Chapter Text

Chapter 8

They have been for a while in the car, hours if Odysseus must say. This time, not only were Talya and Armando in the car, discussing once more their plans for the “trip,” but Janani decided to come in their car too.

She sat in the back seat with Odysseus and decided to make him discover the full extent of the internet and its “culture.” The rest were taking another road to deposit Luke. He had some work to do, something called “streaming.”

Janani was making him discover her own songs and every achievement and work she had done throughout the year with a very proud tone. It was clear that most of the EPIC: The Musical crew were actual artists or simple people with a schedule and a work, and every day Odysseus discovered a bit more about it.

Slowly, Janani’s conversation shifted from talking about her job to sharing her inspirations, then to classic movies and books that everyone seemed to know. She especially loved Greek and survival-themed stories — a taste reflected in her own books, songs, and creative projects — though she appreciated other genres as well. Often, she would show him clips from films and series, explaining how much they inspired her and why they mattered.

From what he gathered, the internet had made the world strangely uniform. It gave people the ability to share anything instantly with the whole planet, but in doing so, it shaped a generation that read the same books, watched the same movies, and laughed at the same jokes. Diversity seemed to shrink, replaced by a global sameness.

Yet in that sameness, “stars” emerged — real people whose work shone brightly enough to gather communities around them. The internet united people around these lights, creating peace for some, chaos for others. It was a paradox: it fought individuality by flattening culture into shared trends, yet it also celebrated it by allowing exceptional voices to rise.

Jorge Rivera Herrans was one of these stars. His work radiated outward, and Odysseus — a character he had created — was one ray of that light. People flocked to such light like fireflies, and some, inspired, kindled their own glow. Those new lights were similar yet distinct, their brilliance born from inspiration rather than imitation.

In truth, Odysseus was starting to wonder if he might be more than just Jorge’s light. Was he also made from the scattered reflections of many fireflies — countless interpretations and reimaginings of Jorge’s work? Could he even be real if he was a patchwork of others’ visions? He did not yet know the answer.

He needs to stop thinking about that, he did already go over that actually in the boat.

The internet was, in Janani’s words, her “best enemy” — something magical yet dangerous, a place of both light and shadow. And though she barely touched on the shadows surrounding Jorge himself, the contrast between brightness and darkness was always there, lingering at the edges.

She continued yapping, talking about the last movies or songs that were released, how everyone was talking about it — something about a “K-Pop Demon Hunter” and “Illium.” It was a bit difficult to follow what she was saying when she was changing topics so quickly over things he didn’t have the cultural reference for.

When he expressed his issues, she assured him that it was going to come with time and repetition, so Odysseus listened and tried to connect the few dots between the movies, elements that were repeated that could potentially help with the context of each word he did not understand.

The car ride was long. Talya promised that the next car rides would be done mostly during the night and that all stops would be made to enjoy modern places he had yet to see. They were halfway through, and out of the 5-day-long drive — yes, 5-day-long drive confirmed — they were already on the third day.

They stopped at a nice cool park. There was a lot of greenery, not as much as back home, but still a lot considering everything he had seen so far in this world. Some people were running next to him with their pet dogs, others were walking and talking with an acquaintance.

After walking and enjoying the fresh air, the smell of flowers and herbs — reminding him of home — and the silence of nature, he felt himself slowly relax. The others must have too, based on how their muscles seemed much looser.

A lot of people seemed to be in the same state; even parents watching over their kids playing in the playground looked somewhat relaxed. Guess that was why parks were created and enjoyed so much by everyone — they provided people with the safe place they needed.

Suddenly, a hand came to his shoulder and grabbed him roughly.

Odysseus’ reflexes activated like a switch. He twisted his body around, doing a 180° to face the stranger. He first saw the stranger’s head — and the smile of someone who clearly wasn’t worried about being punched.

“Hello, darling!”

This was unexpected.

It wasn’t because he recognized the voice. It wasn’t because the person in front of him looked exactly the same as his great-grandfather. It wasn’t because this stranger had the same personality as the one and only god of thieves.

This was Hermes. Hermes was in front of him, wearing clothes different from what Odysseus was used to seeing him in, but without a doubt, this was Hermes.

“Hermes?”

The man gave the same iconic smile, the same usual facial expression — one that indicated a taste, a love, a desire for mischief.

But, as this man made clear, he was not Hermes. Which seemed absurd, and for a second, Odysseus was willing to believe that Hermes had managed to come to this world to create chaos and had decided to pretend to be a normal citizen — or the man who sang his voice.

Just to be sure, Odysseus tried to convince “Troy” — horrible name, and definitely one Hermes would have chosen to slightly torment Odysseus — that he knew the truth: he was Hermes. But Hermes in disguise only kept laughing with that damn laugh, insisting that even though he was extremely attached to his character, making him almost his mascot, he was not Hermes.

Odysseus refused to believe it until Janani applied slight pressure to his shoulder, similarly to what Hermes in disguise had done, to root him back to reality. He looked at her face, and upon noticing the strain of a smile that contained a laugh, he believed “Troy” and not Hermes.

And here he thought EPIC: The Musical had no cast member with striking similarities to the people he knew to offer. He was wrong, because here was “Troy,” who wasn’t Hermes.

With the new man, they talked, trying to get to know each other better. Funny enough, Troy had taken a liking to mentioning Hermes in all of his videos. He made songs, and his latest one, “Struck,” was going to be published. He had worked especially hard on this one with someone else.

He refused to give much information about this “someone else,” directly hinting that it was an EPIC: The Musical cast member. This person was finishing his own work before coming to join the band.

The rest of the walk was peaceful. On their way, they stopped in a few places — a small museum that showcased stories once hidden under the earth.

Behind the glass, he saw armours of his army that had somehow traveled miles to arrive in this country. He saw skeletons of animals he had never seen — that no one had ever seen. The museum was grand for how petite they insisted it was. Pictures projected him into a new universe each time, a timeless souvenir of what was lost. Drawings of what dirt had tried to erase made him travel through the lives of ancestors working, walking, singing, eating normally.

His eyes widened, seeing his own epoch but also the deepest parts of time far before him, acknowledging human evolution and capacities through time to become better.

In each room they entered, a little voice resonated, whispering the forgotten tales in a smooth tone. The names of prestigious men echoed in the air, forever to be remembered for their bravery.

Replicas of monuments destroyed by human selfishness glowed in their stands, shining with an unknown knowledge — the Colossus, Great Pyramid, Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Statue of Zeus, Temple of Artemis, Mausoleum, and Lighthouse of Alexandria.
His glances lingered on the most familiar ancient wonders of the world.

His people, his world, had left a footprint after their disappearance — a single last mark as goodbye. And while time and nature had tried to cover it, like they had with the monument of Ozymandias, humanity still fought to give back the honour and recognition some works deserved.
Odysseus was amazed by the prowess of modern technology. To be able to display such a detailed image of the past from dust was unknown to his time. In his world, what they knew was the present, myths of the past, and prophecies of the future.

He exited the museum with more questions than ever — questions he had never asked for or expected. They went back to the park and continued their walk.

Talya slowly walked up to him. “What do you think of the museum? You probably do not have that back from where you were.”

He wondered, thinking back to his experience to get an overall feeling during their visit. One word came to his mind — breathtaking. If he ever returned home and discussed building their own museum, people would look at him like a crazy king. It would have worked in his favour the day Palamedes came to get him for the war. They would all assume that not only was his desire impossible to achieve, but also futile and useless.

Yet no one in his world would understand the wisdom and thrill of going to such a calm place, the experience of seeing things you could not understand. It almost looked barbaric, with how different from his own culture it was. The only reason he wouldn’t have called it such was because the narrator had a way of showing the ancient people’s knowledge and way of thinking.

He expressed his thoughts to Talya, who chuckled lightly, agreeing that the museum had this effect. But most people found it boring. Those things were usually taught at school, and today’s level of tolerance made diversity much easier to accept and mundane. Seeing the skeleton of a species that had long disappeared interested only a few — young people or adults who sought knowledge.

Back in his world, those sorts of things were found only in speeches in the streets, in philosophers, theatres, or even old townsfolk who had seen time pass. The one who really had it all was Athena — his old mentor, the embodiment of wisdom itself.

He was one of the lucky ones to have her as a friend. And his son would also be able to take advantage of his relationship with Athena.

From their last encounter, the goddess of wisdom seemed to have changed for the better, and she had always had a soft spot for Telemachus. He had no doubt that the future promised nothing bad for the two — as mentor and student, and as two friends.

All of his thinking made him quite sad — he wasn’t going to see any of them anytime soon. So he quickly changed the subject and asked to know more about Talya’s relationship with Jorge.

Her expression softened at the thought. She spoke with complete adoration, telling him everything about her boyfriend. He loved animals and would always sing to them like a Disney princess. The funny part was that the animals would not run away, but would either stand still or even approach him, as if he were casting a spell.

He was extremely funny and would always tell her how much he loved her.

He would tell her she was perfect in every place and way possible, even on the internet.

They had met through EPIC, and at first she was only a simple auditionee who wanted to play as Penelope, then switched as a joke for Zeus, and finally ended up with Circe’s role.

Odysseus was surprised at how deeply they loved each other — it almost reminded him of him and Penelope in some way. He asked how she was able to choose Jorge among her suitors and how her father had approved their relationship without asking directly for a marriage.

Talya looked him straight in the eyes. She laughed.

Because apparently, in this day and age, hundreds of men did not seek the hand of one woman with power — which Talya considered her influence on the internet. Forced and arranged marriages were less common and, in most places, prohibited. Relationships were created based on mutual feelings, like Penelope and him, and both had to give their consent to the situation of their relationship.

Parents sometimes still had a say, but it was much less imposed than in his time. They gave their children the freedom to be with whoever they wanted, except in some unfortunate cases.

Couples could stay together and progress at their own rhythm. They could remain boyfriend and girlfriend — which wasn’t another way of saying fiancés — then move on to being engaged, and then get married.

While he was trying to digest the new information, Hermes in disguise jumped at him, ready to show him his new lyrics for his next song.

Ironically, Hermes in disguise making music sounded like something the real Hermes would be doing. Knowing how he had created the first lyre, and how he was Apollo’s favourite brother, it suited the disguised Hermes’ personality.

A pen and small notebook in hand, he said he felt his next song was going to be fabulous. He said — and Odysseus could quote — that this song would be one of the best of the best, “the most scrumptious.”

Right now, he was trying to decide what rhythm and instrument he should include that would fit the lyrics and themes.

After finding what to accompany the lyrics with, he only had to record everything, edit, modify, and advertise the song with the help of Hermes or someone else. He still didn’t know if he was going to advertise it like usual or change techniques.

The rest of the walk was filled with small talk about the music industry. They slowly came down, closer to them, as if trying to listen in on their conversation. The sky became a beautiful red and orange painting. The clouds, like a chameleon, changed colour under the red-orange light of the sun, while still keeping their lighter shade of white. Behind the group, the moon rose into the sky, adding its own colours to the ceiling. Where the dark blue of the night and the leftovers of the day met, a pink-peach appeared.
Their walk slowed down, letting the chill of the night come slowly and the warmth of the day fade away. Their muttering quieted, letting the silence reign in the park.

The park itself was slowly becoming empty, and the lamps turned on, offering their own light as an attempt to replace the sun.

In the dark part of the park, already claimed by the night, a man walked out.

The group immediately recognized him, and each of them went to greet him excitedly. From the excited greetings, Odysseus discovered that some of the cast were meeting him for the first time.

Hermes in disguise quickly pushed Odysseus and the man closer, ready to introduce them.

This man, Steven Rodriguez, was the one who had worked with Hermes in disguise on his last song, “Struck.”

Steven R. said “hello,” and before he could even say another word, Odysseus took the pen that stuck out of Troy’s pocket, opened it up, and pointed it at Steven R.’s throat.

“You.”

Steven R. gave an awkward smile — a nervous and scared one — as he slowly backed away with his hands in the air. He gave a help signal to Troy, stuck in this situation.

Janani and Anna Lea ran up to them, ready to take Odysseus away from Steven R. and make him release the pen. Armando was somewhere else with the bystanders, trying to stop a few of them from either calling the police or filming the potential fight.

The rest were just trying to calm down the situation, almost screaming words at Odysseus, who could not understand anything. His sole focus was on the monster in front of him — the one that had made him a monster, the one that had taken him away from home for twenty years.

He wanted to tear his throat out, to stab him six hundred times again for everything he had done, to let his rage rampage like it once had.

He was then turned around and pulled away from Steven R. by someone — probably Janani or Anna Lea.

“We need to talk.”