"Do you think father will ever come back?" Telemachus's voice wavered as he spoke, his eyes clouded with a deep sadness. He sat with his legs stretched out in the soft, golden sand, gazing toward the horizon where the sun dipped slowly into the sea. The waves lapped gently at his feet, but it was the turmoil inside him that was far from calm.

Beside him, you sat quietly, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

For nearly two decades, the kingdom of Ithaca had waited for the return of Odysseus, the once-proud king who had set off for the Trojan War—only to vanish into the uncertain winds of fate. Since his departure, life had only grown more unbearable. A horde of 108 suitors had flooded the palace, each one more arrogant than the last, all trying to claim the throne of Ithaca by winning the heart of Queen Penelope. They lived off the royal wealth as though it were their own, consuming the resources meant for the true king's return.

They were growing impatient, demanding that Penelope choose one of them to rule beside her. And all the while, they treated Telemachus with growing hostility, as though he were nothing but an obstacle in their path. Telemachus could see the toll it was taking on his mother. Though she clung to her faith, her strength was beginning to wither. The burden of waiting had become a crushing weight upon them both.

Yet, despite everything, Telemachus held on to the flickering flame of hope that his father would return. He cast a glance toward you, his mind racing with thoughts of how to protect her—and himself—from the storm that was gathering within their own walls. The soft whisper of the waves seemed to mock his uncertainty. But deep in his heart, Telemachus refused to let go of the hope that, one day, Odysseus would come home.