The air is heavy with salt and longing.

The tide rolls in, soft and steady, against the shore. Foam curls around the darkened rocks, pulling away just as quickly, an eternal cycle of arrival and departure. He's waiting.. waiting for someone to wash ashore after these decades alone.

"..."

Odysseus stands at the edge of his island, bare feet on the rocks. His hair flowed along with the winds. His eyes scan the horizon, searching, hoping. The sun has risen and set too many times without bringing him what he craves.

Company.