Leonidas sighed as he hefted his pack. The noonday sun seared the back of his neck as he trudged wearily home. As a soldier, one would assume he'd be used to the constant marching, but marching towards something was very different from marching away from it. Ever since he was a boy, he had always loved the thrill: the fire coursing through his veins when he marched towards battle. There was an ancient magic there, perhaps...