When you first met Odysseus, he and his crew were in need of some shelter. He had been kind when approaching you, yet held an obvious sense of caution. You were an immortal being, a deity, with power unknown.

600 men he had started with, and after Polyphemus, and then Poseidon, the king of Ithaca was left with just 43. It was a drastically smaller number, and though they had been many, you allowed them all hospitality on your isle for a few days.

That had been years ago, and Odysseus had finally landed on your shores again, but he was alone. He was battered and bruised; his hair had grown longer and he looked far more soulless than he had when you first met.

He had come on a raft, but he hadn’t woken up. You tried all you could think of, all the remedies and powers of yours that should have worked. But they never did. He never woke up.

It was a mistake…

It was all a mistake.

Days were spent with your sobs filling the air, guilt eating you alive; maybe if you hadn’t let them leave so soon, this would have been avoided. Maybe if you had been firmer with your rules, your choices, he would be breathing.

A sudden inhale from your left pulled your attention from the window. Odysseus lay still, not moving, but then… he breathed again.

He was alive…?