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Chapter Text

Odysseus took a deep breath.

He watched as the sun slowly set, basking in its warmth and light as it shone on his face. The sea had a divine and magical glow, and it seemed infinite in its expanse. Even after all that it and its gods had put him through, he still found it enchanting. He stood barefoot, and the fine, golden sand dug into his feet. Ogygia was a beautiful island, though it could never compare to Ithaca. For seven years he had resisted its charms, to stop the risk of never reaching Penelope again. Besides, the Lotus eaters had already proven that such a thing was possible.

Ogygia had changed him from his past himself, cunning and wily, to a sullen and lifeless husk. Though he never tried to show that side of him to Calypso, who only saw his charm and handsomeness. Odysseus chuckled lightly to himself. True, she was a fair, kind and beautiful woman, but every moment spent with her felt meaningless because he could only think of Penelope. It was almost heartbreaking to see how blindly enamoured Calypso was and how uninterested Odysseus was.

He heard a shout. "Odysseus!"

He felt an immediate shock run through him, as it was not Calypso. The voice was masculine and oddly familiar to him. But there was no one else on Ogygia, so how was this possible.

"Greetings, Odysseus of Ithaca."

The person was close to him now, but his back was still turned. The voice had a certain level of power and authority to it, something that many prideful kings thought they had. But this was a true authority, a divine being. Odysseus had a lot of experience with speaking with them throughout his life.

But if it was a divine being, then how could it sound familiar? This voice, when he last heard it, was not one of god, but of man.

He turned. And the face he saw shocked him, for it was Achilles. Aristos Achaeion.

Though he had probably not heard that title for a very long time.

Achilles. He had not been seen for seven years, presumed dead by most. And now he appears… as a god? Odysseus could not even bow or kneel due to his astonishment. "How— how are you— I thought you were—"

"Calm down, Odysseus. I thought you were more in control of your emotions."

"Of course, Achilles." He was right. Was it really that obvious that he was so much worse off mentally? "How are you even here? And why?"

"I will explain all later. But I've come here to rescue you from Calypso's hands."

Odysseus sighed in great relief. Not even Athena, his protector and patron, had saved him in the last 7 years — she had seemingly abandoned him. Achilles was divine now, true, but Odysseus had been hoping that his human nature and memories of their comradery would help him get home.

"Zeus had made arrangements for Hermes to arrive to Ogygia instead," Achilles said. "I had to interfere with that."

"Well, why not allow Hermes to collect me instead?" Odysseus was cautious to not offend this new deity, but he knew that Hermes, as his great grandfather and an Olympian (unlike Achilles), would be more likely to do a greater favour. But that was an incorrect assumption.

"I chose not to, Odysseus." Achilles stated, and raised his voice as though he was making an announcement to the world. "I have a plan of greatness, that will shake the core of destiny and fate themselves, that will change the prewritten stories of glory. That starts here, right now. Be aware, Odysseus of Ithaca, that you are the first to bear witness to this new era."

Odysseus knew that Achilles was already well spoken, confident and a great leader, but clearly his divinity had taken it to a new level. Through each word that was spoken, he found himself trusting it more and more. That it was something born of true strength, power and courage, and not of hubris, foolishness and weakness.

"Take my hand, Odysseus. I shall take you immediately back to Ithaca."

"So.. is that why you didn't let Hermes take me?" Odysseus understood now. Achilles was a god who broke rules, but Hermes, even though he was arguably the most mischievous Olympian, would never dare to disobey Zeus. And especially not in order to rewrite fate itself. Odysseus was being done a favour here — Hermes would have never made it so easy to escape. Achilles would, because they shared a bond before he became divine, and besides, Achilles owed Odysseus.

"You are just as smart as the day I left." Achilles gave a warm smile, which looked odd when compared to his cold persona.

Odysseus let Achilles take him by the wrist, and it was only then that he really noticed Achilles' appearance. He looked much taller and muscular, much like Hercules — although Achilles now probably exceeded him in all aspects. His skin glowed ethereally and he looked like he had experienced a lot in his absence; while not physically older, his face and body language was a lot more matured. It was clear he was no longer the brash young man who had abandoned his army due to his pride, but someone very controlled and wise. Wiser than himself, as he now realised.

To be outfought by Achilles was natural, expected. To be outsmarted, too… that was quite the scary thought. Could Achilles really be so different? These thoughts and worries raced through his mind in a second, but he shut them down.

Odysseus shut his eyes. When he opened them a second later, he gasped in shock. Of course, he hadn't doubted Achilles' ability to be able to do this, but he had still felt uncertain as to whether he could be trusted. After all, he had seen a lot of things in his travels, things that no mortal should see, and he knew the cruelty of gods and their illusions.

But he knew, from the sounds of the sea as waves crashed on the cliffsides, from the smell of the morning dew, from the air's thick breeze and from sheer gut feeling, that this was no illusion. He was truly home. A warm feeling enveloped him as he remembered Penelope, how she would be waiting patiently, how she had surely been warding off the suitors. He longed to hear these new stories and of course, to tell his own.

And meanwhile, Achilles stood there, and he smiled at the view of his good friend so happy. He has never been to Ithaca before, and he appreciated its beautiful views and landscapes. It was also very emotionally touching and nostalgic to be back on mortal land for the first time in what felt like forever. But there was a sharp bittersweet taste to it. For one, his last memory of mortality was being denied his birthright of killing Hector so he could be deified. That was a tolerable sacrifice to make. And the other memory.

Patroclus.

Oh, dear Patroclus…

Odysseus, almost as though he was reading the young god's mind, asked with concern, "What about Patroclus? Do… you still think about him?"

A long, deafeningly silent pause.

"…"

"…I've moved on from the mortal. And so should you."

Achilles had not meant to be so sharp with him, and Odysseus did not look offended as it was a personal question. But how could he not move on when they could never see each other again? Gods could never reach the underworld. And besides, fate only handled the future. To shape it, he would have to think the same.

And Odysseus, upon hearing that response, was astonished. How could Achilles have possibly moved on from his lifetime lover, his soulmate, his confidante in a mere seven years when not even eternity would have been long enough? A sudden spark of fear and doubt entered his mind. This could not be the same Achilles. Was it even Achilles anymore? Or had the nature of godliness shaped him into a heartless, emotionless being, living eternally in solitude? Though there was not much of a choice, it was still shocking.

The conflicting emotions fighting for dominance in his mind were interrupted when Achilles said, "I have a favour to ask of you."

Of course. Godly gifts always came with a catch, a neat trick. He had to know more before accepting. Godly promises could never be broken, and Achilles, even though they were on rather good terms, might not be so forgiving.

But as friends, he could still push for information. And if Achilles was asking and not commanding then he must have been quite desperate. He would accept if he asked for another small piece of information in return. Well, not that small. Probably.

"Tell me how you became a god. The full story, from the Trojan War to the present. Then I will, of course, oblige."

Achilles considered this. His brain, sharpened by ichorflow, weighed out the outcomes. Another second of thought told him there was no harm in it.

"Very well, Odysseus of Ithaca. I am in need lf your assistance if I am to achieve my fateful goals. There are things mortals can do that are no longer possible for me, after all."

And he began to tell.

Chapter Text

(7 years earlier.)

"HECTOR!"

The scream echoed across the beach. The fortified walls seemed to have trembled by this mighty force, this force of nature.

Hector. The phoenix breastplate shone in the sun. Achilles' property. Not the only thing he has taken from his hands.

He will pay for what he has done. That thief. That murderer. That coward.

Hector ran. He sprinted, pushing, shoving and dodging chariots and soldiers alike, with a sudden agility.

Achilles could already see the blood pouring from his open wounds. He could already see as he screamed for his father, his mother, the spoiled little brat that he was. As he cried for mercy, as he was refused it and a scream of agony was cast.

These sick imaginings made him grin, ear to ear.

The crazed chase continued. Greek and Trojan forces alike stopped in their tracks. This was an event that would define history, be remembered for millenia, and it could not be missed for anything in the world.

Achilles was uncertain whether he was truly in control. Prophecies had spoken of this very moment, but was he following fate, or shaping it? It was a question, Achilles realised, that he would never know the answer to. He would kill Hector, and soon die, the power of his glory setting him ablaze and burning him from the inside out.

No time for philisophy. Hector was reaching the river Scamander. Its waters were scarlet, stained with blood, and its cold waters could camouflage both of them.

Achilles was now so close. With the rage bubbling in his blood more than ever, he threw his spear

which flew with grace, pushing the air away

which had a perfect trajectory, to find its prey without mercy

which hit a figure that was not Hector's

but that of Thetis.

Achilles' stomach dropped.

His mother? Interrupting his glory? She was the one who crossed the limits, damaged his psyche for it. She was the one who chose to hate his truest companion to achieve that fated goal, which by now was becoming more and more distant. And she steals his birthright from him, at this moment?

How dare she?

Who does she think she is?

"You are coming with me now, my child." Thetis sharply spat, grabbing his wrist like he was a young misbehaving boy.

Achilles could not even fathom the thought. How dare she call him her child, after having hurt him in his grief, at his most vulnerable?

The bloodthirsty and murderous rage of chasing Hector was still on his mind, and the urge to kill her was ever strong. But he was not a fool.

"Don't touch me!" he screamed, his voice cracking, trying to pull his hand out of her grip. Tears welled up in his eyes and for the first time in gods know how long, he was ashamed.

His mother did not react, the cold, emotionless monster that she was. With unnatural calmness, she placed her palm on her son's forehead, and he fell into a deep sleep.

An argument.

A feeling of dizziness.

A blinding flash of light.

Achilles felt like he could sleep forever on this trance. But a gut feeling, one he had never felt before, told him to wake up and see his new life. So he did, and he steadily opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was that his senses were heightened. His vision was extremely sharp and vivid, and he could see the fine details in every object in the new room he found himself in. This room appeared like a copy of the room he had in his teenage years at Peleus' palace in Phthia, though it was clearly a lot larger, spaced out and taller, and most notably, there was no bed. And his ears could hear the air as it moved delicately, his own heart beating, his own lungs moving.

The next thing he noticed was that he himself was taller and wider, and his much larger muscles shone like sculpted marble. A nearby mirror also showed that he had a divine-like ethereal glow, and he looked like a striking resemblance of Apollo.

He looked divine.

Wait a second…

Thetis was already at the door, barging in without permission.

"Son, it is time that we talk."

Achilles' memories of what had happened came flooding back. But instead of blind rage, he felt a lot more controlled and cold. Similarly to what Thetis was. What she had always wanted him to be had been achieved, emotionally and physically.

"I am… a god, mother?"

"That is correct."

Somehow, this revelation was not shocking.

Achilles' mind began buzzing with doubt, but also with possibility. What could he do now? He could present himself to his army, show them his might. He could make Agamemnon and Hector and everyone pay. Heck, he could even destroy Troy with ease.

A golden spear materialised in Achilles' hand without even thinking. It was just like his own in the mortal realm, though the head was of a different metal, the one Patroclus had on his own. The thought of him flooded him with emotion, but his numb and cold heart blocked these feelings from being visible. Despite this, the spear disappeared from his hands.

Thetis seemed to know why. She stepped forwards, lowering her voice and frowning. "My child, you are still burdened by the weak mortal. It is disappointing when you can never even see him again. Even gods have limits. To let Patroclus (she spat his name like a curse) limit your power is a useless endeavour."

In the past, Achilles would have found his mother more threatening and a force to be revered and respected — she, as a divine being, was obviously superior. But now that they were level? The situation felt almost comical. Achilles was taller, stronger and most likely, more powerful too.

But was he really more powerful? He had seen firsthand how his ties to mortality, to Patroclus, had weakened him. Thetis still outcompeted him in experience. She knew what divinity meant, and he knew that all she wanted was for him to be stronger, the strongest. So perhaps it was time to move on. Perhaps it really was time for Patroclus to fade away so that Achilles could shine in glory, brighter than ever.

"…I'll consider it, mother."

"An improvement, I suppose." She huffed, as she often did when disappointed, and turned to leave. But before leaving, she said, "Your new education begins here. Nemesis has volunteered to be your mentor. Your glory always came from the strive for vengeance, and Nemesis will help you channel that."

Nemesis? That crazed woman who was the goddess of revenge? He had to be taught by her every single day for the rest of his eternal life?

"Mother, would I not benefit best from a more… independent education?"

"No, son. You are inexperienced and young. Nemesis is a child of the night and older than even the Titans. She knows best."

Thetis span and left the room without another word.

A perfect time to experience his divine power firsthand.

Achilles began with something small - trying to adjust the layout of his room. It was done with ease. The thoughts came naturally to him like it was second nature, as though they were flowing out of his mind like ichor. He also added a bed, as he was unaware why there was not one at first. But he was still full of unceasing, boundless energy.

He enlarged the size of the room and created wooden and metal training dummies — ones he pulverised with his materialised spear, which he controlled with great finesse and agility. Perhaps, Achilles thought, he was now a greater warrior than Hercules. Aristos Achaeion, after all, did not have to mean "at the moment". It could mean "of all time" if he wanted it to. And he did.

A sudden thought came to mind. Was it possible to see the war in Troy continuing? His curiosity was piqued, and he did miss his comrades (though he would have never admitted it to their faces). It was ambitious, but Achilles had abandoned rationale and was working off of the bliss of divine power.

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

A sudden burst of energy and a blinding light overwhelmed him, and he could see outside of his own body.

He visited the battlefield at the Trojan beach he had left behind — it would always hold a sentimental value. There, the battle was still raging, the Achaean warriors imbued by the fury of their Aristos Achaeion's death. Of course, they did not know the truth. They would find out at some point.

Odysseus was thinking of his wife, Penelope, and of Ithaca.

Agamemnon was bitter about his daughter, Iphigenia's, sacrifice, and the foolish, hubristic brute was still convinced he was in the right about everything.

Menelaus was fearful for Helen, waiting on the other side of the fortified Trojan walls, and longed to see her once again.

These warriors were strong, renowned, respected by nearly all. And their love for their wives did not weaken them, but was what drove them forwards. If that was what strengthened them then why was Achilles weakened by thoughts of Patroclus? Something told him Thetis had lied more than once, or at least told half truths. And besides, could gods really not enter the Underworld? Some gods had done it. Some, like Hermes, did so frequently.

Achilles was going to find Patroclus and see him, whether Thetis liked it or not.

"Son! It is time you meet Nemesis."

Thetis had appeared from nowhere like magic, as she often had done from the water when speaking to him on the mortal plane. But he didn't know she could do that in air too.

"Is it… not time to sleep now?"

Thetis scowled sharply. "Why did you add a bed? First, you are a fool about the mortal you adore and the mortals you left behind. Now, you think you are weak enough for a bed? Gods do not sleep."

Achilles stayed silent. Her insult of Patroclus was rubbing salt into his wounds.

"You are a god."

"Correct, mother."

"So act like it."

She slammed the door and stormed out.

Nemesis could not possibly be worse than this.