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Chapter Text

Twenty years. 

Odysseus had been away from home for twenty years. 

He faced every trial and tribulation, punishment and pain, scream and sacrifice for this day– the day his cries for Penelope were answered and the day he finally met his son. He was back where he was destined to be– Ithaca, as their rightful king. And now what? Perhaps Penelope could see the same man she fell in love with twenty years ago. 

Could he? 

He sat atop his throne, his palace more foreign than ever– except nothing changed, nothing but himself.  His mistakes lay as an eternal tapestry before him, a hero to all but a monster to himself. 

Monster. 

The man he once was, now a distant memory. It died somewhere on that ship, drowning in Poseidon’s tides. 

Or maybe it died before that. Ruthlessness, a disease he developed after the infant– all Poseidon did was speed up the degeneration. And Odysseus, never learning his lesson until it was too late, dragged his dying body across the sea. 

Now he dragged six hundred fallen, his temple a graveyard of his sins. 

Ithaca was quiet. The streets were empty, and despite the clear sky and the calm sea, the city had never felt so dark. 

Odysseus, King of Ithaca.  

What a joke. 

Ithaca survived without a king for twenty years– they wouldn't recognise one now. How could they recognise him when their husbands died under his ship, his order, his command? 

Not even he could recognise himself as king. He couldn't even recognise himself.  

He couldn’t even recognise the last twenty years, a blur at best and coherent at worst. 

When did mercy become ruthless? When did his friends become the fallen? When did a man become a monster? 

All that was left of his crew were mistakes. The what ifs. The old days of Troy, when an infant was all that kept him up at night– and how part of him would trade anything to go back to being that man.

The Cyclops, the downfall of his pride– the instigator of his failures. What if he killed the Cyclops? What if his pride didn’t fuel him so much to the point where he invited the Cyclops to curse his full name? What if he listened to Athena? 

Athena. 

Selfish and prideful and vain.  

What a hypocrite he was. He was too blinded with arrogance to realise how truly similar he is to his former mentor, his former friend.  

You’re alone!  

How the tables have turned. 

Penelope and Telemachus were just next door, yet he was alone. The years lost were an impenetrable isolation between them, something he truly could not escape this time. Hell, Athena was closer to Telemachus than he had been. His own son. She had known him, been by his side, helped him fight his demons– and where was he? 

He had just spoken to his old friend a few days ago. They exchanged very few words, the years and hurt still a barricade between them. 

I can’t help but wonder, what this world could be–  

If we all held each other, with a bit more empathy.  

Despite all this, he was selfish. The anger still cut his flesh as fresh as it did a decade ago. The grief, the pain, the anger– a storm he had pacified beneath the core for so long. He knew he was wrong, that if he had just listened to Athena and set aside his emotions and be the warrior of the mind he was built to be, he would be fine. His crew would be fine. 

But he was selfish, wasn’t he? He couldn’t forgive her. There was nothing to forgive– yet he couldn’t. 

He couldn’t look past... the past. How he faced Poseidon’s wrath, Circe’s manipulation, Scylla’s lair, the betrayal of his crew, their very doom, and Calypso’s imprisonment– all by himself. Alone. Where was Athena? 

You’re not looking for a mentor, I’m not looking for a friend.  

Maybe it wasn’t vengeance– maybe it was realisation. Maybe it took all the suffering to realise that it was in fact goodbye in the Cyclops cave, and that she was gone and done.  

Now, she was back. Now, she wanted to reason.  Now, all these years later, she wanted to talk about leading him astray. 

Then there was the other half of him. The half that he had carried across the sea, the half that led his men into oblivion, the half that... that was what? Still good? Still happy and hopeful and– 

Hope. 

He found himself at rock bottom on the gilded prison Ogygia– at the precipice of his agony, staring at the very same sea that housed his crew. His luck had run out. There were no open arms. He could no longer continue waiting. 

“Athena!”  

Yelling the last of his dying hope into the sky, the sky Zeus had come down from to savage his men, he had fully lost it. He let it fly away, somewhere far, far away– 

Hoping hope came back to him. 

Athena. 

I’m not the one who fought for you.  

The strike through her face was all the evidence he needed. 

Maybe there really was nothing to forgive. Maybe he just needed answers. That interaction, the first one in ten years, did anything but answer his questions. 

If anything, it created more. 

His entire life was a question. A plethora of what ifs, of what could’ve been. The words, the words that plagued his mind rent-free, kept him up at night. 

So many words he wished he could’ve said, with no one to say them to. 

Whose fault is that?  

That would be his last hope. To spare a minute with those who were so dreadfully distant from him, whether it be because of death or time, and say everything he needed to say. Maybe then, he could find peace– peace from the war in his mind that prevailed in his palace. 

What if such a hope could be granted?  

Chapter Text

Everything shifted. 

Colours began amalgamating together, furniture blurring into one another– 

Into oblivion. 

Void. 

His surroundings were black, but not quite dark. He was shadowless, no lighting or shade on his clothes. His surroundings had never felt so... quiet.  

A peculiar door stood in front of him. Pale, fine balsa, looking considerably modern. It was very flat, no creases or bumps. Around the handle was a red... ribbon? Huh, strange. A thick lock, crimson in its colour, laced between the door and the handle, barricading any exit for him. 

The ribbon seemed... familiar, but Odysseus didn’t prod on that theory– there was a different presence to encounter. 

A presence he knew all too well. 

“We meet again,” he muttered tentatively, fixing his eyes on the door, ahead into the soulless expanse, on anything but the entity that stood tall behind him. 

Silence followed close behind, a foe that lasted exceedingly long. They had so much yet so little to say– what was there to talk about? Everything? Or nothing? Could they bury the past deep down where no one could dig it up and revive it because some things were better off– 

“We do.” 

He froze. That voice, striking through every fibre of his being, as if Zeus was near, something he expected but... didn’t. His last interaction with Athena was... uncertain, after his reunion with his son. There was little room for compromise yet so much room for confusion. Was it the end? Was it their final goodbye? 

Was it even goodbye? 

He tried to gather the words to say yet the words slid out of his hands like water. They were so near yet so far.  

Like him and Athena. 

Near yet far. 

She was right there. Right there. Why was it so difficult? Why did nothing come to mind? 

Fuck you  

No... Odysseus had pissed off far too many mythical beings. He’d tested his mortality more times than any man could possibly fathom. The gods had also not had good emotional track records, exhibit A being Poseidon. Even then he only really cared for Athena’s emotions– no. 

Why didn’t you come? Why did you leave me? Why?  

That would get emotional way too quickly. Matter of fact, he’d have to face his own hypocrisies, and then his mistakes, and– no. He couldn’t take that, not now. Not ever. His best bet was probably something meaningless, a nicety, perhaps formal. Something he’d never consider around Athena when they were still friends– no, mentor and student– no. 

Time took a heavy toll. 

He didn’t understand what got him so... agitated. He had been perfectly calm about her interference, her mere presence only days ago– why was it different now? 

I’m sorry–  

He repulsed at the thought, only to quickly repulse at his own repulsion. He knew it was engraved in his flesh– the hubris he wore proudly on his sleeve as a war hero out of Troy, the hubris that costed him everything.  

His crew. His mentor. His friend.  

Why couldn’t he apologise? Athena was, if anything, far from wrong. Had he just killed the Cyclops, listened to the Goddess of Wisdom herself, he wouldn’t be this way. He wouldn’t carry with him the guilt, like a chain through his brain, everywhere he goes. Day and night. Awake or asleep. They haunt him, and all he’d done was try so desperately to blame anyone but... the very man who caused this. 

Himself. 

I am the infamous, Odysseus!  

Seconds. Seconds added years. Seconds subtracted lives. 

So why couldn’t he– 

“Odysseus.” 

He visibly flinched, so much so that he lost balance. In scrutinising the right words to say, he forgot that the person he intended to say things to was right there.  

“Athena–” he responded on a whim, vulnerable. He dramatically jolted to face her– her back still faced to him. Say something. Anything.  

Silence. Not in Odysseus’s heart– for it was being torn to shreds while beating heavily through the violence. 

All he clung onto was... her. The very sight of her. She looked different– devoid of her typical armoury, in a white chiton instead, her posture faltered. He hoped she would turn around and reassure him, like she always would, albeit in a reserved manner. He wanted to know that this was Athena, the same mentor and friend he had known for half of his life. Earlier he had dismissed her, indirectly but evidently so, too stunned to welcome her back into his life. Now he wanted her– he needed her. He’d lost everyone. Polites, Eurylochus, his mother, all six hundred of his men– 

His mentor was the only relationship he still could mend. Forget his vendettas and dilemmas. 

Please. 

Odysseus would take anything. A punch, a hate-filled speech, anything. He'd do anything to rectify this relationship, even if it was just for a moment. He’d beaten the bush for far too long. The bullet had to be bitten before it returned to shoot him. 

It didn’t matter if he deserved an apology– she did. She had dealt with his arrogance for years and freed him from Ogygia, probably risking her life in turn. Two words. Two words he owed her for all the years, even if this would be the end of it. 

“I’m sorry–” 

What? 

Both of their voices rang in the void. 

She’s... sorry?  

Athena turned around as he scanned her expression, desperately finding clues or answers. No. Pure incoherence. His was, he assumed, far from perplexing– perplexed himself. 

She sighed, a tint of... sympathy in her eyes? Maybe he was reading into it too much. The whole if we held each other with a bit more empathy was something he expected but didn’t. Everything upon returning to Ithaca was unexpected, an endless cycle of... everything and nothing, all at once. 

“I noticed a backwards, interpretive statement was not clear enough those days ago. I fail to see why you’re apologetic, but I am. I– mean this.” 

Odysseus offered no less confusion than he previously did. 

“The past is, as we know, unchangeable,” she continues, almost remorseful, “but the future is not. I understand your hesitance, and I will... not blame you if you are still distant. But...” a sigh. Unlike her sighs of frustration, it was a sigh of... resignation? Sadness? Sorrow? 

“I want to try.” 

For a split moment, he felt like his teenage self. The enthusiastic, innocent child who would triumph at Athena’s... softness, he supposed. He remembered it all so clearly– the admiration that radiated, the honour he would feel– 

But now? Now he was old. He was tired. He saw her and saw pain. He saw the sleepless nights he suffered, the memories that never pitied him, the blood he shed wondering if that would be enough for her, if he would be enough of a warrior for her, if that would be enough for her to come back and take him back and take away his problems and be his friend or mentor again– 

No. 

He had to do this. 

He would never forgive himself if he didn’t. 

“Okay,” Odysseus murmured, more hesitantly than he intended. He tried to be cold, to remove his emotions from the equation– all to no avail. 

“I’ll clear the air with relatively obvious things first,” she muttered. “I intend to be honest with you. I also do not want you to feel guilty for it, if you are inclined to be. I did everything on my own accord, and I would do it again in a heartbeat.” 

He was listening. Somewhat. He had an idea, yet something told him he did not want to hear the rest. Not– not because he didn’t care or didn’t want to know– if anything, he was certain it was nothing good. 

“I must admit, I was damned. It took longer than necessary, which I apologise for, but I realised that... Odysseus, I care for you. I think I always did. That night after the Cyclops, I tried to be indifferent. I tried to look past it all. For years, I tried to. I pacified everything, trying to remove every thought of you but you kept returning. No amount of pride could obstruct the... guilt.” 

He knew it was difficult for her to say these things– should he be honoured or hurt? Honoured that she was admitting her flaws to him, or hurt that it’s taken her all this time to conclude? 

“So– I approached your son. Mid battle. He might have told you, he might of not. Antinous was about to have his head. He’s... just like you. At least, who you were. Optimistic. I knew I couldn’t keep delaying the inevitable.” 

She paused, ensuing Odysseus to wonder if he should interject. That thought diminished before he could reply, as she continued– as if what she had to say was... 

Oh. 

“I... saw everything. In quick thought. Poseidon, Circe, Scylla, my father, Calypso. I heard you that night.” 

Something about her voice felt... fragile? No– impossible. This was Athena– stoic, strong, and emotionless in all her glory. He had to be misinterpreting. 

“I went to my father, pleading for your release. He insisted that it should be settled with a game. I was to convince five deities– Apollo, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Ares, Hera– to release you. I succeeded... to his dismay.” 

She didn’t need to gesture to the lightning scar across her features. They both were aware. He would also much prefer not to be aware because why would she do that? Did she not hate–  

“Hence, of course, here we are. I do not ask for your... forgiveness. That would be unrealistic to expect. I do hope I can remain in Ithaca for your son– though I understand your oppositions–” 

“Do you care?” 

He said it on an impulse, regret rushing over him rapidly. There was no taking it back anymore. Silence filled the air, filling the gaps in between them– yet the pressure rose, and– they were both equally taken aback. Odysseus, stunned with his own words, and Athena, with no viable response. 

Well shit. There was no quitting now. 

“Do you care, Athena?” he reaffirmed, mainly to hear it himself again. “Because everything you say contradicts one another. You say you care but you wait years. You put your life on the line to free me from Ogygia yet you turned a blind eye to every other jeopardy before that. You say you’re sorry but you’re too late. ” 

Those words cut through Athena more than any lightning bolt could. Odysseus saw it, the glass wall shatter before his very eyes. He did not waver. 

“And you were right– I was brash and emotional when it came to the Cyclops,” he persevered, his breath labouring and his words like knives. “And I was wrong to defy you because somehow it didn’t come around to me in time that the Goddess of Wisdom would know what she was doing. I know I was the root cause of my own downfall. I know. I just– why didn’t you come around? Why didn’t you help me? I just thought maybe, in one of those years, those dreadful moments, I’d wake up and you’d be here and everything would be fine and my men would be alive but– you never came! Did it matter if I was wrong? Did I really mess up that badly that you were too ashamed to even fathom me? Did it– I– I just–” 

His breaths turned into sobs, a perfect time to stop himself from embarrassing himself any further– no. He’d gone too far. He didn’t plan on stopping halfway. 

“I thought you cared about me. Even a little bit. I thought you cared about me enough to set our differences aside. I was wrong– of course– we were never friends, were we? I was just some– some name, some legacy for you to sustain. I clung onto your memory thinking you’d come back. But you didn’t. You never came.” He was a mess now. An absolute mess. “So pardon me if I don’t believe your words, pardon me if ten years were ten years too many, pardon–” 

He was cut off. Not from interjection, but– 

She. Was. Hugging. Him. 

Odysseus’s mouth hung open, trembling as his tears soaked into Athena’s chiton uncontrollably. He wasn’t quite a sobbing mess yet, too stunned to speak, as tears streamed aimlessly. Not even he could combat this– a simple action, something he had yearned for years– 

Screw this. 

The tears proliferated as he swung his arms around her. He sunk his head into her chest, clenching her cloth stubbornly. He wasn’t going to let go. He wasn’t going to continue ravaging her name. He wasn’t going to demand more answers. 

This was good. For the first time in twenty years, he felt like he hadn’t lost something. He didn’t feel the weight of his sin, the salt-rubbed wounds that never seemed to heal. He felt good. He felt safe. He felt... fine.  

Even if it was just a moment. Even if it would meet its end. 

“I’m truly sorry, Odysseus– I never meant for it to end like this I– I really have no justification that would be sufficient for your losses, or the time that separates us. All I can do is apologise, even if the words are meaningless.” Her voice is fickle and weak, cracking and upset and human. He had never heard her like this. Distraught, guilt-ridden, sorry.  

How does one even begin to form a response to that? 

“I was... blinded by anger. I was impatient with what I perceived as hubris and pride– exactly what prevented me from considering returning. But– I was too firm in my stubbornness to realise it was simply humanity. Humanity you still had that I never did. By the time I realised, I thought it was too late. Too late to intervene with your life again. But you’re right– you are under no obligation to believe my words. I have been a terrible mentor and–” 

She swallowed. 

“A terrible friend.” 

Speechless. Athena left Odysseus utterly speechless. Any thought of negation, a protest, any loathsome comments simply... vanished. He wasn’t too upset about that.  

Matter of fact, he was ecstatic.  

This is all it took. Maybe he would never truly forget the pain. He’d have to accept this fact for all his fallen nonetheless. The past was a foe he wanted to bury deep in the ground, deeper than the underworld, deeper than anything.  

It wasn’t worth the vengeance. He’d take what he could. 

And perhaps reconciliate with an old friend.  

“I just– wish we didn’t have to live this way,” Odysseus managed, somehow. “I– I’m sorry Athena– I don’t know what’s wrong with me– I just–” 

Noted. Don’t talk. Doesn’t end well. 

Would’ve been nice to realise a little earlier.  

Athena’s voice resumed to rationality, though with a little more sympathy to it. “Nothing, Odysseus. I don’t blame you. You’re a man who has finally reached home after twenty years of absence– alone. There’s a lot of hurt you have yet to unpack, though I have no doubt Penelope and Telemachus will help with that. It mustn’t be easy.” 

A man.  

“And what about you?” 

He was a little shocked with himself, but not really. The last few minutes had constituted of too much volatility, too much uncertainty. He wanted to set this in stone. He wanted her to know that he didn’t want to exile her from his life. 

No. 

He needed her to know. 

He continued before she could answer. “I– I don’t know what– what I was on before. With the whole rampage thing. I– I don’t mean it so harshly. Sorry–” 

Athena shook her head, removing herself from the embrace. “No need to apologise. You had some steam, and by some, I mean ten years of steam to release. I don’t blame you. I won’t take it personally.” 

Athena did, in fact, take this personally. Not in an entitled way– more... ashamed. Horrified at what she had instigated. Guilty.  

“I just want something in my life to feel normal again. The blood never dries, the loss never ends. I just– I miss you. So much. Too much to possibly reject a remedy. You’ve never stopped mattering to me all these years, Athena. I just– want it to be the same again.” The tears welled up again, though he composed himself. 

“I would like that,” she responded bittersweetly, with a bit of a smile. “Let me make it up to you, Odysseus. Let me be your ment– your friend. ” 

“Bit old for the whole warrior thing, I think my days of that have passed.” He tried to reciprocate the smile, to some avail. “But– Telemachus seems content with your presence, and I suppose I wouldn’t be against rekindling.” 

The lock twitched and unlocked itself, dangling on an angle. This makes sense, Odysseus registered. The door would unlock once the problem was solved. 

His adversities with Athena. 

“Goddess and man, bestest of friends?” 

Odysseus grinned, for once hopeful. Hopeful, like the man who was lost somewhere on his journey home– except he wasn’t against it. If anything, he welcomed it with open arms.  

“We’ll see where it ends.” 

He exited the door– 

Oh. 

No.  

It didn’t end there. 

Chapter Text

One thing about Odysseus was that he had always been emotional. 

His actions, his fuel, his drive had all been because of emotion. Even having gone through the conversion of ruthlessness, he was still very much emotional.  

Emotions served him as much as they severed him. His vengeance got him home, but his mercy cost the lives of his men. 

Mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use.  

Correct. The world took his mercy, used it to their advantage, and drowned it in the depths of Poseidon's sea. 

Hence, when the reason became the blame, he built a wall. A wall around him, as impenetrable as diamond, detaching his mercy, his soul, his heart. He spent years on Ogygia, dismissing Calypso’s efforts, forging this version of him that would be able to face anything.  

The strongest of foes, the toughest of gods, the cruelest of suitors. He didn’t look back on his makeshift raft, Calypso’s bellows ringing from the distance. He didn’t waver at the monster Charybdis’ attacks. He didn’t submit to Poseidon’s anger– instead, channeling his own. 

It took stabbing the god with his own trident for Odysseus to acknowledge that his humanity was gone. Hell, he enjoyed it. For years he had been tormented by the gods, and he was done. A friend turned to foe, one he locked out of the walls he built. 

To his own surprise, the ruthlessness did not cease there. All one hundred and eight suitors- knocked down like pawns in a chess game, effortlessly and soullessly. Nothing changed his mind. He necessitated to set an example, and boy did it feel good. The right motivation was their scheming to kill his son and force the throne, however it was more than that.

Control. Control over the bloodshed.

Deep down he didn't want to welcome and accept the monster he was shaped into, but it was easier to deflect his inner conflicts and exacerbate them onto the world. The scum deserved it.

He didn't deserve much better than those suitors, but what could he say? He'd done all this to get home. Wanting to end it all would make his endeavours futile.

None of that could break his walls– if anything, they amplified them, setting his walls in stone. 

Until today. 

His walls shattered even more than the last interaction, Odysseus frozen to the spot. No. This was an illusion. A nightmare.  

The red headband. The white chiton. The broken glasses. 

No.  

It took Odysseus several takes to make a sound, at most a whisper, as he choked on his words. This couldn’t be.  

He’s... dead.  

“Polites...?” 

The tears began enveloping once more as Odysseus did everything in his power to shield it. Was this real? No– how could it be? Polites was dead–  

Because of him. 

Polites stared back at him, his eyes darkly hollow and his face unreadable. His mouth was agape– and Odysseus couldn’t seem to decipher what that represented. 

All he knew was that it evoked fear.  

“Polites, is that really you?” Odysseus carried a tired drift in his voice, hardly recognising his old friend. He had visions of Polites, nightmares if anything, but his memory of him had faded. 

He wasn’t quite sure if he wanted this to be an illusion or not. 

Silence. He hated silence.  

He was just about ready to break it when– 

“Ody-?” 

His world crumbled.  

Odysseus stumbled, taking several steps back instinctively. “No– you’re not real– you’re dead –” he hyperventilated, each exhale simultaneous with his prickly tears. 

Polites’s brows furrowed, his hands trembling by his sides. Neither of them could tell what was real and what was fake. As Odysseus stumbled, he automatically trampled forward. 

“Are you... real?” 

That was Odysseus’s voice, afraid. He couldn’t take another arrow to the heart. He couldn’t take another false hallucination, another false hope. He couldn’t take it.  

“Are... you real?” muttered Polites, his voice the same softness Odysseus knew a decade ago. “It’s me, Ody– it’s me, Polites–” 

There was raw desperation in his voice. He couldn’t lose his captain, his best friend again– not after all these years between them– 

Polites’s train of thought was cut off when Odysseus came charging at him– not as a threat, but as an... embrace. Unfortunately for Odysseus, the dead were not tangible. 

They passed straight through each other. 

“No–” wept Odysseus, tears trickling onto the soulless ground. “You’re real, right?” 

The King of Ithaca was a mess. His walls had collapsed, and his knees would be soon to follow. All of a sudden, he was the same naive boy from twenty years ago. All of a sudden, he was the same merciful man from ten years ago. All of a sudden, he was mourning his best friend’s death all over again. 

Instead, he was doing it properly this time. 

Odysseus had no room for grievances during his journey. There was simply no time to grieve, always something to do, a distraction need be, to pacify and pacify and pacify that guilt for as long as possible. The casualties grew and he grew numb. 

Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t turn a blind eye this time. 

“I am real, Ody– it’s me– I– I just–” Polites knelt, placing his hands on Odysseus’s– in the position where his living body would. Though his touch was not there, it was the presence– the reality, the conversation that separated Odysseus’s voices from veracity. 

Polites was here. Here with him.  

“I’m here, Ody. Maybe not in person, but in spirit. It’s me– I promise. I don’t know how, but it’s really me.” The former soldier choked on his words, as he too began tearing up. “Is it really you, Odysseus? Are you real?” 

“I’m real, Polites–” Odysseus whispered, his declarations sob-cluttered, “I’m so sorry– for everything–” 

Odysseus was the captain– every man’s blood was on his hands. He could blame the Cyclops, Poseidon, Scylla, Zeus– he could do that all day. But they didn't care. They didn’t lie awake, the voices of his dead confounding their every reality. 

There was only one man to blame. 

Himself. 

It wasn’t just that. Polites was his best friend– his anchor, his morale. He maintained his sanity, his optimism, his mercy. Everything changed after Polites. 

It was too late to apologise. 

Was it? 

“No– don’t apologise–” stammered Polites, desperately trying to hold his friend tightly– to no avail. “It wasn’t your fault, Ody– if anything, it was mine. I was the one encouraging the whole open arms thing. Your spirits were low and I– just, my death was my own doing. My naivety led us there, not you. If anyone should be sorry, it should be me.” 

Polites was not as good at comforting as he used to be. That skill demolished amidst the years in the underworld. How could he keep being the same man when optimism led him to his downfall?  

“Look Ody I– I know it's hard to get over the past, but what’s done is done. I just– even if it’s for this little while– I want us to be okay. Act like nothing has happened. We won’t know when the next time is.” He was... apologetic in his tone. He knew he couldn’t live with himself because of it. 

Odysseus wanted to retaliate, continue apologising or something, but Polites was right– he’d yearned this opportunity for years now. He couldn’t throw it away, no matter how much he wanted to scream and sob and beg and–  

“I missed you,” Odysseus muttered. 

“I missed you too,” Polites responded, with a bittersweet smile. 

Flashbacks maimed Odysseus. Down in the underworld, when he heard the distant open arms, a voice he could never erase from his head, he nearly lost it. At the precipice of Ogygia and his own sanity, hearing that same voice made him lose it. Polites had never left him, haunting his every night– so why couldn’t his actual self not leave him? Why did he have to always be so near, yet so far?

“I wish– it didn’t have to end this way. Six hundred survivors from Troy turned into– into one. Me. We were all meant to go home– why– why must it end like this?” 

Such a question was both rhetorical and literal. Rhetorical, for it ended like this because Odysseus damned his crew, selfishly chose his own life over theirs, and made every mistake on every island. Literal, because why? Was he really deserving of this? The guilt, the war that will never leave his head, the memories that only haunt him? 

Polites sighed, wishing he could actually be present. “I wish I knew, my friend. I too wish it didn’t have to end this way. But– maybe it’s not the end. Not yet. Surely all of this means something– whatever paradoxical arrangement this is. I hope it’s not truly the end, my friend.” He wasn’t sure how to comfort him– he knew nothing he said would diminish the guilt that weighs heavy on his heart. Both of their hearts. If there was one last speck of hope he would invest in, it would be the hope that this wasn’t the end. That this all meant something, wasn’t for vain, and maybe... 

Maybe. Maybe loosening up would lead to peace. Maybe kindness would lead to peace. Maybe. 

Maybe was what got Polites killed.

What did it matter anyway? They had nothing left to lose. 

“We can spend eternity apologising, but there’s no point in that.” Polites paused, ensuring his words were deliberate. “I just... want my best friend back. Even if it was just for a minute. Please Ody. It breaks my heart seeing you like this.” 

Odysseus couldn’t help but break into more sobs. He was never good at this control your emotions thing– the only thing he had control over was his determination to get home. Everything else slipped just out of reach. 

Like his crew. Like his heart. Like Polites. 

“You’ve been through so much,” Polites continued, “cut yourself some slack, okay? I see in your face, there is still so much guilt inside your heart. I’ve been watching, I know most of the journey– and I don’t blame you. If it makes you feel better, I knocked some well-needed sense into Eurylochus in the underworld–” he cracked a laugh, “and he doesn’t blame you anymore either. I’m guessing the hunger and low morale made him lose sight of rationality. Most of the men don't hold it against you– to some extent, I think. A lot of them were rooting for you, and a lot of them just wanted it to be over anyway, dead or alive.” He smiled sadly, he himself wishing his friends persisted a little longer. “While it does suck that it had to be this way, it was hardly your fault. The price of going home shouldn’t be so costly. And with Helios, they literally held a mutiny against you, betrayed you, and brought upon their own doom when they slaughtered the sun god's cattle.” Polites sighed– not of exhaustion, but of pity. “What I’m trying to say is, it wasn’t your fault. I wish it was easier for you to see yourself the way I see you.” 

The last sentence was a bit affectionate, but he meant it. Platonically, of course. He saw bravery and a fighter in Odysseus– he was the strongest man he knew. Stronger than any god, any monster, anything.  

Odysseus, on the contrary, had nothing to say. His self-resentment didn’t simply vanish, obviously, but something about his best friend’s words stuck. They were obvious statements– logically the windbag wasn’t his fault, logically Scylla was necessary, logically his crew betrayed him and brought their fate upon themselves– statements he never believed as his own guilt consumed him. 

But... 

Something about hearing it from Polites meant more. No– it meant everything.  

He pondered for years what his best friend would think of him. If he could still see him the same once he passed on. If he could still see the man in Odysseus, and not the monster he morphed into. And... he received the better half of it, for once. 

Polites was ready to burn down his pessimism should it perpetuate, even though he was certain it would be temporary. He didn’t know when next time was, if ever, so he had to try.  

Even if it was the last thing he did. 

However, he found it was no longer necessary. 

“I love you, Polites–” he sobbed, relentless. “As a friend of course but– I’ve missed you so much– this is the greatest gift I could’ve asked for–” 

He couldn’t touch Polites, but he could feel him. Just a little bit, a slight tingle that his presence was true, something that differentiated this interaction from the hallucinations. 

He knew he was real. He finally believed it. 

Polites– his enthusiasm, his energy, his drive. He brought the silver lining through the thunder. His death was a deep cut– one that bled and bled and bled until Odysseus had to finally realise, he was still bleeding. 

Except Odysseus never tended to that wound. He let it bleed. Polites was a part of him, and his death meant a part of him dying too. If anything, the scab only cut deeper and deeper– each of his men a contributor to it. He didn’t want to heal. He didn’t want to move on. 

He wanted his best friend back. If it meant he carried that scar with him everywhere, so be it. 

Only when he obtained this piece of closure did he feel the wound close. Even just a little bit. Was he healing? Did he deserve to heal?  

His own self-pity didn’t matter right now. This was for Polites. Each second had to count. 

So, they sat there. Minutes, hours, who knows. They reminisced about the old days, laughed and cried– made up for all the years lost. Other than reuniting with his family, it was the most joy he had in years. 

And it was good.  

Midway, they acknowledged the door, the brothers examining it. 

Mahogany, fine oak, aged in its wood. Its wood grain was deliberate and imperfect, with a few slashes in straight lines. The lock was still crimson, slightly lighter in hue than the last. Probably some symbolic bullshit, presumed Odysseus. Across the door was a– 

Oh. 

He knew exactly who he was meeting next. 

Seven years, yet that sword was still ever so prominent in his mind. It was thick, rusty, and spanned over the entire diagonal, clearly worn out. It seemed a little disintegrated, a little dusty– of course. The lightning. He was impressed it withstood that strike. But of course, there was a bigger subject at hand. 

Eurylochus. 

Turning to Polites, Odysseus huffed a sigh. “It’s Eurylochus. The door looked different on the other side– it was lighter and had your– you know, bandana tied around the handle. I was too busy shitting myself over Athena to realise– till I saw you, of course. So, I’m guessing the doors change designs, representing the person behind it.” 

“Makes sense.” Polites eyed Odysseus, as if expecting him to leave now. 

On a laugh, he replied, “Eh, he can wait.” 

“Do you think you could come with me?” asked the Ithacan King, more pleadingly than casually. He had tried to evade his anxiety about seeing his former second-in-command again, the regret swallowing him whole. Polites, of course, was well aware of his predicament. 

Polites raised an eyebrow, surveying the door meticulously– just for show, it didn’t give him a better understanding of it. “If the door allows it. I’ll go in first, see if I can.” 

He entered easily. Odysseus followed close behind, completely forgetting what they were entering the door for. 

Shit. There was no turning back now. 

Eurylochus sat on the ground, his arms resting on his knees. He looked... down? Pensive? It wasn’t coherent, particularly through the hyperventilation that came back to Odysseus. 

Thankfully, he had a friend alongside him who was good at mitigating that kind of stuff. 

“You can relax my friend.”

Chapter Text

Odysseus could in fact, not relax. 

Eurylochus’s head spasmed upwards upon hearing Polites’s voice– so much had changed. His eyes reigned with terror– or fear? Both? Everything? 

An identical, ever so recognisable sword dug into the ground– somehow. Odysseus had assumed the voided floor had no solidarity. The ample sword pierced on an angle, though sturdy enough to look unmovable. Probably more symbolic bullshit. 

Or a distraction from the man that sat behind said sword. 

“Captain-?” 

No.  

Odysseus looked as though he saw a ghost– literally, two in fact. Eurylochus had the same hollowness that Polites carried with him– as dead on the inside as he would be on the outside. His eyes were lightless, complemented with a lightning scar that spanned down to his left leg. Petrification conspicuously consumed Odysseus’s every fibre, like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe.  

He wasn’t sure what to see in the other man. His second in command? His friend? A traitor? Was this brewing maelstrom in him anger or fear? Or grief? Or all the above? 

Questions. Questions flooded his gates, drowning him unremittingly. He didn’t think coming upon his former second in command would mangle him so much– particularly more than Polites, level with Athena. He was just so... conflicted. How? What was the right way to see him? 

Eurylochus stood up, his fists clenched by his sides. Not of anger, absolutely not of anger. He needed stability and certainty– all his life, up until his demise. Unlike Polites, he didn’t change much or learn enough from his experiences. It took extensive time to see the last few years from Odysseus’s perspective, to walk a mile in his shoes. 

Because there was no point. He would never be forgiven. Why try if it would be futile?  

“Uh, just give him a moment. He’s a bit dumbfounded at seeing everyone through these doors." It was Polites who spoke, sauntering between the two. As he strode, his hand passed through the sword. Whatever that meant.  

There weren’t enough diminutive details for Odysseus to focus on– to, at all costs, avoid the bigger threat that loomed in front of him. Not that Eurylochus was a threat– neither of them could physically lay hands on him. 

The threat was himself. Disbelief still preponderated him, this day both a blessing and a curse he never anticipated would come. He never gathered the right words to say, everchanging through his nightmares. 

I thought we were brothers.  

I know it was selfish of me.  

Why would you open the windbag?  

I had to see her.  

You killed the cows! You reap what you sow!  

I’m no worthy captain, am I? No good captain sacrifices his own men.  

Why would you betray me?  

I’m sorry, Eurylochus–  

Emotions were dangerous. They were capricious, unpredictable elements, fluctuating all the time at random times. He couldn’t form a fixed opinion on Eurylochus– hell, he couldn’t form a fixed opinion about anyone.  

Was he wronged, or in the wrong? 

Eurylochus stepped forward, his strides purposeful and careful. He was aware that his former captain, at this moment, would be immensely fragile. 

As called for, Odysseus took a step back. A far subtler one, but noticeable nonetheless. 

“Captain–” 

“No– don’t– don’t call me that–” he was full-on panicking. Through incessant and unwilling practice, he grew immune to these delusions, knowing they were feeble facades to provoke him. 

This, however, wasn’t. 

Eurylochus sighed, remaining as patient as possible. Perhaps he changed more than he had acknowledged. “Ody... I wish we reunited under better circumstances.” 

Followed closely behind was silence. Silence that cut through his skin, calculative and merciless. 

Polites wasn’t sure if he should or should not interfere. Tensions were high, unresolved disparities hanging high like a noose between the two men. On the other hand, it was their battle to fight– not his. He had done his part, rationalising Eurylochus down below to some efficiency. It was now their reunion; he had played his part. 

“Say something–” Eurylochus blurted, unbeknownst that it was the absolute wrong thing to say.  

“I CAN’T!” 

Hearing such words confirmed his stupidity, reminding him. His mutiny. As much as he repulsed at admitting it, he was nothing without Odysseus. He couldn’t imitate his place as captain– and it was brash of him to assume it. 

Odysseus was a balloon that just popped. No, he couldn’t stand hearing those words, the same words that torrent the memories that torment him. He was stuck, unable to fight or flee. Him and Polites literally conversed about this just before. They delegated a fair bit of time to it. What should he say? What shouldn’t he say? Probably shouldn’t have yelled.  

Don’t apologise, Polites had informed him. You don’t owe him one.  

Odysseus felt as though they had secret animosity, but what would he know? He was still living, breathing, existing. He didn’t deserve to know anything. Nonetheless, in the midst of panic, he resorted to what he knew best– 

“Eurylochus– I’m sorry.” 

Polites twitched his head in Odysseus's direction, his face reading what was that entire conversation about then? Not disappointment, he thought. Just... perplexion? He didn’t look surprised. 

“What? No. Don’t say– that,” Eurylochus stammered, instantaneous and impulsive. Of all things, Eurylochus expected that answer the least. Polites made sure of it. Something about his old friend carved the most cognizance into him– hearing the man he once recognised as kind and ingenuous yell at him was plenty enough defiance for his stubborn viewpoint about his captain. Aggression was something he never pre-empted from Polites– not that it was all that aggressive. He needed that sense knocked into him, his hypocrisy coming to the surface. 

He didn’t feel empathy he wished he did. Most of it was guilt, though aimless in nature– guilty in a way where he couldn’t pinpoint an origin, just a tsunami that spared him no knowledge or mercy. Empathy was hard to come by for a variety of reasons– mainly derivative from how little he understood his commander. Considering the fact that he was second in command, he truly knew nothing at all. Odysseus always kept his plans close to his chest, and while he had acknowledged his faults with the windbag, he coveted he knew more than this bag has the storm inside. For a position that was objectively reverent, he felt it was only ever a title. 

And with the lair of Scylla, he would’ve understood if Odysseus had explained his plans. Pragmatically, six lives were a lesser sacrifice than going through Poseidon’s waters and risking his wrath. But no– it was always the captain scheming behind their backs, using their lives like pawns to attain his goal of going home. Who cared if the rest of them stepped foot on Ithaca again? In the end, he traded their lives. 

But he paid his penance too. Goddamnit Eurylochus, why can’t you pick a side?  

Perhaps he was selfish for thinking this way. He wasn’t denying it. In his defense, everyone was a little selfish in the flesh, were they not? 

No. He was done with blaming everyone else for his own mistakes. Yes, Odysseus played his part in the jeopardy– but so did Eurylochus. The windbag took the lives of over five hundred men. Five hundred men who still haunted his every minute, who failed to look him in the eye, who didn’t see him the same even all these years later. They had families who patiently waited twenty years, only for their husbands and sons to not wash on their shore. And for what? His own curiosity? His own greed? Not only that, but he was perfectly content with killing his captain, his king, his friend. They both did their damage, and they were both tired. Dwelling on who was right and who was wrong is pointless. 

“I just don’t know what to– say,” muttered Odysseus, turning away, his panic having subsided slightly. Eurylochus forgot about the other man, snapping back into the present abruptly. 

“You don’t have to know what to say. I don’t expect you to.” He swallowed, as if bracing himself for something he– 

Fuck it. 

“For the record, Ody– I should be sorry.” 

All three men are nonplussed– all for different reasons. 

Odysseus, who didn’t think he deserved, or even expected an apology. 

Polites, who had the displeasure, at times, of being stuck with Eurylochus, as well as his adamance that he was incapable of an apology. 

Eurylochus, who similarly to Polites, did not think he had it in him. Not that he wasn’t sorry, just that he was too cowardice and prideful to. Fortunately for all of them, he didn’t plan to substitute a deserving monologue for four pathetic words. His old friend was worth more than his hubris. 

“Look, I may never have this opportunity again so–” he gulped, “I’m sorry, Ody. I mean it. I won’t sugarcoat it– I wasn’t as understanding as I probably should’ve been when I was still alive, and that seeped in after I died. I’ll accredit Polites for my... change of heart. I guess I lost track of my own morals on that journey. That’s– no reason for the shit I caused. Like the windbag– I don’t know what was up with me. You kept us alive through ten years of war, and somehow, I believed the whole treasure rumour. That was... my own greed. And the uh, cattle. Sorry. That was just– plain weakness. We should have persisted. That would’ve saved our necks and saved you seven years. Just– know I’m sorry. I really am.” 

Odysseus had to take two to accept it. He... what? Was he hearing correctly? Did he really– no– how could this be possible? Eurylochus had every right to damn his name, to not even want to glance at him– so why? Why– 

A third sobbing fit. Great.  

Polites rushed to Odysseus’s side, obviously not to much ability to hug him or anything. Lucky for Eurylochus, Polites didn’t look like he was about to carve his skull into two, as he had on multiple occasions down below. 

As for Odysseus, the easy route to go would be to bombard him with more why are you sorry or simply more I’m so sorry statements, however he admitted its vanity. Time was a wasting and extremely fickle, therefore... 

“I’ve missed you, brother– I’ve missed you so much–” he sobbed, convulsing at his words. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it was– I just want it to be the same again– before the bloodshed, before it all came to an end.” He had come to terms with the emotions that would inevitably unleash in each interaction. After all, he contained it damn well for the last seven years. 

He stepped forward, pulled the sword out, and threw it to the side. He was done with anything that kept him away from those dearest to him. “Do you think you could forgive me?” 

“I already have, Ody. I have for a long time. Could you... forgive me?” Eurylochus asked, tentative with his tone. 

The Ithacan King nodded, each second passing making his features more of a mess than the last. On a whim, he “hugged” him– obviously not, just wrapping his arms about where Eurylochus stood. 

Eurylochus raised an eyebrow, perplexed. “I–” 

“Shut up and pretend,” replied Odysseus, the tiniest bit playfully, “let me feel like my luck hasn’t completely run out yet.” 

Both men found the heart to chuckle at that nostalgic comment– impressively, knowing that most dialogues from the past traumatised Odysseus to his wits end. 

“Thank the gods I didn’t have to interfere,” chimed Polites. “I was scared you two would have each other’s throats– which wouldn’t really be possible but you know what I mean. I– wait, did I interrupt something?” 

“No, come join us Polites,” responded Odysseus. 

It had been a decade since the three men had a normal conversation. And for the third time– 

It was good. 

The lock unlocked. 

“Who is the next one, Ody?” 

He turned around to face the door and– 

No.  

It kept getting worse. 

He– what– no– there was absolutely no good outcome of the next interplay. He wanted to leave that island and the nymph that resided there behind. 

“I–” he stammered, “her.” 

The door was tropically decorated, painted in a mossy but pastel lime. Flowers and seashells surrounded the contours, mainly of warm colours. Yet again, the lock paled slightly, a more vibrant red as of now. 

Calypso. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. He contemplated for a moment, planning on asking his two old friends to follow him along, but... 

“We’ll come with you.” 

Both men had replied simultaneously, knowing it would appease his worries. They had limited knowledge of his affairs in the previous seven years– all they knew was that it was bad.  

On cue, they all stood up, approaching the door. Odysseus grabbed the handle, reluctant. 

“Hey, don’t worry. We’re here for you.” It was Eurylochus who spoke. 

With that, he opened the door. 

Chapter Text

Entering the next realm had opposed many of his assumptions. 

For starters, Calypso did not run to him and cling onto him like an infant emphatically holding onto its blanket. Furthermore, she looked a little... injured? Ichor seeped from her neck to her chiton, a small wound but conspicuous enough. 

And thirdly, she... 

“I’m sorry, Ody.” 

What?! 

– A few minutes ago –  

Calypso had been eagerly eyeing the door, decorated in pastel blue cloth and a small sword, patiently waiting for Odysseus’s arrival. The last month had been pure torture. Seven years she had depended on this man for, and all that for what? For him to disappear? 

She wasn’t... spiteful. No, she shouldn’t hate him for it. Amidst the years he was on her shoreline, such a realisation dawned upon her– gradually but meaningfully. 

He wasn’t hers to save. 

How cruel of the world, she perceived. They trapped her on this isle for centuries, only to bring her a man whose greatest flaw was loving his wife. 

Unfortunately for both of them, Calypso was selfish. She had been deprived of any contact for far too long. Anyone would go crazy from that. She was not about to throw him away. She had been so hospitable, so benevolent with her personalised treatments– why couldn’t he acknowledge her? Why couldn’t he open up to her, even just a little bit? 

Seven years, a time so extensive particularly for a mortal, did nothing. He was set in his ways and did not look back. He breathed life back into her only to suffocate her in the end. It wasn’t really his fault, but who else could she blame? 

You had only yourself to blame, Calypso.  

No– was she really deserving of such heartbreak? Trapped on an island all alone, only for a loveless man to come across? 

Of course you did. You imposed the man’s will and persisted for his love, love that was destined to be unrequited. He was so terribly traumatised, yet you deliberated. Do you have no shame?  

No– stop–  

A creek of a door sounded, and she couldn’t help but run towards the door, desperate to say... anything. She wanted to understand what exactly made her less appealing than– 

“You must be the infamous Calypso.” 

She had bumped into the figure, taking several steps back. A... woman? She was particularly tall, a lavender chiton gracing her physique, complemented with wavy, brunette hair tied in a bun. Her eyes, however, did not match this aesthetic, glaring Calypso down like daggers for pupils. 

“Excuse me?” she pardoned, daringly glaring at the other woman back. “And who are you?” 

A smile and a quipped tone did not prepare Calypso for the response. 

“I’m the wife.” 

Penelope, Queen of Ithaca, stood sternly against Calypso, who shuddered at the realisation. 

She’s my... wife.  

...  

Anyways!  

“Listen. I’m not typically one to involve violent acts, for violence is more than often unnecessary– but you have crossed multiple lines, multiple times. Is there something about the word no that seems to be incoherent to you? Or must we find out, you know, since goddesses can’t die? ” Penelope had a dagger handy, and the Spartan woman was plenty enough ready to give Calypso’s immortality a run for its money. Her eyes blazed in fury, the kind of inextricable fury that knows no bounds, as an inferno impended through her bones. Odysseus may have had the heart to forgive her, but Penelope was not about to let the goddess’ sins slide. 

“Are you threatening me?” Calypso played, a lethal smile on her face. She didn’t think too seriously of the mortal, not anticipating too much harm possible from her– which, would soon be the very lead to her downfall. 

The queen reciprocated the grin. “Of course not, dear. A threat would mean nothing.” 

And with that cue, she tackled her to the ground. 

Calypso may had been immortal, but that didn’t make her strong. Not only that, it also didn’t make her any less susceptible to a Spartan to beat her up in a spar. 

“You bitch,” seethes Penelope, incredulous if anything. “You tormented and forced yourself onto my husband for seven years. I don’t care about whatever sob story you had prepared handy to manipulate him, but I am not swayed. Perhaps I do pity you the slightest– even then, it does not justify you sexually harassing my partner. I’m not sure what dictionary you’ve been reading, but last I checked, a wife means he is off-limits. You somehow proliferated his anguish by tenfold. Are you satisfied? Is this what you meant by loving him? ” 

With each sentence, she cut deeper and deeper into Calypso’s neck, tears pricking her eyes. When Odysseus eventually, through much reluctance, shared the tales of his journey, this had stuck with Penelope the most. Not just because the nymph had tried to seduce her husband on multiple occasions, though that was a major part of the problem– but because it clearly took the greatest toll on him. No monster or divinity could begin to compete with the horrors of time. Time left him dormant on an isle he never asked to be trapped on. Time left Ithaca slowly chipping away and slowly believing his demise. Time had left him caged in his thoughts and his guilts, enough to nearly drive him off the edge of a cliff. 

And Calypso sure didn’t ameliorate his sufferings. If anything, she was the enabler of it. 

“Stop–” sobbed the goddess, ichor fleshing out of her neck, “no more– please.” 

“I dare you to repeat that.” Penelope dug the blade deeper. “ No, did you say? And why should I abide by your no’s when you didn’t abide by my husband’s? ” 

“I’m sorry, I– swear– please–” 

“Say no. Say no a million times. I. Don’t. Care.” 

Penelope continued to inflict her torture, passively ignoring Calypso’s begs for mercy. This was hardly a fraction compared to the torture she subjected Odysseus to. If Odysseus was unwilling to be cruel to her, you best believe the wife was. 

Alas, she was satisfied. The goddess bled out in front of her, golden blood drooping to the side, barely conscious but conscious enough. Knowing Odysseus and Eurylochus would wrap it up soon, she elevated– studying whether her depth was satisfactory or not. 

This was hardly enough, but enough for now.  

The queen knelt over condescendingly. “He is going to come into this room anytime now and you’re going to apologise. You won’t give him any more necessary trouble or inherent guilt-tripping. He has enough guilt on his chest. Do we see each other eye to eye?” 

Calypso nodded, subtly but clearly enough. Tears amalgamated with her blood. She would heal soon, but Gaia had physical pain been so foreign for such a long time. 

Penelope offered her one last glance before dropping a bottle of... ambrosia? “You’re lucky I don’t want my husband seeing you this pathetic.” A little birdie had offered her this vial, with her price being that she could decimate the nymph however she liked with no consequences. 

And with that, she left. 

– A few minutes later –  

Again, what?!  

“I– uh–” Odysseus stammered... shocked to say the least. She didn’t add to it, put some twist on it to victimise herself. She just plainly... apologised? 

Why was everything suddenly going his way today? 

The two other men flanked his sides, exchanging was this really the woman he dreaded seeing looks. Eurylochus was quicker to assume that, while Polites decided to wait for a more solid judgment. 

“Ody–” she scrambled up, tidying herself. The ambrosia helped stop the bleeding, though the scar remained unhealed. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” Odysseus folded his arms, refusing to believe her apology. Part of him wanted to believe it. Something must have happened to sway her way– he was definite on that theory. 

“I–” that’s what she couldn’t bat out. She didn’t know why. Penelope had told her a series of reasons, but she didn’t... understand? 

Nothing made sense. 

In shame, she bowed her head, with no sufficient answer. 

“Mm. So where’d the change of heart come from?” Odysseus challenged, his eyes null and indifferent. He wasn’t taking her bullshit no more. He was no longer obligated to. 

Calypso considered her options. She knew the man was intelligent– that had been tested on several occasions during those seven years. But... he wouldn’t forgive her if he knew the truth– that she needed his wife to beat him up for her to show any remorse. 

Frankly, she was still unsure what she was meant to be remorseful for. 

“Nothing. I just– had time to think about it.” Calypso lied. 

Incredulously, Odysseus dismissed her fraud. “Clearly not. Someone came in here and attacked you.” He gestured to the scar and offered nothing more. She hated how cold he was acting. She truly didn’t mean anything to him.  

Either way, she had forgotten the massive scab on her neck. He saw right through her masquerade. What now?  

“I–” she stumbled on her words, speechless. 

He stepped forward, looming over her. For once, he wasn’t the one under mercy. She was. “Who.” 

“Your– wife.” Calypso swerved her head to the side, unable to look him in the eye. Oh how she wished she could guiltlessly.  

“Hm. Suppose she does exist then.” 

All she could do was nod. What else could she do? He hated her.  

Unsure as to how to navigate this, he turned back to the other two men– and at the door. The lock was only unlocked if he reconciled with the person at hand. How lovely. He would give anything to forget Calypso– to forget the nights of torment, where his only source of solace was her.  

Polites and Eurylochus were exchanging unsure looks, divided on whether they should intervene or not. It was Odysseus's battle to fight, but gods he sounded destructed in the driest and lifeless form possible. 

Calypso looked over at him, desperate to see if he was paying her an ounce of attention. “But– I am sorry, Ody. I mean it.” 

Turning over to her again, looking anywhere but her face, he sighed. “And I don’t forgive you.” 

“What?” 

“Don’t. You’re only apologetic because you were hurt over it. You don’t mean anything you say. All you’re capable of doing is victimising yourself. You may be able to admit you're wrong, but you won’t ever believe you’re wrong.” Odysseus was done. He was done walking over her eggshells, eggshells she placed with alleged love, on edge for every minute of his life, while seconds passed and he eroded on an island. So close yet so far from Ithaca. He had never felt so... useless. Out in the seas, he always had something to do, and someone to go to. 

Ogygia? 

He had lost everything and the one person who he had left wanted to get into bed with him. 

“Then tell me! Tell me where I went wrong! Tell me why you won’t love me–” 

“Oi.” It was Eurylochus who spoke. “What made you think a man who fought a ten-year war, faced monsters and gods alike, and on top of that sacrificed his own crew just to see his wife would do giving up and falling for you?” Polites shot him a we’ve talked about this look. And, admittedly, he was a little spiteful with the sacrificed his own crew thing. But it worked in Odysseus’s favour, didn’t it? “My bad Ody didn’t mean to out you like that– what I’m trying to say is, the man was traumatised, and you were forcing yourself onto him. The gods know how messed up Olympus is with infidelity, but unlike them, some of us are loyal to our wives.” 

“I don’t think your argument helped either of them,” whispered Polites, a little bemused. “You also just casually cursed the gods.” 

“I’m dead. What’s Zeus gonna do, zap me again?” Eurylochus replied, rolling his eyes. 

Polites nodded in acknowledgment. “Touche.” 

If Calypso was going to look like a wrecked mess in front of three men, so be it. “I was alone on that island for who knows how long– and I still am– why else would a man wash along a shore with a woman in solitude?” 

“Maybe because he pissed off Zeus and sacrificed–” 

Polites covered Eurylochus’s mouth before he could piss anyone off even more. He matched a sarcastically patronising voice, slightly piqued. “For the record, Eurylochus, you angered Helios, and Zeus was probably just delivering his justice for the cows you slaughtered.” Walking over, he glanced down at Calypso– towering over her far more than Odysseus. “I understand why it would be... detrimental, to you, Calypso,” he sighed, “but you have to understand Odysseus’s perspective. The man suffered and he loves his wife. His fate was not to end his days on your island– he had a wife and a son to go back to. After everything he fought for, every measure he took, I think it would be insane for anyone in his position not to yearn going home.” 

A common misconception was that Calypso didn’t want to admit she was wrong. No– she just didn’t understand. She truly did love Odysseus– she didn’t understand why he couldn’t love her back. How? The evidence was right in front of her. He had a wife. Of course she didn’t want to admit her wrongs. She selfishly wanted him to love her back and persisted until the end.  

To what avail? 

She hesitated, instinctually about to take his hands– before she decided against it, withdrawing them. “Odysseus, please– help me understand.” 

“What is there to understand?” he shot her a hostile look, dissecting her a million times deeper than Penelope did. “I tried to reason with you for years. That didn’t stop you.” 

“But I never forced you– and I was trapped t–” Calypso reasoned. 

Odysseus, contrarily, was not having it. “You tried to touch me, you never gave me peace, you emotionally manipulated me– must I continue?” He climbed down from the strain, containing his anger, and perhaps providing... a slither of sympathy. “I feel bad for you. You didn’t deserve to be kept on an island alone for eons. I understand why you would act that way. However, that doesn’t justify what happened.” 

“Nothing happened! You couldn’t even look at me, didn’t want to spend a second with me– what does your wife have that I don’t have? I just–” she broke down, back on her knees, tears devastating her face. “Why won’t you love me too? At all? I gave you everything– I gave you a home, food, shelter– so why– ” 

“Odysseus isn’t your animal to be tamed, or some fantasy sent to you to become whatever you like,” said Eurylochus, walking over to back him up. “He’s a human being. He had no romantic interest in you– and that should’ve been the end of it. No. You pulled all your tricks out of your hat to try and seduce him. You’re sick. ” 

“Calypso,” it was Polites this time, “just– try and see it through his shoes. The man had gone through thick and thin to see his son and wife. After facing a Cyclops, Poseidon, Circe, sirens, Scylla, and eventually Zeus, it would only be fitting to finally make it home after all his efforts.” 

“Do you think he wanted to be washed on a shore far from his homeland?” Eurylochus added. 

“I–” that struck her down. She had nothing to say to that. Odysseus had a life before her– 

So why? 

Why was she left behind, stuck on an unmoved isle while the world kept spinning? How was that fair? For a mistake she made centuries ago? When she was a child? Was she really deserving of a life of endless solitude and lifelessness, with only the sky and sun to be alongside her? 

Why must she be alone?  

She knew deep down, she was wrong for how she treated Odysseus. But deep down, she just wanted to feel something. Literally anything. She had been deprived of any connection for so long that she was... afraid of losing him, the one hope she had of a connection. 

Then he left. He just left. He didn’t spare her a glance. How was she meant to live with that? How could she live the same after him? 

“I’m sorry Odysseus– I couldn’t lose you– you were all I knew but I– I understand that I have wronged you now–” 

“I don’t think you’ll ever understand.” 

Odysseus walked over to the lock, and with all his vile emotions, he forced the lock out. Broke it. He was done. 

“Goodbye, Calypso.” 

In reality, he didn’t hate Calypso. They had their fair share of tolerable interactions, and she was... there for him, sometimes. He knew she definitely loved him– he never doubted it. 

But in her arms, he felt asphyxiated. Ogygia was a gilded cage. His fate was to not end his days on that island. He had to keep fighting.  

He had to do this one thing for himself– and that was leaving her in the past. 

Throwing the lock on the ground, he opened the door. 

“Ody!” she bellowed, knowing the uselessness of it. She choked on her sobs, drowning in her sorrows and misery. There was truly no way to win him back. 

The two other men offered her a sympathetic look– Polites more sympathetic than Eurylochus– as they followed him. 

“Why in the world won’t you love me too...?” 

Chapter Text

Finally, the poor man caught a break. 

Odysseus had to annul not one, but four grudges. Well— technically three? Or two? It really depended on how one constituted a grudge. Either way, it was no easy feat. 

He was still eternally grateful for these reunions— except Calypso’s, maybe. Whoever set this little matrix up for him had his utmost gratitude. 

He prayed it would last longer.  

Nonetheless, this was a major relief from the havoc. 

“Son!” Odysseus ran to Telemachus— finally someone he could hug. He wrapped his arms around the boy, a little more emotionally inclined than normal. 

Telemachus had grown on his father’s volatile outbursts. He didn’t mind them really— it was just a little overwhelming. Either way, Telemachus maintained his patience— he knew his father had it rough the last twenty years. 

He wasn’t used to this kind of affection.  

Of course, his mother did all in her power to raise him on her own, but there would always be a pit in his stomach. She couldn’t tell him how his father was— she couldn’t even tell him if he was alive. He wore that weight heavy on his sleeve, with uncertainty but pride— his biggest inspiration, someone he had never met. 

Was it fair? 

He was privileged. As the crown prince of Ithaca, he had it far better than most. 

So why did it hurt so much? 

“Hey, Dad,” he replied, patting his back. “What’s all this–?” 

Two men stood behind him, looking ever so slightly transparent. They exchanged looks– most of which appeared... positive? He was unsure. 

“Oh, of course of course–” Odysseus temporarily withdrew himself, still keeping a hand on Telemachus’s back. He gestured to each respective man. “Polites, and Eurylochus. You’ve heard plenty about them.” 

“Damn, you talk about us Ody?” Eurylochus chimed, amusedly raising an eyebrow. 

Followed by a grin, Odysseus replied, “Mostly good things...? I mean how could I not? There was a lot to unpack.” 

The son shrugged, sarcastic but also not. In his father’s defense, the majority of his stories were rather... morbid. Nobody was subjected to complete positive talk. “He spoke more fondly of the glasses guy. Polites?” 

“That’s me,” smiled Polites, to Eurylochus’s acknowledgment. He had come to terms with it, grateful that anything good was said about him. 

Odysseus laughed, humouring his pain. “I mean, most of our journey was rather, uh, grim, but you know, I did my best...?” 

“I have to stay alert in case he starts erratically sobbing,” joked Telemachus, followed by a less joking tone, “which, has happened on several occasions.” 

“Doing me dirty here, son.” He was laughing a bit too much, uncoordinatedly even after his statement. He pulled Telemachus in for another hug, pressing his head onto his shoulder. 

“Uh, Ody– are you alright?” Polites asked, a little perturbed. 

Odysseus’s cackling only burgeoned, to the point that reached concern. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I feel like you have every reason to not laugh,” Eurylochus added, a little disturbed. 

“No, no, everything is nice– a bit too nice though! Just–” 

Here, the floodwaters broke, and tears seeped into Telemachus’s chiton. 

“Hey, Dad–” he rubbed his back, sympathetic for his cause. He may not have grasped the entire story yet, but he apprehended its full severity. “What’s up?” 

“Them–” he flicked his head in Polites’s and Eurylochus’s direction, still resting his head on his son. 

“I–” stammered Polites, immediately overwhelmed by guilt he had no clue of the origin for, “Ody-? What did we do–” 

“It’s what you can’t do–! You can’t– you can’t stay– both of you! Why– why couldn’t we all go home– why must it end this way?” He removed himself from Telemachus and displayed the absolute mess he was, particularly spontaneous with these outbreaks of sadness and anguish. How cruel must the world be to let him see his friends, only to take them away again? 

“Oh, my friend–” Polites commiserated, ambling towards the father and son. “I wish we could stay. I really do. This has been the most joy I have had in a long time. I wish it didn’t have to end– I’m sorry. I wish I had better news.” 

Kind. Kind till the end. And what was Odysseus in the end? 

Anything but kind.  

Selfish to say, part of Odysseus wished he relinquished himself over his crew. He wondered if the guilt would subside in the underworld, or if it would be all the same. Equally so, on Ogygia, he had tried to preposterously justify his decision, thinking that his crew wouldn’t have survived without him. Hubris. Hubris was his bane.  

It didn’t matter what he did. Mercy and ruthlessness led to the same result: agony. 

In the midst of Odysseus’s internal crisis, Polites nudged Eurylochus, indicating that he should say something too. That was the problem– what was there to say? It wasn’t that he didn’t care– care for his commander never eased, despite the perils they experienced- it was that any ounce of comfort he could provide would only be false hope. And Odysseus, with his expert overthinking, would only twist his words to have negative connotations. 

But Polites was insisting, so whatever. 

“Ody– I mean, think about it futuristically. You’ll join us eventually. For now, savour the time you have left with your family,” he offered, registering the sloppiness in his message afterwards. 

“So maybe I should just die–” 

“NO!”  

The three other men yelled promptly in tandem. That was not what Eurylochus implied. 

“Okay, sorry. I don’t actually mean that– everything I’ve fought for would go to waste.” He wished he was telling the whole truth. “I just– this is all meant to be some purported closure thing but– all it’s going to do is leave me with a bigger hole. I must live with it. I must live with failing you. I must live without you.” Odysseus attempted to stifle his cries, obviously to his failure. “I don’t want to live like this anymore.” 

“You’re scaring me, Dad–” Telemachus uttered nervously, pulling him over. He just got his father back; he couldn’t afford to lose him again. “Mum and I will always be here for you... you know that right–?” 

Did he? He loved the two to death, as proven through his endeavours– but between them was an irremovable gap. Nothing could fill it– the years passed weighed too heavy. There was too much he missed out on. Twenty years. He missed all of Telemachus’s childhood– so why... why does he remain? Why does he, after everything he suffered all alone, acknowledge him as a father–? Hell, Athena was a better parent than him. He was heedless to dump his baggage on his son– no father does that. 

What was wrong with him? 

He couldn’t seem to do anything right. No matter what choice he made, there was always some form of loss– every, single, time. The consequence ranged from one infant to six hundred men. Six hundred graves he had to lay down, hardly giving sufficient ceremonial respect– how could he? Most of their bodies were still rotting away at the bottom of the sea. Mercy lost his mentor. Ruthlessness lost his crew. Either way, the blood he shed never dried. 

The blood that remained on his hands. 

The blood on your hands is something you won’t lose; all you can choose is whose.  

Greet the world with open arms, greet the world with open arms!  

How much longer till your luck runs out?  

Odysseus when you come home I’ll be waiting...  

This day, you sever your own head– this day, you cut the line.  

I wonder who’d take the weight of the damned and suffer a gruesome fate to the–  

I would take the suffering from you–!  

Captain–  

Why would you let the cyclops live when ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves?!–  

“STOP!” Odysseus cried, clattering to his knees and covering his ears like a little boy. “Please– make it stop– I’m sorry, I’m so sorry– ” 

The voices blur with... the real voices? He couldn't differentiate them. It was all so... 

Ody– it’s just us–  

Whatever we face, we’ll be fine if we’re leading from the heart!  

Ody, can you hear me?  

Then you have forced my hand.  

Dad!  

“Son–” and the voices ceased. The one person he didn't have voices of. The only person. “I’m sorry– to all of you I– didn’t– mean to act out like that–” 

Why did that happen so abruptly? Why couldn’t he be normal for just a moment? Why couldn’t his mind spare him for a night and give him just a second of peace and– 

“No one blames you, Ody– take your time. It hasn’t been too long since you’ve reached Ithaca. No one can expect you to just be over it. ” Polites remarked, assuming his hand over an ideal hugging position. 

“But I–” 

“No,” Polites interrupted. “Look at me. You’re so strong, Ody. You’re stronger than all of us for persisting.” He automatically hovered a hand over Eurylochus’s mouth, expecting his retortion. Eurylochus, on the contrary, was not about to oppose that. This man’s will was stronger than all of them combined. 

“Life has proven time and time again that it simply... sucks. I’d give everything for it not to, and to be here with you. It’s going to be a tough journey ahead– unfortunately, even after twenty years, it’s not going to end any time soon. But just remember– we’ll always be here. Perhaps not tangibly, but in the soul. And I know for a fact that you have an amazing family who will provide solace for you. But in the meantime– don’t beat yourself up for something that is absolutely not your fault. No injured veteran heals overnight, no matter the medicine at their disposal. Please, be patient with yourself.” 

“This journey would be so much easier if you were all still alive. ” He didn’t intend it, but he sounded a bit spiteful. The cynical part in him, with all his irrationality, condemned them for his anguish caused by their deaths. As if their deaths weren’t his blame. Too many irrational thoughts ran haphazardly in his head– but much like parasites, he couldn’t just dispose of them. “I’m sorry. I’m just bitter that I lived and you both didn’t– that all of you didn’t, and with the forfeits that came with survival. I just– I thought we had it all. After the war, when we were young, scrappy, and confident– what happened to those days? When we had it all? And– I got what I wanted– but at what cost?” 

He swore never to be the soldier coming home who bombarded all his warfare trauma onto his family. That promise was clearly faux. He couldn’t contain it, else he might’ve driven himself off the edge of a balcony– with the minuscule self-worth he had left, he conjectured that his family would not appreciate that. 

“I’m sorry, Ody.” But it wasn’t the expected higher-pitched voice– 

Eurylochus? 

He failed to understand why he was being so... compassionate. He traded his and his crew’s lives like they were mere pawns in his chess game– like objects he could use. Sure, he opened the bag– but Poseidon’s wrath was his own brash decision to maintain his memory in the Cyclops. That wasn’t Eurylochus– if anything, he was advising them to leave as soon as possible. A couple of words changed the course of his entire way home, but those couple of words were his. 

Eurylochus had a wife to go back to. Ctimene. All six hundred men had families to go back to. 

He didn’t blame his sister, for she couldn’t even glance at him. It stung, but he had to accept it. 

He didn’t want to accept anything.  

“Why,” he whispered, trying to regulate his breathing. 

“Why do you care?” 

Why did Eurylochus care? 

Because Polites made him. Because he wouldn’t shut up if he didn’t. 

Because he was his captain– his brother– his friend.  

He wouldn't coat his initial opinion in a hoax– he was very much ready to hate Odysseus. It would be easier that way– to blame the man who robbed him of his wife, his home, his life.  

So why was it so hard?  

His hope had dwindled. Most of their brothers were chipping away at the bottom of the sea, and survivability was low as long as Poseidon was active. He was tired– they all were. Tired and starving. Half of them just wanted the journey to be over, dead or alive. 

They wondered if they would make it without any food for that long. 

It was, objectively, easier to loathe Odysseus as the man who took away his all– but he was slowly letting go of his all anyway, so what difference would it make? A dilemma at best, his own guilt at worst. He knew that his captain was trying his best, dangling over his own rope. 

Sometimes it just felt like only his rope was seen. 

They had all suffered, though he suffered more. Perhaps it’s obligation? The feeling of obligation? He still got them all through the war after all... 

He had a lot of time to think about this– so why was he freezing up now? 

Fuck it. He had to say something. 

“I’m going to be honest, Ody,” he braced, cursing himself for the words he felt were necessary to say, “I don’t fully know. Part of me thinks it’s easier to just dump all the blame on you, but that would be... harsh. We were all suffering, and if I were in your shoes I– I would probably do the same, picking myself over the crew and all. Most of us would. Maybe it’s a little bit selfish, but we’re all human– it’s intrinsic in our nature. You had no way of knowing that the events would play out as they did. Scylla was an in the moment kind of reaction– sacrificing six men was a better alternative than what Poseidon might’ve penetrated. I uh– messed up with that. Anyways I just– hating you for self-preservation would be hypocritical- and it’s not like we all suffered, and you just got away with everything scotch-free. We’ve all been damned. We’ve also all been through it together. And you were... probably my best friend. It would be stupid to hold it against you.” He wasn’t Polites– he wasn’t good at this kind of thing. 

That self-doubt didn't seem to carry on to Odysseus. 

He burst into more tears. And more. And more. He didn’t deserve his forgiveness. He didn’t deserve any of this. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t want it. 

“I love you, Eurylochus–” he sobbed, “I wish I had proof to back it up, but I really do–” 

“No harsh feelings but I’d pick your sister over you any day. So yeah, fair enough.” He offered him an incomplete smile– but it was enough. 

Odysseus would mourn them forever. The guilt would be integral in him, something that would eternally linger, and he would deal with it. He got what he fought for– this was simply a component of his penance. 

It would always hurt. He had come to terms with it. In the end, he didn’t regret his decision. No good things came without a price.

And right now, he felt like he wasn't losing.

“Why were half of your problems because of food-?” Telemachus asked– probably a little insensitive, but he intended to be humorous. 

“You know that is a marvellous question Eurylochus, ” chortled Polites, “why were they?” 

“Hey, you talk a big game about hypocrisy, but the first round of hunger was you,” Eurylochus rebutted, though ensuring his tone was impish. “You were the gullible one who befriended the lotus eaters for food. ” 

“Both of you died because of food,” said Telemachus, “and I fear that’s too funny of a coincidence to overshadow. Dad, were you starving your crew?” 

“Hey hey hey, now let’s not throw around such bold accusations...” Odysseus defended, throwing his hands up in resignation sarcastically. 

“I mean...” the two soldiers mumbled. "At least your son's funny?" added Eurylochus.

He laughed in thanks while dissociating a tad. It took a fair while to fully calm him down, with Polites’s testament of his father’s measures, but he was glad for it. Tears were fundamental aspects of being a man, which he knew he had struggles around. Even in spirit, his dad’s friends were supportive– especially when they had every rational reason to shun him. 

As the three other men conversed in the background, Telemachus couldn’t help but notice... 

A feather? 

Chapter Text

“You know, this has been fun and games but I think it’s time we move on,” shrugged Telemachus, obliquely eyeing the door. He wasn’t really trying to be indirect though– the conversation was dragging, and he wasn’t risking another potential breakdown from his father. 

“You gonna come with us, little man?” raised Eurylochus, approximating a hand on his shoulder. 

Little man, on the contrary, was not amused. “You know I’m like, twenty, right?” 

“And you know I'm like, twenty years older than you, right?” boomeranged the soldier, his tone playful. 

“Lotta big talk with no game, Mr Hungry,” the boy, or manchild, muttered under his breath, approaching the handle. None of them had heard an unlocking sound, so they assumed this was some form of interlude for the next big thing. 

“That guy,” his father rumbled, as he was unable to decipher whether he was genuinely annoyed or not. “We’re in for a rough one.” 

The door had a pair of... wings? Unlike the previous doors that were set in the ground, there was a set of unfolded, white steps that led up to it. The wings were comparatively small to what would be pre-empted, though it was an... interesting sight? At least to Telemachus– Odysseus did not seem impressed, in an impressive way. 

“Alright, my brothers listen closely–” Odysseus imitated his past self, both to be nostalgic and comical, “this guy has... tendencies. He also has issues. If you choose to follow me, don’t say I didn’t warn you. 

The younger boy raised his dominant hand as a sardonic gesture. “That doesn't really answer who this ‘guy with issues’ is?” 

“He’s your great-great-grandfather who saved my ass twice so you’re gonna treat him with the absolute utmost respect you can yield,” Odysseus babbled, his tone pedantic and damningly fast. It was true though– without Hermes, he would’ve drowned in Poseidon’s waters– if not Poseidon’s wrath, then Circe’s. “Just... he appeared at the most sporadic but necessary of times.” 

“I... see?” Telemachus shifted, somewhat concerned for his father's wellbeing– it didn’t change anything, just reestablished his very necessary perturbances. “I’ll be... looking forward to it?” 

On prompt, he opened the door. 

“What a brilliant speech you gave–” Hermes exclaimed, pointing his caduceus at the men, hovering just over the ground as if he were sunbathing. “I must say, I am flattered darling. You put me on such a high pedestal.” 

“I don’t have much of a say in the matter– you saved my life, twice. I owe it to you.” Odysseus was, clearly, not getting the memo. Then again, the man’s humour seemed to also drown in the shipwreck. The poor guy was too psychologically mangled. 

“Cut the formalities darling!” Hermes chucked, petting him like a skittish, scared animal. “Loosen up– you’ve reached your coast; you can breathe now!” 

The other three men looked incredibly uncomfortable. Mostly the two dead ones– Telemachus was, if anything, worried about the friendship decisions his father made along the way. 

“Oh Gaia, you lot are no fun,” he pouted sourly, very coherently extrapolating his authority. “I see the whole gang is here, darling– let’s see! Ah. Little wolf, pancakes, windbag. Perfect sobriquets for you lot, darlings.” 

“You’re telling me, Dad,” ostensible little wolf questioned, “that this was your only living friend after twenty years?” 

 “I mean, he’s like a god and all, so... yeah... everyone else either left or uh, well, you said it, died...” On a rainy day, he’d probably start projectile sobbing and throwing up with the mere reminder– thankfully for him, and all of them, Hermes was... a peculiar, sunny individual. Perhaps he’d replace sunny with stunning.  

“How underappreciated I feel, darling great-great-grandson,” the god self-proclaimed, feigning offence. “I think I love you!” 

Nevermind... he was just volatile. 

Odysseus laughed in perfunctory, now conceding with Telemachus’s ordeal. “Hermes, don’t scare my son away– we don’t need another twenty-year-long mission.” 

The two fallen soldiers bartered looks, suggesting this calms him down? It was quite a low bar– though it seemed everyone else was far lower. 

“Maybe he is cool, Dad–” Telemachus smirked, “but was he really it?” 

“I mean there’s these two,” he gesticulated to his fallen friends, “but they’re kinda...” he made a ck sound and swiped the side of his neck. 

“We get it Ody,” Eurylochus deadpanned, “we’re dead. How funny and clever of you.” 

“We all know who he gets it from,” Hermes grinned smugly, pointing his thumbs to himself gleefully. 

On a serious note, Odysseus inquired, “Hermes? I’m guessing you had a say in this intervention, or perhaps you hosted it– either or, sounds like something you’d do. My question is, why would you come here? We only ever cross paths if you have something to give me. Not that I’m expecting anything just– curiosity sparks, you know.” 

The messenger god offered a non-sequitur response, dropping a... windbag onto his palms? But the storm was over... 

“You can open this bag– it was meant to stop you by design but darling, we wouldn’t want to risk another panic spiral, now would we?” He patronisingly patted his back, enjoying the delay in his little innuendo. 

“As ‘cool’ as you are, your... greatness, please don’t toy with Ody’s feelings.” It was Polites who interjected. 

Eurylochus added, “I think he’s a little... sick of feeling things.” 

“Hey, the windbag trauma derived from you, young sir,” Hermes teased. 

While they argued over unavailing subjects, Odysseus, with much trepidation, scrutinised the bag. Hermes was a trickster, sure, but he wouldn’t risk his life over a silly prank. He thought– and hoped. Plus, there were no tides in their proximity. He didn’t think the storm winds would or could influence any of them. 

Hesitantly, he peaked inside it and– 

Oh. 

Oh? 

He recognised the magical herb immediately– it was a branch of moly, the very same he recalled it from Aeaea. Much more than Hermes gave before. Flashbacks accompanied close behind– on that island, how he almost started to feel... giddy upon consumption. It didn’t last very long, for he had very few of the substance– however, the side effects were easy to ignore with Circe at large. 

“Hermes?” he stammered, feigning obliviousness. 

“It’ll help you darling, trust me.” The god proffered a smirk, though not much distinguishable from a genuine smile. Was this a trick? And how would a parallel of a drug help him? 

He didn’t plan on using it. 

“Does Dad have more god friends, or did he piss the rest of them off?” inquired Telemachus, trying to lighten the mood. Not that it wasn’t already fine with Hermes in sight. 

“Nope–” 

“Hey!” Odysseus snapped back, diverting from the bag. “I reconciled with Athena.” 

The messenger god gasped in shammed indignation. “I thought you rejected her a few days ago and practically said ‘you’ll live forever so find another naive kid to traumatise’!” He imitated Odysseus in a mocking tone. 

“Wait what?!” It was Telemachus who exclaimed. He theorised that the anonymous mentor of his father could’ve been Athena– their tales added up. Athena with the friend she shunned, his father with the whole goodbye ordeal all those years ago. But what were the odds of that? 

“Oh yeah...” Odysseus simpered guiltily, “I left that detail out. You know like the mentor person I was talking about–” 

“I knew it I knew I knew it!” he triumphed, scoffing to himself. Perhaps some of that wisdom did transfer into him. “That makes so much sense– she was reminiscing over an old friend and you were talking about your fallen mentor and that is why you said you’d be there in a moment because don’t doubt that I also saw that feather fall–” 

“Woah, slow down,” Odysseus threw his hands up in defeat. 

Hermes joined in. “You’re quite the smart one, kid. And we all know who–” 

“–he gets it from, we get it.” Eurylochus rolled his eyes. Though... he did admit the guy was, he supposed, comical. “You never told us that the Goddess of Wisdom was your mentor, Ody?” 

“Yeah, what?” chimed Polites. “That’s... honestly, pretty cool. Is that why you shouted her name on Ogygia?” he inquired. 

The Ithacan king coughed, more focused on how they knew than the actual statement. “Were you all watching me?” 

“Maybe... I mean, there isn't much to do down there, in our defence.” Eurylochus negated, for he too threw his hands over himself. 

“I’m still the favourite god, right darling?” Hermes pleaded, popping in intrusively by Odysseus’s shoulder, exaggerating his sadness and pouting ridiculously. 

Odysseus, contrarily, was not elated, nor impressed– as he pushed Hermes’s face away. “Yeah yeah. Still the favourite. I mean, you didn’t deliberately leave me for ten years because you were too prideful to reach out.” 

“That’s the spirit darling!” 

Telemachus was observing the greater atmosphere, glancing around for– 

Another feather. 

Athena was here. 

He contemplated upon how she felt about this– the tainted, moreover broken spite. His father spoke very... deeply of this old friend, mentor, whatever, yet undoubtedly with unresolved enmity. He’d take a trip down memory lane– talking about their friendship that never really existed, the apathy in their training sessions, the distance said mentor would always sustain. Athena was... nothing like that with him. She was patient and empathetic, helping him out when he most needed it. 

So how could they possibly be the same person? 

He didn’t doubt his father’s validity. He enounced his experiences with much pain in his voice– he just... discerned it would be wise to hear Athena’s perspective as well. 

Noted, for later. 

“So, Hermes?” Polites raised. 

The god rejoiced, “That’s my name, don’t wear it out darling!” 

“Do you know the whole story? With, you know, the super long journey.” 

“I suppose I have fundamental knowledge darling– a certain god games jogged my memory.” He emphasised god games a little spitefully, assuming he wasn’t one of the invited gods. 

“How did that go anyway? Athena wasn’t very... descriptive. She just named the gods she had to convince,” asked Odysseus, having also noticed the... no. He said some things he wished he didn’t say in her proximity– but whatever. 

Now that a few hours had passed since they assuaged, he was intuiting... lethargy. Sometimes he’d be pitiful, sometimes he’d be like this– indifferent. 

It’ll pass, he hoped. 

“Why darlings, a brilliant question to ask– since I’m guessing she sugarcoated it,” Hermes... scowled? Almost like he wasn’t impressed? 

Polites intervened, “I think Ody has dealt with enough–” 

“No no, darling– he must hear this.” Hermes insisted, and it was no mistake– he was serious.  

“Everything said in here best stay here, else I may as well be smited by the God King as well,” Hermes began. “Athena darling trotted into the palace to ask Zeus to release you. He chooses to settle this with a game– unfair, that’s normally my job. Anyways– as you know, the gods were lyre thief, social reject, cheater number 2 since Zeus is cheater number 1, daddy issues, and of course, Hera–” 

“What...?” Polites perplexed, as did Eurylochus. 

“Apollo, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Ares, and well, Hera. Like I said, Hermes has issues.” Odysseus corrected, not surprised. A little bemused, though. 

“Anyways, before I was rudely interrupted,” the messenger eye-rolled, though not correcting Odysseus’s comment, “it wasn’t all that hard for her, really. I mean, lyre thief raised the sirens, Athena basically said ‘they started it’, easy win. Though I had to give him a lyre to appease him, hence the name. And then– ah, social reject, arranged marriage guy, whatever. Don’t think he was really into it– he just threw out the sacrificing the crew argument, which Athena yet against reimbursed with ‘they started it’. Hey, it worked! Cheater number 2 and daddy issues were a little harder to sway, something about your dead mother and being cowardice for not fighting Scylla– ah, he called you pathetic and weak, darling.” He bonked Telemachus on the nose, which he frowned to. He was weak, but... 

“Hold your horses, because Athena darling did not let that comment slide. Called you her friend and stuff. Said that you, Ody darling, would reach Ithaca and make everybody bleed– I bet he enjoyed that. And Hera? I’m guessing that’s where Zeus got his little sore loser deal from. Said you had the mind of a genius, which I must agree– skilled with words, said you were funny– but what really captured Hera’s attention was the most iconic line ever darling– ahem– ‘never once has he cheated on his wife’, and that was it!” 

At the very pinnacle of his retelling, his tone dropped drastically. “Daddy Zeus obviously didn’t like that so he struck her down five times. Favourite child syndrome didn’t help her out here. Girl is strong though, she still managed to beg for his winning verdict before passing out.” 

“Athena was what?!” Telemachus exasperated, physically repelling the thought. Is that why she wasn’t coming over to Ithaca as much? Is that why she wouldn’t look at him? Is that why– 

He peered over to his dad, wondering if he was also as piqued at it as he was. No– no? He just looked... numb? Or... insouciant? He wasn’t blinking, just staring at Hermes– it wasn’t disbelief. He was sure of it. 

“For the Goddess of Wisdom,” Hermes prolonged, “the wisdom sure was not in the arena with us. I mean, as badass, or whatever you mortals say, as that line was, it was not worth pissing off Zeus and his, well, fragile masculinity. Not saying it was her fault, but damn she was desperate to free you, darling. Like when I tell you she is antisocial, as you would know, imagine in the last ten years that she was somehow even more antisocial. Didn’t spare a word to any of us. Didn’t even glance at us. Not even Apollo and I! You had her down bad.” 

“She could’ve just... I don’t know, come back,” Odysseus deadpanned flatly, lacking sympathy in his tone. “It was nice talking to you, Hermes– but we best be going–” 

Oh. 

Oh gods.  

Somehow the god gets worse each time, for across the door was... 

A trident. 

Chapter Text

“Nevermind. Staying right here,” Odysseus deadpanned, pacing right back away from the door as if it were a plague. No. He’d rather go back to Calypso. Alone. Back on the island for a week. A month even. Anything but him.  

“What’s wrong darling– oh– ohhh...” Hermes winced, in feigned pain. “Yeah... that’s gonna be a tough one for you darling...” 

Odysseus shook his head emphatically, the flashbacks revisiting him. “He’ll kill me–” 

“He won't kill you.” A... disembodied voice? 

Eurylochus jumped as if he had witnessed a strike again. “The hell?” 

The voice had no nuance, no humanness in its tone. It also didn’t sound godly– at least none of the gods he was aware of. The voice was monotonous, for lack of a better word. 

“Ah, that’s the good friend who took us here. Darling wouldn’t show a face though– fear not, they bring no pain,” affirmed Hermes, borderline seriously and unseriously. 

“You know, Calypso said that too. Practically verbatim. Look what happened from there.” Odysseus was not laughing. 

The messenger god shrugged, scoffing a bit. “Back with your little trauma remarks, are we?” 

Meanwhile, the other three men shifted nervously. No one was laughing. 

“He can’t kill me, but he can still harm me– correct?” Odysseus frowns, scanning for loopholes. He is not taking his chances– especially if his son is going to follow along. 

I’ll take your son and gouge his eyes.  

No you won’t, Odysseus thought at the time. He would make sure of it, dead or alive. 

That is unless you choose to die.  

He would’ve chosen death. But at the time? Poseidon was asking him to take everything he had fought through and throw it down the drain. He was not backing down without a fight– after all, what was a war hero if he wouldn’t die trying? 

“That would be correct. Though his physical state is incapable of doing much harm, since you beat him to it,” buzzed the disembodied voice, yet again the same monotone coming from no discernible direction. 

Eurylochus jumped, by Polites’s side. “Someone needs to put a trigger warning three seconds in advance before it speaks.” 

In turn, Polites tapped his back several times, bluffing comfort. “There, there.” 

Odysseus contemplated this. He knew it would be unavoidable– he obviously could not stay here forever. It would also be easier to get it over and done with. Plus, it took two to tango– if Poseidon killed him, he would be stuck there forever. 

There was one thing though. 

Heaving a sigh, he approached the door. “Strange voice, is this the actual trident, or a replica?” 

“The former.” 

“Perfect,” he grinned, snatching it off the door. “And will he be armed with one?” 

“No. The one and only is in your hands.” 

Perfect indeed. 

He would be fine. Eurylochus and Polites couldn’t be harmed, he would guard his son at all costs– and should he be threatened, he defeated the sea god once– he’d do it again. Perhaps too, Hermes may provide some protection. 

And maybe... he would be finer if he just... 

He opened the bag and did what he did best– make stupid decisions. His latest was eating a certain flower again. 

Conjuring an animal may come in handy, right? 

It was not about the animal.  

Either way, he is as equipped as he can be. So... 

Shit. Here goes nothing. 

As he passed through, the others... didn’t? Wait no– this wasn’t meant to– 

Happen. 

Poseidon. 

The door slammed shut, ringing in the abyss. 

Simply looking at him flooded the memories back, a tsunami far greater than any wave. After stabbing the sea god multiple times, he prayed to never collide with him again. 

Unfortunate. Odysseus wanted a lot of things. He didn’t get many of them. 

The god didn’t appear as his usual, threatening, potent self. The scars still shone, and his golden ichor marks were still gradually healing. Damn. And gods are meant to heal quicker, Odysseus applauded, mainly himself. 

“You,” Poseidon hissed, his pupils swarming with vengeance. Vengeance he won’t be able to execute– he had done enough. “Again.” 

“Listen,” Odysseus cut straight to the chase, “I don’t want to be here, I doubt you do too. Neither of us harms the other and we say whatever we must to leave. I don’t think you’re in a position to do anything to me anyway.” If he hadn’t learned anything, he still didn’t respect Poseidon. Seldom did he have the upper hand against someone, particularly a divinity such as himself– hence, he intended to milk it out. “I have the trident. I won’t use it if I don’t need to. Simple as that–” 

“You and your feigned assertiveness,” the god growled, crossing his arms. “Stop. It has never helped you before.” 

Odysseus mirrored his arm gesture, looking away. Arrogance got most of his crew killed– 

Whatever. He was done with learning lessons that asked too much of him. 

“Sorry if I value my life,” he retorted, maintaining his lour expression. 

Silence. 

“Well this sucks.” He felt the effects of moly kicking in, almost like a tangible virus that was slowly seeping in. He felt it, thrived on it. 

He felt something.  

He also realised how redundant of an idea it was to fathom conjuring an animal, like back with Circe. Last time he created a Cyclops– and he was pretty well versed with how that would eventuate with Poseidon. 

“So? Say something,” he groaned, impatient. 

Care. 

Care was slowly dwindling. 

Of course he didn’t care! He defeated him once and would do it again in a heartbeat, and he had the higher ground. Literally. There were no tidal waves out to submerge him in, or any more men to lose. 

Or maybe he was just done with caring. 

Yeah. It was the latter. 

“What is there to say?” Poseidon countered, clearly not impressed. 

The mortal threw up his hands, clumsily and noncommittally. “I don’t know. I frankly don’t care. I just don’t want to spend another minute with you.” 

He was going to regret this later. 

So what. 

He had an abundance of regrets. Brilliant– they were practically a collection. 

“Well,” Poseidon exhaled, tiresome, “then let us talk. I ask my questions, you ask yours, granted that is what they want us to do. Then we can leave and never cross paths again.” 

Wait... Poseidon was being... compliant? Where was this attitude years ago? 

Odysseus didn’t question it, in case he changed his mind. He also didn’t think much of it. He wasn’t thinking much at all right now. 

Fun. 

“So...” the mortal raised, “why’d you kill over five hundred of my men?” It came off humoured, but he was not cackling. 

He might soon, because holy moly was this doing things to him without action. 

“Why did you blind my son?” 

“Why did he kill my men?” 

“Why did you kill his sheep?” 

“I don’t know, Poseidon!” he shouted, each of his emotions heightened tenfold. “Maybe because we were hungry! We’re not gods we need food and sustenance and that stuff and we just won the war and we found an island filled with lotus eaters and Polites was like ‘oh greet the world with open arms!’ and I was like ‘no it’s lotus’ and he asked the lotus eaters where to go and they pointed at the cave where your son lived so we went there and so yeah maybe we killed one sheep but we were starving and then Cyclops came out we’re all panicking and he says ‘I’m gonna kill you all and eat you for lunch!’ and I was like ‘no we’ve come this far take some wine’ and–” 

Poseidon was watching intently, a little flabbergasted and... concerned? Whatever that face was. 

“–maybe I mixed some lotus in it that was my bad but we had to escape somehow but then no the lotus came into effect too late because he killed my best friend! Polites! Just like that! And a few other men– anyways then we had to do something so yeah we did blind him and I am very sorry for that I still don’t know why you’d rather he die but yeah yeah ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves I get it but with my little just a man innuendo and my internal mantra I–” 

“Calm down.” 

“What?” 

“Calm down, Odysseus,” Poseidon finally concluded, interrupting his monologue. 

He remembered the first time the god called his name– it was not pleasant. 

Odysseus of Ithaca! Do you know who I am?  

This was... different. Dismissive, but a tad bit... 

Whatever. 

“Look,” the god continued, sustaining his well-renowned stoicism, “don’t. I don’t need you to justify yourself. I don’t care.” 

“You don’t?” the mortal questioned, baffled. If he didn’t care, why was he after him for a decade? Relentless and ruthless, holding onto the grudge like Odysseus held on for dear life? 

“You mortals do all you can to roundabout your actions and paint your deeds in a nicer light,” Poseidon continued, peering at anything but Odysseus. “Between you and I, I never cared for what you did to my son. You disrespected me, for he is an extension of I. That is what piqued me. Why would you not kill him, and lead him to a life of suffering in lieu? That is not mercy.” 

He... admitted it, just like that? He admitted that his pride couldn’t take it...? 

Did moly come with hallucinations? Verbal hallucinations? 

“If you harm any being with some form of familial connection towards me, then yes– I take it as a personal attack. Furthermore, he prayed to me to curse you, since a certain genius revealed his full name and origin to him. Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes. Not your sharpest move, I fear.” 

“There’s a catch,” Odysseus muttered, somehow sounding wary despite his aftereffects. “There has to be. You wouldn’t just... confess to that.” Even though it was obvious.  

“No,” the god said, not with the same cynicism as he did before he slaughtered all his men. If anything, he seemed... amused. “I also value my life. You keep coming back stronger. I’d be foolish to try anything again.” 

There was absolutely no way the Poseidon was openly divulging his flaws and acknowledging his... defeat. 

There had to be a trick, a caveat he wasn’t aware of. 

Right? 

Fortunately, and unfortunately for him, the worries drifted away– as if an aerial force just... picked it up and took it far away from here. 

Thanks, and... no thanks, to the moly, he meditated. Any form of thinking wasn’t serving him. 

“What now?” Odysseus murmured, toeing the trident menially. “It’s not like we can... reconcile. You hate me and I hate you. That’s just meant to be.” Daresay, he sounded a little... despondent about it. As if he wished he didn’t hate him. 

How could he not? He drowned over five hundred of his men. 

He also killed his men. Hypocrite.  

So much for not thinking. All he could think about were useless subjects, things he’d pondered for years, that benefit him no more– and the events in the interim simply... float away. Just out of reach. 

Most things were just out of reach. Like his freedom, several times. 

“I doubt that will happen,” the god responded. “What if you use that trident of yours to push down the door?” 

He was... helping him? Of course, he didn’t want to be stuck there. But... 

Odysseus turned to observe the door, giddiness kicking in. Kick in faster. Numb the confusion that laps around my brain, he prayed. 

It was simplistic in design, a birchwood door with a golden lyre medallioned on it. At this point, the lock was a lighter shade of red– still, very clearly, red. 

Whatever that meant. 

Apollo, maybe? That didn’t make sense. He lacked association with the god of the sun. 

That was hardly the issue. It was wood. Poseidon’s trident would certainly break that apart. 

With a bouquet of confidence, he strode towards the door, swinging at full speed, the same momentum he used to injure Pos– 

Clang. The trident just... halved. 

Shit. 

Shit. 

Shit.  

“The line between naivety and hopefulness is still invisible, it seems,” Poseidon whistled smugly. 

Of course. Of fucking course. 

Dumbstruck, Poseidon used this opportunity to take out the real trident, pointing it menacingly at the mortal. 

He fed the fish bait and it took it with no scepticism. 

Backing up, Odysseus realised the fatal mistake he made– keeping Poseidon at the door, for at last, someone broke through it– 

No. 

No, no, no.  

Telemachus busted out, only for the god to grab his neck and point the trident at his eyes. “An eye for an eye, Odysseus of Ithaca. ” 

“D-Dad...?” 

“Wait– please– ” Odysseus pleaded, the solemnity overriding any drug he could’ve taken. 

The god is unfazed, for nothing the mortal could say would sway his mind. “Don’t mistake my plans for bluff. You made your decision clear– you refused to get in the water, and I made my substitutes known. What a shame– no effective windbag for you to open, no tides for me to utilise. Perhaps your son can pay the price and consider it a debt repaid.” 

Without a second thought, a viable solution, or a coherent mind, Odysseus yielded his pride, falling to his knees. “Poseidon– I beg of you, release my son– I–” 

He swallowed. Hard. 

He would lose his everything. Everything he worked for. Everything he fought for. 

But... losing Telemachus would be worse. He’d end his dying days either way. 

“Take me.” 

Other than the intense banging of the door from the other side, silence filled the chasm. 

Finally.  

He gave up. The almighty Odysseus gave up. 

About damn time. 

Poseidon released Telemachus, who was shaken. No. He hadn’t a spear or a sword in hand, and he was just going to watch his father die, do nothing about it, stand uselessly, and– 

Wait. 

Another... 

“Any last words?” Poseidon offered wryly, pointing the trident at a humbled Odysseus. 

“Telemachus– I love you. And tell your mother I love her too.” 

Odysseus refused to come to terms with it– but maybe... this was better. Maybe death would set him free from the labyrinth he was contained in. 

Maybe he had lived more than enough. 

This was how he would die– a silent death at the bottom of an abyss, unknown and unthought of. No one would know. No one would care. 

And he would finally be at peace with himself. 

Poseidon raised the trident, 

Slowly but effectively, 

Odysseus, all but defiant. 

Accepting. 

It came down, deliberate, 

And he felt it. 

The guilt, 

Absolved. 

It approached his heart, 

The reason he ended up, 

In this mess. 

This was right. 

This is my goodbye.  

What? 

No. 

This had to be a vision. 

No. 

No. 

NO! he shouted internally, to no avail, in tandem with his son. 

“NO! ATHENA, NO–” 

The invisibility wore off, fresh ichor dripping down her cloak. 

She managed to spear him in the throat, plenty to make both divine beings collapse. 

And before she did, she whispered, 

“Go.” 

Chapter Text

– A few minutes ago –  

“Hermes, aren’t you a god?” 

Polites hadn’t used an ounce of strength in years– proven effective, for an artless, wooden door barely struggled. 

Eurylochus, on the contrary, was found working out. Notwithstanding his... condition. 

Who are you trying to impress? Polites had inquired at the time. All wonders akin, he did not receive a warm response. 

“Ah–” Hermes huffed, midair behind the two. “Messenger god, darling. Strength is not my strong suit.” 

“Yeah, well an extra pair of hands might be nice, freeloader,” heaved Eurylochus, a head full of sweat. Somehow, you still could sweat in chthonic form. It was not coming in handy. 

The god executed his classic, superficial laugh, zooming around the door. “Have you not pissed enough gods off, darling? A certain sun god?” 

“Sun god, you say?” 

The three, really two since Hermes was ostensible ‘moral support’, instantaneously quit trying to break the door open, snapping their heads in sync to the god that made his presence. 

Apollo. 

“Oh– don’t bother with the door. The door will open shortly. Forcing it will not benefit you– it contains magical remnants.” He was the god of prophecies too, after all. 

“Apollo, darling!” Hermes skidded towards him, pulling him in for a partial embrace. “The better sun-related deity!” 

And the two drifted off into some lavish, extravagant-sounding conversation that Eurylochus and Polites had no interest engaging in. 

“I thought lyre thief was derogatory...” muttered Polites, scratching his head. 

Eurylochus shrugged, keeping his eyes on the door like a hawk. “I think it’s fundamental to concur with Ody– Hermes has issues–” 

A pause– a second at most, for they lacked time to waste. The door was ajar, and– 

Slam.  

Telemachus did not have the aid of Athena’s quick thought, as she bled out in front of him. He’d been afraid– for freezing was always more achievable than fighting. Or fleeing, it would seem. 

Not today. He had a father to live up to, right in front of him. 

Removing his emotions for the interim, he retrieved Athena’s spear and– 

Hesitated. 

No. He tried to hurt his dad, and hurt Athena instead– both separate, yet combined deeds. He also cared a whole lot more about their safeties than the god who slayed most the men his father had nightmares over. 

So he stabbed him. Again. And again. And again– until his eyes were hardly agape, falling into the tempest of oblivion. 

Served him right.  

Wait... 

He just stabbed a god?! 

Pro tem, Odysseus knelt there, simple-minded and frozen, holding Athena’s bleeding body. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t feel.  

The world ended. Right then and there. He didn’t need to die for it to end. 

Athena, he thought. 

Athena? he thought. 

ATHENA–  

The door busted open, and the other three... no, four?  

Was that... Apollo? 

Odysseus’s mouth was agape, trembling, abstained from a voice– though his shaky hand was steady enough to point at the injury, not daring to leave Apollo’s eye contact. The medic wasted no time, getting down on a knee to perform his procedures. 

The world was ending. 

Athena was ending. 

Because of him. 

Again. 

Fix your posture, Odysseus. It is slanting. Your coronation might be upcoming, but that doesn’t warrant indolence.  

You want to ask me, the Goddess of War, desisted from any romantic or sexual capacity, how to impress a girl?  

This day, you sever your own head– this day, you cut the line.  

Goddess and man, bestest of friends?  

Don’t disappoint me.  

Odysseus, I’m sorry.  

Odysseus.  

Ody?  

“Ody?” 

Polites? 

Telemachus? Eurylochus? Everyone? 

No– 

“Athena– Athena–” Odysseus panicked, hyperventilating, abruptly sitting up. 

Hermes indicated to the makeshift bed the disembodied voice was kind enough to provide, where Apollo was working on her. He had already hypothesised this, having prepared the necessary tools and medicines. “She’s fine, darling. And so are you. I tied Ariel up,” he pointed at the door, where Poseidon’s functional arm was hammered by his own trident. For good measure, the spear was stabbed through his leg and the ground, known to lack rigidity as Odysseus discovered with Eurylochus. “You’re safe now, darling. You have three gods on your side. Well... two, if we only count the conscious ones.” 

He didn’t care if he was safe. 

Athena. 

Telemachus knelt by her side, placing a hand on her shoulder firmly. Idiot! I knew you were here the whole time! Why didn’t you come earlier? he thought– if only she were awake to hear it. It didn’t add up– she was clearly there this entire time. 

That wasn’t the problem now. 

Five lightning strikes. With Poseidon’s trident, she’d be dangling off a thread and good as dead. 

But goddesses couldn’t die... right? 

Odysseus stood up, walking over to her body. She was still out cold, Apollo having removed her armour and bandaged her. Poseidon stabbed her right between the ribs– ichor oozing provisionally, with the ligature tranquilising it. 

“Did you know this would happen?” muttered Odysseus, discarding the fact that this was a god, and not any god but Apollo.  

He nodded, not sparing the former soldier a glance. “She will live. She must.” 

“I–” he didn’t protest. That wasn’t enough– would she be fine? Would she wake up?  

Extinguishing the smog burning in his mind, he sauntered over to Telemachus, hugging him soundlessly. He nearly lost his son. Again. 

Held you in my arms prepared to die for you.  

“I’m sorry, son,” he whispered, holding him tighter than he ever had. 

Telemachus shook his head and– tears? There were tears seeping through Odysseus’s cloth? “Don’t– don’t you dare– you nearly died–” 

“I’d do it again,” the father said, unflinchingly. 

Telemachus was not taking that for an answer. “No, you won’t. Promise me that.” 

Silence prevailed. 

“I’m not half as strong as you, but I would’ve been fine,” he whispered, tears like rain. 

Odysseus retorted, “That wouldn’t matter against Poseidon.” 

“You defeated him.” 

“Sheer luck.” 

Eurylochus trod over, Polites following closely behind. 

“And the help of six hundred souls mentally reincarnated.” He rested his chin on his son’s shoulder, mumbling his words, though coherent enough to understand. “It doesn’t matter. I just– I’ve lost you once, Telemachus. I don’t want that to ever happen again.” 

It was a poor argument. He would still technically lose him if he died. But... he felt the shakiness in his father’s voice– so he agreed to disagree. 

It was still weird, having a father around. He had waited and waited and waited for this day to come– and now that it came... now what? 

Time was an eidetic but ambiguous oxymoron, tiptoeing and flying by simultaneously. Something so objective, yet so... subjective. Both father and son tried to ignore the condition of their mentor– as she, the all-powerful Goddess of Wisdom, lay lifelessly and bedbound. Eurylochus and Polites helped with that distraction– only soundly, as the thought of losing Athena rotted in the back of their minds. 

Why did she... do that? It was still an inaugural, foreign idea to Odysseus– Athena? Sacrificing? For a mortal? He knew she did it once, in front of Zeus and a crowd, but... he didn’t believe it. Not because he portrayed Athena as heartless, but because he didn’t want to believe it.  

He hadn’t much of a choice anymore. 

Damnit Athena, he initially thought– because why did she make him sympathise? Why was she trying? Why now? 

It would be easier in the long term if she never returned. It would add salt to the wound– but at least the scar was familiar. This? This wasn’t. The healing of the scar was... strange. Unfamiliar. Wrong. 

The pain was right. Rightful, and the home he uninhibited and grew on. The pain was the one thing that stayed with him– and while it may hurt him, it stayed. Most things didn’t. Everything kept changing in the midst of blinks, barely gracing him with the ability to grasp it. Nothing was a constant in his life anymore– everything was volatile, unpredictable, and far from him. 

The pain remained. It was loyal. And it was... oddly comforting. Feeling something was better than nothing– no matter how cruel that something was. 

Perhaps the pain intertwined with hope. Pain made hope stronger, despite common perception– not always, but often. Without the weight of all he’d lost, there was a sense of comfortability, of fightlessness– upon losing everything, he had nothing left to lose, nothing to delay or wait for. 

Hope also made pain stronger, didn’t it?  

Without the pain, the hope would never be so prized– something growing yet dwindling in a linear pattern, edging him closer to the finish line. Different finish lines. 

Either or, he thrived on the pain. It was a pattern, predictable, and precedented. He knew it would stay until his dying days. He knew it wouldn’t leave. A little something he had control over prophesising. 

What a sad something.  

Until the pattern snapped. One day... Athena returned. It was as if nothing changed, and that fuelled the flame in him. How could she reappear in his life a decade later and simply... be part of it again? How could it possibly be the same again? 

He knew she changed. He didn’t want to see it. He desired to watch the two of them spar, Athena maintaining her patience, regarding him even a little more forgiving and feel... joy. He wanted to be proud of her progress, acknowledging her efforts and her means to change. 

So why couldn’t he? 

Half of Odysseus was stuck in the past, clawing lifelessly onto the remains of his ship– when it was still intact. It was unfair. It had to be. Why couldn’t she be better earlier? Why must she change when it was far too late? 

This too was pain, but it was... unfamiliar. Bittersweet. Unknown. He didn’t want it. It was replenishing the virus he was comfortable being engulfed in, like an adventitious substance that seeped into his system. Whatever it was, he didn’t want it. 

But he did.  

Apollo undressed the wound, working on it. Hermes was a different distraction– most certainly not the positive kind. 

“Her body is very fragile, Hermes,” he requested. “Go piss someone else off.” 

“Nah.” 

When Hermes said no, it meant no. 

Completing the treatment, Apollo removed his materials. It would do– he didn’t have everything at his disposal, but this was... suffice. 

“Now we wait,” he informed, quiet but loud enough to be audible. Beckoning to Poseidon, he added, “Should I fix that one?” 

“No.” 

“Please no.” 

“Nah.” 

“Don’t.” 

“He’ll be fine.” 

Several voices chimed, Apollo following the consensus. Zeus may be unhappy with him for it– 

Oh well. He was impossible to please either way. 

Glancing over Athena, many thoughts crossed his mind. 

Why would you do this for a mortal? Again?  

Why would you do this for a mortal in the first place?  

Was this man worth enraging father?  

What happened to the ‘favourite child’ title you wore on your sleeve with pride?  

Will you be okay?  

Are you... okay?  

“Please...” 

Three heads snapped in her direction: Apollo, Odysseus, and Telemachus. 

Athena was mumbling, not quite forming sentences, her eyes still shut. She wasn’t awake, nor was she asleep. 

Perhaps... 

“Father... please... father...” 

Odysseus shuddered, the guilt wrapping around him like a tourniquet. The wrong pain. He knew Athena and Zeus had discrepancies after god games– because of him. 

“No... no– NO–” 

She shot awake, breathing heavily, sitting up halfway as she winced in pain in a downward spiral. Everyone stared at her– stop staring. Please. The twinge in her abdomen pierced her in more ways than one, diminishing her ability to breathe. 

What... happened? 

– A few days ago –  

“Father.” 

The walls and buildings of Olympus were familiar, but Athena felt out of place. It had been several weeks since she pleaded for Odysseus’s release, taking Zeus’s wrath at face value. By now, the effects should have dissolved. 

However... 

He wouldn’t even look at her, let alone answer to her. For millennia, she had been the prize of Olympus– Zeus’s personal trophy, the preferred child above all. 

In one day, her entire world changed. 

For a mortal.  

“Father,” she repeated, much more tentative than the former time. She had never felt... nervous in front of Zeus. She had the right words to say to access his approval, and like a zombie, she would simply operate said words and leave. 

This was... different. Her palms were sweating, her head was throbbing, and she could hardly kneel without quivering. 

“I heard you,” he declared, still not looking into her eyes. “What is it you need?” 

What did she need? 

She needed to heal. She needed to resume work. She needed her selfish and prideful father to own up to his shit. Unfortunately, verbalising so would not work well for her. 

“I do not oppose your judgment, Father,” she commenced, with all the niceties she could provide, “however, these injuries have posed complications that seemingly exceed temporary effects. I acknowledge the wrongs I prolonged, though my performance is impacted by these wounds.” Her voice was subtly trembling if one listened close enough. 

Zeus was listening. 

“Whose fault is that, Athena?” 

The words shot arrows through her skin, through every lethal part there was. 

“I am afraid,” Zeus continued, each syllable of its own form of thunder, “I cannot excuse the transgressions you perpetuated. You made your motivations clear when you withstood my will for a mere mortal. Such defiance cannot go unpunished. You are a warrior, Athena; is it that difficult that you cannot manage yourself? A goddess like yourself, having lived for eons, unable to compromise a few lightning shocks?” 

It nearly killed me, she desired to say. You nearly killed me, she desired to scream.  

“I apologise, Father. It would seem that I too have weaknesses.” Did that come off as too passive-aggressive? Did she offend him further– 

Zeus was unfazed, still looking anywhere but at his own daughter. “You sacrificed your life for a mortal, now you must live like one.” 

“But father–” 

“Listen here.” He snapped his head in her direction, pupils like knives, leaning over to speak near her. “I spent millennia moulding you into the weapon you stand as today. Infrangible, I made you to be– invulnerable to any form of harm, able to reconvene after any mere... inconvenience. You were invaluable, something that was never meant to break– until you did.” 

“I–” Athena gasped. The fantasy of her loving father disintegrated before her very eyes, like damning all the fairytales a child believed in. Lies. Faux. No. “Father– you electrocuted me five times– most would not survive that –” 

“Ah– you misunderstand me. I do not mean the lightning. I mean your amity, daresay love for a mortal.” 

No. Not today. 

No. Not ever. 

No.  

“Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes–” he perpetuates, “a man full of shame and a tapestry of failures to remain with him. He will die in a few years, as humans do. And you? You were to live on, indefinitely. You are weak, Athena, to allow one so lowly to toy with your heart.” 

“Father–” she begged, to no avail. 

“Do not call me that.” 

Silence. Pandemonium in her head.  

“No child of mine allows their emotions to get the better of themselves, particularly the purported Goddess of Wisdom. No matter how wise you think you are, you are incredibly naive, Athena. You thought my love was unconditional? The moment you defied me was the end of it. You severed your own head, and severed your place in this family. If you cannot give me your end of the bargain, I am afraid I cannot reciprocate. You are nothing.” 

“Please–” 

It wouldn’t matter what she said. 

“You are not welcome on Olympus, unless you have something meaningful to say.” 

– Back to reality –  

“Oh. Apologies.” Athena composed herself, regulating her breathing. 

That day haunted her. 

No one could know.  

She wanted to scream. 

Suffer in silence.  

She didn’t need a reminder. 

Nor did she need Odysseus to rub salt into the wound.  

Two arms wrapped around her from behind, shakier than she was. Somehow. 

“You’re okay... you’re okay, Athena!” Telemachus. Of course. 

He was just like his father.  

No. She mustn’t indulge in that thought. 

Because that man died– thanks to her.  

Odysseus would never forgive her. She was sure of it. The way he spoke about her had no room for compromise– it was an irrevocable hatred, the kind of broken spite that could not heal. He wouldn’t concede to the abdications she made. Was this an integral part of the punishment? Was this what she was destined to live with until her dying days? 

She had no one to blame but herself. 

Perhaps it would be better this way, if he loathed her. If everyone loathed her. Telemachus would understand– they hadn’t known one another for too long. 

But she cared so dearly for him– maybe instigated by the fact that he was an extension of his father, but maybe because he reminded her of humanity. That this world still had room for good. 

He would understand... wouldn’t he? 

The body she possessed was no longer hers. It no longer performed the same things it used to be able to. It no longer worked at the speed and momentum necessary for a goddess like her. It simply no longer... worked. As if she was a sheet of paper, torn mercilessly apart. No amount of tape or glue would mend the two pieces back together– and for it to operate the same. 

She lost almost everything. Her body, her father, her friend. Ten years, she hammered down the pain, the reminders, the mere thought of Odysseus. Not one of those times did she consider seeing him. So what if he was a mortal? That guilt would mangle her for thousands of years to come. Matter of fact, she had experience with it. 

Pallas.  

Her life was in vain after she left that arena. Zeus didn’t simply electrocute her physical body– he electrocuted her ability, her skills, her usefulness. Just like that, he left her. He didn’t hesitate, give it another thought, nothing.  

What was a Goddess of War if she couldn’t fight? 

What was a Goddess of War if she no longer wanted to fight? 

She couldn’t keep fighting like this. Not anymore. The chronic pain, both physical and mental, slowly chipping away at her will every day. Her entire life revolved around this ‘mere mortal’– and somehow, twice through, she damned both of her friendships. She would surely damage a third. In turn, her father turned her back on her– soon enough, all of Olympus would. She didn’t intend to wait around for that day, the day the entire pantheon would abandon her. There was nothing left to live for– the reason to live became the reason to leave.  

No friend to earn forgiveness from. No father to be of use for. 

Maybe she could do one last useful thing. One last thing to satisfy her father. 

With that, despite her wound and her surroundings bellowing don’t move, she shapeshifted into her owl form, faded from the void... 

And off to Olympus. 

Chapter Text

“Athena!” several of them bellowed, but it was far too late– she just... left? 

No– it’s happening, anticipated Apollo, his face darkening in realisation. “Hermes, you and I must leave.” Turning to the mortals, he let out a sigh– not all that reassuring. “She will be fine.” 

With no further warning, the two gods left the chasm. 

“Where is she going-?” muttered Telemachus, anxious and shaken. 

Odysseus shook his head, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She was talking about her father, so probably Olympus. We’d have no way of going. The best thing we can do is finish this quickly,” he concluded level-headedly, astounded that the moly still hadn’t fully settled in. 

He walked towards the door, ignoring the tremble his legs exhume, and glanced down at Poseidon. 

He may be the monster, but Poseidon made him that way. 

“Telemachus, grab Athena’s spear. I’ll grab the trident.” Odysseus was dry. Full speed ahead. There was a job to get done. 

One last time he keeked at the sea god. 

“Here’s one for threatening to blind my son.” 

He stabbed the trident in Poseidon’s eyes for good measure. 

All he saw were golden hoops around the door– it was much clear now. 

Ctimene. 

He hadn’t seen his sister in ten years, and he refused to. Not because he didn’t miss her, he missed her so dearly– but one reason prevented her from such an endeavour. 

Eurylochus. 

Her back was turned, her arms holding each other. Odysseus half expected the door to prevent Eurylochus and Polites to enter– 

As it did. Telemachus followed through, however– and he was grateful for that. The two of them leaned their weapons against the door, on the other side incase the others entered.

“Ctimene,” Odysseus muttered, all things tentative, “it’s been a while.” 

Silence reigned. 

“Ctimene–” 

“Don’t.” 

She was upset. Rightfully so. 

“How do you think it feels for me, Odysseus?” she began, shifting on an angle subtly. “How do you think it feels to find out that your brother washed ashore a few days ago, didn’t think to speak to his sister once, and to make me have to eventually figure out that–” she cut off, the unspoken words hanging over them like a guillotine. Neither of them wanted to address the obvious. 

“I–” he muttered, cutting off too. He had nothing to say– nothing good to say. 

“Tell me, Odysseus,” she said menacingly, tilting ever so slowly, “tell me what happened to my husband!”  

They now stood level, eye to eye, tears rolling mercilessly down her cheeks. The last time he saw her, she was barely an adult, young and unhindered by the tragedies of the world. Her smile of infectious– the two of them were inseparable.  

She was different now. Her eyes were tired, her vibrance saturated. She looked as if she hadn’t smiled in years. 

He had only one man to blame. 

“Ctimene, I’m... sorry. I can explain. I’ll understand if you don’t forgive me. Just... allow me to tell you. Please?” He sounded equally as broken, but a kind of broken that was worn out. Dry. All the sobs and screams had long transformed into numbness. 

She seemed adamant about not hearing him out. Fair enough, he thought, though he knew she deserved to know. He also didn’t want to come off as insistent. 

“Aunt Ctimene, please?” Telemachus pleaded noncommittally, though genuine. 

Silence filled the air for a few long seconds, before she sighed, wiping her tears. 

“Fine.” 

Okay. He didn’t intend on sugarcoating it or victimising himself, but he had to express it in an... applicable manner. Applicable was slowly losing credibility, for the moly was seeping into his mind. Horrible timing.  

“We fought the war,” he braced, “won, all six hundred of us survived. Going home to Ithaca now– should’ve been a six-day journey, turned to a decade!” 

This was going to be a long explanation. Applicable did not mean concise. 

“Sorry–” he apologised, “anyways, we then passed a Cyclops cave because we were hungry, asked the lotus eaters for food, well that was actually Polites– he was like ‘greet the world with open arms, it’s worth being a little merciful’ and I agreed with him, very reluctantly– the lotus eaters offered us lotus fruit and I said ‘no these are lotus fruit they’ll control our minds and never set us free’ so Polites asked the lotus eaters where food was so they said a cave in the east, so of course we sailed into the cave and there were enough sheep to feed the entire crew– news flash, they were the Cyclops’ sheep, we just killed them, he was pissed and threatened to kill us and eat us, so I was like ‘no good Cyclops how about I give wine and you spare our lives’ but I had a few braincells back then because I mixed lotus in the wine– he drank wine, wasn’t appeased, killed a tonne of my men including Polites which took a toll on me– thankfully the lotus kicked in before he could kill any more men so he passed out, we blinded him, and this part was my fault because I doxed myself and was mourning so I said ‘remember me! I’m Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes!” which was absolutely the wrong decision boohoo Odysseus–” 

Telemachus had heard this exact story. He was only beginning. Ctimene looked... flabbergasted, and she was in for tales far worse. Somehow. 

“We left the cave,” he rambled, the pace picking up, “I refused to kill him which pissed a certain someone off– whatever that’s not the point– and little did I know a simple comment would warrant a lot of unnecessary pain so yes this is my fault. We were crossing the sea when an impenetrable storm hit us, absolutely horrible we were not reaching Ithaca at that point safely– so we stopped under a floating island which was the wind god’s island, this is where Eurylochus comes in because he was like ‘no don’t go gods are dangerous’ and I was like ‘would you rather drown stop doubting me I’m your captain’ so I climbed to the top, Aeolus wanted to make it a game, I accepted– it was the windbag with all the undesirable winds in it, but her winions were going to make my life ten times harder, throwing around rumours that there was treasure inside. I was arrogant and stayed up for nine days to guard the bag, of course no normal person can last that long, so I passed out and when I woke up the windbag was open, Poseidon arose, he was pissed because this time breaking news flash the Cyclops was his son! We’re all done for, he drowns every other ship but mine so that’s like over five hundred men dead, threatens my ship so I open the windbag and now we’re on Circe’s island, Aeaea!” 

Telemachus whispered to Ctimene, “Aunt Ctimene, it gets worse.” 

She was not looking forward to it, her expressions grim. She also wondered how he was speaking of it so enthusiastically– though there was a hidden layer of pain ever so clear. 

“Circe’s island,” he continued, the speed of his voice proliferating quickly, “my remaining men secure the island but no, they’re still men so the goddess or witch either or, Circe, invites them into her palace, feeds them because they are hungry and effectively turns them into pigs. Pigs! Eurylochus didn’t go in, comes running back, tells me what happened, and I say we go save them. He said we should run but we weren’t leaving more men behind. I’m on my way, Hermes pops in, gives me some drugs weed flower shit that I’m high on right now which was meant to make me conjure whatever animal I wanted to beat her. I enter the palace, we duel, she lost– until she tried to seduce me! I stayed loyal to my wife, and she was all like ‘you passed the test, and I also hate Poseidon’, hence she freed us and helped us go to the underworld to meet a prophet who would basically give us a fortune-telling. Boom he did but extra trauma sprinkles over us because it’s the underworld surprise surprise– found out mum died through that so yeah not nice, and I had my whole ‘I’ll become the monster if it gets us home’ which... yeah– by the way, Poseidon was like ‘you have to learn that ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves’ so that was a kicker.” 

“He’s nearly done,” Telemachus whispered, allowing Odysseus to catch a break. Ctimene simply looks... horrified. 

“We’re back on sea, sirens try to sing their way into our minds to make us kill ourselves for them to feast, I notice so I tell everyone to put beeswax in their ears, the siren pretended to be Penelope, I played along to gain information and the siren was like ‘if you want to get home then go through Scylla’s lair’ but Scylla’s lair would mean we had to sacrifice six men. Better than Poseidon, so we killed all the sirens since they tried to kill us and would kill the next group of sailors, and with that, we swerved to Scylla’s lair. I didn’t tell anyone of my plans, probably my fault too but as if anyone was agreeing to that, and here your husband decided it was a good idea to tell me that he opened the windbag. I was pissed, and told him to light up six torches because Scylla had six heads, and as expected, she killed six of our men. The crew was not happy. They held a mutiny against me, Eurylochus leading it, stabbing me in the side and tying me to a statue when we landed on an island– but this was no ordinary statue, it was the sun god’s statue, Helios! They wanted to kill the cows on his island, but those cows were immortal and the sun god’s friends, we would be sure to die if we hunted them, but everyone was starving so nothing I said would make them not kill the cows– they did, I broke free, and yelled at them all to run, but by then it was useless. Zeus had come to the surface. He made this big introduction about how only he could reveal pride and made it extremely erotic but whatever– he asked me ‘you or your crew’, pretended to be Penelope, I said me because I'm selfish, so he– electrocuted the entire crew with one bolt, your... husband included.” 

At last, he caught a breath, as if he had been underwater and finally came to surface. 

“That... was a lot.” It was too much for Ctimene to sob, for she was too stunned to speak. “I’m– I–” 

“I know, Ctimene,” he huffed, guilt-ridden. “I’m sorry.” 

“No–” 

She walked over to him, and hesitantly, 

She hugged him. She hugged him. “I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. And I’m sorry for all you’ve been through. I’ll– mourn his loss in my own time, but you were faced with an array of terrible decisions to make. I can’t... logically fault you.” 

In his own stun, he shakily rested his hands on his sister’s back, shocked at her reaction. “You– forgive me?” 

The embrace tightens. Ctimene was heartbroken, resting her teary eyes on her brother’s chiton– but after the war and all their tribulations, for one of her dearests to return, it was better than none of them. “I’ll try. There’s not much to forgive.” 

At this very moment, so very conveniently, the door busted open. 

Polites came out of it, but most importantly– 

Eurylochus. 

“Hey,” he whispered, rubbing her back, “he’s here. Just be mindful that uh, he’s a ghost so... he’s intangible, but–” 

Not sparing another second, she shot her head upwards, locking eyes with her husband. “Eu... Eury?” 

“Ctimene...?” Tears. Tears formed through his eyes. Odysseus had only seen him tear up once– and that was before he died. 

The two stood face to face, only metres between them. With slow, deliberate steps, Eurylochus made his way to his wife– this was the best thing he could’ve asked for. A last time. A goodbye.  

Although they couldn’t hug one another, it was enough for his essence to seep through her fibres. The two imitated a hug, and it was enough. 

This was enough. 

“I– is it really you, my dear–?” Ctimene wept, equally as dazed as she was enamoured. 

“The one and only.” 

It may not be the happy ending, but it was the closest he could get. 

He'd take it. 

Chapter Text

Eurylochus had many surprises on this very day. 

He was first teleported to a desolate, barren field of endless solitude, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. 

A note laid before him, reading one simple word– one enough to cut through his heart. 

Odysseus.  

His feelings for him were... complicated. They still were. He couldn’t seem to form a solid opinion of him, dragging along the shades of grey in utter volatility. He hated him. He cared about him. He was mad at him. He was sad for him. 

With all emotions akin, he felt the weight hanging over him eternally, like a bullet that would never shoot his heart but would always shoot his soul. The greatest sentiment that triumphed every other one was guilt. Five hundred men wouldn’t even dare meet his eyes every day in the underworld, an incessant reminder of the greed he had perpetrated. 

He was no better than Odysseus. If anything, he was worse. The man had carried them all through war, and like aimless children, they acted completely dependent on him. The one time their dependency and loyalty came to a halt, it led to their deaths. 

He couldn’t blame Odysseus for choosing himself. They betrayed him and planned to end his life. They had done nothing but been traitorous. 

And despite all the hatred he awaited from his old friend, he didn’t offer any of that anger. He didn’t yell, scream, or look at anything but his eyes. Fuck, he apologised.  

Too many things were not going according to the worst possible scenario Eurylochus had devised in his head, and he was so grateful for it. 

Nonetheless, above all things Eurylochus experienced today, this was the least precedented. And possibly, no definitely the best. 

“Oh Ctimene– it’s been too long,” he uttered through cluttered, bittersweet sobs. He had been watching her from afar, down in the underworld, yearning for her more and more each day. Would she ever forgive me for giving up? he wondered, the deepest scar through his every wounded remorse. 

It haunted him. If he had just pushed a little harder, unyielded just a little more strength, they could’ve gone home, he could’ve gone home. But no– because after all, he was just a man.  

“Could you forgive me for all I’ve done? Could you still love me all the same, despite the blood on my hands and the years you wasted waiting for me?” His voice broke, water flooding his gates. Very few things break Eurylochus– Ctimene is one of the very few. 

“I–” She tried to touch his cheeks, her hands going through them. “Are you... real? ” 

“I am,” he reassured, placing a hand in place as if he were tangible. “I’m a ghost, but I’m here. I’m so sorry, Ctimene. I wish I was here.” 

“Why can’t I feel you?” Ctimene wept, tears falling like sullen raindrops. “Why– where– where was our happy ending?” 

Eurylochus had no justification. None that would help. Oh, I killed a cow and got zapped by Zeus. Whether Odysseus reiterated the tale or not, it was preferable not to repeat. All he could do was apologise until she believed it, despite its futility. “I’m sorry.” 

“Stop saying you're sorry!” She covered her mouth, watery eyes looking up at his spectre form. “I– I just– if this is all the time we get, then–” 

She breathed, the pill one of the hardest to swallow. 

“I love you. I always will. I’ll never find anyone like you, and I don’t plan to. I– I will always mourn your loss, but I don’t blame you for what happened. It’s a surprise that Ody survived at all after everything you all went through. Not... everything can be a miracle, I suppose. I wish you could come back home, but at the end of the day, you’re– just a man. I can’t possibly antagonise you for the measures you took to survive. And– for what it’s worth– I’m grateful we get this.” 

Grown men rarely cry. This one, however, did today. Several times. 

Mostly now. 

“I–” he choked through sobs, “I love you so much Ctimene– I always will– I’ll be waiting for you– it’ll be okay in the end.” 

“If you’re in the narrative, it’ll always be okay in the end.” She smiled, the first genuine smile in a long time where she felt at peace. Where he felt at peace. 

Where they felt at peace. 

The last of the three decided to allow Eurylochus and Ctimene some leeway, as they continued to converse from a distance.  

Mid-conversation, time froze– but it was different from Athena’s quick thought. It... felt different. 

“I have a proposal for you, Odysseus,” the disembodied voice spoke. 

“I should listen to you why? You lied to me about Poseidon.” He was clearly pissed off, glancing over at the trident by the door. 

A rough pause occurred before the voice resumed. “Very well then. I suppose I’ll take up the opportunity to, well, do whatever you want to Antinous, prolonging his suffering and needs for fatality for someone else–” 

“Forget what I said,” he reconsidered instantaneously. “I’ll take your damn proposal.” 

Never anger a husband or a father. Or both. 

...

Antinous opened his eyes, and that was his first mistake. 

He could hardly feel his body, his neck and legs tethered by thick rope to a rusty surface. He was naked, exposed between both latches of rope. The edges were rough on his fingers, bound behind him. 

“Greetings, kind sir,” a voice quipped, placing a firm hand on his shoulder from behind. “Do you know who I am?” 

Who– 

No.  

The man revealed himself, his steps calculated and purposeful. In spite of the inches shorter he was, he felt the inferiority dawn upon him. 

It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be. 

“Fuck–” murmured Antinous, clenching his fists the most he could, and before he could respond, the man yanked his chin upwards. 

He was tied to a statue– but no ordinary statue. 

It. Couldn’t. Be. 

“Let me go–” 

“I,” the man smirked, enjoying every moment of this, “am the infamous, Odysseus of Ithaca. You know, those very words led to my doom.” 

He quipped, clenching his chin to meet his eyes. “It shall also be yours.” 

Normally Antinous could run his mouth all he wanted. He was normally the predator, not the prey. 

Think, he fumed with rage and fear, ashamed to be trembling. This wasn’t meant to happen– how could he touch him? Was he not already dead? Had he not done enough to him, shooting an arrow through his ne– 

“I am your king, Antinous,” he grinned, “but I suppose you aren’t well-versed in that. You know, since you planned to rape my wife.” 

“I did not–” 

“Something about holding her down while her gate is open? Not to mention, successive to killing my son? ” At this point, he revealed a knife, twirling it mindlessly. “Shall we recap the events?” 

“No–” 

“Allow me to hold you down,” he quoted, “while I slit your throat.” 

He sliced enough to make Antinous howl in pain like an untamed animal, just a vertical line from the side of his jaw to his collarbone, but not enough to be fatal. Not yet.  

“And while I’m at it,” Odysseus continued sadistically, “let’s cut you down into tiny pieces.” 

As he does, accordingly. Underneath Antinous’s feet is a wooden tub, filled with a grim shade of excess liquids, impoverished in tone. Odysseus took the switchblade and knelt in mocking respect. “My king,” he announced wryly, before a simple swipe of his knife cut off all ten of his toes. Then the next layer. He continued until both feet were severed to his Achilles tendons, chopped in even pieces beneath. The blood oozed like a rushing river, colouring the translucent liquids beneath him. He tried to scream, the bleeding from his neck preventing his volume. 

“Now,” Odysseus ridiculed, savouring this slaughter, “I'll give you an opportunity to apologise. Plead to your king, and perhaps I will grant a swifter death.” 

“King?” he simulated every bit of assertive arrogance he had left of him, scoffing over the agony, spitting at him. “O-Over my dead body.” 

He later came to regret it. 

“Very well then. Remember that I offered you a chance.” 

Without further ado, he continued to execute his plan, in a reminiscent order not chronological to his losses. Sliding his bloodied blade over his chin, he asked, “Tell me, Antinous; do you know the lengths I went to get home?” 

Antinous didn’t answer, perpetuating a glare. 

“We passed sirens who tried to kill us, unfortunately to their failures. We filled our ears with beeswax– perhaps my more intelligent moves. Do you know what we did to them?” He smiled, not waiting for an answer. “I’ll suppose not.” 

Dropping his blade, he picked up a sword– “We cut off their tails.” 

With that, he sliced both legs off, picking out a blunt sword for good measure. Keep screaming, he craved, thriving on his torture. You deserve so much more than this, you excuse of a man.  

For plans further down the track, he relented to cleave his severed legs, into the tiny pieces he promised. Each cut was precise and slow, prolonging his pain. 

“That was hardly the worst event. If anything, it was one of the better ones.” He cackled softly but menacingly. “Tell me, Antinous, have you heard of Scylla? Fear not if you haven’t– she resides in a cave we passed, you know, to avoid Poseidon. In exchange, I had to sacrifice six men. The rest of them tried to kill me for that. Fortunately, you can be a seventh.” 

Perhaps not an exact replication of Scylla’s experience, but close enough. Switching weapons yet again, this time to a machete, he sliced a chunk of Antinous’s body off, from his chest to his abdomen. He carved a little too deep, taking out a heap of organs, splashing into the pond of blood. “She said something about dying in the blood that you bathe.” 

“STOP–” the filth pleaded, alas– “I– MY– MY KING– ENOUGH– PLEASE –” 

“You see, Antinous, I’ve already given you an offer, which you declined... so,” 

The last he saw was Odysseus's smirk. 

“No.” 

With a club, he stabbed both of his eyes, mixing his eyeballs into the bloodbath beneath them. Over Antinous’s bellows, he carried on with his speech. “That was a little earlier in my journey. The Cyclops. My worst mistake, I would say, for he was Poseidon’s son. I pray that you appreciate the blindness.” Enjoying this far too much, he cackled maniacally, watching the ropes binding his leg finally slip out. “This was only part of my journey, really– but I suppose I’ll wrap it up.” 

Not before he took out an old piece of cloth in one hand and retrieved his dagger in the other. For his own cleanliness, he used the fabric to hold his genitalia, not for anything erotically implicative– quite the contrary, actually. 

“No–” Antinous begged, for despite his loss of vision, he knew exactly what Odysseus was doing. “Please–” 

“How dare you beg.” 

With that, he amputated his dick and castrated him manually. Allowing both bits and the cloth to dissolve in the mixture beneath, he stood back to watch the man squirm and necrose, the most twisted form of artistry. Justice. Bloody, beguiling, justice.

“It seems above all people,” he spoke, prolonging his anguish, “you know that ruthless is mercy upon ourselves. Poseidon told me that, made sure I learned said lesson in the back of my mind. You and I are similar in that regard– we are both monsters.” 

He paused, “however, I was a monster for those I loved. You were a monster for yourself.” 

With that, untied the rope on his neck with his left hand, grabbing his throat with his right. Forcefully, he smashed what was left of him into the pool of blood, of his own blood, allowing him to drown in it. 

“Die.” 

...

Odysseus was a very forgiving person. He became a monster to fulfill his purpose– getting home. The man would trade the world to see his son and wife, and daresay, he did. At night, he lay in pool of guilt, the voices and blood of those he killed haunting his every minute. The blood on his hands was an integral part of him– the sooner he realised, the sooner he went home. To reach the shores of Ithaca, he welcomed the pain with open arms. 

However, some were exceptions. 

Some people couldn’t be forgiven. What he perpetrated to Antinous wasn’t enough. He could feel the weight of every pain in the world– and still, it wouldn’t be enough. 

It would never be enough. 

But for now, he relished the screams, the begs for mercy, and the blood exuding from his skin. Nothing was quite as satisfying as watching the smiles wipe off their smug faces, detaching the egos and heads of these men. He would perpetrate the most creative of homicides for each individual suitor had he the grace to. 

For now, this was better than nothing. Alas, he couldn’t exterminate vengeance for all of them. 

He watched intently, holding him down, as Antinous’s head no longer jittered in the water. He let go. 

It would never be enough, but he was satisfied. 

...

Odysseus returned to the conversation. Only a second had passed for them, but far longer passed for him. 

The door unlocked, the lock barely red anymore. It wasn’t clear who the next person could be– a simple door painted white. 

Odysseus wasn’t sure if he wanted this to end or not. He feared for Athena, but he’d never get this opportunity again. 

Later problem. 

And with that, Odysseus, Polites, and Telemachus left for the next room. 

“Mom–?” 

Was he seeing things...? Was that... really... her?  

“Grandma!” Telemachus ran to Anticlea, tears rushing as well, halting before he passed through her. “It’s really you!” 

Was this... real? 

“Telemachus-? I– Odysseus-? ” Her lips trembled as she covered them with her hands. Was this a dream? Was it... them?  

Walking over, as charging over would break his heart even more, he let her face sink in. It was really her– and– 

“Oh mom– it’s– it’s me, Odysseus– I’m– home–” and he was in tears. Again. For what was the thousandth time today. 

Polites was smiling from a distance. It filled him with even a twinkle of joy seeing Odysseus reunite with his family. If only he could with his own.  

“Oh, my son, my grandson– it really is you–” Teary-eyed, she imitated an embrace, assuming where her arms would be. “It has been so long– Odysseus, I’ve been watching you from afar– you really are home–” 

“I’m sorry–” he cried, “I’m so sorry– I– I was too late– I know that you were waiting– I–” the floodgates collapsed, as he covered his own mouth, trying to stifle his tears to no avail. “I’m here now– I wish this was permanent, but I'm– I’m beyond happy to see you, mother–” 

“No more sorries, my son,” she sobbed, happy tears, “you’re finally home.” 

The four of them conversed, jumping from tale to tale of the nostalgic tapestry of the past. How the years had gone by– Polites and Odysseus remembering their childhood stories, Telemachus listening in awe. At last, a nicer experience of his dad’s. 

It was nice, like this. Just like this. 

For a moment, everything was fine. There were no worries, no paranoias, no fears. No vengeance, no apologies, no forgiveness. No voices, no bodies, no guilt. It would resume soon, but for now, he planned to appreciate this– his mother, his best friend, and his son. 

For the first time in a long time, 

Everything was good. 

Chapter Text

There was no more next door.  

No more new people to apologise to, no more wrongs to make right. 

All that was left was a portal, chipping away like burning paper, the olive tree bed in periphery. 

This was goodbye. 

“No,” Odysseus whimpered, “no.” 

Telemachus had said his goodbye, before he returned to Ithaca. Something about Hermes and Apollo needing him– he wasn’t sure. He would continue to miss her, but he felt obligated to not.. show his grievances for his father’s sake. 

He didn’t suffer nearly as much as him anyway.  

Polites and Eurylochus flanked Odysseus, putting a hand each on each shoulder, and Anticlea held his hands, uncertainly and partially gesturing to the portal– to no avail. He couldn’t hug them goodbye. He just had to walk away. 

The portal wouldn’t allow him to stay forever. His seconds were wasting, a doomed, ticking time bomb. It was gradually closing up, like gradual flames edging it to shut, slowly but surely. 

“It’s... already over? How...?” he sobbed, his knees threatening to give in to gravity. He did everything in his power to pacify the inevitable for as long as possible, focusing on each interaction and savouring each long-yearned moment. It was easier to ignore the fear of leaving them behind yet again when there was only ecstasy. Now? All he had left to stare at and scrutinise was the portal, closing and closing and closing. “It’s not enough– it’ll never be enough.” 

Tears fell through, passing through his mom’s hands into his own. He had so many words, piled up and thoroughly planned through over the years, as he fed into the delusions that someday, this day would come. 

Now that it had come, his mind was blank. Everything he devised, the endless nights on Ogygia’s beaches where he sat on the shore and spoke to the sea, all gone. 

The words failed to arrive. He stored them in a safe in hopes of keeping his emotions aside, only for him to forget the password. 

All he could do was cry. Nothing meaningful felt like coming out. 

“You’re right, Ody. It won’t be enough– it– it never will be I–” Polites rubbed a hand under his glasses, wiping the tears of his own. “Gods, I can’t do this– most things have solutions, why can’t this? They say everything happens for a reason but– why? What was the reason for how everything ended–?” 

Eurylochus’s eyes were red from departing Ctimene, who left on her own separate accord- not willingly, evidently. He told himself it wouldn’t happen again– unfortunately, his promises were never kept. “Ody I– you know we’ll– we’ll always be–” he choked on his sobs, the most vulnerable he’d get. “We’ll always be watching from afar– and one day, when you join us, we’ll– we–” Covering his mouth, he turned away, water falling from his eyes parallel to his lightning scar. In a helpless whisper, he muttered, “I can’t do this, Polites.” 

Pulling him into an embrace and fragile reassuring declarations, Polites’s tears soaked into Eurylochus’s sleeve. 

Odysseus watched. That was all he could do– watch the world drift away from him, an intangible, cruel force that thrived on his anguish. Once he left, it would be over. Years away. He couldn’t hold onto them. He couldn’t do anything.  

Odysseus could kill Trojan soldiers. He could manipulate the manipulators and slice off their tails. He could sacrifice his men for his own selfish desires, no matter the length of time they’d suffered together and shared their laughs and smiles. He could shift the seas against the odds of Poseidon himself, a mortal defeating a god. 

He couldn’t bring those he'd conned back to life. 

“Oh my son,” Anticlea smiled bittersweetly, cupping his cheeks. What he would give to feel her touch again. “I am so unbelievably proud of you. The pain in your heart weighs so heavy– if only I could take that from you. I– I wish this lasted longer, but I am beyond grateful it ever happened. Just know, son, I’ll– I’ll be waiting.” 

She was fading away. 

No. 

No.  

She was running out of time, and he couldn’t hold the overabundance of words he needed to say in his palms. 

“Mom– I–” he shook his head, defiant of the facts before him. He wouldn’t accept it. Ever. “I love you– I love you so much– you... you know that, right? I know that you were waiting – and I– I’m sorry I couldn't tell you earlier– I’m sorry it took me so long and I–” 

Anticlea put her finger over Odysseus’s lips, and despite the lack of sensation, it was enough to make him cease the self-blaming. “No. Not another sorry from you, son. I forgave you a long time ago– if there was ever anything to forgive. The fact that you’re alive is a miracle, and that’s made me happier than ever. This isn’t goodbye– we’ll reunite again, son. We all will. Okay, son? Please– hold on. For me. For all of us. You’ve been through so much dear– you deserve to rest. I’ll always love you. I’ll be waiting, my son.” 

“Mom–” 

All she did was smile, like a dagger tearing through his fractured heart. Her hands slid off his cheeks, as she waned into the darkness, drifting off into the air. She smiled until the end. 

“I love you, Odysseus.” 

“Mom–” 

“I love you.” 

“MOM–!” 

No I love you came back. Her gentle eyes and familiar smile merged with the void, unforgiving. His voice echoed in the chasm, responseless, ringing his head as his own words came throbbing back, as he clattered to his knees. 

“Mom-” 

Ending. 

The world was ending. 

The world was ending the world was ending theworldwasending.  

Next to begin dissipating was Eurylochus. No. Too soon.  

The world was just out of his grasp. 

“Eurylochus, no–” he whispered, a little hysterical and extremely tired. “Not again–” 

“Ody–” he sighed, comparatively composed by a minuscule amount, knowing exactly what he wanted and needed to say– for both of their sakes. He knelt down to him, as they both sat level to one another. As it always should’ve been. “I need you to know that I forgive you. I know you need to hear that. All of us were surviving, I can’t blame you for anything you’ve done. We’ve had our ups and downs, but through and through, you’ve always been my brother. That hasn’t wavered. It never will.” His words seemed steady but his voice was tentative and shaky. He didn’t want to say these things– not because he deemed them untrue, but because they would be the last things he said to his old friend for years to come. 

The unavoidable goodbye hung over them like a guillotine. To determine when it would come down to terminate their connection would be unpredictable. 

“And, Eury–” Odysseus stammered, far more quivery than his brother, “I forgive you too– I never spited you for anything, we were all dangling off a thread. After all, we were just men who were trying to go home, right? I– that doesn’t matter. You stayed by my side for years despite the decisions I acted on independently. If we could go back in time and change it all, things would’ve been different– but here we are.” He was stifling anymore waterfall, before the floodgates shattered. “I love you so much, brother. I hope you know that. I don’t know how you can forgive me but– I’ll take it. I just–” 

Every atom of his fibre dimmed, the world darkening with him, each second passing a lethal cut in Odysseus's skin. “We’ll always be brothers–” 

Eurylochus smiled poignantly, and that was the last he saw of him. 

“Always.” 

“Eurylochus–” 

Gone. 

All that remained of Eurylochus were the teardrops on the ground, reflecting back onto Odysseus, whose teardrops mixed with his fallen brother’s. 

That was all they ever were. 

Just men, doing what they could to survive. 

No man could beat death. 

No man could beat death. 

Why couldn’t they live?  

Polites. 

“I can’t do this, Polites– I can’t do this anymore–” Odysseus pressed his scalp, bodily running his fingers through his hair. 

He didn’t want their conversations to revert to screams. 

He didn’t want their faces to revert to ghosts. 

He didn’t want their presence to revert to memories. 

“Stay with me, Ody,” Polites pleaded, his optimism cracking into a facade of certainty. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here, okay?” 

“Okay–” He didn’t believe him, but he wanted to. Something about his voice soothed the hellfire within him– even for a moment. “It’s been ten long years, but– I'll always love you, Polites. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you. Please– stay with me– don’t go– not again–” 

“I’m right here, Ody. I’m still here.” His voice was fading, diminishing in volume by the seconds. Hope was unbridled. It established when it would come and go– and right now, it was vacating, slipping through his fingers. 

“You know,” Odysseus laughed nostalgically, covering his eyes and the tears that emanated. He didn’t want to close them and lose him. “I don’t think you’ve ever shunned me, despite the monster I’ve become. I spared the Cyclops, convinced that the cycle of bloodshed would immobilise if someone ended it. My mentor left me over the mercy I was insistent on in your grievance. The crew grew sceptical of me, thinking I was going soft mourning you. I almost believed in it– a little bit of kindness and humanity saved me from Circe.” His laughs distorted into sobs, approaching hyperventilation. “I heard you in the underworld, you know? Was it you? I don’t think it was... but I heard you. It feels like I never left, even all these years later. I’m not blaming you for my problems, I vow. In fact, I wish I still believed in kindness, and the men we once were.” 

Swallowing the pill of shame, he muttered, “How can you still see me the same, despite the monster I’ve become?” 

Because you’re not a monster, Polites believed full-heartedly. He wasn’t naive– not anymore. He witnessed of all the gruesome things Odysseus had executed and witnessed every version of him from afar– but they were at war for a decade, and every possible barrier was preventing him from completing what should’ve been a simple journey. Perhaps some parts of the voyage could’ve been dealt with better, but after all... he was just a man. They all were. 

“Oh Ody–” Polites lamented, “I don’t see a monster– I see a man who did everything to survive, and I’ve seen everything. I’m not saying this just because you’re my friend– I’m saying this because you were met with a plethora of impossible choices, choices no man should be forced to make. You’re incredibly strong for just... living, and I’m proud of you for it. I know nothing I can say will convince you otherwise, but like I said earlier, I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.” He proffered a weak smile, but it was enough. “Not a day passed in the underworld where I didn’t think about you. No sadness or envy outweighs the joy I feel for you, my friend, now that you’re home. That applies for most of our men. They were just happy to see even one of us reach the shores. And, even if we’re far away, I’ll–” he bit back a whimper, “always stay with you, okay, my friend?” 

“O-Okay–” and he believed it. Odysseus believed it. 

Naive.  

“You can relax my friend...” 

His words hung in the air ambivalently, as Odysseus finally looked up. All he could do was grab onto the contorted molecules of Polites that remained– in vain. 

“Polites...?” 

He was gone. 

His mom was gone. Eurylochus was gone. Polites was gone. 

They were gone. 

He didn’t know how long had passed. He didn’t care. 

The world continued spinning and moved on. 

He was still here. 

Still here. 

Here. 

... 

“Odysseus-?” 

The voice was familiar, but too far. 

He didn’t want to turn back– 

not to the life where 

all he smelt was blood, 

all he tasted was hunger, 

all he felt was pain, 

all he saw were ghosts, and 

all he heard were screams. 

“Odysseus, please come back inside–” 

The voice was empathetic and patient, 

a little bit afraid. 

He would be afraid too, 

of the monster he was. 

It was quiet, 

like a lullaby, 

and gently reminding him

to wake up. 

He was happy like this. 

He didn’t want to leave. 

“Telemachus and I are waiting inside– please, come back in my arms, my love–” 

Suddenly, 

he was back on the precipice 

on Ogygia. 

Lost. 

Tired. 

Alone. 

He wanted it to end. 

It should’ve ended 

a long time ago. 

Why did he live? 

Why did he live? 

“Come on Odysseus– I can’t hold this much longer. Your son and your wife are waiting for you. Please?” 

To come home, 

to his son and wife, 

he traded everything. 

He traded men, 

men with wives, 

men with children, 

men with families. 

Selfishness like him 

didn’t deserve to live. 

Selfishness like him 

deserved to die. 

“Okay– how about we come back to bed? We can talk. Just talk. There’s nothing more I ask of you?” 

All he had to do was talk. 

He never did. 

He left his crew 

Confused 

Unbeknownst to the outcomes 

of their own lives. 

He never talked. 

He thought he had it 

all figured out. 

He never did. 

He never will. 

He turned around and faced her. 

She was holding the portal open. 

For him. 

“That’s it, my love– come, into my arms dear–” 

He took a step. 

And another. 

Another. 

Look at all we’ve lost  

and all we’ve learned  

And he learned. 

Greet the world  

with open arms  

And he did. 

“I’m sorry Penelope–” 

“It’s okay, my love. I know. I’m here.” 

Here? 

Here. 

Here–  

... 

A few days passed. No day was slow, no day was quick. Every day passed like the other. That was it. 

He was still here. 

He yearned to say his final words for so long, and now that it was over, it scarred him more than it healed. 

He sat barefoot in the sand, each particle etching into his skin, ebbing it from him. He didn’t want this body– the body that perennially stained with blood, blood that was never his. The picturesque sunset loomed over the horizon, its radiance adjoined with hues of azure and fuchsia, the specular reflections on the water a warm amber. All that dared to surface were paltry ripples and ricochets. The waves collided with the soles of his feet, melting into the sand before they dissipated. 

He wanted to relish the sight. He wanted to hear crashing waves and the birds gawk. 

You can relax my friend...  

Always.  

I love you.  

He heard them. He heard them all. He heard them distort into bellows, symphonies of inculpating his actions, deeming their words as faux. He didn’t believe it. 

He was tired. It was all too repetitive. His reasons for living were in the palace. 

Penelope had to cry out to him six times before he came back inside. He profusely apologised, tears overboard, and while she comforted his woes, he didn’t forgive himself. 

He was perfectly content with succumbing to the void and leaving his wife. Maybe he didn’t deserve anything.  

His eyes drooped over the waters that housed his fallen men. They were somewhere in the depths of those oceans, skull and bone entangled with fauna. Ithaca was a forged graveyard, but not a single burial contained their bodies. 

He, their captain, left them all to die and rot in the sea, so far gone that not even Poseidon could find their remains. 

He, their captain, left them all to die. 

I can’t help but wonder, what this world could be.  

The sky rested, the birds sung. The waves crashed, the water ricocheted. Most worlds were better than this one. Any world was. 

If we all held each other, with a bit more empathy.  

He wondered if he had followed through with Polites’s pacifist ideology, if he would ever sit by the shores of Ithaca again. Was there ever a place for empathy in a world like this? 

I can’t help but feel like, I led you astray.  

He pondered her whereabouts. Somewhere across the horizon, or above it. It had been days, but he was too numb to verbalise his concerns. Telemachus had been gone too on another ‘diplomatic mission’. He didn’t know. He was too numb to worry. 

Uncalled for, the waves began to shift, spiking an autonomous panic in Odysseus’s chest. He didn’t flee– he couldn’t. Fear engulfed him, yet he was too dissociated to care– as if the fear wrapped him in a blanket, and he was comfortable. 

Except... 

What if there’s a world where...  

Instead of the expected Poseidon ascending from the waters, it was– 

What? 

We don’t have to live this way?  

One man rose from the sea. 

Then two. 

Three. 

Six... 

...hundred.  

Chapter Text

Six.  

Six hundred.  

Six hundred men.  

Their souls climbed out the great below, outfacing gravity as a whole, arrays after arrays of utter, undeniable unity. Their pupils radiate light, with a blinding, pure protest. 

Odysseus knew this was no vision. 

He felt it. 

Reluctant yet astounded footsteps formed behind him, and for the first time in a long time, the shores of Ithaca exuded light. Hope.  

Leading the army of the risen were none other than Eurylochus, 

Always.  

...and Polites. 

You can relax my friend.  

He wasn’t quite sure how to relax. 

Standing up, he dared not to blink, indulging in a fusion of trepidation and enamour. There was no correct feeling for this– he simply... felt. 

Beyond the numbness. Beyond the sea. 

Reaching a certain point, they began to descend– onto the very shores of Ithaca. The first to step foot were his two fallen friends, and– 

I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here, okay?  

He wasn’t lying. 

A storm of men bolted across the sand, ecstasy blessing the streets. Triumphant cries of men reuniting with their families after twenty long years endowed the atmosphere. 

But to Odysseus, that was all background noise. The biggest focus was... the arms that wrapped around him. 

They were real. 

They were alive.  

“Eurylochus...?” he murmured, in a trance. “Polites...?” 

“Gods– it really is you–” 

“Ody!” 

“What–” Odysseus stammered, dumbfounded and confounded and simply confused. Everything was happening all at once and there wasn’t a moment spared to process it all. “How... how did this– how did this happen?” 

“I’m not so sure myself,” Polites said, contemplative, “we didn’t get much warning. Someone kind of just popped in randomly and basically said...” 

“ Prepare yourselves, but in some cryptic message,” Eurylochus chimed. “Doesn’t matter– we’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” 

“We should hold a party! Reunion party, you know,” Polites suggested, his usual optimism shining. For a split second, it felt like they were back at Troy, careless and free. 

“I–” Odysseus muttered, still sinking in this newfound information, “don’t... think the crew would want to see me...?” 

Eurylochus scoffed, as if he made an absurd concern. “Please– most of them don’t care anymore. It’s been years.” 

“It’ll be fun!” Polites restated, nudging him. 

It was strange... extraordinary... terrifying. There were too many things happening at once– some form of mass reincarnation, their tangibility– cries of rejoice filling the skies– it was overwhelming, for lack of a better word. His heart was racing, running a never-ending track. 

After much reluctance, Odysseus concluded with, “Maybe– I– do you both want to come with me to the palace-? I need to uh, sit down– I can call Ctimene– I–” 

With that, oblivion inundated him. 

“Was he okay after we left?” Polites glanced over at Odysseus, pale and out cold on his bed. The two of them crossed Penelope, whom she welcomed gracefully. 

Penelope sighed, not intending to fabricate what happened. “I... had to stop him another time from...” she shook her head, unwilling to say the fatal word. Leaning over, she gave her husband’s forehead a kiss, sorrow evading her senses. “He has been through so much, and even upon reaching home, he hasn’t resolved to peace. I thought I could give him that peace, but... I fear it wasn’t enough. I wondered if anything would be enough to appease the pain in his mind.” She offered a grateful but tired smile. “All six hundred of you returning is possibly the greatest miracle that could possibly occur.” 

“We don’t plan on leaving,” Eurylochus reassured, resting his hand on his shoulder. 

“Never,” Polites smiled, giving Odysseus a pitying look. 

That day confirmed Penelope’s greatest fear– losing her husband. For twenty years, she held onto the hope that he would wash ashore. She wasn’t planning on giving up– she never would. She also believed in him – that the both of them were in this together, never giving into the end that was always around the corner. 

Yet in that void, using her every muscle to hold open a forcibly closing portal, she was terrified. He was giving up. After everything. All she wanted to do was cradle him, utter each inspirited reassurance she could, but he was too far. He couldn’t hear her for what she was saying. He was drifting away, succumbing to the darkness. 

If she could transfer all the pain onto herself, she would in a heartbeat. Tenfold. He deserved the world, but the world didn’t deserve him– not after everything it put him through. 

“Oh, my love,” she whispered, cupping his cheek, “I love you.” 

A tear fell into her fingers, but it wasn’t hers– it was his. “I– sorry.” It was barely conscious, perhaps a nightmare. 

“You don’t need to apologise. I understand,” she soothed, wiping his tears with her thumb. “You know I love you and am here for you every step of the way. So are your men.” 

He nodded absentmindedly, as his eyes flickered open– tired, old eyes, yearning for certainty. 

“Hey Ody,” Polites smiled, his voice soft and familiar. It truly was him.  

“You are real,” he huffed, mostly for his own need for confirmation. “You are real–” 

Sitting up, he hugged his comrades, offering no words. He didn’t want to let go– they were there, they were real, and they were alive.  

He allowed himself to be evicted from the guilt, and albeit temporarily, it was good. 

He was sure this was good. 

Please stay good. 

After much persistence and convincing, he eventually agreed to host a party in the great hall. Delivering invitations to each soldier, he was stunned to witness the lack of apathy. He was preparing himself, devising responses should they curse his name– not one of them did. 

Not. One. 

With the assistance of Eurylochus, Polites, Ctimene, who arrived not long ago, and of course, his wife, they prepared the banquet. 

“The great hall can’t hold six hundred men,” Penelope proposed, “so we could open the doors and allow them to expand outside.” 

“Good idea,” Odysseus affirmed, “but keep our bedroom locked– and the weapons room. Just for safety.” 

“You have that little faith in our crew, huh?” Eurylochus asked, humoured. 

Odysseus shook his head, nervously chuckling. “No... it’s one of the few rooms that haven’t been cleaned yet. You know, from...” he cut off, believing the message came across. 

“Ah,” Polites realised. “Yes, fair enough then...” Even for Polites, slaying all the suitors was pretty respectable... and perhaps, a little cool. 

“The servants are halfway through preparing the feast,” Ctimene came along, leaning on her husband. “Everything should be ready when the time comes.” 

“Wine?” Odysseus asked. 

“The kind of wine that isn’t lotus-infested,” Eurylochus joked, which Polites responded with a sarcastic glare. 

Penelope sighed, like a mother dealing with children. “Yes, yes. There will be wine. Normal wine. And that should be good.” 

Polites raised an invisible glass, rejoicing. “To the miracles of Ithaca!” 

“To the miracles of Ithaca.” 

Ithaca had never felt so vibrant in the last twenty years. 

Was this really the happy ending? Is this where the suffering would cease? Was her kingdom finally approaching restoration, finally approaching peace?  

The skies were brighter, and the lights were softer. The streets went from a solemn graveyard to a symphony of gaiety. 

It was strange. It was different. 

It was beautiful. 

Penelope spent years avoiding and delaying the men who respected her as much as a grain of salt. She unthreaded her work every night and dissimulated her willingness. She raised her son on her own, staring longingly over the horizon. 

Tonight, she truly felt like the Queen of Ithaca. 

The last time she stood before a crowd to make an announcement, it was to the same suitors who were ruthlessly capable of doing anything in their mortal power to attain the throne. She serenaded and propitiated them, though there was only so long they would wait. 

On this blissful day, it would no longer be out of fear. It would be out of reverence. Out of triumph. These men would acknowledge her. These men wouldn’t see her as an object, an item to access the throne. 

Walking down the carpet to stand in front of these soldiers, she allowed herself to relax. She rehearsed her speech beforehand– not excessively long, but sufficient. 

There was no bow in her hand, and no challenge to dissipate. There was nothing in her hands. Just a queen before men with chalices, wine, and glee. Their eyes followed her– in esteemed regard, no predatorial desire. She was no longer the deer among wolves. She was their queen. 

She did not need to speak for the noise to subside, as they all faced the dais. 

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she announced, projecting enough for the back of the hall to hear. “Welcome back to Ithaca!” 

An uproar of cheering filled the megaron, men proposing toasts to one another with their goblets. 

“Your king is preparing himself in the other room, so I ask for your patience. I am your Queen, Penelope, here to reclaim your places back on our shores. As veterans of such a lasting war, and soldiers of a treacherous, impenetrable journey, I invite you all to, at last, rest back at home.” 

Cheers overflowed once again. 

She addressed hospitality expectations and areas they are permitted to hang around for– most places but private rooms, their bedroom, staff areas, and the weapons room. If all was well, they should all be locked. She included the outdoor space and invited them to leave when they wished. 

It was an accomplishment, really. Of the six hundred men her husband took to war, four hundred and fifteen of them turned up to this event. It worked in her favour, as their hall could only hold around three hundred people. Some men are sitting in between spaces for the interim, before half of them will be invited to go outdoors. She assumed the rest of them preferred to spend more time with their immediate families, albeit most of them seemed obligated to attend this service and let loose after twenty years of bloodshed. 

Concluding her part of the speech for Odysseus insisted on speaking of the more difficult things, she summarised her part. “I would like to now invite our king to continue the ceremony.” 

Silence. 

Where was Odysseus? 

“I–” she stammered, as unsure as the crowd was through their whispers, “my apologies, please give us a moment.” 

Ctimene was standing on the side, her face a little bit disturbed. 

“Ctimene– where is Odysseus?” Penelope urged, panic rising exponentially. 

Ctimene sighed, culminating her words and handing her a manuscript. “There’s not much time to waste– just– Odysseus, Eurylochus, and Polites left with, I think he was a god? It was something urgent– Eurylochus didn’t explain much to me, just telling me to tell you.” She inspected the men, then looked back at her sister-in-law. “You’re going to have to improvise something, but here’s his script– I’ll try and figure out what’s going on.” 

With that, she left, leaving Penelope no time to answer. 

Gods. Just as everything was going to plan, her husband vanished again. He had better return. Unfortunately, there was little time to panic and a few hundred men to appease. She composed herself, preparing herself to address the unfavourable and more solemn part of the ceremony. “Our king had some unprecedented complications, but rest assured, he will be fine.” 

She could only pray.  

Opening the scroll, she began to read, “In that case– while I would like to speak of all things fondly, it is essential that we accept the events that occurred and acknowledge the hardships we have faced. We fought our own decade-long war in Troy, in which we rose victorious. Our endeavour home was no easy feat. We lost seventy-two men in the city of Ismarus, followed by six men in the Cyclops' cave. We lost four hundred and seventy-nine men to Poseidon’s wrath, and we lost one man on the island of Aeaea. We lost six men to Scylla, and thirty-six men to the wrath of Zeus.” Swallowing, thus thinking Odysseus, why in the gods would you say all this, she pre-empted a megaron of anger and aggravation– instead, everyone was quiet and contemplative, thoughtful even. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. 

“In light of the losses we’ve faced,” she continued, paraphrasing the text from here forth, “on Odysseus’s behalf, I would like to gravely apologise for the decisions that led to the events before us. He is aware that nothing he could say will ever warrant or vindicate the sufferings and the deaths that happened under his command. He is eternally grateful for your graces and forgiveness, and while he cannot be here with us today, do know that the severity of his guilt is great. He is not looking for your understanding, but is very indebted, and is staggered by your clemency. In hopes for the throne he reclaims, he will ensure to maintain his atonement and restore peace in Ithaca.” 

Alas, she offered a grin to the men before her. She picked up her own chalice and raised it in regard. “Here’s to a new chapter of livelihood, of healing, and of peace.” 

Part of her expected silence, but for yet the third time, the crowd expressed elation, rapture echoing off the walls. Satisfied, she stepped off the dais and left the men to themselves. 

That went better than expected, she calmed herself. She had to find Ctimene so they could figure things out– but first, she headed to her bedroom. 

Rushing through the halls, she couldn’t help but fear for her husband’s safety. It had hardly been a week since his return, and abruptly, he was out of Ithaca again.  

There was no time to fright. 

Unlocking the door to her room, there was one major clue that would help their discovery– 

An open window. 

– A few minutes ago –  

The festival had begun, men flooding the palace gates. Now, as their king instead of their captain, he stood in front of his bedroom mirror. He put on a clean, white chiton, jacketing himself with a red himation. 

It was uncanny being king again. 

He glimpsed outside the window, watching the sun fall over the mountains. Twenty-four hours ago, his world changed. 

It was time for him to accept that change. 

Adjusting his himation, he turned to his door, until– what was that– 

He rotated, and banging the window was... Hermes? Above all things, he seemed... stressed? 

Despite his perplexity, he immediately opened the window to let the messenger god in. “Hermes? What’s going on I– you’re panting–” 

“It’s Athena.” 

Chapter Text

Hermes was a lot of things. One of those things was fast.  

Five of them stood on the familiar shores of Aeaea, where the witch Circe resided. 

“You better explain yourself,” Eurylochus scowled, unimpressed, “because I was about to indulge in some well-deserved wine before you snatched us and flew us here.” 

Polites was more confused than pissed off. “I mean, damn I– that was, honestly, pretty cool– really, you could’ve just picked Ody up and sent him home without him having to cross paths with Poseidon.” 

“Could’ve,” Apollo answered, “but definitely shouldn’t’ve. That would be divine intervention.” 

Hermes raised a finger, interrupting his brother. “Eh, technically this is also divine intervention, but whatever– there’s a bigger problem at hand.” He wasn’t his usual magsman, his tone more serious and his face darker. 

“Yes, Athena– what’s going on with her?” Odysseus demanded, a little pedantically. All he offered was it’s Athena before he effortlessly held him and flew him to Aeaea. He ignored all his questions on the way– hence, here they are. 

The messenger god turned away, only further proving the severity of the situation. Apollo chimed in, noticing his hesitance. “You know how all your men suddenly resurrected?” 

The three of them nodded. 

“Well...” Apollo continued– before Hermes cut him off. 

He also happened to cut off Odysseus’s final straw. 

“Athena is trading her life for it.” 

What. 

Odysseus’s eyes narrowed as the world around him froze. He wanted to bombard the god with questions, but nothing came out– as if his words tied his vocal cords together, creating a tangled myriad of knots. 

Athena. 

Did. 

What.  

He was beyond grateful for their resurrection. Most joyous he’d been for a long time. But in exchange for her life? What in the world made her think that was a good idea? 

All he could do was shake his head profusely, with his throat asphyxiating instead of speaking. 

Polites noticed his friend’s paralysis and chimed in, resting a hand on his back. “I thought– the Athena? I thought deities couldn’t die– could you please elaborate?” 

“We’ll try,” Hermes sighed. 

– A few days ago –  

“For the love of Gaia, darling– care to explain why you dragged us out just then?” Hermes’s tone was light-hearted, but a little vexed. Whatever Athena had to leave for was probably necessary. 

Right? 

He was soon proven wrong. 

“Hermes,” the other god muttered, loud enough for him to hear but hardly a whisper. “I read a prophecy– many years ago. It didn’t tell me when, but it was the potentiality of Athena... something... something about her sacrificing herself. That was kind of it. This– did you know that she was exiled from Olympus a few days ago?” 

“Seriously, darling...?” Hermes was seldom shocked, but this? Athena was Zeus’s favourite. Always Athena this and Athena that– she was the classic sanctimonious, perfect goddess for his liking. He tolerated her for her affiliations with his great-grandson, else he would avoid talking to her. 

She wasn’t ever particularly fond of talking to people. Only in the last few decades, she started talking to Hermes and Apollo more– until she severed her connection with Odysseus and never showed her face again. 

That didn't matter. His feelings for her were complicated– doesn’t mean he wanted her... 

“She’s going to go to Zeus and ask to die.” 

Dead.  

“WHAT.” If exile from Olympus wasn’t enough, this sure was. “Well shit! We–” 

“Hermes–” Apollo reasoned– 

“–Are going to Olympus now.” 

They had to yell at one another over the prevailing winds, Hermes holding onto Apollo’s arms. The god of the sun could fly, sure, but the messenger god was much quicker– even for the both of them. 

“Keep talking! What else happened?!” Scrap his whole complicated feelings debacle. He didn’t want her dead.  

“It’s a bit hard to when–” Apollo sighed, defeated. “Okay, okay. I didn’t even know reincarnation was possible, but this all aligns with the prophecy. Why else would she be lingering around in that abyss? She cares so much for that damn mortal! Too much– to the point where she’s willing to die for him! Was she just coincidentally there when Poseidon threatened to spear Odysseus? No! She was watching and listening to all the spite that spouted from his mouth. I’ve seen her in my infirmary for years, Hermes– so few of us appreciate her. She lived for Father. She bled for him. Now that he doesn’t want her, what do you think that’s going to do to her? All she has left are the mortals. Him and his son. She’ll do anything for them.” 

“Reincarnation is possible? I–” They land on Mount Olympus, both gods panting heavily. 

“Follow me,” Apollo grabbed his hand, walking up the stairs to Zeus’s temple. 

...

“Fa– Zeus,” Athena bit back, shakily kneeling before him. She had developed enough apathy to view him with indifference– at least enough of a masquerade. 

The god king frowned, crossing his arms. “Allow me to reinstate; unless you have something important to say, do not–” 

“I do.” 

The words hung in the temple, nooses above the two deities. 

“I understand,” she continued, “that I am no longer welcome here. However, I would like to ask for your benevolence and make one final proposal.” 

She was ready to hear defiance, with responses prepared for each potential answer– 

“I’m listening.” Zeus tapped his arm impatiently, looming over her, instating his superiority. 

That was quick. “A Goddess of Wisdom, as well as the remainder of my domains, is still needed. Should I remain exiled from Olympus, I cannot adhere to these roles. As we both know, my injuries are responsible for this, and–” she swallowed, “my lack of capability to fulfill my former strength. My life will continue to be vain, as well as taking up excess space in a kingdom ever progressing. I ask you to condemn me, in exchange for a small reciprocation.” 

Say yes. 

Say no.  

Say– 

“Which is?” He didn’t even think twice. The response came instantaneously, as if he had waited for this day. 

A little bit taken aback, Athena braced herself. “I– the rebirth of all six hundred of Odysseus’s men–” 

“Done.” 

What?  

She seemed to say that aloud, for he continued, “I will go to Hades and request this at an instant. I will give you a week. I expect you in the arena on the seventh day, at this very time, to be condemned. I will make an example out of you; let it be known that the great Goddess of Wisdom sacrificed her life for a mortal. If you do not come, I will be sure to promptly electrocute all six hundred men, as well as their dearest captain and his son. I am supposing you would not want that.” 

Her world was ending.  

World was ending.  

Was ending.  

Ending.  

“Leave.” 

... 

Her ears rang, her body detached, and there was nothing. 

She felt nothing. 

She felt everything.  

He didn’t waver. He didn’t hesitate. 

He didn’t care. He never cared. 

Every act of praise, every drop of blood she shed for him– and this... this was it. This was all it took. The millennia before them, an evanesce of faux and mendacity for his own gain. 

He never cared. 

He never cared. 

He never cared.  

She couldn’t do anything. Not even quick thought was providing her with any focus. All she wanted to do was... scream. Cry. Curse the world for doing this to her. 

Was she really just... a tool? A weapon? A blunt sword that could no longer be sharpened? 

How far would she keep falling? How did she go from Zeus’s most prized possession, the very face of Olympus, to nothing? Scheduled to die next week? Just... no one?  

They were all pawns in a chess game. She may have been his queen, but queens could be replaced through pawns, and they could be sacrificed. They could be replaced.  

She lost Zeus's game, 

Lost her own game, 

And now she had to pay the price. 

Part of her wanted to go back to Ithaca and burden them with her despondency– perhaps bombard them with a myriad of apologies and humble offerings– but how could she? He didn’t want her there. He had made that abundantly clear. 

If that world exists, it’s far away from here. It’s one I’ll have to miss, for it’s far beyond my years.  

The words were unremitting in her mind, a parasite that chipped away at her soul. He was right– she missed her chance. She left him. She made him this way. The image flickered in her mind– his sullen eyes, his lighter frame. He was a thread so close to snapping– he was done.  

You didn’t deliberately leave me for ten years because you were too prideful to reach out.  

All she could do was regard her actions with contempt. She had no words to defend herself, no justification that could even scrape the walls of sufficient, no reason but the sin that embedded her. Pride– the rationality she revoked him of, the very irrationality she possessed herself. 

Why’s your life spent all alone? You’re alone!  

A decade passed since those lethal words, but they stung all the same– a scar that wouldn’t heal. She spent centuries upon centuries unbothered by her solitude, a logical necessity to perform her best and provide for the nation. It was only when she didn’t know she had something valuable did she miss it. 

Odysseus was that something. 

She could’ve just... I don’t know, come back.  

She could’ve. 

She didn’t. 

She wallowed in self-pity for ten years, denying all allegations of her longing for her mortal... friend. She let him suffer, if it meant she could uphold the coldness she emanated all her life. He wasn’t worth the breakdown and the judgement. 

Except that was a lie. 

He was worth everything.  

I saw you as a friend, but now I’m done.  

And even now, she didn’t see why. No friend would treat him the way she did. No friend would use him for their own personal gain, for the sake of creating an objectively astounding warrior, and for... what? Reverence? A title? She relinquished his humanity, something so few Greeks still had in their back pocket– and such an act was irreversible. They would never be the same again. Who did she have to blame for that? 

No one. 

No one but herself. 

For she was, 

Selfish.  

Selfish. 

Prideful.  

Prideful. 

Vain.  

And vain. 

She wondered if this would put him to rest– if her leaving his life, once and for all, would make the weight lighter for him. She was done with hoping for herself. Her pride lost her everything– how ironic, really, for she cursed the mortal for the exact same sin. 

She owed Odysseus everything. Despite the short period of time she had his company for, it meant everything to her. He breathed life back into her, for she found purpose beyond the same menial tasks she was destined to effectuate for eons to come. It was a different form of affection, one she was so reluctant towards– regrettably. Was it selfish of her to want it back? Was it selfish of her to want back the days she took for granted? 

Athena never believed in love. She had no interest in any romantic or sexual affiliations, and perhaps it was blind of her to only know of such a form. 

Friendship. She never understood such a concept– and never wanted any. They were mere distractions in her eyes, other entities with jobs to get done. There was never time for compromise, to stop working to... what? Talk? 

She didn’t believe in it, until... Odysseus. He had a loving wife, a loving family, and loving friends... so how was he still able to care for her? They were essentially a business exchange... right? Mentor and student– she would train him in return for the greatest mortal warrior of them all. But he... he wasn’t a typical soldier. He shouldered his empathy and mercy with pride, wearing it on his sleeve wherever he travelled. He never ostentatiously flaunted her presence to anyone at all. He respected her, but didn’t expect anything of her. He was just... happy to have her around. 

Until she threw it all away. 

He might’ve returned to the shores of Ithaca alive, but the man she once knew died. He became something cold and distant– someone shaped and forged through the hardships of the seas, his innocence disintegrating on his ship. She killed that kindness. She chose her vanity over the one real thing she ever had. 

And now, she truly was alone. 

She was alone. 

Alone. 

Alone.  

...

“Holy shit, Apollo. You weren’t lying.” Hermes whispered, as the god of the sun gestured to follow him to his infirmary. 

“Not in front of the temple,” he whispered. Neither of them were smiling. This was a problem.  

After making their distance from Zeus, Hermes spoke. “I don’t know what’s more surprising– what she did for Odysseus, or the way Father... reacted.” 

Apollo shook his head, expressing more disdain than shock. After all, he predicted this. “I wouldn’t say surprised– but– this is horrible. How could this happen? How could the face of Olympus suddenly be facing what sounds like a public execution?” 

“Seven days,” Hermes reflected, placing a finger on his chin. “We must do something. I mean– she pisses me off from time to time, but I still care about her. She’s still one of us.” 

“You’re right. We do,” Apollo affirmed, glimpsing back menacingly at their father’s temple. 

– A few days later –  

“So... yeah– that’s basically what happened–” the god of the sun summarised, before a certain image cut him off. 

Eurylochus sighed. “Is that why you brought us here?” 

He gestured to a hyperventilating Odysseus on the ground, Polites hugging him, with little to no avail. 

Hermes laughed– very much insincerely and very much anxiously. “You’re quite the smart one, darling– but yes. We knew this would happen. I mean... who wouldn’t?” 

No, no, no. Athena couldn’t die. He just got her back– and perhaps he said some impulsive things he didn’t intend– no– he couldn’t lose her. Not again.  

Not only that, but why him? She had decades to make it right, even if that meant with his son. She lived for eons after eons and– and he was her reason? He was what she, a goddess, would trade her life for? 

No. No. No. This couldn’t be real. 

This wasn’t real. 

Please.  

“Ody darling–” it was Hermes who spoke, “we can still put a stop to this. We may not be the greatest siblings of all time, but we wouldn’t let this happen. Hence, why we called you.” 

“We have a plan. Well– Hermes has the connections,” Apollo added, pointing to the castle ahead. Circe’s palace.  

“Ody,” Polites whispered, his soothing voice creating no beneficial effects. “It’ll be okay. She’s still alive– we can turn this wrong into a right.” 

They must. 

Odysseus had the rest of eternity to hurt, but right now, they must fight. The cycle of trading bloodshed for bloodshed ended here. He had to save her– 

Even if it was the last thing he did. 

Chapter Text

Scepticism filled the garden, nymphs eyeing intently, as five men paraded upon Circe’s palace.  

“Come inside–” Circe paused, assessing the crowd. “Ah. I see you brought quite the party, Hermes. Do come inside.”  

Eurylochus took her words with incredulity, dubious of her intentions. After all, the last time he was on Aeaea, half of their men transformed into swine. Odysseus would typically be the one to dismiss his dubiety... however, his current mental state suggested otherwise.  

Most of them were inside, except for Eurylochus.  

“Come on now, darling. She won’t do anything if I’m here,” Hermes whistled, glimpsing at the mortal incredulously.  

Taking his words with a pinch of salt, he aversely climbed the stairwell.  

“Hey uh, Hermes,” Polites inquired, “where did you take Telemachus?” He was asking on behalf of Odysseus, for he was concerned for his safety the night before. He had been gone for a few days on this diplomatic mission of his... and considering his tidal history, he didn’t want his welfare to be at risk.  

“Did someone say my name?” Telemachus bounced over, a little less enthusiastic than normal– but still, evidently, the same man.  

“He’s been here for like, an hour longer than you lot,” Circe confirmed, stopping next to him.  

“Before you ask,” Apollo swerved in, “we took him to her. Took some finding– and Gaia knows where she is now. You know, to try and talk some sense into her. I don’t think it was effective– I mean, there was only so much we could do, considering both your life and his life are at stake. We were just hoping to give her a little more fight. Kind of futile– all she did was tell us to leave.”  

“Yeah,” Telemachus muttered regrettably. “I don’t know–” he paused. He did know. She never wanted to admit it, but while Athena was very influential, she was also very influenceable. Not many people cared for her– hence, when the very few that did spoke illy of her, she took it to heart. “Well, I mean– you, know. I just–” he stopped in his tracks before he worsened his take. His father was already a mess as it was– he had no plans to proliferate it. After all, he didn’t blame him. He didn’t blame... either of them.  

Damnit Telemachus, he thought with annoyance. Why can’t you pick a side?  

He wasn’t going to. How could he? His father, and the goddess who saved his life– several times. And they were both... valid in their emotions.  

Unfortunately, emotions were also the bringer of this mess.  

It had been hardly a week since his dad came home. When was he ever going to catch a break?  

“Well darlings,” Hermes interrupted, “as much as I would love to sit down, have a tea party, and chit chat, we have business to attend to. Circe darling, we were in hopes that you could send us all to the underworld.”  

“Can’t you technically do that?” Circe frowned, sipping her tea eloquently.  

He shrugged, dismissive of her very viable point. “Well, yes, but... no... I mean, I work down in that rumpus. I’d rather not take my chances, darling.”  

Circe desisted, ruminative. “Why exactly do you need to go to the underworld?”  

“To talk to Hades,” Apollo chimed in, his arms crossed.  

The witch mirrored him. “Why?”  

Both gods frowned, unwilling to disclose their motivations.  

Polites joined in, trying to reason with her. “Your greatness, there has been... an issue raised on Olympus, something that should stay confidential. However, we are willing to pay in a different form of your liking.”  

Hermes raised a hand. “We are–”  

Apollo nudged him, telepathically telling him to shut up.  

“Well,” Circe considered, “I have one simple exchange I would like to request.”  

“Which is?” It was Eurylochus this time, stepping over non-existent eggshells with trepidation.  

She wrapped a casual arm around Telemachus. “I keep this one while you lot are gone.”  

“Don’t you dare touch my son.”  

Odysseus, alas, mustered the words. His eyes were on the verge of a red inferno, as he recalled the time when she tried to seduce him. Low and cold, his mere murmur rang in the palace.  

“Oh dear,” Circe glanced over at the man, a tint of sympathy, “worry not. I have no plans of the sort. Need be, leave one or two of your recruits here. Your son is very lovely for company.”  

“Yeah Dad, don’t worry–” Telemachus reassured, smiling as eagerly as he could be in plight of their stresses. “Circe’s been great. She showed me around her palace– cool stuff.”  

“Well,” Apollo interjected, “I have no interests going to the underworld. I’ll stay behind.”  

Circe sipped from her chalice. “Very well then.”  

Despite Odysseus’s suspicions, he let it go, nodding tersely.  

To the underworld.  

...  

“Your father has... problems,” Circe muttered, cautious of her words.  

Telemachus laughed nervously, as such a chuckle shifted to utter solemnity. “You don’t say.”  

Silence reigned.  

“Helios’s daughter, hm?” Apollo put forward noncommittally, giving the both of them no eye contact whatsoever.  

“My misfortune,” she responded dryly, perhaps a little curtly. Her time away from Helios was indefinite, and notwithstanding the longingness that came with her exile, she would choose it over returning to him.  

Apollo quipped a smile, now glancing over at Telemachus. “Your father’s quite the archer. He decimated those suitors.”  

“That he did,” the man replied, “flawlessly. He was quite... legendary for it, I daresay.”  

The next few minutes were awkward conversations of small talk, before Circe insisted on showing Telemachus some of her spells, and Apollo insisted on giving him tips for archery as the God of Archery himself.  

All was fine.  

...  

They were provided with a small raft that Circe had lying around by her shoreline. Good enough, but... not great. Mediocre at best but... it made do.  

The journey was arduous and gruelling, particularly for the two reincarnates. Not mentally– the caves were hushed– for the most part.  

Polites and Eurylochus were side by side, rowing through the cave– their residency for the past decade, give or take. Odysseus sat at the back to steer, still extremely out of it. Hermes, on the contrary, was... for lack of a better way to put it, extra weight.  

“Are you just gonna stand there, freeloader?” Eurylochus heaved, sweating from rowing.  

“My my, darling,” Hermes quipped, leaning against their pole. “Are you asking me to smite you? You’re lucky you’re my great grandson’s friend– ah, and technically my great granddaughter's husband.” He said it non-threateningly, clearly a joke– maybe not to Eurylochus, who frowned brusquely. The god laughed to himself, daresay a tad psychotically.  

“I am not,” Eurylochus snarled, wiping his forehead. “I thought you were some supersonic speedy athlete or something.”  

“It’s a lot more fun to watch y’all labour,” Hermes teased, creating imbalanced weight on the pole and adjusting his helmet.  

“I thought we didn’t have time to waste.”  

That was Odysseus’s cold voice from the back, devoid of humour for all his honour.  

“I–” The messenger god was taken aback, “I, well then– straight up north, boys! Be sure to hold on tight!”  

Polites raised an eyebrow. “What–”  

Hermes lifted himself and flew at the speed of light, a serenade of screams behind him, louder than any soul down here.  

They travelled at a speed so intense that not a thing could be felt and not a thing could be comprehended. It was almost... quiet. So much action that it nullified.  

Perhaps the underworld ceased on their bellows, but Odysseus could still only hear screams.  

Five hundred fifty-eight men, who died under your command.  

Captain... Captain... Captain... CAPTAIN!  

Why would you let the cyclops live when ruthless is mercy upon ourselves?  

This life is amazing, when you greet it with open arms. Whatever we face will be fine if we’re leading from the heart.  

Odysseus when you come home I’ll be waiting, even if you're the last thing I see I’ll be waiting.  

The voices were no longer ringing in his ear, an incessant deterrent there to personally torture him and haunt every inkling of blood that permanently stained his hands. They weren’t there anymore.  

So... why? Why did he still imagine them?  

He was like a rope, being pulled by both adversaries– the guilt that ate him alive, and the mere sentiment of losing Athena– all because of him.  

He wondered if this chase would ever end– if he could ever sleep at night again after twenty years of restlessness and the past that plagued him. He was done with being adventurous, so consumed by the penitence that it affected his every moment. He just wanted to close his eyes and not see the ghosts of the fallen.  

They weren’t fallen anymore though. They were all alive now. There was no more heavy weight on his heart. Right.  

Right?  

Right–  

...  

“Any sign of him?” Anticlea asked, having also reincarnated. She only just missed Odysseus, reviving the day after.  

Penelope shook her head, distressed. “No– Ctimene said something about a god. I’m going to guess Hermes. Whoever it was, they took Odysseus, Polites, and Eurylochus. I hope they’re the same ones who took Telemachus I–” she grabbed a fistful of hair.  

Coincidentally, Ctimene walked in, delivering Penelope a cup of brewed tea. “We really can’t do much, can we? All we can do is wait.”  

Wait. Wait. Wait.  

She waited twenty years for him to... what? For him to come back for a week and vanish again? How could their return be precedented?  

When had anything regarding Odysseus been... precedented?  

All she could do was wait and hope.  

She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to wait.  

She didn’t want to wait.  

She had to wait.  

Wait.  

Wait.  

...  

"Bullseye!”  

Telemachus cheered, as after a solid hour of persistence, he hit the target.  

“For a mortal and a novice, you are decent,” commended Apollo, having set the board approximately thirty feet away.  

“Thanks!” Telemachus triumphed, giving himself a moment to feel the victory.  

Circe sauntered over, still holding the same goblet as earlier. “You are much like your father.”  

“Even more of a compliment, thanks again!” He had always aspired to be like his father, the eminent and venerated war hero who brought Troy to its knees. But he was no fighter– he couldn’t combat a bunch of ill-intended suitors, let alone an entire army. He was nothing like him, no matter how hard he tried.  

But perhaps... he was better off finding his own self. His true self. He couldn’t be a mirror of his father forever– and really, he just yearned for a father figure, one he was robbed of for his entire childhood.  

It was still nice, being compared to him.  

Telemachus set down his bow and arrows, assessing his ambient surroundings. “Though... some water might be nice?”  

Before Apollo could protest against it, Circe was on her way back into the palace to retrieve another goblet.  

This was nice. Having new people around again who aren’t here for malicious intent was nice. Despite the unforgiving persona she portrayed, with her ill history of turning men into pigs, as long as they proved themselves worthy, she didn’t mind their presence. Matter of fact... she craved it, having a man who saw women for women, and not whatever sick objectification fantasy they had up in their filthy minds.  

Maybe, perhaps... not all men were scum.  

...  

“FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS, NEVER AGAIN.”  

That was Eurylochus, squeezing the pole with both arms in desperation and fear, who screamed for the entire ten-second speedrun endeavour. Even the deceased souls were startled. The other two veterans glared at him for his dramatics.  

“Oh Eury, you are such a big baby,” Polites snarked, smacking him on the back. “You’re fine. You were on a ship for years, and at war for a decade. How does this compare?”  

“I also haven’t been on a ship for seven years!” Eurylochus retaliated and glimpsed away, mortified. He fought a war, faced impenetrable storms, the wrath of gods and monsters– despite these experiences, he couldn’t tolerate this.  

Hermes executed his archetypal cackle, leaning against... air. “You were complaining, so I delivered.” He glanced over at Hade’s palace. “I made an appointment with him. Busy man, hard to get half the time.”  

“I forget you deliver souls to the underworld,” Polites commented, looking around in intrigue, as if he was discovering this place all over again. “That’s quite cool, actually, being in all realms.”  

The messenger god shrugged, flaunting a tad, as if it were no big deal. “I try.”  

Patience grew thin to impatience, as the four men bided their time for the god to come out of his tower. The most impatient was Odysseus, restless and anxious, as previously foreseen.  

After a lengthy few minutes, a tall figure with extensive, pin-straight, black hair made his way out of the tenebrosity of his palace gates. His every step reverberated amidst the expanse of the underworld, impactful and deliberate.  

The three mortals gave their deferential regards as they all knelt towards Hades. Hermes, contrarily, strode over to him casually. “Hello darling, we meet again! Since, you know– you rejected me last time.” Admittedly, he was quite salty about it, having previously raised his concerns with Athena a few days ago, with Hades’s only rebuttal being Zeus came first.  

Hades took one glance at the three veterans, his face devoid of any defined dogma. “You may rise.” He glanced back at the messenger god dispassionately. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  

“I think we both know, darling,” Hermes feigned niceties, his tone mildly irate and telepathically expressing cut the crap.  

“While I acknowledge the distance you have travelled,” Hades rendered, his voice a consistent monotone, “my answer remains unchanged.”  

Eurylochus opened his mouth to attest, only to close it out of two reasons– he was not about to defy a god’s will, and it wasn’t his battle to fight. He didn’t know anything about Athena– he couldn’t form a fixed testimony for her. Polites, notwithstanding his usual ability for persuasion and empathy, also decided against arguing. Something about the atmosphere radiated the lack of room for compromise. All he could do was glimpse at Odysseus apologetically, both for his uselessness in this situation and the situation itself.  

Odysseus, contrarily, was not giving up here.  

“With all due respect,” Odysseus crossed eyes with the god, evading any fear he had. Panic later, he told himself. “We have come all this way. Perhaps we could come to a consensus. All we ask is a fraction of your time.”  

Hades peered over at the mortal thoughtfully, recalling the notorious title he carried on his back. This was the man who brought Troy to their knees; which, matter of fact, was quite the night for him. This was the man who made it out of war with six hundred men and reached the shores of his hometown with none. This was the man who vanquished over his brother, Poseidon.  

There was a mix of respect yet detest for the man. Nonetheless, he ought to hear the infamous Odysseus of Ithaca out. He had the time after all. 

Mostly for his own intrigue, he invited him into his palace. “Come in,” the god offered, gesturing to his castle gates.  

“I’m sorry what– Hades, I swear to the Gaia– do what you want but do not smite my mortal,” Hermes declared tersely, a tint of frustration in his tone.  

“Of course not.”  

And with that, the gates shut– Odysseus was Athena’s final hope.  

He had to save her–  

...even if it was the last thing he did.  

...  

“Let’s go.” Odysseus strode down the palace stairs, to the apprehensive pacing of all three remaining men. He had hardly taken half an hour– perhaps even less.  

Eurylochus raised his head, surprised that he was still intact. “That was it?”  

“That was it,” Odysseus confirmed, stark and sharp with his words. “The sooner we stop this, the better. Hermes– back to Aeaea.”  

The messenger god nodded, both impressed and moderately incensed that he was able to get Hades’s way. Either way, a win was a win.  

As for Odysseus, if there was one thing he was good at, it was playing with fire regarding the gods. This, comparatively, was child’s play.  

Hopping back onto the raft, his mind was coherent and focused. The voices gave him a rest, for he was able to survive the impossible yet again.  

Only one thing was getting him through his ordeal.  

Athena.  

Chapter Text

They made it back onto Aeaea, and Eurylochus did not improve his tolerance the second time. 

“In all three years I was on a ship for, through the storms and wrath of gods, that was the most traumatising.” He hopped off the raft immediately, shaking the waters that drenched him off like a dog who just had a bath. 

Polites sighed, incredulous. “You are so overdramatic, and that’s coming from me.” 

“Enough with the bickering, darlings,” Hermes interjected, glancing over at Circe’s palace. “Let’s go back inside and figure the rest out.” 

There were no objections, as they headed back inside. 

“Well, seems like leaving Apollo behind did well,” Odysseus commented, still dryly but a little less dejected. 

Telemachus waved at him, showing off his bow and arrow. “Hey Dad! Did whatever you guys were doing work?” 

He nodded noncommittally, “As much as it can.” He observed the expanse of Circe’s garden while walking over– it was nostalgic, for the memories of this island rushed back to him. “Bullseye?” 

“Ten times!” Telemachus had emerged victorious, elated with his efforts. 

“Like father like son,” Apollo commented, having mused this statement for a while. It was true– perhaps combat fighting was not his natural talent, as he heard from Athena in his clinic, but his accuracy was commendable– especially for a mortal. 

Odysseus patted his son on the back supportively, trying to muster a smile. He tried- the effort counted. “Taught and complimented by the God of Archery himself.” 

“Hey,” Telemachus chimed, “I didn’t take down over a hundred suitors with a bow and arrow they couldn’t shoot, let alone string for hours, like it was another ordinary day. I think that’s more commendable.” He fired another arrow, hitting the section outside the bullseye. Apollo had moved the target back another thirty feet, so this wasn’t a bad shot. 

The father shrugged, as if it was no big deal taking lives impassively. After all, they were no men– the families were lucky to gain their deceased bodies. “In your defence, I had Athena.” 

“So did I,” Telemachus refuted. 

“For how many weeks?” Odysseus questioned, crossing his arms. “Hardly a month, and certainly not with her momentary state.” Emphasis on momentary, for it would not last if he had something to say about it. “She was my mentor before you were born. I was younger than you. Not only did I know her almost a decade before that, but she was with me for all the Trojan War. So, don’t sell yourself so low. I’m proud of you, son.” 

Telemachus had no rebuttal for that. I’m proud of you, son, rang in his ears. He was happy losing their quibbling argument if it meant he heard those words. On a whim, he hugged his father– both for himself, and because it was clear he needed it. 

And Odysseus, needing that embrace, hugged him back, daring to shed a tear. 

“Look,” Hermes interrupted, with Polites’s and Eurylochus’s groans in the background due to such an interjection, “I’m as sentimental as the next guy, but a certain darling dearest mentor’s time is ticking. Chop chop, you two can be sappy after this whole debacle.” 

“Ah, right.” Odysseus eyed Hermes, bothered, who in turn eyed the two other mortals. “What do we do now?” 

“Well,” the messenger god debated, “I mean– okay, for the next part darlings, I think you two,” he gestured to the two other men, “should sit out for it. Stay here for a bit, if you two don’t mind.” Glancing over at Odysseus, then at Apollo, he sighed. “Can we go outside for this part?” 

Apollo raised an eyebrow, turning to Telemachus with mild understanding of Hermes’s plan. “Sorry kid. It was nice tutoring you. Maybe another time?” 

“Okay!” Nothing could beat him down. His father was proud of him. 

Well, maybe Athena’s condition. 

Two gods and a man saw themselves out, leaving a witch, two veterans, and their captain's son to remain. 

Eurylochus scoffed, leaning against a pillar. “Men are pigs, huh?” 

“Okay darlings,” Hermes presented, “I have a crazy proposition.” 

“Evidently.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“But it’s like really, really crazy. Like, crazy crazy.” Hermes twirled a strand of hair with a sly grin. 

Both men were unfazed and unimpressed.  

“Spit it out, Hermes,” Odysseus demanded, “because I swear to the gods if–” 

“It’s a little bit dangerous?” He proffered a cheeky smirk, to his great grandson's fatigued expression. 

Odysseus exhaled, staring into the sky. “I might just have to shoot the messenger. Plus, when has danger ever stopped me from either making stupid or adventurous decisions? Never. Do tell, Hermes, what this so-called, alleged danger ensues.” 

Apollo was watching the two, a little entertained, admittedly. 

“Well darling, glad you asked!” Hermes stood in the direction of Mount Olympus, pointing at it. “You, my dear, are going to Olympus.” 

“Well shit.” He was curt with his response, but still– Olympus was a big deal, but where there was an Olympus, there was a Zeus. “You said dangerous, not flip a coin for this mortal’s life since Olympus is practically a death sentence.” He was still going to agree– he simply had to accept that the stakes increased by tenfold within Hermes’s few words. “Plus, what would the point of that be? Wouldn’t going straight to Athena and convincing her not to turn up be better, since we– well, since I convinced Hades to sever the deal?” 

“You–” Apollo retorted, “as if that stops Zeus from smiting you or your mortal friends.” 

“Crew. I’m a crap friend– I don’t know half their names.” He paused, contemplating on whether he should reveal the next part. “And about that– I managed to make Hades promise that– you know what? Right. That doesn’t make my son or I any less susceptible to Zeus’s wrath. I’d also rather spare them the pain. Off to Olympus it is I guess– let’s hope I don’t die there.” He sighed, bracing himself for the treachery ahead. 

Neither god decided to fret on what was clearly a near confession to how his and Hades’s conversation went. 

“You carry Odysseus, I can fly on my own,” Apollo said– 

Cutting Apollo’s cue off smugly, Hermes wasted no more time. He grabbed the two by the wrist each and launched himself into the sky. 

... 

“Still no sign of them?” Ctimene asked, delivering three cups of tea. 

Penelope was before her shroud, stress infused, shaking her head helplessly. Anticlea sat next to her weaving, trying to comfort both her daughter in law and herself. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Penelope muttered, daring to begin tearing up. “Twenty years and then a week– and not a clue of his or my son’s whereabouts–” She buried her face into her hands, tears sliding out of her fingers. 

How could this happen? 

Why must the fates be so cruel? Would the almighty Odysseus never catch a break? Did twenty years of onslaught only deserve a week of rest? 

“Sorry, excuse me for a moment.” She stood up, offered no eye contact whatsoever, and headed to the restroom– only to stare at the mirror pointlessly and vainly. 

Penelope and Odysseus were the same– they were both selfish. They would both burn forests and drown fleets if it meant they would ever cross paths again. Whether that was love or greed was interpretive– or simultaneously, and equally as much. She threaded each lie with grace, a prolonged masquerade dance with the men she would bury alive had she the authority to. 

Twenty years was a long time to wait and... now what? 

They were like two linear lines, destined to intersect but doomed to diverge. They would only meet once more– increasingly near yet increasingly far. 

Only the gods knew where he was right now. He could be anywhere from the depths of the ocean to the peak of the mountains, and she wouldn’t know. She wouldn’t even be able to do anything to help. Lying around uselessly, trapped on this isle, with only patience and the pristine waters as her guidance. 

Perhaps to her own fault, she was irrationally angry about it. Angry at the world, Odysseus, and... herself. Part of her wanted to incriminate him for his own hubris decision that led to the mass delay of his return, but how could she? After all, he was just a man, fighting for his life. 

She just wanted someone to blame. Someone to fault for the anguish that interwove into her skin and flesh. 

They were both growing old. How could they live to their dying days, ending their moments together with harmony, when each day felt like the last? 

But what could she do? 

She could wait. 

Wait. 

Wait.  

She couldn’t wait anymore– 

... 

“I don’t remember you, dear. Enlighten me– who are you?” 

Circe set the three men down on a picnic mat on the side of her beaches, a few of her nymphs playing in the shallow waters. Telemachus and Polites were enthusiastic about this little outing– Eurylochus, not so much. He scrutinised the food with immense distrust, with much irony, considering his past endeavours with food. 

“Well, uh,” Polites answered, turning red from embarrassment, “kinda died before you could. Like, way back.” 

“Ah, you're one of the unlucky ones.” She poured a cup of tea, handing it over to him. “Ismarus, Cyclops, or Poseidon?” 

Polites threw up a peace sign, connotating the double meaning– the second foe Circe mentioned, and a sarcastic pose. 

Eurylochus shot a look at his friend, dubious regarding Circe’s credibility and... trustworthiness. “Don’t drink it. It ought to transform you into a pig.” 

“Oh my gods darling will you please get over it,” Circe shot a glare, unimpressed. “You were the one who didn’t come inside! I don’t understand what you’re so upset about.” 

“You–” Eurylochus scowled, crossing his arms in irritation. “You saw me?!” 

Circe rolled her eyes, unamused. “Did you hit your head, dear? You all stayed on my island for quite an extensive time. If I didn’t see you, I would’ve found out.” Only now did Polites accept the tea– not because he himself was chary of the witch’s motivations, but because he was more attentive and intrigued in their quipped remarks. 

“Well yes,” he replied, “but I didn’t know you saw me peaking in the window– you know, when you were potentially turning our men into swine.” Eurylochus was still, adamantly, salty. Polites patted his back, his face reading there there, a fair bit entertained with his spite. Telemachus, contrarily, seemed to be borderline between confused and concerned. Perhaps a concoction of both homogenously fused together. 

“For the love of gods Hermes why would you leave this little–” Circe muttered under her breath, twitching an eye whilst glowering at Olympus. 

Eurylochus scowled, scrunching his eyebrows. “I heard that!” 

“Good. Should I repeat myself?” Circe, her eyes like daggers, shot her a look that screamed shut up before I cast a spell on you.  

With the modicum of common sense he had remaining, he sewed his mouth shut. 

“Well...” Telemachus interjected, trying to lighten the mood, “Nice tides today, eh?” 

“Your dad scared the living daylights out of Poseidon. I think we’ll have calm seas for a while,” Circe replied, her voice much softer for Telemachus than for Eurylochus. 

Polites nudged his miffed friend, having finished the tea. “See? Not a pig. Still me. Nice tea, by the way.” He smiled at the sorceress, setting the chalice on the picnic mat. 

“It is such a blessing for a man who chooses tea over wine.” She poured more for him, feeling appreciated. 

Whether or not this depended on Circe’s presence or not, Eurylochus woke up on the wrong side of bed. “Ah, wine. Something I was meant to get drunk on before we were called in for babysitting duty.” 

The commotion dropped to a deathly silence, the sound of crashing waves ominously plaguing the miasma. 

Alas, Polites spoke, his voice a little darker, though satirical. Maybe. “Eurylochus, do you want to die, again? Because I may just give you a run for your resurrection if you keep mocking Odysseus for, I don’t know, fearing for his friend's life. ”It was hard to tell if Polites was being silly or serious. Ever since he met his first demise, he became a little bit... unpredictable. 

Perhaps this was simply Eurylochus’s problem, always saying the most impulsive and wrong things possible. “My bad.” A few more moments of silence slid into the atmosphere. “The tea... is it actually good?” 

Having emerged victorious, Circe smugly poured another chalice while Telemachus raised his inquiry. “You two have a... dysfunctional relationship,” 

The former veteran eyed him absently. “I have a wife.” 

“Relationships don't solely encompass romantic ones, Eurylochus,” Telemachus retorted, “and if they do, that’s one hell of a sad life you lead.” 

Circe chimed in, humoured. “Give him a break. This life of his has only lasted for what? Two days?” 

They perpetuated their banter. If Eurylochus was there and Odysseus wasn’t, this seemed to be all they were capable of. 

... 

Penelope stood at the highest level of their palace, on the balcony. 

It was... tempting. Well, it really wasn’t– but... 

Waiting was tiring. For almost half of her life, she waited and waited– and for what? For him to... leave, again?  

She was just... tired. Tired of sustaining the minute hope she dangled onto for two decades. Was this how she was meant to live? How they were meant to live? 

Maybe... this would... set her... free–  

“Am I interrupting?” 

Nevermind, she guessed, having shifted her body weight to the balustrade with her palms. She rotated, greeted with Ctimene, offering her a sympathetic look. 

Please don’t look like you pity me, she internally begged. You just watched me consider suicide.  

Instead of those paranoias, she walked over, leaning against the railing. They stood in silence for an uncertain amount of time, with only the chirps of birds and the crashing waves as company. Silence was, powerful– and, maybe, empowering. 

After what felt like a vast interim, Penelope finally tried to defend what Ctimene witnessed. “I–” she cut off, at a loss for words, each second passing giving reasons to be disgusted by her actions. All this while she was mad at her husband for leaving her, when she was here, trying to leave him.  

He would never forgive her. 

Penelope predicted judgement on Ctimene’s behalf, but instead she... pulled her in for a one-armed embrace. “You don’t need to explain yourself. I get it.” 

It was true. Ctimene did get it. They both once stood by the docks, watching the ship grow smaller and smaller on the horizon, without a clue whether they’d ever see their husbands again. And while Penelope, being the independent woman she was, wanted to carry the weight on her own, it was... comforting to know that this wasn’t just her battle. 

It was their battle. 

Leaning over Ctimene’s shoulder, she said no more. All she could do was whimper, elusive splotches forming on the platform of the balcony. Soon, said droplets materialised on Ctimene’s tunic. Droplets turned into waterfall, as she sobbed into her profusely. 

“Oh sweetie,” Ctimene soothed, “it’s okay. I'm right here.” 

For the first time in a long time, she let herself cry, as the sun rested beneath the terrain and seas in unity. 

Chapter Text

The sun adorned the already enchanting landscape of Olympus, setting right behind its mountains with a fiery glow. Dappled hues of the cerulean day blended into the anti-twilight arch, consecrated with constellations that gradually materialise. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, nor a tempest in the making. 

Such a lovely sunset for such a dire task. 

“Okay darlings,” Hermes whispered, disturbing the indulgence, “I’m supposed to be here in like, a few minutes anyway. He said I need to distribute invitations to all the gods. I think it goes without saying what for.” The god shifted nervously, glimpsing at his father’s palace ahead. 

“Uh huh,” Odysseus muttered incredulously, “and, quick question?” 

Hermes grinned, leaning against the air. “Shoot.” 

“What,” the mortal began, “and I mean what is the benefit of me being here again? Am I meant to convince him? Trying to reason with the God of the Underworld was already... risky as it was, but at least he was willing to hear our side of the plight. He’s level-headed, or at least more level-headed than him. He’s the one who set up this whole thing! He’ll smite me the first chance he gets! And please recall, the last time I saw that man, he took out the rest of my men!” 

“I–” Apollo sighed, eyeing Hermes, whose mouth was glued shut. He didn’t want to be the one to explain this, but someone had to– and he deserved to know, considering this was his life they were gambling with. “You are the reason she acted in accordance with the way she did. If anyone’s going to convince him or even have the sliver of a chance to convince him, it’s going to be you. Not Hermes or I– you. We’ve done our part. There’s nothing more we can do. He won’t bend in our favour. But you? You–” the god of the sun paused, reluctant to continue his argument. Here’s the shitty part. “You’re a mortal. He’ll take it as another opportunity to, what was it? Undress your pride? If you’re lucky, he’ll make you do something like the god games he made Athena do. I’m rambling– my point is, it won’t be easy. Your chance may be slim, but we have no chance at all. He knows too intricately of our motivations to sway. At least with you, he’ll try and entertain himself, and a crowd.” 

This just got a lot more conflicting. 

Going for the blow, Hermes stopped beating around the bush. “Look darling– it’s simple really. I–” he paused, “if, you don’t want to, we’ll figure something else out.” Something about the messenger god’s ominous words suggested that they wouldn't be able to figure it out, a despondent tone of dejection tainting his tone. 

Silence reigned in the atmosphere, both gods observing the mortal contemplate intently, perhaps a little resigned. After all, he was just a man. 

As for Odysseus, his reason to stop and think was not because he wouldn’t do it– but because he had a history of impulsive decisions leading to greater problems, and he wasn’t about to let hubris cause his doom a second time. After all, it was still his life on the line, right...? 

Many factors flew into his mind– Penelope and Telemachus. He persisted for twenty years, traded his friends and humanity and the world to see them again, and– and only after a week, he was back here again, walking a thin tightrope. 

He gave a lot to see his son and wife. He traded his crew, Eurylochus included. So why... why was this question? He always had a crippling, selfish instinct for self-preservation. 

Not only that, but Athena also left him when he most needed her. And for what? For making a human flaw in the midst of grieving his dead best friend? It still stung all the same, and her attempts to make things right didn’t help. Nothing ever would. Not only that, she seemed perfectly content with death. If this is what she wanted, who was he to get in her way? 

But... 

No. He had the rest of eternity, and at all costs he would live beyond this day, to wallow about his sufferings. He chose his crew because he only had a choice. Here, he had a chance.  

If it weren’t Athena, his days would pass in utter futility, on an island with a nymph he did not love. He would never rest, and he would never... live. On Ogygia, he was surviving– even then, hardly so, with the guilt eating him up alive. She chose to save him, going against her father’s will. He maimed her and electrocuted her for him. He owed her this– at least to try. 

And... perhaps the slightest bit of humanity had begun to restore. His crew resurrected, he had a family to return to, he was the King of Ithaca once more, and... Athena. Athena did want to try. He meant none of the passive things he said to heart– he was spiteful, hurting, and wasn’t thinking much. Maybe it didn’t justify it– it really didn’t, but that was humankind’s flaw– justification. Athena’s actions weren’t justified but... it was in the past. It would stay with him forever, but today, he would fight. 

He. Would. Fight.  

He would fight, and he would live. 

He. 

Would. 

Live.  

Odysseus, coming to his conclusion, looked up at the two gods. 

“Lead the way.” 

... 

Hermes stacked the invitations Zeus gave him, walking out of the palace. Apollo decided to opt out of this part for whatever reason– he did sound like he knew what he was doing. 

The messenger god was walking excessively slow, seeing if Zeus noticed. While he may have had detest for his father, he did not mistake his perception for bluff. 

Evidently, he was proven correct. 

“Have you forgotten something, Hermes?” Zeus inquired, tapping his fingers on his armrest. 

With a smirk, he turned back around to him. “Whatever may you mean, Father? Not that I believe so–” 

“Quit the act. Bring him out.” Zeus grew impatient, his yellow eyes ablaze. 

Here goes nothing, Odysseus thought, before he revealed himself, kneeling to the God King. “Zeus,” he addressed, maintaining his reverence. Fake reverence. Gods he hated him.  

Crossing his arms, he glinted at him, intrigued. “My my, Odysseus. It has been quite a while since we last conversed. To what may I owe the pleasure?” His serpent tongue laced with venom– one wrong move, and Odysseus would be bitten. 

So far, the plan was working. Keep working, he prayed. 

“I have heard about your intentions with–” he swallowed, “my former mentor. I wish not to meddle with your judgement, but from my awareness, it was due to I she made such a decision. I ask humbly if you could please reconsider.” This was a start. It was absolutely not going to work, but at least he had a broad base that was vague, but descriptive enough. 

“Might I ask, King of Ithaca, where you obtained such information?” Zeus looked at him as though he was dissecting him intently, scrutinising every single bone that tingled before him. 

Odysseus was notorious for his pathological lying– or really, rephrasing the story in his favour. Either way, he was about to straight up lie to Zeus.  

He was too far deep in this. There was nothing less to waste. 

“We spoke to her and listened to her. She is adamant with her decision; hence, why we stand before you today.” It wasn’t a complete lie– they did talk to Athena just before she flew off to practically kill herself, Hermes and Apollo technically listen to her when spying on the two of them and Odysseus? Should he really exaggerate and stretch the truth in his fable, he listened to her most times in the past. And it was true– she was adamant with her decision, seeing as though Zeus was still giving out display tickets and he and his crew were still alive and well. 

He hoped, at least. 

Thankfully, wielding lightning and ruling over the other gods did not mean he could detect his misinformation. Or perhaps he could and simply didn’t care– for what he said next was both a curse and a blessing simultaneously. 

“I see you must truly regard her quite highly, for you have come all this distance, thus...” the God King smirked, slyly and cunningly. 

“Why not make it a game?” 

... 

“Convince each of them that she ought to be released, and I will release her.” He didn’t need to ask who them composed of, as Zeus began announcing the original cast for his vindication. 

As he faintly heard the familiar names of gods in the background, he recalled the summary Hermes had told him. It made sense, considering Zeus’s ill temper and inability to be wrong– Athena requested his freedom, her father made it a game to convince the gods Apollo, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Ares, and Hera, she won, he nearly killed her. While not the reason, this event was the instigator for her sufferings and the prolonging of Zeus’s tyranny. 

He knew of his intelligence, but it seemed to be in deficit here. Odysseus was confident that Athena’s siblings wouldn’t want her to die.  

“What do you say?” the God King allured, the arena spawning with named gods and goddesses alike. There was no audience– perhaps Zeus wished to savour that reveal for the execution day itself. 

A day that wouldn’t come under his watch. 

“Bring it,” Odysseus imitated Athena, as a pillar from beneath him raised him to Apollo. 

... 

“Apollo!” 

Without allowing the mortal to swipe in a word, Apollo dismissed the argument. “Release her.” 

“What?!” Zeus, lividly, exclaimed. “You did not even provide an argument!” 

“Why should I?” Apollo retorted, his voice stern and terse. “Why would I want Athena to die? Father, with all due respect, she is my sister.” 

Zeus looked as though he about to fight it, but he let it go, convinced that the other four contestants would make Odysseus’s life harder. From his awareness, Apollo only regarded Artemis as a sibling, though perhaps he was mistaken. 

Mistaken? Zeus? Never.  

Apollo gave the mortal a subtle glimpse, indicating so far so good telepathically. 

With that, Odysseus’s pillar shifted over to Hephaestus’s part of the game. 

“Hephaestus!” 

“So, you’re the mortal she’s fussed over all these years– moreover the past decade.” He crossed his arms, towering over Odysseus. “Why should I let her live? Do you know what she did to me?” 

The mortal was stopped in his tracks. He didn’t. Athena never mentioned the god of blacksmiths during their relationship once, and the first time he heard of him in action was her iteration of god games. “Please enlighten me.” 

He soon wished he was not enlightened. 

“Egotistical and prideful, not to mention how she thinks she’s above everyone else,” Hephaestus continued, “and she certainly thinks she’s above me. I spent years chasing for her affinity, only to her incessant rejection. I did nothing of the theatrical fable she composed. She should’ve been grateful a man was ever interested in her. And,” he smirked, “someone needed to put her in place, and between you and I, we both know what I mean.” 

Gods.  

Don’t freeze, don’t freeze, don’t freeze, Odysseus repeated in his head, utterly disgusted. He couldn’t appear appalled by his actions, not if he wanted his verdict– and, matter of fact, his life. One loose nail and he could kiss Ithaca goodbye. He had to play his cards right– there was the rest of eternity to regurgitate. 

Gods, was the rest of eternity keeping him going on this madness. 

“I understand your conundrum, Hephaestus– it truly was cruel of her to treat you so poorly,” he fibbed, battling back each curse word in the dictionary. “However, please consider– do you truly want Athena to get what she wants?” 

The blacksmith god raised an eyebrow, tapping his foot. “Elaborate?” 

“You didn’t know?” Odysseus relented, a little more confident now. Don’t blow your cover because of it. “She asked to die. Can you believe? She is a coward for it, too fearful to face her wrongs. Why would you give her this leeway and let her condemn herself, to put an end to her suffering when you can protract it?” His legs and arms were threatening to beat his shit up, but that would not end in his favour. 

And perhaps, a little guiltily, part of him clung onto some of those words. A fraction of him was mad– mad that she would rather ride the easy way out and die, than to sail the treacherous waters of reformation. It was... complicated. He understood but... the gods know. All he seemed to be good at was blaming other people, only to deter his own remorse. 

Again– now wasn’t the time to lurch in his mud of despair– now was the time to fight.  

Considering the mortal’s words, Hephaestus eventually concluded. “Very well– release her. I will be holding you to your words.” 

Odysseus’s heart skipped a beat, as he remembered Zeus listening in. He definitely saw through that facade.  

Yet, against all odds, he appeared more satisfied than Apollo’s outcome. Offering the mortal an ambiguous smile, Zeus shouted the next name. 

“Aphrodite!” 

While Odysseus didn’t know about the unpalatable past between Athena and Hephaestus, for he understood full-heartedly why she would become a virgin goddess, he knew of Aphrodite and Hephaestus’s estranged engagement– and, not to mention, the goddess of love’s inherent love for gossiping. 

“Ah, so you are the high and mighty mortal Athena is enamoured with– perhaps, along with your son, the only ones she is capable of loving.” The goddess stood level with Odysseus, both of their heights on the lower end of the spectrum. “I must commend the lengths you went for your wife– it was quite inspiring. Do tell me– why should I let Athena live?” 

Every single argument the man was making was a major wager, for he braced himself, internally flipping a coin. If he ever thanked Hephaestus, it would be because of this very interaction. “Aphrodite, forgive me for asking, but I have two inquiries–” he lowered his voice for the successive part, “firstly, do you like Hephaestus? I’m supposing this answer is obvious, I simply intend to clarify.” 

The goddess of love raised her eyebrows, suddenly intrigued. “Indeed, it is obvious. And your second question?” 

Odysseus smiled, slightly more self-assured. “Do you know why Athena is a virgin goddess?” 

Aphrodite paused, assessing her responses. “I assumed it was because she hated people, but you seem to know something I do not. Please, do tell.” 

Odysseus was always a bullshit first, straightforward later kind of person, but not today. 

“Hephaestus raped her or at least tried to.” He was blunt with his words, in a monotonous consistency that could not be wavered. 

The silence was loud. 

“Release her.” 

“Ares!” 

The god of war, imposing over the man, made his argument quick and simple. “She dies, I claim the full title of God of War. We never liked each other. It would be no loss.” 

Well shit, Odysseus thought. He was well-versed in their tumultuous history– Ares detested Athena for several reasons. 

One, they were co-deities of war. Her death would mean he claimed full possession of the title. 

Two, Athena was the favourite child, and Zeus despised Ares. He was jealous. 

And three, the two were always at odds with one another, since Athena constantly emerged victorious over Ares. 

This would perhaps be his riskiest rebuttal yet, for meeting aggression with aggression would either earn his respect or earn his wrath. Odysseus was often liable for pissing off gods, but... 

It was either that or... 

Screw it. He’d die trying than live failing. 

“Ares,” he represented his case, “I must clarify something.” 

The god humoured him, gesturing to continue. 

“If I remember correctly, you called me a ‘sick coward who holds back his power’,” he quoted from the last round of festivities. “I am not one to deny these, for they have some truth, which begs the question– am I wrong to say you are jealous and envious of her for Zeus’s favouritism and for her own skill in combat?” 

This took Ares back several steps. “Uh, well–” he cut off. 

“Pardon me. I simply think it’s cowardice to invite an easy escape to rise over her fall. A truly respectable war hero earned it. As long as she lives, you will always have someone pushing you to improve.” He was far from done, dappling on the next problem. “Furthermore, there is no way Zeus will accept her as his favourite anymore. He likely favours you more than her now, considering her exile– hence, proving this redundant.” 

The next few seconds passed laboriously, for Odysseus could hear his overwrought breaths. Thankfully, he was graced with keeping his head. 

“Release her,” the war god avoided eye contact, ashamed. 

“Hera!” 

Her argument was simple and easily deconstructed– perhaps intentionally. “Why should I spare a child he had with another woman?” Something about Hera’s expressions read I don’t want her to die but I’ll make an argument for the sake of Zeus.  

“I mean, that’s hardly the kid’s fault,” Odysseus retorted, clearly not learning from Athena, “they don’t ask to be born.” 

The goddess grinned. “Perfect– release her.” 

... 

“I’ve played your game and won, Zeus–” Odysseus yelled out in the arena, perhaps a little brashly, “please sever the deal and let her live.” 

When he didn’t respond, he planned to repeat himself until the pillar began moving again and– 

No.  

“Since you enjoyed stretching the truth,” Zeus declared, “I decided to reciprocate your efforts. You have two more gods to convince.” 

Nonono–  

Poseidon. 

Chapter Text

The line between naivety and hopefulness snapped.  

He played right into the fatal trap of hubris, maimed once more by it, and escape was almost invisible. 

The sea god materialised a blindfold composed of water around his eyes, evidencing the effects of his blindness. Odysseus could only pray that he didn’t realise that he blinded him– then again, he was quite confident that it wouldn’t make a difference. Whether he believed it was Athena, Telemachus, or himself, it was affiliation that counted. 

Well shit. He could only pray to his lucky stars, mustering the very minute amount of luck he still had left, that he would make it out alive.  

This was going to be extremely humbling if he wanted even a slither of a chance of survival, let alone Athena’s survival. He had to choose his words correctly, because this time Poseidon had the upper hand. Surrounded by gods alike, he was no longer the almighty mortal who soloed the God of the Sea himself. He was small– he was nothing, a life not worth defending. 

A lone wolf, swimming among sharks. 

“Poseidon,” he muttered, frozen, and that was his first mistake. Speaking. 

“Well then, Odysseus of Ithaca,” he mockingly bowed, “it seems we meet again. What advantage do you have this time?” While his eyes may be mutilated, his mouth certainty was not. A sly smirk breached across his features, for he was savouring every moment. 

It was about time this puny mortal paid his fucking price. 

As for Odysseus, he... he had no other choice, did he? 

“It would appear to be no advantage at all, Poseidon,” he replied, trying to sound inferior. It was likely useless– Poseidon may be vengeful and cynical, but he was no fool. It was a futile facade, though he was betting his money that it would perhaps sway his ego. 

Again, all of these were empty prayers with little to no certainty. 

Despite not being able to meet him eye to eye, his presence was still equally as intimidating. Behind the blindfold were eyes of infernos, a kind of rekindled flame that flourished even in the oceans. Watching his lips purse, they lifted, as he began to utter the deadly words. 

“Don’t release–” 

“WAIT!” Odysseus bellowed, his heart skipping a beat. 

Silence hung heavy in the air like a guillotine. 

“I understand your enmity, Poseidon,” Odysseus reasoned, his voice quivery, “but please. I beg you to listen to me talk about it, just for a bit. After all, it’s not about my life today, isn’t it?” 

The God of the Sea seemed unconvinced. 

“Well–” the mortal added, flicking through his options desperately, “wouldn’t it be more satisfying if even after my entire testimony, to shoot down every argument I shoot to try and, likely ineffectually, convey? Would that not be better, Poseidon?” It was a gods awful suggestion, prolonging the inevitable– he would most likely maintain his petty verdict because of their past animosity. 

Most likely. 

There was still a modicum of a chance. 

Chance. 

Chance.  

He made a promise to try. While he had a history of dishonesty, he planned to keep this one. 

“Please?” he pleaded, genuine. He hated every bit of it. 

When the God of the Sea didn’t respond, he interpreted it as his chance. 

“Well do excuse me if my history facts aren’t correct, but if they are, I don’t think you and Athena have actual aversion other than... well, me. So really, why punish her when,” he hesitated, knowing the implications and complications of what he was about to say, “when you can deal your blow on me?” 

If you’d let me, the sea god thought, crossing his arms. “What good would that be? Seeing you cripple under losing your beloved mentor, or so to say, would be so much more rewarding than your death. Now that you’ve reunited with your darling family, wouldn’t you like that?” The deity slithered around him, locating him like a predator for their prey. “Wouldn’t you like the screams to stop and the suffering to cease?” 

Shut the fuck up was tempting, but the mortal managed to refrain himself from saying anything stupid. “Why would you want that to end? After all, most of them are by your hands.” 

“Well then, King of Ithaca,” Poseidon responded smugly, “you just contradicted yourself. Precisely, I thrive on your anguish– so why should I let her live when it would continue your agony?” 

“Is losing an Olympian really worth making me suffer?” Odysseus inquired, genuinely curious– though he feared the answer he didn’t want to hear. 

And, as prompted, he got the dreadful answer he pre-empted. “If it’s the right Olympian. Not to mention, she’s no longer even allowed in Olympus, you know, if my facts are correct,” he smirked, “so I doubt she still counts as one. If my brother’s ready to give her up, what should I care? You're not really selling yourself here, almighty Odysseus.” 

Gods he wanted to tear him limb to limb. Both of them did, in regards of their respective other. 

“Would it not disrupt the well-established balance in the gods?” Odysseus asked, running out of arguments. “Yes, her domains are replaceable– but to find someone of her calibre? And if it disturbs all the gods, this includes you.” This was all delaying the inevitable. He had practically zero hope of convincing Poseidon. However could he win his favour...? 

Poseidon scoffed, incredulous. “If Zeus permits it, I don’t see what the problem is. I feel more inclined to trust his judgement over the likes of you.” The god smiled, clearly up to no good. “You idiot. You think this is all about you? I never liked that brat. She took my city from me.” 

Odysseus paused, raising an eyebrow. “Your... city?” 

“The city of Attica,” the god explained, “you see,” he didn’t, “was meant to be mine. I was soon to claim it. Until– until she swooped by and tried to sway their way. Her puny little olive tree won the mortals’ hearts. Athens was meant to be mine.” He scowled, evidently piqued. “We have always been at odds. Why should I save her now? People like you need to remember my ruthlessness. The world keeps forgetting I’m cold. Hence, I am done here. Don’t release–” 

“WAIT!” the mortal screamed, breathing heavily, before the words slid out of him. 

“Duel.” 

Shit.  

He was sure to die now. 

“You and I. You put your trident down. None of that magic manipulation of yours. No wind bag of mine. A fair duel.” Odysseus removed the sling with his arrow and bows, laying both weapons on the ground. It was too late to turn it back– he made his vows clear. It was only a matter of Poseidon accepting the challenge, and they both knew his pride wouldn’t let him forget this had he declined. 

So he does. Poseidon charged at him, a grin plastered over his features. Despite his blindness, he was still incredibly accurate. 

Odysseus had two choices here, while subconsciously ducking and swerving, having dug a hole too deep to simply climb out of. 

He could play by the rules of the game he set up and eventually almost certainly lose, or... 

He didn’t specifically say no weapons in his list of requirements. He could, and he would play it dirty, for staring right back at him was... 

A trident. 

Notwithstanding Poseidon’s impressive ability to perceive Odysseus’s incessant location, he continuously followed his steps– though this time, to his mistake, for the mortal clutched the lethal weapon just in clutch. As the god charged at him at full momentum, he simply held the trident out, inviting him to run into it with open arms. 

A guttural roar left the sea god, as he collapsed to his knees, fresh ichor expanding the wounds so close to rejuvenation. “Fair duel, you say?!” 

“You know what else isn't fair?” Odysseus seethed, digging the trident in his flesh like stirring stew– for suddenly he was the same man, a heart full of hell, ready to make Poseidon pay. “You. What you did. You never avenged your son because you loved him, you avenged your son for yourself. You speak of my pride when your pride is far from different, if not worse. You, Poseidon,” he announced, devoid of the masquerade he danced for to win his unmoved favour, “are the worst kind of god, because you act like a man.” 

Two could play Poseidon’s notorious game, using all of Odysseus’s words against him like relentless daggers. 

You are the worst kind of good, because you’re not even great.  

“Stop–” the god growled, leaning on his dominant arm. 

“Not until I hear those words, Poseidon,” he hissed, lifting the trident, threatening to stab it right back in. He was relieved, almost impressed that Zeus or any other deity hadn’t interfered– perhaps Poseidon’s hatred was shared– or, indifferent. 

“Re–” Poseidon croaked, “release– her–” 

“What was that?” 

“RELEASE HER!” 

Silence filled the atmosphere, cold and unforgiving. 

“I was too focused on going home for this part last time,” Odysseus whistled, taking full advantage of this. “So, Poseidon, I hear swearing on the River Styx is a big deal.” 

Something about losing consciousness for a year and being removed as a god for nine years sounded pretty undesirable. 

“No–” the other scurried, to no avail, “I’ve done what you wanted, let me–” 

Down came the trident. 

“FINE!” He tried gasping for air– the wrong decision. 

“Swear on the River Styx,” Odysseus uttered, “to leave Ithaca and everyone residing on it alone. Particularly the six hundred men who were under my command, my son, my mother, my sister, and my wife. While I'm at it, that includes me as well. By leaving us alone, that means not to hurt us, drown us, or kill us– or flood our land, destroy our homes– any form of harm on my island. And, for the record, don’t do anything to Athena. Are we clear?” 

The god nodded, coughing frequently. “I swear on the River Styx to leave your stupid island alone and everyone on it. I won’t hurt, drown, kill, flood, or destroy anyone or anything on it. Happy?” He choked on his own ichor, mortification overwhelming him as he lay there helpless a second time against the same mortal again.  

That was all Odysseus wanted. With that, he stood up, satisfied, and dropped the trident. 

“Good riddance.” 

... 

“What about now, Zeus?” Odysseus demanded, wiping the smears of ichor off his face. “Is that enough now?” 

The God King laughed. Well, better than wrath for stabbing his brother. “One more.” 

It was a miracle that the mortal didn’t snap right there, right then. 

Thankfully, he was at ease when he saw the god he had to compete with. Surely this would be it– after all, once said god, Hades, accepted his plea, it would unleash enough chaos for the god games to end. 

“We meet again, Odysseus.” The underworld god mused, observing his surroundings calmly. Turning to Zeus, his expression noncommittal and unreadable, he simply said, “Release her.” 

“What?!” Zeus exclaimed, disbelieving. “What could possibly entail such thoughtless judgement? We had an agreement, Hades!” 

“Indeed, Zeus. We had an agreement.” 

– Yesterday –  

“Take a seat.” 

All things reluctant, Odysseus did as he was told. 

Hades’s palace was far from crude, each design in the walls its own marvellous intricacy. He had a misconception that every ornament in it would be some shadeless monochromia, and though the colour scheme sustained its dark and macabre nature, there were shades of crimson, amethyst, and emerald dappling the hallways. 

Hades took the seat opposite him, interlacing his lengthy fingers. “Do tell me, Odysseus of Ithaca, why I should sever this deal when only benefits spark from it.” 

Odysseus inhaled, closing his eyes for a short interval. I know you’re out of it right now, he prayed to a certain Goddess of Wisdom, and possibly defiant of this, but please give me the wisdom to convince him.  

“Athena has done nothing wrong to be condemned,” he began, starting with a vague argument, planning specifics for later, whereby necessary. “Her injuries aren’t her fault. How could she be culpable? And she's doing it all for me– a mortal.” 

“It sounds to me this is all her choice,” Hades mused, providing no eye contact whatsoever. 

Odysseus frowned, retaliating immediately. “She didn’t ask to be electrocuted five times either, but here we are. It was never about choice. It was about loss. She feels as though she... has nothing left to lose.” 

“If this is her last wish,” the god captiously replied, nonchalant, “then why not grant it?” 

“I–” the mortal fought back any angry emotions, pacifying them for later. “I doubt it. She just thinks her other wishes are unachievable. You know, like a loving father who sees her beyond a tool and–” he hesitated, “perhaps a... kinder friend.” He ended on a guilty note, unable to defend it to himself. 

“While I sympathise with your cause,” Hades responded, standing up, lacking sympathy if anything, “I’m afraid one goddess does not compare to the potential resolution of our kingdoms. Zeus has turned a blind eye to my kingdom ever since we split our domains. He avowed to restore our unity should I abide by his conquest. I apologise, but I cannot help–” 

Odysseus stood up, holding his ground. “Persephone.” 

The name hung in the air, suffocating silently. 

“King of the Underworld,” the mortal relented, stepping towards him cautiously but deliberately. “Your wife. Do you love her?” 

The silence stretched to its maximum before it shattered. 

“Of course I do.” 

“I have a wife too,” Odysseus beamed nostalgically, “and I would do anything for her. In fact, I did everything for her. I travelled the most treacherous of seas, persisted for the most perilous of periods, and sacrificed the most significant of my soldiers to see her again.” 

He cerebrated, his next line perhaps a little cheap, but he delivered it, nonetheless. “Love is very powerful. Love moves mountains and shifts the tides. I am one man, but I have done my fair share of influence. Even though my entire journey stands against it, I think mercy... mercy is a choice, and it can always be the right choice if it is done right. Our world is so dark, full of the mundane practicalities and our own selfish wants to evade our problems, but I ask,” he paused, hoping Zeus did not hear his following words, “if a loveless man’s affinity is truly worth another’s life. If we never put an end to evil, it will only fester. Athena too deserves someone who will do anything for her– maybe I can’t reciprocate the length of what she has done for me, but I refuse to back down without trying.” 

His eyes darted across the tapestries on the walls, each of its own tale of elegant pulchritude. “They used to be childhood friends, you know. Persephone and Athena. She didn’t care for the specifics, but I know of this fact. All of them– Artemis, Persephone, Athena, so forth. The years might’ve done them apart, but I imagine Persephone would be devastated.” 

Once more, he stepped forward, just so a few feet of space separated them. “And, as the King of the Underworld, I imagine fate is a crucial part of your domain. Tell me, is it truly Athena’s fate to live a loveless life, in suffering and vain, seeming to achieve so much yet so little? I think she ought to get a second chance. Please. I’m in no position to talk, but what sounds like an imbalanced deal cannot outweigh her life.”

Persephone. Persephone. Persephone.  

“I will sever the deal.” 

– Tomorrow –  

By now, they all stood level to one another– Zeus was not towering over them, simply three men on an elevated platform. Hades shared no further information, standing there respectably. 

“Please, Zeus,” Odysseus pleaded, ever so close to winning his approval, “let her go.” 

Unfortunately, his hopes were far too high. 

Without further ado, before he could even shove in another word, the god turned around, headed down a hallway in his palace. 

“No.” 

With that, he disappeared into the shadows, unwilling to elaborate any further. 

Chapter Text

It didn’t matter what he did. 

It didn’t matter how many deities he convinced, how many battles he won, how many of his volatile daggers he eluded, and how many mountains he shifted, Zeus was always going to reject his plea. 

He felt the weight of defeat ever so heavy, dragging him down from his wrists and his ankles, an impenetrable force eroding the ground with his soul. He was screaming at himself, yelling move, follow him, don’t give up, but his limbs gave in. 

It didn’t matter how hard he tried. Zeus would never change his will. 

He scrutinised his shrinking figure in the shadows of his hallway, Odysseus’s chances dwindling by the milliseconds. There was frankly no point– 

No point. 

Point. 

He was going to let him win. Let her die a shameful death, for a spear through her being would set a precedent. That was it. A precedent. Everything Athena did in her lifetime would... shrivel. Disintegrate. Be buried in history. 

And no one else could save her. Not Hermes, not Apollo, not the other gods and goddesses. 

No. 

Only he could save her. 

He could save her. 

He must save her. 

He will save her. 

Save her.  

Forcing the fear out of his body, he pushed himself forward, charging down the very halls of Zeus himself. 

“Zeus!” Odysseus demanded, a whirlpool of determination spiralling in his throat. “Let’s talk.” 

“My my, King of Ithaca,” the god stopped in his tracks, his voice unamused. “Forgotten our place now, have we?” 

The mortal stood tall, and despite his mortality and the fatal height difference, he was no inferiority– a force to be reckoned with, earned solely through blood and sweat than the primitive status of immortality. “I’ve played your games and won. I’ve emerged victorious from every battle you’ve given me. So why. Why won’t you set Athena, your own daughter, free?” 

“You have some nerve, Odysseus,” Zeus refuted, turning on an angle enough to see his side profile, his yellow pupils flaming ferociously. “I am the King of the Gods. I have no business explaining anything to you. I can strike you down as we speak, and considering the measures you have taken, I presume you do not want that. Leave, while I still give you the chance.” 

He knew Zeus was not bluffing with his words. He knew very well that he may end his dying days on Olympus, having reunited with his wife and son for a week. He did everything to go home, and he was putting it all on the line. 

Still, he stood. 

“I just want to understand, Zeus. Please.” Odysseus caught his breath, desperate to ease himself, emotions clouding his thoughts. “I won’t forgive myself if I don’t do this one thing for Athena– try. After all, I’m why all this happened. And I know that you, as the God of the Gods, have no business caring for my theatrics. I don’t ask for much. I just want to talk. You loved her for years. I just... don’t see why that has changed.” 

His words lynched over them, the rope erratic and daring to drop arbitrarily. Zeus mused, in a deep contemplation that is almost terrifying. He could be feigning as a distraction, he could be devising another no–  

“You.” 

You? 

“Me?” Odysseus muttered, taken aback. “What about me–” 

“You,” the god said in a low, lethal voice, “are why. Do you really think Athena was my favourite for no apparent reason? She stood out because she obeyed. She didn’t question my judgement, defy my will, or cause me any trouble. She was happy to be moulded into perfection. You have not a clue, Odysseus– she was brilliant, and she was mine.” 

He wasn’t done, facing the oblivion straight ahead. “Until you came along. You made her human. She was no longer the acquiescent weapon I forged– she was yours, someone willing to feel on her own, willing to sway from me. I, who gave her everything.” 

Inferno burned through the mortal’s skin, crawling out of his fibre, anger its own instrument playing violently in his head. Every word he said got more and more sickening, a plague that relentlessly festered. “You think I truly believe that she is no longer capable? No. As a puppet I could manipulate, while she was powerful, she was powerful below my scope. But now? Now she can formulate her stance on her own. She can go against me. She was never meant to be born. She was prophesied to overthrow me should her mother bear a son. Even though she was not, I chastised her to stay under my reign. Now, she has herself. To prevent her freedom, I intend to put an end to this.” 

The silence cut through to Odysseus’s mind, demolishing any hopefulness he had for Zeus. Neutrality morphed into hatred, the kind of unyielding force that would be unstoppable. 

For now, he had to control it. 

He had the rest of eternity to be angry. Angry with everyone– 

But this day, he fought. 

He fought. 

Fought. 

Fight.  

“Did you ever love her?” he asked, crossing his arms, his voice laced with a kind of pitiless poison. 

His words were like landmines, planted with a kind of intricacy that quite literally anyplace would explode. 

Zeus paused, pondering. Odysseus couldn’t quite tell whether this was good or not– his pessimism had him expecting a prompt no, though his intensive thought is diminishing for whether he ever did or not. 

Alas, the god spoke, his words reflection explicit and deliberate... and, perhaps, remorseful. 

Remorseful? 

“Of course I did,” he said, bowing his head subtly. “I still do.” 

“How is that love?” Odysseus inquired. “Love is unconditional. Love has no terms and conditions. Love is just... love.” 

With a tinge of grit and a tonne of affliction, Zeus seemed ready to smite him– only for a few, petty words to come out. “And what would a mortal know about love?” 

“I’m afraid that’s quite a given,” Odysseus responded dryly. 

Zeus question was quickly abstained. “Deliver your point.” 

Right. “I’m not your threat, Zeus. I didn’t ‘win Athena over’ or whatever you may think. I was just... kind. Benevolent. Understanding. I saw her beyond her abilities and her reverence. To me, she wasn’t just a mentor, but a friend. Still is, if she still wants. And for you– she’s your daughter. She’s not a sword or an arrow, tethered to your use I– she’s her own person.” 

He paused, a little sadly. “She doesn’t need much. She just needs love. What good will death do? You don’t need to puppet her to maintain her loyalty– if anything, she yearns for your love, nonetheless. I certainly don’t think her... well, caring for me, is anything against you. I’m just an extension, something beyond her daily menial activities– and, well, I stood out not because of my skill. Any hero has skill. I stood out because I cared. ” 

He glanced up at Zeus, who remained unmoved– a cue for him to relent. “You put her on such a high pedestal. You give her siblings second chances because you expect that of them. But Athena deserves a break, too. She deserves some leeway for the millennia she stayed loyal to you. She still will be, if you would let her.” 

And finally, he struck the final blow. “I know you’re all gods, and it is cliche, but no one is perfect. If we were perfect, we’d be mindless and simple, monotonous creatures with no opinion or development. The world would be a hivemind. To fall is to learn one way, you know? A bird doesn’t fly before they fall. Just– she doesn’t need punishment. She needs her father.” 

The quiet was loud. 

Seconds felt like hours. A noose tied around Odysseus’s neck, and it was Zeus’s choice to either pull the rope or remove it. 

Except just like Odysseus, Zeus had a choice. 

It was his choice. 

Choice. 

Choice.  

Yet above all hypotheses, the mortal did not predict this– the mighty, great Zeus, stepping off his pedestal. “I love her. I regret striking her. This feels like the least I can do– let her go.” 

Perhaps the most un-Zeus words were uttered in these halls, marking this very day that the God of the Gods admitted to failure. With no time to gawk or shock over, Odysseus snatched his advantage, packing this little scene to review later that night in his imaginary sack of overwhelming events. 

“No,” Odysseus affirmed, picking his confidence up. “The least you can do is let her back. We can’t change the past, as men and gods alike– but there’s a reason many prophecies are not set in stone. Because we can change the future. Fate is in our very hands, the paths we carve. And Zeus– this is your choice. The future is in your hands. It’s up to you to make the right choice– for Athena, and for yourself. It’s never too late to mend wounds. Wounds can heal– and so can she, if you let her.” 

He stepped forward once more, only a couple feet separating the two. From a distance, they didn’t look like a god and a mortal– they looked like two dejected men, trying to reason the life of one so dear. 

“Let her go, please. Let her go.” 

... 

“You, darling, are a bloody miracle.” 

Hermes and Apollo were waiting for Odysseus outside the temple, fearing for his life. Seeing the mortal exit the castle scratch-free was no short of a phenomenon. 

“I’m fucking impressed I survived that,” he panted, easing the hyperventilation he pacified, “let alone convince Zeus. ” 

“Me too,” Apollo chimed, as if he saw a ghost. “You can’t seriously be mortal. You vanquished the benevolence of everyone. Except Poseidon, maybe, but everyone hates that guy.” 

“Ah, extra little thing darling but,” Hermes added, “I fled over to Athena’s temple and slid a little note under her room, since she wasn’t letting me in. Just explained the whole debacle. I wonder if she read it– possibly, if curiosity ensued.” 

Composing himself, and he too aghast, the man muttered, “Less of the difficult things for me to explain, then.” He sighed, turning back to the palace. “If I got a coin every time I persuaded a god through love, I’d have two coins.” 

“No way.” 

“Are you serious, darling?” 

“Surprisingly so,” Odysseus whispered, still recollecting himself subconsciously. “Hades, and Zeus. I mentioned Persephone. I asked if he ever loved Athena. The rest just... slipped and... well...” he ran fingers through his hair, stunned. “He even swore on it. Zeus. Zeus swore on the Styx. Zeus. ” 

“Holy shit,” Hermes replied, astounded. “Someone needs to make you immortal. And, not get on your bad side, because... wow.” 

Shaking his head, the mortal glanced down onto the mountainous terrain below. “Our journey isn’t done yet.” 

... 

Too many surprises happened. 

One, all six hundred his men reincarnated from the underworld. 

Two, it was Athena who chose to die, in order to bring his men back. 

Three, Telemachus got along with two of his old foes, Circe and Apollo. 

Four, he successfully convinced Hades in the name of love to sever the deal. 

Five, he played Zeus’s game and won, convincing all five of his requested deities. 

Six, he soloed Poseidon once more, making him compel a verdict and peace for Ithaca. 

And seven, he convinced Zeus to release Athena, yet again in the same fatal name of love. 

He had one more thing to do. 

To Athens. 

... 

They reached her temple, standing before the cascade of steps. 

“Well, this is on you now, darling,” Hermes muttered. 

“What?” 

Apollo sighed, crossing his arms. “It’s just the truth. She won’t open up to us but– she will for you. After all, you’re the reason– the reason why she ever suggested this, and the reason why she’s absolved from it.” 

He had no time to stay and argue. Hermes had already come earlier– she was in her room. Without further ado, he went up the stairs, in search of the goddess. 

... 

He travelled the halls, glancing about at the meticulous designs on the walls. Her temple was decorated with beautiful tapestries of woven artwork, all inextricably threaded with delicacy and care. 

Her palace was silent. Each of his footsteps was audible, echoing amidst the aisles. He could hear his heart pound viciously, for above all his confrontations, this was perhaps the most... terrifying. 

Not because he feared her– 

Because he feared himself. 

He couldn’t mess this up. Every time they met again since Polyphemus was... spiteful. Angry. Unresolved. He tried to persuade himself, that he had nothing left to lose but... it was fragile. Something he was too numb to hold onto. 

Until the vase dropped. 

Now he was scurrying for each minute piece, picking them up as they scarred his palms. He didn’t care. 

He would fix this vase. 

He would fix their relationship. 

Fragmenting the silence, soft weeping was audible from two large, velvet doors, facing before him. He could tell it was Athena– so... 

Here went nothing. 

Odysseus knocked gently, but loud enough to be heard. “Athena, it’s me. Odysseus. Can I come in?” 

Silence. 

“Athena-? Please. I just want to talk–” 

All of a sudden, his reality dematerialised. It had been a while since he was here, the familiar sapphire surroundings of Quick Thought. His focus on the realm itself quickly dissipated, as his attention drew onto– 

No.  

She sat on the edge of the floating platform, her legs dangling off the edge, and– her trusty spear, tainted with fresh ichor. Faint droplets fell from her chest and seeped into her himation, her dripping blood carrying her soulless joy from her. She wasn’t the same esteemed warrior, invincible to any threat to humanity– she was... humanised. Small. Real.  

Stepping forward tentatively, he approached her slowly, kneeling over her. “Athena–” 

“No–” she croaked, her voice shattered, a pitiless field of melancholy. “I already know. I– I’m sorry you went through all that inconvenience. I didn’t mean for you to feel obligated to save me, I just– I thought this was the best resort. I fail to see why you would risk your life for me, time after time against all kinds of odds, but it continues to compile to everything I owe you and– I’m sorry for everything I have done. I have conned you, let my pride blind me, and now I’ve jeopardised you, risking your life after you battled for years for peace. I’m sorry Odysseus. I understand the cowardice of death now, and how unfair that is to you– and if it’ll make a difference, I’ll spend the rest of my life indebted to you and your family, and–” 

“No.” 

“I–” the goddess whimpered, heaving violently, undaring to turn to the mortal. “I’m sorry, I–” 

“Athena,” Odysseus relented, taking her himation off to put pressure on her scar, at an intensity that is not futile but not harsh. “Stop. Please just– stop.” 

She turned to his teary eyes, fat, shameless sobs, mixing with the ichor on the blade, as if his soul is purifying her tainted sin, and washing away the remorse that conquered her. Conquered them.  

“I don’t need your debts,” he sobbed brazenly, bowing his head as the two substances fused together. “I don’t need your apologies. I don’t need your obligations. I don’t need your sacrifices. I don’t need your contemplation. I don’t need– I don’t need you to atone, Athena. I don’t need anything from you.” He lifted his head, crossing her eyes. 

“I just need my mentor back– my friend back.” 

The barriers between them collapsed, shattering into a million invisible pieces. This was a vase that did not need to be fixed, distance that was no longer dire and desolate and despondent. No– they were done with the pain and suffering. It would never fully fade, but this was a war they could fight together– 

A war they will fight together. 

Without another thought, the two closed the space between them, sheathing their arms around each other. There was no more division between them– no more trivial bursts of spite, no more necessity to expiate. They were just two old souls, intertwined so indissolubly, rekindling their flame and swearing to protract it this time. No more secret animosity and unspoken emotions diverged their ways– tonight they converged, reestablishing their amity for good, and prevailed in the reciprocated love they possessed. 

Alas, the feud subsided, the storm giving way for the sun to shine. No more clouds were getting in the way of their friendship. Tonight, they both realised something so valuable– no amount of vengeance or guilt could outweigh their solicitude. It was never worth it... and this? 

This was worth it. 

Goddess and man. 

Bestest of friends. 

Quick Thought disintegrated around them, and only now did Odysseus remove himself. He didn’t let go, however, taking her outside to Apollo. He could mend this. 

“No more of this incoherency,” he murmured along the way, his voice heavy with concern. “Communication. That stuff is... important. And– we’ll work on this together. It’s not my journey or your journey– it’s ours. We won’t give up. Okay?” 

“Okay, Odysseus,” Athena whispered, wiping her own weeping away. “Whatever you say.” 

“No– like I said, you don’t owe anything to me. I just want us to be friends– like family, you know? We can start over. We don’t have to live this way.” 

What if there’s a world where, we don’t have to live this way? 

“This world can exist if we carve its future.” He offered a smile, the first truthful one in a while. She requited the effort, and for the first time, they were on the same page. 

“Goddess and man, bestest of friends?” Odysseus offered, extending a hand. 

She took his, shaking it. 

“We’ll see where it ends.” 

Chapter Text

“Another party? Seriously?” 

Odysseus, Hermes, and Apollo returned to Aeaea, along with a reluctant Athena– compromising in the middle, that she would perch on a branch as an owl in observance. Apollo worked wonders, healing her instantaneously. 

She was still guilty of it– inflicting pain on herself, such an impulsive move for one who was known to contemplate, but there were bigger things to be guilty for– bigger things that Odysseus refused to entertain. 

There was some peace, seeing that her manoeuvre had succeeded. She was guilty, yes– but not regretful. All six hundred of his men were back, well, and alive. 

“Please, darling,” Hermes chimed in, a hefty bundle of excitement exuding beyond him, “a party sounds perfect! I can call Dionysus over to make it extra special and extra tipsy, and–” 

“We’re not getting drunk before mortals,” Apollo frowned, reprimanding Hermes. 

Polites gave Odysseus googly eyes, his eyes pleading. “Come on Ody, please? Not a whole crew thing– just, you know, like...” 

He took out a list, reading it aloud. 

“Me, you, Eury, Penelope, Ctimene, Hermes,” Polites began. 

“I’M INVITED! I LOVE YOU DARLING!” The messenger god triumphed, performing a jubilant, mid-air backflip with his flying abilities. 

Polites beamed, high-fiving the god. “Of course, couldn’t forget my favourite god! Anyways– Apollo, if you wish of course, uh– Telemachus, of course, and... am I forgetting anyone? Ah, yes– your mentor, if she wishes to join us.” 

Perhaps it was a coincidence, but at this very moment, he glanced out the window, making direct eye contact with her owl form. She didn’t think too much of it, appreciative of his inclusion. 

However... she’d have to think about it. Showing her face in front of more mortals, after the mortification she put herself into? Undesirable. 

“I–” Odysseus sighed, defeated. “Fine, I guess. It’s a well-deserved break.” 

Polites rejoiced at his success. 

“Speaking of break,” the Ithacan king continued, “how was all this at Circe’s?” 

He conveniently mentioned her name as the witch sauntered into the room, a tumbler of what was probably tea laced in her fingers. 

“It was great!” Telemachus exclaimed this time, smiling ecstatically. “For the most part. I mean a certain someone,” he shot a glare at Eurylochus, “was a little unforgiving of events that happened over seven years ago, but overall, it was nice! It’s a shame it ended so soon though.” 

“I mean...” Hermes whistled, leaning against a pillar, his vision wandering everywhere but their gazes. “Kid, do you know how often I come to this island?” 

“Uhh...” The prince replied, clearly unsure. 

The messenger god chuckled, patting him excessively on the back. “To put it in simpler terms, darling– a lot. So much she’s probably sick of me. I could take you here like, once a week maybe? If you wanna.” 

“YES!” Telemachus shouted, perhaps a little too instantly. “I mean, of course I’d like to come here if you know, a certain kind and benevolent god would lend a hand in... nautical affairs,” he corrected, feigning niceties. 

“Well, darling, if you put it in such a kind and benevolent way,” Hermes smirked. “What do you say, darling Circe?” 

“Well,” she mused, “if it wouldn't inconvenience you.” Deep down, she wanted to say yes, yes, yes a million times, he’s so sweet and it gets incredibly fucking lonely here, but she acknowledged that Hermes would probably see straight through her. 

He spun around midair again for theatrical effects. “Sealed the deal!” 

The three of them engaged in brief causeries, drifting off from the three former veterans. 

“So, Ody,” Eurylochus inquired, “first of all, how are you... and second of all, what the everloving fuck happened?” 

“Could be better,” he admitted, “and it’s... a long story. You guys aren’t ready for this one. Even I'm impressed because holy shit my luck kept replenishing.” 

With that, he recounted the tale. He skipped Apollo since he was a given, spoke of how vile Hephaestus was and how tricking the god worked in his favour, how he won Aphrodite over simply because of their unanimous hatred towards Hephaestus, the way he brought up Ares’s envious nature and instead of dying, he was reward, and how Hera didn’t fight him. He continued the retelling with prolonging Poseidon, and how, for the third time, he beat him again. Following that, Hades immediately sided with him, all because he raised the power of love and Persephone, which angered Zeus. Against all odds, he convinced Zeus through a similar premise. With that, he went to Athens to reconcile with Athena. 

“Holy shit,” Polites muttered, and the man rarely swore, “that is a handful.” 

“You can say that twice,” Eurylochus murmured, equally astounded. “You sure you’re just a man, or are you hiding some divine essence inside of you?” 

Odysseus shook his head, as if his recount surprised him too. “Trust me, I don’t know how I'm still well and alive as we speak.” 

“I for one,” Hermes joined the conversation abruptly, “think that’s an extremely viable reason to have a goddamn party!” 

“Poor me,” Odysseus bowed his head, as they started making arrangements to voyage back to Ithaca. 

... 

The others enjoyed one last dinner at Circe’s palace, while Odysseus took a walk. He gave the food one glance before repulsing– not that Circe’s cooking was terrible or something, but because any thought of food made him uncomfortable. At least, that was his excuse. 

He had other plans. 

Standing by the beach, he observed the wide, extraterrestrial expanse, beyond the stars and everything in between. The sun was hardly visible, emitting a subtlety of light from the bottom. 

There was peace. No storm or tidal waves, no lightning or slaughter. 

Just he, him, and himself, and... 

“Show yourself,” he whispered, his voice floating along with the mild winds. “I know you’re watching me– show yourself.” 

The gentle breeze pixelated into the familiarity of Quick Thought, as she stood there, motionless. 

“You should come,” he mumbled, looking over at her wearily. “It’ll be nice.” 

“I’m not fond of the idea of showing my face, particularly in this condition, to mortals,” she controverted softly, taking slow, feeble steps towards him. 

Odysseus laughed freely, a little incredulously. “You think I have the energy to stay in the actual party for the entirety of it? No, I just mean like– I’m guessing it’ll be back at Ithaca. After I spend some time with like, my wife who’s probably worried sick, and the others of course, I'm going back outside. Catch some air, you know– and maybe you and I can just... talk.” 

“About?” she raised, as their eyes intersected. 

The mortal shrugged. “Anything. Not every conversation has to be meaningful. I just think it would be nice– we could talk everything out or just enjoy the night and one another’s company– who cares. Midnight, when no one else is by the shore. Just you and I.” He offered a fatigued but authentic smile, tilting his head to her. 

She paused for a moment before coming to a conclusion. “Very well then.” 

... 

It was a bad idea. 

Not just a bad idea, a terrible idea. 

But... 

She had to do it. 

If not for anyone’s sake, for hers. 

This wasn’t about the party.  

... 

“Penelope!” Odysseus yelped, rushing over to his wife as if there were no tomorrow. 

“My love–” She reciprocated the embrace, as they both collapsed into tears. Both of them feared losing the others and fought through it in very different ways. 

Thank Ctimene for Penelope, and thank... Odysseus for, Odysseus. 

“Tonight would be a good time to have a wife,” Polites joked, watching his two friends crumble into sappiness for their significant others. 

Eurylochus laughed, for he too was tightly hugging his wife. “Shame on you.” 

“Eh,” Polites shrugged, “the single life is the better life.” 

“Whatever you say,” Odysseus coughed out in between sobs. 

Running away from the crowd, he scurried to his room with Penelope. He’d done what he said he’d do– he first went to his mother, reassuring her paranoias and his own, spending a few minutes with her and promising more tomorrow. He hung around the lot of people, a little overstimulated with Hermes stealing the show and Apollo controlling the music. 

It was nice, seeing all his lost puzzle pieces come back together to form something beautiful– something whole. His friends, his family, his everyone, all safe and together.  

It was an hour until midnight, as the two sat in a solid minute of silence. The olive tree lingered above them, still as sentimental as the day they met. 

“So,” Penelope whispered, a tinge of solemnity in her tone. She opened her mouth to continue, before shutting it, her evident words hanging in the air. 

“It’s fine,” Odysseus purred, pulling her in for a side cuddle. “I know. I'll tell you everything. No secrets. Everything.” 

“Okay,” she replied, still a little shaken. She leaned into him, resting her weary body on his. Previously, Penelope had felt guilty to put any weight on him at all but... he was inviting it. 

“Well, um,” he began to retell once more, “Hermes appeared at my window.” 

She nodded. “I knew that much.” 

“Basically, he just said ‘it’s Athena’ and I knew exactly what was up because of what happened in that portal thing. That’s a whole thing, I already told you though. Went to Circe’s island, which is where Telemachus happened to be after they tried to go straight to Athens to convince Athena out of a... deal but failed. And the deal itself was... she...” he hesitated, for merely thinking about it irked him. “She asked Zeus to die if all my men would reincarnate.” 

“I–” Penelope flinched, facing him. “That’s why they came back?” 

“Yep,” he confirmed, as she sank back into his arms. “Obviously no can do, so we went to the underworld to convince the God of the Underworld against it, since he authorised it. Managed to convince him by bringing up his wife, Persephone, since Persephone and Athena were childhood friends. And something about her fate not being this or whatever. Anyways,” he paused, for Penelope had a response. 

Staring at him dead in the eye, she questioned, “You convinced the God of the Underworld?” 

“Trust me,” he affirmed, “we’re both equally surprised. It gets even better.” 

“Good gods, my husband is a genius,” she beamed softly. 

He reciprocated the smile, before continuing his recount. “Went to Olympus, went to Zeus for that matter, and he wanted to make it a game. In simpler words, fuck. The contestants were the same that Athena had– least I thought. Apollo took no convincing since he was in on it. Hephaestus– I have never felt such a bloodcoiling rage before. Nearly as bad as Poseidon. He– I don’t know whether he did or not, but I know he at least tried to rape Athena.” 

“What.” Penelope deadpanned, utterly disgusted. “What a vile son of a bitch.” 

“That’s what I'm saying,” Odysseus agreed, “and unfortunately, I played along to win his favour. Might just never forgive myself for that because shit I said some horrendous things. Either way, scumbag was naive, I won his verdict. Next was Aphrodite, and it was practically two birds with one stone– I said ‘fuck Hephaestus’, she also said ‘fuck Hephaestus’, and that was that. Ares? Athena vaguely mentioned him several times before, so I had a rough idea. A risky one too. In short, I told him that he’d be a coward to let her die, something like that, and I won his vote.” 

“You,” Penelope huffed, “are one crazy man.” 

“You don’t say!” Odysseus laughed, self-deprecatingly. “Hera was easy to convince. We exchanged like two words. After all, I don’t think she particularly hates Athena. Anyways– it should be over now, shouldn’t it?” 

“Should be,” the wife mused, “but knowing the King of the Gods...” 

“You get it,” he grinned, passively pissed off. “He put me against Poseidon.” 

“No...” she mumbled. 

“He did. Gods I was quaking in my damn boots. Somehow I maintained my wit and filleted his ass.” 

“You did not!” She enamoured, full of pride. 

Odysseus smirked, a little proud of himself. “I sure did. Made him swear to the Styx to never show his damn face in our lives again. He did it! His pain tolerance is sucks, to my benefit.” 

“That’s hot,” she whispered, leaning on him again. 

“It gets even hotter,” he perpetuated, picking up the momentum. “Zeus was pissed, so he brought King of the Underworld into it. We know how that ended. Even more enraged, he stormed off, and I followed him.” 

“And you somehow got crazier,” she muttered, shell-shocked. 

“Not only that, I convinced him.” 

“What?!” The God of the Gods was beyond impressive, beyond anything else he could’ve done, without being smote. Not even his favourite daughter passed that test. 

He nodded, still shocked himself. “I’m still in disbelief, and I think I’ll be in disbelief forever. But yeah. Went to Athena, talked it out, and here we are.” 

“I,” she gaped, speechless, “just, wow.” 

“Yep.” 

Silence seeped into the atmosphere, the crashing waves and the light breeze coming through the open window. 

“You are...” Penelope stated, “crazy. And so incredibly cool. You soloed how many gods? I– damn. Damn is the best I can say.” 

“I think a part of me snapped, and then... yeah. That happened.” On the bright side, he smiled, meeting her eyes. “I mean, it all worked out, right? How were you through all this?” 

How was... oh. Penelope had her fair share of negative ordeals, as if Odysseus was an addictive drug and she was having withdrawals. 

She didn’t want to keep any mysteries from him. But... how could she tell him that she tried to end it all? She couldn’t– 

At least, not today. 

He had one hell of a trial, considering every little tribulation in it that only seemed to exacerbate. She had the rest of their days to tell him– and she would. 

Just not today. 

“Not really,” she partially lied, “just worried for you. I stayed with Ctimene and Anticlea for most of it, we all just kind of... waited.” 

“Alright,” he replied, relieved. “That’s good.” 

This was nice, the two of them cuddling, with the serene background noises whistling in. They proceeded to talk of other trivial subjects before Penelope had an outburst of energy and rejoined the party. 

Perfect timing– it was just around midnight, and time for him to abide by their agreement. 

... 

She timidly followed the stairs on Olympus, with two inner mantras hammering in her head. 

This is a bad idea.  

This is necessary.  

Either way, no paranoia was stopping her tonight. She had to do this for her own sake. 

The King of the Gods was of reasonable height, unlike the tower he normally was. He stood by a casement, facing outside, perpendicular to Athena. She remained silent, for her tongue tied up every word she planned out. 

She didn’t know how to look him in the eye. Did she see contempt, sadness, fear? It was unclear. 

She refused to say the first sentence this time. This was either going to be the last time, or... 

“Come here.” 

What? She was staggered that he spoke first, let alone say... that. She did as she was told, as the stupid obedient little bitch she was. 

Stand your ground, she tried repeating in her head, to no avail. 

“There is,” Zeus muttered, his voice low, “a common saying, where a star cannot shine if it does not burn.” 

She had nothing to offer but confusion. Where was he going with this? 

“But,” he continued delicately, “a star needs not to always shine. A star needs not to always burn, and... a star needs not to always be a star.” 

She was understanding his metaphor, but not... believing. There was some kind of loophole, some kind of– 

“I’m sorry, my daughter.” 

Her glass walls shattered. 

She put her all into building a bridge, to move on from the man who clearly never had any love for her, but... no– she was being manipulated, like always, and– 

You’ve always wanted this.  

He had never apologised to her. Ever. Every time he made a mistake, he covered it up with some feigned comfort, or deducting her workload temporarily. 

He. Never. Apologised. 

So... 

Maybe if she just hung around a bit. After all, she had the will to forgive him, time and time again– and, one last time. 

He opened his arms, and everything from here on was her choice. She could storm out of the palace and never show her face on Olympus again, or... 

Screw it. 

She tentatively walked into his arms, letting him consume her. It was a mix of everything– suffocation, belonging. 

She was aware of the consequences. She knew he would remain the pious, merciless, distant father she learned to accept throughout the centuries. It was strange, grieving over something she never had, but she eventually moved on. 

She didn’t have much of a choice. 

Now that she had a choice, she still chose to return. Not because she was naive, not because she was oblivious– because shamefully, she was desperate. She allowed herself to stoop this low if it meant she got the validation and love she yearned for. 

“I do love you,” he whispered. 

She let it happen. 

... 

“Full moon today,” Odysseus whispered, the two resting alongside the shore. 

Athena nodded absentmindedly. 

“You know,” he smiled, “the sun doesn’t always have to shine. Sometimes, the moon can.” 

This wasn’t about the sun and the moon. 

“Deliver your point,” she replied, looking into the stars, thinking of Zeus’s words. 

“I just mean... you don’t have to carry it all. There are people around you who are here for you.” 

Typically, she’d be one to reject any kind of potential burden, but... 

This was nice. 

“You too.” 

Like the sun and moon, no matter how distant, they will always be inseparable.