Fated to Die Beside a King
Odysseus.
The protagonist of the Odyssey, the epic that brought the curtain down on Greek mythology; the future King of Ithaca; and the greatest hero who would guide the Achaean forces to victory in the Trojan War.
…And my goddamn childhood friend.
Watching him toddle about in the distance, soaking in the rugged sights of Ithaca, I let out a heavy sigh. I was only five years old, yet I already knew my fate all too well.
“I’ll get drafted into the Trojan War, and in the end, I’ll end up dead without ever seeing home again.”
After all, the ending of the Odyssey was the tale of a man who lost every single man under his command, yet still managed to return to Ithaca alone. If I lived an ordinary life here, I was bound to become one of his crewmen sooner or later. And then, somewhere along that cursed voyage, I would meet my end. Such was the predetermined fate of any male commoner born on this rocky island.
Of course, it wasn’t as though there were no ways to avoid it.
For instance, if we ended up adrift, I could simply starve myself half to death rather than lay a single finger on the cattle of Helios. But relying on that alone was far too dangerous and left everything up to sheer luck. Surviving the maw of the sea monster Scylla or the rampage of the cyclops Polyphemus was practically a coin toss.
Therefore, the best course of action would be to avoid setting foot in the Trojan War altogether. To pull that off, I’d need to be out of the country when the other Greek kings came knocking on Odysseus’s door to drag him to war.
…Though with our family’s current standing, is that even realistic?
Unfortunately, the three Fates held absolute sway over my destiny, completely indifferent to the fact that I was a reincarnated modern Korean. The grim truth had been made clear the very day I was born, when my parents carried me to the Temple of Apollo to receive a blessing, only to hear words that shattered any hope of a peaceful life.
"You shall surely die at the side of your dearest friend, he who becomes the King of Ithaca."
Handed a death sentence the moment I drew my first breath—how utterly absurd.
My dearest friend, and future king. There was only one person in the world who fit that description.
“Ah! Polites!”
“…Yeah, Odysseus.”
“What are you just standing around for? Let’s go hunt some rabbits!”
None other than Odysseus himself.
To be honest, I tried pushing him away at first. I figured that if we never grew close, I might be able to slip through the cracks of destiny. But after being dragged into incident after incident with him, I somehow ended up as his closest companion on the entire island anyway. No matter how much I wanted to deny it, everyone around us already saw me as Odysseus’s inseparable best friend. It was as if the universe was hell-bent on forcing me into that exact mold.
Perhaps that was why, from a very tender age, I spent an awful lot of time deep in contemplation over my fate. Granted, I was only young on the outside, but still.
By the time I turned eight, I reached a conclusion: acceptance. Or rather, pretending to accept it while doing everything in my power to twist that fate into knots.
“Odysseus.”
“Yeah?”
“I admit it. You’re my best friend.”
“…Wait, what was I to you before this?”
“Just a neighborhood kid.”
“……”
As Odysseus’s companion, I was destined to perish during his long journey. In truth, I had a terminal prognosis of roughly twenty to thirty years left to live. While that might sound like plenty of time for someone on death row, it was woefully brief considering this was a brand-new life I’d been granted. So, alongside accepting my fate, I began pondering how to exploit its loopholes.
Oracles often differ subtly between the spoken prophecy and the underlying truth.
If I could find a seam in the wording and pry it open, maybe, just maybe, I could dodge death after all. With that thought in mind, what was the best way to struggle against my ordained demise? In another era, there might have been various paths, but in ancient Greece, the very first step was glaringly obvious.
“Polites, what in the world are you doing…?”
“Can’t you tell? I’m offering a sacrifice to the gods.”
“Then why are there twelve bowls of sheep’s blood…?”
“Hey, idiot, there are Twelve Olympians watching over us.”
“No, that’s not what I mean—”
“Shh! Keep it down before you break their concentration.”
Step one: get on the gods’ good side.
In ancient Greece, gods were quite literally gods. With a single flick of a finger, they could banish a mortal straight to the Underworld, or lay down an unending curse with a mere whisper. By the same token, they could bestow extraordinary blessings or cure someone teetering on the edge of death. Their power was absolute. And so, the path I chose was to express gratitude to as many deities as humanly possible, every single day.
I gave thanks as naturally as breathing.
“Lord Zeus, thank you for allowing me to open my eyes safely this morning. Lord Poseidon, thank you for keeping the waves calm while my father is out fishing…”
Had I focused on martial training from childhood, I probably would have thrown straight punches while chanting these prayers like some devoted monk. Naturally, the Twelve Olympians took up the bulk of my devotion, but I flattered every minor divinity I could think of as well. After all, in this world, every river, brook, and grove had a resident spirit or nymph.
Of course, showering them with flattery didn’t mean divine favors immediately rained down from the sky. It felt tedious at first, but after a year, it turned into second nature, requiring no real effort at all.
“Polites, could you watch the hearth for a moment? I need to go milk the ewes.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Though I tried my best to spread my reverence evenly among the pantheon, as time passed, one particular goddess received far more attention than all the rest: Hestia, the eldest sister of Zeus, God of the Sky, and goddess of the sacred hearth.
There was a very good reason she became my primary patron.
Every sacrifice and feast begins and ends with Hestia, and every single home has a hearth.
While other gods might be invoked once in a while, Hestia was mentioned twice as often. Even on days when no other deity crossed my lips, come nightfall, I would unfailingly stand before the fire and seek her presence.
Crackle. Snap.
“…Lady Hestia, thank you for bringing peace to our household once again today.”
Because of that, the frequency with which I called upon her name far outstripped the others. What appealed to me most was that she possessed the smallest presence in the Greek myths passed down to modern times. In a mythos brimming with debauchery, drama, and impulsive pettiness, having the least screentime meant she rarely caused unprovoked disasters. In ancient Greece, Hestia was genuinely venerated as the goddess of peace, stability, and family harmony. Since all I wanted was a secure and stable life, our interests aligned perfectly.
Catching the eye of fickle, dangerous gods carries far too much risk. I’d much rather have the quiet protection of Hestia, who brings no harm to anyone.
While flattering the gods was my first objective, my second objective revolved around Odysseus.
“Polites! Come hunt rabbits with me!”
“Odysseus, how long are you going to waste your time on easy prey like rabbits?”
“Huh? Then what? Don’t tell me you want to go after a wild boar! No way! We’re only nine years old!”
“Aren’t hardship and trials the only way a man truly grows? Just like the heroes of legend!”
“…! You’re right, Polites. Someone of my caliber is more than capable of taking down a boar!”
And remarkably enough, Odysseus and I actually succeeded in bringing down a wild boar. Overjoyed by our triumph, Odysseus threw back his head and roared toward the sky.
“I, Odysseus, son of Laertes, have finally slain a wild bo—! Mmph?!”
I clamped my hand over his mouth before he could finish.
“Mmph…! Gasp! Polites, what are you doing?!”
“Odysseus, cut out the pointless shouting.”
“Why should I?! A hero has a duty to boast of his deeds!”
This was precisely the habit I needed to iron out of him.
“Boasting only works when there’s an audience to hear it, marvel at your strength, and sing your praises. Look around. Who here is going to applaud you?”
At my words, Odysseus blinked and scanned our surroundings. There wasn’t a soul in sight—not even an animal, seeing as our commotion had long since scared everything away.
“Uh… you?”
“I was right beside you helping you hunt the damn thing. Boasting can wait until we get back home.”
“Then what? We just pack up and leave?”
“No. First, we show proper respect to the prey we took.”
Saying that, I yanked my arrow from the dead beast’s flank. I then forced a bewildered Odysseus onto his knees and instructed him to offer a prayer to the gods.
“Which god?”
“Whichever one you feel closest to. Give thanks for granting us the fortune to succeed. And if you don’t have one… pray to Artemis, goddess of the hunt.”
I naturally offered my gratitude to Artemis, while simultaneously whispering a quiet apology, keeping in mind that she was also the protectress of wild beasts.
Mortals are always getting into trouble by offending Artemis’s sacred animals, after all.
Fortunately, this particular boar showed no signs of divine favor. Glancing sideways, I noticed Odysseus was already deep in prayer to a specific patron.
“Lady Athena, goddess of war…”
Athena, of course.
Considering that during the Trojan War, Odysseus would enjoy more favor from Athena than any other Greek hero, the pairing was nothing short of poetic.
“All right, let’s carry it back and brag our hearts out. On the walk home, we can plan exactly how to tell the story.”
“Sounds great, Polites!”
Shouldering the massive boar between us, we made our way back to the palace. But contrary to our grand expectations, we were thoroughly reamed out by Odysseus’s mother, Anticlea, for our recklessness—even if she did, begrudgingly, praise our bravery in the end.