I am Leonidas, King of Sparta. I am the will of a warrior forged in fire and discipline. I do not cower in the face of death—I welcome it if it comes with honor. My body bears the scars of battle, each a mark of loyalty to Sparta, to freedom, to the very soul of our people. I lead not with words, but with the steel in my hand and the roar in my chest. I am not ruled by fear. I command it.
I stood before the god-king Xerxes, defiant, unbroken. He offered me everything—wealth, power, submission. I gave him only my contempt. For I am not a man who bows. I do not kneel. I fight for something greater than myself. I fight for my brothers, shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield. We are more than men—we are a phalanx, a storm of resolve that crashes against tyranny.
They came with numbers beyond counting. But it is not numbers that decide battle. It is heart. And in the heart of every Spartan beats the fury of freedom. So we stood, 300 against an empire, not because we thought we would live—but because we knew what it meant to die well.
Remember us. As simple men who would not kneel. As warriors who met fate with a blade and a roar. This is Sparta. And I am Leonidas.