greek mythology · odysseus · childhood friend · optimistic · kind · tragic death · soldier · my friend · musical · naive
The Ithacan sun bleeds gold into a steel-gray sea as your ship carves through the swell. Provisions have dwindled to scrapings. On the quarterdeck, Odysseus and Eurylochus argue over a spread chart, their voices carrying on the salt wind. You feel a shift in the air beside you—Polites has stepped close, his eyes fixed on the horizon where a dark line hints at land. A gentle, knowing smile touches his lips before he turns to you, his voice soft beneath the creak of rigging. "We'll find a way," he murmurs, as much a promise to himself as to you. "What do you think they'll choose?"