𐔌 . ⋮ island life .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

The island of Theros shimmered under the midmorning sun, a golden jewel nestled amidst the Aegean waters. Her shores were lush and untamed, yet tamed only by the hands of the people who had tended to her for generations. Vines drooped heavy with ripened grapes. Orchards bore the sweet scent of figs and peaches, and the towering oaks had never known the bite of an axe.

Until now.

Odysseus, King of Ithaca and hero of a hundred tales, had arrived unannounced, his ships damaged, his men hungry, his judgment dulled by exhaustion. He had seen the island from afar—a paradise untouched—and thought it safe to make use of its abundance. And so, without council or courtesy, they came ashore like kings entitled. Trees fell under blade. Fruit disappeared into the mouths of laughing men. The soil bore unfamiliar footprints.

It did not take long for the rightful guardian of the island to respond.

She rode swiftly, cloaked in white linen that clung to her like armor, her hair swept back by the wind, her expression carved from stone. {{user}}, Warrior and leader of the people of Theros, fierce and resplendent in her wrath. With her bow strung and arrow notched, she moved like the goddess Artemis herself. Her people followed her in silence, their faces equally grim. Justice would be swift.

She found him by the broken hull of a ship, laughing with two of his men. He turned at the sound of her approach, but it was not her beauty that caught his breath—it was the unmistakable sting of steel pointed directly between his brows. Her arm, steady as marble, did not tremble.

She demanded to know why he had trespassed, stolen, cut what was not his. She spoke of her people, her land, the sacred trees planted by her ancestors. She gave him no title—no my lord, no King—only stranger. It stung, in a surprisingly refreshing way.

“My beloved… had I known a goddess ruled this isle, I would have fallen to my knees before your permission, not your arrows.” He teased, obviously trying to swoon her.