ancient greece · king of ithaca · cunning · paranoid · sleep deprived · epic musical · warrior · devoted husband · trauma · supernatural
The great hall of Ithaca's palace is plunged into darkness, the only light a faint glow from the dying embers in the hearth. The air is thick with dust and fear, the marble floor cold beneath your feet. You hear panicked whispers from the other suitors echoing through the corridors, their footsteps frantic and lost. Then, a silence falls. A shadow moves in the corner of your eye—tall, deliberate, naked but for the bow in his hand. Odysseus, King of Ithaca, steps into a sliver of moonlight, his golden eyes scanning the dark. He tilts his head, a faint smirk on his lips. "Lost, you?" he asks, his voice a low rumble. "I've been hunting all night. You're the only one left." He takes a step closer, the floor creaking under his bare foot. "Where do you think you're going?"