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It burned. It burned.
It always burned. Every night, as the sun died, his own spirit was extinguished with its light. His very soul, the bond that he had etched onto his heart, the oath he swore before the gods with Penelope—he could feel it breaking within him. It was hot glass, shattering into a million shards with every touch piercing the very beats of his heart.
“Shh, love,” She purred. Her hands were everywhere, everywhere, and he couldn’t take it anymore. His skin prickled as if the spirits She held reign over were crawling over it. “Hold still. I don’t want to hurt you.”
You are hurting me, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t. Not right now, not when he was so close to home, not when it would end if only he endured.
So he rested his head against the softness of Her silks, closed his eyes, and waited.
He was a warrior. The one thing he was accustomed to was movement. Dealing pain, cutting throats, watching the blood splatter onto the dirt marred with crimson spilled from the chests of true heroes, this was his life. He was not one meant to wait. And still he did. He laid back as She instructed, closed his eyes, and waited.
This, too, would pass.
But it was to no avail. Her hands traced paths of fire down his spine, making him jolt and shy away. No, no, no good. That was no good. He had to stay still, wait for Her to have Her fill. She would punish him with more if he didn’t, more and more until sweat soaked his brow and he was writhing in pain.
He tried his best to keep quiet. But when the fire began to burn too strong, he couldn’t hold back. He let out a yelp, grasping onto whatever he could find, but She only took it as a cry of encouragement. No, no, no. Her hands were everywhere. The soft spots Penelope would once caress and worship were now attacked, defiled, almost, by Her.
He wanted to cry out. Athena, where have you gone? Why have you abandoned me? Penelope, my wife, my son, please, please—
He screamed. Again and again. He was sure that by the time he left, the walls would remember his voice.
“Dada!”
Oh. Oh. Oh, no, no.
“Please, let him go!”
She raised Her head, irritation playing with Her divine features for just a moment, before She returned Her attentions to him. But then it came again.
“He’s my Da!” Astyanax, his boy. “My Da! My Mama, my brother Telemachus, he loves them! Please, let him go!”
“That brat—”
He clutched Her arm. “Please. Please, not him. He’s just—just a boy. Have mercy. Mercy.”
Pounding sounded on the door. “He’s just trying to get home to my Mama and my brother! We have to go home! Please!”
She snarled. “If you don’t get your brat under control, love—”
“I can hear his screams!” His lips, which had unknowingly been leaking whimpers and sobs, clamped shut. “Take me instead!”
No.
He choked, his grip on Her arm tightening. “No, no, you can’t. You can’t, please—”
“Just take me! Whatever you’re doing to him, I’ll endure it!”
Oh, his boy. Crying for a home he had never known, a family he only ever knew through his father’s words. His grip on Her arm loosened, and he swallowed down another sob. Not now, not here. Not when Astyanax was listening.
Astyanax had nothing to rest upon. No masthead to look upon except him. He had taken the boy on—it was his responsibility to see him through. He was the boy’s sole protector, so protect he would, even if it tore him apart to. He sealed his lips shut, taking a deep breath. Then another. When he opened them next, his vision was a little clearer, even if his little boy’s cries were still echoing in his ears.
“If—if you spare him,” he said quietly, “I will comply to your every wish. Just have mercy, goddess, please.”
That seemed to pacify Her. She sank back down on Her heels, a smile on Her lips as She traced a line up to his throat with a singular finger. Her eyes danced.
“Anything?”
Penelope. Remember Penelope.
“Anything.”
Who are you?
“Da! Please, take me instead!”
Astyanax’s Da. Telemachus’s father. Penelope’s husband.
The burning overtook him again. An inferno, bright and blinding, reminding him who She was and what She could do. She could claim him, over and over, until he complied. She could bring on tidal waves of pain over him. She could erase—
He shuddered, his vision going white. There it was—that blinding beckon of sweetness, one he hated, despised with his very being, rejected down to the roots of his consciousness and beyond. But it wouldn’t take him.
she couldn’t erase anything. He wouldn’t let her.
What must you do?
Return home.