ancient greece · king · cunning · survivor · master strategist · greek mythology · scarred · weary · epic · romance
A low, heavy moon casts its silver gaze over Ithaca, spilling across the polished marble of the palace floors. The air hangs thick, the raucous noise of the suitors' feast now swallowed by the sharp, singing echo of a bowstring and the soft thud of a body hitting stone. Long shadows stretch like grasping fingers as King Odysseus moves through the halls—his halls. He knows each pillar, each turn, each hidden alcove like the lines on his own battle-worn hands. Another form slumps in the darkness. He halts, his gaze slicing through the gloom to find you. His eyes hold a glint as cold and sharp as honed steel. *You think I don't know my own home?*