A fourth figure approached the fire cautiously, his eyes wide with wonder as he gazed upon the flickering flames. He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Can I sit by the fire?" His voice was soft, uncertain, as though afraid he might be turned away.
One of the former slaves, a man with a weathered but kind face, gestured to the sand beside him with an inviting smile. "The wood is not ours, so neither is the fire. Why would we deny you warmth? Sit with us, brother."
The man eased down, stretching out his hands toward the fire, its glow casting long shadows over his blistered palms—palms not so different from theirs.
"Tell me your name," asked the eldest of the group, his beard grizzled with age, his voice like distant thunder softened by time.
"Tibius," he answered quietly. "It's Tibius."
The old man nodded, "And what now, Tibius? What will you do with this new life?"
Tibius exhaled, his gaze lost in the hypnotic dance of the flames. "I hadn't thought that far," he admitted. "I suppose I'll try to live." His lips curled into a faint, almost bitter smile. "What about you?"
The eldest man chuckled, rubbing his chin. "I reckon I'll find myself a fine wife and a good plot of land. Someplace quiet. A place of my own."
"Always the dreamer, Darius," another man scoffed, shaking his head. "As for me, I plan to enjoy every damn moment of this freedom. No chains, no masters. I'll drink, I'll fight, and I'll spend my nights in the arms of whoever pleases me." He grinned, his laughter ringing through the still night air.
The fire crackled, sending up glowing embers into the darkened sky.
Tibius listened to their words, yet his mind was elsewhere, turning over a thought he couldn't shake. He finally spoke, his voice carrying a quiet awe. "I still can't believe we're alive and free… all because of Alpheo."
The man beside him frowned. "Who's that?"
Tibius blinked, momentarily stunned. "Alpheo. The one who made all of this possible. He planned the revolt. He led us when no one else dared. It's because of him we can sit here and breathe as free men."
One of the men let out a low whistle. "Well then, if we had something to toast with, I'd raise a cup in his honor."
"I don't know if we should be celebrating just yet," Tibius murmured, his expression clouded with doubt.
The others glanced at him, their amusement fading. "Why?"
"I spoke to him earlier," Tibius said. "He seemed… troubled. Not the way you'd expect a man to be after winning his freedom." His fingers curled into the sand. "Something weighs on him."
A flicker of unease passed between the three men. One of them shifted uncomfortably. "Do you reckon we're in danger?"
Tibius opened his mouth, but before he could answer, another figure stepped out of the darkness and into the firelight.
"Sorry to interrupt," the newcomer said, his voice urgent yet calm. "The man who led us out of the cell—he's speaking now. I figured you'd want to hear."
Tibius exhaled, rising to his feet. I did all I could, Egil, he thought, his mind already turning to what was coming next.
———
Alpheo's piercing gaze fell upon the roaring fire as he stepped forward, deliberately placing himself in its glow. Every flicker of light illuminated his face, ensuring that all 530 men could see him clearly—his expressions, his gestures, his intent.
These men, twice his age, twice his size, saw him as their savior. The ones who had once marched as a fraction of the mighty army they had fled from now stood before him, seeking purpose. He felt the weight of 1,060 eyes upon him, pressing like chains not yet broken. But fear had no place here.
Calm yourself. You can do this.
"It is quite a chilly night, isn't it?" he began, his voice carrying across the stillness. "I have known many nights like this in the years of my enslavement. Nights where the cold bit into my skin like a whip. But tonight—tonight feels different. The air itself welcomes us, because we are free men now."
His gaze swept across the crowd—faces etched with hardship, bodies scarred from the weight of chains. "I was just a boy when I was sold into slavery," Alpheo continued, his voice tinged with something deeper than bitterness. "I remember my parents shaking hands with the slaver. They smiled as they did it. A handful of silver coins—that was my worth to them." He exhaled, his eyes briefly lifting to the stars. "I never even looked at the face stamped on those coins. Was it the emperor? The last emperor? Or the one before that? It matters not."
His words hung in the air before he continued, each syllable carved from a past that refused to be forgotten. "For ten years, I endured everything they did to me, never losing sight of my dream of freedom. I remember one night—one that has never left me. I was serving a noble family, but I was no servant. I was a thing. A plaything to be whipped in the night, nothing more. And I was hungry."
The fire crackled, and in its light, Alpheo's shadow stretched long and thin against the sand.
"I snuck into the kitchen to steal a piece of bread. Just one," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "As I turned to leave, I saw a girl standing there, no older than thirteen or fourteen. She watched me, her eyes wide—not with pity, not with curiosity, but with disgust.She was a maid , I was a slave.She was above me , I was below"
He scanned the faces before him, knowing they understood.
"I'm sure you all know that look," he said. "The look that tells you that you are something lesser. That your suffering is beneath their notice.Like that of an ant."
Silence. Only the sound of the wind rustling through the camp.
Alpheo's voice darkened. "I could see it in her eyes—she would cry out, raise the alarm. She saw me as nothing more than a rat in her home, bulging my stomach on her food . So I did what I had to do. I wrapped my hands around her white throat and squeezed with all the strength I had , and choked the life out of her."
A shift rippled through the crowd. Some stiffened. Some nodded. Some lowered their gazes.
"She fought, of course," he continued, his tone unwavering. "Her nails raked at my skin, but she was no match for me. And in those final moments, the disgust faded. What replaced it?" He paused. "Fear. Not of me, but of something wild. A rabid dog she had no hope of escaping."
He let those words settle.
"And yet, after all that, I remember the bread most of all," he murmured, almost to himself. "It soured in my mouth. Tasted like guilt. Tasted like regret. But I was never caught. Never punished. I took a life, and the world didn't even flinch."
His voice hardened.
"That was the night I learned a lesson. If you want something, you take it. No one hands you freedom. No one gives you dignity. You claim it and take it away from the cold hands of those who tried to withhold it from you."
He looked at them now, truly looked.
"Just as we did today. We took our freedom with steel and blood."
The fire roared higher, as if responding to his words.
"But now," he said, voice dropping low, "comes the hardest part."
A hush fell over the men.
"It's a strange feeling, isn't it? To have the right to choose—to eat what you want, to go where you please. But I tell you this: enjoy it while you can." His eyes narrowed. "Because the chains are not truly broken. Not yet."
A murmur ran through the crowd.
"They are coming to bring us back as slaves."
The words sent a chill through the men. One gasped, hands clutching his head.
"I would rather die!" another shouted, gripping his sword hilt as if expecting it to vanish.
Alpheo raised a hand, silencing them with nothing but a look.
"I walked through this camp," he said, voice sharp, "and I saw many of you acting as if the danger had passed. But tell me—can't you hear the hooves of the riders in the distance? Can't you feel the weight of the chains they are bringing for us?"
A heavy silence.
"They will send men to hunt us, to break us, to drag us back into servitude. If we do not stand together, they will succeed. Alone, we will fall. But united? We can defy our fate. We can fight for our freedom—not just for today, but for forever. And to do that… we need one leader."
The tension was like a bowstring pulled tight.
Then—
A scoff.
A voice rose from the back, dripping with disdain.
"And you think that you will be the one to lead us?"
The crowd parted slightly, revealing a hulking man, arms like tree trunks, eyes cold with disbelief.
"You're half my age," the man sneered. "I could blow you over with a single breath." He stepped forward, his presence heavy with challenge. "I am stronger than you. Why should I bow my head to a boy?"
The fire crackled between them.
And Alpheo fought back a smile.