunned after hearing that. Smashed open the door, she stormed out of her room in anger.

* * *

As Agave darted through the bustling plaza of the city, her heart raced with worries mixed with some excitement.

She’s back! But why?

Arete’s mother, Jocasta of Thebes, was the only daughter of Vitellus by blood. Vitellus failed to overcome his sadness after he heard the news about her departure. As a means to gain resilience, he adopted hundreds of children and infants into his household. Agave was one of them.

She had chosen to leave Thebes! Why is she coming back?

Agave remembered vividly, that weak, tiny little girl who used to be circled around by the adult servants. Who always had special guards and never played with her other adopted siblings.

How is she now? Is she still as skinny as a stick? Is she still always getting sick and needs servants to carry her around?

Whatever! I better not let her discover my secrets! Oh, Dionysus, please forgive me! I must get my bread back!

* * *

The late afternoon sun bathed the town in golden hues, casting long shadows along the alleyways. The kitchen servants brought bread to be given to the working people.

The bread was free in Thebes. For the labourers, they prepared symmikto bread, which was baked with mixes of scrap flour from different grains. Although those were not palatable, they were more nutritious as a whole.

One servant handed a piece of tunic, a loaf, and an apple to Matea. She did not queue up like the rest of the workers since they identified her as the servant of their lady.

“The kitchen is going to prepare a fat calf for Lady Arete’s dinner tonight. Report yourself to the head chef after you get yourself ready.” He instructed.

“Hey, are you crazy? Those are from the table of the Teleios!” another servant tried to stop him from handing over the food when he saw the loaf was different from those symmikto bread.

“No, those are rejected.” He let the other man take a sniff at the loaf. Disgusted, he immediately covered his nose with his hands.

“Ew! Those are…”

“Yeah, so don’t waste it! It’s going to be good for her!”

Matea received the items from him. The strong smell from that loaf was something familiar to her. And she sensed no ill intentions from these two large, rounded men.

“The nearest river is just outside of the east gate. Remember to come back on time.” The two men left her and continued their job to distribute the other bread.

* * *

Taking a bite of the apple, there was nothing on her mind. She would eat when she felt hungry, sleep when tired, keep her hygiene and do whatever chores were ordered. Aimlessness, a mechanical state of mind, where living was like a waterwheel, running with the flow and filling the aqueduct.

Walking across the alleyway, heading to the east side of the city. Everything in Thebes was better compared to Syracuse. People clad with vibrant silk garments. Merchants enthusiastically calling to sell their wares. Bards singing, the pandura’s symphony intermingle with the laughter and chatter of passersby. There was a problem, though, drunkenness.

“Hey, foreigner! Wanna join us? The drinks are free! Ha ha!”

She walked past a group of drunken men, ignoring them. She knew the taste of wine. The tannins were bitter; the acid tasted sour. Those were the commoners' wine. Maybe she never tried those nicely fermented ones made with fine grapes. Those were normally reserved only for the nobles and the elites. She preferred the sweetness of the apple, though. And maybe, the savoury of that loaf of smelly bread. It was the scent of garlic.

Perhaps the servant who baked the loaf had accidentally dropped cloves of it into the dough. A pleasant mistake that could make the bread extremely tasty but pungent. Such food must not be on the table of the Teleios; it was forbidden. The gods and goddesses despised the scent; the noblemen avoided it. But it had medicinal effects and gave energy when consumed. Thus, it was considered a food for the working class. Moreover, the pungent taste of the bulb would linger on the tongue all day, curbing the appetite of those who ate it.

Breaking a piece of it, the scent burst into the air. The saffron golden, buttery smooth, soft flesh of the bread was still warm.

What skata is this?!

She expected the bread to be as hard and chewy as she used to have. A loaf of fluff and air might not even fill any space in her stomach. Thinking of the chores she still needed to complete, she needed something starchy for her to last till the end of the day.

“You! That’s the apple from my table and my lunch bread!” Agave shouted at Matea. Pointing fingers at her, she recognised her not just from the food on her hands, also from her Syracusean linothorax.

Oh, my Dionysus! She had become so tall and strong! But… but I’m sure she’s a blonde! Her hair is too dark to be Arete!

Matea broke the bread and ate a piece of it. It was neither a mistake nor an accident. The bread was well made, with the golden yellow saffron-coloured fluffy core melted in her mouth. But all she felt was like eaten nothing.

“Aaaah~! That’s my special bread! I had worked on the recipe for a very long time!” Agave screamed. This lady, the Teleios of Thebes, ordered garlic bread for herself despite all the discrimination on the bulb.

“Like nothing.” She then handed the bread to the lady.

“What do you mean ‘like nothing’? I’ve practised for months just to master the most difficult sticky wet dough kneading technique to create that instant melt-in-your-mouth texture of the bread! What do you mean ‘like nothing’? I’ve used the best ingredients in and out of the polis! The highest quality of saffron from Parthia! And the gaaa…”

Agave took a deep breath, followed by a big gulp. She knew they were in the public, outside, on the road full of pedestrians. It was her secret! She must not let the Thebans know she ordered garlic bread for herself! The actual reason why she got furious when her food was moved out of her knowledge!

“Where… Where’s your madam? Where’s Arete of Syracuse?” She tried to shift the focus.

“No! Don’t…” While the other nearby servants attempted to stop the conversation.

“Library,” Matea replied.

* * *

With a determined stride, Arete navigated shelves to shelves. Those scrolls in her room were all documents hidden from the main library. She opened and laid some of them on the table. To her surprise, there was a study note on the Republic, a famous document written by Plato. But those study notes, those handwritings, were familiar to her eyes. She had no doubt about those texts written by her father’s hand.

As the great teacher Socrates suggested…

Categories of souls according to quality:

(Excluding mentally ill mad man)

Golden Soul - The rulers and the philosophers

Silver Soul - The auxiliaries and guardians

Iron or Bronze Soul - The craftsman commoner

Sometimes, the offspring of a golden soul might be a mere silver, while an iron might raise a golden soul. Therefore, those who had achieved higher souls shall be educated and trained, given a place for them to rule. Said the teacher.

But the student, Plato, had one concern.

A shepherd may rear dogs that herd sheep through discipline. But who knows if a defect may cause the dog to harm the sheep and behave like wolves.

Yes, indeed. The Teacher replied. They must be properly educated to serve.

Shouldn’t we have a safety measure to prevent that from happening? Glaukon was still in doubt.