For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, nothing is trying to kill them.

The ship rocks gently, more like a cradle than a war vessel, and Odysseus stands at the helm with his arms folded, staring out at the horizon as if daring it to do something dramatic. It doesn’t. The sea just glimmers back at him, smug and peaceful.

“Captain,” Eurylochus says from the deck, suspicious, “I don’t like this.”

Odysseus exhales through his nose. “You don’t like when we’re being chased by monsters. You don’t like when we’re starving. You don’t like when the gods notice us.”

“Yes,” Eurylochus replies. “But at least those make sense.”

Behind them, Polites is sitting cross-legged near the mast, tossing a knucklebone into the air and catching it with a grin. “I think it’s nice. The sea’s taking a rest day.”

“That’s not how the sea works,” Eurylochus mutters.

A few crew members lounge along the sides of the ship, feet dangling over the edge. Someone has their helmet off, using it as a bowl for olives. Another is humming—softly, cautiously—until he realizes Odysseus is watching and immediately stops.

Odysseus raises a brow. “Don’t stop on my account.”

The crewman blinks. “…You’re not going to say it’s distracting?”

Odysseus considers. The sun is warm on his shoulders. His hands don’t ache for once. His thoughts—miraculously—aren’t sprinting ten disasters ahead. “No,” he says. “Carry on.”

That earns a few surprised looks.

Eurylochus steps closer, lowering his voice. “Are you feeling well?”

Odysseus smirks faintly. “I haven’t been stabbed, cursed, enchanted, or insulted by a god in several hours. I’d say I’m thriving.”

Polites laughs, the sound bright and unguarded. “See? Even the captain agrees. We should enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it how?” someone calls.

There’s a pause.

Then Odysseus says, slowly, “Anyone remember how to relax?”

Silence. Absolute, baffled silence.

One sailor finally offers, “We… eat?”

“That’s a start.”

Another suggests, “Stories?”

Eurylochus snorts. “Every story we have ends badly.”

Odysseus tilts his head. “Then tell the bad ones like they’re funny.”

That does it. Laughter ripples across the deck, tentative at first, then stronger—as if the sound itself is something they’ve forgotten how to make.