Familiar song

The water of the underworld river shimmered dully in the gloom, glowing with a poisonous, greenish luminescence. If one stared too long, one could make out faces twisted by unbearable torment, streaming in a single, directionless current of souls. It was better not to look. This water—if it even was water—was too dense and viscous. The oarsmen struggled to pull their oars from the current, as if unseen hands were clutching at them. The ship crawled forward slowly, bogged down in the strange flow like a fly in molasses. Odysseus had ordered a double shift of rowers, but it did little to help. The men grew weary quickly. Not just from the phantom hands gripping the oars, but from the oppressive atmosphere itself. A barely audible, almost indistinct, yet ceaseless cry of thousands of plaintive voices hung over the stream. It was an unbearable noise, one you couldn't help but listen to, straining to pick out familiar voices while failing to understand the words. This exhausting clamor filled their heads and tangled their thoughts. And when they did manage to hear something clearly, it was even worse. The angry voices of soldiers who had died under his command pierced Odysseus's heart like spears, making him grip the gunwale until his knuckles turned white. And the sad, extinguished voice of Polites, who was always so sunny and cheerful, shattered him completely. And then, the underworld itself seemed to... take pity on them. The faint cries of the dead were suddenly overtaken by a barely audible voice, humming a wordless tune. A hauntingly familiar melody that made every man in the crew lift his head and listen. There was something about it that was both utterly alien and perfectly suited to this grim place. It held a peace, deep and unshakable. And it carried a soft warmth, strange in the frigid air of the underworld. The melody hummed in their ears, so deeply familiar that the words of the song almost danced on their tongues. Even the oarsmen abandoned their oars so the splashing wouldn't interfere with their listening. And Odysseus did not call them back, granting his crew this desperately needed moment of respite. Better to remember a song than the cries of long-dead comrades. "Sleep, my child, and close your eyes..." Perimedes finally sang, his voice low and surprisingly tender. A wave of relief washed over the ship, as if an itch deep within their minds had finally been scratched. Every man truly knew this song. And at last, he remembered! "Sweetest dreams, I'll help you find," Nikos added quietly. "For your guardians, I make The wind,the sun, the eagle brave," Demedes smiled for the first time since their arrival. Baby's lullaby softened the warriors' long-hoarse voices, smoothing the harsh lines on their faces. In it was the soothing tenderness of a mother's embrace, calming fear and comforting pain. "The eagle to his nest has flown; The sun has sunk beneath the stone,"Eurylochus sang with a strange sadness. "The wind, after three nights passed, Hurries home to his mother..." Odysseus joined his crew. And then his heart plummeted. "That voice... it can't be... Mom?" And into the song, new words finally wove themselves. Wrong words. Heartbreaking words. "Waiting... Odysseus, when you come home I'll be waiting..."