Fallen Eagle

Character Spotlight - Demetrios

The soft patter of a copper folle on his outstretched hand broke through the daily monotony of sitting in the least damp corner Demetrios could find in Kalamita’s market square. The stone was cold through his worn cloak, and the smell of fish and tar clung to the morning air.“Thank you for your kindness,” the words mumbled out of Demetrios’s parched lips. His throat felt as dry as old bread.

“Get yourself something to eat,” the voice was not unkind. Demetrios looked up to see soft brown eyes framed in a shapely, sun-touched face.

“I will, madame,” Demetrios said, the words worn as smooth as the stone beneath him. This daily interaction had become a necessary occurrence during his life in this blasted city, a little ritual of humiliation that kept his belly from gnawing itself hollow. Never before would he have thought he’d have to beg. But desperation touches all men the same way. That was a universal truth Demetrios was coming to realize the hard way.

The Papadoupolos matriarch smiled kindly at him and moved on to the next unfortunate in line. A grumpy, heavy-set man followed in tow, suffering through the charity that functioned as a sort of queue of the city’s rejects, begging for scraps or alms.

They came every morning to the same stretch of wall, as dependable as the stalls and awnings around them. Only most of those were actually disabled or suffering from one ailment or another. Demetrios was completely hale, at least in the conventional sense. He hadn’t quite felt himself since arriving.

Too many mouths to feed, and not enough grain had forced Demetrios out of his parents' house. He could have tried working the stony land, but blisters and cramps hadn’t been friendly companions throughout his life; the earth had never taken to him, and he had never taken to it. He knew enough of himself to know he wasn’t cut out for that sort of work.

So he’d run someplace where maybe he wouldn’t have had to slave away in the dirt. A port on the edge of his world had sounded like a new beginning. Much good that had done him.

He rose from his spot, stretching like the city which had slowly woken up like dead rising from their graves - slowly, and shambling forward. He headed to the docks of Kalamita, the only Theodoran port in the region.

He’d heard it was a young city. You could tell it had grown quickly by the haphazard shacks that dotted its periphery, thrown up wherever there was a scrap of level ground. A sign of a people too long starved of the ocean and fighting to take it back one step at a time.

People bustled about from one place to another; it had been like this ever since Demetrios arrived some months ago. Waves of ships came from across the ocean, from all Greek lands. Refugees, they called themselves, running to the principality for salvation. Poor sods didn’t know nothing awaited them here in this blasted rock.

Whatever the case, the influx of travellers meant the docks were usually shorthanded for day labourers, shorthanded enough to take on someone like Demetrios, who looked weak, dirty and had nothing to his name.

He approached the foreman barking out orders to every nearby dock worker. Demetrios had the sinking suspicion he was paid to do just that: yell. He sure as hell hadn’t lifted a single crate since he’d worked here.

“Ah, Demetrios,” he said with his customary foul mood. “Get in there, you bastard. Help carry over the luggage over by that passenger ship.” He jerked his chin at a freshly docked vessel.

Before Demetrios could even thank the man, he was already shouting at nearby labourers to move faster, not having yet realized yelling at someone didn't make their bodies stronger or faster.

Demetrios went about moving crates from one place to another across the wooden plank and out of the ship. The boards creaked under his steps, the sea slapping at the pilings below. On one of them he nearly tripped when a loose board shifted under his sandal and the crate lurched in his arms. He caught his balance with a curse.

“Oy, be careful with that!”

The shout snapped across the din of the docks, sharp enough to make Demetrios’ grip tighten on the crate. He turned toward the voice. One of the noblemen who had come off the ship, velvet trim at his sleeves, good leather boots. The kind of man who worried more about scuffs on his luggage than bruises on another man’s back.

Demetrios bit back a nasty remark that rose, unbidden, to his tongue and said instead, “I’m sorry, sir.”

The man had a look about him that seemed abashed at his own brutishness. “Let me help you with that,” he said.

He reached past Demetrios and took hold of a makeshift box from amidst the precious jewels, trinkets and baubles. It looked almost dirty and out of place amid all that richness - plain wood and roughly nailed.

“I’m sorry for shouting,” he said as he moved beside him, lifting his end with surprising care. “But this is the most precious commodity I have aboard.”

He flashed a smile, all pearl-white teeth. Demetrios gave him a dubious side glance, choosing to keep his own yellowed teeth firmly behind his lips.

“Hah! I can tell you don’t believe me,” the man went on, amused rather than offended. He eased the box down onto solid ground in a small island they carved out for themselves amidst the sea of people coming and going. “But you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, friend.”

He laughed boisterously at that, as if at his own private joke, drawing a few curious looks from nearby labourers.

, Demetrios thought, fighting back an eye roll. . He’d seen his share of their kind, enough to recognize every type. From the cruel snobs to the condescending philanthropists. This one, though, he was having a harder time categorizing.

Demetrios was pulled out of his reverie by an outstretched hand, hovering between them.

He set down his own crate with a grunt and straightened, following the line of the arm. The man was well built and broad-shouldered, framed in the morning light as if the world itself were smiling upon him. “Konstantinos,” he said, looking every bit the gallant knight introducing himself in a tale. “And you?”

“Demetrios,” he answered after a brief pause, working to keep his tone level and hide the bitterness underneath. He clasped hands with the man, feeling the firm, confident grip of someone who had never had to wonder where their next meal might come from.

“Tell me, Demetrios, where can one find an inn in this fine city?” Konstantinos asked, releasing his hand.

“There’s a standard fare at the far end of the docks called the Rowdy Sailor,” Demetrios said, averting his eyes, a dark thought roiling in his chest. “It isn’t the prettiest, but it won’t cost you a pretty penny.” He hesitated, then added, “You take a turn at the marketplace and look for the cobbler, then cut across to the pier from there.”

“Why such a specific way to the inn? Almost seems like a campaign march.” Konstantinos chuckled, the sound warm and bright. It grated on Demetrios’s nerves.

“The streets can get crowded with the wrong figures,” Demetrios said flatly. “Best to take the safest path.”

Konstantinos nodded at that, the laughter fading from his eyes. “Thank you for the warning, friend. Could you also tell me if you’ve a woodworker here? One with a finer eye for detail.”

“On the northeastern corner of the main square there’s a passageway leading to the castle.” Demetrios explained. “Most of the reputable artisans pack their works there. If you want fine carving, that’s where you’ll find it.”

“Thank you. I will be on my way then, my good fellow.” He turned as if to go, then flicked something toward Demetrios with casual precision. A coin spun through the air, catching the light. “For your answers and time,”

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

Demetrios only had a heartbeat to be stunned by the gleam of silver before the man began to turn away.

“Wait,” he heard himself say, the word escaping before he could drag it back.

The nobleman turned to look at him, one brow lifting in mild curiosity.

Demetrios’s consciousness warred with itself. He swallowed the words, throat tight.

“What’s in the box?” he landed on at last, nodding toward the plain wooden thing between them.

The man’s smile changed, turning into a brittle, sad thing that made him look older in an instant. “My father,” he said quietly.

Demetrios stood stock-still, caught off guard.

“Goodbye, Demetrios. May we meet again,” Konstantinos said.

The nobleman turned and stepped into the city, looking like a man set to conquer the new horizons he’d just stepped upon.

Demetrios reached the small alley by the marketplace exhausted from the day’s work. His shoulders ached from hauling crates, and his hands were raw where the splinters had dug in.

The kid was already waiting for him there.

“You’re late,” he muttered by way of greeting. He was covered in rags and dirty earth, bare feet blackened with grime. Bright green eyes peered out from under a brown mop of hair so caked with dust and filth it looked a full shade darker than it ought to.

“And you’re demanding,” Demetrios said, catching his breath, “especially considering I’m doing you a favour here.” He reached into his cloak and pressed a small pile of folles into the boy’s hand. “For your friends.”

The kid opened his palm and looked at them with a grimace. “I’m not sure we can make it with this, old man.”

Demetrios snorted at the title. He was barely a man himself, but he’d long since decided to let the kids call him whatever they wanted. “Your collection didn’t go well.”

“No,” the kid muttered. He closed his fingers around the copper and shoved the hand into his ragged tunic.

He’d never shared his name, and Demetrios hadn’t pushed. God only knew what he’d been through, ending up on the streets so young.

“People aren’t as kind to little kids in summer as they are after harvest,” the boy went on. “They say they’ve got nothing to spare. Only Lady Papadoupolos still makes the daily rounds.”

“Well, you’re lucky I’m here to bail you out then,” he opened his hand above the boy’s palm and dropped the silver stavraton with deliberate, almost theatrical slowness.

The coin struck the others with a different weight, a different sound. The kid’s eyes widened like he’d just seen a ghost. “Where did you get this? Did you steal it?! Are you mad?”

“Calm down, I’m not that stupid.” Demetrios lifted both hands in a placating gesture, then gently closed the child’s small fingers around the coin, hiding its gleam. “It’s clean. Use it slowly and it’ll last you the year.”

The kid stared at him, throat working, jaw set like he was physically holding something back. Demetrios could tell he was fighting tears.

“Demetrios… This is…” His voice broke.

Demetrios stepped forward and pulled the child into an embrace, tucking the boy’s head against his chest, sparing him the shame of thanking him, or of crying in front of someone else. The kid smelled of dust, sweat, and alley water.

“Don’t say it,” Demetrios murmured, a half-smile touching his lips. “I’ll get teary-eyed.”

When he’d first come to the city last winter, the nights had been rough - cold stones, colder wind, the kind of hunger that made your thoughts turn dark. He’d realized quickly that others had it harder, but that knowledge hadn’t been enough to keep the worst thoughts at bay. There had been many times he’d wanted to just stop fighting.

Then the kid had come along, trailing a little swarm of smaller shadows behind him, and things had gotten… complicated. Now there was more reason to haul himself out of his corner of the market each morning. He had ties he couldn’t easily sever, faces that would be worse off if he dropped dead.

And for him, that was enough.

As the boy sobbed quietly into his chest, small shoulders shaking, Demetrios thought that if he could do right by these kids, then perhaps life was worth living after all.

And if he had to risk that life to make it happen, then so be it.

Demetrios stood in the shadows by the second street to the right of the cobbler near the marketplace. Just as he’d told Konstantinos, it was the only road leading from there to the pier. And to the Rowdy Sailor squatting beside it like a drunken barnacle on the waterfront.

It was also dark, damp, and mostly out of sight. Perfect, Demetrios told himself, for the robbery he was about to commit.

His prey appeared at the mouth of the alleyway exactly as the sun finished setting on the placid seaside horizon. The nobleman, Konstantinos, paused at the edge of the darkness and looked in. For a second, Demetrios thought he would think better of it and eschew walking through, turn back and find some brighter, safer path.

Konstantinos walked forward anyway, unafraid, boots echoing softly on the uneven stones. Somehow that only made it worse. Now Demetrios had to go through with the half-baked plan he’d conjured together on a stack of whimsical fantasies of singlehandedly buying enough food for all the city’s orphans and a new life for himself with ill-gotten loot taken from a kind, unassuming man.

He sank deeper into the gloom near a pile of refuse, the smell of rot and stale urine flowing deep into his nostrils. Demetrios didn’t mind. He’d had time to get used to such putrid scents since arriving as a pauper in this city and transitioning to beggar and day labourer. Now, he told himself, he’d become rich. He just had to take this one small step.

The man was a nobleman, born in silk and in wealth enough to help half the people suffering in the city if only he opened his eyes. He probably had more wealth stashed away in his family’s estates than Demetrios would ever see in ten lifetimes. Dozens of kids were starving on the streets, ribs sharp under thin skin, eyes too old for their years. This was a good deed, he insisted silently.

As he saw what Konstantinos carried, the ironclad logic felt suddenly paper-thin.

Clutched close to his chest was a finely ornate small urn, delicate patterns wound around its surface, sober and precise. Demetrios knew what it carried. Who it carried.

Konstantinos passed the exact spot of the ambush, the loose cobble where Demetrios had decided he’d act. His hand clutched the rusty shiv with desperate strength, the metal biting into his palm. He couldn’t falter here. Not now. One silver stavrata was enough to make a poor kid cry with gratitude. Imagine what a mountain of them could do.

He. Just. Had. To. Move.

Demetrios let him pass unimpeded, every muscle locked. He watched, stock-still, as his way to buy a new life for himself and those children walked by within arm’s reach.

In the end, he couldn’t do it.

Demetrios gritted his teeth until his jaw ached and hung his head, the shiv trembling in his hand. Next year he’d be back in exactly the same place - starving, weak, with kids to care for and not enough of him to give.

“Aren’t you going to rob me, friend?”

The words jolted Demetrios awake. He turned to see Konstantinos standing in the middle of the alley, his back still to him, shoulders relaxed, utterly unafraid.

He’d been found out. How? Demetrios pushed himself to his feet, legs unsteady, and decided to go for broke. If he was already caught, there was no dignity left to save.

“Give me your purse,” he rasped, forcing the words past his dry tongue as he moved closer to his target, shiv low at his side.

Konstantinos turned to face him, more curious than afraid. “So this was the safe path you’d mentioned, friend?” he asked. “Seems a bit dark for my taste.”

Even in this situation, the man was tossing around light jokes, as if they were two acquaintances meeting by chance and not a would-be thief and his victim in a stinking alley.

Demetrios felt cornered into keeping up the performance. “I said I want all of your money. Now.”

“No you don’t, friend.” Konstantinos’ voice floated back through the dark, calm as still water. Demetrios couldn’t see his face clearly, but he could somehow feel the man’s smile through the shadows.

“You could have attacked at any point,” Konstantinos went on. “You were going to let me pass.”

“Are you daft?” Demetrios felt his voice rising, cracking with a frustration he hadn’t meant to show. “Give me your silver! Or I’ll kill you!”

The words rang false even to his own ears. He had no idea why he was uttering these things, but the nonchalance irked him, as if he saw straight through Demetrios. As if he stood somewhere above him on a higher, cleaner ledge of life and could afford to be amused by the man flailing in the mud below.

“I’ll gladly give it to you, friend.” The answer was soft, almost kind. “I’m on my way to have supper myself. I’d enjoy the company.”

Demetrios stared, momentarily starstruck. He was inviting his robber for supper? This man was utterly insane.

“Why?” The word escaped before he could stop it. The absurdity was too much.

“You were smart enough to hatch a plot from a single interaction,” Konstantinos said. “You hid your intentions well. You know your way around this city.” His voice took on a softer note, the jest slipping away. “And… you’re doing it all for some kids.”

The statement made Demetrios go stock still, as if someone had poured cold seawater down his back.

“You followed me?”

“Enough to see you hand your coin over,” Konstantinos replied. “And to question a snot-nosed brat after you’d left. He was more than happy to answer my questions for another silver.”

Demetrios’s stomach lurched. Konstantinos knew who the kid was. If he wanted revenge, it would be trivially easy.

“What do you want with me?” Demetrios asked, the threat draining out of him. He accepted, in that moment, that he was utterly at the man’s mercy.

“I have just arrived here a refugee, Demetrios,” Konstantinos said. “But I am not going to remain that way for long.” His voice held unshakeable confidence, as if he just needed to overcome a trivial nuisance. “And I need people around me.”

“You want to hire a beggar who’s just tried to rob you?” Demetrios asked, disbelief thick in his throat.

“Yes!” Konstantinos answered joyfully, as if the idea genuinely delighted him.

At this point, there were so many leaps of logic that Demetrios was actually starting to believe him.

“Come only if you want,” Konstantinos said. “I will not bother you if you say no, and the kids likewise.” There was no threat in his tone, only a quiet certainty. “But my father taught me that if you don’t want life to pass you by…” His words hung heavy in the alley. “You have to reach out and grab it.”

And with that, Konstantinos turned and walked toward the tavern, opening the door and disappearing in a flash of gold, leaving Demetrios once more in the dark.

Awestruck and frozen, he stood where he was, shiv hanging limp at his side. He felt as if he had just met a burning sun - too bright, too confident, and dangerous to look at for long.

After what felt like an eternity rooted to the damp stones, Demetrios slowly, step by step, walked out of the shadows he’d lived in, toward the noise and warmth.

And reached toward the light.