The raft from Calypso’s island drifted toward Aeaea under a sky that had turned a bruised purple, the sea flat and oily, as though the water itself was holding its breath after the nymph’s curse still lingered in the wind.
The island rose slowly from the mist, low and green, ringed by dense cedar forests and hidden coves, a single thin column of smoke rising from its center like a beckoning finger.
The air carried the scent of herbs, sharp, medicinal, almost intoxicating, mixed with the faint metallic tang of magic that set Jax’s teeth on edge.
Jax stood at the front of the raft, the sea-blue cord from Nausicaa still knotted at his wrist, the golden calf from Helios tethered near Ment’s feet, lowing softly as though it sensed the wrongness ahead.
The island’s beauty was deceptive, too lush, too quiet, the kind of place that promised healing but delivered chains.
Eur gripped the steering oar, eyes narrowed against the mist.
“Aeaea. Circe’s island. The stories say she turns men to pigs with a wave of her wand. We don’t eat or drink anything until we know it’s safe.”
Jax nodded, the weight of Tiresias’s prophecy still fresh in his mind.
“She’s a goddess, daughter of Helios. Powerful. Dangerous. But she knows the way home. We approach carefully. No one strays. No one tastes the food.”
Thea scanned the shore from her perch on a crate, scout eyes sharp.
“No guards. No walls. Just… stillness. But the trees are watching. I can feel it.”
Phil tested his bowstring, fingers steady.
“I’ll cover from the ridge. If it turns, arrows first.”
Ment rubbed his hands together, already wary of the kitchens.
“No herbs. No wine. No meat. I’ll cook only what we bring.”
Pol and Kid exchanged a look, faces pale but resolute.
“We’re with you, Captain,” Pol said quietly.
Jax felt the pull of the island, curiosity, the promise of answers, but also the warning from Calypso’s final words.
“You will never be free of the sea.”
He pushed it down.
A blue box appeared, private to him.
They beached the raft in a small cove, tying it fast behind rocks.
The island welcomed them with birdsong and the rustle of leaves, but the silence underneath felt watchful.
Circe waited in a clearing just beyond the beach, alone, her hair the color of sunset, her gown flowing like liquid gold, eyes sharp and knowing.
She was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous, the kind of beauty that promised knowledge but demanded a price.
She smiled, soft and welcoming, voice like honey poured over steel.
“Odysseus. The man who outwitted the Cyclops, who resisted the Sirens, who escaped Calypso. Welcome to Aeaea. You and your men must be weary.”
Jax felt the pull, warm, subtle, almost comforting.
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He stepped forward, crew behind him, hands on weapons but not drawn.
“We come for passage,” he said carefully. “And answers. Nothing more.”
Circe’s smile deepened.
“Answers are what I offer. Rest. Food. Healing. Stay with me, and the road ahead will become clear.”
The crew shifted uneasily.
Eur’s grip tightened on his shield.
“She’s too calm. Too ready.”
Thea whispered.
“It’s magic. I can smell it.”
Circe gestured toward a path leading inland.
“Come. Eat. Drink. Your journey has been long. Let me ease it.”
They followed, wary but hungry.
The palace was a marvel, open courtyards, vines heavy with fruit, fountains running with wine, tables laden with food that smelled divine.
The crew ate cautiously at first, then with growing relief as the food filled empty bellies.
Circe sat beside Jax, her hand brushing his.
“You are weary, Odysseus. Let me take the weight. Stay. Be my guest. Rule with me here, forever.”
Jax felt the offer sink into him, peace, knowledge, no more storms.
He looked at Penelope’s face in his memory, at Telemachus’s eyes, at the crew who had followed him through hell.
He pushed back.
“I have a home. A wife. A son. I cannot stay.”
Circe’s eyes darkened, just for a moment.
“You will change your mind. They always do.”
A blue box appeared.
Jax felt the pull strengthen, like chains tightening around his mind.
Hours passed.
The crew ate, drank, rested.
The island’s magic worked slowly, insidiously.
Kid laughed too loudly, Pol smiled too easily, Ment cooked without caution, Thea wandered the gardens, Phil played music on a borrowed lyre.
Even Eur relaxed, shield set aside.
But Jax felt the trap closing.
One by one, the crew began to change, eyes glazing, movements slowing, voices slurring.
Kid dropped to all fours, squealing.
Pol followed, skin turning pink and bristly.
Ment grunted, nose lengthening into a snout.
Jax watched in horror as his men became pigs, squealing and rooting in the dirt.
Circe laughed, soft and musical.
“They are happier this way. No worries. No pain. Just simple joy.”
Jax felt the rage rise, cold and sharp.
He activated [Voice of Resistance].
The pull weakened.
He drew his dagger.
“You will change them back.”
Circe smiled.
“Make me.”
Jax lunged.
Circe raised her wand, magic flaring.
Illusions erupted, snakes, wolves, lions, all lunging at him.
Jax used [Nobody’s Guile], shadows wrapping him tighter.
He slipped through the illusions, dagger flashing.
Circe laughed, wand sparking.
A bolt of energy struck the ground where he had been.
Jax rolled, came up behind her.
Dagger to her throat.
“Change them back,” he said, voice low.
Circe froze.
Then she smiled.
“Very well.”
She waved her wand.
The pigs squealed, then shifted, becoming men again.
Kid, Pol, Ment, Thea, Phil, Eur, staggering, dazed, but human.
Circe stepped back, eyes sharp.
“You are strong, Odysseus. Stronger than most. I will help you. But know this: the road ahead is dark. The dead wait.”
A blue box appeared.
Circe gestured toward a path leading inland.
“Come. I will teach you how to reach the dead. And what they will tell you.”
Jax looked at his crew.
They were shaken, but alive.
He nodded.
The path waited.
The Underworld called.
