Jax stood at the edge, dagger still in hand, the moly’s faint glow at his belt the only light that felt warm in this cold place.
The crew formed a tight circle around the pit, Eurylochus shield raised, Phil arrow nocked, Thea blade drawn, Ment pot gripped like a club, Pol and Kid spears ready, faces pale but resolute, anchors whispered under their breath to keep the whispers at bay.
The first shade rose fully, Elpenor, young and sad, eyes hollow, voice a broken whisper carried on the wind.
“Captain… I fell from the roof. I never made it home. Let me drink. Just a taste. Let me rest.”
Jax stepped forward, voice steady.
“Not yet. Tiresias first.”
Elpenor reached for the bowl, fingers trembling.
The crew tensed.
Phil loosed an arrow through the shade’s chest.
It passed harmlessly, but Elpenor recoiled, wailing.
More shades rose, fallen comrades from Troy, faces twisted with accusation, hands outstretched.
“Blood… give us blood…”
Jax shouted.
“Hold the line! They can’t touch what’s anchored!”
The crew repeated their anchors, names, promises, reasons to live.
The dead pressed closer.
A woman’s shade appeared, Anticleia, Penelope’s mother, eyes wet with grief.
“Son… you left us. Penelope weeps every night. Telemachus grows without a father. Come home. Drink. Rest with us.”
Jax felt the words like knives.
He gripped the rail of memory, Penelope’s face, Telemachus’s laugh.
“I’m coming home,” he said. “But not yet.”
Anticleia faded, weeping.
A warrior shade stepped forward, Achilles, armor gleaming, eyes burning.
“Odysseus. Sacker of cities. You chose glory over life. Look at me now. Dead. Forgotten. Is this what you want for your men?”
Jax met his gaze.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“I chose home. Not glory.”
Achilles laughed, bitter.
“Then why do they die for you?”
The shade lunged.
Eurylochus bashed it back with his shield.
Patroclus appeared beside Achilles, softer, sadder.
“Captain. I died for glory. For my friend. Do not let your men die for nothing.”
Jax felt the weight.
“I won’t. I promise.”
Patroclus smiled sadly.
“Promises break. Blood calls blood.”
The dead surged.
A blue box flashed.
Jax shouted.
“Anchors! Louder!”
The crew roared their promises.
Kid: “My sister! Shell from the sea!”
Pol: “My mother! Row home for her!”
Thea: “My father! Scout ahead, come back!”
Phil: “My wife! Shoot straight!”
Ment: “My boy! Cook something good!”
Eurylochus: “My family! Come home a man!”
Jax: “Penelope! Telemachus! Return!”
The shades recoiled, shrieking.
Tiresias stepped forward again, blind eyes fixed on Jax.
“You have heard the dead. Now ask your question.”
Jax spoke.
“How do I reach Ithaca? How do I save my men?”
Tiresias drank again.
The dead surged.
Tiresias spoke, voice echoing.
“You will reach Ithaca. But the cost is six lives. One will be your own, chosen by the sea, not by fate. The suitors plot the boy’s death. The bow will decide. String it. Reveal yourself. Vengeance has a price. Blood calls blood.”
Jax felt the words carve into him.
“Tell me how to save them.”
Tiresias smiled sadly.
“You cannot save them all. Choose wisely. The sea will take its due.”
The dead pressed closer.
Jax shouted.
“Back to the raft! Now!”
The crew fought, Eurylochus shield bashing, Phil arrows loosed, Thea blade slashing, Ment pot swinging, Pol and Kid spears thrusting.
They dragged the raft into the water.
Tiresias faded last, voice echoing.
“Remember. The choice is yours.”
The raft pulled away, the mist thinning, the sea warming as they fled the Underworld’s edge.
The crew sat in silence, faces pale, hands shaking on oars.
Kid spoke first.
“Six. And one of us.”
Pol looked at Jax.
“Who?”
Jax met their eyes.
“I don’t know yet. But I swear this: I will carry the choice. Not you.”
Eurylochus nodded.
“We follow. Whatever the cost.”
A blue box appeared.
Jax looked at the horizon.
Smoke rose in the distance.
Ithaca.
He gripped the rail.
The final trial waited.
- ?? Anticleia’s knife-words: “Penelope weeps every night… Telemachus grows without a father”
- ?? Achilles’ bitter laugh: “You chose glory over life… Is this what you want for your men?”
- ?? Crew anchors roaring in unison, each personal stake screamed against guilt
- ?? Tiresias’s sad smile: “You cannot save them all. The sea will take its due”
- ?? Fleeing silence heavier than mist, Kid’s voice breaking it
- ?? Jax’s oath: “I will carry the choice. Not you” - captain’s burden heavier than prophecy
- Was facing Anticleia the cruelest wound the gods could inflict… or the anchor that finally reminded Jax why he must keep sailing?
- When Achilles accuses the cost of glory, is Jax truly choosing home over it… or has glory already claimed him by making his men die for the dream?
- Did the crew’s roaring anchors prove brotherhood unbreakable… or expose how thin the line is between loyalty and shared guilt?
- With “one of your own” hanging like an axe and Jax swearing to carry the choice alone, is that strength… or the first step toward becoming the sea’s chosen sacrifice?