Chapter Text

Chapter 1

After arriving back home, after 20 years away from Ithaca. Odysseus was finally home. It has been so long since he last saw his wife. And now that he had arrived at Ithaca and that he had eliminated all of the threats to his reunion, he was ready for it.

His son, his sunshine, the joy of his life, was finally able to hug him ever since they had seen each other when he was barely a month old. Even though their first time meeting after such a long time was rather… violent, it was one heck of a moment.

His son grew so much, he was 20, going to 21 years old. He was around the age Odysseus was when he left, and he looked so much like his mother in so many different ways. His laugh and smile upon seeing his father for the “first time”, his soft hair, his beautiful dark eyes. He was every perfect aspect of his mother, perfect in every way that truly shows he was the son of these women.

He could also be the better and younger version of himself. A sense of naivety and positiveness. But also the glint of swiftness, of intelligence, of cunningness. He had the air of a prince well raised and ready to guide his people. He had the posture of a warrior in training, of an adventure to discover and rewrite his destiny of a hero. He saw all of the good he left to see his family in his son, everything he hoped his son had preserved and grown into and he couldn't be more proud.

Surrounded by dead corpses of meaningless traitors, blood on their clothes, red clinging to their skin, none of this mattered as much as what they had in front of them. How could it matter, how could they even think and recognize what was around them when their wildest and dearest wish was happening.

They did not know how to act, what to say. Could they be to blame? Has anyone got separated from their new baby for 20 years? Has anyone fought tooth and nail for their family, leaving behind friends, families, the life of people and sanity for their family?

The son, his son, Telemachus, was the first to speak.

“Father?”

At those words, the old king's eyes opened. Truly, they were never closed, but at those words it felt like it was. It felt like a curtain of unconsciousness was removed, making everything clear, enhancing his senses and understanding. Like a switch, he started to truly understand what was happening, his son was in front of him, alive, a man, his 251 months old baby.

“Son?” He felt his word be breathed out quietly, barely a whisper, as if he could not believe himself that it was really his son. But the traits were unmistakable, and call it a father instinct, but he knew it was son. He would even dare and say that his son had already met Athena based on his outfit and his blue aura.

It seems as if his own words had a similar effect to his son, like father-like son as they say. His child, realizing that he was meeting his father, that it was not of his thousands of dreams during nightless nights, rapidly brushed his clothes. He rubbed quickly on some spots with blood, completely forgetting who it belonged to.

His little bundle of sunlight started speaking, and his father hooked on to his every word. He listened as his star ranted about his loneliness, of his yearning to meet the figure of his life. The constant reminder of what he was missing through the names, the story, the statues, the portrait, the sad laughs of his mother, everything hurted his son so much that he could only close and wish days after days, for 20 years, of meeting his one and only father. As he closed his eyes, he dreamt of how he would greet him. He thought of the warm hugs, of how he could run like a 4 years old child would directly in Odysseus’ open arms, as he was thrown in the arms. He thought of a more mature reunion, with more talk and bonding moments around a table with warm and delicious food.

To pass time, to prepare for the day, he worked hard to become like his father. Though the countless tales specifically reminded him how much work there was left, he never gave up. The thought of the day he would get his dad back kept him awake and determined. He thought that maybe if he worked hard enough, he could become him and fulfill his desire of how he was dying to know him. To also show what his son had become.

He remembers times he looked at his father’s statue, thinking about his strength and courage. He would defend himself when he was younger, wanting to defend himself without having to call the guard, to show that he was truly the strong son of Odysseus.

Now that the day arrived, that the dream became a reality, Telemachus did not know what to do. The scenarios felt useless now that they actually held importance.

He could not help but wonder about the world his father had to live in. He only knew his world after all.

He wondered how similar they were now. Did he have the strength of his father now, the inhuman strength described in his legendary stories? Was he strong and worthy enough to be called Odysseus’ son? In the meantime, he could only wonder in his own thoughts, feeling the craving loneliness of his “what could have been” or “what could happen”.

Hearing his son’s rants, he could not help but let out a painful laugh. He saw his younger self, the awkward and sensible boy that deeply loved around him, enough that he could harm himself if he never had his mother, his wife, his frie- mentor, and his two best friends around. He wondered if it was his fault if his son felt this pinching loneliness, because Odysseus was not able to fill the place he left in his son’s heart. He wasn’t here to help him when his son needed him the most.

He approached his son. Placing a hand on his cheek. He saw red, adn immediately, he retracted his hand. He looked painfully at the red handprint that did not seem to bother his son. In truth, his son seemed more anguished about the loss of contact and warmth from his father, the first one since his birth, and a much too quick one.

With one final look at his son, he opened his heart. As he cleansed his hand on a nearby fountain in the middle of the castle. He expressed his nostalgia of a time where his son was just the smallest sweetest joy he knew of. The melancholia he felt when he knew all of what he missed, every first thing, little achievement for a little man.

He shared his memory with a boy far too young to forge memories. He shared the moment his eyes layed down with the cutest boy he ever saw, falling in love with his son. Like any with his son, he swore big promises that he knew he would keep true. Now that time has passed, he could only look back at what he had said and hoped that his efforts were not in vain, that his effort kept his promises true.

His silly little promises, of how he used to say that he would make the storm clouds cry for his son, he would capture wind and sky for his boy. As he fell deeper and deeper in the unlimited and comforting warmth of his newborn child, he felt prepared to put his life on his line. He was prepared to jump in the water to drown in pain, or in the raging fire ready to devour his skin if it meant that his son could live another day with the same glint in his eyes and the best life.

He could not help but wonder about the world his son had to live in. He only knew his world after all.

He thought of the pain of a fatherless life could be, one that he could partially understand as he lost his father young. His son must have been one of the strongest, to live with the head so high when the weight of the world kept pushing him down on the ground.

But all he ever wanted was to see his dear son and his lovely wife. Today was the day his desire, his wish, his need will be accomplished. And no one will be sleeping with a bed that is meant to be two. And the son will be able to catch up the days, relive the day where he was supposed to sneak into his parents room to sleep between the two couples in the safest and warmest place in the world. Nobody will sleep alone tonight. They will all sleep together like they were supposed to do each day during the last 20 years, song, father, mother, age be damned.

Because the king, the father, the husband, was finally home.

The son and the father lunged desperately into each other’s embrace, feeling the little or big body of someone they loved, that they had to protect or were meant to be protected. The day arrived and the family was all under the same roof, at home. No more gods or monsters to drain the energy of the family and keep them afar.

Cries and laughter and smiles could be seen and heard in the whole castle. Servants rushed to spread the great news of the return of an era of peace and calm. All men and women, workers and servants, rushed to see the scene of a wonderful meeting. They had their grips tightened in the shirt of the other, feeling the proof of the other’s existence, and breathing the
the smell of home and love. They hugged, feeling how much they longed to see each other.

After what felt like hours, the two separated. Odysseus kept his hands on his son’s shoulder, not feeling ready yet to let go of his son.

He instructed his son to go, to leave, and to inform his mother of his arrival. At his son’s worried glance, he explained that he had to get prepared mentally for his reunion and that he had one last thing to do in private.

At those last words, the prince of Ithaca knew what to do. He walked away and instructed everyone to get back to their post and leave his father alone. The servants and workers left as instructed and Telemachus raised a thumb up at his father with a proud smile before running towards the queen’s bedroom.

“Show yourself, Athena. I know you have been watching us and aiding my son”

He felt a familiar shift back to a familiar domain. The room changed decoration, going from a regular castle to nothingness and stars adorning it. The only remarkable thing was the immense blue hourglass he was standing on. In front of him, Athena materialized before him from blue elastic and ghostly strings that sprouted from the ground. Athena looked far away in her domain, into the nothingness then up towards the stars. Odysseus approached her, but it was clear that she was strangely avoiding looking at him directly.

“You were never one for hellos.”

At this comment, both of them grunted before ending in a pitiful bursting laugh. Odysseus glanced up, but Athena would still not look at him.

Athena opened, like his son, like him, but unlike any gods, her heart to a mortal. It woul;d have been one of the greatest honour for many people, gods were never kind or considerate or friendly with any mortal. Showing any kind of weakness towards a mortal was even something even more intimate, reserved to mortals of extreme importance for gods.

Yet Athena opened, like his son, like him, but unlike gods, her heart to a mortal. Maybe the king had misunderstood their previous interaction, Athena did not want to admit it, but they truly were something more than just a mentor and a student. They were old friends, almost family with no names or words for their status.

She admitted her mistakes.

She could not help but wonder about what this world could be. She only knew her world after all.

She imagined a world where empathy existed and still ruled in many hearts. A world where kindness, love and happiness was still and could still be preserved. A world where Odysseus could have come home earlier if it had not been the nature of this world and men, always seeking violence and vengeance. She thought of a world where Polites’ philosophy and legacy lived in people’s mind and heart, where it fought and survived in Odysseus' mind, and was strong enough to change people’s lives and minds for the better.

She couldn't help but wonder what could have happened if she acted at the very least a bit kind and understanding towards Odysseus, if she didn’t make a decision where she felt like she had led him astray.

But what if this world existed? What if this world existed and they did not need to live this way.

The two stood. Odysseus sat down in a moment of silent and deep reflection with his friend. He thought of a world far away where all of this existed. Yet he knew that it was unwise to think of the past and what could have been instead of going forward. Athena had taught him it before.

So he told her what he thought of it, if this world existed. If somewhere where he would live happily with his friend and maybe with his greatest enemies, where he did not have to suffer away from his family and friends and with the death of his people on his shoulder, he will have to miss it. A world where they all knew together and lived in complete bliss and happiness was something to be desired. No matter how much he hated, was afraid, or felt complexe feelings towards them, if a world existed where they were friends, he would then not oppose the idea.

But it was far beyond his years, redemption or even the discovery of this world was something he was not ready with his age. Moreover, he had to catch up with his family. Athena might live forever, so she can make this world in a way or another. A world where everyone would live happily ever after, and go out every now and then to have fun.

Odysseus was just a man, and he had one endeavor, one girl. And time was the most precious thing after his wife and son. He could not waste it any more, he had to see his treasure, his purpose, his life essence.

He stood up, looked one last time at Athena who – for once ever since their dispute – looked at him in the eye. A scar surprised him, and the gentle smile astonished him. He thought of Hermes, Zeus and Calypso. He thought about how Zeus ordered Hermes to help Odysseus get out of the island. He thought Hermes' last words were weird, how he was not the one to convince Zeus to let him go, he wasn't the one who fought for his freedom.

Everything made sense now, and he could see how Athena never gave up on him. how she never completely let go of their bonds.

“Very well”

The familiar sensation and feeling left as he saw the decor shift back to the castle. He heard some light, quick and excited footsteps and recognized as his son. He didn’t need to be present in his son’s whole life to know it was him.

He looked at his son and heard the words he waited for 20 years.

“Penelope…”

In front of him was the door, a door that will guide him directly to his queen, his love, his everything. The same door, same wood, same rough touch that he knew 20 years ago.

He opened the door, leaving a small squeak, and entered.

Maybe Athena and Odysseus shouldn’t have had discussed matters that they did not understand. Maybe it was more judicious to not talk about Alternative Universes and worlds.

Maybe they have jinxed, because Odysseus was now doomed to wait longer.

20 years was, apparently, not enough.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

This was not Penelope’s room.

After entering, a blinding light forced him to close his eyes, cover them with his hands for extra measure, and turn his head instinctively away. The door creaked behind him and, after a very loud bang, only then did he dare have a glimpse.

Odysseus shouldn't have opened his eyes. Hell, he shouldn't have let the door close the moment the weird light appeared. Because now, he was in a whole different place.

The weirdest and most horrific part wasn’t that he couldn't recognize where he was, or the obvious fact that this shouldn't have happened. The most terrifying part was that he knew where he was, and he was supposed to be here — it was just… wrong.

In front of the King of Ithaca were ruins, rocks that faintly traced a room that seemed to have existed thousands of years ago, a room that had gone through wars and conflicts. Inside the room, plants had reclaimed the earth, growing on rocks and leaving a peaceful greenery in the scene. The adamant ruins were barely something, except for the few rocks that formed the limits of the room. There were no walls, ceilings, or faint traces of a floor. Odysseus could see the rocks outside of the “room,” forming what could have been, once, corridors and other rooms. Not far away, outside the ruins, nature was very prominent, surrounding what was left of a palace.

But the King of Ithaca recognized those forms; he recognized the size of the room. How could he not? This was the room where he spent every hour of his day back when he was younger. This was the room where he slept with his wife. This was the room he built when he was only seventeen, carving a bed into the wood of a tree that grew in the middle of this very specific room. Although flashes of memories repaired the ruins into what he once knew, the space of what should have been there stayed stuck in his head.

If the destroyed room, the invading nature, and the lack of furniture weren't enough to stop him in his tracks, the absurdity of the situation did.
Where was Penelope? Where was he? Where was their room?

Only after observing the room did he start to ask questions. It felt like something Athena would do to teach him a lesson.

He couldn't lose Penelope when he was so close to reuniting with her. Looking around, he realized that the ruins before him were also devoid of people. It took no genius to understand he was alone — completely alone. He had lost Penelope after trying to come home for twenty years. He did find his son, but now, he was as gone as his wife. Athena didn’t feel like a shadown behind his back, watching his every movements. Heck, there wasn’t even a single maid or worker to be seen.

His family and home weren't gone. He was gone.

He sat down on the moist, wet herbs, laying his head on the rocks behind him. He almost wanted to cry. He didn’t even understand how he was supposed to get back home now. He knew he was on the perimeters of his kingdom, but his kingdom wasn’t like the one he was looking at. Even the door he entered with didn’t exist anymore.

Odysseus sat down, reminiscing about his whole life, thinking about recent events. He missed home and his family already. And he missed Penelope even more.

The captain would probably have stayed in this position if it weren’t for someone’s arrival. Hearing the crunch of dead leaves and the brushing of feet through herbs, he forced himself to focus on the origin of the sounds. An old lady, in her late forties, was hiking up the mountain. She had some weird equipment too. In her hand was a strange, straight-looking stick she used to support her weight and fatigue. On her head was a strange piece of cloth that stood straight above her face, creating a slight shade. She wore a unique piece of clothing, one that did not resemble his robe at all but was more akin to armor made of tissue.

Odysseus did not know what to do with such a weird apparition; she seemed from a whole different world. He approached her.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?” Her accent also seemed off, as if she wasn’t a local but just a traveler.

The king asked her where they were, and — not to his surprise — she told him they were at the ruins of a kingdom rumored to be his. Which was strange since he was here and still alive, while she spoke as if he were long dead, like the castle. He also noted the strange words she used — they were his language, but with small changes in pronunciation and structure. Moreover, the old lady worded things in such a way that it almost implied he might have never existed, that he was just a fairytale.

So he asked where she was from, and she replied that she came from Ithaca.

His facial expression must have revealed his confusion. He felt strange, in a whole different world. The woman with the weird clothes noticed his obvious confusion and proposed he follow her back down to share some coffee and snacks. Unsure what to do in such an unknown place that used to be familiar, he decided it was best to follow her.

As she finished whatever business she had — which was odd, because apparently, she came all the way up just to see some ruins and take fresh air — they hiked down the mountain in silence. Far away, small dots of his city could be seen. It was far bigger than what he knew, expanding all over the land, devouring what he once knew as the forest where he hunted and ran. While walking downhill, they met a few people wearing strange clothes. All of them looked weirdly at Odysseus, as if he was the one with strange clothing.

They arrived at one of the villages. The architecture of the houses, the people, the weird things he had no words for — the streets — nothing was the same. People gave judging side glances, acting like he was the intruder, an imposter king of the land. He kept in mind not to reveal too much about himself, fearing actual danger.

He would not repeat the same mistake he made with Polyphemus.

They entered a small, cozy house. The inside was visibly pleasant. The walls were white with small blue-painted details. There was a table, a carpet, paintings — the usual things a king had in his palace. There were also objects he had never seen before, such as a rectangle made of glass and other things he couldn’t name. Since the start, the old woman hadn’t batted an eye or shown any confusion at his way of speaking or appearance, but at his curious behavior towards the objects, she couldn’t help but chuckle.

She went somewhere after proposing Odysseus sit on the couch. Marveled by the comfort, he tested the material with repeated, varied movements of his hands and by standing up and sitting back down. He stopped once he saw the woman returning with a tray of coffee and cakes.

They sat down together and ate. Odysseus was, to say the least, amazed by the new flavor on his tongue. They made small talk, shared names — to which the woman had a strange reaction to his but didn’t mention it.

After a few words of nothing, he decided to ask his important questions. He started with gentle questions about people’s strange reactions and the odd things he noticed. The woman explained calmly that only cosplayers would wear clothes like his now. Apparently, she thought he was one. Her son was a cosplayer of some Greek heroes from a show.

With new mentions and explanations, the previous warrior of the mind quickly understood. People with unimaginable objects, a ruined castle, forgotten stories, a twisted language — everything pointed to one theory.

Odysseus was in the future.

Though it was only a theory, all the hints proved it right for now. But he hoped it was wrong, because that would mean he had little chance of seeing his wife and son anytime soon. When he thought back to the ten minutes he’d spent with his son after twenty years and how close he was to reuniting with his wife, a wave of pain swept over him.

The door opened. A young boy entered, offering a small greeting. He wore something unusual, covering both ears. Faint music came from it, and the king looked on, utterly shocked. How could such an object produce the sounds of different instruments without instruments and in such a small thing? How was there a voice coming out of it with no one around? His flabbergasted state was broken by the old woman’s sad sigh.

She told him her son had developed an obsession over the last few months with a musical called EPIC. Ever since, he had been very attached to tales of Greek heroes. Interested, Odysseus asked what EPIC was. He bet he could recognize some of the stories since he was from the past.

To his surprise, the story was about him. The story had been repeated so much, songs heard too many times, that she knew basically everything about it. The accuracy of every detail, of his thoughts during his adventures, was so terrifying and striking he wondered how it was possible. Furthermore, he discovered this tale was a modern version of an older one, slightly different.

Digesting the information, he started a new theory. Maybe he was simply in another world, one where no monsters existed and he himself didn’t exist. But based on how those tales were shared as something from the past, he doubted his first theory was completely off. The combination of the two theories would mean he was in an alternate world in the future — complicating his situation twice.

If he wanted to go home, he had to start somewhere. Right now, the only way to move forward was to meet the ones who created his story. If they had, in some way, created his world, they might have the answer — or at least a hint — on how to go back to where he belonged.

The kind woman answered his last questions. The creator of the latest story, the one most faithful to his tale, lived in Puerto Rico. A place far away, a few hours by something called a plane, was his key to getting home. The one who originally created his tale had died long ago. While many other interpretations existed, this Puerto Rican man was the one who had recited his story correctly.

He informed her he was going to wherever Puerto Rico was. She stopped him immediately, laughing and asking if he had the papers for it. Whatever that meant, he knew he didn’t have them.

The old lady said that to leave the country he needed permission, a passport, and money. And by the looks of it, he had none.

Odysseus thought for a second about his situation. He asked how to get them, and the old lady said it was complicated. Apparently, he needed other papers he didn’t have, a lot of time, meetings, and more. It was too much time to waste.

So Odysseus asked the kind lady everything she knew about planes and how to get to Puerto Rico.

The place was dark and cramped. The king suspected that he had now acquired a new type of fear, claustrophobia. Breathing was hard. Here, it was cramped, tight, small, humid, hot and unbearably uncomfortable. Occasionally, the tight box would move around as it slid on some bumpy surface.

Through some very small holes, only noticeable by the light that fought to get in the close dark inside of the bow, Odysseus watched the box move. Cramped in a painful position, one that he never knew he could be in, he wondered if his plan would succeed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

To sum up everything that Odysseus understood from the first talk, society had something that resembles birds. Huge men’s work that could transport people high in the light. This tale made him remember the tale of Icarus, a young man that flew to run from Crete with his father Daedalus. He had heard countless times the story through the mouths of tourists and guests that confused his wife’s father, Icarius, with the tragic hero.

His worry over if the story would repeat on and on as he imagined the many scenarios in which the wings on the unimaginable work of man could burn as it flew too close to the sun. He wondered if the people in it would burn too.
His mind flashed back to the burning city of Troy and the screams of men, women, and children as their loved ones were killed and houses burned.

Though the woman kept explaining that accidents were severely rare to a neglectful point and that it would not burn or ‘explode,’ whatever that was, he could not shake the possibility that it existed. The only reassurance left was that he was willing to endure another 20 years to see his wife.

If he was to take the plan as any regular person, he would have to go through severe difficulties.

Either he would have to try to earn a passport in illegal ways, which meant that he would have to have enough money to pay someone very good to forge a passport and run his plan with a risk of getting caught. If he did get caught, he would have to go through a tough investigation, especially since he had no records or paper.

Or he could try and get a legal passport and visa. But he would still need some money, and a lot of patience since without paper or information, it would take from 2 to 4 years minimum to be able to travel.

If he was to go through the plan in a more special way, he could try infiltrating the plane in a different way.

Though this idea was only observed in movies and ideal universes, if he was willing to endure a more physical torture while not going through any economical issue or tougher security, he could try infiltrating the luggage part of a plane.
The idea would be that he entered the airplane through someone’s luggage. The wonderful and kind woman had enough close friends that could take a luggage with Odysseus in it while they were traveling to the U.S for a very small price and a quiet mouth.

Some risks were still to come like a small security, and a very cold and barely breathable air during the flight. Nothing the king of Ithaca could not take with the 7 years of living a mental torture on Calypso’s island, the weeks without food in the boat, the 10 years of war, and the other pure devilish tests given by the gods. Just living through an intense cold and little air for a few hours felt like a little “road trip” – as the kind woman said once he explained everything to her – to his golden key.

In the two situations, he would run a risk, take some time for some, and might endanger the kind woman’s security. Those were the three functions that were gonna vary between the three options he had, which made choosing which to pick incredibly difficult.

He had no choice, and he had to take one of these. He could not see or find the creator of his world and have a private word with him.

He thought about his wife and son that he had to come back to, of the new types of ‘monsters’ he had to face. Though now he was in a new environment with minimum knowledge of how the world works.

“There is another solution…”

Apparently, they now regularly ship products from continent to continent in a few weeks.

The last solution would be for Odysseus to get in one of the boxes of products and sail in a cargo ship. The traveling would take more time, but the security was less present, the physical conditions were more favorable with the exception of food and drinks, and the cost was non-existent.

The last idea was much more preferable in Odysseus' opinion.

The food and drinks could be transported through his cape. During his trip to Ithaca, he often hid his sword and material for fighting in the cape Athena offered to him. Potentially, the cape could be extended as a luggage for the time being.

Using his cape as a bag with infinite space, he could even consider bringing other materials and objects of entertainment such as wooden tablets or papyrus to write on.

After a considerable time of thinking about his options, he settled on trying to travel by ship, half hoping that there would be no interruption or issue like his first voyage.

The box was quite tight; if it weren’t for the luggage, he was sure that he could have a bit of space to move. The kind woman was caring enough to help him in his more adaptation in this new world.

She had offered some of her husband’s clothes, clothes he hadn’t touched for years and that thankfully fit him. She gave him an old dictionary that translated Greek to English and another to Spanish. She gave him a weird object called a copy book, similar to the other weird book called a ‘dictionary,’ where he could write in. Apparently, they had thousands of the extensive papyrus stuck together. They even had a thing called a ‘pen.’

She gave him a couple of other things, objects she claimed she hoarded for no reason with her husband. She gave him a couple of objects to entertain himself, books to be read that replaced a thousand bards and poets, and a spare ‘phone’ that was too old and broken for it to be of use for them, but functional enough for him to use.

In the luggage, she added a couple of other things that he could not describe by something other than ‘things’ and ‘objects.’

Though it was kind of her, he secretly hoped that she had told him early enough for him to put it in his cape and not in the luggage. Even though he did prefer to keep his cape full of food and not something else to avoid getting mixed up.
Only now, he was stuck in a tight place with luggage on a moving ship.

He could barely see through the cracks of the cargo, but he could smell the familiar salty scent of the sea.

It had been a couple of days since he had been sailing towards Puerto Rico.

His muscles, his bones, his every being ached from the lack of movement. He tried to shift the best he could, creating space, but it was way too dark and tight to be able to do anything. His immobilized state brought tears to his eyes after he felt all of his muscles and bones block at any of his attempts to move. He could hear his whole body cracking at any of his shiftings like old and dry branches.

He had also been forcing himself to eat the bare minimum, only feeding his body when it grumbled. When it did, he hoped that a few bites could quiet it down before anyone could hear it. It wasn’t that he did not have enough food or water; on the contrary, he should have more than enough. Though if he had learned anything from his past experience, it was that at sea, anything can happen. For all he knew, the cargo ship could have a huge detour or encounter a tempest.

So, Odysseus thought it was best to stock the food and water in case something did happen, even if it meant he had to suffer.

He could also never be thankful enough for the kind woman’s luggage even though it did steal a lot of space. The ‘phone’ had some surprises for him; the weird stone could light up a bit, which helped him in so many ways and offered him a small distraction. Thinking that this was simply an old and broken phone made him wonder what the better versions could potentially do that was better than what he had.

He also had a small copy book in which he wrote, every day, how he felt, what he learned, and his thoughts about his second voyage. He mostly wrote in his little journal how he missed everything that he knew. Every thought, in the end, led to his wife, his son, his mentor, and his kingdom.

And the books were exceptional. Every day, he started by reading the dictionaries, practicing how the words in the other language could potentially be pronounced based on how they looked and how the book said it should be pronounced. At the end of each dictionary was a little explanation on what the sound could potentially be pronounced like based on the sounds of the Greek letters.

‘The Art Of War’ by Sun Tzu, ‘Fight Club’ by Chuck Palahniuk, or ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’ by Alexandre Dumas being some of his favorites. Reading stories that weren’t about gods and daring to reflect on such deep themes really opened his eyes.

They made him live a new Odyssey he never thought he could appreciate. They made him understand some concepts and learn new lessons. He must say that the most interesting novel was ‘The Odyssey, the original version’ by Homer. The story was interesting and personal yet not his entirely. Some parts of the book felt off and not ‘true.’ He considered the fact that he was truly a simple version that the Puerto Rico man created. This thought terrified him, and he tried not to think about it.

Actually, there were many things he tried to ignore and not to react to in hopes of staying in constant vigilance, but now that he was simply trapped in a box, he had more time to think about everything.

The future was… strange and full of surprises. The ‘machines’ were advanced in such a way he could not even start to think what to make of them. He mostly had questions.

What did they do? How did they make it work? How did they discover how to do this? How did they go from horses to ‘cars’? What else was there to discover? Was any of their crazy creations able to allow him to go back to his wife? Were any of these dangerous? Did they have a mind of their own? Was it a gift from the gods? Why did everything, every design, change? Where was the place of his religion in all of that?

How was Odysseus supposed to process everything in the end? People had a ‘shirt’ and ‘pants.’ At least he thought that's how the old lady said it was called.

Not to mention people were acting weird; they were all in a hurry. There were more women outside, more children, more ‘technology.’ Everything was moving too fast for his understanding, nothing was pausing for him to take a look at it. He wondered if their activities were even close to his in his time.

One of the objects of intrigue lately had been the ship. Half of his life, he had been sailing and traveling and fighting. He knew how ships looked, and he knew that the ship he was in should not be fast or big or able to take that much weight or anything. How was this ship… a ship? How did they know that they would arrive in a week without knowing if the winds were in their favor? Especially considering that Puerto Rico is a land enough to apparently never have been shown in his maps, except if they also decided to change the names of places.

Every time he had too much time to think, he would take one of the objects he now owned to simply observe it and caress it. He tested its material and its weird shapes. He would ask questions with no answers before writing them in his journal. He enjoyed his time letting his eyes widen with enthusiasm and wonder like a child in front of a new candy or a baby discovering his hands. He let his fingers explore the work of a perfect human, recognizing that whoever made everything around him was an expert that worked with precision and quality.

He wondered if he could bring anything with him to show the wonders to his wife and son and even improve his lifestyle.

Odysseus had been sailing for 10 days.

He was told that the voyage would last from 10 to 14 days. He hoped that it was true and nothing bad was happening. The aching was becoming too much, and his stomach had been eating itself. His food and water storage was… okay if they did arrive in 4 days.

He had read all the books, even started learning by heart the dictionaries after rereading them multiple times in a whisper. He discovered music and headphones, even almost revealing himself by forgetting to plug the headphones in, even while in his discovery state.

His phone did not work anymore, though. He did not know what was wrong with it or why it did not want to make any light and moving colors.

In the last hours, he had been thinking about when he would arrive, hoping that it would be soon.
As he hoped, his prayers were interrupted and answered by a rather harsh movement, almost as if something that was moving at a rather quick speed had suddenly stopped. It reminded him of back when he was young and still learning horse riding. Back when he didn’t know how to act when the horse stopped abruptly from a quick run, he would be suddenly projected forward.

After a few hours, he felt his last days’ house move, being lifted to be more precise. Once the box was put down, after waiting a couple of minutes and looking through the small cracks of his box for any shoes, he decided to quickly get out before they would put a cargo on top of him. He quickly got out with his cape and luggage and ran discreetly away from the scene.

He ran in a city, knowing nothing about it, in San Juan.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

San Juan was one heck of an island. As he walked through his new surroundings, his eyes marvelled at the sight of the bright-coloured cubic homes. They were charming, or one would dare to say “carmen.” Carmen was a Latin word, a language he discovered on the boat, that was born from Greek. This word meant enchanted, or literally a song, an incantation. The houses were exactly it; they looked welcoming and warm, joyful and playful, like a distant fog of a forgotten childhood. Odysseus would dare to say that he enjoyed his current situation, lost in the entrancing, life-full streets.

As he walked in the streets, head high in the cloudy pink sky, he felt like an oblivious child in Wonderland, a tourist in a dangerous exotic land, a lion for the first time in a caged zoo. He forgot any sensation of panic to indulge in the new reality that he was still digesting.

Suddenly, he woke up. He looked away from the beautiful streets and moaned in pain from the soreness he had ignored. It was sudden and brutal, as quick as someone just snapped a branch in half. He must have looked like an old man suddenly, wincing in pain from the intense pain. He thought he had seen straight through Medusa's eyes and was turned into stone. It was to be expected, and he couldn't neglect the possibility of earning any sequels from what he endured, but he still fought it off.

He had to see the man. The man who might have all the answers, the one that created his world, him, everything.

The streets were alive and bursting with too much energy for the captain to handle. Talking to people was hard, and even harder with the language barrier that he thought he destroyed. He tried to survive in the tsunamis of crowds, but breathing in such a heavy crowd was difficult. He even wondered if he was still in the calm and peaceful San Juan. He checked around where he was, but the too-similar names and the map were becoming too confusing for him. In one word, he was lost — completely lost.

But Odysseus is nothing but perseverant; he never gives up. So he looked for a more peaceful street and started from there.

Walking in the street, he talked with some youngsters, hoping to meet someone with information about Jorge. Many were reluctant to give him any information for obvious reasons, but Odysseus, who lacked some common sense at times, stayed oblivious to their hesitance.

After collecting enough information, he decided to head towards Dorado. Though he will admit some spoke of Los Angeles, the place didn’t figure on the map, and he assumed that it was a lack of understanding because of his poor Spanish and English.

He walked through green and flourishing mountains, walked on roads and pathways near the quick, roaring machines called cars. He looked at each of them when they passed, still fascinated by them and wishing to ride one to experience something new.
Every time he needed help, people were kind and patient enough to give their time and knowledge.

At some point, he desired to go to a temple to ask for some blessings before continuing his travelling. However, to his surprise, he discovered that his religion truly had completely disappeared, and his lingering thoughts about the absence of endless temples. Some on the internet still believed, but so few — nothing that could compare to the biggest religions.

As he wandered, night and day, sleeping outside when needed, he noted small things and wrote them down. He even tried sketching. The endless sky with weirdly no stars, the “lamp” that was able to create constant light even during night, was the light in the darkness, standing out greatly. The city never slept; some people still went out late, and lights were always on. Needless to say, nighttime was his favorite, strangely new like everything, but close to what he had at home.

Early in the morning, he arrived at Dorado, ready to search for the man. He went around with his thick Greek accent and every so often mistake, asking people in Spanish and English about a Jorge Rivera Herrans. A man told him he did not know who he was, a little girl was excited and talking about some “TV man,” and another man was just very rude.

One woman, though, seemed to know something. She didn’t want to comply and help him, but upon hearing his travelling, she invited him to her house.

Her name was Talya Sindel, and apparently it wasn’t really her house, but the parents’ of her boyfriend. She was staying around for the vacation until her boyfriend had urgent matters back where they lived in Los Angeles. One of the reasons she accepted helping him was his strange resemblance to her lover — that he looked like him, with some small modifications, and Greek — and he had the exact same voice as him. Moreover, there was no harm in helping a desperate man from time to time.

They entered a cozy house. Odysseus sat on a couch across from Talya, and upon Talya’s request, started to tell his tale from the start to the end. He didn’t really know why he decided to spill everything to a woman he just met, especially one that might not even have the information he needs on how to find Jorge. To be more precise, he felt comfortable in the presence of this woman, as if he was just seeing an old lost friend and was trying to catch up with him. He ignored every sensation of déjà vu, and tried to imagine it was someone completely different, with a different face, personality, behavior, and voice.

After his speech was done, Talya simply chuckled. She was shocked and surprised — flabbergasted even — but in all of his rodeo, she found something ironic, funny. Reassuring him that he didn’t need to look hard anymore for Jorge, at least not alone, she revealed her boyfriend was Jorge Rivera Herrans. She had met him during the making of EPIC: The Musical and had fallen in love with the boy. Odysseus was going to ask if she made the voice of his wife — though he knew deep down who she was now — but he was quickly interrupted. Talya cleared out that she wasn’t Penelope, although she did try at first for her, but Circe.

It was some hard news. The man with his voice wasn’t with Penelope but Circe. What a weird and disturbing thought. Jorge wasn’t him technically, so he was happy that the man could find the love of his life, but still it was difficult news to process. He could only mutter a “congratulations” before looking blankly at the floor, in the depth of his thoughts.

After some time, Circ-Talya explained that Jorge was a bit busy with his musical and the new one he is preparing, hence why he had to go in the middle of the vacation. She didn’t know when he was going to come back, but she knew it would take some time, and time was not something Odysseus had. Well, he did have a lot of time, but he wanted to end it quickly.

Cir- Talya then proposed to go and see Jorge! Yay! She was really excited, rambling about how they could meet the crew at the same time and how they could meet a real Odysseus and ask him questions about his universe. At this thought, she stopped immediately, realizing all the things she could do with him. Upon this realization, she decided on their way they will try and make Odysseus discover this world — and secretly, she will try to discover his, out of curiosity.

The king of Ithaca was hesitant, but Ci- Talya assured him that they won’t waste any time and to think of it as just a fun and quick travel with some souvenirs to offer for his family as a “sorry I’m late” gift.

Apparently, he had to hide once more because he was about to cross a border through a boat. The good news was that it was a quick boat trip and that he could get out during the trip since the security was even less strict and it wasn’t a boat transporting any merchandise.

Before going in the boat, he was with C- Talya and another man they invited whose name was Armando Julian. Funny enough, he was Eurylochus — the king’s right-hand man, his best friend — and Armando was also Jorge’s best friend. The only difference is that at the end, Odysseus had to fight him and leave him behind.

Euryl- Armando had a similar reaction to Talya when he discovered his reality, if not a bit more excited than she was.

In the car, before entering the boat, Odysseus asked Talya if she thought Jorge would be able to do something, if he knew something. She answered no, but if it was their only lead, then it was best to take it than to do nothing. It would be a lie to say that Odysseus did not feel a tad anxious at those words and at Eury—Armando’s agreeing silence.

Talya asked many questions about his world, his wife, and his son, which he complied with a smile, retelling the sweetest memories and the laughable moments he had lived.

Eur- Armando — he was getting the hang of their names — asked many questions about Eurylochus and his feelings towards him. It was never totally cleared, even though some clues did hint at his feelings towards the dead friend. Odysseus simply responded that he loved his wife and son more than anything, he regretted nothing, but the death of his friend — of his brother, a man he grew with, who married his sister — will haunt him forever. No matter what happened, he loved the man like a brother of blood. You can’t hate someone from one day to another because he betrayed you when no one could think straight — especially when you knew him for so long that you couldn’t remember your first meeting.

He remembered many first times with the man. They fought together in a ruthless war for the first time, and they survived it together. His betrayal did leave a little ping in the heart, a little pinch. But he took the last moment as redemption — how Eurylochus was the only one that accepted his fate, his death, and didn’t attempt to take Odysseus’s life like his crew did. That in this moment, for the first time, he wasn’t the voice of the crew but Odysseus’s best friend for the last time. The image of him smiling stayed with him until today — a smile that said many things: “I’m sorry,” it said, “forgive me,” “go and see your wife,” “I’m glad I was able to call you my friend, my brother,” “thank you,” “good luck.” That smile said so much more than a word could.

Odysseus stopped talking as he noticed something cold — or more like fresh. It was rolling down his cheek slowly, leaving a trail behind. He realized he was crying. Quickly, he resumed that he did feel hurt and betrayed, but he had almost finished forgiving the man for his actions.

Eu—Armando looked at him, showing a small smile of sympathy before patting his shoulder. He reminded him so much of Eurylochus in so many ways. He honestly wanted to hug the man and pretend it was his best friend, that nothing happened, and that even Polites was here, ready to run and jump into a group hug.

After a moment of silence, Talya announced that she was going to try and make Odysseus meet the whole crew. Lucky for them, with the exception of a few of them, all of them were in America doing their own business.
Odysseus wondered how his wife and son looked, how any of them were going to act at his arrival, how the man — Jorge — was going to react.

Talya added that she called the crew to alert them of their passage to prevent them from going too far from their road. Except Jorge — she wanted to keep it a surprise, and if Jorge was to come back to Dorado, he would call Talya before doing so. So if he ever was going to move, Talya would just have to spoil the surprise and tell him not to move.
Odysseus wanted to tell her that he could still move from one city to another, but decided against it, telling himself that she was the professional and he didn’t know enough about this world and how it works to intervene.

The boat trip was a bit boring. He just learned that they had 2 days left until they arrived. To be honest, the combo — E—Armando and boat — reminded him of some bad memories, though he only sucked it up.

Talya and Armando taught him a few more essential things about the modern world and helped him improve his English. They don’t speak Spanish in Los Angeles. He taught them how to navigate and study the stars; he taught them some Greek and the wonders and forgotten stories of his world. Even if Jorge created his world — his story with the musical — the complexity and the details were left to someone much more powerful: god. Which one? He didn’t know. But this had left him a lot of opportunities to teach Talya and Armando about the world they built with Jorge.

After the exchange of lessons, he didn’t have much to do. The objects of entertainment gifted by the old, nice lady were no help anymore — they only fed his boredom.

He decided to look for Talya or Armando, who wandered around the boat.
He found them both, talking about something at the edge of the boat. Behind them, the ocean was beautiful, letting the moon and stars glitter on it like a mirror. It felt almost enchanting, magical. It was difficult to tear his eyes off of it, and once your eyes were captured by its beauty, boredom was temporarily cured and time lost its rhythm.

Tearing his eyes from the scene, he looked at Talya and Armando.

“Can I watch EPIC: The Musical?”
Talya and Armando looked at each other, their eyes talking to each other before agreeing.

Armando explained that he could let him watch it; however, he would have to skip the last song. Based on his adventure, he was transported here right before the last song started. If he listened to the last song, he could get spoiled and no one would know what could happen to the story or his universe. Knowing already what happened thousands of years later could already hurt so much of his universe — though nothing is certain. He then quickly explained the butterfly theory — how a single meaningless change in time could change the whole history.

Talya also corrected Odysseus, explaining that originally EPIC: The Musical is something to be listened to, but most people prefer listening to it with a visual made by different animators. The visuals, called animatics, had each different headcanon, interpretation of the song.

Odysseus wondered which one of the animatics resembled the most his world. He imagined the different possibilities of each moment of his life. If something slightly different had happened, would his life be any different — a bit less hurtful?

Talya handed her phone and some headphones and explained how to watch the animatics.

Odysseus took it, sat down, and watched “The Horse and The Infant” from an animator.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Watching himself was a… unique experience.

He had been watching videos of EPIC: The Musical for the past few hours, going from the popular ones like Gigi, WolfyTheWitch, FormerlyHuman’s Open Arms, Ximena Natzel, NeaL Illustrator, Mircsy, Duvetbox, AnniFlamma, to the less popular ones like JENJO III, Laritamiauu, Crashite, Gwendy, Ani Tigerfly, Riley G, Zieru, Mr. Gameron, Rochi, and others.

Each animation had its own ‘style’ — as Armando explained — its own interpretation, headcanons, and display of emotions. Interestingly, you could still recognize who was who. In every animation, he could still see which one was Eurylochus, Penelope, or… or Polites.

He would admit that he had a few panic attacks, and he did cry. Especially when Polites appeared or when he witnessed the hardest choices of his life. When he decided to rewatch everything in different animations, he didn’t hesitate to skip every part that shot a bullet of emotions through his heart. He would have to be insane to willingly make himself relive his past traumas.

The one thing he had not watched yet was the last song — song number 40 — Would You Fall in Love With Me Again. Because how could he watch it? How could he watch it when it could very well break him into pieces? And the title wasn’t helping. Was he going to be rejected after all his efforts? Was his wife going to hate him, fear him, abhor him? The mere thought sent shivers down his spine, the mere possibility sent him into a turmoil of emotions. If he were going to lose Penelope, he was going to lose half of his world.

So he refused to watch the inevitable. Refused to face reality — not yet. Whatever would happen, would happen after he returned home.

Apart from the stress caused by the last song, he was not doing well. It had been a full 30 minutes since he sat down in the car, staring into the distance. He watched the waves crashing down into the water, creating a domino effect. He watched the sun shooting hot beams of light into the cold sea.
If he had to describe what he was going through, it would be an existential crisis.

Ever since he tore his eyes away from Armando’s device, Odysseus hadn’t felt like himself — because one thought kept bothering him: who was he, truly?
He looked like Jorge — that much he was sure of — but a more Greek version of him. However, he also resembled each animation in a strange way. Each one revealed a trait he possessed, yet none of them truly looked like him. One had his eyes, another his expressions, another his behavior, nose, face, hair color, hair type… It was as if they had taken tiny details from him and improved or altered the rest into something that only resembled him.

He was like a sort of Pablo Picasso painting — yes, he knows who that is now — a piece of someone’s art, twisted into a version that barely reflected what he considered real.

At this point, he wondered which one was supposed to be him. Even Jorge’s official videos didn’t depict him as he really looked. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be a visual concept at all — only a fragment of Jorge’s vast imagination, or of the young people who listened to his songs.

He felt dematerialized. Not even real. A simple idea.

His reality — if he could still consider it real — was merely someone’s wild creativity. Although a part of him already knew it, the realization now hit harder. Odysseus didn’t know what to do with all of it. He could pretend he knew nothing, convince himself that whether it was real or not didn’t matter, that it felt real and was worth continuing. But the depressing feeling would still linger and hurt him silently.

If everyone saw him differently, who decided who he really was?

Odysseus looked at the car’s side mirror, at his own reflection. He had dark circles under his eyes, probably from the long, exhausting voyage. However, the only thing he could truly see were the thousands of different faces he’d seen — expressions he’d made during his odyssey that didn’t truly reflect what he had felt at the time.

In all of his insane thoughts, one made him chuckle. He imagined the possibility that he was only words — words that painted the picture of who he was. That he was a bunch of phrases Jorge had mumbled out loud.

After a few minutes of reflection, he had to get some air. It was futile to think further — it would only worsen every assumption he had. Odysseus was convinced that Jorge held the key to everything — the answers to all his questions. The one who created him, even unintentionally, must be able to clear things up.

He set his mind straight, reminding himself that whatever the truth or mystery might be — whatever piece of the puzzle would make the whole picture clearer — he would accept it as it was. He had no power to change it anyway.

He stepped out and walked around the boat until he found Talya and Armando standing by the boat’s bar — a place he had yet to notice. They were excitedly talking to someone on the phone. It seemed they were nearing the end of the conversation, because as soon as he arrived, they stopped talking to whoever it was and began whispering enthusiastically to each other.

Odysseus walked up to them and passed the phone he had to Armando, with a very obvious look of confusion that washed over his earlier internal conflict. Talya explained everything.

Apparently, someone from the ‘EPIC cast crew’ was waiting for them. Well, not someone — three people. Talya and Eurylochus had tried to reach someone so that they could introduce him to more people. They intended to help him meet everyone, so Odysseus wasn’t entirely surprised or even that nervous at the thought of meeting people who represented those he once knew. He simply hoped nothing bad would happen and that there wouldn’t be any unpleasant surprises.

Talya and Armando were kind enough to give him their names, though they refused to share anything else.
Steven Dookie, Janani K. Jha, and Mason Olshavsky.

Odysseus could not stop thinking about what had happened before. It was all he had been thinking about. Even the knowledge of the three people’s names hadn’t successfully distracted his mind from wandering away from reality.

The king of Ithaca helplessly listened to Talya and Armando talking about some new project called Illium. Talya must have noticed his expression — they had been noticing it ever since they met him. Probably because he resembled their friend, and their expressions were slightly similar. She asked him if he had something to add or say.

“How does it feel to voice Circe or Eurylochus?” Odysseus asked them. They looked a bit confused, not knowing where the question was going. Usually, when someone asks for someone’s opinion, it’s natural to seek the answer that would please them most. And surely, that must have been why they asked why he asked. Though he was tempted to spill everything that had been going on, he wanted to hear their honest opinion and insisted on his first question.

“Well, many people say they feel some sort of connection with their character, which is natural. Especially when you’ve spent months learning who you’re impersonating — their emotions, their opinions. All of that is crucial when you want to know where to place emphasis in an emotion or an intonation. And singing Circe’s amazing — she has this girl-boss vibe that just struck.”

She wasn’t wrong. Odysseus thought back to his stay on her island. It had been extremely short, but she had imposed herself strongly enough to leave a lasting impact on him and his men. Yet Talya’s description of how she felt about voicing her seemed somewhat exaggerated — though who was he to judge something he had never done?

“I agree with her too. The proof is that, until today, we continue to impersonate our characters just for fun.” Armando agreed as well, which gave Odysseus even less ground to question it.

“Doesn’t it make you conflicted? That you’re associated with another identity? That people might not see you, but someone else? I would think it could destroy your sense of identity.”

He didn’t know where he was going with it or what he expected them to say. Secretly, he was probably trying to get them to say something he could relate to — something that would comfort him.

Talya and Armando looked at each other, sharing a glance that seemed to convey understanding — as if they had figured out what the issue was.
“Well… maybe having multiple identities isn’t a bad thing?” Talya started awkwardly. “In our case, it isn’t much of an issue. People know it’s just acting, and that we have private lives with different behavior. However…”

Odysseus looked at her, silently begging Armando to step in.

“I think your issue might be that you’re facing a reality crisis — or an existential one. I shouldn’t have let you watch EPIC: The Musical. Whatever it is, even if you are just a product of Jorge’s imagination, that doesn’t mean your world isn’t real. In many religions in our world, the universe was created by a god — and yet that doesn’t mean people walk around every day thinking their reality is fake. And even if nothing is real, if you can still move, talk, jump, feel, and run, then tell yourself that you’ll keep living in this dream like there’s no tomorrow.”

And after all that emotionally cringeworthy speech… Odysseus decided that all of it was stupid.

It was all so stupid — stupidly funny, even.

Because, honestly, that was just a simplified and clearer version of what he had already told himself. Yet somehow, it helped more now than it ever had before.

Maybe it was because someone else had said it. In some way, if you tell yourself that you’re smart, it’s harder to believe it than if a random person, who just saw you do something brilliant, tells you the same thing. Armando had laid out what Odysseus already knew: that it didn’t matter whether this was real or not. If he could live, choose, love, and hurt, then it was real enough.

What did it matter if he was a depiction of many different Odysseus figures but didn’t know which one was him? What did it matter if he was only someone’s pawn? He had something that felt like free will, and he had lived a hard life but also experienced the best moments one could ask for. That was enough for him. He had hugged his son and his wife and loved them with a profound emotion that felt true. So why did it matter whether the hug was real or not? If it wasn’t, then he thanked whoever had built his world — alongside Jorge — for making that embrace possible. And if someone ever tried to stop him from getting home, then like with Poseidon, he would fight tooth and nail to make it back.

He thanked Armando and Talya for helping him. They asked if anything else had happened, but now that his main issue was mostly resolved, he assured them that the knowledge wasn’t as important as before. They didn’t press further and were happy to have helped.

On the horizon, the coast of the infamous country appeared as a thin, straight line — with three EPIC cast members waiting impatiently at the shore.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Odysseus, Talya and Armando set their first steps on the land of America. They successfully passed without Odysseus being noticed or stopped by anyone.

The smell of the beach, salty and rough, reached their noses, and the sound of birds screamed in their ears. The long voyage transformed each unique trait of the sea into something very unpleasant for the three of them. While Odysseus was more than used to it and had a long list of uncomfortable memories related to the vast seas, this sailing made him decide that in no universe would he come to love the sea. He wasn’t, per se, ‘afraid’—that was too far-fetched—he was only displeased with all of his experience.

Armando and Talya didn’t have exactly the same feelings, but the long hours surrounded by a vast blue, a strong smell, a constant sound, and a sickening movement didn’t make them want to go back to relax at the beach yet. Currently, they walked around the streets of a state called Florida, looking around for a restaurant where their friends waited for them.

As they walked, Odysseus, curious as ever, observed his surroundings and absorbed the new setting he was discovering. The tall palm trees that reached the sky and the lined-up houses created a whole new environment. The streets were much wider than in Puerto Rico, and the pedestrian walk zone was also much bigger than in Ithaca. The cars had intriguing forms, shorter than what he had seen. And the buildings all had corresponding colours depending on the neighbourhood. The one that he was passing by was white

It was very sunny, and Talya—who comes from the United States—explained that since the country was vast, a few states were lucky enough to have a lot of sunny days. Though she had warned him that weather could always be unpredictable; anything could happen.

Odysseus had a strange desire to explore the whole world and see how each country had its part of uniqueness. He wanted to see the other continent he saw on the back of the dictionaries and meet new people. How he would have loved to bring his family to discover the wonders of this world and its technology. His son would have been more than overjoyed to travel with his family. Even if he hadn’t been much with him, his son looked like a person who would be interested in the idea.

They continued walking, leaving the boat and their parked car outside, until they found a restaurant. The restaurant had a weird name and flashy red and white colours, easily distinguishable from the others. Their entrance was greeted with the smell of oily and salty warm food and freshly made bread.

Apparently, he was about to taste one of humanity’s best recipes: burgers. After wandering around for a bit, they sat at a table where three other people—two boys and one girl—were waiting patiently on their phones. Talya immediately greeted them and started presenting all of them, pointing at each one and sharing their names.

After this quick introduction, Janani cleared all of Odysseus' wonders. She presented herself as her character, explaining that she was chosen to be Aphrodite’s voice and had quite fallen in love with her character. Funny joke. Mason told him that he was Tiresias, the blind prophet. Finally, Steven D greeted him with a very familiar voice, telling him that he was voicing Polites.
Steven D had his dead friend’s voice, a voice that was set to haunt him for the rest of his life apparently. The moment he started speaking, each syllable punched him right through the gut as a painful reminder of who he had lost.

He was at a loss for words, and straight after trying some small talk with the three new people, he focused on trying to take his order. Apparently, Janani had already come to this restaurant, so she was able to help Odysseus choose the first burger of his life.

While Janani showed him the options and explained their specialties, Odysseus' eyes kept slowly shifting toward Steven D before quickly looking back at the paper. It was striking how Steven made him think of Polites. While it was true that all of them looked and acted so much like the characters they impersonated, Steven was the closest in resemblance.

Physically, he shared some traits: same eyeglasses, same eyes, same facial hair, and same hair. But his behaviour was exactly like his friend’s. He felt like at any point, Steven would look at him and remind him to ‘greet the world with open arms’ before continuing his conversation with the others. His talk was soft and smooth, carrying no strong emotions. He was funny, joyful and energetic. Basically, each of his behaviours reminded him of the friend he lost.

The room was filled with people he knew—almost—but none of them could have given such a deep melancholy at the moment as Steven D. Janani wasn’t even someone he could recognize in the slightest.

The only time he had interacted with Aphrodite, the goddess of love, was when Athena called for her help in his name so that he could win Penelope’s heart. Their interaction lasted a few seconds. He simply asked her what Penelope wanted to hear and if her love was sincere too, and she responded affirmatively and advised him to go help Menelaus win Helen’s hand.
Mason had also barely any effect, including Talya. Apart from his shock over the relationship Talya and Jorge shared, Circe—Talya’s character—was only a stranger he met for a day. And the same could be said for Mason, who voiced Tiresias.

Armando was a bit more different and complex. His last moments with Eurylochus were still way too fresh for the emotions he had felt to have worn off. Going back to the animatics, it was amusing how none of them were able to depict his emotions during the ‘Thunder Bringer’ episode. He didn’t feel any ounce of happiness or regret. He felt maybe guilty and sad, but he didn’t regret it. It wasn't that Eurylochus didn’t matter—their memories had and would always have a place in his heart as well as the man. But he would never regret sacrificing something for his family. To be frank, Eurylochus didn’t seem to hate him for his choice. Even though his voice was laced with pain and hopelessness, his last moment before dying was with a smile that told him everything—like a little ‘Good Luck My Friend.’

And so, seeing Armando wasn’t as difficult or disturbing as with Steven D. The last encounter was much more chosen and even ended up with a better closure. His goodbye with Polites was brutal and unexpected, and the reunion with Steven D was, hence, just as brutal.

At each glance at Steven D, his melancholy deepened. After ordering, he couldn't continue sitting by with the presence of Steven D and excused himself. Without another word, he stood up and walked to one of the workers to ask where the restroom was.

The restroom was composed of one toilet, one sink, and one mirror. The moment he entered it, he locked the door, washed his face, then sat on the closed toilet in a position of defeat.
He sat there for a few minutes, trying to recollect his thoughts. He looked at himself in the mirror, exhausted and lost, far away from home.

He must have been in there for quite a long time as someone knocked on the door. A voice—he quickly recognized as Mason’s—asked him if he was okay.

Not wanting to be seen in his state, maybe to maintain a sense of privacy or simply a desire to keep his problems to himself, he forced himself to sound better and replied that he was okay. Feeling that it wasn’t enough to convince the new friend, he said that he was stuck and that he forgot how to flush the toilet. He stood up from the toilet, made sure it was well closed, and opened the door.

Mason entered without a thought and reminded him how the toilet functioned. Throughout his explanation, Odysseus pretended to be confused, then enlightened, and thanked him.
They walked back to the table and, right as they arrived, the burgers were served.

The burgers were not very good. Apparently, it was because he was used to a different diet, and that today, food was much more transformed, salty, and oily. Going from an extremely healthy diet of a king to an unhealthy one wasn’t easy. Everything that he had eaten in this world was salads and more traditional food that were usually not that unhealthy.

American ‘traditional’ food, also known as fast food, was in no way good for someone’s health—and something that Odysseus could not digest yet.

Safe to say, the king of Ithaca, hero of the Trojan War, once warrior of the mind and captain of six hundred men, spent the rest of the day throwing up in a plastic bag.

The feeling of the hot acid going up and out of his throat, as well as the sticky sweat dripping down his forehead and the burning sensation all over his body and empty stomach, was nothing compared to Steven D’s doing. As he threw up everything his body had to offer, Steven D was over his back, asking him careful questions about his well-being with some reassurance and taps on his back.

Each little tap made his body burn more, his heart heavier, and generally sicker. Every time his hand went down to reach his back, his memory remembered how the club went down, and down, and down—to innocent and naive Polites.

He wanted to shake him off, to tell him that he was making everything worse. But Steven D’s sincerity and nature made him stop. Odysseus was a weak man in strong armour. A weak man to his loved ones, surrounded by friends and family. Of course, he was capable of being ruthless, but one of the only defences against this ruthlessness is the gentleness of a person he loves and adores.

They went back to the car, all six of them, to drive to a hotel.

During the car ride, Janani was showing off some ‘TikToks’ of her, Mason and Steven D. Apparently, they had met up to make these TikToks and catch up.

The car ride was long, and once night arrived, they reached the hotel. It was incredibly tight and uncomfortable inside, especially since it was a five-place car and not a six-place.

The hotel was very nice and welcoming. It was a cheap kind of hotel, although not cheap enough for it to be disgusting, as Mason described. They wanted to be sure that no hotel insisted on withholding Odysseus' personal information or documents to get a room. They weren’t sure if a cheap hotel would insist as much as a more expensive one, but if it did, they could still try paying their way through.

Thankfully, the receptionist did not press too much nor care enough to insist and gave them three rooms with two beds each.

Steven D was going to propose to Odysseus that they share a room, however, before he could mutter a word, Odysseus requested to be with Mason for the night. As he got the keys and some explanation on how a modern hotel worked, he scurried back to his room without taking a glance at Steven D. He didn't want to see his disappointment—or whatever his face would show. He wouldn’t be able to take it.

Back in his room, he jumped onto his bed on his stomach and didn’t move. He did not move when the door opened to reveal Mason.

“Did not expect you to ask if you could stay with me. But I can’t say that I’m not happy.”

He barely moved his head to look at Mason.

“You must be exhausted from all the traveling. You should get some sleep. We’re going to stop somewhere rather noisy tomorrow, so you really need some rest.”
This did get Odysseus confused, but he did not say anything.

“There will be someone who’ll pick us up with another car, so we won’t be squeezed to death like today. Also, don’t worry, we won’t be arriving later than planned—with a quick stop. Either way, if we don’t stop, we might get into traffic.”

Odysseus only nodded to him and then told him he was tired and going to sleep. If they were going to talk, that would be tomorrow morning—after his emotional turmoil calms down and his body wakes up well-rested.

The funny thing is that he hadn’t slept yet, and it was past midnight. At first, he wanted to blame it on Mason—he was on his phone, making light and occasionally noises—but the light didn’t reach him, and the noises were so quiet he had to force himself to hear them.

He rolled onto his side multiple times, trying to get comfy and warm enough to sleep in the best bed he had ever laid in, but no position helped him.

His rolling in the bed must have made a lot of sound, as Mason peeked at him and noticed his failing attempt to fall asleep.

Mason asked him if he had something on his mind, if he wanted to talk it out. After days of emotional draining and a day emotionally complex, he decided to confess everything. And how good it felt to let everything out—the start was rough yet good.

After each word, he felt his heart be a little more free. When he felt his heart completely free from everything he had kept, Mason looked at him with a slight smile.

The rest of the time was spent talking about Steven D and Polites—of their similarities and differences. Whenever he heard how Steven D and Polites were different, Steven D became a new person to discover, with no memories attached to him. There would always be some similarities, but that did not stop them from being two different souls.

Obviously, healing from trauma did not happen in a single day. Obviously, it did not mean that once he saw Steven D this morning, everything would be a-okay. But things were better—and will be better.

The night proceeded with nothing much but calm snoring and sweet dreams.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

The morning was awkward. Very awkward. But he forced himself to act as if nothing from yesterday’s talk had been mentioned.

Around the table, everyone was excitedly talking about what they had prepared today to escape the huge morning traffic. They didn’t mention directly what it was; their small glances towards him every time they searched for vague groupings of words to describe the surprise made it plainly obvious that they were preparing something for him.

He ate his pancakes and talked to them about anything and everything. Though he would admit that he still didn’t talk much, too occupied with finishing his breakfast and fighting off sleepiness. His battle was shared with Mason, who also hadn’t slept much because of the night’s conversation. His head was nodding from the exhaustion of his nearly sleepless night.

As he ate his delicious pancake with blueberry and honey dripping from the top, his eyes lingered on Steven D, and he realized the man looked quite different.

He didn’t have Polites’ red band around his head, nor the olive-shaped visage, nor the unique slim Greek nose. If he didn’t have his voice or if no one had told him he was Polites, he felt he would be able to treat Steven D as a separate individual. He felt that after last night, his worldview had shifted. It had always been similar to this, but now it felt applicable to everyone.

Either way, Odysseus felt ready to talk to anyone, regardless of who they impersonated. He was a changed man who understood the matter. No more chapters about that useless talk.

He opened his mouth, ready to voice his next thought and start a conversation with Steven D, but closed it without a single sound.

His mind was simply blank. He had no idea what his last thought was or what he wanted to say. He had forgotten, but it didn’t matter. He could just come up with something else — something that wasn’t EPIC or Polites. He only had to force his suddenly blank mind into forming a minuscule idea.

To his right, he heard someone mention a job. That was what he was going to discuss with Steven D — his daily activities.

Apparently, Steven D liked to sing, practice Brazilian jujutsu, or do anything related to technology. But currently, most of his focus was on some tough studies to become a doctor.

“Would you be interested in hearing a popular story passed down to jujutsu students?” Odysseus nodded, intrigued. “No one knows if it’s true, but it is said that the first moves in jujutsu were created by Japanese nomads. They were monks who believed that inflicting pain was prohibited. Monks usually live a tough lifestyle with different rules based on their beliefs. So they vowed and promised to never fight. But one day, on their journey, they encountered burglars who jumped on them, demanding their possessions. The monks refused to let themselves be harmed or robbed. And that was when the first jujutsu move was born. Hoping to stop the fight by making the enemy renounce, they destabilized the thieves and inflicted the least amount of pain necessary to make them give up. From that day, they studied the body and came up with many techniques. The knowledge was passed down to the samurai and, through the years, traveled around the world. In Brazil, jujutsu became a new variant — a new style of fighting — and thus was born Brazilian Jujutsu.”

It was certainly an interesting story. In Odysseus’ mind, the origins of jujutsu opened up a whole new world — a place where mercy was valued, striking people’s minds and hearts in its own way. A place where pain and violence weren’t accepted, and conflict was handled through a method other than ruthlessness.

It was still a vulgar story — no one knew if it was true — and its only validity came from the last person who shared it. Still, monks, samurai, Japan, and their beliefs were all real elements that existed in this world.

Did they exist in his world too? It didn’t matter if they were far and unreachable. Their philosophy would remain theirs, and his would remain his.

The rest of the conversation wasn’t of much importance. Odysseus had a good laugh at all the stories they shared. Unintentionally, their talk drifted to the time they had spent making EPIC: The Musical.

They had so many different stories, ranging from Steven D’s wedding to the premiere party issues. Some were interesting; others were downright hilarious.

They were currently in the car. To be more precise, Armando, Talya, and Odysseus had taken the car they brought and left Janani, Mason, and Steven D at the hotel. Someone else would pick them up later so there would be more space during the ride.

The whole car ride was loud. Talya, to “prepare” them for the surprise, kept playing some catchy music on repeat from the same singer. He didn’t understand why music was such a crucial part of the surprise, but he guessed it only added to the mystery.

He looked out the window as the city transformed into an endless rocky desert. The nude orange-pink landscape captivated him — not a single hint of green in sight. The air was dry, unlike the humid air he was used to in his world.

Some cacti greeted him with their arms up in the sky, and the occasional tumbleweed followed the car at full speed. Every two hours, they stopped for a short break. During that time, he walked around and touched the new form of nature — with its different shades of red and hard sand.

While he casually explored, the others drank water or refueled the car. Armando and Talya switched between the backseat and the driver’s seat before continuing the drive.

After many hours of watching the landscape unfold its tiny secrets — from hidden scorpions to soaring eagles — they finally arrived at the city they were heading to.

They hadn’t waited long when they reached the entrance of something. Mason, Janani, and Steven D had somehow arrived before them, accompanied by someone with a rather bulky presence. He was much taller than anyone except Armando. He had a charismatic aura and a confident stance.
This new man introduced himself as Luke Holt. Though his voice had a hint of familiarity, Odysseus couldn’t pinpoint where it came from. He voiced his confusion, and Luke only laughed.

Then, suddenly, Luke deepened his voice and asked, “Is that better?” And it was. How could Odysseus not recognize the voice of the killer of his best friend, Eurylochus? In front of him stood none other than Zeus — or rather, the one who voiced him. Odysseus reminded himself that each person was their own individual.

Luke and Armando didn’t seem disturbed by each other’s presence, even though they should have been. Apparently, that whole speech about feeling a deep connection with their characters had its limits.

Janani pushed them quickly toward the entrance of the place, urging them to get the best spots.

They entered, and Odysseus was confused by the sight. They were in a theater, but it had no seating or typical layout. The floor was flat, and at the end stood a stage.

On the stage were a bunch of objects he recognized as instruments. He recognized the guitars and the drums, but the rest didn’t strike any familiarity. The strangest object was a standing stick with a ball on top of it, alone in front of the other instruments. The metallic rod glowed under a bright spotlight, giving it an almost angelic aura.

Yet as he approached, the “sparks” were revealed to be dust, and suddenly the rod looked like nothing more than an ordinary, slightly odd stick. It looked like an outcast — rejected, bathed in light that only emphasized its loneliness.

From far away, people saw many things. But light didn’t always reveal the truth — it distorted it.

Funny how nature and surroundings seem to communicate metaphorical messages when everything seems normal. In subtle ways, the world nudges you toward truth through secrets and symbols. Like a mirror, it reflects your world — the one you’ve authored — revealing both your characters and your mind.

Odysseus felt exposed. As if the world had heard his conversations, seen his journey, and decided to guide him gently toward a frozen, warm truth.
He was pulled from his thoughts when the others called him.

Two women approached. Before walking toward them, he glanced one last time at the metallic rod. It no longer looked magical, but still felt familiar — still misunderstood, like him.

He rejoined the group and met Anna Lea and Kira Jayne. Kira was hard to place at first, but after some guessing, she revealed herself to be Scylla — a monster. Before he could comment, Anna asked if he could guess who she was.

She didn’t need to ask twice. Her voice was all he had dreamed of for twenty years. Hearing it healed him — not from a device, not from a dream copycat or a siren — but in real life. He couldn’t stop himself. Step by step, he moved toward the woman who carried the voice of his beloved. His arms lifted, his eyes filled with tears. His lips trembled with her name, unable to utter it from fear and pain.

He hugged her tightly. Only after a few seconds did he pull back, apologizing as he realized she was a stranger.

“Penelop—” Anna looked more than surprised, perhaps even uncomfortable. Odysseus felt a wave of guilt crash over him. His mind must have been playing tricks. What he saw in front of him was not Penelope — just someone who reminded him of her. Even so, Anna didn’t look exactly like what he thought he saw.

He could only think of Song 40, “Would You Fall in Love With Me Again,” and all it implied.

In the back of his mind, he remembered what Mason had told him — what they had discussed. Slowly, he calmed his racing heart and thoughts.

As he settled, his face burned with embarrassment. He had hugged a complete stranger. He sincerely apologized, and Anna Lea, after seeing his embarrassment, simply laughed and said she understood. She accepted his apology and told him to just be more careful.

Behind her, he noticed Steven D, Luke, and Armando trying not to laugh, while Talya, Kira, and Janani simply smiled. He was convinced his face had turned bright red.

They waited there for a couple of minutes for the “surprise,” and during that time, the room slowly filled up. He finally understood what they meant by “getting the best spots.”

People were chatting about someone named MICO. Mostly girls were fangirling and talking about how good-looking he was or how amazing his music sounded.

Odysseus quickly concluded that the surprise was going to be someone singing — probably the same person they had been listening to in the car. Judging by how passionate the fans were, he must have been quite charming and talented.

In this world, music was mostly used to share emotions or morals. It wasn’t commonly used to tell stories — although that still existed in projects like EPIC. That, Odysseus thought, might be the biggest difference between a singer and a bard. Not only were they from two different timelines, but they also served different purposes for their audience.

In an instant, the whole room went dark. The crowd fell silent. Everyone turned their eyes to the stage.

One light turned on. Then a second. Then a third. The lights revealed a group of young singers on stage.

The one at the center walked to the metallic rod and spoke into it. His voice was much louder than Odysseus expected, yet no one seemed surprised by the volume. The man greeted everyone and introduced himself as MICO, tonight’s singer.

Strangely, this first impression made Odysseus think back to every time he had met a cast member from EPIC: The Musical.

Then the music began — and it was entrancing. Loud, raw, full of depth and emotion. Stronger than what he’d heard in the car. Every vibration resonated deep within him, stirring memories he had long buried. He couldn’t help but smile and lose himself in every word sung by the performer.

He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

He felt fifteen again. A teenager, just learning what life was, what love was, what hardship meant. Every lyric reminded him of his struggle to win the love of his life.

For a moment, he forgot that he was the only one past thirty in the room. He felt like one of them — part of them.

The others must’ve felt the same, because suddenly Anna Lea jumped up and screamed jokingly, “THAT’S MY SON!”

For a second, Odysseus was confused. The singer looked the same age as Anna Lea — how could he be her son? How could she claim him like that?

Then, as the wheels turned in his mind, he realized who was actually singing. He must not have recognized him because of a similar trick that Luke had pulled — or maybe because of the metallic rod’s distracting light. But now, it was clear.

His excitement faded as he listened more closely to the lyrics — how sad they were, how they seemed to speak from personal experience. He couldn’t help but wonder how his real son might be feeling. Has his son also gone through difficult times? Even love?

Next to him, Luke shook his shoulder with excitement, smiling wide and singing the lyrics at the top of his lungs. And suddenly, Odysseus’s feet were back on the ground. He forgot every worry as he let himself sink into the rhythm and melody of the song. After a few hours, the “concert” ended. They waited for the crowd to leave so Odysseus could meet MICO behind the curtain. They stepped onto the stage — a once-in-a-lifetime experience for Odysseus — and finally met MICO.

Before anyone could speak, MICO immediately told them he preferred to be called Miguel. He didn’t want his stage name connected to anything related to EPIC: The Musical.

This left a strong impression on Odysseus. Still, MICO — Miguel — turned out to be a very relaxed guy with a great sense of humor. He threw out jokes like his pockets were filled with perfectly scripted comedy lines for every moment.

Miguel wouldn’t be able to join them afterward, as he was in the middle of a tour across the United States. Still, he appreciated their visit and thanked them warmly. He offered to walk them back to the car, packing up some of his things while leaving the rest to his band.

As they walked, Odysseus lightly pulled Kira aside and waited for the rest of the group to reach the car.

He confronted her about Miguel being Telemachus — and she only chuckled. She confirmed it and explained that the whole group had made a bet on how long it would take him to catch the clues and figure it out.

Odysseus was stunned. He did feel like they had been playing with him — especially since every emotional whirlwind he had recently experienced was, in some way, triggered by them. But at the same time, he felt grateful. Grateful that he had been able to see a shadow — hear a faint echo — of his family once more, and meet such exceptional people.

They both walked back to the cars where the rest were waiting. Miguel was about to enter a cab when he waved goodbye to everyone and shouted a quick apology for not being able to spend more time with them.

He stepped into the cab, and they all left for their next destination.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

They have been for a while in the car, hours if Odysseus must say. This time, not only were Talya and Armando in the car, discussing once more their plans for the “trip,” but Janani decided to come in their car too.

She sat in the back seat with Odysseus and decided to make him discover the full extent of the internet and its “culture.” The rest were taking another road to deposit Luke. He had some work to do, something called “streaming.”

Janani was making him discover her own songs and every achievement and work she had done throughout the year with a very proud tone. It was clear that most of the EPIC: The Musical crew were actual artists or simple people with a schedule and a work, and every day Odysseus discovered a bit more about it.

Slowly, Janani’s conversation shifted from talking about her job to sharing her inspirations, then to classic movies and books that everyone seemed to know. She especially loved Greek and survival-themed stories — a taste reflected in her own books, songs, and creative projects — though she appreciated other genres as well. Often, she would show him clips from films and series, explaining how much they inspired her and why they mattered.

From what he gathered, the internet had made the world strangely uniform. It gave people the ability to share anything instantly with the whole planet, but in doing so, it shaped a generation that read the same books, watched the same movies, and laughed at the same jokes. Diversity seemed to shrink, replaced by a global sameness.

Yet in that sameness, “stars” emerged — real people whose work shone brightly enough to gather communities around them. The internet united people around these lights, creating peace for some, chaos for others. It was a paradox: it fought individuality by flattening culture into shared trends, yet it also celebrated it by allowing exceptional voices to rise.

Jorge Rivera Herrans was one of these stars. His work radiated outward, and Odysseus — a character he had created — was one ray of that light. People flocked to such light like fireflies, and some, inspired, kindled their own glow. Those new lights were similar yet distinct, their brilliance born from inspiration rather than imitation.

In truth, Odysseus was starting to wonder if he might be more than just Jorge’s light. Was he also made from the scattered reflections of many fireflies — countless interpretations and reimaginings of Jorge’s work? Could he even be real if he was a patchwork of others’ visions? He did not yet know the answer.

He needs to stop thinking about that, he did already go over that actually in the boat.

The internet was, in Janani’s words, her “best enemy” — something magical yet dangerous, a place of both light and shadow. And though she barely touched on the shadows surrounding Jorge himself, the contrast between brightness and darkness was always there, lingering at the edges.

She continued yapping, talking about the last movies or songs that were released, how everyone was talking about it — something about a “K-Pop Demon Hunter” and “Illium.” It was a bit difficult to follow what she was saying when she was changing topics so quickly over things he didn’t have the cultural reference for.

When he expressed his issues, she assured him that it was going to come with time and repetition, so Odysseus listened and tried to connect the few dots between the movies, elements that were repeated that could potentially help with the context of each word he did not understand.

The car ride was long. Talya promised that the next car rides would be done mostly during the night and that all stops would be made to enjoy modern places he had yet to see. They were halfway through, and out of the 5-day-long drive — yes, 5-day-long drive confirmed — they were already on the third day.

They stopped at a nice cool park. There was a lot of greenery, not as much as back home, but still a lot considering everything he had seen so far in this world. Some people were running next to him with their pet dogs, others were walking and talking with an acquaintance.

After walking and enjoying the fresh air, the smell of flowers and herbs — reminding him of home — and the silence of nature, he felt himself slowly relax. The others must have too, based on how their muscles seemed much looser.

A lot of people seemed to be in the same state; even parents watching over their kids playing in the playground looked somewhat relaxed. Guess that was why parks were created and enjoyed so much by everyone — they provided people with the safe place they needed.

Suddenly, a hand came to his shoulder and grabbed him roughly.

Odysseus’ reflexes activated like a switch. He twisted his body around, doing a 180° to face the stranger. He first saw the stranger’s head — and the smile of someone who clearly wasn’t worried about being punched.

“Hello, darling!”

This was unexpected.

It wasn’t because he recognized the voice. It wasn’t because the person in front of him looked exactly the same as his great-grandfather. It wasn’t because this stranger had the same personality as the one and only god of thieves.

This was Hermes. Hermes was in front of him, wearing clothes different from what Odysseus was used to seeing him in, but without a doubt, this was Hermes.

“Hermes?”

The man gave the same iconic smile, the same usual facial expression — one that indicated a taste, a love, a desire for mischief.

But, as this man made clear, he was not Hermes. Which seemed absurd, and for a second, Odysseus was willing to believe that Hermes had managed to come to this world to create chaos and had decided to pretend to be a normal citizen — or the man who sang his voice.

Just to be sure, Odysseus tried to convince “Troy” — horrible name, and definitely one Hermes would have chosen to slightly torment Odysseus — that he knew the truth: he was Hermes. But Hermes in disguise only kept laughing with that damn laugh, insisting that even though he was extremely attached to his character, making him almost his mascot, he was not Hermes.

Odysseus refused to believe it until Janani applied slight pressure to his shoulder, similarly to what Hermes in disguise had done, to root him back to reality. He looked at her face, and upon noticing the strain of a smile that contained a laugh, he believed “Troy” and not Hermes.

And here he thought EPIC: The Musical had no cast member with striking similarities to the people he knew to offer. He was wrong, because here was “Troy,” who wasn’t Hermes.

With the new man, they talked, trying to get to know each other better. Funny enough, Troy had taken a liking to mentioning Hermes in all of his videos. He made songs, and his latest one, “Struck,” was going to be published. He had worked especially hard on this one with someone else.

He refused to give much information about this “someone else,” directly hinting that it was an EPIC: The Musical cast member. This person was finishing his own work before coming to join the band.

The rest of the walk was peaceful. On their way, they stopped in a few places — a small museum that showcased stories once hidden under the earth.

Behind the glass, he saw armours of his army that had somehow traveled miles to arrive in this country. He saw skeletons of animals he had never seen — that no one had ever seen. The museum was grand for how petite they insisted it was. Pictures projected him into a new universe each time, a timeless souvenir of what was lost. Drawings of what dirt had tried to erase made him travel through the lives of ancestors working, walking, singing, eating normally.

His eyes widened, seeing his own epoch but also the deepest parts of time far before him, acknowledging human evolution and capacities through time to become better.

In each room they entered, a little voice resonated, whispering the forgotten tales in a smooth tone. The names of prestigious men echoed in the air, forever to be remembered for their bravery.

Replicas of monuments destroyed by human selfishness glowed in their stands, shining with an unknown knowledge — the Colossus, Great Pyramid, Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Statue of Zeus, Temple of Artemis, Mausoleum, and Lighthouse of Alexandria.
His glances lingered on the most familiar ancient wonders of the world.

His people, his world, had left a footprint after their disappearance — a single last mark as goodbye. And while time and nature had tried to cover it, like they had with the monument of Ozymandias, humanity still fought to give back the honour and recognition some works deserved.
Odysseus was amazed by the prowess of modern technology. To be able to display such a detailed image of the past from dust was unknown to his time. In his world, what they knew was the present, myths of the past, and prophecies of the future.

He exited the museum with more questions than ever — questions he had never asked for or expected. They went back to the park and continued their walk.

Talya slowly walked up to him. “What do you think of the museum? You probably do not have that back from where you were.”

He wondered, thinking back to his experience to get an overall feeling during their visit. One word came to his mind — breathtaking. If he ever returned home and discussed building their own museum, people would look at him like a crazy king. It would have worked in his favour the day Palamedes came to get him for the war. They would all assume that not only was his desire impossible to achieve, but also futile and useless.

Yet no one in his world would understand the wisdom and thrill of going to such a calm place, the experience of seeing things you could not understand. It almost looked barbaric, with how different from his own culture it was. The only reason he wouldn’t have called it such was because the narrator had a way of showing the ancient people’s knowledge and way of thinking.

He expressed his thoughts to Talya, who chuckled lightly, agreeing that the museum had this effect. But most people found it boring. Those things were usually taught at school, and today’s level of tolerance made diversity much easier to accept and mundane. Seeing the skeleton of a species that had long disappeared interested only a few — young people or adults who sought knowledge.

Back in his world, those sorts of things were found only in speeches in the streets, in philosophers, theatres, or even old townsfolk who had seen time pass. The one who really had it all was Athena — his old mentor, the embodiment of wisdom itself.

He was one of the lucky ones to have her as a friend. And his son would also be able to take advantage of his relationship with Athena.

From their last encounter, the goddess of wisdom seemed to have changed for the better, and she had always had a soft spot for Telemachus. He had no doubt that the future promised nothing bad for the two — as mentor and student, and as two friends.

All of his thinking made him quite sad — he wasn’t going to see any of them anytime soon. So he quickly changed the subject and asked to know more about Talya’s relationship with Jorge.

Her expression softened at the thought. She spoke with complete adoration, telling him everything about her boyfriend. He loved animals and would always sing to them like a Disney princess. The funny part was that the animals would not run away, but would either stand still or even approach him, as if he were casting a spell.

He was extremely funny and would always tell her how much he loved her.

He would tell her she was perfect in every place and way possible, even on the internet.

They had met through EPIC, and at first she was only a simple auditionee who wanted to play as Penelope, then switched as a joke for Zeus, and finally ended up with Circe’s role.

Odysseus was surprised at how deeply they loved each other — it almost reminded him of him and Penelope in some way. He asked how she was able to choose Jorge among her suitors and how her father had approved their relationship without asking directly for a marriage.

Talya looked him straight in the eyes. She laughed.

Because apparently, in this day and age, hundreds of men did not seek the hand of one woman with power — which Talya considered her influence on the internet. Forced and arranged marriages were less common and, in most places, prohibited. Relationships were created based on mutual feelings, like Penelope and him, and both had to give their consent to the situation of their relationship.

Parents sometimes still had a say, but it was much less imposed than in his time. They gave their children the freedom to be with whoever they wanted, except in some unfortunate cases.

Couples could stay together and progress at their own rhythm. They could remain boyfriend and girlfriend — which wasn’t another way of saying fiancés — then move on to being engaged, and then get married.

While he was trying to digest the new information, Hermes in disguise jumped at him, ready to show him his new lyrics for his next song.

Ironically, Hermes in disguise making music sounded like something the real Hermes would be doing. Knowing how he had created the first lyre, and how he was Apollo’s favourite brother, it suited the disguised Hermes’ personality.

A pen and small notebook in hand, he said he felt his next song was going to be fabulous. He said — and Odysseus could quote — that this song would be one of the best of the best, “the most scrumptious.”

Right now, he was trying to decide what rhythm and instrument he should include that would fit the lyrics and themes.

After finding what to accompany the lyrics with, he only had to record everything, edit, modify, and advertise the song with the help of Hermes or someone else. He still didn’t know if he was going to advertise it like usual or change techniques.

The rest of the walk was filled with small talk about the music industry. They slowly came down, closer to them, as if trying to listen in on their conversation. The sky became a beautiful red and orange painting. The clouds, like a chameleon, changed colour under the red-orange light of the sun, while still keeping their lighter shade of white. Behind the group, the moon rose into the sky, adding its own colours to the ceiling. Where the dark blue of the night and the leftovers of the day met, a pink-peach appeared.
Their walk slowed down, letting the chill of the night come slowly and the warmth of the day fade away. Their muttering quieted, letting the silence reign in the park.

The park itself was slowly becoming empty, and the lamps turned on, offering their own light as an attempt to replace the sun.

In the dark part of the park, already claimed by the night, a man walked out.

The group immediately recognized him, and each of them went to greet him excitedly. From the excited greetings, Odysseus discovered that some of the cast were meeting him for the first time.

Hermes in disguise quickly pushed Odysseus and the man closer, ready to introduce them.

This man, Steven Rodriguez, was the one who had worked with Hermes in disguise on his last song, “Struck.”

Steven R. said “hello,” and before he could even say another word, Odysseus took the pen that stuck out of Troy’s pocket, opened it up, and pointed it at Steven R.’s throat.

“You.”

Steven R. gave an awkward smile — a nervous and scared one — as he slowly backed away with his hands in the air. He gave a help signal to Troy, stuck in this situation.

Janani and Anna Lea ran up to them, ready to take Odysseus away from Steven R. and make him release the pen. Armando was somewhere else with the bystanders, trying to stop a few of them from either calling the police or filming the potential fight.

The rest were just trying to calm down the situation, almost screaming words at Odysseus, who could not understand anything. His sole focus was on the monster in front of him — the one that had made him a monster, the one that had taken him away from home for twenty years.

He wanted to tear his throat out, to stab him six hundred times again for everything he had done, to let his rage rampage like it once had.

He was then turned around and pulled away from Steven R. by someone — probably Janani or Anna Lea.

“We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

“We need to talk.”

Odysseus’ eyes focused on the man in front of him, partially forgetting Poseidon’s presence. As the man saw his troubled look, ignited with rage and a murderous compulsion, he started taking weird deep breaths, exaggerating each one of them, and motioning with his hand to do the same. Though it looked extremely weird, similar to a ritual, he trusted him and copied him.

At each breath, he felt new sensations around him, peaceful like nature. He felt his racing heart take a shy walk, beating slower and slower. He opened his eyes, which he didn’t even feel he had closed, and looked at the man in front of him who stopped breathing out loud.

He gave a look that seemed to ask if he was better, if he was able now to control himself and his emotions, and Odysseus gave him a slow nod. He did feel more in control.

After a few silences, the man spoke.

“Did you already forget what we talked about in the hotel?”

Mason immediately went into scolding once they were both calmed down, insisting on how Poseidon and Steven R. were two different individuals that deserved to be treated differently.

Odysseus could only listen to his scolding like a child, listening to how Mason found every single way to phrase his opinion.
And he couldn’t take it anymore. So Odysseus talked back.

Because, why did Steven R. even decide to portray such an evil man? He chose to sing as Poseidon, he, with his own free will, decided to give life to Poseidon.

He thought back on what Talya and Armando previously said. You learn to know and become your character. You build a connection with it as you impersonate. And while he found it ridiculous, in each meeting, he found the personalities of the people he encountered within them.

The previous questions of whether they already had the personality and EPIC simply guided them, helped them discover who they were, or if EPIC influenced them and directly gave it, did not matter.

He was like Poseidon.

Odysseus could not tolerate someone who had decided to participate in the making of someone’s existence when it resulted in his situation.

Steven R. brought, in some way, hell to his life. Whether it was intentional or not, consciously or not, he could not simply overlook it. Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves, and he was going to have a taste of his own medicine.

He was basically the one who sung his tortures, the one who sung his suffering with a smile.

And Steven R. was proud of it. He was proud of being Poseidon. The proof was his very presence. He came knowing what he did to him, looking so smugly.

He came with this smile he saw in his darkest nightmares, the same smile as the personification of his misery, the same face as his predator, the same voice as the man who laughed at his suffering.

He felt as if he was living one of his nightmares, like a lucid nightmare suddenly come to life.

As he spoke, nothing mattered but Mason in front of him. In moments of intense emotions, it seemed that his brain was only able to focus on one person. He didn’t care that the others heard his thoughts, his hatred, his pain.

Mason looked at him with a face he couldn’t decipher. It was a mix of disappointment but a more mature one, a more controlled one. His face contorted into a strange emotion, as if he didn’t dare to show it truly because he was dealing with something else. As if he wanted to show his disappointment, but couldn’t as he was facing an adult.

So Mason threw back his own argument, in a controlled voice.

Steven R. could be anyone, someone was bound to take the role. Someone was bound to sing those verses and laugh at his pain. Steven R. was only lucky, or unlucky, to have the talent to sing Poseidon’s voice.

At the end, he was just a singer that found his passion not in making a character he didn’t know existed, but in singing and having fun.

Mason quickly rectified that because no one knew he existed, he had no value. It is just that people do not automatically seek to prevent their favorite character from suffering. They feel compassion at most.

Either way, the characters are not the voice actors. They can be similar but different. And Mason assured him that every single thing Poseidon has done would have never crossed Steven R.’s mind. Every individual is their own, no matter the influence they had. Someone’s choice was theirs and only theirs.

Mason took a breath, going back to his technique to calm himself.

Moreover, Odysseus was nothing without Poseidon.

Odysseus didn’t exist without the story, and Poseidon was part of it.

Odysseus existed because a man, thousands of years ago, wrote a story where he had to travel through obstacles mostly given by Poseidon. Odysseus existed because a man called Jorge decided to recycle the idea and made Poseidon the main obstacle.

Poseidon was literally defining his existence; his past, his future, his personality, and his today.

Not only that, but why was Steven R. accused of making his suffering a reality when he didn’t even make the story? Homer should be the one to be accused for his misery. Heck, Jorge should be accused. Steven R. was being wrongly accused over something he had no control over.

Mason looked at him straight in the eyes and muttered a few words that struck.

“You are in denial.”

Odysseus had never truly recovered from his deep thoughts. He had been directly accepting without a thought, without processing it. Mason was even daring and proclaimed he was grieving.

Passing from denial to anger to bargaining, it was clear as day.

Mason proposed that he regularly talk to him or others about his real thoughts. And to think about what he had been thinking without a thought, what he had been ignoring.

It is easy to just accept when the risks weren’t high. But when his body saw what he considered a threat, acceptance wasn’t enough of a barrier to control him.

At those words, Odysseus felt himself shatter like weak thin glass. Strangely, this felt similar to his fight with Athena. He felt projected into his past.

He felt lonely.

No matter how much Mason made sense, he couldn’t get over the fact that Steven R. was Poseidon. That he was here doing well. Mason was probably right; his acceptance had reached its limit.

The rest of the walk was quiet.

They weren’t returning to the car, which was slightly surprising to Odysseus, who was certain they were going to resume the road to Jorge.

More surprisingly, Steven R. was sticking with them.

Though he could see he was extremely close and comfortable with the others, he could also see that he didn’t really want to stay here with him.

Good.

Aside, Mason was talking with Steven D. Another thing he couldn’t bear was how Steven R. and Steven D. were sharing the same name. As if they weren’t oxymorons—one the personification of the philosophy “Ruthlessness is mercy,” and the other the representation of his motto “Greet the world with open arms.”

The contrast between them gnawed at him, like two roads branching endlessly before his feet—mercy or truth, trust or suspicion. And Odysseus, as always, chose neither road fully, but walked the shadow between.

Obvious to Odysseus, Mason and Steven D. talked about his last outburst. Actually, Mason was confessing his guilt, feeling as if he went overboard, especially with how he reminded Odysseus of his existence.

He felt as if he was too harsh, too brutal with the truth. But Steven D. simply reassured him that he had said only the truth. While the truth hurts, it is important to acknowledge it. What to do with it concerns only the receivers.

Back to Odysseus, he walked alone, following the others, watching like a spectator. As he saw them, new emotions sparked from within, a hatred. A hatred for everything that happened to him, to those who made who he was.

He thought about this ‘Jorge’ who wrote his demise, who let everything happen. His mind wandered back to what Mason had said, reason and emotions clashing between each other when he tried to meditate on his words.

He couldn’t think straight, and within internal chaos, he chose to give up and to keep it locked within him. No one needed to know how he felt. Not only was it irrelevant, but hatred can only bring more hatred. And while he wasn’t opposed to it—ruthlessness was mercy upon ourselves, and it was the way the world goes—he did not want to inflict justice unjustly. The person that had to receive his rage would be the one who deserved it.

In his solitary walk, Hermes in disguise ran up to him.

As his thoughts tangled deeper into contradictions, a sudden voice tore through them, sharp and unexpected. It wasn’t the voice of a god, but the voice of the one who often carried their words.

“You do know there are other people to meet?” he asked. Apparently, they had been talking among themselves about whether or not he should meet the other cast members. They had come to the decision to not make him meet the others because of the risks. At least he wouldn’t be able to meet them except if he changed.

At this point, the encounters were more for the cast members and not Odysseus. As understandable as it was, Odysseus didn’t know what to think about it.

Looking at Troy, the only thought he had was how Hermes in disguise basically betrayed him. Troy and the others betrayed his trust. They all knew his life, and yet let him come.

He was reliving in his head the worst moment of his life because they had let him meet him. They called Steven R. and invited him to their travel.

He hoped Steven R. wouldn’t be coming in the car or with them until they reached Jorge.

Armando joined him and Troy, adding to what Hermes in disguise mentioned. Many still hoped that he would get better with Poseidon; others still wanted to meet him.

He ignored him and followed the group until they reached a huge building with a word on it: Mall.

In front of it, a man waved his hands and ran up to him with a bright smile, shouting a friendly “Hey!” before running up to them.
Once he reached them, he casually checked and hugged them. Standing in front of Odysseus, he let out a screech of joy before hugging him as if they were best friends since birth.

Odysseus did not recognize him in the slightest—not his personality, not his appearance, not even his voice.

At his confusion, the man chuckled once more before asking if he recognized him. He quickly took a much deeper voice and laughed right after. Knowing that Odysseus couldn’t possibly know him, he spared him more confusion and introduced himself as Earle Gresham Jr., or Ares.

The man, Earle, was extremely excited and had this warm energy that didn’t quite exactly match what he had thought of Ares.
Yet something told him that Ares wasn’t that far from him in terms of personality.

Odysseus had been walking around the Mall by himself. There were quite a lot of shops that offered a wide variety of products.
He had been looking for souvenirs he could potentially sneak with him for his wife and son. He had some couple buckles the others gave him; he didn’t know how much exactly though.

For now, he picked some nice small figurines of famous places all around the world as well as some cozy plushies. To be honest, it wasn’t his fault. The plushies were way too soft not to take. Either way, he had no doubt his wife would love it. Anything for his wife and her future desires, and this plushie, if she knew the distance of it, would definitely be on the list.

He took some books with him for his son. He sadly didn’t know him well enough to know his interests; however, with books, you could rarely deceive someone. If the story wasn’t good, he would ask the translator to rewrite the book differently.

The only issue resided in finding a translator to rewrite at least the original story in Greek, but he had no doubt that he would succeed in solving the issue. He was Odysseus, the cunning man.

While walking, every reminder of love he placed in his bag, another reminder of war waited for him outside. As if the Mall itself had conspired against him, his wandering eyes were caught by a display that promised not joy, but power.

As he looked around, a shop caught his eye.

This shop offered weird black objects that were extremely long, almost arm length. Driven by curiosity, he entered the shop and looked around.

It was a bit empty compared to the other shops, which only intrigued him more.

Odysseus walked up to the counter and asked what the man was selling.

The man answered with weird words, something along the lines of Glock, Smith & Wesson, and Taurus.

Odysseus asked what they were, and the man looked at him with a deadpan expression, on the verge of confusion and bewilderment. He slowly explained that he was selling guns, weapons.

Odysseus entered the shop with curiosity and came out with a Glock 19 with a dozen rounds of ammo.

Somewhere else in the mall, not that far from Odysseus, Steven R. shivered.

The weight of the weapon settled in Odysseus’ hand like an old companion. Another man felt that weight press against his spirit without ever seeing it.

Somehow, he knew he was in danger and that it was coming for him soon.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

They arrived back at the meeting point after hours of walking around and having fun. Odysseus and Steven R. were honestly having a great time. That is, until now. The air was tense and, accompanied by the fuzzy noise in the background, awkward.

Everyone was looking at him and Steven R. with some kind of hope, as if they were the miracle they had been praying for. Steven R., next to him, still carrying the bags of souvenirs he had previously bought — the rest filled with food and random objects — was frozen.

His face didn’t seem to be illuminated with hope; he was struck with some kind of horror. It translated a simple message: they were screwed.

Odysseus looked at him, confused. He looked at the others, whose faces slowly expressed a familiar fear and desperation.

Not even a few minutes after they arrived, after they saw the others, after their faces changed from hopeful to troubled, Odysseus was about to pass out.

You had to be kidding him.

After buying the gun, he was walking around with it in his plastic bag, looking at the variety of things the shop was offering.

He didn’t have much left ever since he had bought the weapon and, to be quite honest, he was getting hungry.

He was so hungry he bet he could eat a whole cow.

Distracted by flashy shops, restaurants, and hunger, he didn’t look in front of him.

For his defense, there was this shop that sold some weird soap with interesting colors and shapes. From it, the whole shop was emitting this particular odor that filled his nose. Nothing similar to his soap made from animal grease, that’s for sure.

That was when he bumped into none other than Steven R. It was as if someone was writing this passage and intentionally decided he had to suffer.

They both stood up from the ground where they had fallen and took one look into the other’s eyes in despair. It was clear neither of them wanted to see the other.

Odysseus’ hand slowly entered his bag to grip his gun for protection. He felt the grounding warmth of the loaded gun between his fingers, and he suddenly felt much safer.

The first words that immediately left Odysseus’ mouth were a warning: “I have a gun.” His eyes warned him not to try anything, not even a single abrupt movement.

Steven R.’s eyes widened at the information. He took a deep breath and raised his hands upwards in surrender.

It was clear that he wasn’t feeling comfortable or calm from the obvious glistening sweat on his forehead. His facial expression showed clear fear, nervousness, and anxiousness. Yet he maintained a calm and controlled posture, aware of the danger in front of him.

“Okay.”

Odysseus looked at him, flabbergasted to say the least. He was expecting much more — something violent. But it wasn’t the case. He found in front of him a man, calm, scared, and controlled. His fingers relaxed a bit more, letting the gun go slightly as his dumbfounded expression took control of his body.

It felt surreal. Poseidon — Steven R. — was going to let him be in such a vulnerable position.

What happened to “Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves”? What happened to destroying any obstacles and dangers to assure your own security?

This world truly was different from his in more than a single way.

Or there could be another explanation: emotional manipulation to destabilize your enemy.

He couldn’t foolishly let himself be convinced by this man’s words and actions. He was smarter than this. A world where the alternative version of him, his friends, and Poseidon were friends? This world only existed in Athena’s wish — a world with open arms and not guided by ruthlessness.

Taking back consciousness, he gripped his gun a bit harder, grounding himself back on earth.

“What?” His surprised look slowly dissipated. “That’s it!?”

Odysseus searched for something in his face, but it was the same. Steven R. was just as afraid, or even more than him.

“Do you want some barbecue?”

And this was how they ended up in a restaurant called “Texas something something.”

It was a nice restaurant that offered a variety of meat — one of the best, said Steven R. He didn’t trust him, but he was hungry, and he was the one armed with a weapon.

Steven R. still acted as if he were a way to chill someone who could die at any moment. He even acted as if they were old friends who just had some difficulties starting a conversation.

He proposed some food, assuring him that it was extremely good, a true delicacy, and advised which ones not to take.

After ordering, the man just looked at him with a small smile. When asked why he was smiling, the man simply responded that he was happy they were able to sit and just enjoy time without being at each other’s throat — and that he was going to eat some food, obviously.

After a few seconds of silence, the man decided to fill it with some small talk. Something about how if you want to eat some good dishes, you have to travel to their birthplace. He was talking about sushi in Japan, tacos in Mexico, pad thai in Thailand, and other complicated names.

He described the taste and texture of the dishes so well that Odysseus was tempted to just fly to those countries and try them out. If his family were here, he would have for them.

“So… how is your wife and your son?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know much about my wife and son because someone prevented me from seeing them for 10 years after a 10-year war.” He glared at Steven R.

He quickly realized the mistake and muttered a small apology before shutting his mouth. The atmosphere was so tense, they were drowning in their own awkwardness.

“I am engaged,” Steven started slowly. “Her name is Jordan Pamlanye and she is the most wonderful woman I have ever met in my entire life. I do not regret proposing to her at all, and no matter what the future unfolds for us, I know that I will never regret it. I’ve been told love is complicated and hurtful, but I guess love does make you blind. I think you would understand. Everyone knows it, but no one understands it.”

Strangely, this piqued Odysseus’ interest. It wasn’t as if Poseidon was single; he had many lovers. Yet this conversation felt as if he were invading his privacy, as if Steven was trusting him with his sincere emotions.

“Yeah, I would. Penelope just takes my breath away when I think, see, hear, or talk about her. She makes me feel young, and time is worthwhile. She is the gear of my life. Every second in this world, I wish I could just see her in the moment. I saw many things here, things my people wouldn’t even be capable of imagining. Yet nothing could be more precious and valuable than her.”

Steven R. nodded along, as if they were bonding — they had things in common. He let him talk passionately about his dearest, his beloved Penelope.

He rambled about how, ever since he left for war, time stopped without his power source, without Penelope. Like a teenager, he was constantly blinded by this young love, making him act restlessly. He could list numerous times he had tried to urge his way back home.

She was simply his everything, his world. She enchanted his world with her whispers in his dreams. Every time he woke up alone and far away from her, the warmth of her breath on his neck left him shivering on a cold and hard bed.

He missed the dances he used to have with her, the late nights under an olive tree, bow in hand and eyes in the sky. He missed how free they were, how young they were, how happy they were.

Now they were trapped in this tragic fate that seemed out of his control. He didn’t even know why he was wasting so much time here, in a mall, when they could just continue to drive. Fatigue was an easy adversary when the prize was home. It was probably not the case with the others, but if he had to, he would have found a way to go all alone to Jorge.

And while his beloved wife was his magical world, his son was the world he never knew was missing. Penelope completed him entirely, and his son managed to create his own home in his heart when he thought there wasn’t any space.

His boy, his son, his Telemachus, only a tiny baby when he left, grew to be such a fine man. Odysseus didn’t know much about him, but he was already proud of him.

He was his little prince, always his tiny boy within arm’s reach. Having him as his son was his biggest accomplishment in this whole world, and the hardest challenge he had to go through. But for his son, he would go through all the insecurity and fears of a young father a thousand times.

He didn’t have many memories of his family, but he had some clear pictures in his head of their best moments.

He remembered the day his wife and he decided to bring their newborn child to the olive tree — the one that wasn’t made into a bed — to show him the stars. They were looking at the shooting stars, mesmerized and captivated. After that, he brought his son every single day to this place to have some father-son moments, even if Penelope didn’t always agree and would come with a light, unserious, loving glare and a smile.

Steven R. listened with a kind ear, witnessing Odysseus’ true passion and love for his family.

From time to time, Steven R. would share his own stories, and Odysseus would share his thoughts or a similar memory.

The conversation slowly shifted into their passions, and while Odysseus had some things to share, like his magnificent skills with his bow, Steven R. had more content.

He enthusiastically talked about his music, his biggest passion and greatest talent. He was proud to say that he was a musician, a singer, with a lot of singles.

He quickly went over why he decided to join EPIC, not wanting to lose everything they had created until now. Though he did mention how he hated the fact he missed the live premiere of EPIC: The Musical. He would have loved to be there with everyone, having fun and laughing with them.

Still, he was glad that he got to meet everyone. His community has grown thanks to it; he has met amazing people he talks to and works with. He made one of his favorite songs with Troy called “Struck.” Odysseus didn’t dare tell him that he already knew the song.

He also showed others of his songs and didn’t hesitate to insist which ones were his favorites. His passion laced his words with a force unknown to Odysseus. Steven R. was excited over everything he had achieved, and greatly proud.

While scrolling on YouTube, he found some EPIC: The Musical animated songs about him and showed them to him.

Together they enjoyed the animatics, especially the ones where Poseidon got beaten up. Steven R. mocked Poseidon and the way he was screaming/singing his pleas, claiming that they were overly dramatic and that his punishment was well deserved.

He shared some famous analyses, about how his cries were similar to a melody to Odysseus, which Odysseus did not refute.

Steven R. also claimed that Poseidon was like cheese, with absolutely no other context than that he had holes in him like cheese. Which also made no sense, because cheese does not always have holes. Odysseus guessed this was another futuristic thing.

Odysseus found it funny how they were both bonding over love and Poseidon being destroyed, especially when Steven R. was the voice of Poseidon. He guessed that made him a tiny bit more tolerable than before. In those good moments, he almost forgot about the gun, as if his security wasn’t required anymore.

Steven R. admitted that he understood Odysseus — he understood his reaction — and that he thought he was right. To dare and take a stand in front of the one who destroyed your life was the right thing to do, and it demanded patience, strength, courage, and much more. Those qualities were something Odysseus held with ease, but Steven R. would never be able to have.

He admitted to not being strong-minded. He was physically capable, but was way too soft to put someone in pain. Not to say that if something were to happen directly or indirectly to his wife he wouldn’t do anything, but he hoped one day he would grow strong-minded enough to proceed through tough situations without guilt.

Seeing someone you regarded as Poseidon admitting this was definitely hard to register. Truthfully, he himself wasn’t that strong-minded. He acted like he was sure, but he had his own limits. Calypso, one of his abusers, did hurt him, but he could never hurt her back like he did with Poseidon, even if she had such an excuse. It didn’t mean he forgave her or that nothing was wrong — only that, compared with Poseidon, their situation was much more different and required a different reaction.

After talking for so long, their food arrived. As Steven R. had promised, the food was exceptional. It made his mouth water with its smell and juicy appearance. The inside of the meat was a bit red, but not too raw. It was dripping with juice and tender.

The rest of the time, Steven R. explained the themes of EPIC: The Musical, especially those of “Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves” and “Open arms.” He tried to explain them as best as he could without triggering anything from Odysseus, which he did a great job at.

Admittedly, he was more into the “Greet the world with open arms” motto than Poseidon’s. Violence could not be solved with more violence, or it would only create a vicious cycle of pain and suffering.

They talked about song number 20, “Monsters,” which was apparently his transition phase. They discussed each song and its importance, as well as the analyses made by the community.

Going slowly towards song 40, Odysseus demanded that he not spoil anything, and Steven R. simply gave him an apologetic and sympathetic smile. He assured him that song number 40 had nothing heartbreaking, but it still did not ease Odysseus’ heavy heart.
Odysseus wanted to share his insecurity over his future, over song 40. But one look at who was in front of him — the voice of Poseidon — and his words died down. He quickly brushed it off and gave an expression that asked no questions.

The Warrior of the Mind went from feral, to full defense mode with his gun, to almost neutral with a slight grudge. Knowing someone made it difficult to view him as he had previously.

They finished eating, Steven R. paid, they walked around and made small talk. They found this interior maze made for adults, and Steven R. excitedly pushed Odysseus towards it, claiming that they were going to have so much fun. Odysseus didn’t know if he wanted to lose himself in a myth like Theseus did without any preparation, but he let himself be pushed in.

They played like young kids, having fun trying to get out of the maze they got lost in, before buying some candy and laughing over nothing around the mall.

Around 4 p.m., they walked back to the center of the mall. They and the others had decided to meet in the middle of the mall at this time so they could continue their way to Jorge.

Arriving there on time, they saw the others and offered them a huge wave. The others waved back, but with a much less energetic wave, as if they were anxious and stressed over something.

Odysseus shrugged it off and guessed that they simply didn’t expect him to be with Steven R. Until now, he still did not understand how he was able to bond with this man. A friendly reminder: he still held a grudge against Steven R. and, somehow, every other person.

Slowly, as he approached more and more, he noticed two new people in the group. Steven R. must have recognized them too, as he abruptly stopped in his tracks with a worrying expression. The whole group shared the same one, but in addition, they also had curious, anxious, and confused facial expressions written over their faces.

Anna Lea and Troy, though, looked relieved at the sight of both of them being so calm, but that was it.

“Barbara? Ayron? I thought we were going to see each other via Zoom?”

Odysseus looked at Steven R. with his own confusion. Who were they to create such an anxious atmosphere, not even remotely close to when he met Poseidon’s voice? And what the hell was Zoom?

Barbara and Ayron offered a toothy grin to Steven R. and simply responded, “Surprised!”

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First of all, I AM NOT STOPPING THE FANFIC.

As I’ve said before, I wanted to post at least once a week and try to make each chapter the best it can be. However, I’ve noticed that when I write, my emotions easily make their way into the story. While I don’t mind this most of the time, I don’t want my current emotions to heavily influence the next chapters. This isn’t me saying that I’ll disappear for two weeks, a month, or more—it’s simply to let you know in advance in case I don’t post a chapter this week. To be honest, I’ve been an emotional mess, and I don’t want the chapters to reflect the full intensity of that mess.

I really cherish this story, and every time I get closer to the end, I become more and more excited about what’s to come. That’s why I’d like to take some time so I can bring out more of that excitement and less of my current emotions. And I know a lot of you are probably eager to see what’s next—especially the meeting with Jorge and how he’s going to return (which is the whole point of the fanfic).

P.S. I know people usually hate these kinds of messages/chapters, but I thought it was better than leaving you in the dark if no chapter gets posted by the end of this week.

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Chapter 11

Sometimes, when the brain lives through a traumatic and confusing experience, it decides to simply forget it. It throws the memory into the depth of the unconscious mind, in hopes of learning the essential and living without the weight of past pains. But when man needs it the most, to remember something and fix the present, the memory stays hidden without showing a speck.

And when not enough memories store an element of rage, the emotion is lost through time and space.

The first thing they asked him was how he felt. And of course that was what they were interested in — this is what this world is about: emotions. The moment you met someone, you had to ask pesky questions about their feelings and emotions, something that he had been told for so long by Athena. Emotions and feelings were obstacles for a warrior of the mind — a recklessness and a soft attitude.

If Odysseus didn’t embrace love and rage, he would have found this world careless beyond imagination.

However, taking into consideration his situation, he was quick to catch on about what they actually meant. He had just come back with the man he absolutely hated. He hadn’t made peace with him, that was for sure, but he would not use the gun either. Steven R. was so much more different from Poseidon, even, if he dared say, similar to him.

So Odysseus did understand that what they actually meant was whether or not Steven R. and he had made peace and become “friends.”

Steven R. quickly explained the whole story, skipping over the fact that Odysseus withheld a murderous weapon. Odysseus added quickly that they were not friends, but neither entirely, deeply hated enemies.

In complete honesty, Odysseus didn’t want to admit that he did not feel an ounce of hatred anymore. This thought disturbed him — it did not correspond to Poseidon and what Steven R. should be. He wanted to make himself believe that he might be in the heat of a slow manipulation, but the potential intentions, outcomes, advantages of it, the power dynamic and effort needed didn’t add up. Trying to emotionally manipulate him seemed just reckless, risky, and stupid.

He didn’t feel able to hate.

The two new incomers looked at him, awkwardly standing. They both had familiar physiques and attributes, yet apart from extremely faint emotions, he did not have an idea of who they could be.

The others looked a lot more relieved, and some talked to each other in the back of the group, probably talking about the change of events.

Earle, to whom he talked the least, came out of the group to offer him a warm hug. Odysseus found it a bit weird, but upon witnessing the relief written over his face and shoulders, he understood. It felt better to not feel constant tension over the potential danger he might encounter — to have a break.

Breaking the hug, he offered to carry the bag, which Odysseus quickly refused, not wanting to be separated from his gun.

The two introduced themselves: Barbara and Ayron.

However, when it came to telling him who they played as, they rambled about how they didn’t exactly play and simply did some “random stuff” in the dark.

Odysseus, master of lies, knew that whatever “bullshit” they went over was a lie. Why did they lie? What truth did they try to bury? Odysseus felt like the answer was evident but impossible to reach.

He tried to focus on their voices and appearances, but apart from the same previous familiarity, nothing was recognizable enough.

Those people could very well be Antinous, Athena, Apollo or Calypso, or they could very well be telling the truth and working in the shadows.

He kept in mind to check the songs once more to try and match voices to be sure.

Looking at Barbara, he had to point out the feeling of powerlessness, of desperation and melancholia. He felt like he had done her wrong while also feeling harmed. Her bright smile made him think of a forgotten, lonely, and hopeless one. He felt wrong about what made him depressed, yet those feelings were left superficial, as if they were only residues of a forgotten past slowly fading away.

Looking at Antinous, he felt something completely opposite and close enough to what he felt towards Steven R. Rage, disgust, revenge, offended thousands of powerful words that made his fist clench boiled in his mind. The man looked kind, friendly even, but the same superficial, sliding-on-skin, and fading feeling weakly persisted.

Odysseus stared at the duo, trying to remember what was lost, but he couldn't find it. Warrior of the mind, his mind refused to cooperate, locking away his obvious secrets.
The group seemed to agree with them, not correcting them for their almost obvious lie.

The car ride was long, but he did not know. It was slowly becoming night, and he was feeling tired from the last event.

After a long discussion over who should be in whose car, and a heated dispute, Odysseus ended up being with Barbara and Ayron, as well as with Earle and Kira. They were all of the people with whom he least interacted, so he guessed that he was with them so that they could know each other a bit more.

But Odysseus’ heart was heavy with love and yearning. He wanted to see his wife, his son, and yet all he could do was play tourist, buy useless gifts and look out the windows.

He looked at the stars shining in the sky and felt so far away and detached from them.

All he wanted was to magically appear before Jorge, or even his wife — to wake up from this bland nightmare. He did not want to talk or look around anymore, never truly wanted.

Right now, Odysseus felt down more than ever. The long days and the little breaks felt like he was wasting time. He trusted the others to bring him home quickly, but it didn’t feel like it.

Jorge better have the clue, the key — whatever it is that would bring him back home. Because this man was the only hint he had to go back home. If he didn’t know what to do, he had no other choice than to search the whole world for a way back, with no lead in mind.

The other four were in a hyped discussion, and upon seeing Odysseus' passive and thoughtful figure, they decided to try and include him in their talks.

Knowing very well what his interest was, they encouraged him to talk about his wife. And talk he did.

It started with the usual — her description, her attitude, her little habits, her interests — and quickly sped up to more personal matters. Seeing Barbara listening to him talk about his wife brought him a headache, but Odysseus ignored it and continued with his long list of anecdotes.

Ayron, himself, made him uncomfortable when talking about something as sensitive and passionate as his wife.

So, Odysseus opted to direct his ramble towards Earle and Kira, ignoring Ayron and Barbara. He didn’t know what their reaction was to his half-ignoring, and he did not want to know. Especially for Barbara, he felt like every action was harming her. He had hurt more lives than he could count on his hand, all of that just to bring him back to his wife.

His voice slowly wavered as he spoke, lowering in volume and strength. His eyes were set on Earle and Kira, but his mind was elsewhere, close to him — two individuals.

Because, why did he feel like prey? Why did he feel like he failed again? Why did he feel like someone dear to him was in danger's sight?

Who were these people really?

As he slowly entered a state of quietness, the group noticed his conflicted and confused gaze and chose to stay silent with him.

He really didn’t like them, and he could, in no way, ignore them.

So in order to escape from reality, from the impacting presence, he sought refuge in the deepest slumber, within his dreams.

Someone shook his shoulder violently. Was it Hermes? Or what was his name? Troy? Or whoever had previously shaken his shoulder for whatever reason?

The pitch black around him did not help ease his confusion. He could not see. He opened his eyes, and there was the same pitch black, as if opening and closing eyes did not change anything.

He felt shoulders being shaken, but nothing was behind him. There was an echoing voice telling him to wake up, weak and so far in another world.

Deciding to explore the environment, Odysseus took his first step into what looked like the back of something. This something could very well be his mind, the world, the universe, the multiverse, the shadows of somewhere still unexplored. The floor was wet, every footstep echoed in a cave-like way. His tennis shoes remained dry, leaving not even a drop of water except for the circles around his foot.

He shouted around, asking if there was anyone, but his own echoes responded to him.

Some stories said that the one talking back was a woman who could only repeat someone’s last words. He wondered if she was stuck here with him.

Behind him, he heard the soft familiar voice of someone he loved, someone he would die for. It wasn’t an expected echo, nor was it the buzzing of silence; it was a real voice of someone entirely different.

Without a second of doubt, Odysseus turned and ran and ran and ran. He ran as fast as he could, looking for the owner of the voice.

Exhaustion crept to his feet, and in a flash, his chin scraped on the hard water like concrete. He could feel the warm blood trickling slowly down to the ground, mixing blood and water together. He jumped back to his feet, refusing to stop running until he found the woman, the owner of the voice.

In front of him was a woman, weaving a shroud. It was a shroud that he had never seen before. On it was a clear depiction of him holding her cheek gently as they both held an incredible young newborn. Their faces showed a youth he did not know since he was at peace with his world, since his time stopped.

His beloved wife weaved the shroud with the same expert and gentle hands, twisting and moving the threads with quick precision. Next to her was his legendary bow.

He looked at the scenery that brought light into that pitch black emptiness, shoulders touched slowly forgotten as he watched the scene. The room slowly started to materialize around him, closing them together.

His hand slowly reached to his wife’s cheek, similar to in the shroud, yet his wife did not seem to even feel his presence, let alone see him.

It was to his disappointment that the cry of a child woke from his wife's mechanical movements. Before leaving, she quickly hid a knife he had not noticed into a chest filled with cutting threads, closing it tight and locked.

He could not join his Penelope as she left him for a second time. He watched her leave the room, leaving for a place he could not reach.

The place dematerialized, leaving in the middle the shroud, shining through the pitch blackness. His hands caressed the shroud, already cherishing his wife's making. Watching every detail, Odysseus noticed the elements he had seen in the shroud Penelope was making in EPIC: The Musical.

Before he could think much further, a new room formalized around him to look like something much more modern. The room was straight-up white with a desk, computer, decoration, beds, and pictures. It looked like nothing more than a younger room, someone around Telemachus’ age.

Looking around, he wondered if that would be how Telemachus’ room would look if he was here, or if he would be exactly like MICO.

If this was the world where things were better, a world with empathy and where they didn’t have to live the way he did.

He looked at the adorned walls: guitars, posters of bands, a proud flag, shelves with books—every single inch of the walls was filled. The pictures showed a life of contentment, of fulfillment. Whoever this kid was, they had a family, friends, moments of great joy. They grew up with a loving family, even if the father was sometimes less present, and with a great entourage.

Picking one of the books on the shelf, he read a few pages of what looked like a book in the writing.

Whoever that child was, they had a disturbing guy who was disrupting his life. If that was his son, something told him that he would fight this person and not let them steal his happiness.

He couldn't help but wonder if that would be the life he would have if he was born in this world, if he would have had a life as normal as this could be.

Was there a world where his family would live in comfort? Was there someone like them, like him?

At this thought, the room dematerialized around him.

He blinked.

A hand tapped his shoulder, shaking him violently.

Someone was telling him to wake up.

He opened his eyes.

It was still dark, but the moon behind this person gave him enough light to see around him.

Kira looked at him, relieved, and quickly told him with a slightly panicked face that they had encountered an issue.

Looking behind her, he noticed that the door was open, she was standing outside, and that Earle and Barbara were sitting on the ground while Ayron was on the phone.

Their car had given up.

Apparently, Ayron was trying to call someone to get the car out of nowhere they were. Barbara and Earle were waiting outside.

They had no choice but to either wait for the services to come and pick them up, hope that the other group was behind them, or that a car came and agreed to take all of them. One person would have to stay behind, preferably with someone else.

Still dazed from sleep and the weird dream, Odysseus stepped out of the car, sitting on the ground and observing the road with the others in case a car passed by.

“So… we are stuck here in the middle of nowhere for a couple of hours?” Odysseus asked the group, to which they nodded.

He thought back to the dream, thoughts back to what was waiting for him. He couldn’t waste hours; those were hours spent with his wife. They had wasted enough time meeting people, looking around the new world when his entire world, his Penelope, was suffering without him.

With that in mind, he forced himself to be more awake, more aware of his surroundings, and started walking towards the direction they were supposed to go.

Earle, Kira, Ayron, and Barbara were shocked to see him advance on his own, determined to go to his destination. Ayron rushed in front of him, walking backward as he tried to stop Odysseus, telling him that it was insane to walk from where they were to Jorge, that it was irrational to go alone, separated from the people who knew this world by heart.

But Odysseus wasn’t having it. He didn’t need them specifically; he had been able to reach Jorge’s house in Puerto Rico alone, he did not need a group to drag him away from his wife.

The others tried their best to stop him, even trying to push him back, but it wasn’t enough for a determined soldier, a captain, to come back home.

Odysseus pushed his way through and continued walking.

Ayron stood back, stopping his attempt as he watched the desperate man walk into the desert.

It had been hours since Odysseus had been walking into the unknown desert.

It was extremely cool, and though some sand went into his eyes, he was feeling fresh and good.

The rocky surface underneath his feet eased his march towards Jorge.

Although he was tired, and the cool wind, the stars, and lullaby-like sky did rock him to sleep, he stood his ground and kept his eyes open.

He just had to keep his eyes open. Even if his eyes, and his heart, and his soul were so heavy, he had to keep his eyes open. Odysseus only wished to embrace his wife and son, but the universe seemed to not want him to. That is why he had to keep his eyes open. So much had happened, but he would arrive home no matter what.

As he walked and walked, images of Penelope and Telemachus flashed around him, even of Eurylochus and Polites, reminding him of what he had lost in his voyage. He lost so much only to be here, insomniac like before, but standing strong on two feet.

He looked up at the sky, filled with lonely stars, and wished upon the brightest one, that he wasn’t going to be left alone forever.