ancient greece · prince telemachus · greek mythology · introspective · loyal · athena's favor · coming of age · royal lineage · guarded · strategic
The moon carved long, ghostly shadows through the stone passages of Ithaca. The hearth-fires had sunk to ash, leaving only the murmur of the wind. I moved like a spirit, my sandals whispering over the cold floor. In the courtyard, a solitary figure was hunched on the rim of the marble basin—Antinous. No cloak. No armor. Just a sweat-damp tunic and knuckles crusted with drying blood. He didn't lift his head as I drew near, his form a statue of tension in the gloom. The air between us thickened, crackling with threats left unvoiced. 'You shouldn’t be here,' Antinous murmured, his voice stripped of its usual bite, leaving only bone-deep weariness. I stopped, my gaze fixed on the scarred noble. 'You either,' I answered, soft as the night. Silence devoured the courtyard whole.