The palace halls reeked of spilled wine, roasted meat, and the sour, clinging stench of too many men who had overstayed their welcome and grown bold in the absence of consequences.

  Jax moved through them as the beggar, staff tapping the marble floor in a slow, deliberate rhythm that matched the limping gait of his disguise, every step calculated to avoid drawing eyes while keeping his ears open to every word.

  The suitors filled the great hall, sprawled across benches and tables that had once belonged to Odysseus, their laughter loud and careless, voices overlapping in crude boasts about wealth, strength, and the woman they all claimed as prize.

  Jax kept his head bowed, eyes low, but he saw everything, the way Antinous dominated the center with cruel jokes that cut like knives, the way Eurymachus smiled too smoothly while his fingers toyed with a golden cup, the way the lesser men clustered around them like dogs waiting for scraps, ready to tear at the first sign of weakness.

  He found a shadowed corner near the hearth, close enough to hear every word, far enough to avoid notice.

  The fire crackled, throwing flickering light across faces flushed with drink and arrogance.

  Penelope sat on her high seat at the far end, veil drawn, posture perfect but rigid, as though she were holding herself together by will alone, every breath a quiet act of defiance.

  Telemachus stood beside her, young man now, shoulders broad, eyes sharp with the anger of someone who had watched his home become a battlefield for years.

  Jax felt the pull in his chest, home, family, everything he had fought to reach, but he kept it cold, locked down, because revealing himself now would be suicide.

  Not yet.

  A servant approached with bread and a cup of watered wine.

  Jax took them with a mumbled thanks, voice roughened by the disguise.

  The servant paused, eyes lingering on the beggar’s scarred hands, then moved on without a word.

  Jax ate slowly, listening, every word a blade he filed away for later.

  Antinous raised his cup, voice carrying across the hall like a whip.

  “Telemachus, boy, your father is dead. The sea took him years ago. Time to accept it. Your mother will choose a husband soon, whether she wants to or not.”

  Telemachus’s jaw tightened, knuckles white on the arm of his chair.

  “My father lives. And he will return.”

  Laughter rolled through the hall, harsh and mocking, the sound grating against Jax’s nerves like broken glass.

  Eurymachus leaned forward, smile smooth and venomous.

  “Young man, hope is a pretty thing. But reality is uglier. Your mother delays. We grow impatient. And impatience has teeth.”

  The threat hung in the air, unspoken but unmistakable.

  Jax’s fingers tightened on his staff, rage simmering beneath the beggar’s rags.

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  Night fell.

  The suitors drank deeper, voices slurring, boasts turning to threats that grew bolder with every cup.

  Jax moved among them like a ghost, ears open, gathering fragments that cut deeper than any blade.

  Antinous, drunk and loud, leaned toward Eurymachus.

  “The boy must die. He’s the only thing keeping Penelope from choosing. One arrow in the dark, and the throne is ours.”

  Eurymachus, quieter, colder, swirled his wine.

  “Not yet. We wait for the bow contest. Let her choose. If she refuses, then we act. The people will blame the gods, not us.”

  A lesser suitor laughed, voice thick.

  “And if Odysseus returns? The beggar says he lives.”

  More laughter, sharp and cruel.

  “Old fool. The sea keeps what it takes.”

  Jax retreated to the kitchen, where Eurycleia waited.

  She pulled him into a storeroom, door closed, voice barely a whisper.

  “They plot against Telemachus,” she said, eyes wide with fear. “Tomorrow night, during the feast. An arrow from the shadows.”

  Jax nodded, the plan already forming in his mind.

  “I heard. I’ll be ready.”

  She gripped his arm, trembling.

  “You must reveal yourself soon. The boy needs his father.”

  “Not yet,” Jax said, voice low. “The disguise is our weapon. They think I’m nothing. Let them.”

  Eurycleia nodded, tears in her eyes.

  “I kept your secret. I’ll keep theirs too. Until you say.”

  She slipped out.

  Jax stayed in the dark, planning.

  A second blue box appeared.

  The words burned.

  Jax exhaled.

  One day.

  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 like a blade.

  Antinous turned, eyes narrow.

  “You lie, old man.”

  Jax met his gaze, unflinching.

  “I do not.”

  The suitors drew weapons, steel glinting in the morning light.

  Eurycleia appeared at the door, eyes wide with terror.

  Jax whispered to himself.

  “Not yet.”

  But the spark was lit.

  A blue box appeared, urgent.

  Jax slipped back into the shadows.

  The suitors turned on Telemachus, blades half-drawn.

  The boy stood his ground, unflinching.

  The palace held its breath.

  That afternoon, Jax moved through the palace like a ghost, gathering what he could.

  He found a hidden passage behind the kitchen, Eurycleia’s doing, a narrow tunnel that led to the outer wall.

  He marked it on a mental map, a potential escape or ambush route.

  He spoke to Telemachus in private, disguised still, voice low.

  “I am a friend. Your father sent me. Trust me.”

  Telemachus studied him, eyes sharp.

  “My father is dead.”

  Jax lifted the veil of disguise just enough, the scar on his thigh visible.

  Telemachus’s breath caught.

  “Father?”

  Jax shook his head.

  “Not yet. The time is coming. Stay strong. Watch the suitors. When the moment arrives, be ready.”

  Telemachus nodded, eyes fierce.

  “I will.”

  Jax slipped away.

  Night fell.

  The feast began.

  Suitors drank.

  Laughed.

  Plotting.

  Jax watched from the shadows.

  Antinous stood, cup raised.

  “Tomorrow, the boy dies. Then Penelope is ours.”

  Cheers.

  Jax felt rage rise, cold and sharp.

  He whispered to the wind.

  “Soon.”

  A final blue box appeared.

  Jax gripped his dagger.

  The clock was ticking.

  The suitors laughed.

  The palace held its breath.

  - Would YOU have held the disguise as long as Jax, or revealed yourself the moment you saw Penelope? ????

  - MVP moment: Eurycleia’s tearful “Master?”, Telemachus facing the jeers, or Jax’s quiet “I have seen him” that silenced the hall? ???

  - Midnight assassination incoming, what’s your plan for the beggar to turn the tide? ????

  The suitors laugh.

  The beggar watches.

  Midnight approaches.

  The storm breaks soon. ?????