Note: This chapter took longer than I intended, sorry I ran out of ideas, but I finally managed to finish it. Maybe the next ones will take a while too.

Anyway, I'm using WolfyTheWitch's animation, enjoy the chapter guys!

It took a few more minutes for Odysseus to finally calm down completely. Now, he was sitting on the floor, wiping away the tears that still marked his face while laughing. Argos, ever faithful, licked his face enthusiastically.
"Hey, Argos, stop!" he exclaimed, laughing, as the dog barked happily, his tail wagging with so much energy that Jorge wondered if he would take off like a helicopter. Watching the scene, Jorge couldn't help but smile.

After witnessing Odysseus's breakdown, he had felt guilty for creating songs about the man's suffering. But seeing this pure interaction helped ease some of the weight on his conscience. "Ah, how I wish I could capture this," he thought, until something crucial came to mind.

With a sudden memory, Jorge reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The battery displayed an infinity symbol, and a message blinked on the screen: "Thought you'd like to capture a few moments." A smile lit up his face as he pointed the phone at Odysseus and Argos, snapping a picture.

Hermes and Circe, intrigued, exchanged glances. Both were about to ask what that glowing rectangle Jorge was holding was and what it did.

"Would you prefer to take a break?" Chaos asked Odysseus, concerned that the man might have another panic attack.

Odysseus shook his head. "No need, I'm better now." He stood up slowly, while Argos, now sitting beside him, looked at him with devotion. Odysseus petted the dog's head, which seemed even more joyful with the gesture.

Telemachus quickly approached, joining in to pet the animal, while Penelope watched the scene with a warm smile.

Athena, however, stood a little behind Odysseus. Her posture was stiff, and she seemed uncertain about how to act. Interacting with her pupil had always been a challenge for her. He was her weak point, and moments like this often made her question the best way to handle him.

Odysseus, picking Argos up in his arms, returned to sit on the sofa, which magically expanded to accommodate them. He placed the dog between himself and Penelope, while Telemachus immediately hugged the animal. Argos wagged his tail so fast it seemed like he was having the best day of his life.

Jorge quickly took another picture.

Suddenly, Odysseus felt something lightly nudging his side. Looking over, he saw Scylla's head, which had stayed by his side during his breakdown. He smiled softly at her and placed a hand on her head in a gesture of gratitude.

He then raised his eyes to the screen and said, "We can start."

The screen lit up again, and the words "Remember Them" appeared in glowing letters.

Captain
Captain!
Captain!
Captain!

Odysseus stood before the unconscious body of the Cyclops, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. Eurylochus appeared behind him, concern evident in his gaze as he tried to get his captain's attention.

Athena, watching the scene, felt a pang in her chest. She should have realized it sooner. Odysseus had a dangerous tendency to freeze in moments of trauma—a reflex that surfaced whenever something profoundly disturbing happened in front of him.

She couldn't help but blame herself. She should have guided him better, prepared him to handle these situations more effectively. He was her pupil, her protégé, and it was her responsibility to ensure he was mentally strong enough to face the trials that came with his journey.

We must move quickly
We don't have much time
He didn't notice I mixed lotus in his wine

Odysseus finally noticed Eurylochus and turned to him, his face streaked with blood, one line trailing down his cheek. His gaze was tired but resolute.

"When exactly did you mix the lotus fruit into the wine?" Penelope asked, raising an eyebrow with curiosity and a touch of suspicion.

Odysseus averted his eyes, visibly ashamed. "I had my men do it while I distracted the Cyclops," he admitted, his voice heavy with a mix of guilt and relief. He vividly remembered the hurried sounds of his soldiers crushing the fruit and blending it into the wine, nearly frantic, while he worked to keep the monster occupied.

"It was a risk," he added, almost to himself, "but it was the only way to give us a chance."

Penelope crossed her arms, analyzing his explanation carefully but chose not to press him further. She knew he was exhausted—and perhaps even slightly relieved that the plan had worked despite everything.

Mark my words now
This is not the end
But captain, what'll we do with our fallen friends?
Remember them

Odysseus tried to move past Eurylochus, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. When questioned, a single silent tear slid down his cheek.

"Is that all we can do?" one of the crew asked, his voice laden with grief. He had been close to one of the fallen and struggled to accept the loss. "Just remember them?"

"It's the best we can do now," Odysseus replied, guilt evident in every word. "W-we couldn't bring their bodies for a proper burial." His voice trembled under the weight of the pain, and his eyes fell on Polites—a reflection of all the lives he had lost.

"We must honor our comrades in memory," he continued, with more determination. "So that, at least, their suffering may be eased in the underworld." His voice, once heavy with remorse, now carried a tone of resolve. He lifted his gaze, meeting his crew's eyes with unwavering intensity.

He would remember them—all the men who had fallen under his command. He carried in his mind all 600 names and faces of those he had lost—the ones who met their end in the Cyclops' cave, those condemned by the beast's wrath upon hearing his name, those he sacrificed to Scylla, and those he offered to the king of the skies.

They would not be forgotten. Every sacrifice, every life lost, would live on in his memory forever.

When the fire begins to fade
For the fallen and afraid
We are not to let them die in vain

"And was it all in vain?" Odysseus thought bitterly as the weight of every sacrifice made on his journey home pressed against his chest. Faces and names of the lost flashed through his mind like ghosts, each carrying the cost of his decisions.

"No," he decided, his determination rising like a rekindled flame. His eyes narrowed, his stance steadied. "I will not let it be in vain."

He took a deep breath, feeling the strength of his resolve. "I will return home," he promised himself, "even if I must face the god of the seas himself to do so."

Remember them!

Odysseus lifted his head with determination, the remnants of tears still shining in his eyes as he faced his crew. Eurylochus stood by his side, silent but solid as a pillar of support.

The captain's words echoed with an almost tangible force, and the crew felt chills run down their spines. There was something in the intensity of his voice and the fire in his gaze that reignited a spark in their hearts.

They remembered their fallen comrades, each face and name etched into their memories. That memory, once painful, now fueled a renewed determination. They would not let the sacrifices be in vain. They would not let their names be forgotten.

Odysseus wasn't just speaking for himself—he was speaking for all of them. And in that moment, the crew found renewed strength, united by a purpose greater than mere survival.

We're the ones who carry on
The flames of those who've gone!
And our comrades will not
Die in vain

I need all our hands on his club
This is how we're getting out of here
Use your swords to sharpen the stub
And turn it to a giant spear!

Odysseus drew his sword, beginning to sharpen the giant club with firm, calculated movements. The others in the cave soon followed suit, each taking on their task with determination.

"How much lotus did you mix into the wine to knock him out long enough to sharpen a club that size?" Ctimene asked, looking at her brother curiously. "Even with so many men, that must have taken a lot of time."

Odysseus paused for a moment, thoughtful. "I don't remember exactly," he admitted, furrowing his brow. "I recall grabbing a few fruits and handing them to the men." He pondered for a few more moments before guessing, "If I had to estimate, I'd say… about three whole fruits, maybe?"

The response prompted immediate reactions. Athena made a strangled sound, almost choking at the revelation, while Hermes erupted into a fit of violent coughing.

"Three whole fruits?" Athena repeated incredulously, turning to him. During the trial, she had focused solely on Odysseus, paying little attention to the actions of his subordinates, and now this information seemed absurd.

"That would have been enough to knock him out for days!" Athena explained, her voice tinged with surprise.

Hermes, who had finally stopped coughing, couldn't contain the burst of laughter that followed.

Odysseus, slack-jawed, seemed to have transformed into a perfect imitation of a fish out of water, blinking at them wordlessly as he processed what he had just heard.

Let's kill 'em!
His body is blocking the path!
If we kill him we'll be stuck inside!

Several men could be seen working together to lift the enormous improvised stake. The scene then shifted to the cyclops's slumbering back, a daunting reminder of the challenge ahead.

"With our luck, of course, this would be a problem," groaned Eurylochus, running a hand down his face in exasperation while receiving sympathetic pats on the back from Ctimene and Polites.

He turned to Odysseus, casting him a weary look. "I want you to know this bad luck has always been yours," he said in a tone half-playful, half-accusatory.

Odysseus responded with a crooked smile, but inside, his thoughts were far more complex. "You have no idea," he thought, silently recalling all the times his cunning had been their only salvation—and all the times luck had seemed to take someone else's side.

Captain where do we attack him?
We gotta stab him in the eye!
Yes sir!

The camera focused on Odysseus's eye as he calmly explained the plan to his men. His determination was evident—cold and calculated.

"Hoh," Circe murmured, raising an intrigued eyebrow. It was an unexpectedly cruel move on Odysseus's part, something she hadn't anticipated from him.

Blinding a cyclops wasn't just a tactic for survival—it was a sentence that shattered their identity. The single eye was the defining feature of the cyclops, setting them apart from all other creatures in the world. Without it, a cyclops lost not only their vision but also their place among their kind.

Circe vividly remembered her studies on these creatures. Blind cyclopes were often shunned by their own society. As skilled blacksmiths, losing their sight compromised their ability to work with precision and safety, rendering them useless and, more often than not, dangerous.

Odysseus had not only tricked the cyclops but was condemning him to a life of isolation and disdain, turning him into a pariah. "Cruel," she thought, "but efficient."

There was something about his cunning that fascinated her, even as the act itself unsettled her. Odysseus was willing to push boundaries to survive, even if it meant bearing the weight of his own choices.

Remember them!
When the fire begins to fade
For the fallen and afraid
We are not to let them die in vain
Remember them!
We're the ones who carry on
The flames of those who've gone
and our comrades will not die in vain!

As the men carried the stake to attack the sleeping cyclops, Odysseus averted his gaze, his attention drawn to Polites's lifeless body. A crushing weight tightened around his chest. He knelt beside his fallen friend, his face marked by silent pain. With trembling hands, he closed Polites's eyes in a gesture of respect and removed the headband he wore. Without a word, Odysseus tied it firmly around his arm, a silent promise that he would not forget him.

Outside the screen, Polites watched the scene with wide eyes, his breathing uneven. When he could no longer bear it, he closed his eyes, struggling to keep his composure. His hands trembled, unable to forget what he had just witnessed.

A gentle touch on his cheek brought him back to reality. He opened his eyes and saw the small Lotus Eater beside him, trying to hug him with its tiny arms. A hesitant smile formed on his lips as he patted the creature's head.

"Thank you," Polites murmured, his voice low but heavy with emotion. The little Lotus Eater smiled back, nodding cheerfully as if it understood.

Now!
Aaarrrrrggghhh!

The improvised spear struck down hard on the cyclops's eye. In an instant, he awoke, letting out a deafening scream of pain as his massive hands flew to his face, desperately trying to alleviate the agony. In despair, the giant stood abruptly, his clumsy movements threatening to crush those around him. The nearby men quickly scattered to avoid being hit, chaos spreading through the cave.

Telemachus and Polites winced at the creature's agonized screams. As much as they knew it was necessary, they couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be in that situation—the excruciating pain, the desperation. The thought made them shudder, and an unexpected feeling of pity for the creature washed over them.

Argos, meanwhile, lowered his head and covered his ears with his paws, the cyclops's screams making him shiver and let out small whimpers. Odysseus, noticing his loyal companion's discomfort, placed a firm but reassuring hand on his head, stroking him slowly to calm him.

Even amidst the chaos, the scene seemed to echo a silent truth: the fight for survival often demanded choices none of them wanted to make but were inevitable.

Scatter!
Aaaggghhh!
Who hurts you?
There are more of them?

The cyclops, still screaming in pain, staggered until he knelt before another entrance to the cave. But then, as silence began to settle, new eyes started to glow in the darkness beyond the entrance.

A nervous murmur rippled through the room as many of those present paled at the sight. The idea was terrifying: if just one cyclops had been such a monumental challenge, what would it mean to face more of them? Worse, no one could determine how many monsters the cave might harbor.

Odysseus, for his part, sighed deeply, his expression filled with relief. Thankfully, they only had to deal with one. The thought of facing multiple cyclopes at once sent a chill down his spine. He didn't even want to imagine what might have happened if the others had been awake.

Who hurts you?
Hide
Who hurts you?
Captain we should run!

All the men quickly dispersed, their footsteps echoing through the cave as they searched for shelter. Eurylochus and Odysseus hid behind a large rock, their heavy breaths betraying their attempts to stay quiet. However, tension mounted as more eyes began to appear in the cave's darkness, glowing with a menacing light.

Eurylochus broke the tense silence, quietly calling out to some who seemed paralyzed by fear. His attempt to maintain calm offered a glimmer of hope, but the weight of the situation remained overwhelming.

Ctímene, watching from afar, gripped her husband's hand tightly, her tension almost palpable. She was torn between fear for him and concern for her brother.

On another couch, Penelope did the same. Her hand found Odysseus's, but her eyes were fixed on the screen. Her fear for Odysseus was evident in every line of her face, but she knew she couldn't give in to panic. He always found a way... but what if, this time, it was different?

The cave seemed to hold its breath, the imminent danger pulsing like a heartbeat that matched the anxiety of everyone present.

Wait
Who hurts you?
Captain please!

Eurylochus couldn't contain his frustration. He leaned forward on the couch, shouting at his screen self: "Listen to your captain! If you leave now, the cyclopes will notice you!" His voice was filled with irritation and desperation, as if sheer willpower could change the course of events.

He couldn't understand how he could be so defiant in the future. Odysseus clearly had a plan, and disobeying at that moment was suicidal. Every fiber of his being wanted to grab himself on the screen and shake him, forcing him to see what was so obvious.

"Leaving with all the cyclopes alert will only lead to everyone's death!" he muttered to himself, his frustration boiling over. Even knowing he couldn't alter what was happening, the thought of his own error weighed heavily on his mind. The shared responsibility for so many lives made the moment nearly unbearable.

Beside him, Ctímene placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him. But Eurylochus still felt the tension bubbling within. Odysseus always had a plan—and, more importantly, he was always right in moments like this.

Wait!
It was Nobody Nobody!

"It was a risky plan," Odysseus murmured, now calmer as he analyzed the events. "If the cyclops had mentioned 'those humans,' we would all be dead." He let out a long sigh, feeling a partial relief, though his mind remained restless. "And if the cyclops were a bit smarter..." He left the sentence unfinished, the thought hanging heavily in the air.

Hearing this, Eurylochus pressed his lips together, unsettled by the analysis. He knew Odysseus was right. Not only that, but if he had spoken just a little louder, there was a real chance the other cyclopes might have heard them, and then all would have been lost.

Eurylochus glanced sideways at his captain. Odysseus looked exhausted, both physically and emotionally. "He's shaken," Eurylochus thought, his chest tightening. "Polites's death still weighs on him." Unlike Eurylochus, who had already begun to process the tragedy, Odysseus hadn't had the time to deal with the loss of his friend—or with the guilt he likely carried.

He looked away, struggling against his own thoughts. Despite the circumstances, Eurylochus couldn't ignore the fact that they were alive thanks to Odysseus's leadership. But in that moment, the tension between victory and its cost felt unbearable.

If nobody hurts you be silent!
Don't go!

The other eyes in the darkness began to close slowly, while the cyclops, now desperate, called for his companions with palpable anguish in his voice.

Scylla, watching the image on the screen, fixed her gaze on the creature. As much as she despised that monster, she couldn't help but project herself into the scene before her. The early years after her transformation rushed back to her as a whirlwind of dark memories. She had been rejected even by the gods, feared by all living beings. Additionally, six new consciousnesses had come to inhabit her mind, each with different thoughts and personalities, making her existence even more chaotic.

For centuries, she believed there was no salvation, that she would always remain a monster. For centuries, she fed on a voracious hatred: against the gods, against humans, and especially against Circe and the man who had once loved her. "What was his name again?" she thought, but quickly dismissed the question. After so much time, it no longer mattered. After all, now she had something—or someone—she didn't hate.

She recalled the day that ship sailed into her cave. At first, her only thought was whether there would be at least six living beings to feed her always-hungry heads. But as she listened to the conversations coming from the deck, something shifted. She became interested in the captain. The man who, according to his crew, had been betrayed by someone he trusted most. But it wasn't just the betrayal that caught her attention; it was what he did afterward.

When he ordered six torches lit, Scylla saw something in his eyes—something familiar. That man wasn't just a leader; he was a survivor. Someone who had been destroyed by betrayal and reborn different. A monster, like her.

But there was a difference. Scylla was a monster inside and out, molded by pain and hatred. Odysseus, although he didn't bear her monstrosity in his body, was a monster of another kind, which perhaps made him even more dangerous.

She smiled at the memory. Her heads, always hungry, whispered among themselves, wondering if they would see the kind man who had fed them again. Scylla, however, had a different question in mind: could she, someday, reunite with someone who was like her?

On second thought, it now seemed obvious—they were indeed very alike.

Scylla made her decision then and there. From today onward, she had a little brother. A wicked smile curved her lips as she heard joyful chants coming from her heads, as if celebrating her decision. She wondered, with a touch of amusement, if her new little brother would let her devour the criminals of his kingdom.

Let's grab the sheep and away we go!

Penelope sighed deeply, letting go of a weight that seemed to have settled in her chest since the beginning of that ordeal. Finally, they were about to leave that dark cave, which had taken so much from them. The place that had tested their limits and marked them forever.

But that was in the past now. The worst was over, and the prospect of leaving it all behind filled her heart with relief. Finally, her husband was coming back to her.

Have you forgotten the lessons I taught you?

Suddenly, Athena appeared on the screen before Odysseus, her face filled with a cold and controlled fury. Odysseus froze for a moment, surprise etched into his features as he tried to process the unexpected appearance.

The sudden presence of the goddess startled many members of the crew. Focused and tense with the situation, they literally jumped in fright, as if the goddess herself had appeared in the room instead of on the screen. Nervous murmurs echoed among them as they tried to compose themselves, but Athena's piercing gaze continued to command everyone's attention, as though demanding even time to pause and listen to what she had to say.

He's still a threat until he's dead
Finish it

Athena turned to Odysseus, her firm and analytical gaze fixed on him. "Now I see it wouldn't matter," she said, her voice filled with conviction. "Even if you wanted to kill him, you couldn't."

Odysseus frowned, confused by her words. Sensing this, the goddess continued, elaborating her explanation in a more didactic but still serious tone: "The cyclops broke the sacred laws of Xenia by attacking his guests. Worse, he not only attacked but dared to do so after receiving a gift as a sign of goodwill. His punishment, therefore, is just: to live the rest of his life blind, rejected by his kind, carrying the weight of his own actions."

There was a tone of severity in her voice, but also something that seemed to indicate silent respect for how Odysseus had handled the situation. He absorbed her words slowly, his expression reflecting the complexity of the moment—a mix of relief, understanding, and the weight of the decision he had made.

No
No?
What good would killing do
When mercy is a skill
More of this world could learn to use

Odysseus's face was marked by sadness, the lines of his expression heavy with the burden of his decisions. He avoided looking directly at Athena, but he could feel the goddess's eyes on him, filled with a mixture of disbelief and silent analysis.

On the other side of the screen, Polites watched the scene with bright eyes. A small smile curved his lips as a sense of pride grew in his chest. He was happy—his friend had remembered his teachings. It was a small victory amidst the chaos.

"Now," Polites thought with renewed determination, "we just need to get out of here without alerting the monster." The idea of escaping and finally having enough supplies to return home filled his mind with hope. Despite the imminent danger, he allowed himself to imagine, even for an instant, the relief of stepping on safe ground again.

My friend is dead!
Our foe is blind!
The blood we shed
It never dries!
Is this what it means to be a Warrior of the Mind?

"I'm sorry, Athena. That was unnecessary," murmured Odysseus, his voice heavy with remorse as he averted his gaze. He was grieving, the pain consuming him, but he knew he didn't need to have spoken that way to his friend.

Athena observed him for a moment before shaking her head gently, dismissing his concerns. "It is not you who needs to apologize," she said, her voice firm but laden with understanding. "I chose a bad moment to intervene. My intention was to help, but I didn't consider the gravity of what you were facing."

She paused, adjusting her tone to something more direct but still careful. "The most important thing now is that you leave here as quickly as possible. Prolonging this fight would be futile and dangerous. Continuing to face the cyclops would bring no benefit—only more losses."

Odysseus nodded slowly, absorbing her words. Although the pain was still present, he felt a small spark of gratitude that Athena understood the situation.

Don't!
Hey cyclops!

Athena disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared, leaving Odysseus standing in silence, still absorbing her words. On the ship, he turned to face the cyclops one last time, the gravity of the situation still weighing heavily on him.

"However, that really wasn't necessary," Athena's voice echoed again. Even though she knew her protégé had already understood the lesson, she couldn't help but reinforce her point. For some reason, she felt an almost maternal need to ensure he fully grasped it.

Odysseus nodded almost imperceptibly, turning his gaze to the horizon while doing his best to hide the slight tremor in his eyes. He sighed internally. "Why did she need to repeat that?" he thought, irritated with himself. He knew he already understood. Gods, she was acting like his mother.

Beside him, Eurylochus and Polites exchanged knowing glances, small smiles forming on their faces. It was clear to both of them that they'd found something to tease Odysseus about later. Perhaps a good dose of jokes would help lighten the weight he carried.

More importantly, it might serve as a reminder that, despite everything they had lost, their friendship and camaraderie remained intact. They didn't blame him for what had happened, and Odysseus needed to know that.

When we met, I led with peace
While you fed your inner beast
But my comrades will not die in vain!

The screen shifted, showing the crew members who were in the cave. Then it focused on Eurylochus, his expression filled with determination, before returning to Odysseus. Each scene change seemed to carry the weight of the moment, as if the story itself wanted to emphasize the impact of each decision.

The spirits of those who had perished at the hands of the cyclops watched anxiously, with a strange mixture of emotions. They felt happiness in their hearts, seeing that their captain hadn't forgotten them — every sacrifice, every face, was still alive in Odysseus's memory. But at the same time, there was a tinge of frustration.

They wondered if they could have done more. They knew Odysseus had frozen, but they didn't believe that meant the plan was doomed. They weren't puppets, needing to be controlled at every step. They could have reacted, they could have fought. Maybe they wouldn't have changed the outcome, but the doubt lingered: what if they had tried?

Now, as they watched the events unfold, a quiet determination grew within them. When the time came, when they faced challenges again, they promised themselves they would be better than they were on that screen.

Remember them!
The next time that you dare choose not to spare
Remember them
Remember us
Remember me!
I'm the reigning king of Ithaca!

Penelope turned away from the screen, her features marked by a mix of worry and curiosity, before fixing her gaze on her husband. "Odysseus, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice firm but tinged with softness.

Odysseus, however, remained silent. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, his eyes fixed on a distant point as if he were seeing something no one else could.

Penelope waited for an answer, but when she realized none would come, she leaned slightly toward him, her concern growing. Even without words, she knew something deeply troubled him, something he couldn't yet share.

I am neither man nor mythical!
I am your darkest moment!
I am the infamous
Odysseus!

Odysseus pointed his sword at the cyclops, his voice echoing through the cave as he shouted his final lines. The camera then showed the cyclops, smiling unsettlingly, an image that seemed to carry a deeper meaning.

"Odysseus!?" Penelope called, her voice a mix of perplexity and reproach. It was both a question and a demand for an explanation.

He averted his gaze, unable to meet his wife's eyes. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice low and full of remorse. "That was impulsive of me. I... I don't know what I was thinking." He knew any attempt at justification would sound hollow, so he chose to acknowledge his mistake and apologize.

Penelope watched him for a moment, the intensity in her eyes gradually softening. With a resigned sigh, she chose not to prolong the discussion. "I can't stay mad at you for long," she said as the screen slowly faded to black, leaving only the distant sound of silence.

Despite her words, she knew this wouldn't be the last time she'd face her husband's impulsive decisions. Even so, she couldn't deny how much she admired him — both for his courage and for his humility in recognizing his mistakes.

Some timeline context:

Odysseus is from the end of Charybdis.

Calypso is from the beginning of Love in Paradise.

Athena, Hermes, Circe, Penelope, Telemachus, and Ctimene are from the end of Thunder Bringer.

Scylla is from the end of God Games

The Lotus Eater is from before Polyphemus

Jorge is from after the Revenge Saga.

The rest are from the beginning of Full Speed Ahead.