Note: My God, what a looonlong chapter, and difficult to write, but I think the delay was worth it.

I received some feedback on discord from friends who notified me that the chapters might be difficult to read, so I'm going to start adjusting that.

With that said, the animation I used as a base was that of WolfyTheWitch.

I hope you enjoy!

The screen remained dark for a few minutes as the audience absorbed what had just transpired. Nervous murmurs filled the room but soon died down as the words "My Goodbye" lit up in silver.

[Athena]
You were reckless, sentimental at best

The song began immediately after the previous scene ended, with Odysseus still gazing in the direction of the cyclops. His eyes were fixed, but his mind seemed distant, as if wandering elsewhere. Suddenly, everything around him took on a familiar grayish tone. He turned and saw Athena standing with her back to him, her posture imposing yet carrying something he couldn't quite identify.
Odysseus averted his gaze instinctively, overcome with a mix of guilt and shame. He knew he had disappointed his mentor, even though she hadn't said a word. As if reading his thoughts, Athena began to speak, her voice steady, without turning to face him.

"There's nothing wrong with being sentimental," Polites said firmly from among the spectators, his brows furrowed as he made his point clear. He understood what Athena was trying to convey on the screen, but he couldn't completely agree with her.

"Emotions are a fundamental part of who we are," Polites continued, now turning slightly toward Odysseus but avoiding direct eye contact. "Shutting off your heart won't protect you. On the contrary, it will only hurt you more." His voice softened, but his words still carried weight as he murmured just loudly enough for the goddess to hear: "Bottling up those emotions will only make them explode at the worst possible moment… and that can cause even greater harm."

Athena tilted her head slightly in Polites' direction and, to his surprise, nodded. The simple gesture left him utterly bewildered. He hadn't expected her to acknowledge him, let alone agree. Speaking so boldly to a goddess was something he hadn't thought through—he had braced himself for a stern reaction or perhaps a dismissive glance. But instead, she had acknowledged him.

Polites' expression softened as he contemplated the meaning behind her response. Athena, noticing the impact of her reaction, returned her focus to Odysseus, who was still avoiding her gaze.

"You think you're protecting yourself and others, but you're not," Athena began, her tone now gentler yet firm. "Allowing yourself to feel is not weakness. It is courage."

Odysseus raised his eyes slowly, mirroring the shame of his on-screen self but now laced with an additional, unspoken emotion.

That's not a teaching of mine

Athena turned her head slightly to the side but still didn't fully face her pupil.

"But it should be," she said, her voice heavy with regret. There was a weight in her words, as though they were directed as much at herself as at Odysseus.

"Wisdom comes in many forms," she continued, her steady gaze locking with Odysseus'. "And knowing how to manage your emotions is a lesson I should have taught you."
She paused, as if deliberating over her next words. Silently, she added to herself "And perhaps it's a lesson I still need to learn."

Odysseus stared at her, taken aback by the vulnerability in her voice. It was rare to see his mentor express something so personal, so human. For a moment, the heavy guilt he carried seemed to lift slightly, replaced by a shared sense of understanding.

You've grown soft, your dead friends can attest

Now, Athena turned her head slightly back, casting a piercing glance toward Odysseus. The elegant curve of her neck, combined with her impeccable posture, exuded unwavering confidence. Her voice, tinged with subtle reproach, still didn't fully convey the depth of her emotions.

Odysseus recoiled at the comment, the words cutting into his mind like sharp knives, made all the more biting after everything he had endured.

"I'm sorry." That's what Athena wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat, lingering as a fleeting thought, trapped between her pride and hesitation.

Circe inhaled deeply, her lips pressed together as she drew in air between her teeth. The goddess' remark had been cruel, even by her standards. She found herself thinking that not even she, known for turning men into pigs indiscriminately, would have said something so cold. The only exception, of course, being Odysseus himself.

[ODYSSEUS]
Hey

Odysseus initially wore an expression of surprise and shock: his mouth opened slightly, and his eyes widened reflexively as he exclaimed toward Athena, almost instinctively. However, the surprise quickly gave way to discontent. His lips tightened into a semi-open line, while his brows furrowed in a mix of frustration and disapproval, reflecting his internal struggle to process what he had just heard.

Those who had perished at the hands of the cyclops felt deep gratitude as they watched how far Odysseus was willing to go to defend them. Even though his action was impulsive and disrespectful—especially toward a goddess—it was still a clear demonstration of his unwavering loyalty. Yet, amidst their gratitude, there was also concern. They feared their captain might provoke divine wrath, endangering both himself and the survivors.

Penelope, for her part, felt a mix of emotions as she watched the scene. She bit the inside of her cheek slightly, holding back a reprimand that hovered on the tip of her tongue. She understood this moment was significant for Odysseus—a moment of reckoning with his choices and emotions. Starting an argument now would be unwise and might only worsen the situation.
Instead, she remained silent, her hands clasped tightly together as she sent a supportive look toward her husband. Though worried, she chose to trust that he knew what he was doing—or, at the very least, that he would find the right path, as he always did.

[ATHENA]
Put your emotions aside
You're a warrior meant to lead the rest
I don't know where I went wrong

Athena finally turned fully toward Odysseus, her rigid posture reflecting the storm of emotions building within her. Her voice, previously controlled, grew progressively louder, revealing feelings she rarely allowed to surface. Her expression was a whirlwind of initial anger, disbelief, and a bitter tinge of disappointment.

As her words poured out, her body seemed to move with them. Her gestures were broad and inconsistent, as if her fury guided her movements more than her logic. Every time her hands rose or pointed, the weight of her emotions made her actions exaggerated, almost chaotic.

Odysseus watched her in silence, knowing that any hasty words might only fuel the tempest that was Athena in that moment. But as he studied her closely, something struck him—a subtle trace of vulnerability behind her rage. She wasn't just angry; there was a deeper weight, a quiet self-criticism she may not have fully recognized herself.

Athena, on the other hand, was lost in her thoughts as she spoke. She knew where she had gone wrong. For so long, she had prioritized only certain aspects of wisdom, believing that if she could shape Odysseus into having a cold heart and a completely controlled mind, free from emotions, he would become the "perfect warrior." Now, she silently mocked that idea.

"What a foolish, naive thought," she admitted to herself. "Everyone has their flaws. Believing anyone could exist without them isn't just childish—it's a dangerous illusion."

She let out a nearly inaudible sigh as she reflected. The true purpose of wisdom, she realized, wasn't to create perfection but to recognize inevitable flaws and learn to face them. It was about accepting humanity in all its complexity and working with what was there, rather than trying to create the impossible.

But I warned ya, and you failed the test

"That was just a test?" Eurylochus murmured, his voice low but filled with incredulity and frustration. Only those seated nearby could hear him, but the weight of his words seemed to ripple outward. "Risking our comrades' lives... all of it was just a test? And for what? Were our deeds and victories in the war not enough? How many more trials must we endure before we earn approval... and peace?"

His tone rose as his emotions overwhelmed him, spilling into each word. There was genuine bitterness in his voice, the kind that comes only after years of unrecognized sacrifices.
He waited for an answer—some word, some gesture, something to justify what he felt. But nothing came. All he received was silence of the divine.

The silence around him was as oppressive as the anger bubbling in his chest. No one dared to speak—perhaps because they shared the same frustration or perhaps because they feared the answer that wasn't forthcoming.

Eurylochus leaned back, crossing his arms and pressing his lips together. Even without answers, his mind couldn't stop wondering, "In the end, was any of this truly worth it?"

So now I'm gone

Athena leaned forward, bringing her face closer to Odysseus. Her body projected an imposing presence, and even in this curved position, she still seemed to tower over him like an untouchable divine figure. Her eyes bore into his, a mix of intensity and judgment that made the air around them feel heavier.

Odysseus tried to maintain his composure, but it was impossible to ignore the aura of power radiating from her. Her size and posture communicated something almost intimidating, and it showed in the tension on his face. His gaze was locked with hers, but there was a slight hesitation in his eyes, as if he feared what would come next.

Telemachus looked horrified. The idea of his grandmother abandoning his father left him shaken. He had already lost one grandmother and couldn't bear the thought of losing another. Without hesitation, he stood from his place between his parents and ran toward Athena, wrapping his arms around one of her legs. Even seated, the goddess's legs were nearly as tall as he was, emphasizing how small he seemed beside her.

"You're not going to leave us too, are you, Grandma?" he asked in a pleading tone, his eyes shimmering with a vulnerability that tugged at everyone's heart. The idea of being abandoned again, especially by another family member, was too much for him to bear.

Athena remained silent, unsure of what to say to the boy. She couldn't lie to comfort him—the screen wouldn't allow it. Finally, moved more by instinct than reason, she gently lifted him and placed him on her lap. Without words, she tried to offer some comfort, her hands resting softly on his shoulders. Though she was accustomed to leading warriors and dealing with crises, moments like this left her uncertain, exposed to a kind of fragility she rarely faced.

Circe observed the interaction with a mix of interest and concern, her keen eyes catching every movement and expression. It wasn't surprising, though still disheartening, to see how deeply abandonment seemed to scar this family.

[ATHENA]
This way, you'll know what your place is
This way, you can't cross the line

Athena slowly rose to her full height, her imposing figure looming over Odysseus, who observed her in silence. Her presence was almost overwhelming, a stark reminder of her divine nature. Her tone of voice, which had previously carried latent emotions, now returned to a controlled calmness—cold and calculated.

The control in her voice was mirrored in her face, which had transformed into an impassive, almost impenetrable mask. It was as though she had deliberately set aside any trace of emotion, replacing it with the serene composure that only a goddess could maintain.

"But I crossed the line," Odysseus thought, the memory of his experience in the underworld flooding his mind like an inevitable tide. Even after nearly eight years since he had sailed through the dark waters of the Styx, the memory remained as vivid as the day he lived it. How could he ever forget?

The laments of the dead still echoed in his mind, voices filled with pain and regret, especially those of his lost crew. The oppressive atmosphere of that place seemed to cling to him, suffocating him. The acrid smell of despair and death still haunted his senses, as though it had imprinted itself on his very soul.

That journey had marked him deeply, in a way that nothing else could. It wasn't just a place; it was the embodiment of all lost hopes and dreams—a reflection of everything he had sacrificed. He knew he would never forget the land of broken dreams, no matter how much time passed.

The land of broken dreams still haunted his nightmares.

This way, when all is over
You'll keep yours and I'll keep mine
This way, you won't disappoint me
This way, you won't waste my time

Athena materialized her spear and turned her back on Odysseus once more.

"My time was never wasted," Athena murmured, her voice more a thought spoken aloud than a direct statement to Odysseus. Her hand, without her realizing it, moved gently over Telemachus's head, who practically melted in her lap. The child closed his eyes, completely absorbed in the comfort and security her presence provided.

Odysseus, seated nearby, felt a tightness in his chest upon hearing those words. He forced a smile at Athena—not because it was false, but because the memories that had surfaced made it difficult to sustain. The weight of them still pressed on his heart, but he knew he needed to respond.

"I can say the same," he said, his voice firm yet tinged with emotion. The words flowed naturally, as though they had been trapped for too long and had finally found freedom.

Athena glanced at him briefly, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. She realized that despite all the hardships and losses they had faced together, there was a connection between them that could never be broken. Not anymore.

This way, I'll close the door
Consider this as my goodbye

[ODYSSEUS]
"That's just like you, why should I be surprised?"

Odysseus's head hung low, and his tone was subdued, almost hesitant. He seemed to weigh every word carefully before speaking, as if he feared choosing the wrong one. Yet, the sadness and disbelief etched on his face seemed to distract him, momentarily making him forget the divine nature of the being before him.

The goddess before him was not just his mentor but a divine entity capable of perceiving far more than his words could convey. And yet, in that moment, Odysseus seemed to address her not as a goddess, but as someone he hoped would somehow understand his pain.

Penelope couldn't help but feel uneasy about the tone her husband used when speaking to a goddess, nor about his choice of words. A part of her was deeply worried about the possible repercussions; if it were a less benevolent or indifferent god, she was certain she'd become a widow before the conversation ended.

Still, Penelope held her tongue. She knew this was a significant moment for her husband—both emotionally and mentally—and starting a quarrel now would only complicate things further.
Her disapproval, however, was impossible to hide. She fixed her gaze on Odysseus's head, directing a reproachful look so intense it seemed to burn. It was the most she could do without breaking the silence.

Meanwhile, Odysseus was so focused on Athena and the screen before him that he failed to notice his wife's gaze. Yet, an uncomfortable sensation began to creep up inside him, an inexplicable weight that gnawed at his thoughts. "Why do I feel so uneasy?" he wondered, instinctively sensing that something was wrong. Even so, he did not avert his eyes.

Selfish and prideful and vain

The King of Ithaca lifted his head, a sardonic, slightly unhinged smile curling his lips as he uttered words that, for any other mortal, would have been a direct invitation to the underworld.
His gaze, however, never wavered. There was something unsettling about his expression—a mix of defiance and resignation that only someone who had shared years with a goddess could wear. He understood the risk he was taking but seemed willing to accept it, as if testing the limits of his mortality—or perhaps, his courage.

Athena drew a deep breath, her chest rising and falling in a rare display of restraint. She may not have liked what she heard, but she knew it to be true. Only after having her flaws laid bare by her beloved pupil with brutal honesty had she been able to reflect deeply on her immortal life.

In the theater, every mortal present, save for Jorge, stared at Odysseus with expressions of complete disbelief. The words he dared to direct at the goddess reverberated in their minds like distant thunder, impossible to ignore. After a few seconds of stunned silence, they could only gape at him with horror, worry, and astonishment.

Speaking to a goddess in such a manner wasn't just audacious—it was absurd, reckless, and tantamount to signing his own death warrant. Yet, to their relief, the man sitting among them was aged, marked by time—a clear sign that, somehow, he had survived this defiance.

Unlike you, every time someone dies
I'm left to deal with the strain
What's a title that a goddess could lend
If I'll never sleep at night?

The declaration echoed through the theater as though it had been whispered directly into the ears of everyone present. Reactions varied, but the impact was universal. Each person felt as if the phrase had touched something deep and unexplored within their souls.

Athena felt the blow most profoundly. Now that her anger and disappointment had subsided, the statement struck at her own insecurities and failures as a mentor. Despite her composed exterior, her gaze betrayed a mixture of pain and guilt. The idea that her guidance—or any title she could bestow—might pale in comparison to the peace Odysseus sought forced her to reconsider her choices and priorities. Inwardly, she wondered, "Have I failed as a mentor?"

Eurylochus let out a heavy sigh, his expression etched with bitterness. More than anyone else, he understood the weight of that statement, having fought alongside Odysseus through the same battles. For him, the words resonated as a raw, painful truth about mortals' relationships with the gods: "It's always been like this, hasn't it?" he muttered, his voice tinged with resentment. "They give us glory, but they take our souls."

Polites remained silent, but his pain was evident in his face. He grasped that Odysseus's suffering extended far beyond the physical, that the gods' titles and honors were more burdens than blessings. He silently vowed to find a way to comfort his friend later, even knowing that words alone might never suffice.

Scylla, incapable of articulating her thoughts verbally, fell into a contemplative silence. Her existence as a cursed creature allowed her to deeply empathize with her little brother's feelings. Titles and glory had brought her nothing but pain. Being the most feared monster of the seas had never brought her satisfaction, only further isolation.

Hermes, meanwhile, wore a contemplative expression. He nodded slightly, absorbing the gravity of the statement. As a god who understood human suffering better than most, he recognized the bitterness behind the words. Still, true to his nature, he couldn't resist lightening the mood with a wry observation muttered to himself "well, titles can be shiny, but no one said they'd light the way to a good night's sleep."

I'll remind you I saw you as a friend
But now we're done
This way, you're out of my head now
This way, you won't plague my life

Athena felt a mixture of frustration and guilt as those words played again in her mind. On one hand, she recognized the pain behind them and saw that her pupil was grappling with memories or emotions tied to her. On the other, she bore the weight of being seen as an influence that needed to be purged, silently questioning if her actions had caused more harm than good.

Odysseus relived the moment he had spoken those words, their bitter tone still resonating in his mind. At the time, they were a desperate attempt to free himself from memories and bonds that seemed to imprison him—a bid to convince himself that moving forward required severing ties. Yet even now, he struggled with the void that separation had left. He understood that pushing something—or someone—away never truly erased what had been.

Penelope absorbed the declaration with sorrow and concern. Though she knew those words were not directed at her, she felt the weight of Odysseus's desire to distance himself from what consumed him. The thought that her husband's burdens might drive him to sever ties with those who could still save him unsettled her deeply. She feared that, in silencing the voices of the past, he might isolate himself from the connections that could bring him peace.

This way, when all is done
You're out of sight and out of mind

Eurylochus feels torn. He understands the desire to push away pain and the memories that fuel it—after all, he himself has tried to bury his past during difficult times. Yet the thought of being "forgotten" or relegated to the past hits him like a cold blow. He murmurs, more to himself than anyone else "If it were only that easy..." His voice carries a tone of resignation but also sadness as he reflects on how deeply their bonds were forged in blood and sacrifice.

Polites's silence grows increasingly uncomfortable, especially for those who know his normally vibrant and cheerful personality. His expression, marked by deep sorrow, is a stark contrast and deeply unsettling. On some level, he had accepted the possibility of being left behind—death had always been a constant shadow on their journey. But hearing those words now makes the weight of his situation tangible, almost crushing. He knows Odysseus would never forget him, but the idea of being forgotten by others eats away at him. "What if my family forgets me? How long until my voice fades from everyone's memory?" He tries to mask his pain, but for those who know him well, it's impossible not to notice.

Scylla watches in introspective silence, her many heads bowed as if reflecting alongside her. She understands, on a visceral level, the desire to be forgotten—a longing she has carried through centuries of rejection and isolation. Yet, hearing these words, a pang of bitterness rises in her chest. She knows what it's like to be erased from others' memories but also understands that forgetting isn't the same as freedom. To her, these words represent a desperate attempt to sever something that, deep down, can never truly be erased. "The pain remains," she thinks, "even if no one remembers it."

This way, you get what you wanted
This way, you can save your time
This way, you close the door and have your damn goodbye

Hermes shakes his head, his usual smile still present but now carrying something deeper—a quiet and profound understanding. "Closing a door is easy. Forgetting what's behind it? That's the real struggle." His voice carries an almost melancholic tone, an echo of his own experiences as the god of travelers and transitions. He understands better than most that endings are rarely as simple as they seem, and that the weight of what's left behind always finds a way to return.

Jorge appears visibly shaken, his shoulders tense as the words echo in his mind. He interprets the message as a direct reflection of the emotional burden Odysseus carries, and guilt hits him like a blow. He murmurs, almost inaudibly "I didn't know it was this heavy..." His eyes fall to the ground, but he feels a soft touch at his side. Scylla's head, still near his chair, nudges him gently—a silent attempt to offer comfort. Jorge manages a small, grateful smile, recognizing the unusual yet reassuring gesture from the creature.

Argos, though an animal, senses the tension in the air. His instinct drives him to move closer to Odysseus, leaning against him in an almost protective manner. It's as if the dog understands that, despite all the words of detachment and pain, his master's true desire is for connection and peace. He lets out a low, consoling bark before lying down beside Odysseus, ensuring that, at least for this moment, his master is not entirely alone.

[ATHENA]
You're not looking for a mentor
I'm not looking for a friend

"I am," Athena thinks, her eyes darkening with shame and remorse at her own words. The phrase lands as a heavy blow to her, a reflection of the emotional distance that has grown between her and Odysseus. She feels the weight of its coldness but cannot bring herself to admit how deeply it stings.

Jorge shifts uncomfortably in his seat, unsettled by the starkness of the statement. Having begun to grasp the emotional depth of Odysseus and Athena's relationship, he whispers, "That's not what either of you want... is it?" His mind churns, trying to reconcile the tension he perceives with the story he once thought he understood.

I mistook you for a general
What a waste of effort spent

"It was never a waste," Athena says silently but with conviction. Since leaving Odysseus, she often found herself wandering through memories of her time with her pupil. She had spent her immortal life shaping him, watching him grow, nurturing him into the man he had become—a husband, father, brother, and friend.

And she could not be prouder.

She only wished she had realized it sooner. She wished she had cast aside her arrogance and bitterness to see the pride her child—her student had brought her.

[ODYSSEUS]
At least I know what I'm fighting for
While you're fighting to be known
Since you claim you're so much wiser
Why's your life spent all alone?
You're alone

Odysseus immediately looked regretful as the words left his mouth in the heat of the moment. His eyes widened, his lips parted as if to form an apology that never came. He seemed frozen, crushed by the weight of his own statement before he could even find a way to mend it.

Athena stiffened, the words cutting deep and reopening wounds she thought she had under control. The pain surged back like an unrelenting specter, haunting her anew. Despite her poise, her expression betrayed her, revealing emotions she rarely let surface.

She saw the regret in Odysseus's eyes and felt a sudden urge to console him, to tell him she forgave the impulsive words. Yet, the words stuck in her throat, held back by pride, hurt—or perhaps a mixture of both.

Telemachus, unsure of what to say, simply wrapped his arms around his grandmother. He offered comfort in the only way he could: through his presence. Without words, his simple gesture was a reminder that she wasn't alone, bringing her a faint but tangible sense of relief.

Jorge remained silent, clearly shaken by the weight of the exchange. "This is... far deeper than I imagined when I wrote these lines," he thought. He glanced between Odysseus and Athena, struggling to comprehend the impact those words carried for them. As he watched, he couldn't help but question whether he himself had ever truly understood what he was fighting for.

Scylla felt a sharp pang of recognition in those words, more than she cared to admit—especially in the line: "Why's your life spent all alone?" It struck a chord that resonated with her own existence, defined by isolation and the fear she inspired in others. However, the phrase "fighting to be known" sparked a bitter sense of irony within her. She had never sought fame, only acceptance. Some of her heads emitted low murmurs of agreement, silently acknowledging the painful truths within the statement.

[ATHENA]
One day, you'll hear what I'm saying
One day, you might understand
One day, but not today, for after all you're

[ENSEMBLE]
Just a man

Odysseus visibly flinched as the voices of those who had died in the fight against the cyclops sang this part again. He despised that phrase and had hoped it wouldn't be repeated so often.
Beside him, Penelope held his hand in silent support, while Argos rested his head on his leg, offering quiet companionship.

[ATHENA, ENSEMBLE]
This day, you sever your own head
This day, you cut the line
This day, you lost it all
Consider this as my goodbye
Oh-oh-oh

As these words echoed through the theater, Athena found herself lost in memories. She saw Odysseus leading his soldiers in a senseless war sparked by her, Hera, and Aphrodite over a golden apple. A war that had nothing to do with his kingdom, yet he was forced to participate for the safety of Ithaca.

However, he took control of the situation, leading his men to victory. During the war, Athena had provided occasional advice, but her primary focus had been on the other gods allied with Troy, meaning she hadn't accompanied him closely on this journey.

She now realized that this was the moment when the two of them began to drift apart.

Consider this as my goodbye
Oh-oh-oh

The memories shifted, and this time, Athena found herself in a familiar garden. Before her stood Odysseus and Penelope. Penelope held a carefully wrapped bundle in her hands, while Athena leaned against a tree, observing the couple with a neutral but curious expression.

Suddenly, Odysseus took the bundle from Penelope's hands and walked toward the goddess. Without saying a word, he extended the package toward her. Athena hesitated, but upon seeing the expectant look in her protégé's eyes, she reluctantly took the bundle.

When she finally held it, she realized the contents were something she never expected: the small, sleeping baby Telemachus. A mix of tension and fear overcame her. Her hands stiffened as she held the baby, acutely aware of the fragility of a human—and worse, a human infant.

But then, something unexpected happened. The baby opened his tiny eyes and looked directly at her. He made soft, gurgling noises that Athena could only interpret as happiness or curiosity. The simplicity of the gesture stirred something within her that she hadn't anticipated: a gentle warmth filled her chest, a sensation she had only ever experienced in relation to Odysseus.

Surprised at herself, Athena lifted her gaze from the baby to meet her protégé's. Odysseus was watching her with a broad, proud smile, almost childlike. He seemed like a child showing a heartfelt creation to his mother, eager not for praise for himself but for little Telemachus.

"He is... a good child," Athena said, her voice slightly hesitant. She wasn't sure what else to say in a situation like this. However, seeing Odysseus's even wider smile, she concluded that perhaps she had said the right thing.

As the chorus began to sing in the background, the memory started to fade. Athena felt the warmth of that moment disappear, and in the blink of an eye, she was back in the theater, watching the screen. Yet, she noticed it was becoming increasingly difficult to control the flood of memories that kept appearing.

This is my goodbye
Oh-oh-oh

Once again, memories invaded Athena's mind, transporting her to another moment in her long journey with Odysseus. She stood before a young and determined Odysseus, who gazed at her with eyes full of expectation. However, her own expression was marked by irritation. She couldn't understand why he insisted on asking her for help with something so... trivial.

"He could very well pray to Aphrodite if he wanted help with something like this," Athena thought, crossing her arms. But the thought of her student seeking the favor of any other god—especially Aphrodite—filled her with an even greater irritation, though she couldn't explain why.

"Please, Thena, I need your help!" the young man pleaded, dropping to his knees before her. His hands were clasped in a desperate gesture of supplication, his eyes fixed on her as if his life depended on her response.

Athena sighed, looking at him with the exasperated expression of someone who had long lost their patience. "I don't understand why you're asking me this, Odysseus. If you need help winning over this... Penelope, ask someone who understands such matters."

Since they had arrived in Sparta—a place Athena would usually avoid if not for Odysseus's incessant requests for her company—all he had done was talk about . . . .

Athena didn't even know the girl, but she was already sick of her. Or, more specifically, her name. "Penelope." Athena was certain that even if she weren't the goddess of wisdom, she would never forget that name.

"Who else should I ask for advice?" Odysseus asked indignantly. "You're the person—"
"Goddess," she corrected promptly, raising an eyebrow.
"—the goddess I trust most."

Those last words stirred something warm and rare in her chest, a feeling she didn't want to acknowledge. She studied him for a moment. Despite her initial irritation, the tearful and feigned desperation in the young man's eyes disarmed her.

With a long, resigned sigh, she finally said, "Fine. I'll help you win over Penelope."

Odysseus immediately broke into a wide, triumphant smile, wiping away the fake tears as if they had never been there. Athena couldn't help but smile a little herself, seeing him so happy. Against her will, she felt a certain pride realizing how much that stubborn boy trusted her—even for something so annoyingly trivial.

Consider this as my goodbye
Oh-oh-oh

Athena allowed herself to be immersed in one final memory, one that had stayed with her through all the years of separation from Odysseus. It was a memory so vivid in her mind that it felt as though it had happened only yesterday. It was one of Odysseus's earliest days of training when he was still just an enthusiastic child, eager to learn everything he could.

At the time, Athena knew she needed to first prepare the boy's body for the rigors of the training ahead. For the first few months, they focused solely on physical exercises and studying in his quarters. He was determined, and she felt she had chosen well.

On this particular day, the training had been especially productive. They had started at sunrise and continued until Helios's chariot began its descent on the horizon. She planned to resume the boy's studies later, but for now, he deserved some rest. The two of them sat under the shade of a tree. Odysseus was relaxing, exhausted, while Athena meditated on his next lessons. Then, something unexpected happened. She felt a soft weight in her lap, and when she looked down, she saw her young student asleep, resting there as though it were the safest place in the world.

Her first instinct was to wake him. Never before had a mortal dared something so audacious or intimate with her. However, as she observed Odysseus's serene face, she hesitated. He was just a child, tired from a long, arduous day of training. Athena decided to let him stay there for a few moments longer.

Time passed, and she found herself increasingly reluctant to disturb the moment. He looked so peaceful, so innocent. Without realizing it, she began to gently stroke the boy's hair. It was an instinctive, almost maternal gesture, and she was surprised to find how comforting it was for her.

However, as night began to fall, Athena knew they couldn't remain like this. With care, she touched Odysseus's shoulder to wake him. To her surprise, he murmured in a sleepy tone, "Not now, mama… just a little longer…"

Athena froze for a moment, the impact of his words resonating deeply within her. Moments later, she gently shook him again, calling his name. Odysseus opened his eyes slowly, and when he realized where he was, he looked visibly embarrassed. He quickly stood up, stammering apologies before running back toward the castle, leaving Athena alone under the tree.
She remained there for a few moments, lost in thought. There was something about that brief moment that she knew she would never forget. With a soft sigh, she stood and made her way back to the palace.

Back in the theater, Athena stared at the screen, her neutral expression hiding the storm of emotions inside her. She was so immersed in her memories that she almost didn't notice a presence beside her. When she felt a light touch, she turned and saw Telemachus looking at her with concern.
"Are you alright, grandmother?" he asked, his voice gentle and careful.

Athena offered a small smile and wrapped an arm around her grandson's shoulders. "I'm fine, thank you," she replied with a calmness that could only be described as genuine.
Telemachus returned her smile, and in that moment, Athena felt an unexpected comfort. Some things truly did remain, even as time passed.

This is my goodbye

With tears in his eyes, Odysseus looked at Athena and said, "Welcome back." He greeted his old friend warmly.
"It's good to be back," she replied in kind.

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.