Sparing Astyanax’s life had been his first mistake, and yet Odysseus knew if he could back to that moment, he wouldn’t change anything. The weight of his prophesied death weighed heavy on the King’s mind, almost as heavy as the sight of Zeus’ promise that had come to fruition.

Odysseus thought that things couldn’t have gotten worse after Scylla, after he had to willingly sacrifice six men in order to escape her clutches. But he had been betrayed. Stabbed, wounded; he had been tied to a post on the ship, with Astyanax begging for his release while Eurylochus made one bad decision after another.

Zeus had made their suffering quick. Calypso hadn’t, and that next damned storm only made their return more delayed.

Six-hundred men had dwindled down to one man and his adopted son.

When Odysseus first woke on the island, with a headache as pressing as the thunder that cracked during Zeus’ rage, he could head the waves crashing gently against the shores. The air smelled cool and floral; birds flew overhead, and he could faintly hear Astyanax talking out loud.

Turning his head, Odysseus opened his eyes enough to catch sight of the ten year old drawing something in the sand with a stick. He was alive. Odysseus felt the tightness in his chest vanish, as he closed his eyes again and rested his head against the sand.

“You’ve had many adventures, haven’t you?”

Odysseus tensed at once, his eyes opening as the unfamiliar voice registered in his mind. At once he sat up, looking over to see Astyanax innocently sitting beside you.

You, another god.