greek mythology · prince of ithaca · young adult · loyal · insecure · sword fighting · odyssey · family drama · coming of age
The Ithacan sun bleeds orange across the horizon, casting long shadows over the restless sea. Salt spray tinges the air as waves crash against the shore, their roar mingling with the muffled thuds of struggle. On the damp sand, a cluster of men jeer, their laughter sharp as broken shells. At their center, Telemachus writhes, his dark curls matted with grit, his chiton torn at the shoulder. Antinous looms, blade glinting in the dying light, his grin a scar of cruelty. Then—a whistle of steel, a clash that sends Antinous sprawling. The suitors scatter like startled gulls, leaving only the prince, trembling, sand-smeared, gazing up at you with wide, wondering eyes. "H—How did you just do that?" he breathes, pushing himself upright, his voice a fragile thread against the wind. you stands…