Chapter Text
“Attack!”
With just a single word, the war that lasted for years and killed many a soldier was resumed. Gone were the scorching rays of the sun above a dusty battlefield, the hitting of swords, and the clanging of armor. All there was were surprised shouts of enemies awoken by blades on their throats, by the heat of their burning tents set aflame by the purveyors of their deaths. For a battlefield, this was less a battle and more an ambush. Guards were quickly disposed of, and the enemies were unprepared and surprised by the sudden arrival of soldiers that mercilessly killed anyone who blocked their way.
They say never to look at a gift horse in the mouth, but one can argue that this hellish landscape could’ve been avoided had the Trojans taken the time to look inside the gift horse sent to them by the enemies they’ve ravaged for years. It is, however, too late for any semblance of regret as each and every one of them were slaughtered, some in their sleep.
Amid the battle, a man seemed to slice through enemies as if they were hay. Each move was seamless as he cut down every enemy soldier he came across. In the eyes of both his men and his enemies, this man was akin to a god of war.
Odysseus, the reigning king of Ithaca, was his name. His enemies knew him as a tactician, whose mind rivals the philosophers of the ages as if he has the mind of the Goddess Athena herself. His men knew him as their king and savior, who with his mind and strength, managed to devise hundreds of plans that allowed them to survive years on the battlefield.
Now, at the apex of the war, this man no longer seemed mortal.
The battle kept going, and as the enemy numbers thinned down, soldiers start to notice the downpour that came sometime during the battle. When their king struck down the last of the generals, there were no cheers, no glorious sun to frame the victors of the war. It was cold and damp, and the only thing they were thankful for is that at least the rain could wash away the stench of blood and flesh that accompany the battlefield.
It was at this moment that thunder roared above the heavens. The clouds billowed, gathering together as they formed a whirlwind above their heads, but before any of the soldiers could make a move to escape, a huge bolt of lightning flashed before their eyes. It was bright, loud, and warm, almost as if it was daytime and the sun was lazily hanging above their heads. It lasted for no longer than mere seconds but for them, the whole spectacle seemed to last for hours, entranced by the scene. The light disappeared and in its place was a man, and while the word ‘man’ understates the appearance of the being, no human words can ever describe the being accurately. Calls of an eagle seem to echo in the background seemingly worshipping the being.
“Who was that?” For a man that just struck down a man moments prior, Odysseus recovered quickly, gearing to address the man. He took in the sight and found himself awestruck. In front of him was no mere mortal, yet not a monster either. The being glowed an ethereal light, its head bore laurels of gold, and its body was draped with fabrics more exquisite than the world’s finest silks, and around its body were hundreds of tiny bolts of lightning, twisting and crackling around as if the being itself exuded them.
Lightning. A storm. Thunder.
Zeus.
Odysseus’ awe turned to fear and he slowly realized the identity of the being. His exhausted body, then shivering, stilled as the being, the God, in front of them opened his mouth.
It was as if he wasn’t speaking alone. His voice was accompanied by echoes of other voices speaking simultaneously. Each word felt like the very essence of thunder itself was rushing through each and every one of their veins.
“A vision of what is to come cannot be undone. It can only be dealt with right here and now.” The god’s gaze rested on him, and Odysseus felt as if his tongue had betrayed him. His mouth felt dry and his throat felt scratchy, yet he mustered the strength to answer.
“Tell me how?”
The being shook his head, his golden eyes bearing a look of sheer disappointment as if the man in front of him wasn’t quite what he expected. “I don’t think you’re ready.”
The god walked closer and the clouds above billowed as they hastened to follow their lord. His golden eyes glowed as he surveyed Odysseus and his men and the battlefield around them. “A vision to kill someone’s son, a foe who won’t run, unlike anyone you have faced before-“
“Say no more,” feeling affronted at being underestimated, Odysseus cut off the words of the being speaking to him, “I know that I’m ready.”
The god stopped his surveillance and steeled his gaze at Odysseus, a sneer forming on his face, “I don’t think you’re ready.”
With a single gesture from the god, the rain quietened. Well, that is not accurate. The rain seemed to have been frozen in time, with each and every drop suspended in its last position. Even the very air around them stilled and in its place was a deafening silence that invoked a quiet form of terror within everyone. And lo from above, the clouds opened up and revealed a bundle that slowly descended into the shaking hands of the mortal king. The silence was broken by the cries of a child, seemingly originating from the bundle of cloth that Odysseus now carried.
“It’s just an infant.” Confusion can be heard in his voice, his face scrunched up as he looked at the crying child in his arms, “It’s just a boy.
What sort of imminent threat does he pose that I cannot avoid?” his gaze turned to the god who was merely looking at him with cold gleaming eyes. Odysseus felt as if his very blood froze in fear, yet he steeled himself as he held eye contact with the god in front of him.
“This is the son of none other than Troy’s very own Prince Hector.” Odysseus’ eyes widened with the knowledge of the child’s identity. His face shifted into a frown as he switched glances between the child and the god, not heeding the stony faces of his men as they themselves realized the meaning of the child’s existence.
“You are the King of Ithaca, mortal you may be. Know that that child will grow from a boy to an avenger.” Zeus continued, keeping his gaze on the now-frozen Odysseus. “One fumed with rage as you’re consumed by age.”
The god was right in front of him now. Zeus procured a dagger and held it in front of Odysseus who still could not keep his eyes from the child. The mind of Ithaca’s leader was not on the battlefield nor among his soldiers and a deity, instead, it was in a memory of his wife and son just before he left for war. Penelope and Telemachus, whose very existence fueled his desire to find home again even after years spent in war.
Telemachus, his beloved son. He was a mere child when Odysseus left, barely aged past being an infant. He would've been older by now. He should’ve known his father, and should’ve been taught to hunt, to fight, to defend his family by his sire who now faces a very daunting challenge. Odysseus felt his hand shake even as he held the child who now reminds him very much of his son and looked at the god with a grief-stricken face as realization dawned on him.
The god took hold of one of his trembling hands and placed the dagger in his grasp. “If you don’t end him now, you’ll have no one else to save.” Odysseus felt all the air in his body escape him as the cold silver touched his hand, unsure if he understood the task correctly. He shook his head slightly, wanting to deny the god’s insinuation, wanting to forget the task altogether.
Zeus only looked at him with a cold sneer, disdain tainting his face at the intrepid sight of the mortal king in front of him. “Just know that if you choose to spare his life, you can say goodbye to your mortal wife, still awaiting your return.”
Penelope his mind whispered.
“If you’re letting your guilt hinder your judgments, then by all means spare the child. Just be sure that you’re ready to give up your son, your wife, what was her name again?”
Penelope
“I-I can raise him as my own!” Odysseus stammered, trying to clear the thoughts of his wife from his mind, wanting to find something, anything else he could pursue just to avoid the revolting act being asked of him.
“He will burn your house and throne-“
“I’ll send him far away from home!”
“He’ll find you wherever you roam.”
“Then I’ll hide everything. I-I’ll make sure his past is never known to him, nor to anyone else apart from the men in this battle.”
The King of the Gods looked at him in something akin to pity, as if Odysseus’ attempts to save a child was nothing more than petty thoughts not worth discussing. “King of Ithaca, this is a vision from the very fates itself, spoken by the Delphi. The Gods will make this child’s past known to him.”
Odysseus sank to his knees, armors clanking together as he held the child closer to his chest with one arm, while the other gripped the dagger tightly. He looked up at the imposing visage of the god in front of him, tears blurring his vision, his whole body shivering despite the lack of wind.
“Please, please I-I’ll rather bleed for you. I-I’m down on my knees for you. I’m begging you, please. Not this.” He looked down, shaking his head vigorously, tears streaming down his face as flashes of his wife and child enter his mind. Penelope. Telemachus. And yet he cannot, WILL NOT, accept the task given to him. He had already murdered Trojans in cold blood in their sleep and committed an act of war so revolting he did not even want to revisit his decision. He cannot, WILL NOT, end the life of this child.
The god looked at the now sniveling mortal king with disdain. This is not how a king should present himself, mortal or otherwise. “Odysseus, King ” the words seemed utterly disgusting as he spat them out to Odysseus, “of Ithaca. Look at you, being brought down to your knees by a child not even a year old. And you think you deserve to be called a King? You are an insult to anyone bearing that title.” The god sneered at him once more then spat at the pathetic form of Odysseus still holding the child close to himself. Zeus turned his back and walked towards the spot from where he originally appeared.
The god once again surveyed the scene, the fallen Trojans, the soldiers frozen in their places, and lastly, the hunched form of a once glorious monarch. He summoned his lightning bolt and slammed it at the ground, jolting everyone in surprise as electricity crackled at the ground near the god. “Choose what you will, King of Ithaca, but remember,” he turned his back to everyone, “this is the will of the Gods.”
Odysseus stared at the retreating back of the king of the gods with empty eyes and an even emptier feeling in his insides. He tried to retort, to defend his decision, but all he could muster were weakened whispers, “Please don’t make me do this. Anything but this.”
Zeus did not turn around nor present any indication that he heard his words. Odysseus can only send a resigned stare at the god’s back when he heard him speak again, this time with something almost akin to empathy.
“The blood on your hands is something you won’t lose. All you can choose is whose.”
With those parting words, the god once again struck down his bolt and was encased with another flash of lightning before disappearing. The quiet was now once again filled with sounds of thunder and rain falling to the ground, strong gusts of winds blowing at the worn-down form of Odysseus and his men who can only stare as their leader was brought down to his knees.
Odysseus can only look at the child, the dagger in his hand feeling strangely warm.