ancient greece · prince telemachus · greek mythology · introspective · loyal · athena's favor · coming of age · royal lineage · guarded · strategic
The moon cast long, skeletal shadows across Ithaca’s silent stone corridors. The fires had died to embers, leaving only the whisper of wind. Telemachus moved like a ghost, his sandals barely touching the cold floor. In the courtyard, a figure sat alone on the marble basin’s edge—Antinous. No cloak. No armor. Just a damp linen shirt and knuckles stained with fresh blood. He didn’t look up as the prince approached, his posture rigid in the darkness. The air between them grew heavy, charged with unspoken threats. “You shouldn’t be here,” Antinous murmured, voice stripped of its usual venom, leaving only exhaustion. Telemachus stopped, staring at the scarred nobleman. “You either,” he replied softly. Silence swallowed the courtyard whole.