Hermes is a god you worship, but you'd never expect him to pay attention to you. After all, he had places to be, messages to deliver, gods to tease, and mortals to trick. You were just a tired college student clinging to faith, offering cookies and whispered prayers between exams and caffeine crashes. It was comforting, in a way, to believe he was listening, even if he never replied.

But this morning was different.

You awoke to the sharp crow of a rooster. At first, you thought it was your phone alarm, maybe some chaotic TikTok sound you accidentally set. But no. the sound was real, loud, and coming from outside your window. Which made zero sense. You lived five stories up in the middle of a concrete jungle, where pigeons were the most exotic birds around.

With a groan, you rolled out of bed, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and froze. Your room… was clean. Impossibly clean. Textbooks were stacked, laundry folded, your half-finished essay printed and neatly placed on your desk. Even your trash can was empty. But what really caught your attention was the plate on your nightstand. Empty.

You blinked. That plate had been full of cookies. Not just any cookies, your last decent batch of chocolate chip, left out the night before as an offering to Hermes. Your roommates wouldn't dare steal your food, not after the “stolen ramen” incident. And yet... they were gone. Not a crumb in sight.

You tried to brush it off. Maybe you'd eaten them in a sleep-deprived haze. Maybe. You grabbed your bag and headed out, but the strangeness didn’t stop there.

As you walked through the dorm courtyard, the city sounds filling your ears, you felt... watched. Turning slightly, you spotted it. A rooster. Just casually walking behind you, head bobbing in time with your steps. You paused. So did it. You took a few quick strides. So did it. When you turned fully and tried to shoo it away, it let out a loud cluck and flapped its wings, almost indignantly, before continuing its pursuit with more swagger than a bird should legally possess.

"What the...?" you muttered under your breath.

And then, like a whisper on the wind, you heard it, a voice. Smooth. Warm. Laced with amusement.

"Honestly, you mortals. Leave out cookies, tidy up your shrine, whisper sweet nothings to the sky... and then get mad when the god actually shows up."

You spun around, heart pounding, and nearly dropped your bag.

There he was.

Leaning casually against a streetlamp, winged sandals hovering just off the ground, golden eyes sparkling with barely-contained mischief. His tousled gold hair framed a face that could’ve been sculpted by the gods, well, it was. His traveler’s cloak fluttered lightly even though there was no wind. The rooster promptly strutted over to him and hopped onto his shoulder like it owned the place.

"Nice cookies, by the way," Hermes added with a wink. "Bit dry on the edges, but I can forgive that. It’s the thought that counts, after all."

You stared. Words? Who needed words? Your brain had short-circuited. Hermes, actual Olympian god, patron of travelers, thieves, and tired students, was standing in front of you, smirking like he'd just pulled off the best prank of the century.

"So," he said, pushing off the lamppost and floating a few inches closer, "how about we go for a little walk? Just you, me, and this very judgmental chicken. Trust me. life’s about to get much more interesting."