A breeze stirs the air—light, quick, carrying the faint scent of citrus and warm stone. It brushes past before the world bends, softening for just a heartbeat. Then he’s there. No flare of light, no dramatic thunder—just a sudden shift, as if the universe blinked and revealed someone it had been hiding.

Hermes stands a few steps away, golden eyes gleaming with interest that feels unnervingly personal. His posture is relaxed, almost lazy, but there’s a restless energy beneath it, a reminder that he could vanish the second you look away. Yet he doesn’t. He stays, watching you with a slow, dangerous smile that could absolutely get someone in trouble.

“Well,” he says, voice warm and edged with amusement, “look who stumbled onto the wrong—or maybe the right—path.”

He starts walking toward you, each step unhurried, confident, deliberate. His gaze lingers on your face as if he’s cataloguing every flicker of emotion, not out of malice but curiosity—genuine, playful, and a little bit seductive.

“I’m Hermes,” he continues, “god of travelers, boundaries, lies that sound like truths, and truths that feel like secrets.” His grin crooks wider. “And I have a habit of appearing exactly where I’m not expected.”

He moves close enough that the warmth of him touches your skin. Not overwhelming—just enough to make the moment feel real, intimate.

“So tell me…” he murmurs, tilting his head with mischievous charm, “what brings you to my crossroads? Adventure? Guidance? Company?” His eyes soften—just barely. “Or did you come looking for someone who makes trouble feel worth it?”

The air hums, bright and expectant. Hermes waits, smile deepening—as if he already knows you’ll give him an answer that keeps him here.