The new ship from Scheria glided into the familiar bay under a sky streaked with the soft gold of late afternoon, the island rising ahead like a memory that had waited too long and grown sharper with absence.

  Ithaca looked almost unchanged from the outside, rugged hills, olive groves clinging to stone, the palace perched high on the central ridge, but the details betrayed the years of siege: smoke curling from the upper windows, too many ships crowded at the docks, and a faint haze of dust and noise rising from the courtyard below.

  Jax stood at the prow, the sea-blue cord Nausicaa had given him knotted around his wrist, while the crew gathered behind him in tense silence.

  The golden calf from Helios shifted on the deck, hooves soft on the boards, lowing once as though it sensed the weight of homecoming.

  Eur leaned on his shield beside Jax, voice low.

  “It’s Ithaca. But it’s not ours anymore. Too many hulls. Too much smoke.”

  Jax nodded, the ache in his chest sharp and familiar.

  “We don’t announce ourselves. Not yet. I go in alone, as a beggar. You stay with the ship, hidden in the cove. Watch. Wait. When the time comes, you’ll know.”

  Thea scanned the shore from the deck, her scout eyes narrowed.

  “Guards at the gates. Armed. Not locals, suitors’ men. The palace is a fortress now.”

  Phil tested his bowstring, fingers steady.

  “I can cover from the ridge if you need arrows. But if you go in alone, you’re blind.”

  Ment rubbed his hands together, already thinking of the kitchens.

  “You’ll need food. And a story. Beggars don’t just appear.”

  Pol and Kid exchanged a look, faces pale but resolute.

  “We’ll hold the ship,” Pol said.

  Kid added quietly, “Don’t die, Captain.”

  Jax gave them a small, tired smile.

  “I won’t. Not today.”

  He activated [Divine Deception] from Athena’s gift, shadows wrapping him in a perfect beggar’s guise, ragged cloak, matted hair, scarred skin, limping gait.

  The crew stared, uneasy at how easily he vanished into someone else.

  He stepped off the ship alone, leaving the crew to hide the vessel behind rocks in a narrow cove.

  The path up to the palace was familiar, every stone, every turn, but it felt longer now, heavier with the years away.

  The courtyard was crowded when he reached it, suitors lounging on benches, drinking wine from golden cups, laughing too loudly at jokes that weren’t funny.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Servants moved among them, eyes down, shoulders hunched.

  The air smelled of roasted meat and spilled wine, but beneath it lingered the sour tang of waste and neglect.

  Jax shuffled forward as the beggar, leaning on a staff he had cut from an olive branch, voice roughened by the disguise.

  “Alms for a wanderer,” he croaked.

  “A crust. A sip.”

  A few suitors glanced his way, sneered, tossed a few coins at his feet.

  One, Antinous, tall and cruel, kicked the coins into the dust.

  “Beggar filth. Get out before I have you whipped.”

  Jax bent slowly, fingers closing around the coins, head bowed.

  Inside, rage simmered, but he kept it cold.

  He slipped into the shadows near the hall entrance, watching.

  Penelope sat on a high seat, veil drawn, face pale but composed.

  Telemachus stood beside her, young man now, shoulders broad, eyes sharp.

  The suitors filled the hall, loud, entitled, treating the palace like their own.

  Jax felt the pull in his chest.

  Home.

  But not yet his.

  A servant girl approached, Eurycleia, the old nurse, eyes kind but tired.

  She saw the beggar, paused, then beckoned him toward the kitchen.

  “Come. Food. Rest.”

  In the dim kitchen, away from the hall’s noise, she brought bread and wine.

  As she set the tray down, she reached to wash his feet, the old custom for guests.

  Jax tensed.

  She paused, fingers brushing the scar on his thigh, the boar hunt from childhood.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Master?” she whispered.

  Jax met her gaze, voice low.

  “Quiet, nurse. Not yet.”

  She covered her mouth, tears welling.

  “You’re alive.”

  He nodded once.

  “Keep my secret. For now.”

  She bowed her head, trembling.

  “I will. Until you say.”

  A blue box appeared, private.

  Jax exhaled.

  One ally inside the walls.

  But the suitors’ laughter echoed from the hall, mocking.

  Jax returned to the hall as the beggar, sitting near the fire, listening.

  The suitors boasted of their strength, their wealth, their right to Penelope.

  Antinous mocked Telemachus openly.

  Another, Eurymachus, spoke of marriage as conquest.

  Penelope entered, veil drawn, voice soft but carrying.

  “Strangers,” she said. “The beggar may speak. Tell us of your travels.”

  Jax rose slowly, staff tapping the floor.

  He spoke of storms, of monsters, of islands lost and found.

  He spoke of Troy without naming himself, of a man who fought for home and lost everything but hope.

  The suitors laughed at first, then listened.

  Penelope’s hands tightened on her veil.

  When he finished, she spoke quietly.

  “You speak like a man who knows loss. Stay. Rest here.”

  Antinous sneered.

  “A beggar in the palace? Throw him out.”

  Penelope’s voice sharpened.

  “He stays.”

  The suitors grumbled but obeyed.

  Jax felt the shift, small, but real.

  A blue box flickered.

  Night fell.

  Jax slept by the fire, ears open.

  He heard the suitors plotting in whispers.

  “Kill the boy tomorrow. Then the throne is ours.”

  Jax’s hand tightened on his dagger.

  The game had begun.

  Morning came.

  The suitors gathered in the courtyard, laughing, drinking, waiting for Telemachus to appear.

  Jax watched from the shadows, disguised still.

  Telemachus stepped out, young but tall, eyes steady.

  The suitors jeered.

  Antinous stepped forward, hand on sword.

  “Boy, your father’s dead. Time to leave.”

  Telemachus didn’t flinch.

  “My father lives. And he will return.”

  The suitors laughed louder.

  Jax felt the moment arrive.

  He stepped forward as the beggar, voice rough.

  “The boy speaks truth. Odysseus lives. I have seen him.”

  Silence fell.

  Antinous turned, eyes narrow.

  “You lie, old man.”

  Jax met his gaze.

  “I do not.”

  The suitors drew weapons.

  Eurycleia appeared at the door, eyes wide.

  Jax whispered to himself.

  “Not yet.”

  But the spark was lit.

  A blue box appeared.

  Jax slipped back into the shadows.

  The suitors turned on Telemachus.

  The boy stood his ground.

  Jax whispered to the wind.

  “Soon.”

  The palace waited.

  The storm gathered.

  The hall went silent. Antinous sneered. Weapons drawn. The beggar slipped back into shadow.

  Blue box: Suitors Hostile, Assassination Plot in 24h ???

  - Would YOU have gone in as a beggar like Jax, or stormed the gates with the crew? ????

  - MVP moment: Eurycleia’s tearful recognition, Telemachus facing the jeers, or Jax’s quiet “I have seen him” spark? ??

  - 24 hours until assassination plot, what’s your plan for the beggar to flip the board? ????

  The palace waits.

  The suitors laugh.

  The beggar watches.

  Tomorrow the storm breaks. ???