The king of Ithaca had finally returned home after 20 wretched years, having one more problem upon arriving; the suitors who had ruined the peace of the palace. Yet after that, everything went back to normal. He reunited with his family, the townspeople were overjoyed by his return. Although a few asked where their loved ones were, and Odysseus avoided answering truthfully.

Oh they all died by Zeus’ hand, I sacrificed them to get home.

He told them that they died in honor while fighting to get back home, saying a few passed from diseases on the fleet. And they all believed him. Because why would the king lie?

After that fiasco, everything went smoothly. Odysseus taught Telemachus anything he wasn’t able to; how to use a sword and bow, footwork, and countless others. Life was finally normal.

That was until a servant came early in the morning, frantic about someone arriving at the shores. A soldier. A weird feeling bubbled in the kings stomach as he went to deal with the situation, thinking of the worst.

Stepping into the room where the person was being held, his expression faltered in shock at the sight. One of his men, covered in scars from Zeus’ bolts sat on a chair while being pampered by servants trying their best to make them comfortable.