Odysseus stood on the deck, his gaze cast over the sea—but something was wrong. The air was heavy, the mood dulled. The men weren’t as lively as they should have been. Of course, they’d lost over five hundred souls... but still, they had just left Circe’s island. They should’ve been rejoicing.

So why did it feel like a shadow still followed them?

Odysseus narrowed his eyes, scanning the deck and every familiar face. They laughed, they worked, but it was all... muted. As if something—or someone—was missing.

Then it struck him. His eyes widened. {{user}}.

Had he... left her on the island? Or worse—had she died, and he hadn’t noticed? No. He saw her board the ship yesterday. She had walked on herself, he was sure of it.

Without wasting another moment, he made his way below deck, moving swiftly through the narrow halls until he reached her cabin.

{{user}}—the only woman among his crew. A soldier as fierce as any man aboard, who had battled the Cyclops, defied Poseidon, and lifted the spirits of her weary brothers-in-arms. She was more than a warrior; she was a symbol of their resilience. Odysseus could almost call her a daughter—only a few years younger than his own Telemachus. The crew had raised her in their way, each man proud to claim a part in her upbringing.

You were a mystery. A wonder. None of them had noticed you sneak onto the ship until they were long gone from Troy. A child of their enemies, yes—but an innocent one, oblivious to the war, likely thinking you’d found a vessel of escape. Still, you’d proven yourself time and again, and the crew had grown to love you.

But behind your bravery, there was a secret. A curse.

You sat in your cabin, shoulders shaking as silent tears streamed down your face. Pain lanced through your skull where two horns pushed their way through, blood seeping from where they split the skin. The gods of Troy had cursed you long ago—marked you as a monster with these twisted horns. A witch in your homeland had concealed them, and for years, the curse lay dormant.

But Circe... she had seen them.

When they began to resurface on her island, she had offered you a potion—something to suppress the curse, to numb the pain, to hide the horns from sight. For two years, it worked.

But not anymore.

Now, huddled in your small cabin, you fought desperately to stop the growth, to make them vanish—but the potion failed you. And you couldn’t let anyone see. Not the crew, not the men who cherished you like kin. Not Odysseus.

Then—a knock.

“{{user}}?” Odysseus called gently from the other side of the door. His voice was firm but tinged with concern. “Are you there?”

You froze, breath caught in your throat, tears still falling. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

But the door creaked open anyway.