The Remnant

Prologue

A man sat alone at a table in the earliest hours of the day as dawn broke through the formerly darkened sky. He stared down at all the separate pieces on the map in front of him with a hand to his chin. He had been in this position for hours, trying to think of some strategy that might be able to aid in the war of his country but as of this moment, he was at a loss.

The man looked up as a gust of cool air rose the hair on his arms. He turned to look at the entrance to his unnecessarily large tent to see one of his Guards standing between the flaps that acted as his door.

"Polemarch sir." The man said with a bow. "Commander Andros is here for you."

"Ah, is it morning already then? Very well send him in." The man at the table sighed.

The guard gave another bow then turned and exited, his blood red cape fluttering in his wake as another man walked in. This one had on the same cape, however, the helmet held between his hand and torso was very different and his armour was more decorated. Not as much as that of the Polemarch, but almost. His helm was golden bronze in a Corinthian fashion for the colour of the Polemarch's personal guard and was topped by a blood red plume travelling its length from back to front. His armour, also golden bronze, had white stone etchings going down the sides of it's chestpiece, and intricate designs made on his forearm gauntlets and greaves.

"Prince Perseus sir." The man bowed, just as the guard before had done.

"Oh please Andros, no need to be so formal. You were with Adrastus and the army of Elis for a mere moon's cycle and you've changed so much already." Perseus scoffed with a smirk on his face.

The man rose from his bow with a smile and walked forward, extending his arm, catching Perseus' forearm in a warrior's grip. Andros was tall, dark of hair, and kept a long beard in the fashion of many Spartan men. His eyes showed the stress of many years of soldiering and wisdom, however, his face was still quite youthful as the man himself only had twenty-five years under his belt. Like Perseus and his entire personal guard, the man was a demigod. A son of Nike to be exact.

"It is good to see you again Perseus!" The man exclaimed.

"Likewise my old companion." The prince of Sparta returned the smile and gripped back.

As the warrior's arms dropped down to their sides, the Prince turned and looked back at the table that had held his attention for the apparent entirety of the night. Andros walked over to his side and examined the table as well. The man let out a low whistle looking at all the army pieces sitting on the part of the map that read Sparta.

"So it seems the rumours are true, most of our forces remain in the capital!" He huffed, angered.

"Aye, it would seem my dear uncle is reluctant to send the bulk of our strength out of the homelands with the threat of another Persian invasion hidden around any corner. I blame him not, now would be the perfect time for those eastern bastards to strike. Greece is in chaos, and until we can end this pitiful Delian League by razing Athens to the ground and cutting the head off the serpent, then it will remain that way." Perseus sighed.

"I know nothing of politics brother, so I am afraid I cannot comment on our standpoint with the Persians, but I feel as if this is a mistake." Andros said as he looked up from the board.

The prince made no comment. Publicly he had to encourage his uncle's actions, as he was of his blood and his mother had requested it. However, in his true thoughts, he couldn't help but agree with Andros. To send only a small portion of the Spartan army at the white city of Athens and expect victory was quite the stretch, but due to the reputation Perseus had built for himself he supposed it was a compliment to his capabilities. After all, he had been handpicked to lead them.