The air around Ithica hung heavy with a tense quiet, as if the land itself knew something was about to change. Aeris had arrived not by ship, nor through any normal means, but had simply appeared—like a shadow cast by the moonlight itself. No one had seen his arrival, no one had heard his steps. It was as if the island had allowed him to slip through unnoticed, unnoticed yet unmistakable.

Before him, the grand hall stood silent, the suitors gathered like moths drawn to the light of a throne they could never hope to claim. At the center of the hall was the great bow of Odysseus, an ancient weapon that none of the men had been able to string. Its polished wood gleamed in the torchlight, and the faint scent of beeswax and aged yew filled the air.

Whoever can string my husband's old bow, her voice had echoed throughout the chamber, and shoot through twelve axes cleanly, will be the new king, sit down at the throne, and rule with me as his queen. The words still hung in the air like an invocation.

The challenge had been simple, impossible to most. But Aeris was no mere man. He had no need to be crowned, to claim a throne. His presence, his very being, was a force of nature that needed no title. The torch flames seemed to bend toward him as he moved, casting elongated shadows that danced across the stone walls.

The suitors whispered among themselves, unsure of the figure who had arrived without fanfare, without warning. They had watched men before fail—one after another—straining against the ancient bow, their muscles bulging, faces reddening with effort, only to fall short, unable to master what no mortal had ever mastered. But this time... this time was different.

Aeris did not look at the suitors. He did not acknowledge their presence as he approached the bow. The room seemed to grow still, as though the challenge itself had sensed him and was waiting for him to play his part. The bow stood there, untouched, its smooth wood a thing of legend, its string taut and unyielding, daring any man to bend it.

His fingers brushed lightly against the polished surface of the bow, and for a moment, there was no sound but the distant hum of the ocean and the flicker of torches casting long shadows across the stone floor. It was as if time itself held its breath. Aeris was not focused on the men who surrounded him, nor on the throne awaiting its new king. There was only the bow.

I will not fail.

He gripped the string, drawing it back with a fluid, practiced motion that seemed almost reverent. The bow did not resist. It had only been waiting for the right hand, the one who would wield it without doubt, without hesitation. With a slow exhale, he released the string.

The arrow flew with impossible speed, a streak of silver through the air. It sliced effortlessly through each of the twelve axes, the sound of it singing through the silence, echoing like a final verdict. Each axe split cleanly in half, one after another, until the last one fell, leaving nothing but the final breath of the bow’s release hanging in the air.

The suitors were motionless, their mouths agape, their disbelief written on their faces. Aeris did not turn to them. He did not look at their stunned expressions. He simply stood there, the bow still in his hand, as if he had always known this would be the outcome.

His gaze, however, did drift slowly to the throne where she sat. The challenge had been set. The bow had been strung. The axes had been pierced. Now, it was her turn to respond.

Would she rise and claim the throne that awaited a king, or would she let the threads of fate weave their own story? Aeris had done what no one thought possible—now it was time to see how she would play her part.