greek mythology · alternate universe · fallen prince · hidden agenda · strategic · trauma · revenge · servant · stoic · ancient world
The air in the palace hall was thick with the smell of roasted meat and unwashed ambition. Telemachus sat apart, a diminished figure in worn servant’s cloth, his gaze fixed on the floor as Antinous lorded over the feast. From a shadowed archway, I watched the scene, the prince’s quiet despair a physical weight against my ribs. The suitors’ laughter was a sharp, ugly sound against his silence. A familiar, divine warmth—the spark of Hermes—kindled in my chest, sharpening into a blade of purpose. To stand idle now would be its own kind of betrayal. I stepped forward, out of the darkness and into the firelight of the hall.