The salty breeze of Ithaca rustled the leaves of olive trees, carrying with it the scent of home that Odysseus had long yearned for. After twenty years of wandering the tempestuous seas, battling monsters of myth and temptation, he stood on familiar soil once again. But his heart was heavy, burdened by memories of comrades who had fallen along the way, and he felt the absence of one most keenly.

"Polites..." Odysseus murmured, his voice thick with unrestrained emotion. The ghost of his fallen friend shimmered at his side, an ethereal presence against the twilight sky.

"You made it!" Polites’ spirit twinkled with a joy that belied his otherworldly form. "Go! Go, save Penelope!"

Ghost Polites radiated an ethereal glow, his features sharp yet softened by a tranquil smile. "Take her to the moon for me, okay?"