ã€ŠIthaca | The Odysseyã€‹


 Prelude

    PRELUDE

    ¡°THE HORSE¡±

    <hr>

    Deep in the night, long after the cheerful cries of the masses that celebrated their ¡®victory¡¯ were exhausted and the sun had set over Troy, something else stirred. In the dark, in the shadows, it moved, unnoticed and underestimated¡ªa monster beyond their comprehension, and a beast of ruin they could never hope to predict.

    It was the tenth year of a war that seemed eternal¡­ endlessly relentless and tireless, as if the gods refused to display even the most modest degree of mercy for them, but now this time of violence was finally nearing its end. If not for the calculating intelligence of one man, and his cleverness so great that it was rumored to be a gift from the divine, that end wouldn¡¯t have been possible. The tactic conceived of this man¡¯s mind was so great, and yet so horrible indeed, that it would forever be etched into myth and legend.

    After the Trojan War, his deeds ranked among the greatest of the Greek heroes, for he was instrumental in bringing the Achaeans¡¯ decade-long siege to a close, and his name would be uttered for millennia to come, never fading and never dying.

    ¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù

    ¡°Odysseus.¡± A whisper carried his own name to him, the speaker¡¯s tone hushed so as to not alert the Trojans of their presence, but admittedly that was of no concern. The vessel of Troy¡¯s destruction housed them all, and was situated within the city¡¯s walls already. Hours ago they brought it in of their own volition, unknowing of its danger.

    To the man who called for him, whose features were obscured by darkness, Odysseus turned and responded with his palm; a signal to wait. At this hour, surely the Trojans rolled in their sleep. The past several hours were spent in tireless celebration, but it was wiser to not take chances when they could afford to instead be cautious.

    He turned away from the man¡ªDiomedes, judging by his voice that seemed to command respect¡ªand he turned his attention to the great fortress of a city that lied outside. It was funny; for ten years they tried to siege Troy by force, and each time they failed to get past the Trojans¡¯ mighty walls. In the end, all it took to bypass their enemies¡¯ defenses was a single trick. Those great walls that blocked their way didn¡¯t seem so tall now that he was looking at them from the inside.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    This night was a dark one, but despite how he felt at this current moment, Odysseus could still see the faded silhouette of those walls from within the sea of black that lay before his eyes. His view was slightly illuminated, he noticed, as he peered through a slit in the carapace; a few torches burned nearby, granting him vision. Along with them, he could see the shadows and bodies of several sleeping Trojans. On their sides and backs, or leaning against something, they neglected their duties without awareness of the danger that lurked in their ¡®gift¡¯ horse. Sheep, unaware of the wolves among them.

    Just like we planned. They were located at some kind of temple; they assumed the horse was an offering to the gods, and so they brought it to a place of worship, just as he thought they would, where there would be very few guards. And those that were there were lost in a drunken stupor, convinced that their enemy fled.

    Odysseus¡¯s gaze returned to his allies who, unlike the Trojans, were restless in anticipation of their coming battle. ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± he said, his tone hushed, but his words held power all the same. There was no need to review; all that remained was action.

    From the great wooden horse¡¯s carapace they emerged, only thirty or so in number but greater in spirit. As silent as mice, they lowered themselves down with the rope they stored within, and one by one they touched the ground without a sound. Light-footed, they scattered at once. Each was charged with a different objective, but all were driven.

    In quick succession, without as much as a shout, the sleeping guards were met with steel as the Greeks¡¯ blades sank into their flesh. Those unfortunate enough to be awoken by the ambush choked on their own blood; with little resistance, they died.

    ¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á

    For a moment, he looked up at the horse. It wasn¡¯t a masterpiece of sculpture by any means; it was cobbled together by soldiers over the course of three days, led by Epeius, with driftwood and whatever resources they could gather. He was a skilled carpenter, but even with the help he had, the short timeframe resulted in his creation being of rather rough quality. Even so, it was good enough to convince the Trojans.

    In his hands, he clutched his helm. Putting it on, he grasped the hilt of his sword and the base of the round shield he wore on his back, and then he turned to address the others.

    ¡°You all know the mission,¡± Odysseus said. In front of him, his comrades¡ªthose who remained with him¡ªwere gathered. The others already left; they had their own goals. ¡°Now, to the gate,¡± he commanded with an authority none could defy.

    They slunk into the shadows as one; almost like a single being, they moved in tandem through the shadows of Troy with a single-minded focus: destroy their enemy. The rest of their forces sat outside Troy¡¯s gate. There they waited for their allies to act, for only as a whole could they bring their enemies to the ground. With the combined total of all the armies of Achaea, victory was inevitable, and before the sun could rise¡­

    Troy falls tonight. To end the war that lasted ten years, Odysseus declared thus.

 Astyanax i.1

    BOOK OF ASTYANAX

    CHAPTER 1

    ¡°THE TRUTH ACHILLES SAW¡±

    <hr>

    Before the Trojans even had a chance to react, the Greeks devastated them and began to sack their city. It was the accumulated, unbridled rage of a hundred thousand men that burnt their homes, slaughtered their men and children, and took their women.

    ¡°No¡­ stop¡­!¡± Someone shouted, their voice drowned out by Trojan screams and the crackling sound of burning flames¡ªthe sound of entire houses being reduced to ash.

    The soldier shouted as his shoulders were grasped. He flailed; he swatted away the arm that grabbed him and fell further back against the wall behind him with a heavy thud. Like a knife, the sensation of pain stabbed through his abdomen and he doubled over with a raspy cough. In his stomach, an arrow was embedded gruesomely into his flesh. It was not a fresh wound, but one that had not been treated. Even so, he survived this long while his comrades died long before. Nearby, their bodies lay scattered.

    ¡°It¡¯s only me. Stand down, soldier! ¡ª Tell me, who did this to you?¡± The Trojan demanded. He steadied the soldier and attempted to shake him conscious.

    ¡°G-Get¡­ away,¡± the soldier sputtered, desparately clawing at the Trojan¡¯s arms. Red blood trailed from his mouth down to his chin. The Trojan tried to press him for more, but quickly paused. There was no more point, he realized, because the soldier¡¯s eyes, still wide open, no longer saw light. His arms fell uselessly to his side.

    ¡°He¡¯s dead,¡± the Trojan said. He brought his hand to the dead man¡¯s face and brought his eyes to a final close with a gentle touch. It was the least he could do for one who fell in battle. To honor the dead¡­ this was the responsibility of a prince of Troy.

    Behind him, a group of soldiers stood silently and watched until one of them spoke. ¡°But the Greeks retreated! They left an offering to the gods and fled across the sea!¡±

    Deiphobus stood. ¡°I knew it was foolish to accept their ¡®gift¡¯. They¡¯ve taken our gate from the inside and given their allies the means to sack our city. Now we pay the price¡­!¡± he growled, gripping the shaft of the spear he wore on his back with an iron grip.

    The men began to mutter amongst themselves. ¡°What are we supposed to do now¡­!?¡±

    Crack! ¡ª The butt of his spear hit the ground with an audible noise. ¡°We only have one thing left to do. Fight! Until the Greeks are dead or none of us remain, we fight! I¡¯ll kill as many of them as I can, until the streets of Troy run red with their blood and my late brother, down in Hades, is satisfied!¡± he roared. He turned to face the sound of chaos that had washed over his great city, raising his spear, and he¡ª

    ¡­

    A shrill whistle heralded the end of his campaign, and he stopped dead.

    ¡°¡­Deiphobus?¡± One of the soldiers called as they stepped close. He grabbed his shoulder, only to jump back as he stumbled back. Deiphobus¡¯s body hit the ground hard, and cleanly in the middle of his helm, between the eyes, an arrow was spotted.

    The soldier staggered as a gasp escaped his lips. Before he could decide how to react, the tip of an enemy¡¯s spear impaled his chest from behind and his life was stolen.

    ¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù

    ODYSSEUS

    Before he even realized he fell into their trap, Odysseus felled their leader from afar, perched atop a rooftop with a drawn bow and a precise eye. Deiphobus, prince of Troy, brother of Hector, and one of Priam¡¯s most honorable sons, died. I can only regret that our paths crossed under circumstances such as these, he thought.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Even so, there was no time to stop and mourn his opponent¡¯s demise. The next soldier fell quickly after Deiphobus, but not at his hand. He watched as Diomedes, armored from head to toe, attacked the man from behind with his spear and then ripped it away from his corpse. He fell onto his stomach and tried to crawl, one hand grasping the gaping wound in his abdomen and the other slowly pushing himself away from his attacker. As he dragged himself away in a bid to survive, a trail of blood remained.

    Odysseus saw no point in his suffering. He pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back and with great aim, he drew his bowstring back. Within a split second, his foe¡¯s head was pierced. Without him even realizing that his end had come, his body stilled.

    The rest of the soldiers were quicker to react. They unstowed their weapons as the rest of his men poured out from their hiding places, tucked in-between alleyways or underneath whatever nearby corpses they could find, and unleashed their battle cries. As if to muster up the courage they had left, they roared from the depths of their souls.

    Before taking action, the first thing Odysseus did was take stock of his enemy¡¯s numbers. Counting their leader, there were fifteen of them; with two of them already dead, that left thirteen. Among his comrades, there were only six. If they were lesser men, they wouldn¡¯t have stood a chance. Luckily, they were led by Diomedes.

    And, of course, they also had him. He quickly shot the next man; his arrow stabbed through his chest like butter, right through the heart, and he fell to the ground dead. Before he could choose his next target, the others were already trading blows, and Diomedes managed to fell at least four of them. Odysseus watched as he claimed a fifth head, launching his spear into his enemy¡¯s abdomen and skewering him from a meter away, pinning him to a nearby wall. It was pulled from his corpse a moment later.

    Seven left, he counted.

    He aimed at the next man: a soldier who tried to take Diomedes, who was still rushing to recover his weapon, by surprise. His axe was raised high above his head, readied for the kill, when an arrow pierced the side of his head with little delay. His body fell limp.

    He breathed in deeply, relaxed, and allowed his breaths to travel through his body. From the depths of his stomach to the very tips of his fingers, he felt it pulsate throughout each and every muscle. This act of breathing, of relaxing, was integral to a warrior of his caliber. To breathe was to slow down and to think¡­ to plan one¡¯s next move clearly.

    It was in this state that he could best plan his next move. Time stopped around him¡ªor, more, accurately, his thoughts quickened to a point of extremity, where every man¡¯s movements on the battlefield stilled and could be tracked with the naked eye.

    It lasted approximately one second. By the time his perception returned to normal, his next three targets were selected. Quickly, quietly, and calmly, his practiced fingers grasped an arrow and loosed it. Before it could even reach the first man, he had another at the ready, and after that would quickly come another.

    Six. Five. Four. Almost all at once, their lives came to an end without even having a chance to curse their misfortune, for in their final hour they crossed paths with Odysseus of Ithaca, the man said to be blessed by wisdom and warfare.

    ¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á

    It was only when all of their enemies were slain and the men celebrated their admittedly small victory that Odysseus allowed himself to lower his bow. From a distance, he could see them patting each other on the back and praising each other.

    ¡°But the battle goes on¡­¡± he muttered. Until Troy was pillaged and the Trojans were slaughtered to the last man, it wasn¡¯t over. Around him, all he could see was blood and fire. That waited at the end of those ten long years. Was this the truth Achilles saw?

    He simply sighed. A feeling of heavy fatigue washed over him¡­ or maybe it would be more accurate to say that he was feeling the effects of an exhaustion that already existed. Effects he pushed away and suppressed. He ignored them, for the sake of a victory that he could now see unfolding before his eyes. Once Troy fell, the war would be over, his objective complete, and then, finally, the wish he yearned for for so long¡­

    Click. The sound of metal reached his ears, interrupting his thoughts.

    His fist gripped the hilt of his sword and, with one swift motion, the end of his blade edged inches away from the enemy who dared try to catch him by surprise.

    ¡°Who¡ª!?¡±

    The first thing he noticed was his attacker¡¯s armor. Every inch of their body was covered in black plating lined with gold, distinctly Trojan in design. They were a warrior of a mighty stature, almost double Odysseus¡¯s own height. And in their grip, raised high¡ª

    ¡ªA battleaxe that dwarfed his own shield.

    A flash of silver followed a downward arc, the distance between them closed in an instant. His eyes widened before the impact, his mind quickening and his feet already in motion, but to no avail. What kind of mortal could dodge a blow like that?

    His body lurched downward, his sword clattering to the ground meters away as the axe came down upon him with violent force. The armor that protected his shoulders and neck was rended to dust and scrap in an instant; the flesh beneath was a little tougher than butter in comparison. He hit the ground with a loud, resonating crack.

    ¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á

    He remained motionless, sprawled out on top of that rooftop as Troy descended into further chaos around him. He wasn¡¯t dead, and he certainly couldn¡¯t be called ¡®asleep¡¯. In silence, he organized his thoughts. He wondered, When will Hades take me?

    ¡ªBut the sensation of ¡®life¡¯ never quite ended. Realizing that, he opened his eyes and stared into the black abyss above, the darkness of which was illuminated by the raging fire around him. It was then he noticed that the pain he felt from that previous strike was gone, and no finishing blow seemed to be coming to take his life.

    No. That wasn¡¯t quite it; it wasn¡¯t that the pain was gone. Rather¡­ he felt his shoulder, grasping it, but the armor that protected it was intact, as if no axe had ever pierced it.

    There was no wound. And stranger yet, there was no warrior to inflict it.

 Astyanax i.2

    BOOK OF ASTYANAX

    CHAPTER 2

    ¡°THE FUTURE TO COME¡±

    <hr>

    In silence, Odysseus dared not move. As if the slightest motion could shatter whatever illusion deceived him, he didn¡¯t even allow himself the luxury of breathing. Even so, his hand still grasped the ghost of the wound he should have been dealt with a tight grip.

    ¡­Until finally, he breathed in. Slowly and shallowly he inhaled, and the air gave him life. The warrior he saw, or at least thought he saw, remained gone. Relief washed over him, but there was no shortage of confusion dwelling within his mind.

    ¡°Who¡­ was that?¡± He finally thought to ask.

    It was a simple question, directed at nobody in particular. Strangely, there wasn¡¯t a soul in his vicinity¡ªnot even the warrior who should have taken his life from him¡ªso there was no expectation of an answer. His words shouldn¡¯t have been heard; they should have faded with the wind and returned to nothing, as if they were never spoken.

    And yet, even so, they were heard. Answered by the shrill, piercing whistle of a bird.

    Nearby, only meters away, an eagle perched and caught his eye. Its silhouette was a majestic one; it was the frame of a being that dominated the heavens as its birthright with divine permission. Its gaze pierced Odysseus¡¯s soul like a spear.

    ¡°Odysseus of Ithaca!¡± a voice boomed. It reached his ears like a thunderclap, catching his mind¡¯s attention and stopping his breath without even a modicum of effort. Although it seemed like only a bird on the surface, its presence could not be mistaken.

    The eagle was a sacred animal, and the messenger of only one god. When one encountered this god, the proper thing to do was afford him the utmost respect.

    Odysseus jumped to his feet the moment he heard the bird¡¯s calling and stepped forward, granting the voice every last fragment of his attention. It was this moment that he understood¡ªthat he realized the phantom he saw, whose skill rivaled Achilles himself, was not a figment of his imagination. He wanted to charge the voice, to question it, and he tried. He desperately tried, but no matter how much effort he put into it, he produced no sound. Even with all his experience, the god¡¯s presence seemed to suffocate him, and his words were trapped in this throat without any hope of escape.

    ¡°Speak,¡± the voice commanded, as if the god noticed his reluctance. The edict was once again accompanied by the sound of crashing thunder. The sound of divine will.

    He grasped the armor that guarded his chest as if to clutch his own heart, and pleaded with his soul. Steel yourself, Odysseus! A king can¡¯t be brought to speechlessness! he shouted within his own mind, and he pried his confidence back from the void by force.

    He fell to his knees and kneeled, trading his legs for his voice, then addressed the god.

    ¡°God King, Zeus! Why have you appeared before me? What is it that you¡¯ve shown me? Is there some kind of divine purpose? ¡ªSome kind of will I¡¯ve been charged with?¡±

    Zeus replied quickly. ¡°A vision,¡± he declared. ¡°A vision of what is to come. It is a ghost of the future that has not yet passed¡­ but one that we will eventually reach.¡±

    The meaning of this message was not lost on Odysseus. He looked up at the bird whose presence dwarfed his own existence and grasped the top of his helmet. He ripped it off with force, without a care for where it¡¯d land. With a metallic clatter it hit the ground, rolling on its side until it stopped, and the king of Ithaca¡¯s face was exposed.

    His spirit was roused by something that vastly overpowered the fear he felt at the god¡¯s presence, and he forced himself to his feet. He approached, an expression of anguish written on his face as he processed the message that was given to him.

    ¡°If that¡¯s the future to come, then¡­¡± he started as his heart beat like a drum within his ears. The blood drained from his face and left him a pale white. His shallow breaths quickened. The feeling of that axe, which pierced his shoulder, could still be felt.

    ¡°¡ªI¡¯m going to die? But I can¡¯t!¡± he refused. As if forgetting who he was speaking to, he continued. ¡°If I die here, then what was the point of all those years!? All that blood!?¡±

    ¡°Your death will find you far away from here, past the shores of Ithaca,¡± the voice said.

    Even with Zeus¡¯s prophecy he felt no relief, because something about it didn¡¯t make sense. It was something he noticed immediately; a detail he would be hard pressed to forget. ¡°But that can¡¯t be,¡± he interrupted. ¡°The warrior I saw was wearing Trojan armor!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve made no mistake.¡± Simple words, they struck him as a veiled ¡®threat¡¯ of sorts, or perhaps a warning to not question the god¡¯s foretellings again.

    ¡°But then, how can this be?¡± Odysseus inquired after thoroughly considering his words, so as to not offend the higher power he was currently speaking with. Based on the stories, Zeus was a god who could easily be provoked. His ire was not fickle, and his wrath was as destructive as the very war they currently fought, if not more destructive.

    ¡°It¡¯s a long story. One I don¡¯t think you¡¯re ready to hear.¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Even with the difference in power between them, Odysseus couldn¡¯t accept that answer. Now that he saw the future¡ªsaw the fate that awaited him back home, he couldn¡¯t just go meet it. ¡°If that¡¯s the case, then why appear before me like this?¡± he asked.

    ¡°There¡¯s more you do not understand. Allow me to show you.¡±

    He hesitated. He wasn¡¯t sure if accepting that offer was wise. But now that he was aware of his ultimate fate¡­ of his predestined death, he had to know more.

    ¡°Show me,¡± he said.

    The next moment, immediately after that resolution, Odysseus felt his footing disappear, and then his body fell. Soon he would see something awful, something truly awful, and the course of his life would change¡­ whether that was for better or for worse.

    ¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù

    Falling. Forever he fell, not knowing when he would hit the ground, or which direction the ¡®ground¡¯ was even in in the first place. His sense of being was confused; he no longer knew the meaning of the ¡®ground¡¯ or ¡®sky¡¯, or if he was even alive to see either.

    All around him, the world was dark. He had no idea where he was. But repeatedly, now and then, he heard things from the shadows. Words. Voices. Were there people?

    ¡°Odysseus!¡± a woman¡¯s voice called. It struck a familiar rhythm. It couldn¡¯t be mistaken.

    ¡°Penelope.¡± His mouth moved before his mind could realize it. The name he uttered without thinking was a precious one, attached to the woman who mattered most to him.

    ¡°Father! Get away from him!¡± someone else shouted. The person¡¯s voice was strange¡­ not entirely there. Unlike Penelope¡¯s, the pitch of that voice was unclear. Anomalous. Even so, he felt his soul being rended apart as soon as the sound reached his ears.

    He didn¡¯t know why, didn¡¯t understand the source of the emotions welling up within him, but still he called out to the voice. Like always, no voice called back.

    Suddenly, his vision was washed away by a white light from underneath him. As if to stop himself from being blinded by the light, he squeezed his eyes shut by instinct.

    Finally, he felt his feet touch solid ground after falling for¡­ however long that was. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that he finally felt the ground he already reached, as if he was there the entire time and he just wasn¡¯t able to comprehend it.

    He allowed his eyelids to open slowly, assuming the light was gone. The first thing he noticed was that he was back home. The room he was in was distinctly of his palace; he could tell, even after ten years spent away from it, but it was different. He could tell that even though it was the same palace, there were small changes made. It was nothing major¡ªthings the untrained eye probably wouldn¡¯t have noticed, as simple as advanced wear and tear or moved furniture, but Odysseus could see every minute difference.

    It was definitely his and Penelope¡¯s bedroom, but something about the ¡®atmosphere¡¯ was also different¡­ as if the world faded in color just a little bit. Was this the effect of whatever Zeus was doing to allow him to ¡®see¡¯ what he wanted to show him? He felt disconnected from the rest of the world¡­ like he was a ghost. But most importantly¡­

    ¡°No¡­ Penelope, why!?¡± a voice cried.

    It was a familiar voice, attached to a kneeling figure in the middle of the room. His crouched body obscured Odysseus¡¯s view, so he moved to get a better look. He walked around, his eyes settling on whatever it was that was he couldn¡¯t see.

    ¡°¡ªWhat? T¨CThat¡­¡± he stuttered, unable to find the words.

    In front of him, lying on the ground in a pool of her own blood, was none other than Penelope. A fatal blow was dealt to her; the wound left behind, a gouge in her abdomen, was left behind. Her eyes were closed, but after the fact. Her death was not a peaceful one, inappropriate for one of her visible age¡­ older than she was when he last saw her, and indeed far older than she should¡¯ve been now, but her beauty remained.

    He couldn¡¯t find the words. It seemed the other one in the room, kneeling over her, felt the same. Now that he got a good look at his face, he could tell who it was.

    His own face stared back at his¡­ but different. Significantly older, about as old as his father was when he left or even older, and coated red with blood. His eyes were wet, plagued by tears and shaken by the shock of the moment. It was the very same shock he was feeling, but probably a hundred times worse. Even so, both hearts shattered.

    Odysseus felt his own eyes sting with the sensation. Every breath trembled. ¡°I thought it was just me,¡± he muttered. ¡°The death I saw¡ªit wasn¡¯t only my own¡­?¡±

    There was little time to reel from the sight. The door to the room opened with an audible, crashing slam. His eyes darted to it and registered the sight of a newcomer, garbed in the armor of his people¡­ but his eyes, like the world, were faded. Wispy, his face twisted and contorted like the wind, its structure never settling.

    Even though Odysseus couldn¡¯t see his face, he noticed that everything about him was the spitting image of himself, his father, and his father before him. His height was identical. The way his hair was worn reminded him of his own when he was younger. His stature was more reminiscent of his wife¡¯s slender frame. It can¡¯t be¡­

    ¡°Telemachus.¡± The name left his mouth immediately. No one heard it.

    The world returned to nothing as a sea of black washed it away, including his own self. As the dark engulfed him, Odysseus reached his hand out, trying desperately to take hold of what he saw¡­ the people who were so precious to him, who he hadn¡¯t seen in so long. He wanted to hold them, to embrace them. But they were so, so far away.

    ¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á

    When the world returned, he noticed that he was somewhere else. He was outside, but it was definitely the island of Ithaca. Even after so long, it looked remarkably similar, and even though the world appeared faded to him, the forests and plains of his homeland were as beautiful as ever. Or, at least, they should have been.

    Ithaca was engulfed by orange flames that burnt and raged as far as the eye could see. In the distance he could see his own palace, reduced to rubble and swallowed by fire.

    ¡°Burn. Suffer, just as I suffered.¡± The voice, fumed by an intense hatred that burned as hot as the flames that engulfed Ithaca, belonged to a familiar individual.

    Armored from head to toe in Trojan armor, with a stature that dwarfed Odysseus¡¯s own, was unmistakably the same man he saw before. It was the warrior destined to take his life, according to what Zeus said, whose talents matched the strongest man Odysseus ever knew. Buried into the ground was the head of the very same battleaxe.

    Behind the warrior, Odysseus saw himself approach, his face contorted with a visible rage that couldn¡¯t be mistaken. In his hand, he gripped the handle of a peculiar spear, fully composed of metal and sharpy tipped on both ends rather than one. Both ends were coated red, no doubt with the blood of his enemies. ¡°Face me!¡± he shouted.

    That spear! It can¡¯t be¡­ he realized immediately. It once belonged to his father. It only made sense that the great Laertes, already increasing in age, would be dead at this point in the future. The thought pained him; was it a natural death, or a brutal one?

    The warrior turned. The other Odysseus¡¯s eyes and his own, beneath that helmet, locked. Surely, this was the moment he saw, that was shown to him.

    The moment of my death. His ultimate destination.

    But as he realized that, the world around him faded to nothingness again.

    ¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù

    He was left standing on that rooftop again, in the same instant he ¡®left¡¯, but the shock and the emotions of the horrors he experienced remained. Under the weight of the world, which was too much for him to bear, his knees buckled. He fell to the ground.

    ¡°What¡­ what am I supposed to do?¡±

    His question echoed throughout the world, fading with the wind.

    The world conspired against him and those he loved. His entire kingdom, even.

    When the odds were stacked against him in such a way¡­ how was he to act?

 Astyanax i.3

    BOOK OF ASTYANAX

    CHAPTER 3

    ¡°NO OTHER CHOICE¡±

    <hr>

    Somberly, Odysseus grappled with the revelation thrust upon him: a vision of the tragic future that awaited him back in Ithaca. Thousands of thoughts¡ªplans and tricks, ideas to escape this awful destiny¡ªall of them flooded his mind in an instant. For some inconceivable reason, he was made aware of what could only be described as ¡®the end¡¯ for him, but why? What was the reason? What could he even do with that knowledge?

    What was he supposed to do, when running from fate only served to doom himself?

    Hundreds of stories spoke of heroes who heard awful prophecies, and of them, none held the power to defy destiny. That was the tragic nature of man: delicate and futile. Ironically, their destiny was to be a slave to it, powerless and weak when compared to the workings and machinations of the gods that stood above.

    Odysseus¡¯s mind heralded as one of the Achaeans¡¯ greatest but now, as he pondered the awful circumstances he was forced to navigate, he hit an unfortunate wall. No matter what ideas he considered, each and every one led to this heart-shattering truth.

    I can¡¯t escape this. There¡¯s no way out. That was his realization. Prophecy was absolute; a force that could not be tricked. He tried once before, and his own love failed him. Now, it seemed that love would burn to the ground with the rest of Ithaca.

    He was only a man, and no man could go against the gods¡¯ words. Realizing this, Odysseus could only lower his head and accept defeat. The sharpest of kings and the cleverest of men, and here he was¡ªvanquished by a force unlike any other.

    ¡°Raise your head, king of Ithaca. This is not the end,¡± Zeus¡¯s messenger said.

    As if he were on the edge, the god¡¯s voice brought Odysseus back and prevented his descent. As ordered, he lifted his head and looked at the still-perched eagle. ¡°What do you mean?¡± he questioned, perplexed. ¡°You said I¡­ we¡­ are going to die.¡±

    ¡°Every choice you make affects your future. Some fates are inescapable, and some prophecies are self-fulfilling, but yours is not so. You have one chance.¡±

    ¡°One chance¡­?¡± After witnessing such an unbearable, awful future, he was left dejected, hanging on the edge of a breakdown. But the mention of a single ¡®chance¡¯ shifted his mental state, bringing hope to a heart that was hollowed out by fear.

    ¡°You have a chance to avoid your fate. To prevent that future. Only¡­¡±

    Odysseus jumped to his feet before the god could continue. ¡°Tell me how!¡± he shouted. ¡°If there¡¯s a chance to save my family and my kingdom, I¡¯ll do anything you ask of me!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you¡¯re ready,¡± Zeus said. The words slammed into his soul, nearly breaking it apart at the seams. It was a brutal rejection from the gods¡ªa statement of his own powerlessness and the futility, the weakness, of man.

    Odysseus fell silent. How could he have come this far and seen so much, taken so many lives and shed so much blood, witnessed so many allies fall in battle, only to reach this desolate point? Here he was, at the turning point, the moment that could decide the very course of history, and he was told by the king of gods himself that he was unprepared. But that couldn¡¯t be correct. And if it was¡­ I have no other choice, he decided for himself. Whether or not he held the power, he had to act.

    He was a seasoned tactician and a warrior. Under the command of Agamemnon, ¡®Lord of Men¡¯, he proved himself instrumental over the entire course of the ten-year-long siege on Troy, formulating plans and performing tricks to get the better of his enemies without fail. As one favored by a goddess, his actions were almost divinely inspired. Those were the rumors of Odysseus that spread among the Achaeans during the war.

    For ten years he fought and he killed, all so that he could return to his homeland once the dust settled¡ªso that he could see the faces of those loved ones he left behind. To protect them from whatever malevolent force awaited them, Odysseus was sure that he would stop at no costs. Whatever price he had to pay¡ªeven his own life, if that was the price Zeus demanded from him, he would gladly pay to keep them safe.

    Penelope¡­ Telemachus¡­ if it means protecting you both, I¡¯ll fight even fate.

    His fist clenched with the strength of Atlas himself, Odysseus stepped forward and, clutching the hilt of his sheathed blade, addressed the eagle directly. With his burning will inflamed further and a certain devotion that couldn¡¯t be matched¡­

    ¡°Damn not being ready! Compared to you, great Zeus, I know I¡¯m powerless! I¡¯m only a man¡­ and no mortal can match a god¡¯s strength. I couldn¡¯t compare¡­ but even so, no matter what trial is waiting for me, I need to try! So please¡­¡±

    He grasped his fallen helmet and lifted it from the ground with his spare hand.

    ¡°¡­Grant me your mercy. I beg of you, lend me your guidance! How can I avoid that future? How can I save my people, my kingdom¡­ my family, from this fate?¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Silence. For a moment, that was all that existed, save for the soldier¡¯s heavy breaths. With everything laid bare, his determination and his mortal shame, Odysseus could do nothing but hope that his prayers would be answered. After all¡­

    ¡°¡­Isn¡¯t that the reason you¡¯ve appeared before me?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Good. So your spirit is not broken.¡± From where he stood, Odysseus thought for a moment that the god was pleased by his declaration and his will.

    Was that a test? Odysseus knew the gods often tested mortals, but he couldn¡¯t pretend to understand their inner workings, nor could he guess the reasons for their actions.

    ¡°At the palace of Troy, an enemy awaits unlike any you¡¯ve ever faced. One who will not fall easily by your hands,¡± Zeus stated. ¡°He will not run for his life, nor will he beg.¡±

    ¡°So, all I need to do is kill that enemy?¡± Odysseus asked. A grin surfaced on his face. The panic that existed before and the dread, both completely vanished with Zeus¡¯s advice. They were replaced by something else¡ªsomething, perhaps, just as human.

    ¡°You make it sound easy. It won¡¯t be,¡± Zeus reminded him sternly.

    ¡°I understand,¡± Odysseus said. ¡°I apologize for any offense.¡± As to not provoke Zeus¡¯s ire, he offered a sincere apology. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said with a breath of relief.

    The bird lifted off the ground where it was perched and swiftly streaked through the air, but the God King¡¯s voice permeated still. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t thank me just yet. You have yet to meet your enemy face to face¡­ and you may end up cursing me.¡±

    The god¡¯s voice resonated, echoing with a thunderous crack as his presence vanished from the observable world, and Odysseus was once again left alone with his thoughts. But his spirit was renewed, and with a new mission in mind, he knew what had to be done. Without another word he slipped his helmet over his head once more and turned in the direction of his comrades, most of whom had already trudged on without him.

    He leapt down from the rooftop and began to head over to them. As he waded through smoke that threatened to clog his lungs and the debris of a now-sacked city, he could still hear the distant cries of those who still fought and those who already lost.

    ¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á

    ¡°There you are, Odysseus! I have to say, those arrows were delivered with precision.¡± Words of praise for his archery, which was without a doubt his greatest combative skill.

    Of the Achaeans¡¯ forces, two were considered to be ¡®favored¡¯ by the goddess of wisdom and warfare. Although they were mortal, they were her champions who exemplified her greatest qualities; one reminded her of her cunning and the other her courage, although neither of those heroes were bereft of either virtue. To be held in such high regard by a goddess of her status was the highest of honors, and this was something Odysseus knew well, as he was the ¡®man of one thousand devices¡¯. And likewise¡­

    ¡°Diomedes,¡± Odysseus greeted. The hero, Diomedes, clutched his blood-tipped spear, surrounded by the corpses of his slain enemies, and nodded to Odysseus as he approached. They were alone now; the rest continued on with their duties. Odysseus could faintly hear steel clashing in the distance, accompanied by their grunts of war.

    Diomedes¡¯ efforts and accomplishments were heralded as some of the greatest of the war. A soldier of great renown and a king whose name reached the farthest corners of Greece, his skills and stories resulted in his epithet, the ¡®breaker of horses¡¯. It was a title he earned, for among the Achaeans and indeed all the men who fought in the war as a whole, he was one of the greatest¡ªsecond only to one, and that soldier slept now.

    ¡°You really are quite the archer. Between you and Teucer, I often struggle to judge who the better shot is.¡± Knowing Teucer, whose eyes were rumored to be blessed by Artemis herself, that was a great honor. Odysseus wasn¡¯t sure he could live up to it, although his sense of ¡®the hunt¡¯ was certainly sharper than most. His precise aim was only part of that; it was also his ability to select his prey, usually the leader, that served him well.

    ¡°If Teucer and I were to engage in competition, I¡¯m afraid he¡¯d win,¡± he replied honestly. Often, he wondered how he¡¯d fare against the likes of his fellow soldiers but had few chances to test his theories. Of them, he doubted he could outdo Diomedes the most.

    When it came to physical combat, at least, Diomedes was a far greater warrior than Odysseus could hope to be. He was a man of impressive stature, several inches taller than the Ithacan king and possessed a stockier build as well. Of those who once vied for Helen¡¯s attention all those years ago, he was also one of the most handsome, but the war took its toll on even his appearance. Underneath his helmet, his brown hair was unkempt and had grown to a length he couldn¡¯t quite control, and stubble lined his face.

    Like most soldiers, the things he witnessed and the things he did during the war that hadn¡¯t even ended yet were still etched into his eyes, and his deeds were visible on his face. Odysseus suspected the same could be said for himself, but he didn¡¯t often look at his own reflection; he had far more important concerns than those of vanity.

    ¡°You always were modest.¡± A chuckle escaped his friend. ¡°Your archery aside, it was your strategy that gave us this victory. We have the Trojans on the run now, and soon their forces will be destroyed¡­ or those who haven¡¯t fled from Troy, at least.¡±

    Around him, the bloodied bodies of civilians and soldiers alike lay scattered and homes burned as Troy was sacked. It wasn¡¯t the victory Odysseus always imagined. For a moment, he was quiet, and elected to look around in silence.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Diomedes asked, noticing how disconnected his friend was.

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡± Even before those words left his mouth, Odysseus knew it was a lie.

    Diomedes nodded his head in understanding, but Odysseus suspected he wasn¡¯t entirely convinced. ¡°You should go on ahead,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s something I need to do¡ªa responsibility I¡¯ve been charged with that I cannot avoid.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean? What do you need to do?¡± Diomedes asked. ¡°The Trojans are on the run; should we not chase them down and destroy them before they can regroup?¡±

    ¡°I have a mission, at the palace.¡± By now, it was certainly being raided and sacked. In fact, it was likely that the entire royal family was eliminated, knowing whose duty it was to handle them. That boy is bloodthirsty and vengeful like his father, he often thought.

    ¡°Very well,¡± Diomedes said, accepting his explanation¡­ or lack thereof, with relative ease. ¡°Then I hope to see you on the other side of this battle, Odysseus, once the fire stops burning and the dust settles. For now, I¡¯ll keep fighting until I fall from exhaustion.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d expect no less from a man of your determination, Diomedes.¡± The two of them shared a laugh, but even humor couldn¡¯t distract Odysseus from the matter at hand.

    ¡°Slaughter the Trojans. Leave no chance of retaliation,¡± he ordered, although he was certain those words weren¡¯t necessary. They all knew the plan, Diomedes most of all, and Odysseus¡¯s designs ensured everyone¡¯s strengths were put to good use.

    ¡°Of course.¡± Diomedes turned and, with his spear at the ready, began to catch up with his allies. ¡°May the gods¡¯ strength be with you, my friend!¡± he shouted back at Odysseus as he left. Soon, Troy¡¯s canals would run red with the blood of his enemies, for Diomedes was an unstoppable force of nature that would stop at nothing but victory.

    With a curt nod, Odysseus bid farewell to his companion and focused on his own mission. Just like Diomedes, Odysseus had his own duties, and victory would not truly be his until they were fulfilled. At the Trojan palace, a warrior the likes of which he never encountered before awaited. There, a great battle would soon unfold.

    And for the sake of my family and my kingdom, I intend to win.

    That was the oath Odysseus, king of Ithaca, swore to himself.

 Astyanax i.4

    BOOK OF ASTYANAX

    CHAPTER 4

    ¡°THE INFANT¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Argh! You¡¯ll die here, bastard!¡±

    Steel clashed against steel. Immediately following that ¡®declaration¡¯, A Trojan soldier¡¯s blade, thrust forward while his footing was unsteady, stabbed into Odysseus¡¯s shield and was stopped without the king of Ithaca having budged as much as an inch.

    Unlike his opponent, Odysseus¡¯s feet remained steadily planted on the ground, and he maintained a balanced posture that only the most skilled of swordsmen could keep under such duress. In a way, a man like him whose tricks served as unparalleled weapons had the best makings of a swordsman; after all, It was in his cunning nature to pick up on every detail, large or small, and adapt as quickly as possible in response.

    That was why the moment the Trojan¡¯s sword made contact with his shield, Odysseus was already prepared for his next move. Each and every movement was accounted for. Planned. Calculated. The second steel met steel, before a sound could even be produced, Odysseus counterattacked. His shield rotated, spinning his enemy¡¯s strike out of his control. He was sent off-kilter; his unsteady footing would be his undoing.

    The Trojan tried to recover. It was too late. Odysseus drove his blade into the man¡¯s torso, stabbing through his armored plating like a knife through butter with some effort and a good amount of momentum. The king¡¯s sturdy hold on his weapon prevented the Trojan from falling for a short moment, during which he could only stare in shock. In war, death never struck when or where it was expected the most, and every soldier had their own delusions of grandeur. Very few of them anticipated such a mundane end.

    Odysseus pulled his blade from the Trojan¡¯s body, and his period of grace from the fall came to a sudden end. With a stumble, as if to preserve his footing as long as possible¡ªa futile attempt to remain in the fight¡ªhe toppled backwards and landed with a heavy thud. Underneath him, blood quickly began to pour from his wounds to form a puddle.

    ¡°Who¡¯s next?¡± Odysseus taunted. He directed the end of his still-bloodied blade at his remaining enemies. Like most of his moves, it was a calculated effort.

    With two of those Trojans down, that left three survivors. Three dead men walking.

    Spurred on by his words, as well as their ally¡¯s violent demise, two of them rushed forward. One held a sword and the other a spear; both were armed with a shield. Odysseus counted the seconds before they reached him; he measured the distance between them and planned his own movements and attacks accordingly.

    The one with the sword charged in front. The one with the spear was hanging back slightly. The third had a bow, but he seemed to be watching for the right moment. From their movements, Odysseus could tell their next course of action. One will attack my flank, he predicted. They were relying on their numbers. Against a superior opponent, that wasn¡¯t the best strategy; Odysseus was quick to react, readying his sword.

    The first one was cut down before his raised sword could even pose a threat to the Ithacan. Odysseus felt his own travel horizontally through his adversary¡¯s abdomen for a well-aimed, clean strike. The Trojan staggered, his movements unsteady and his balance destroyed by the attack. He wasn¡¯t dead, but he was about to collapse.

    The other soldier approached from the back. His spear was thrust forward¡ªan inevitability Odysseus was counting on. His grip loosened, allowing his sword to fall. In the same instant, he grabbed the first man before he could topple over.

    ¡°¡ªGh!¡± ¨C a single grunt escaped. Red blood spewed.

    The spear stabbed through the swordsman, whose body Odysseus used to shield himself, and protruded through to the other side. Its end stopped only inches away from Odysseus¡¯s body. He looked and saw that the third soldier was preparing to aim now.

    ¡°You fucker¡ª!¡± the spearman sputtered, but his words were cut off as Odysseus, once again grasping the hilt of the sword he dropped moments before it could hit the ground, drove his blade into his throat. The soldier fell back, still grasping the handle of his spear, as the sword remained embedded in his body. There was no hope for his survival.

    One enemy remained, who was in the process of drawing his bowstring back. But Odysseus was quicker; he ripped the spear from his opponent¡¯s grasp as he stumbled, letting go of his own weapon once more, and their battle of wits and swiftness came to a sudden end. With a whistle, an arrow stabbed through the air and whizzed right by Odysseus¡¯s helmeted ear, missing by a hair¡¯s breadth as he strafed to the side.

    His enemy wasn¡¯t so fortunate. Through his back, a blood-tipped spear jutted out. As evidenced by the battle¡¯s conclusion, Odysseus¡¯s aim was truer, and his enemy died.

    Finally, he allowed himself to breathe. He was surrounded by the corpses of his enemies¡ªfools who apparently thought death was better than fleeing with their lives, and wondered for a moment if their families waited for them outside Troy. They wouldn¡¯t show; they would never return to their loved ones. They would never reunite.

    I will, he decided. No matter what Trojans blocked his way, Odysseus would fight tooth and nail to kill them¡ªall so that he could return home. To Penelope and Telemachus, he would return. But before he could set sail for Ithaca, he had something he had to do. One last objective had to be cleared, and there was one last enemy he had to slay.

    ¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á

    ¡°Finally,¡± he muttered to himself. He arrived.

    In front of him, the mighty palace of Troy stood tall. Traveling from the gate to the palace was a tougher ordeal than expected, especially with those Trojans who lied in wait, ambushing those they thought they could take on. It was their own misfortune that led them to encounter one of the few soldiers their numbers failed to outmatch.

    But he was there now, and as expected, the palace was already theirs. Greek soldiers were stationed outside the palace¡¯s doors. Judging by that, Odysseus could only assume their invasion went well, and if he had to guess, that meant the royalty were among the dead. I¡¯d expect nothing less from Neoptolemus, he thought, knowing the concept of ¡®mercy¡¯ was not one that was within his nature.

    ¡°You! Stop there!¡± A Greek soldier shouted as he approached. A few of them, armed with swords and spears, cautiously inched closer to him to get a better look.

    ¡°It¡¯s only me,¡± Odysseus stated calmly.

    ¡°King Odysseus. He¡¯s good,¡± one of them said. With a few murmurs, they dispersed and returned to their duties, leaving Odysseus to do whatever he wished.

    Among the Achaeans, Odysseus was well-known. Even by their enemy, he was feared, and as Agamemnon¡¯s greatest general who was instrumental during the siege of Troy, there was nowhere he wasn¡¯t allowed to be. Perhaps that was why he was charged with this duty¡­ although someone like Neoptolemus, who inherited his father¡¯s talent and thirst for blood, was certainly a better candidate for the trial that lied inside the palace.

    Odysseus couldn¡¯t help his own confusion. If there was a powerful enemy hiding within the palace, why weren¡¯t they already discovered? What kind of threat did they pose?

    It was then that he spotted something interesting. A few Greek soldiers, charged with the responsibility of escorting a prisoner of war, exited from the palace almost as soon as he arrived. As he got closer, he took note of the prisoner¡¯s appearance.

    She was a woman of exceptional beauty, with long wooly, blondish-brown hair that reached down to her upper back and piercing brown eyes. Her height was above average, her complexion fair, and rather memorable freckles lined her cheeks. From the moment he laid eyes upon her, he was certain of it. He¡¯d definitely seen her before.

    ¡°Wait a moment,¡± he said, interrupting the escort, and he addressed the woman directly after they stopped. ¡°You were there, weren¡¯t you? When Hector and Achilles fought.¡±

    He remembered. Atop the gate of Troy she was there, standing side by side with King Priam and his queen Hecuba. He assumed she was royalty of some degree.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Despite the horrors she likely witnessed that night, the woman remained stoic. Not a single bit of emotion¡ªnot grief, or anger, or even confusion¡ªwas written on her face. Her eyes met Odysseus¡¯s, and yet she offered his inquiry no response.

    The answer to his question came from behind him. ¡°That¡¯s Andromache, wife of Hector,¡± someone¡¯s voice stated. ¡°Hector¡¯s brother, Helenus, survives as well.¡± Despite the war-torn setting they met in, the tone was rather boyish and, put bluntly, immature.

    Odysseus turned to the one who made his appearance. Without even having to see him, he knew who it was. ¡°Neo,¡± he greeted; it was Neoptolemus, son of Achilles.

    Even with his armor and helmet, Neo¡¯s features were especially distinct from the other Greek soldiers. He was much shorter and thinner due to his young age. The boy was sixteen; six when the war began and his father left to fight. In many ways, he also resembled the late Achilles, as he shared his messy hair, only shorter and red-colored, and had his striking green eyes. At each of his sides hung a small axe.

    Like his father, Neo was a nigh-unrivaled warrior, greater than most¡ªeven greater than him, perhaps, although Odysseus didn¡¯t quite see the purpose in a duel between the two of them. They had no qualms, and Odysseus¡¯s respect for his father was far too great. That very respect was the reason he entrusted the boy with Achilles¡¯ armor.

    ¡°So, then, what happened to Priam and the others?¡± Odysseus asked.

    Without shame and without a second of hesitation, Neo said, ¡°They¡¯re dead. I killed Priam¡¯s sons to draw him and his wife out of hiding, then killed him.¡±

    ¡°I see. And Hecuba?¡±

    ¡°Captured,¡± he answered quickly. ¡°She was taken to Agamemnon.¡±

    Andromache¡¯s expression shifted at that; her facade cracked, her hard exterior replaced by something else¡ªsomething far more visceral. ¡°Monster,¡± she uttered, her barbed tongue directed at Neo. ¡°What kind of man takes pleasure in such a massacre? How many widows have you created now? How many families have you reunited in Hades?¡±

    ¡°My revenge has nothing to do with you, woman,¡± he snapped back bluntly. Odysseus noticed his hand grasping the hilt of his axe as his brow furrowed and his anger rose.

    ¡°¡ªBut it does! It was my family you slaughtered, none of whom ever did you any wrong!¡± she shouted. Her mask now completely shattered, Andromache¡¯s raw emotions could only flood out, washing away all calm that might have existed before. ¡°If anything,¡± she continued, ¡°it¡¯s your family that owes more in blood than you can ever pay!¡±

    Neo¡¯s grip tightened. Odysseus noticed quickly.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough. Get her out of here,¡± he said to Andromache¡¯s escorts out of fear that if he didn¡¯t intervene, things would go very, very wrong.

    Neo clicked his tongue at the Ithacan¡¯s intervention, but didn¡¯t argue. ¡°Just tie her up,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t let her escape; I plan on taking her back to Phthia with me.¡±

    Despite his words, Andromache refused to say anything more. Her escorts quickly dragged her away, leaving Odysseus and Neo alone. When they were out of earshot, Neo turned to Odysseus and in an accusatory tone he asked, ¡°Why are you here? Did you not trust I could handle Priam¡¯s sons? ¡ªYou were the one who made this plan.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t that.¡± Odysseus shook his head, denying the boy¡¯s words, and continued. ¡°You fulfilled your duties perfectly. I¡¯m here for something else; I fear it¡¯s more serious.¡±

    ¡°More serious? What could possibly be more serious than this?¡± Neo asked.

    ¡°It concerns me,¡± Odysseus answered.

    ¡°Well, do what you wish then,¡± Neo sighed. He began to walk away and, with a single wave over the back of his head, said, ¡°Good luck with whatever it is you¡¯re here for.¡±

    With Neo gone, Odysseus¡¯s attention returned to the matter at hand. His eyes settled on the kicked-in door to the palace, without a doubt destroyed during their invasion. His legs moved before he could fully think, and in seconds he was already there. But as he approached, before he could even walk inside¡ª

    ¡°Odysseus of Ithaca.¡± Zeus¡¯s voice once again echoed through the world with a thunderous boom, and atop the destroyed palace door, Odysseus saw a perched eagle for the second time that day. It was then he knew, the moment of truth was upon him.

    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± he said. ¡°What do I do now? Where do I go from here?¡±

    ¡°Inside, he awaits. You can still turn back, if you so choose.¡± Words of warning. The god was lending him one final decision, but Odysseus knew he had only one choice.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡± His words were reinforced with sheer conviction.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you¡¯re ready, but the choice is yours to make. I¡¯ll guide you there.¡± Even though Zeus didn¡¯t seem to believe he had the mettle for what lay ahead, for Odysseus there was only one thing he could do. To abandon his family and his kingdom out of fear for his own survival was the most shameful thing he could imagine.

    The eagle faded into nothingness and became one with the wind before his very eyes. Behind him, he felt a gentle breeze that should not have existed in the burning Troy, subtly but eagerly pushing him to move forward. The divine guidance, he assumed.

    He breathed in deeply, then out, and then commanded his legs to move with every bit of strength he could muster. Zeus¡¯s guidance directed him; he was simply a vehicle of his will now, maneuvering through the unfamiliar palace as though he was its architect, as if he knew every nook and cranny, every corner of the massive castle, like the back of his own hand. With a certain knowledge he couldn¡¯t even begin to explain, he kept on trudging forward, turning corridors and ascending stairs with a resolute intent.

    ¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á

    ¡°That bookshelf. It¡¯s out of place,¡± he said out loud.

    He didn¡¯t know why, but his legs stopped moving the moment he saw it. He didn¡¯t even know how he noticed it in the first place, but the bookshelf was leaned against a hallway wall. He got closer to it, inspecting it, and quickly realized the truth of the matter.

    There¡¯s something behind it. He grabbed one side of the bookshelf and pulled it away from its space with all the required strength. It budged easily and when Odysseus had fully moved the shelf from where it was located before, he understood.

    ¡°¡ªSo that¡¯s where you¡¯re hiding, then.¡±

    ¡­For in front of him, once hidden cleverly behind the bookshelf, was a door. The second he laid eyes upon it, he realized this was where his enemy hid.

    ¡°This is your last chance,¡± the god¡¯s voice echoed in his mind. ¡°Turn back now, or go inside. But if you enter, you¡¯ll find more than you¡¯ve ever bargained for.¡±

    ¡°For the last ten years, I haven¡¯t shied away from a fight. This war is almost over; I can¡¯t just give up and run when its end is almost in sight,¡± he declared. ¡°I¡¯m going in.¡±

    ¡°Very well. Be prepared to face the consequences then, Odysseus of Ithaca.¡± He¡¯d already resolved himself to pay whatever price had to be paid. Since then, nothing changed. From his goal of saving his family, nothing would deter him.

    Penelope, Telemachus¡­ I¡¯ll be home soon. I promise. It was an oath, both to himself and them. He hoped that somehow, across the sea, they heard his words.

    He grabbed the hilt of his sheathed sword, still hung at his side, and pulled it from its scabbard as he steeled himself for the imminent battle that was to come. With his other hand he grasped the door handle and, gritting his teeth, he pushed it open and entered with a vengeance. Sword raised and at the ready, he charged¡ª

    ¡°¡­Huh?¡±

    ¡ªinto an empty room.

    No. That wasn¡¯t quite right. There were no warriors and no soldiers in the room, but something else was in there. The moment his eyes settled on what lay within, his confusion turned to something else entirely. It could only be described as a bottomless ¡®dread¡¯, a void from whence nothing could ever escape that was comparable to the darkest pits of Hades. Tartatus, even, could not compare.

    There was no more need for his sword. He returned it to its proper place at his side and, walking further into the room, he approached the thing that lay before his eyes.

    More specifically, the object of his interest was what was inside that ¡®thing¡¯. The moment he looked inside and his deepest fears were realized, his heart froze in his chest. No longer did it beat; no longer did he feel the pulsation of life and love within himself.

    He wasn¡¯t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn¡¯t this. This¡­ this was something he could never, in a thousand years, anticipate, beyond his wildest imaginations.

    ¡°¡­It¡¯s just a boy,¡± he muttered.

    The ¡®thing¡¯ in question was a long crib, rectangular in shape and elevated off the ground by four legs. Inside, the infant was draped in a white blanket, and stared back into his widened eyes with long, curly blondish-brown hair as well as brown irises of his own. The moment their eyes locked, what sounded like the embers of a cry sounded from the boy, taking Odysseus by surprise as he stumbled back. He¡¯s afraid, he quickly realized.

    ¡°Are you afraid of me¡­? Ah¡ªof course.¡± He pinpointed the source of the infant¡¯s fear and grabbed at his helmet, pulling it off his head. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he shushed, setting it down on the ground right next to the crib. ¡°My son was scared of my helmet too¡­¡±

    He wasn¡¯t sure what else to do, so he began to comfort the boy who should not have been there. But this was not the way a soldier was to behave. ¡°What am I doing¡­?¡± he asked himself, bewildered. ¡°More importantly¡­ Why is this boy here, and why was I brought to this place? I thought my enemy was waiting for me, but it¡¯s¡­¡±

    The sound of thunder accompanied his answer. ¡°This is Astyanax,¡± Zeus declared. ¡°Know this; he is the son of the late Hector, and one of the last surviving members of the royal family. Your quest has led you here; the enemy you seek¡ªthe one who stands in the way of you and those you cherish¡ªis the very boy you¡¯re looking at right now.¡±

    Odysseus spun around, the breath caught in his throat. ¡°¡­What?¡± he barely mustered, his eyes locked on the source of the voice: the eagle once more, which now perched through a nearby window. ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± he muttered. ¡°What kind of threat could an infant like this possibly pose? Surely we can avoid it?¡±

    ¡°Right now he¡¯s just a boy, but understand this. He will grow and one day, fueled by hatred for all those who destroyed his homeland, he will become an avenger. He will seek retribution against the kings responsible, and you¡¯ll be counted among the dead.¡±

    ¡­No. That can¡¯t be. He rejected the words; he couldn¡¯t fathom them¡­ and yet they began to sink in. He turned back around and stared at ¡®Astyanax¡¯¡ªthe small and innocent boy who couldn¡¯t have even been a year old, in disbelief. If he was really the cause of Ithaca¡¯s inevitable destruction¡ªif he was the one who would one day burn his kingdom to the ground, slaughtering all those he held dear, then Zeus was saying¡­

    ¡°If you don¡¯t end him now, you¡¯ll have nothing left to save.¡±

    That declaration hit him like a bolt of lightning, launched by the God King himself. With an audible smack his hand was cupped over his mouth, his palm covering it in a desperate bid to quench the sickness that was steadily intensifying within his stomach. He stumbled a foot back; his legs nearly buckled for the second time, just barely supporting the weight that pushed him down and compelled him to his knees.

    Faced with such an awful ultimatum, Odysseus could do nothing but stare. The feeling welling up inside him was unmistakable, but he could do little to resist it. It was no mere sickness; it was the disease known as ¡®despair¡¯, for which no cure existed.

    And suddenly, Odysseus understood every one of Zeus¡¯s words and twisted premonitions. There was no imminent danger; his foe ¡®would not run¡¯ because he couldn¡¯t even stand. He was innocent¡ªan enemy beyond his comprehension, which he never faced before. Much like the god predicted, his only recourse was to curse fate and the divine both for the tragedy that was about to unfold.

 Astyanax i.5

    BOOK OF ASTYANAX

    CHAPTER 5

    ¡°ASTYANAX¡±

    <hr>

    Odysseus¡¯s eyes remained on the boy in the crib¡ªAstyanax, Zeus called him¡ªwithout a word. Images flashed before his eyes of the dreadful future he saw, the sight of Ithaca burning at the hands of that monster returning to him. But the warrior he saw then, standing at nearly twice his size with the physical strength to wield that massive axe¡­ there was no way he could accept he lied before him at this moment.

    There was no way that monster who would one day bring so much suffering and Astyanax, who couldn¡¯t have brought to this life anything but joy, were the same.

    The sheer idea of it was beyond his human comprehension. To see such evil and madness in one who smiled with such innocence, who reached his fingers out with such blissful ignorance, was something only a god or a monster could do.

    Both of his hands gripped the side of Astyanax¡¯s crib with enough force that he threatened to snap its guardrails in two. The god¡¯s words echoed through his mind¡ªthe declaration crackled like thunder, urging him to do something no mortal should ever do. The act of infanticide that he forced upon him was one befitting of only a monster.

    It was an act that couldn¡¯t be justified. Odysseus grit his teeth, pressing them together so hard they could crack, and finally he released his hold on the crib. To rely on murder to solve the problem he was faced with would be enough to forsake him.

    He grasped the child and lifted him in one movement, and turning, all of the dread he felt within boiled to the surface at once. ¡°There must be another way!¡± he shouted.

    With an inhuman expression that couldn¡¯t be read, the eagle simply looked on. Odysseus wondered to himself, why did the gods torment them so by taking such forms and giving such ultimatums? Could he find a way to save his family and his soul?

    ¡°I¡¯ll take him back to Ithaca. ¡ªI¡¯ll raise him as my own if that¡¯s what it takes!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll regret it; he¡¯ll burn your house and throne when he discovers what you¡¯ve done. He¡¯ll stop at nothing to bring you to ruin, and in the end you¡¯ll have nothing.¡±

    His legs were unsteady, a far cry from the posture he had in battle less than an hour ago. He despised the decision thrust upon him; he hated how weak he was, that an infant could bring him to such despair. But it was the ¡®will of the gods¡¯.

    ¡°Then I can send him far away! I¡¯ll make sure his past is ever known!¡± he said. Compared to his pleading before, his voice was muffled and his words choked.

    ¡°He¡¯ll learn. The truth always reveals itself,¡± Zeus retorted. ¡°There¡¯s only one choice.¡±

    ¡°I can run! My family and I can go somewhere far away, where¡ª¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll find you wherever you go. He¡¯ll follow you to the ends of the earth.¡±

    ¡°No¡­ I¡¯ll make sure he can¡¯t find us! Wouldn¡¯t that do it?¡±

    ¡°The gods will make him know. Many of them hate your side for the war, and their anger will only fade long after your bones become dust. Divine retribution cannot be escaped.¡±

    ¡°Then¡­ Then I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll take him and ensure he¡ª¡±

    ¡°Enough!¡± the god declared, accompanied by the crashing sound of thunder.

    He stopped, his voice trembling and his words fading before they could even be realized. The terror of such divine presence ensured he could speak no longer.

    ¡°It is the will of the gods! You have no say, mortal!¡±

    Even now, Odysseus continued to cradle Astyanax in his arms. Without any shred of understanding for the situation they were faced with¡­ without any knowledge of what was at stake, and what would never come to fruition if the stranger who held him chose blood, a simple and unrefined cry escaped the unknowing child¡¯s mouth.

    ¡°Men rise and fall, just as civilizations fade to dust,¡± Zeus said. ¡°Today, it is Troy. Tomorrow, your kingdom will burn. The only thing you can do is choose when. Whose blood will spill? Who will pay the price of this war? The decision is yours alone.¡±

    ¡°No¡­ please¡­¡±

    ¡°¡ªSo choose.¡±

    Odysseus fell to his knees and clutched the infant closer to his chest. ¡°Please, don¡¯t make me do this!¡± he shouted, defying his own fear. ¡°Anything but this!¡±

    ¡°Choose, Odysseus, for only by burning can you save those you love from the fire.¡±

    From where he kneeled, Odysseus could see the eagle begin to fade away. Almost like a cloud, its tangible form began to shift and twist, held together no longer. Then it was gone, its form carried away by the wind. Truly, Odysseus was abandoned by the gods.

    In that room, holding the infant close to himself with such despair, he was left alone, with nothing but his own thoughts to accompany the void that steadily grew inside.

    All he could think about, at that moment, was the world he left behind.

    ¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù

    Just as life ends, it begins.

    With every such genesis, pain follows.

    That pain, it could be said, is evidence of love.

    With an audible crack, a door swung open and slammed against the wall. Before it could even bounce off the surface, the man¡¯s figure bounded through at a high speed. Every rushed footstep brought him closer and closer; a mix of the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the intense emotions swirling through his mind quickened them.

    At the other end of the room, the labor of birth had just come to its conclusion. ¡°Lady Penelope, breathe¡­¡± one of their servants said in an attempt to calm her.

    ¡°Penelope,¡± he called out. Finally, he stood before her bed. His eyes were widened at the sight and, beyond that, the realization that the time was finally upon them. It was long-awaited¡ªa moment he yearned for so long, and yet one he feared more.

    Eyes as blue as the ocean settled on him through the unspeakable pain she was feeling, with long, silky raven hair that reached down past them. In a state of mess, she looked much rougher than usual, and yet even so, in his eyes reflected a woman whose beauty could not be stated. ¡°Odysseus,¡± she muttered, forcing herself through the pain.

    ¡°I just heard,¡± he said through breaths. ¡°Did I¡­?¡±

    Did I miss it? he was going to ask, but his question was answered before it could even be voiced. The moment came as a shock to him; it wasn¡¯t one that was expected so soon. But his shock, and the fear that accompanied it, was quickly drowned and washed away as soon as he laid eyes on the fruit of his beloved¡¯s suffering.

    Cradled in the arms of Eurycleia, the very woman who tended to him when he was younger, was their child. His own heart melted at the sight¡ªa feeling he experienced perhaps once or twice before in his life. It was an overwhelming sensation.

    ¡°Odysseus.¡± Eurycleia smiled, and she urged for him to come closer. Although her black hair was greying and the burden of time wore her down, she was still every bit the woman he knew, whose passion and loyalty to his family was as undying as the gods.

    He approached, reaching out almost instinctively for the yet unnamed child. Like a torch he was passed. Like one, he was ¡®illuminating¡¯ to the Odysseus who hadn¡¯t yet known war. He held a piece of both parents, he noticed; Penelope¡¯s black hair that contrasted with his dark brown, and his own brown-colored eyes that contained such light.

    Before he realized it, the terror he felt before no longer plagued him. In its place, something else existed. It was something he couldn¡¯t classify or quantify. He held on to it with all his might. He predicted one day, he would need some of it for himself.

    He was silent. With every fiber of his being, he tried to contain the emotion welling up inside of him. But it boiled to the surface faster than he could manage to bottle it up.

    ¡°¡­Odysseus.¡± The voice was weaker than usual. That was to be expected.

    He looked up from the infant and directed his attention to the meek voice, which belonged to none other than his wife. Despite her unimaginable pain, a smile painted her face. It was something a daughter of Sparta rarely showed; he wanted to protect it with his life. He was willing to go to war for her, if he was pushed to.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ crying,¡± Penelope said. She looked like she was stifling a laugh.

    ¡°Ah.¡± So that was what he felt trickle down his face.

    Strangely enough, he didn¡¯t care. For a king to shed tears like that was a strange sight, surely, but Odysseus was no normal king, and so his maids didn¡¯t bat an eye. Eurycleia, too, could only smile at the sight of the gentle king¡¯s joy.

    ¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á¡¡¡¡¡Á

    ¡°What should we name him?¡± Penelope asked.

    Still bed-ridden, she now held the nameless infant close to her chest. Her question was one that hung in the air¡­ unsaid before now, but considered by both of them all the same. Instead of deciding on what name to give him before, they simply elected to watch him without a word, Penelope from inside her sheets and Odysseus from his sitting position on the other side of the bed. Truthfully, they were both clueless.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Odysseus answered honestly. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said. ¡°I didn¡¯t think this far ahead. I thought that¡­ maybe when I saw him, a good name would come to me.¡±

    Penelope stifled a laugh. No doubt, the pain of birth lingered with her, but it wasn¡¯t worn on her face. She was strong. In many ways, she was stronger than him.

    ¡°You carried him. Do you have any ideas?¡± he asked.

    She thought for a moment, bringing her unoccupied finger to her chin, and then proposed, ¡°How about Laertes, after your father? Wouldn¡¯t he be overjoyed at that?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ I¡¯m sure he¡¯d appreciate it, but our son really doesn¡¯t look like a ¡®Laertes¡¯, does he? His face looks much more innocent than that. In that way, it¡¯s kind of like yours.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong¡­ look at how he sleeps,¡± she said with a gentle smile.

    ¡°What about ¡®Icarius¡¯, after your father?¡± Odysseus asked. ¡°It¡¯s a noble name.¡±

    ¡°You thought ¡®Laertes¡¯ wasn¡¯t innocent enough for our son, so you propose ¡®Icarius¡¯?¡± Penelope laughed. ¡°My father is a Spartan to his core. And didn¡¯t you say you wanted our son to have a more gentle name? One befitting of a peaceful era?¡±

    ¡°I did say that. I guess you¡¯re right.¡± A sigh escaped him. It was a hopeless endeavor; how would they ever find the ¡®perfect¡¯ name for their son when they struggled so?

    ¡°How about your name? ¡®Odysseus¡¯ is the most noble I can imagine.¡±

    Saying nothing, he shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t want that for our son,¡± he declared in refusal of it. ¡°I want him to be a far gentler man than me, and ¡®Odysseus¡¯ means ¡®to hate¡¯; it almost feels like a curse, naming him that. I don¡¯t know what my father was thinking.¡±

    ¡°Then we¡¯ll find something better. Something perfect.¡±

    But that wasn¡¯t quite as easy as one would expect. The two of them continued to cycle through names for a while¡ªnone of which truly stuck with them¡ªin search of the one that would encapsulate everything they wanted for their son. One befitting of everything they wanted to give him, and the world they endeavored to entrust him with.

    The discussion lasted hours, and still they were no closer.

    That was, until Odysseus came to a conclusion.

    ¡°The world we¡¯re imagining isn¡¯t one we can comprehend. Perhaps no mortal can. Maybe the ¡®perfect name¡¯ we¡¯re seeking should come from someone much wiser.¡±

    Penelope looked perplexed. ¡°So then, you¡¯re proposing¡­?¡±

    ¡°Only one person has the privilege, I think. Tomorrow, he¡¯ll be named.¡±

    Penelope nodded in agreement, and so they finally came to a decision.

    Telemachus, it was decided. ¡®Far from battle¡¯, the name meant, for the world they envisioned for him was one that existed far from the flames of war and suffering.

    ¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù¡¡¡ù

    ¡°Astyanax¡­¡± he muttered. ¡®Lord of the city¡¯. Given what he would one day do, it was an appropriate one. He would be the last bastion of a bygone city, and the one to avenge its memory. Additionally, his father was considered Troy¡¯s greatest warrior.

    Hector, prince of Troy. Son of Priam and brother of Paris. He was an honorable man, Odysseus always thought, to the point where his death affected even him. They were enemies, and yet the respect he held for the prince could not be overstated.

    That prince was dead now, and so was his killer. Now he held his son in his arms.

    The circumstances of their meeting loomed over him like a great shadow. As pure as the child looked, and as innocently as he cooed and reached out for Odysseus, unspeakable and horrible thoughts breached the soldier¡¯s mind and ravaged his soul.

    He was sitting now, his back leaned against one of the room¡¯s walls and the child in his arms. He¡¯d been there in that position for a while now, and there he sat in¡­ mostly quiet. Occasionally, certain words and strange mutterings would break the silence as he considered each and every option he had. He could ignore Zeus¡¯s warnings, or¡­

    No. I can¡¯t.

    He couldn¡¯t even consider it. How could he? He continued to look at the boy whose name he could not bear to speak or even think any further. He saw past him, to an event of his past that happened so, so long ago. One he could never forget.

    The feelings he felt that today began to well up once again. Slowly, they accumulated, and with no one else to speak to, he addressed the infant he cradled directly. ¡°How did we get here?¡± he asked. ¡°What happened that caused all of us to reach this point?¡±

    Who could truly be blamed for the world they created? Who threw the first stone, and who retaliated? Who fought, killed, and bled to bring them all to this specific future?

    They weren¡¯t finished fighting, even now. Troy was mostly theirs¡ªthe Greeks dominated them rather easily thanks to the horse¡ªbut he could hear the sound of war outside the window of this very room. Strangely, it seemed like that war couldn¡¯t touch them where they were¡­ like the room was in a space none of them could reach.

    They were never finished. Even when Troy was naught but rubble, the fighting wouldn¡¯t end. Eventually, this boy would grow, and he would learn of the misdeeds of the man who carried him at this very moment. He would burn everything he loved to the ground.

    Odysseus¡¯s mind retreated to the only place it could. Home. It was the same place he always returned to in his mind, when the fighting and the death and the bloodshed was too much for him to bear on his own. He thought of Penelope, and above all¡­

    ¡°¡­Telemachus.¡±

    At that name, the boy looked at him in confusion. He couldn¡¯t understand anything he said¡­ he was ignorant of it all. He knew nothing of war because he was too young and innocent to comprehend it. In his eyes, Odysseus could see a familiar sight.

    ¡°Such innocence¡­ it reminds me of my own son,¡± he said to the boy who did not understand a word he uttered. ¡°You¡¯re as old as he was, back when I left for war. He didn¡¯t know anything either¡­ didn¡¯t even know who I was, or why I was leaving.¡±

    ¡­

    ¡°It¡¯s been ten years since I left. That¡¯s how old Telemachus is now.¡±

    He often thought about it: the world he left behind. While he fought¡­ while he claimed so many lives in the name of war, his son and wife¡¯s lives continued on without him.

    ¡­ And if he didn¡¯t act, his son¡¯s would come to a violent end. The thought invaded his mind; he desperately wished to avert his eyes from it, but how could he? What kind of a father am I, if the price I have to pay to protect him is too much for me to bear?

    He clenched his teeth again and, pushing himself off the ground swiftly, he returned the infant to his crib. Laying down once more, in the same position Odysseus found him in, the child¡¯s eyes looked up at him curiously. Why did he have to look at him like that?

    The act of drawing his blade was one that was taken without conscious thought. It wasn¡¯t his intention to do so; he had no desire to select between two awful decisions. And yet, even so, it was done. In his hand, gripped with both shaking hands, was his sword. They trembled¡­ oh, how they trembled¡­ But I can¡¯t afford to let them die.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he muttered, his voice so quiet that it was likely inaudible to the infant¡­ not that it was something he could understand or comprehend even if he could hear it.

    ¡°Please¡­ don¡¯t look. I can¡¯t¡­ if you look at me like that¡­¡±

    He released one hand¡¯s grip on the sword¡¯s hilt and used it to cover the boy¡¯s eyes. Even so, he still didn¡¯t react like one normally would. How could he? He didn¡¯t know what a sword was. He didn¡¯t even understand the concept of ¡®death¡¯ or ¡®finality¡¯.

    ¡­ But they did know pain. They had a will to live, didn¡¯t they? Even if they didn¡¯t understand the intricacies of life and death, the natural preservation to survive existed in every being. The right to want to live was integral to each and every person.

    He moved his hand. Again, the infant looked up at him. It was smiling.

    ¡°How could I hurt you¡­?¡± he choked, and his blade was returned to its scabbard. He stumbled back a step, nearly losing his balance, and his foot slammed against his helmet by accident. It bounced and rolled against the floor for a moment.

    He lifted it from the ground and looked at it. Off its metallic surface, he could see his own face reflected back at him. ¡°What am I supposed to do?¡± he asked. What could he do, when he was too weak to end the biggest threat his kingdom would ever know?

    He turned his attention¡ªhis anger, his desperation¡ªto the world and the gods above. To those who forced this decision on him, who relished in the suffering of men, he grit his teeth and addressed. ¡°What am I supposed to do? What do I do¡­?¡±

    ¡­

    ¡°WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!?¡±

    ¡°WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME!? WHY DO I NEED TO MAKE THE HARD DECISIONS!?¡± he shouted at the edge of tears. No¡ªhe already passed that point. The gods¡¯ trials pushed him over the edge already, and for perhaps the first time in ten years his cheeks were moistened, painted by the awful choice he had yet to make.

    ¡°Why the hell¡­ why won¡¯t you answer me!? What awful act have I done, what crime have I committed, to be punished in such a way!? I just don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t understand!¡±

    His cries were answered by a long, unbroken silence. He gripped his helmet tighter.

    He never asked for this. He never wanted any of this. He didn¡¯t want the ¡®glory¡¯ that came with toppling Troy, nor did he care for the affair that led to the war. All he ever desired during those ten long years was one thing, and one thing only. It was the thing that allowed him to keep fighting¡ªthat kept his spirit ignited despite all he suffered.

    ¡°I want to go home.¡± He turned away from the crib and with a resolution he left the infant there. In three rushed steps he reached the door, and he grasped the handle. It turned, and he continued. He was going to leave; his home awaited him. His love awaited him.

    He stopped. The door was open now, and one of his feet already crossed the threshold. He suspected if he reached the other through, he would never be able to force himself to return. Even with all the lives he took during the war, he just didn¡¯t have it in him.

    He turned to face the crib again. Right now, that child was an innocent one without the capacity for violence, but eventually¡­ What kind of monster will he become?

    ¡°Penelope¡­¡± he voiced. He could almost see her, standing in front of him in her infinite beauty. He imagined her clutching Telemachus in her arms. How could he explain this to them? ¡ªThat he had the chance to save them but failed to take it? Would they blame him? Would they forsake him for his weakness? Was the opposite worse? Maybe.

    But what was he supposed to do? What could he do, when he was just a man? When, try as he might, all he could do was resist and flail his arms and legs? When he lacked the power to change fate, to escape what was decided for him, what could he do?

    ¡°Penelope, what am I supposed to do? What should I do?¡±

    She wasn¡¯t there. She couldn¡¯t respond to him. He knew that. But he reached his hand out anyway and silently pleaded for her to take it. ¡°But if I run now¡­ if I leave this boy here and flee, and I allow him to become an avenger¡­ what will happen?¡±

    He could see every future that diverged from this point. All of them were revealed to him. Like branches of a tree that grew from this single moment, rooted in that crib, Odysseus could see them expand and grow. They mutated. He was repulsed by the colossal monstrosity that would remain if it wasn¡¯t culled at the roots.

    But there was something in this world that was even more disgusting than that.

    He couldn¡¯t see it, but he was sure he hated the expression he wore on his face. It was a look of hatred, or maybe one of fear. He wasn¡¯t sure who it was directed to. Maybe it didn¡¯t matter; maybe monsters then and monsters now were one and the same.

    With an iron grip he raised his helmet and wore it once again, each and every moment requiring every last bit of strength and willpower he could muster. Every motion was akin to a stringed puppet¡¯s. Each lacked passion but was filled with an awful purpose.

    The infant looked up. The look of fear returned to its face when it saw the helmeted monster that approached. The monster¡¯s hand grasped it by the blanket that shrouded it with a tight grip that refused to let go, and it was raised into the air as if it were poison that prevented the monster from carrying it the same way he did before. If he did, then his spirit would surely give out before the task could be complete.

    His legs moved without directive. He knew not where he was going, but he understood what was about to be done. It had to be done, he decided, because otherwise he wouldn¡¯t have been able to do it. If he gave himself the choice, he knew what he¡¯d do.

    Even so, the same thought repeatedly echoed throughout his mind and soul.

    It refused to give in. It wanted¡ªneeded¡ªto be heard. The void inside him only intensified. It grew deeper and deeper. It made him sick. He wanted to throw up.

    He stood at the precipice now, and he reached his hand over the edge. Around him, flames burned as bright and hot as the sun and smoke stopped his breath. Below, he could see the amassed soldiers, Trojan and Achaean both, clashing and bleeding. He didn¡¯t care; it was the kind of hell he deserved for the crime he was about to commit.

    His grip slowly loosened. He wanted to shut his eyes and blind himself from the world, and from the thing he held suspended, but couldn¡¯t. He wasn¡¯t cold or heartless enough.

    The thought still wouldn¡¯t leave him. It had to escape; it had to be said. It was an awful, evil, despicable, disgusting, repulsive, unforgivable thought that could never come to pass, but it forced itself through the seams anyway. His heart could no longer contain it.

    Over the edge of the tower, he begged it. One simple, selfish request.

    ¡°¡ªForgive me.¡± Such a foolish thing, forgiveness. It didn¡¯t erase the crime.

    He let go of the world and steeled his heart. His grip released.