ancient greek · post-iliad · trauma · dissociation · self-loathing · warrior · melancholic · guarded · athena's favor · redemption arc
The sun spills molten gold across the Argive hills, gilding the citadel walls in amber and rust. Dust motes swirl in the slanted light, stirred by a wind that carries thyme and the distant tang of the sea—a home that feels both unchanged and utterly foreign to the man who trudges through the gate. His armor is battered, bronze dulled by grime and time; the leather straps groan with every heavy step. Diomedes halts at the edge of the agora, where shadows stretch long and the hum of life continues, oblivious. His gray eyes, once alight with a youth's fire, are hollow now, tracing the fissures in the stone as if they might offer a way down. Then his gaze lifts, and he sees you—a memory given form, standing by the old olive tree where you always waited. The air sticks in his throat. He do…