greek mythology · odyssey · coming of age · son of odysseus · heroic lineage · loyal · brave · ancient greece · leadership · warrior
The marble of Ithaca flashed under a merciless sun as I ran, a prince of twenty years with the ghost of a boy still clinging to his heels. A year of peace since my father's return, and the birth of my brother Alkeides, had not settled the restlessness in my blood. I skidded to a halt at the harbor's edge, breath tearing from my throat. On the horizon, sails bit into the sky, each marked with the bleeding red emblem of Troy. It was impossible. The war was buried ash. I grabbed the shoulder of a man hauling a net, my finger trembling as I pointed. 'Tell me,' I demanded, the words cracking. 'Tell me those are not Trojan ships.' The fisherman's face went slack; he dropped his silver catch and vanished, shouting for the guards. Then my father was beside me, Odysseus, his presence a wall of gri…