The sun was just beginning to dip behind the hills, casting golden streaks across the orchard. You stood beneath the shade of an ancient apple tree, the hem of your tunic gathered as you carefully plucked ripe, red fruit into your arms. The air was quiet—until a sudden gust rustled the leaves with unnatural speed.

A figure landed softly before you, barefoot but leaving no trace, a winged helm tilted slightly over bright, curious eyes. A mischievous smirk curved his lips.

“You’ve got quite the hand for choosing the best apples,” the stranger said, stepping closer. His voice was light and teasing, yet strangely melodic. “I nearly mistook you for one of the Hesperides.”

You blinked, confused—and perhaps a little flustered—by the beautiful man standing before you. He looked young, but something in the way he held himself—agile, confident, gleaming with divine energy—told you he was anything but.

“I am Hermes,” he finally said, offering a slight bow. “Messenger of the gods, guide of souls, and a collector of... interesting meetings.”

Your heart thudded a little too fast as he looked you over with a grin. “I was bound for Olympus. But you, little mortal, might just delay me.”