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Athena stands frozen, eyes locked on the vision of her friend at the cliff's edge. His eyes are glassy and haunted as he tears at his curls, screaming. How long has he been calling for her?
The sound of rapid wing beats is the only warning she receives before she is no longer alone.
"Message for Athena!" Hermes sing-songs. "You're being— oh." He catches sight of her conjured image, his smile unwavering. "So you do hear his calls."
Athena doesn't flinch. She's preoccupied even as she absently wonders whether Hermes really came just to pass on her mortal's plea. Her brother moves to her side, gaze fixed. They spend a long moment in uncharacteristic silence.
"He looks well," Hermes muses.
Athena is startled into shooting him an incredulous glance.
"Physically," he amends.
Athena looks beyond that tortured and grieving expression for the first time and realizes that Hermes is correct. Odysseus' cheeks are round, complexion a healthy bronze. The fine fabric he's draped in leaves little to the imagination, and it's obvious that he no longer bears the protruding ribs he washed ashore with. Any major injuries have long since healed into scars, even as the marks of lightning stand vivid against his forearms. All that remain are fading bruises the size of thumbprints that trail down his throat and disappear beneath cloth. Even his hair, despite its rough treatment, gleams thick and full, curls cascading around a clean-shaven and still youthful face.
Athena hums softly. "I suppose there are some benefits to staying in one place," she allows, knowing it's not quite right.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Hermes says. "That a man with no will to live would still take the time to eat and groom himself."
There it is, the missing piece. Athena is reminded that her brother spends far more time around mortals than the rest of them.
"You're saying she's been doing it for him?" she clarifies.
Hermes snorts. "Darling, Calypso hasn't the faintest clue how mortals work. She was locked away before humans existed. After dear Ody's many... attempts, she arrived at the conclusion that they were all terribly fragile things and set about fixing it."
Athena's focus zeroes in on her friend, feeling beyond the agony surface, and she hisses.
Odysseus bears no ichor, but there is a foreign magic penetrating deep into his being, destroying and reforming everything it touches. Athena seethes that any creature would dare lay such an intimate claim upon her Chosen. (She weeps that she did not notice, that she had withdrawn her own mark.)
Athena distantly hears a flapping as she gathers her spear and shield. It's time to put an end to this.