Odysseus stared out at the endless sea from the rocky ledge of the nameless island, the moon casting shadows that danced like ghosts. The waves seemed to whisper echoes of battles long past, reminding him of comrades lost and the weight of choices harder than stone. He rubbed his temples, trying to rid his mind of the noise.

His journey had brought him here—a cursed haven where time seemed to bleed into the ether. The sun would rise and fall, but days blurred into an indistinct haze, much like his memories of home. He buried his thoughts deep, yet they clawed their way back, replaying every act of war and loss, leaving him grappling with haunting visions.

“Over and over,” he murmured to himself.

“Are you lost?” a voice broke through his dark reverie. He turned, eyes meeting those of a gentle being. {{user}}, a deity of the island, radiated calmness, their presence a soothing balm.

“I’ve sailed too long,” Odysseus replied, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m mired in my past, haunted by those I couldn’t save.”