Page 37 of Elysium

THE WATERS WERE STILL, the sky void of stars. Odysseus sat in the sands, waiting for a wave to break, for a gull to pass, for anything to move on the shores. But all was quiet, frozen in time.

Even the air itself seemed to be motionless. The beach was empty. Looking to his sides, finding the ocean to be his only companion, Odysseus stood. He brushed his hands on his tunic and turned towards home.

“Ithacan.” A voice called out, surrounding him like a shroud. The king froze, the air behind him finally stirring. Someone had joined him.

“You should know better than to think you can escape your debts.” His heart thrummed loudly in his chest. He forced his feet to stay when all he wanted to do was run.

“Hades,” he answered, fists clenching at his side. He felt the weight of the damned, of the dead, pressing against his back. He knew what he would see if he turned. He could feel his sharp gaze.

Shadows pooled around his feet, twining like serpents up his legs, his arms. He was rooted to the ground, caught in the god’s web.

“I gave you instructions, King of Ithaca.” Hades mused. Odysseus could see him, just out of the corner of his eye. His shadows lurked, expanding, luring him. “And yet, you walk the land of the living. Every debt must be paid, boy.”

He was exhausted. He had fought for so many years to return to his wife’s side, to feel her skin beneath his.

He had finally made it home, finally coaxed the woman he had fallen in love with out of the hardened exterior she had built for herself in his absence.

He had finally found his place to rest, and yet the gods ever knocked.

That was when Odysseus, King of Ithaca, fell to his knees. The shadows consumed him, tying him up like a man tortured. They tethered him to the ground, held him steady, kept him still. “Hades, please.” His voice was barely audible, breaths coming in gasps.

“Give me time,” he pleaded, words faltering as he said them. “Let me make sure she will survive without me. Let me make sure she is whole.”

The god laughed. It was a cruel sound, one that sent shame radiating through the Ithacan’s body as he knelt in front of the god. “Time won’t change the end, Ithacan.” Hades’ eyes narrowing as he looked upon the mortal in front of him.

“Then let me have time, anyway,” Odysseus rasped. He was broken, a man without direction. He was nothing without Penelope, and if he could make sure she was secure, she was safe from the god’s games. He would walk into the Styx himself.

Hades did not respond, not for several agonizing moments. When he finally spoke, his voice was dripping with ridicule. “My wife has taken an interest in your queen, you know.”

Hades’ words did not rattle the king. Ever since Sparta, Odysseus had known that Persephone was toying with his wife’s trust, trying to unravel their very being.

Odysseus would willingly spend the rest of his life proving his devotion to his wife, with or without the god’s interference. Persephone planting seeds of doubt in Penelope’s mind had shaken him, though.

He had wanted so badly to keep her out of the god’s trials and games, and he had failed miserably.

“She finds her amusing, Odysseus,” the god continued, “She clings to you so fiercely. I wonder…” He stepped close to where Odysseus was being held, looming over him.

“If you would burn for her the way she burns the world for you?”

Hades wanted Odysseus to snap, wanted him to rage. He was trying to break him.

“It’s no wonder my wife has taken an interest in yours.

” Hades drawled, sounding bored as he circled the man tethered in shadows.

“You mortals think yourselves so singular, so untouchable, and yet you all follow the same patterns. You and I are not so different, Ithacan. We both favor women of quiet wrath.”

Hades let the words settle, let them sink like stones in Odysseus’s chest. The king forced himself to stay silent, to still his breath, to not give the god the satisfaction of a reaction. But it didn’t matter. Hades saw everything. He always had.

A slow, humorless smile curled at the corners of the god’s lips.

“Ah,” he exhaled, tasting the air between them.

“You don’t like that, do you?” He crouched slightly, tipping his head as he examined the man before him.

“That you are not unique . That your love is not untouched by the Fates, that she is not yours alone. ”

Odysseus clenched his jaw, muscles taut beneath the weight of shadow and sand. He had spent years outwitting gods, escaping their snares, bending their trials to his own will. But Hades was not like Poseidon or Zeus. Hades was inevitable .

The god did not speak again for a long moment.

He only watched, waiting, patient. And then, in a voice that sent cold straight through Odysseus’s ribs, he murmured, “You must be punished, Odysseus of Ithaca.” The king’s heart pounded in his ears.

“You have made a mockery of the gods, took the strings of Fate into your own hand, and brought upset to my kingdom. It is time we set the record straight.”

"If I were you, Ithacan, I would spend my time wisely. My wife has a fondness for broken things. And Penelope…" He tilted his head. "Let’s see how long she lasts."

The shadows writhed. The tide did not move. “You die, mortal. Or you don’t.” The air did not shift. And then, just as suddenly as he had come, Hades was gone. “If you do not — she will. And I will be certain that your life is eternal.”

The weight of his presence vanished, and Odysseus gasped. “You narrowly escaped a life immortal without your wife. Would you risk it again?” The shadows released him, sending him falling forward into the sand. Forward into darkness.

“I am not a patient man, Odysseus.” Hades’ voice surrounded him in the nothingness. “Less so without my wife by my side. When my queen departs with the springtime, you will say goodbye to yours. One way or another.”

He jolted, sitting up quickly. He was tangled in blankets, sweat coated his brow. It took him several moments before blinking away the dream, the vision. He was in their bedroom. He drew in breath after breath, willing his body to remember that he was alive, that it still belonged to him.

But Hades’ words still lingered.

Let’s see how long she lasts

Odysseus exhaled shakily, running a trembling hand through his hair. The room was silent, save for the soft crackling of the dying fire and the faintest rustling of a blanket beside him.

He turned.

Penelope.

She lay on her side, her breathing deep, steady. The moonlight traced the lines of her bare shoulder, the curve of her spine beneath the linen sheets. He swallowed hard, his throat tight.

My wife has a fondness for broken things.

Odysseus clenched his jaw. He would not allow it.

Slowly, carefully, he reached for her. His hand ghosted over her skin, fingers trembling as he brushed the inside of her wrist, feeling the steady thrum of her pulse. Alive. Here .

She stirred beneath his touch, brow knitting slightly before her lashes fluttered. “Odysseus?” Her voice was drowsy, thick with sleep, but instinctively, she turned toward him.

His breath faltered.

She was real. Warm. Not lost to the gods. Not yet.

He could not stop himself. He gathered her against him, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his arms locking tightly around her as if she might slip through his grasp.

Penelope inhaled sharply, startled at first, but then, without hesitation, she softened. Her fingers wove into his hair, her other hand resting over his racing heart. “You’re shaking,” she whispered.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, to the delicate line of her throat, but he said nothing. He couldn’t.

She shifted, pulling back just enough to look at him. Her eyes searched his in the dim light, her touch now gentle against his cheek. “What did they do to you this time?”

Odysseus closed his eyes briefly, leaning into her palm. He would not tell her. Not tonight. Not when the gods had already stolen too much from them.

Instead, he exhaled and pressed his forehead to hers, his voice barely audible in the quiet of their chamber.

"I’m here."

Penelope’s fingers curled around the back of his neck. “Of course you are,” she murmured, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

And for now, that was enough.

Odysseus prayed that by the time his tears had begun to fall, his wife had already slipped back into sleep.