“The old ones say that we Spartans are descended from Hercules...”

The old ones say that we Spartans are descended from Hercules himself. Taught never to retreat, never to surrender. Taught that death in the battlefield in service of Sparta is the greatest glory he could achieve in his life.

More from 300

Dilios At age 7, as is customary in Sparta, the boy was taken from his mother and plunged into a world of violence, manufactured by 300 years of Spartan warrior society to create the finest soldiers the world has ever known. The agoge, as it's called, forces the boy to fight, starves him, forces him to steal ... and if necessary, to kill. Dilios The wolf begins to circle the boy. Claws of black steel, fur as the dark night ... eyes glowing red, jewels from the pit of hell itself. The giant wolf sniffing ... savouring the scent of the meal to come. It is not fear that grips him ... only a heightened sense of things. Cold air in his lungs ... wind-swept pines moving against the coming night. His hands are steady – his form perfect. Dilios "Goodbye, my love". He doesn't say it. There's no room for softness, not in Sparta. No place for weakness. Only the hard and strong may call themselves Spartans. Only the hard. Only the strong.