Chapter 6: Polyphemus

The fire had burned low, casting flickering shadows across the walls of the cave. The men sat in loose circles, their stomachs full, their voices softer now, heavy with exhaustion.

Odysseus sat apart, resting his back against the stone, watching them. For the first time in weeks, their laughter wasn't tinged with desperation. Their hands no longer shook with hunger.

Polities stretched his legs, sighing contentedly. "We should stay the night."

Eurylochus raised a brow. "Here? In a cave we know nothing about?"

Polities gestured at the roasted sheep carcasses. "Where else? We have shelter, food, water. Do you really want to march back to the ships in the dark?"

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the men.

Perimedes grunted. "Besides, whoever owned these sheep hasn't been here for a while."

Odysseus exhaled through his nose. He wasn't so sure.

Laodamas leaned back on his elbows, smirking. "What's the worst that could happen? Some shepherd comes back and scolds us?"

A few chuckled.

Eurylochus, however, was frowning. "Odysseus?"

Odysseus finally spoke. "We stay," he said, voice steady. "But we set a watch. Two men at a time. If anything moves, we wake everyone."

No one argued. They were too tired, too satisfied to care.

Polities clapped Perimedes on the back. "First watch is ours, then."

Odysseus nodded, but unease curled in his chest. He had learned long ago—when things felt too easy, it was because danger was waiting.

And tonight, something felt too easy.

The night was calm. The men had settled, some already snoring, others murmuring quietly.

Then, footsteps.

Slow. Heavy.

The earth trembled beneath them.

Perimedes, half-dozing at the cave entrance, snapped awake. His breath caught in his throat. "Gods above…"

A massive shadow blocked the firelight.

A deep, guttural sound rumbled through the cavern—half a growl, half a breath. The stench of raw meat and damp wool filled the air.

A voice, thick and thunderous, shook the walls.

"Who dares eat from my stores?"

The men shot upright, hands scrambling for weapons.

Odysseus' blood went cold.

From the darkness, a giant figure stepped forward, ducking beneath the mouth of the cave. Firelight licked across coarse, matted hair, a massive jaw lined with yellowed teeth—

And a single, burning eye.

Polyphemus.

A Cyclops.

A son of Poseidon.

Odysseus' stomach twisted.

They had made a terrible mistake.

No one moved.

The Cyclops loomed in the cave entrance, his massive shoulders nearly brushing the stone.

His single eye gleamed in the firelight, sweeping over the men huddled around the remains of their feast. His nostrils flared.

"You stink of foreign sweat," he growled. "And my sheep."

Polities swallowed hard. The others shifted, some gripping their weapons, but Odysseus raised a hand, stopping them.

They were not winning a fight against this thing.

Odysseus stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Great one, we meant no offense. We are travelers, returning from war. We found this cave empty and-"

Polyphemus laughed-a deep, ugly sound that rattled the cave walls.

"You found it, did you? And so you took what was mine?" He stepped forward, and the ground shook beneath his weight.

Polities' breath came short. "Odysseus, we should talk with him,"

Odysseus' mind raced.

A wrong word, a wrong move, and they would all die here.

The Cyclops' eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

Odysseus forced a smile. "My name is Nobody."

Murmurs rippled through his men. Polyphemus cocked his head. "Nobody?"

Odysseus spread his hands. "Yes, I am a wanderer, lost at sea." He met the giant's gaze. "We took only what we needed to survive."

Polyphemus exhaled heavily. "Then you should have left."

His massive hand swung.

Before anyone could react, he snatched up Polities.

The young man let out a strangled yell- then a scream as the Cyclops' fingers crushed his ribs like dry twigs.

"NO!" Odysseus lunged, but Eurylochous held him back.

Polyphemus threw his head back-and dropped the screaming Polities into his mouth.

The crunch of bones echoed through the cave.

Blood dripped from his lips as he licked them, eyeing the rest of the men.

"Hmm." He smirked. "You're small, but you will last me days."

Perimedes stumbled back, his face pale as ash. His breath came in quick, sharp gasps.

Laodamas' hands trembled against his sword hilt, though he made no move to draw it. He knew—they all knew—it would do nothing.

Antiphus looked sick, gripping his stomach as if he might be ill.

Eurylochus' chest heaved, his knuckles white around his dagger. He wasn't blinking. Just staring at the blood on the cave floor.

Somewhere to his right, one of the younger crew members let out a small, broken sound. He pressed a fist to his mouth, as if trying to swallow his own vomit.

The Cyclops reached for another.

Odysseus' mind burned. Think. Think. THINK.

And then—he had it.

Odysseus stepped forward, his voice steady.

"Great Polyphemus," he said, forcing a smile, "if you intend to eat us, at least allow us to offer you a gift first."

The Cyclops paused, his hand hovering over Perimedes. "A gift?"

Odysseus nodded. "A drink fit for a son of Poseidon."

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a wineskin. The very last of their strongest wine.

Polyphemus snorted. "You would gift me something before I eat you?"

Odysseus spread his arms. "It is only right to honor one's host."

A beat of silence.

Then, slowly, the Cyclops lowered his hand.

"Pour," he ordered.

Odysseus hid his smirk.

This might just work.