The Hunger of Mortals, The Wrath of Gods

Exhausted and battered, Odysseus and his men drifted across the open sea, the horrors of Scylla and Charybdis still fresh in their minds. Starvation gnawed at them, their bodies frail shadows of the warriors who had left Troy.

Then, land appeared—a golden island basking beneath the sun’s unyielding gaze. Circe’s warning echoed in Odysseus’ mind:

"That is the island of Helios, the Sun God. His sacred cattle graze upon its fields. Harm them, and ruin will follow. No man who eats their flesh shall escape divine wrath."

Odysseus relayed the warning to his men. "Swear to me," he commanded, "that no matter how great your hunger, you will not touch the sacred beasts."

Desperate and weary, they swore.

But oaths are fragile things in the face of mortal suffering.

A Broken Oath, A Doomed Fate

Storms, stirred by unseen hands, howled across the sea, trapping them on Helios’ island for weeks. Their provisions dwindled. Hunger clawed at their ribs, turning their minds against reason.

One night, as Odysseus lay in restless sleep, the breaking of the oath began. Eurylochus, his second-in-command, spoke to the others, desperation turning to defiance.

"Better to die at sea than waste away like cowards," he whispered. "The gods have abandoned us—let us take what we need."

And so, under the sunless sky, they slaughtered Helios’ sacred cattle. The flesh sizzled on the fire, a feast to silence the hunger that had tormented them for too long.

When Odysseus awoke, the scent of roasted meat filled the air. Horror gripped him as he realized what had been done.

But the gods had already seen.

The Sky Splits, The Sea Devours

At the halls of Olympus, Helios raged before Zeus, his golden light burning with fury.

"If justice still holds meaning, let them pay! If you deny me vengeance, I will take my light to the Underworld, and the world will be left in eternal night!"

Zeus, unmoved yet bound to the balance of fate, decreed punishment.

As Odysseus and his men set sail once more, the sea grew still—unnaturally so. Then, with the force of Olympus itself, a thunderbolt split the sky. Wind howled. Waves rose like mountains.

One by one, his men were swallowed, their cries lost to the storm. The wreckage of the ship was scattered across the waves, and as the gods had willed, Odysseus alone remained.

Adrift, clinging to the wreckage, he was carried toward a familiar terror—the gaping maw of Charybdis.