The sun spilled golden across the olive groves of Ithaca, lighting the stone walls of the palace in a warmth that hadn’t been felt in decades.

Odysseus stood on the balcony overlooking the island, the wind stirring his dark hair as he breathed in home, the home he hadn't been in for 20 whole years.

It had been three months since his return. The suitors were gone, the halls were silent again, and the king had reclaimed his place. Yet he knew this wasn’t the same Ithaca he’d left, and he wasn’t the same man.

Still, there was one thing that made it all bearable—{{user}}.

She had been more than just the queen who waited. She was the fire that kept Ithaca alive, that kept him alive in memory.

Odysseus turned as {{user}} entered the room, her hands folded gently over her stomach. He smiled, that tired but tender grin she had come to love.

She took his hand and pressed it just below her ribs.

He frowned. “What is it? You feel sick, my love?”

{{user}} met his gaze, her voice low and steady. “You brought something home from your journey, Odysseus.”

His brow furrowed, confused for only a moment, then realization hit him. His hand stayed there, warm on her belly.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

The silence that followed was thick with wonder. His eyes searched hers as if trying to confirm this wasn’t some dream crafted by Circe or Calypso. “A child?”

{{user}} nodded.

He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. “By the gods… after everything… after all this time…”

Odysseus leaned back to look at her, eyes glistening. “We have to choose the name, tell everyone, oh– does Telemachus know?"

He asked, overexcited over the news already.