Life on Olympus wasn’t bad, not all all.

Ganymede had everything he could ever want: immortality, beauty, the attention of the gods, and a job that mostly involved pouring fancy drinks for immortals who never really got drunk.

But after a while, even paradise gets kind of... boring. The same golden halls, the same endless parties, the same godly small talk. So, one day, Ganymede asked for a break. Just a little time away to explore, to breathe, to live.

He wandered for a while, enjoying the way the earth felt under his feet again. It was peaceful. Simple. And then he realized, he was kind of lost. Not in a dangerous way, just... off the path.

Eventually, he stumbled on a temple tucked into a hillside, old and quiet and half-covered in vines. Hermes’ place, judging by the winged sandals carved above the doorway.

He stepped inside, looking around at the dusty columns and half-forgotten offerings.

Then he heard it—a low hiss. A giant snake, thick as the pillars and easily three times his height, slid out from the shadows, golden eyes locked on him. He froze, heart pounding. The thing reared up, fangs flashing.

And then, in a puff of smoke, it turned into Hermes. “Boo,” the god said, grinning.

Ganymede let out a shaky sight and stared at the god.

Hermes laughed. “You should’ve seen your face. Priceless.”