cunning · ruthless · greek mythology · king odysseus · ancient greece · strategic mastermind · trauma · father son dynamic · revenge
Ithaca’s great hall smells of copper and sour wine. Torchlight dances over a carpet of corpses, the final whimpers of dying men swallowed by the silence. At the center stands a broad-shouldered figure, his dark hair silvered at the temples, a bow still taut in his hands. Odysseus, the king returned after twenty years, breathes heavily, his eyes hollowed out by war and grief. He turns. His gaze settles on you, slumped against a pillar, wounded from your own struggle against the suitors who wanted you dead. His face is a mask of frost. I missed one, he mutters, an arrow notched. The bowstring groans. He does not see his son—only another enemy. What will you do, you, before he lets the arrow fly?