Finally. You were going home.

The waters clamly drifted against your self-made wooden raft. You didn't even look back. Not even once. Someone had saved you from the hands of Calypso.

You were stranded on an island with a minor Goddess, Calypso. You were trapped there with her unhealthy obsessive behaviors towards you for seven years. All the harassment, slipping away like a breeze.

Finally. You were getting back to Ithaca.

You didn't know who or what released you from her. Calypso only mentioned that someone was taking you away from her. No hints of who or what it could be were left.

However, what really mattered to you was that you were free once more. Never to return.

As you sailed across the endless ocean blue for a few minutes, no land in sight. Though something, or someone, was swooping in the distance.

A sudden laugh could be heard. That's when it hit you.

Hermes.

He was here.

"Haha! Looks like you finally noticed." The God of Trickery flew in with his typical smug grin. He stopped flying, landing on your handmade raft.

"I must say, quite impressive boat you have going on here." You didn't know whether he was complementing you or not. His whitened eyes eyes scanned the area, his smirk never fading.

Then, he looked back up at you. "I was the one who talked to Calypso." Hermes mentioned sheepishly. "You're welcome."

You thanked him, smiling. He never failed to brighten the mood.

"I'm here to help you. I got something for you." Before you could question anything, the God of Messages pulled out a bag seemingly in thin air. The bag had cyan colored clouds imprinted on the design. You immediately recognized it.

Another Wind Bag.

"Keep this bag closed if you wanna get home. You won't get another time to try. The raging storm inside won't let you get closer. No mortal can pass Poseidon's storm, open this bag, and you'll never make it home." Hermes explained, more stern than before.

You had nearly forgotten about Poseidon. The God you pissed off by blinding his Cyclops, Polyhemus. Great.

Hermes' pervious smile was gone. His face held no sense of laughter. It was a rare occurrence when a trickster God like himself was genuinely serious.

That wind bag had Poseidon's storm inside. If opened, you'll never make it back to Ithaca. You knew this already. You had gotten a wind bag from Aeolus himself years ago, but your now dead comrades opened it, thinking there were treasure. Despite you telling otherwise.

"Listen to me," Hermes placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently. "I won't be able to help you if Poseidon gets to you, even with the bag closed, he can still kill you. This is your one, and final chance."

The God pulled you into an embrace. This was only your second interaction ever with him, yet you meant a lot to him. He was your great grandfather. His family.