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Pain. That was the first thing Athena registered; pure pain, unlike any sensation she had ever experienced in her immortal life.
Her father’s wrath was not to be messed with. She was well aware of that fact. She’d seen him tear mortals apart, limb from limb. She’s seen him strike them down without a hint of mercy. Yet, she had never taken the time to imagine what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of such power.
She didn't need to imagine now.
Every single limb ached as if she’d been stung by a million wasps a thousand times. It was a pain that could never be matched, a power wielded only by the God-King.
And it was against her; his daughter—his favorite daughter. Yet the moment she dared to defy him, she was nothing aside from another pawn in his grand scheme.
She was nothing.
Athena could hear her brother’s voice echo behind her, she must have imagined the concern in his tone.
“Is she dead?”
She felt as though she must be. That this must be what death felt like. Her vision was blotchy, she couldn’t see the floor below her properly. As her eyes closed she fought to keep them open. She couldn’t give up. She couldn’t give up. He needed her.
Odysseus needed her.
She had to fight for him. She had to see him, to apologize, to fix things. He deserved an apology.
He deserved to get home. Telemachus deserved to know his father. To truly, know his father. Not the legend or the hero, just Odysseus.
The man who had trudged seas; fought monsters and Gods alike. The man who had lost everyone in the process, including himself.
Including her.
She had to save him.
Before she could stand up, her eyelids drooped and the world went dark around her.
“Athena?”
She blinked slowly. She knew that voice the one that was calling her. Yet, she didn’t know why. It wasn’t any of her fellow Olympians. It was familiar yet…she felt like she hadn’t heard it in an eternity. How did she know that voice?
Her eyes were foggy as she tried to take in her surroundings. She felt weak, and the reality before her seemed to blur in and out of focus. It was in her head, she knew that much.
“Athena!” That voice called out again. It was young and squeaky, tainted with innocence.
The Goddess turned around—how was she standing? She was sure she was still lying by her father's feet.
Her eyes darted across the land before her until they locked onto a familiar mess of brown hair and bright eyes.
It took every ounce of will not to collapse at the mere sight of him.
Odysseus.
Yet, he was so young, so small. The boy in front of her couldn’t possibly be older than 11. He smiles at her, waving enthusiastically. He runs right over to her, colliding with her body. His skinny little arms wrapped around her waist the best he could. He was only tall enough to lay his head on the armor covering her stomach. No higher.
He grinned at her, that familiar, boyish grin she could never forget. It was the one he gave her every time he perfected a technique and wanted her praise.
He never got it, but he always hoped.
She should have praised him every single time. She should have told him she was proud of him. She should have told him how dear he was to her before… everything went so wrong.
Athena looked down at the little boy, clinging to her. He tilted his head to the side.
“Don’t give up.”
She squinted. His voice wasn’t quite how she remembered it anymore, yet the harder she thought, the more she found herself unable to properly recall what his speech sounded like before the screams of grief tainted it.
Athena leaned down, gently picking him up into her arms. She couldn’t feel him, he wasn’t truly there, so his weight was nonexistent in her grasp. The goddess held him on her hip, stroking a loose curl off his forehead.
He watched her, his eyes full of nothing but trust and respect. He spoke again, softer this time, nearly pleading. “Don’t give up on me.”
Before she could respond, everything around her shifted, and the boy in her arms was gone. She felt a sharp pang of grief, a pain worse than the punishment her father had inflected on her; or perhaps, this was her true punishment. To be reminded of her little warrior before she failed him.
Her heart ached for the boy he once was, just as much as for the man he painfully grew up to be.
Now, she stood on a ledge, that very same ledge she had watched her friend nearly end his own life on.
He was in front of her, just as he had appeared when she watched him only a few hours prior. He didn’t look at her, his gaze on the hard ground he was hunched on. Odysseus seemed so small, smaller than the little boy she’d just held, yet he was more than double the age.
The king was curled up, his fingers clenching the front of his tunic, nails digging into his chest with enough force to draw blood. It dripped down his chest, staining the wet, grey fabric that clung to him.
His eyes were dead, gone was that light he desperately held onto even during the darkest of moments. The last time she saw him, despite his fresh grief and harsh words, there was still a tint of hope in his eyes that let Athena know he’d be okay.
He was strong. She had taught him to be strong, push through anything, and always find a way; to use his mind, if he did, he would be okay .
He would be okay, wouldn’t he?
Although, as she gazed down on her shaking warrior, she wasn’t so sure. She longed to touch him, to tell him he wasn’t alone, to hold him and shield him from the pain her father seemed so set on punishing him with.
What did he deserve to be punished for? All he ever wanted was to go home.
She felt her power leaving her, everything in front of her blurred and blotchy. A stark reminder that this was simply a curse of mind. A last goodbye to a man who wasn’t anywhere near her. The man she failed.
As everything else faded away, he didn’t. He stayed in front of her, hunched over as he wept. He mumbled under his breath, the same few words slurred together.
She strained her ears, trying to decrypt his puzzle. After what felt like hours–although she knew must have only been a couple of minutes, she understood.
“Forgive me.” The broken man in front of her muttered. “Forgive me, Athena. Forgive me.”
She wanted to shout, to scream that he was forgiven. She wanted to kneel in front of him, to take him in her arms like she did when he was a boy until he calmed down. She wanted to embrace him until his weeping came to an end; until he ceased believing he did anything wrong.
10 years.
10 years they’d spent apart after their argument, yet now, as she watched him cry, she couldn’t even remember why she’d left him in the first place.
Athena felt her eyes fill with tears, yet they couldn’t fall, they weren’t real. None of this was real aside from the ache in her heart. She reached down, intending to cup his cheek in her hands, to feel his wet, bloody skin against her palms, to wipe his tears and soothe the lines on his face.
Yet, just as her skin would’ve met his own, he faded away, leaving her alone in the darkness.
When she opened her eyes again, the pain coursing through every inch of her being was a clear indicator it was real now. She felt blood drip down her face, seeping into her eyes. She couldn’t see properly, everything was blurry and distant. All she could hear were her fellow Olympians' muffled, worried voices and a loud ringing in her ears.
She could make out the blurry figure of her father in front of her. The Goddess used the last of her strength to stretch out her arm, her fingers landing on her father’s foot; only a few feet in front of her, although it felt like a million miles.
“Let him go…please…” Athena doesn’t remember ever begging for anything in her life, but this was more important than her pride. This was the life of the little boy she once knew.
“Don’t give up on me.”
His words echoed in her mind, her blood pooling under her. All she could feel was suffocating pain.
She wouldn’t. She could never give up on him. Never.
“Let him go…”
She didn’t hear a response—if her father even bothered to give one—before she was met with the darkness once more.