Chapter 4: Forgotten Men, Doubt and Fire

The jungle swallowed them whole.

The deeper they went, the heavier the air became, thick with a lazy warmth that clung to their skin. It wasn't long before they stumbled upon them—figures slumped against trees, half-hidden in the vines.

Men.

Greek men.

Their armor was dulled, their weapons abandoned in the dirt. Some lay stretched out, staring at the sky with blissful smiles. Others sat cross-legged, murmuring to themselves.

Polities' breath hitched. "Gods…"

One of them shifted, his sunken eyes flickering toward Odysseus. A slow smile spread across his lips.

"You've come," the man rasped. "Come to rest."

Odysseus stepped closer, kneeling. "Who are you?"

The man chuckled, a sound both light and hollow. "A warrior once. A husband, maybe. A son." His eyelids fluttered. "I don't remember."

Odysseus' stomach turned.

The fruit. It was more than food.

Polities knelt beside another soldier, shaking his shoulder. "When did you get here?"

The man's eyes were hazy, unfocused. He let out a sigh, as if the question was too heavy. "A day ago. Or a year. Or longer."

Odysseus grabbed him by the collar. "Listen to me. Your name. Say your name."

The man only blinked.

Polities' face darkened. "They don't remember."

Odysseus let go of the soldier, watching as he slumped back against the tree, a peaceful smile returning to his lips.

No war. No hunger. No pain.

Just… forgetting.

Odysseus stood sharply. "We leave. Now."

"The cave," Polities said. "If there's food—"

"We're not staying," Odysseus snapped.

But the wind carried a voice, soft and lilting.

"You seek the cave?"

Odysseus turned.

The woman stood at the path's edge, watching them with patient amusement. "Go, then," she said. "It will give you what you need."

Her voice was a melody, calm and unhurried. Odysseus glanced back at the men still lost to the fruit's spell, their faces slack, their pasts erased.

This island was no gift.

But it had not yet revealed all of its secrets.

And hunger was a powerful thing.

***

Eurylochus stood with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the jungle where Odysseus and the others had vanished. The sea behind him stretched endlessly, its waves lapping at the shore with an eerie calm. The men were restless, their hunger gnawing at them like rats in a grain sack.

"How long do we wait?" Laodamas muttered, tossing a rock into the sand.

Eurylochus didn't answer. He had no answer. Odysseus hadn't said when he would return—only what to do if he didn't.

Antiphus crouched near a tree, eyeing the pale fruit hanging above him. "They left us to starve," he muttered.

"They left to find food," Perimedes corrected, though his voice lacked conviction.

Antiphus snorted. "And yet, we sit here, empty-bellied, while they wander off." He gestured at the trees. "The fruit is right there. Why shouldn't we eat?"

Eurylochus turned sharply. "Because Odysseus gave an order."

Antiphus met his gaze, defiant. "What if he's wrong?"

Tension rippled through the men.

Laodamas groaned, rubbing his temples. "Not this again."

Antiphus stood. "I'm just saying, we followed him through Troy, through storms, through gods' wrath. And where has it left us? Starving. Shipwrecked. For all we know, this island is the only kindness we'll get."

A few of the men murmured in agreement.

Eurylochus stepped closer, his voice low but firm. "You think the gods are kind, Antiphus? Have you forgotten the sea that nearly swallowed us? The storms that scattered our fleet? Have you forgotten Troy?"

Antiphus' jaw tightened. "I remember Troy. I remember ten years of blood and fire. And I remember that while we fought, Odysseus planned. While we bled, Odysseus made deals with kings and gods alike." He jabbed a finger toward the jungle. "And now, while we starve, he eats first."

That did it.

A few men shot to their feet, voices rising.

"He's right! Why should we suffer while they feast?"

"This isn't war—we don't have to follow blindly!"

"He's just a man, not a god!"

Eurylochus felt the shift like a wave about to break. Hunger made men desperate. He had seen it before.

Enough.

He grabbed Antiphus by the tunic and yanked him forward, their faces inches apart. "Listen to me." His voice was cold, sharp as a blade. "Odysseus doesn't eat until we all do. He is out there looking for food, while you sit here whining like a child."

Antiphus shoved him back. "And if he doesn't return? What then?"

Eurylochus' grip tightened around his sword. "Then we burn this island."

That silenced them.

Perimedes cleared his throat. "If we burn the island, we'll have nothing left."

"If Odysseus doesn't come back," Eurylochus said, voice steady, "then this place isn't what it seems." He looked at each of them, his next words slow and deliberate. "And if it isn't what it seems, we don't want to be here."

The men muttered, some glancing at the trees, others at the fruit swaying above them.

Then, from the jungle, a sound drifted toward them.

Not footsteps.

Not voices.

Just laughter.

Soft. Lilting. Empty.

The men stiffened.

Eurylochus' fingers closed around his sword hilt. "Odysseus, whatever you've found in there… hurry."