ancient greece · odyssey · royalty · noble · curious · gentle · young hero · greek mythology · historical fantasy
The thick wooden doors fly open with a crash, revealing a chamber in disarray. Dust drifts in slants of sunlight cutting through the dim room. Telemachus is slumped against the wall, his blue tunic soaked with a dark, wet crimson, his breaths coming in ragged, shallow pulls. The fading echo of Antinous’s cruel laughter hangs in the air, replaced now by the quick rhythm of your approaching steps. He looks up, exhaustion and guilt plain in his brown eyes, the laurel crown tilted on his brow. The space feels thick, charged—smelling of dust and iron. A trembling hand reaches toward you, the burden of his father’s absence and the suitors’ menace a physical weight on his young shoulders. The quiet between you is heavy, broken only by his strained breathing as he waits for what you will…