Page 1 of Elysium

THEY WERE IN HIS HOUSE.

Eating his food.

Drinking his wine.

Touching his wife .

All he saw was red - furious, irate red. These men spoke of his wife like she was a prized pig, spoke of his son like a nuisance.

Boasted how they would claim his kingdom.

Odysseus watched from the shadows, lurking just beyond the darkness. He looked on at men, half his age, who cursed about being unable to string his bow. A dark part of him wanted to laugh, but he remained silent, as still as the walls he crouched near.

The men, his wife’s suitors, argued over the palintonos. The bow was, by no means, a grand work of weaponry. It was a gift, received from a man many years ago. Only a man with a strength that rivaled the gods could string it together, pull an arrow taut.

His queen had proposed a challenge: the man that could string the bow and shoot it true would sit on his throne and rule his kingdom.

He would sit by his wife’s side.

Pride swelled in his chest, recognizing his wife’s wit.

Odysseus had been the only one that had been able to shoot the bow.

It was his . In another world, delight would have danced across his skin as he heard of his wife’s cunning.

She was a woman to be reckoned with. Even after all this time, she stood strong in the faces of danger.

“To hell with this damn challenge.” A man that Odysseus would later learn was named Antinous, cursed. He threw the palintonos on the ground, spitting. “The old king was mad. His queen must be the same. This bow cannot be strung.”

He willed his feet to stay frozen, to resist the urge to rip his wife’s title out of the whelp’s mouth. “I’ve heard the boy is set to travel within the week to visit his uncle.” another man claimed, standing next to Antinous. “The hell with this waiting, we are owed a queen.”

“Speak for yourself, brother,” Antinous spoke again, clapping the man hard on the back. “Some of us have already enjoyed our share of the whore queen.”

He hit his breaking point. After an evening of watching these infidels going back and forth, switching between brags and jeers, he’d heard all he needed to.

These villains had taken advantage of his wife’s hospitality.

Their welcome in Ithaca had come to an end.

Odysseus stepped out of the shadows with his hood slung over his head, masking his face. “Hand me the bow,” he spoke, the words falling over the group of men.

One man laughed, another scoffed in his direction. It was Antinous who replied. “Old man, you think you can string this bow?” He jeered, tossing the palintonos at the king’s feet. “Be my guest.”

He picked up the weapon, string hanging loosely to one side. Widening his stance, he allowed muscle memory to take over, arms tugging, knees bracing, until the string snapped into place. The crack of the impact echoed in the halls of the palace.

The men that stood around him fell into an eerie silence. The arrogant looks on their faces fell away with the noise. “Where are your bold words?” Odysseus asked, snatching an arrow from a nearby quiver. “Nothing else to say?”

He nocked the arrow, pulling the string taut. “Nothing at all?”

“This can’t be-” Antinous, stuttered, his eyes glued to the king. He took a few steps further away from where Odysseus stood.

But his sights were already set. With an exhale, Odysseus loosed the arrow, the loud-mouthed suitor crumbling almost instantly.

Time stood still. His heart was clambering in his ears as the shouts of the suitors took over the palace. “It’s the king!” someone shouted. “Odysseus has returned!”

“Oh, King!” A man fell to the ground in front of him, hands turned outward in surrender. “You’ve slain Antinous. He was the architect of our deeds. We acted on his authority. Please, spare us, King of Ithaca.”

“You ask for pardon?” He growled, unable to disguise the madness in his voice, “For absolution?” Odysseus slung the bow over his shoulder, bending down to meet the man’s eyes.

“The king that might have granted such gifts is dead .” Without breaking the man’s gaze, he unsheathed his sword, burrowing it directly into his stomach.

“You, guests of Ithaca, have long overstayed your welcome.” His voice resounded in the halls. Before he stood, he wiped the blood off his blade on the fallen man’s tunic. “And now you will die by my hand.”

The suitors hesitated, their hands twitching toward weapons. The scent of spilt wine and blood hung thick in the air. Someone whispered a prayer… too late.

Odysseus moved.

His bow sang. The first arrow found its mark, punching clean through a man’s throat before he could scream. The second lodged itself deep into another’s chest, sending him staggering backward, toppling a table in his descent. A goblet of wine spilled over the floor, dark as blood.

Panic shattered the stillness.

The men scrambled, knocking over chairs, slipping in the mess of their own revelry.

But Odysseus did not stop.

He stalked through the halls of his home, step by step, loosing arrow after arrow.

The halls of Ithaca filled with the screams of men, with the sounds of slaughter.

But Odysseus did not stop.

He pushed forward, using his sword to bring down any man that dared to challenge him. The steel of dropped weapons clattering to the ground surrounded him. It grounded him.

The air was thick with the smell of blood, the smell of piss. Somewhere, a man cried for his mother.

Odysseus bit back a laugh. Men that had been vying for his wife’s hand in marriage now found themselves scared and cowering. For all the courage they might have pretended to have in the face of his queen, they soiled themselves when facing her king.

His hands were red, his ragged tunic covered in the blood of a hundred men. His breath came fast, heavy in his chest, but his wrath did not ebb. His fingers twitched around his bow.

A body shifted nearby. A suitor, barely alive, wheezing.

Odysseus turned, arrow drawn, before he had even thought to move.

His eyes tracked every flicker of movement in the hall, watching.

Waiting.

Several moments passed, and no one moved. The bodies piled on the ground, spilt blood streaming over the cobbled floors. With a grunt, Odysseus dropped to one knee, slinging his bow over his back once more.

He pressed his hand to the stone, steadying his breathing before he looked around, worry suddenly creeping up his throat.

He was not finished facing the consequences of his time away.

There was one more person he had been waiting to see.