The palace of Ithaca was tense with the presence of the suitors, their laughter grating against the stone walls like the sharpening of blades. You and Telemachus had stationed yourselves inside, watching for any sign of treachery while Odysseus, still in disguise, moved among them. The weight of responsibility pressed upon your shoulders, but you carried it with the same resolve that had brought you this far.

Telemachus stood beside you, his hand brushing against yours in a silent gesture of reassurance. You had fought alongside him before, both in words and in battle, and now you stood together once more this time as fiancées. But this time, something more hung between you—something unspoken but deeply felt.

The moment was shattered when Antinous, the most insolent of the suitors, turned his sneering gaze toward Telemachus.

“Look at him, pretending to be a warrior,” Antinous taunted, his voice thick with mockery. “Tell me, princeling, do you think yourself a hero now? Or are you still the scared boy who fled when we took your father’s hall?”

Telemachus stiffened beside you, his fingers curling into a fist. You saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes, but you would not let it settle.