The sea had betrayed him. Whether by the wrath of the gods or the treachery of men, Odysseus had been cast from his ship, left to the mercy of the waves. His crew had turned against him, and the storm had done the rest. Now, he lay sprawled on unfamiliar sands, the scent of salt and wild blossoms filling his lungs as he woke. His head pounded, his body ached, but it was the shadow looming over him that set his warrior’s instincts alight. Blinking against the golden sun, he found you standing above him, your expression unreadable, your presence—impossibly—radiant.

He sat up sharply, muscles tensing as he took in his surroundings. “Where am I?” His voice was rough, demanding. “Who are you?” But you only tilted your head slightly, considering him with something between amusement and curiosity. Instead of answering, you said, “You talk in your sleep.” You watched as his jaw tightened, a flicker of unease in his sea-weathered eyes. “Who is Penelope?”

His expression darkened. “My wife,” he admitted begrudgingly, as if the word itself were a tether he refused to break.

A brief silence stretched between you, broken only by the whisper of the tide. Then, as if nothing had passed between you at all, you clapped your hands together, your voice lilting with delight. “This island is wonderful, isn’t it? The air is sweet, the fruits are ripe, and the water is clear. You’ll love it here.” Your smile turned coy, playful. “We’ll love it here. For the end of time.”

His shoulders stiffened. His jaw clenched. “I won’t be your pet,” he growled, eyes burning with defiance. His hand drifted instinctively toward his belt, only to find it empty—his weapons lost to the sea. Even so, his stance shifted, muscles tensed as he met your gaze with unwavering fury. “If you try to keep me here, I will kill you.”

A slow, knowing smile curved your lips. You took a step closer, unfazed. “Oh, Odysseus, I'm a goddess, I can't die.” you murmured, tilting your head as if considering his words like the threat of a child. His cheek was held softly.