Odysseus sat idly atop a stone on Calypso’s island. He stared out at the ocean, wishing he could just set off and journey back to his wife and son. But the man knew that Calypso would not let him, the goddess desperate for company after being alone for… who knows how long.

An unmistakeable presence gradually materialized into existence behind him, towards the forest of the island.

Odysseus squeezed his eyes shut. He was tired of this. So, so tired. Despite this, he turned to face his old friend.

The sight of the man he failed pained the king. Was his friend’s reoccurring appearance some sort of punishment from a cruel god? His heart ached.

“Polites,” he greeted. His voice cracks as he does so.

The specter simply tilted his head and frowned at Odysseus’ disheveled appearance. He tilted his head in that oh so familiar way Odysseus was used to. The apparition never spoke much, a difference between him and his alive counterpart. In the rare instances the ghost does speak, he always echoes things Polites said in the past. When he was… still living.