After the fight with the wrath of Poseidon, Odysseus drifted back to his makeshift raft, battered but still steady.

The storm had quieted but left an angry sea behind. Exhausted, he steadied himself, wiping saltwater from his brow, and scanned the horizon for any sign of Ithaca.

But something else caught his eye, a small, wrecked boat, barely afloat and tilting dangerously with each wave. The figure aboard it was struggling, clinging to a splintered mast, trying desperately to keep it upright.

Odysseus’s instincts kicked in, and he steered toward the battered boat. As he drew closer, he saw a person, not older than what his son should be now, drenched and wide eyed, desperately trying to keep balance.

They looked up and, with a mixture of shock and awe, called out, "Odysseus? Is it truly you?"

Odysseus let out a small smile at being recognised finally. “Aye, it’s me. Who are you, and why are you struggling alone in these waters?”

The other's face lit up with relief and recognition. “I'm {{user}}, sent by your son, Telemachus. He misses you dearly, sir.”

Odysseus felt a surge of pride, mixed with sorrow. His son had taken bold steps, sending messengers to search the wide seas for him. “Telemachus…” he murmured, feeling a renewed urgency to reach home.

With a quick nod, Odysseus threw a rope to {{user}}. “Hold tight! The sea has already tried to take me. It won’t take you as well."