The fire burned low, throwing just enough light to catch the hunger in every face. Menon and his boys stood at the edge of the circle, not quite in the dark, not quite part of the squad.
"Look," Menon said, voice quiet but firm. "Six against six is a waste. Twelve together? We might last."
No one answered. The crackle of the fire was louder than their breathing.
Nikandros scoffed. "Convenient. You show up after we've done the hard part." His grip on the spear tightened. "What exactly are you offering us?"
Menon spread his hands slightly. "Strength. Eyes for the night. If the forest comes for you—and it will—you'll want us standing with you, not across from you."
Doros shifted, unease in his voice. "And when food runs out? What then? You'll share? Or you'll come with more smooth words and take what we've hunted?"
Menon's jaw flexed. "We're not fools. If we tried to take from you, we'd bleed out here in the dirt. Same for you if you tried it on us. That's the truth."
Theron finally spoke, his voice flat. "Truth doesn't fill our stomachs."
For a moment, no one spoke. The fire hissed, smoke rising between the two groups like a wall.
Leonidas stood slowly. His eyes moved from his squad to Menon, weighing them, measuring. When he spoke, it was low, steady.
"You want trust. But you bring nothing to earn it."
Menon met his gaze. "I bring a choice. Take us in, you double your strength. Turn us away, you risk us finding someone else to stand with. And then you'll have more than beasts hunting you."
Nikandros' head snapped toward him. "That a threat?"
Menon's scar twitched as he frowned. "It's survival. Call it what you want."
Silence again. A branch snapped in the woods—something large, moving closer. The boys stiffened, eyes darting to the dark. The forest seemed to breathe with them.
Leonidas crouched, pulled the last strip of meat from the fire pit, and set it down on the ground between them. His voice was calm, but sharp.
"Eat it. Then sit. You share watch tonight. At dawn, you hunt. Bring something back, you stay. Come back empty, you're gone."
Nikandros muttered under his breath, but held his tongue. Doros swallowed hard. Theron only watched, unreadable.
Menon bent, tore the strip in half, tossed one piece to the gaunt boy behind him, and ate the other. His eyes never left Leonidas'.
"Fine," he said. "At dawn, we prove it."
The two groups eased down around the fire, still apart, still wary. Spears within reach, glances too long, the air thick with mistrust.
Leonidas sat with his squad close by, the fire painting lines across his face. His hand rested on his spear. His mind stayed on the woods.
One night together. One dawn to prove it. If they fail, I cut them loose. If they turn on us, I cut them down.
The forest shifted again, the sound of something moving in the brush. The night had only just begun.
The two groups settled uneasily around the fire, not together, not apart. The line between them was invisible but sharp. Spears stayed within arm's reach, and no one laid back fully.
Menon's second, the wiry boy with sunken eyes, chewed his half of the meat slowly, as if stretching the taste. He muttered something under his breath, too low to catch. Nikandros caught it anyway and leaned forward.
"What was that?"
The boy swallowed hard, eyes darting. "I said it's not much for the twelve of us."
Nikandros' lip curled. "You're lucky it's anything at all."
Leonidas' hand rose slightly, silencing him without a word. The fire cracked, filling the space that might have spilled into violence.
For a while, no one spoke. The flames dropped lower, throwing long shadows that stretched and swayed. Somewhere in the distance, an owl screeched.
Doros shifted uncomfortably. He whispered near Leonidas, though not quietly enough. "They'll wait until we sleep. Then—"
Menon cut him off, voice sharp. "You think we'd try that? With twice as many spears pointed our way?"
Doros bristled. "I don't know what you'd try."
Menon's gaze shifted to Leonidas. "Then set the watch. We'll take our turns. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"
Leonidas nodded once. "Nikandros, Doros, first with me. Theron, you'll relieve us with two of theirs after." His tone brooked no argument.
Hours crept by, broken only by the low hiss of the fire and the restless shuffle of boys on hard ground. Hunger gnawed in silence. Trust was thinner than smoke.
A sudden rustle in the brush snapped every head toward the trees. Spears lifted, muscles tensed. The sound grew closer, heavier. Menon's boys half rose to their feet.
"Hold," Leonidas said, voice cutting the panic short.
The brush parted. A pair of glowing eyes flashed, low to the ground. For a heartbeat the air froze. Then the creature darted—just a fox, thin and ragged, bounding into the undergrowth again.
Relief exhaled in uneven breaths. One of Menon's boys chuckled nervously, the sound sharp in the quiet. Nikandros' glare silenced him instantly.
"Next time it won't be a fox," Theron murmured.
No one argued.
The night dragged on, restless and long. By the time Leonidas finally shook Menon awake for his turn at watch, the fire had burned to coals, and the forest seemed closer than ever.
The pact had held through one night. Dawn would test if it could last another.