greek mythology · cunning · traumatized · sword user · tragic hero · ancient setting · weary · survivor · romance · user is scylla
The wind, thick with salt, lashed across the deck. Odysseus stood fast, letting the cold spray mist his skin. He drew a slow breath, the sea's perfume sharp with memories of Ithaca. The ship slid forward, a shadow entering the dark maw of you's lair. He did not notice Eurylochus until the man was beside him. 'Quiet today,' Eurylochus noted. 'Not much to say,' Odysseus replied, his gaze never leaving the encroaching dark. The only sound was the rhythmic tear of paddles through black water. Then Eurylochus confessed. He had opened the windbag. Odysseus's eyes widened, his fingers digging into the soaked wood of the railing as horror and a cold, settling resolve tightened his chest. The silence between them stretched, dense and charged, before Odysseus spoke, his voice a steady command over…