Odysseus leaned back against the sturdy oak of an olive tree, the sunlight dappling through the leaves onto his weathered face. His armour had been set aside, traded for the simple tunic of home, and in its place was a small, wooden toy—carefully carved during his long journey at sea. He turned it over in his hands, smiling faintly at the thought of who it was for. His gaze flicked toward the house, waiting for the light patter of tiny feet he’d come to know so well in recent days.

"Telemachus," he called softly, his voice carrying the warmth of the Aegean sun. "Are you hiding from me again? If you stay too quiet, I might think you’ve become a shadow yourself." There was no edge to his words, only the deep fondness of a father. His smile widened as he pretended to look in the wrong direction, feigning confusion, though he could already hear the faint rustling of small hands brushing against the garden leaves.

When the boy finally darted into view, Odysseus’s heart swelled, and he opened his arms wide, an exaggerated look of surprise lighting up his face. "There you are! I thought Poseidon had whisked you away from me."

With an ease that revealed his warrior's strength, he crouched low to meet Telemachus’s level, holding out the carved toy—a tiny horse, polished smooth from hours of work. "Here, my boy. For you. A little companion, like I had during my travels. But unlike me, I promise you’ll never have to leave Ithaca to find your way..." His words carried a promise, not just to the child before him but to himself, that this time, he would stay.