Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Narrator: The Olympus. The domain of the gods of the Greek Pantheon. This is where Hephaestus, the divine blacksmith, and his wife, Aphrodite, live...

Hephaestus stopped his work as soon as Aphrodite entered his studio. He looked his wife up and down and let out a grunt of content, perhaps even flirtatiousness. But then he realized that Aphrodite was holding several scrolls and he winced.

“What? Will we have guests again? Aren't you tired of those family dinners?”

“Well, you can get bored here” The goddess of love whined. “I can't spend my whole life under a shade, because Mr. Blacksmith doesn't want to come out of his shed.”

“It's a blacksmith's shop, woman,” Hephaestus growled.

Aphrodite said nothing, just put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. After a while, Hermes flew in. The heat of the workshop made small beads of sweat appear on his forehead. But he soon located the goddess who had summoned him and flew to her. Then he frowned when he saw the number of scrolls.

“How can I help you?” He asked.

Aphrodite handed (or actually: she threw) the scrolls into his hands.

“Take this to all the gods,” She said, and as Hermes started to head for the exit, she added suddenly, “Oh, and I hope you will too.”

Hermes smiled.

“It’s nice of you to invite me, but I have some work to do this afternoon.”

Narrator: Apollo, god of all arts and protector of the Muses…

“Hermes! Hermes!” Echoed all over the room.

It was Apollo. Hermes immediately flew to his brother's call, which bordered on lamentation. And that meant only one thing, and when the messenger of the gods finally arrived, he saw exactly what he expected – that idiot, Apollo, had broken his lyre again. And Hermes had gone to such great lengths to make it out of tortoiseshell and calf intestines... But as soon as he looked into those big, sad eyes of his brother, he knew he won’t get away from fixing the lyre.

Hermes just sighed. He put the scrolls under one arm and the lyre under the other. With his teeth he pulled out the scroll with the invitation that was meant for Apollo. When finally the god of arts picked him up, Hermes moved on.

Narrator: Dionysus, god of wine...

Bacchus barely woke up. His eyelids seemed swollen, his head hurt so much that he wanted to ask Hephaestus to break it; and a large stain on the floor a meter away indicated that the next party had been very successful. All he wanted now was peace of mind. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be.

Hermes flew suddenly right in front of his face and grinned widely. However, seeing the state of Bacchus, he immediately took two steps away. He accidentally dropped the lyre, and the sound of the instrument hitting the floor was like a bloody loud crack to the hungover wine god. Bacchus winced, grabbed the first thing within his reach – a golden jug – and threw it forcefully at Hermes, who quickly dodged. The jug hit the column, which was a much more unpleasant sound. So the messenger of the gods quickly placed a scroll for Bacchus on the table, picked up  lyre and made a tactical retreat, ducking from the objects thrown at him.

Narrator: Ares, god of war, and Athena, goddess of wisdom...

“No, it isn’t!” Ares screamed.

“Yes, it is!” Athena replied.

“Oh, no, it’s not, you idiot!”

“Yes it is, you ignorant man!”

That's more or less how Hermes found them. He sighed deeply. He tried to figure out what the quarrel between Athena and Ares was that day, but he couldn't. He hung there in the air for a while, thinking whether he should interrupt them and hand them the invitations, or wait for them to finish. As the lyre and scrolls were heavy on him, he put them aside. He pulled his cane from his belt – the caduceus – and decided for the he didn’t know which time to appease their dispute.

“Okay, what was it about?” He asked in a resigned tone.

They both glared at him, but he didn't care. Ares spoke first, pointing to Athena with his finger.

“That idiot dares to claim to be the goddess of war...”

“The goddess of a just war, moron.”

“Never mind. The important thing is that I am the one and only god of war. It's my job and no one else's.”

“Listen, Ares, I am the goddess of wisdom and just war, whether you like it or not, so be quiet. Hermes, tell him something!”

“Actually, she's right,” Hermes replied. Ares stared at him.

- What?!” He exclaimed.

“You know, Ares, the problem is that sometimes we get into each other's competence. For example, Athena is the goddess of wisdom, but the protector of the Muses, including Urania, the patron of astronomy, Clio, the patron of history, and Calliope, the patron of philosophy and rhetoric, is Apollo. On the other hand, I invented writing, and I don't have to deal with those Muses who are responsible for dramas and poetry. Aphrodite is the goddess of love, but it is Hera who deals with marriage. But don't be discouraged, man.” He patted Ares on the back. “Athena is the goddess of just war, and there aren't many of them these days.”

They seemed convinced because they didn’t say anything. Hermes searched among the scrolls for invitations for Ares and Athena and gave them to them. Then he took his luggage and moved on. He's already wasted a lot of time.

Narrator: And also Zeus, king of the gods, and Hera, his wife...

Hermes had already visited almost all the gods and had only three scrolls left to hand over: to Zeus, Hera and Hades. Since he could pass on this last scroll later, when he would lead the dead to the Underworld, he preferred to visit the boss and lady boss first.

He went up the air and flew close enough to Zeus to look him in the eye. It'll be fine, he repeated to himself. He'd pass on the invitations to the bosses and he'd be able to get back to his business... Unless Zeus had some stupid, unrealistic idea.

“Boss, Aphrodite would like to invite you and your esteemed wife to dinner.”

“What? Again?” Zeus was surprised when he took the scroll. “She had dinner yesterday, too. She's been doing this for over a month now.”

“Honey, we should come. You know, she tries very hard...”

“Well, okay, fine. We will come.”

Hermes began to head for Hades, glad that everything had gone so quickly, when suddenly he heard Zeus's voice behind him:

“Oh, and one more thing, Hermes.”

Damn it…

“Yes, Zeus?” Hermes sighed and turned around.

“I want you to bring this message to Hades.”

Zeus pulled a thin, grayish scroll from his robe. Hermes shrugged, unenthusiastically flew up to the king of all gods and took the message from his hand. Well, okay. At least he was on his way. But first he will bring Apollo's lyre back to his domain.

Narrator: Poseidon rules the seas, Hades the world of the dead...

Hermes counted again all the souls of those who died that day, and after making sure that none were missing and that each had an obol for Charon, he opened the gate and let them in. As the souls lined up to the river Styx, he flew over them and quickly made his way to Hades' chamber. On the way, he saw Pain and Panic lounging just outside the Water of Forgetfulness, probably waiting for new orders from their master. The king of the Underworld was just examining his fiery hairstyle glowing with blue light in the mirror.

The messenger of the gods landed right behind Hades and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. Hades's face in the mirror grimaced, and the lord of the Underworld turned to Hermes.

“What?” He growled.

“I have two messages for you, Hades,” Hermes replied and pulled out both scrolls. “The first is an invitation to dinner at Aphrodite's, and the other one is a letter from Zeus.”

Without a word, Hades took the greyish scroll, unfolded it slowly, and read it. With every moment, his face expressed more and more annoyance, which was colorfully reflected by the change in color of his skin from gray-blue to fiery-orange. Hermes started to back away cautiously, sensing danger, but he didn't manage to escape the blast when the god of the Underworld interrupted his reading and threw a scroll in his direction. The projectile hit the wall, but an enraged Hades formed fireballs in his hands and began throwing them at the fleeing Hermes. The first two missed their target, but the next bullet scorched the wings of Hermes' sandals.

“Zeus thinks he's so great and awesome because he's the king of the gods!” Hades yelled, throwing two more fireballs at the messenger. Hermes jumped as one of them hit his seat. “I'll show him! He will learn not to mock Hades!”

Fortunately, Hermes managed to escape from the chamber before he was hit even more. He leaned against a nearby wall and breathed a sigh of relief. Pain and Panic immediately turned their attention to him.

“Your boss is really insane,” Hermes said.

“You at least see him once a day,” Panic replied.

“We have this 24/7,” added Pain. “I really envy you sometimes, Hermes.”

“You do not have to sit for hours in some dark hole and you are not exposed to mobbing. Your working conditions are quite pleasant. I also bet everyone appreciates you.”

“Yeah,” Hermes replied, looking away. Then he looked back at Hades' henchmen and stepped away from the wall. “See you tomorrow, guys.”

Narrator: Artemis was the goddess of hunting and forests, Demeter – of crops, and Hestia – the patron of the hearth. These great gods...

Calliope: Hey Bob, haven't you forgotten someone?

 Narrator: Let's see (sound of pages turning) Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Athena, Ares… (inarticulate whispers) No. They're all there.

Melpomene: And Hermes? How could you forget Hermes, Bob? He is the main character of this story!

Narrator: I... I mean... Well, I was just about to get to that.

Kallipe: Then go faster, Bob.

Narrator: Erm... (more confidently) Hermes, messenger of the gods...

Hermes flew through several clouds in Olympus, then pulled a to-do list from his robe. He muttered to himself and sat down on a nearby cloud, flipping through the scroll from top to bottom.

“Let's see... Tell Ares not to bother the Athenians...” He took off his hat and looked at it. The arrow shot by the god of war was still lodged in the brim, dangerously close to his head. “Done...” He went back to the list. “Tell Athena so the Athenians don't bother the Spartans... Done... Pick up a new Asclepius hangover cure for Bacchus... Done... Catering for Aphrodite's dinner... Done. By the way, I should ask for some kind of refund, because Hestia will tear the last robe off me.”

Narrator: Patron of travelers, wanderers and thieves. He leads the souls of the dead to Hades. His role as a messenger on Mount Olympus is very responsible.

Melpomene: That’s absolutely right. Hermie has a reputation of a guy who can get anything done. Just call him and ask. But let's get back to our story.

Hermes returned to his domain very late. He sank down onto the chaise longue, sighed deeply, and kicked off his winged sandals, which circled over him like two extremely annoying flies. The annoyed god slapped them with one flick of his open hand, and the sandals stopped right in front of him.

“Do you have to piss me off too?”

His shoes rested meekly on the floor. Hermes, meanwhile, took off his rose-colored spectacles and placed them on a nearby pillar. He lay down on the chaise longue, joined his hands and rested them on his stomach. Then he let out another deep sigh.

Day after day the same thing. Flying from one end of Olympus to the other, guiding souls to Hades, mending Apollo's lyre (because that brat, of course, couldn't fix it himself), watching over travelers and thieves (Ares had to, he just HAD to establish a ritual for Spartan guys to try to steal foxes and get beaten up every time if they got caught, mostly for getting caught at all)... So, with all his chores done, Hermes was too tired and sore to care for himself. He's been quite irritable lately, but anyone would be in his place. Stress, long working hours, and often putting up with the moods of the gods whenever the news didn't go their way… He wasn't human, but he wasn't a machine either.

How wonderful it would be one day not to have to do anything. If he had one day to himself, he could just lie in bed until noon, or go to the beach, or check out Phil and Hercules, or read, or… Oh, the possibilities were endless. Just one day. I guess that was enough to relax. He needed rest, that's for sure. He needed at least one day off or he'd go mad.

Hermes reached for his glasses and put them back on his nose. Then he snapped his fingers and created a stone tablet, a hammer, and a chisel. He sat down at a nearby table. For about two minutes he carved on the board the inscription: “It is hereby announced that the god Hermes is off today, so he does not run any errands, does not respond to calls and does not accept orders. We apologize for inconveniences.” Then he hung the sign on his door and went to sleep.

The next day, Hermes woke up early in the morning. Apollo's chariot was clearly just beginning its journey, for the sky was pinkish. The first thing that ran through Hermes' mind was a sense of duty. But then he remembered that today was his day off, so he closed his heavy and sleepy eyes and dozed off for a while. And although he didn't dream anything (after all, it's daytime, Morpheus’s work was done), he enjoyed just carefree lounging in a warm bed.

Unfortunately, it only lasted until the sky turned blue. It was then that the other gods woke up from their sleep, ate hearty breakfasts and started their daily duties, and thus – Hermes could hear the first calls – whistling, calling, snapping fingers and other extremely unsubtle and rude attempts to get him come. As if suddenly all Olympus forgot the word “please”-.

Hermes sat up in bed and rubbed his sleepy eyes with his hand. But he hadn't gotten up yet, hadn't put on his winged boots yet, and hadn't left his house yet to begin his usual work day. For now, he just sat in bed and thought, while the call of the gods grew louder and impatient.

Well, he should have expected it. After all, not everyone had to stop at his door, and not everyone had the opportunity to see the notice board. Maybe he should have told them in person? But Hermes just shrugged and stood up. If they are persistent enough, they will come here in person and be enlightened. Nothing was to disturb his day off. Even if Zeus himself were to come here, Hermes wasn't going to do anything work-related today.

The messenger of the gods sat down at the table and snapped his fingers. After a moment, a platter of fruit, a jug of milk, and an empty cup appeared in front of him. As he poured the milk into it, he felt a sudden kick to his leg. He looked down in surprise and immediately realized that his winged sandals were under the table, fluttering impatiently. He just smiled maliciously.

“Don't you guys know? We're off today.”

Nevertheless, they climbed on his feet and tied themselves.

“Forget it. I'm not moving from here.”

It's lucky they didn't come up with the idea of dragging him to work by force. Anyway, they probably liked the idea of a day off as much as Hermes. While eating breakfast and ignoring (with difficulty, but still) the exhortations of other gods, Hermes wondered how to use all this free time. He snapped his fingers as an idea popped into his head.

A few minutes later he was walking through the streets of Athens wearing a long tunic with a hood (luckily it was long enough to cover the fact that he wasn't walking but levitating a few inches off the ground). The disguise worked. No mortal recognized him. It felt strange walking around like that among ordinary people, but he tried to find something interesting to do, because the spectacles of the fair didn't interest him (when you watched Hades' haircut burst into blue flame all day, the fire-eater didn't seem so tough to you anymore). The fresh air would have been nice if it wasn't so loud here that Hermes's head ached, as if a herd of harpies were screaming in his ears.

He strolled leisurely around the square, admiring the great and beautiful buildings (Pericles really did a good job) and the chariots gliding along the streets. From time to time he would stop at some temple and examine the ornaments on them, but he would not go inside in case the statues within them suddenly came to life and became real gods. Sometimes he managed to notice an interesting scene, for example, some kid in rags wanted to rob some rich-looking old man. Hermes did not help the little one, but watched as the thief, with one swift move, stole the pouch hanging close to the victim's thigh. The old man didn't even notice...

This walk took Hermes about two hours. Soon the theater building began to pile up on the horizon, and Hermes perked up. He recently saw a play at the Arts Festival. Some catharsis during a tragedy or some positive energy during a comedy could be nice. He sped up, but then realized he could easily give himself away, so he put his feet on the ground and just ran to the theater like a mere mortal. He went to the cashier. The line wasn't that big, so the god got busy looking at the posters.

“Gone with Aeolus, Where phoenixes Dare, Punic Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Pirates of Crete: At World's End…” Hermes muttered under his breath as he read the titles of the plays. “Hmm… probably some high-budget crap again… What's this?” The god's eyes widened and his mouth unconsciously formed a joyful smile. After a moment, he let out a whisper that sounded like a sigh: “Antigone.”

And he already knew what he was going to do. He saw Antigone a few years ago and liked it very much. Sometimes they played it again at festivals, and Hermes always watched it, so he knew most of the scenes by heart. He especially liked a few lines. Anyway, the story itself captivated him. Sad yet very simple. That was why the messenger of the gods intended to go to this play on his day off. When it was finally his turn to check out, Hermes handed the cashier a coin and said:

“I'll have one for Antigone, please.”

The cashier looked at him in surprise, as if he had found something strange about him.

“Why are you so blue, boy?” He asked after a moment.

"Boy"? Of course, the gods are forever young, but Hermes was several thousand years old. And so far he was sure he looked more like a middle-aged guy.

Without a word, he took the ticket from the cashier and entered the theater. According to the poster and ticket, the play was starting in about five minutes. Hermes's place was far away, but that was a good thing because he didn't want to be conspicuous right now. He bought more peanuts and excitedly waited for the beginning of Antigone.

Narrator: While the messenger of the gods, Hermes, was enjoying his day off, all of Olympus was in chaos.

Zeus had to admit that he was at loss. The gods in front of him were very, VERY upset, and shouted out their complaints to him. Zeus just watched and tried to put everything they said to him into some sensible whole, but they were talking at the same time and he only caught every other sentence. If Hermes had been here, he would have put some order into it. Eventually, Zeus couldn't stand it.

“SILENCEEEEE!” He yelled, and everyone fell silent. Zeus flicked a cool, almost glaring glance at their faces, and finally spoke again: “Now explain to me one by one what's going on.”

“Hermes didn't show up when I called him,” Aphrodite was the first to speak.

“Same for me,” Ares added.

“He doesn't respond to any call," Athena explained. “We tried all sorts of ways, but he didn't show up even once. No message has been delivered today.”

“Hermes didn't escort souls to me either,” Hades interjected. “You don't even know, little brother, how much my turnover has fallen.”

“We thought he was with you, Zeus," Morpheus stepped forward. “Did you send him on some important mission?”

“No, I don't remember anything like that,” the king of the gods replied, scratching his head. “Maybe we should go over to him and see if he's okay.”

The whole Pantheon, as one man, nodded their heads. Zeus led them to the domain of Hermes. Right outside the door he stopped, and the rest of the gods with him. A couple bumped into each other and fell. However, Zeus paid no attention to this. He simply bent over the sign nailed to the door and began to read aloud what was written there:

“It is hereby announced that the god Hermes is off today, so he does not run any errands, does not respond to calls and does not accept orders. We apologize for inconveniences. Who would have thought…”

At first everyone was silent and looked at each other in surprise. And then from somewhere behind Poseidon screamed angrily:

“So that's it! This irresponsible slacker decided to take a vacation at the expense of his duties!”

“I'll give him the day off! I'll impale him and rip his stupid wings off his sandals!” Ares screamed.

“I'd love to join,” Hades replied.

“Wait,” Zeus said, still staring at the board. “Let's find him first, then decide what to do with him.”

“Right, Zeus,” Hera snuggled into her husband's arm. Athena spoke next:

“But it looks like he's not on Olympus. Neither in Hades, so that leaves only one possibility.”

As soon as she said that, all the gods shouted in chorus:

“The world of mortals!”

Chapter Text

Narrator: Since the gods could not leave their posts and devote themselves entirely to the search for Hermes...

Calliope: Why not? And what about-?

Narrator: Dear ladies, let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Melpomene: Oh, that's right. Keep talking, Bob.

Narrator: The gods decided to send their helpers to earth like Nemesis...

Nemesis walked through the forest and looked around with an angry expression on her face. There was murder in her eyes.

“Hermes, when I get you, no one will help you,” She growled. Her hands turned into two axes and Nemesis began chopping down trees around her.

Narrator: Or Pain and Panic…

The helpers of Hades were walking through the empty road between one Greek city and another. The sun was high on a beautiful blue sky, but Pain and Panic paid no attention to it. The only thing on their horned heads now was a blue guy in a short white robe and sandals with wings. So far, their search has been fruitless.

“Panic, look!” Pain shouted suddenly and stopped his companion.

He pointed to a post with a head carving that reminded both of them of Hermes' smiling head. She even had his hat on. Panic looked at Pain disapprovingly and smacked him on the back of the head.

“It's a herma, you idiot.”

“What?”

“Effigy of Hermes, which stands on the roads so that travelers pray to it.”

“And I thought we found him.”

Narrator: But let's go back to Hermes.

Two actors – one playing Creon, the other Antigone – stood on an empty stage. Hermes heard them perfectly, and caught each word with a beating heart. The scene where Creon questions Antigone about breaking his decree was the favorite scene of the messenger of the gods.

“Tell me, tell me briefly:/ Had you heard my proclamation touching this matter?”

“It was public. Could I help hearing it?”

“And yet you dared defy the law.”

"My hunch was right." A familiar voice drew the god's attention away from the scene.

Hermes turned to the side and looked with distaste at Apollo, who was also dressed to hide his divine identity, sitting right next to him.

“What do you want, Apollo?” Hermes asked, looking back at the stage. “Can't you wait until the play is over?”

“The whole Olympus is looking for you...”

“Shhh,” Hermes cut him off. His face lit up. “Now it will be the best part.”

“Creon, what more do you want than my death?”

“Nothing./That gives me everything.”

"It's Oedipus Rex, or what?” Apollo asked.

“For a god of the arts, you're poorly versed.” Hermes commented. “It's Antigone.”

“So many of these dramas have been written lately...” Apollo tried to justify himself.

“You are alone here in that opinion.” Kreon's booming voice echoed throughout the theater.

“No, they are with me. But they keep their tongues in leash.”

“Well, you've seen it so many times.” Apollo grumbled. “You know how it ends. He will lock her in the grave, his son who has a crush on her will commit suicide and Creon will be unhappy forever.”

“Shut up and let me watch.” Hermes replied.

“But Eteocles––was he not your brother too?”

“My brother too.”

“Everyone is mad at you. Why did you do it exactly?” The god of arts couldn't keep quiet.

“Didn't you read the sign on the door?” Traces of irritation were evident in Hermes' voice. “I'm off today, whether you like it or not. Now shut up.”

“Well, fine.” Apollo replied resignedly.

They both looked at the stage and silently watched the play. From the increasingly excited expression on his face, his fists clenched against his chest, and his eyes wide open, Apollo knew that his brother had just stumbled upon his favorite scene.

“But not the same for the wicked as for the just.”

“Ah Creon, Creon,/Which of us can say what the gods hold wicked?”

“An enemy is an enemy, even dead.”

“It is may nature to join in love, not hate.”

“Go join them, then; if you must have your love,/Find it in hell!” said Creon, and Hermes' lips along with him, only quietly, almost soundlessly.

“I love this play.” The messenger of the gods whispered, flushed. “It's moments like these that make me happy that I invented writing.”

“Speaking of hell,”: Apollo began again. “certain guy with a flaming haircut is really mad because you didn't bring him the dead.”

“I have time. Also, Hades has Pain and Panic.”

“Who are looking for you now. Nemesis, too.”

Hermes grimaced, then bowed his head. Only now did he realize that when he will return to Olympus, he was going to be in for quite a trouble. He will have to explain himself. He will have to explain his behavior. Immediately after that, something completely different crossed his mind – he wondered if perhaps his absence had given the rest of the gods something to think about. Perhaps they understood that he, too, had his dignity, and that they had not treated him kindly until now? Maybe now they'll start to appreciate him?

“Did you finally fix my lyre?” Apollo asked out of the blue.

Hermes let out a snarl of suppressed anger and stood up. Then he started heading downstairs towards the exit. Apollo followed him, and after a while they were outside. Surprisingly, there were very few people, but the divine brothers went down the narrow street anyway to be able to talk in peace. Frustrated, Hermes turned to his brother.

“The Lyre. That's all you care about, right?”

“I wanted to know how is it.”

“And you didn't think you could fix it yourself?”

“I can't. You made it, so you know how to do it.”

“Argh…all of you are unbelievable.” Hermes folded his arms across his chest.

He took off his tunic, turned his back on his brother, and flew very high into the air.

“Where are you going, Hermes?” Apollo called after him.

“Somewhere!” Hermes retorted. “Don't follow me.”

Apollo could not catch up with him either way. If he went for the chariot now, Hermes would be a long time gone. Those wings on his sandals were really fast. That's why Hermes was such a good messenger. Well, maybe also because he was great at getting things done. Nevertheless, Apollo did not intend to follow him, but he observed his brother's flying figure until it was out of sight. The god of arts was worried about what would happen when Hermes finally returned to Olympus.

Melpomene: Hey, don't you think there's something wrong here?

Narrator: What do you mean?

Kalliope: It's already the ninth page of the text, and the main character has not yet appeared.

Narrator: What do you mean “he didn’t”? Hermes is here almost all the time.

Melpomene: We mean Hercules. Maybe we can show it at least once?

Narrator: I wanted to get to that now.

Hercules entered the temple of Zeus. It's time for another father-son conversation with the king of the gods. The boy stood right in front of the huge statue of his father and waited for the monument to come to life. After a moment, the stony brows furrowed, and the features formed a grimace that could mean either extreme fatigue or suppressed irritation. The enthusiasm on Hercules' face turned to an expression of concern, which deepened even more when the king of the gods spoke, or rather muttered under his breath:

“Damn it... It's late afternoon and no effects...”

“Something wrong, dad?”

Stony Zeus looked down, noticing his son.

“Sorry, Hercules. We have a little problem on Olympus.”

“Trouble?” Hercules suddenly perked up. “Maybe I could help."

Zeus sighed and rested his elbow on the side of the throne and his chin on his hand.

“I appreciate your willingness to help, son, but I don't think you can find Hermes.”

“Something happened to Hermes?!” The hero exclaimed. “Is he in trouble?!”

“He'll be in trouble when he comes back!” This outburst of anger was, to say the least, unexpected. Hercules felt slightly embarrassed.

“Take it easy, dad. Tell me everything from the beginning.”

“Oh well. It won't hurt if you find out...”

Zeus told his son about the disappearance of Hermes, about the plaque on his door and about the chaos that had arisen due to his absence. By the end of the story, Hercules was really confused. The fact that Hermes – of all gods, Hermes – had acted so irresponsibly left the hero-in-training confused about what to think of him. It is true that Hermes had this laid-back attitude of his, but until now he had performed his duties very faithfully. Never in his life would Hercules suspect him of arbitrarily leaving his post when his work was so important.

“If you find him,” Zeus began, snapping his son out of his thoughts, “tell him he has to come back.”

“You can be sure that I will.” Hercules replied, his expression determined.

“Now excuse me, boy. I have to return to Olympus.”

“Bye, dad.”

“Bye, son.”

The statue was just dead stone again. Hercules left the temple. Pegasus was grazing on a nearby lawn, but as soon as he noticed his master, he raised his head and walked towards the hero. Without a word, Hercules mounted his horse and they returned to Phil's Island. All the way, the boy was haunted by what his father had told him. His anger at Hermes kept him from thinking about anything else. There were many insults in Hercules' head, just waiting to be uttered at the wayward god. The boy repeated them in his mind like a mantra and it only intensified his anger towards Hermes.

Eventually they arrived at Phil's house. Hercules got down from Pegasus and pulled the saddle off his back. The horse rested on the lawn as if to take a nap while the demigod stepped inside to announce his arrival. What he saw exceeded his expectations. At the table, drinking wine with Phil, sat Hermes. The boy's feelings erupted with new force.

“Hi, Herc!” The god greeted happily, waving at him. “I'm off today, so I decided to drop by.”

“Ah yes? Too bad my father doesn't know you're off.” His tone was very grumpy, but not too sharp.

Hermes turned serious and put the mug in his hand aside. Then he looked at Hercules sadly.

“So you've already spoken to the boss.”

“Yes, I spoke with Zeus. Do you realize that-?”

“You don't understand, boy.” Phil interjected. “Hermes works very hard and just wanted to relax today.”

“But to leave Olympus without telling anyone?!”

“Herc, calm down.” Hermes tried to appease him, but it was no use. Not even the caduceus would help him now.

“All of Olympus is now one big brothel, because Mr. Hermes did not want to work today! What if something bad happens and there is no messenger to deliver the message?! What will happen then?! Have you thought about the consequences of your behavior?! NO! No, because all you thought about was yourself! Do you know who you are, Hermes?! An irresponsible egoist!”

Up till now Hermes was just standing and taking the blows, but the youngster's last words had annoyed him. Now it was Hermes who was seething with anger. The god got up and flew to Hercules, stopping right in front of his face. Now, hidden behind rose-colored glasses, Hermes's eyes stared coldly at the hero's blue eyes. Hercules and Phil expected an outburst like Hercules had previously displayed, but it was completely different. The messenger of the gods spoke in a calm, low tone that was, however, easily identifiable with irritation.

“Oh really? Well, maybe it's okay to be selfish sometimes.”

Then he stepped back a little and passed Hercules to get to the exit.

“Goodbye, Hercules. And you too, Phil.” He said without even turning around.

Melpomene: Ouch! That must have hurt Hermie. He expected some understanding, and what did he get?

Calliope: You feel sorry for him?

Melpomene: Why wouldn't I? He's a good boy. And he deserved this vacation.

Narrator: Ladies, please.

Melpomene: Sorry, Bob.

Narrator: After leaving Phil's Island, Hermes finally returned to Olympus. Then all the gods gathered to judge his behavior.

The gods sat on thrones around a great empty space. Hermes stood in the middle. He felt many things – from a sense of incomprehension and loneliness, through fear, to regret of his deed. All the gods looked at him coldly, even angrily. Only Apollo's face showed concern. Hermes was afraid. He was afraid of what they might do to him. Banish him from Olympus, throw him into Tartarus or into a bottomless abyss, make him clean Dionysus' toilet after every party...

“You surprised me, Hermes.” Zeus was the first person to speak. “I didn't think your old contrariness would ever come back again. And what am I supposed to do with you now?”

"I don't know, Zeus.” The messenger of the gods responded. He didn't have the courage or the strength to defend himself.

“Your day off cost us a lot of undelivered messages-” The king of the gods began again, but then Hades cut in:

“And losses in my afterlife business.”

“Anyway, you behaved disgracefully and I must punish you. I cannot banish you or kill you. It would be too much, and besides, we need you here. So after much thought, I've come to the conclusion that the best punishment for you is to catch up on all your chores by sunset now.”

Hermes didn't know what to think. On the one hand, he felt relieved that nothing worse would happen to him, and on the other hand, he felt frustration at the fact that he had a hell of a job ahead of him. Nevertheless, he accepted the verdict with dignity. He flew up to Zeus and, still levitating, bowed low.

“Thank you, boss.”

Narrator: So Hermes took his punishment and everything went back to normal.

Melpomene: But that's not the end of the story.

Narrator: No?

Calliope: Remember Hercules' outburst? The next chapter will be the development this event.

Melpomene: Therefore stay with us!

Chapter Text

Phil strode confidently into the temple of Zeus, leaving the pink-purple sky behind him. He flew here as soon as he was sure Hercules was asleep. The matter he had with the king of the gods required complete discretion. Phil still couldn't forget what happened that afternoon...

“All of Olympus is now one big brothel, because Mr. Hermes did not want to work today! What if something bad happens and there is no messenger to deliver the message?! What will happen then?! Have you thought about the consequences of your behavior?! NO! No, because all you thought about was yourself! Do you know who you are, Hermes?! An irresponsible egoist!”

This statement apparently was the last straw. An expression of growing anger appeared on Hermes' face. Phil was about to say something to Hercules when suddenly the god rose from his chair and flew over to the boy. They stared at each other for a few seconds. The tension in the room rose as Pegasus and Phil waited for Hermes to say something. They expected a furious tirade, but instead they got only a soft but well audible whisper:

“Oh really? Well, maybe it's okay to be selfish sometimes.”

Then Hermes – just like that – headed for the exit. Without even turning around, he said, "Goodbye, Hercules. And you too, Phil." and disappeared outside. There was an awkward silence as Phil regarded Hercules coldly, trying to show him how disappointed he was with him. The young man let out an exasperated sigh, shrugged his shoulders, and asked:

“Come on?! You can't blame me for being on the right side, Phil! You know very well that what Hermes did was wrong! And this line: ‘Maybe it's good to be selfish sometimes...’ What is he thinking?!”

“Have you ever wondered what it looks like from his perspective, kid?” Phil asked. “Or have you decided to judge him without giving him a chance to defend himself? Hermes came here because he considered us friends, or at least someone who would listen and understand him.” At first his voice was only cold, then it became more and more fierce. “Yes, I know he did wrong! I know his behavior caused chaos on Olympus, but damn it, Hermes had a reason to do what he did! And you,” The satire's tone was low, almost hissing as Phil pointed an accusing finger at his apprentice. “You didn't even try to ask him why.”

“I wonder what reason could justify defying divine duty!" Hercules replied in a raised voice, waving his hands in the air.

“Have you ever wondered what it's like to be a messenger of the gods?”

“Big deal! Delivering a few letters isn't all that hard, Phil.”

“Have you ever heard the phrase 'to kill the messenger'?”

“You can't kill a god! Also,” Hercules folded his arms over his shoulders “I'm the son of Zeus and I think Dad's right to be mad at Hermes.”

The satyr's shoulders dropped. His disciple had no idea what Hermes was going through every day. Phil was about to list all the problems the messenger of the gods had when an idea struck him. A thought that instantly made the satyr's face soften. A plan brilliant in its simplicity (okay, maybe it wasn't all that simple, because it required the approval of some “higher authority”, but it wasn't impossible to arrange). If this plan worked, Phil would kill two birds with one stone.

“You know, kid,” Phil began to him with feigned resignation. “Let's not talk about it anymore. We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow, so you'd better go to sleep.”

At first Hercules was surprised. Then he smiled condescendingly, and the satyr understood at once that his apprentice was having a moment of triumph over his trainer. Then the youngster headed for his hammock. As soon as Phil made sure that the future hero fell asleep, he took Pegasus and left the island.

Phil was standing in front of the statue of Zeus. He cleared his throat, straightened up, and stuffed his self-respect into his pocket. You have to be gentle and solemn with the boss. Especially with the boss of all the gods who was able to throw lightning at you. Even though Zeus had a gentle disposition, it's always better to be careful. Besides, in general, Phil wasn't sure if his plan would work. From the very beginning, it may have turned out that there was no point in trying.

“O Great Zeus!” The satyr began. “I, the satyr Philoctetes, unworthy even to play pickup sticks with your janitor's cousin, summon you on an urgent matter! Come, O Almighty Zeus, for this has to do with your son's training!”

The dice were cast. Now, he’s going to show up for sure.

Less than ten seconds later, the statue came to life, looking anxiously at Phil, who smiled in satisfaction but quickly turned serious. After a moment, Zeus leaned over Phil and the god's booming voice echoed through the four corners of the temple:

“Did there something happen with my boy?”

“No, Great Zeus,” The satyr replied, looking away. “I wanted to talk about a training detail you could help me with.”

“Speak. Anything for my little one.”

Phil's eyes went back to the god. Yes, the satyr Philoctetes rules when it comes to persuasiveness.

“Before I get to the heart of the matter, I'd like to know what happened to Hermes. Because I presume he's back already?”

“Yes, he's back. And he was punished.”

A shiver ran through the satyr's skin. He crossed his fingers behind his back.

“May I know, O great Zeus, how was he punished?”

Please, please, please. Let it be nothing too serious...

“He has to catch up on work, that's all,” Zeus replied calmly. “And why do you ask?”

“Because you see, Zeus,” Phil suddenly sounded more confident. He even smiled. “I have an idea for an exercise that requires the assistance of your messenger.”

“What do you mean by ‘assists’?”

And so Phil initiated Zeus into his plan. However, when the king of the gods asked about the meaning of a strange (in his opinion) exercise, the satyr only said:

“You'll see at the end of the day, Zeus. All I can say is that I want to teach your son a skill that is important to him.”

“I trust you, Philoctetes, so I will try to help you. Have Hercules come here in the morning after breakfast.”

Phil bowed with a smile on his face.

“Thank you, great Zeus.”

Narrator: So the next morning Phil brought Hercules to the temple.

Melpomene: Well, at long last. Bob, where have you been since this morning?

Narrator: Some people have personal lives. Not just work, sing, work, sing.

Calliope: Are you suggesting we don't have a life?

Phil: You'll fight later. The chapter is waiting to be told.

Melpomene: Oh yeah, right...

Calliope: Wait. What are you doing here?

Phil: Never mind. Just keep going with the story.

Hercules wondered why his father had told him to come so early. Usually their conversations took place in the afternoon or evening. But since Phil said his divine parent wanted to talk to him, the young man just ate breakfast, got on Pegasus, and flew to the temple, even though he would normally be training or slacking that day (it was Saturday – no lessons at Prometheus Academy).

They didn't have to wait too long. As soon as Hercules approached his father's statue, Zeus came to life.

“Hello, son.”

“Hello Dad. Why did you call me?”

“Your training today requires a change of scenery.”

Zeus snapped his fingers and Hercules, Phil and Pegasus found themselves on Olympus. Zeus sat on the throne before them. For the first half of a minute, Hercules just looked around with a goofy smirk. He so seldom was coming on Mount Olympus (in fact, it was always happening so casually that he didn't have time to get a good look around the place) that he absorbed every detail of the celestial scenery until Phil tugged hard on his pants and snapped the boy out of his trance.

“Listen carefully. You didn't come here to admire the scenery, you came here to train.”

“Train?!” Hercules exclaimed in displeasure.

“Yes, kid. Train. You want to be a hero, don't you?” Phil raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, of course...” The young man replied timidly, and his eyes went to the ground.

“Then you better put in effort, because today's lesson is very important.” The satyr retorted. An ingratiating smile appeared on his hitherto sour face, and Phil turned to Zeus. “I leave the rest to you, my lord.”

“Let's wait for Hermes.” Zeus said seriously and looked around. “He should be here soon.”

As soon as he uttered that sentence, the messenger of the gods burst out of a nearby cloud and stopped right by his employer's side. There was his usual smile on the face of the messenger of the gods. Hermes decided to just move on from his failed day off and not to worry about what had happened. Who could have guessed that the Fates were preparing such a prank on him...

“Did you call, boss?” He asked in his usual tone.

“Yes, Hermes. We have a very important matter for you.”

Hermes was surprised by the grammatical form used by his superior and slowly turned his gaze towards the unusual visitors. At the sight of Hercules and the memory of their last meeting, he winced. He felt how his blood started to boil, but he didn't show it. He tried to suppress this sudden dislike of Hercules. After all, he was a pretty good kid, he just sided with his father and called Hermes irresponsibly selfish, when Hermes just wanted to rest, because he works like a beast all day, with no dental benefits or insurance, and no one appreciates that… What a damn brat that Hercules was… Maybe anger at the son of Zeus won't pass so easily.

“Well,” Zeus began suddenly. Hermes and Hercules looked at him. “Philoctetes asked me to help you with today's exercise, Hercules. You're going to spend the whole day with Hermes today.”

“What?!” They both exclaimed almost simultaneously.

“Your only task, son, will be to watch his work carefully. Wherever Hermes goes, you go with him, paying attention to everything he does as messenger. For at the end of the day you will tell me everything you have seen.”

“Wait a minute, boss,” Hermes moved right in front of Zeus's eyes, “is this an inspection or what?”

Zeus chuckled.

“I already said it's just an exercise. Don't worry, Hercules won't judge your work, he'll just describe it to me. Just do your job, Hermes.”

Hermes stepped aside and just looked at the boy out of the corner of his eye. He felt uncomfortable. The thought of being watched today, and by Hercules, made him understandably uneasy. But focus, Hermes, he said to himself. You have nothing to hide, you are a professional. You'll be fine, that's not the kind of stuff you had on your mind like some snotty demigod.

Phil grabbed Hercules' arm and pulled him down so he could whisper in the boy's ear.

“I, in turn, require you to pay attention to what others do and say. I want you to tell me...”

He explained the rest to Hercules as discreetly as he could. Hercules just nodded and walked over to his steed. Just when Hermes was getting impatient, he suddenly heard the whisper of Zeus, who held out another grayish scroll towards him:

“Deliver this to Hades when you get to him.”

“Okay, boss.” Hermes replied quietly, taking the message.

Hermes was glad Zeus had spared him silly texts like: “Take care of my boy...” Finally, the young man got on Pegasus and flew over to the god he was supposed to spend the day with, smiling nervously. The messenger of the gods just sighed and turned his back on him.

“Let's go then, Hercules,” He said, still glancing behind him. “I have a lot of work today.”

And, without waiting for the boy's answer, he took off with impetus. Hercules followed him. For a moment he could see only a blue point among the white clouds, but Pegasus soon managed to catch up with him. They flew close together, Hermes ahead and Hercules half a meter behind. There was silence between them all the time. Both the god and the hero did not want to interrupt it, although Hercules became bored after two minutes of silence.

Olympus was surrounded by yellowish clouds like an island. Sometimes among these clouds one could find a solid land hanging in the air – a large piece of floor surrounded by Ionic columns topped with delicate arches (on a similar hanging land was the hall where Zeus greeted his son). At other times, Hercules passed great palaces built into the escarpment – the domains of the gods. Similar to those on Earth, but still grander and exceptional, because each of them had something unique only for the god who lived in it.

Soon Hermes stopped in front of one of the palaces. Pegasus rested on the stairs and Hercules dismounted to join Hermes. Once they were both at the door, it swung open and they walked (or Hercules did, since Hermes flew in) inside, where Apollo was waiting for them. He was standing in the hall, bent over a box of planks, when he straightened up at the sight of the guests.

“Hercules, what a pleasant surprise...” He said with a smile and open arms. “Are you going to drink something?”

“Sorry, Apollo, but I have a training.” Hercules replied politely.

“Oh, what a pity...” The god of art became sad and turned to Hermes: “Have you fixed my lyre yet?”

“How? I was barely alive after yesterday's punishment” The messenger of the gods replied irritably. “Then it was only Morpheus who came, and I went to sleep.”

“You know how badly I need that lyre. I can't be a god of art without a lyre.”

“Okay, okay, I'll fix it in my spare time, I promise. If that's all, let us move along with Hercules.” And he turned towards the door. Hercules, however, did not follow him yet.

“Actually,” Apollo began, forcing Hermes to turn to face him, “I called you because…” He picked up a box from the ground. “Because I wanted you to deliver it to Hephaestus.”

“Alright,” Hermes sighed.

He flew over to his brother and took the package from him. He immediately staggered in the air because of her weight, but somehow managed to regain his balance. He headed for the door and left, Hercules following him. The young man watched for a long time as small and skinny Hermes struggled to hold the heavy package in his hands, occasionally uttering a deep “Oof.”

“You know,” Hercules finally said, mounting Pegasus, “I could help you with that.”

Hermes looked at him, resting his cheek against the box. For a moment there was surprise on his face. He smiled slightly. He's a good kid after all...

“I'll be fine,” Hermes replied, still smiling. “Such deliveries are easy for me. I deliver at least one of these every day. And besides,” he said, “you were supposed to be watching me.”

Nevertheless, Hercules lifted the box from below to relieve Hermes at least a little bit. The messenger of the gods only smiled gratefully. He felt how all the anger at Hercules evaporate from him.

“You said you were punished yesterday. How?” Hercules asked.

“I had to work until sundown,” Hermes explained, then added: “Please, don't mention what happened yesterday again. I don't want to remember it.”

“Alright…”

They quickly reached Hephaestus' headquarters and delivered a package from Apollo to him. When they informed him of this, the divine smith just nodded that he understood and told them to leave the box on the floor, which they did (Hermes was glad Aphrodite wasn't organizing any dinner this time). After a while, Hephaestus stopped working, and his face assumed such an expression as if the blacksmith suddenly remembered something.

“Hey, Hermes.” He said to the messenger who was just about to leave. Hermes turned to him.

“Yeah?”

“Tell Ares his new weapon won't be ready for two days.”

“Alright.”

Hercules watched Hephaestus, waiting for the god to utter certain words, but he only pounded his hammer rhythmically on the glowing steel. Hermes cleared his throat to get the demigod's attention. Hercules looked at him.

“Let's go, Herc.” He said only and started towards the exit.

The hero followed him, but he turned around and looked at Hephaestus, who was completely absorbed in his work. Come on, said Hercules in his mind. You can still say those words. Say them before Hermes leaves… But Hephaestus didn't even glance at them, he was just hammering steel. Even when the messenger of the gods and the hero came outside, he paid no attention to them.

Then they went to Ares. Hermes gave the god of war a message from Hephaestus. Ares just muttered something like a curse under his breath, then told Hermes to ask Dionysus if today's wine was still on, and if Ares would need to fetch any food. So Hermes and Hercules flew to the god of wine, who confirmed today's departure and said that Ares did not need to bring anything. Returning to Ares, Hermes was summoned by Hestia, who wanted the messenger of the gods to go to Poseidon's underwater palace and get some clams from the king of the seas. So, as soon as Hermes gave Ares the message from Dionysus, he and Hercules left Olympus and visited Poseidon.

The king of the seas was very glad to see his nephew.

“Hercules! What a surprise... Come give Uncle Po-Po a hug.” He opened his arms wide.

“I'm sorry, uncle, but I didn't come here for a visit.”

“No?” Poseidon was surprised.

“No, we actually came here to do Hestia a favor,” Hermes interjected.

Poseidon darkened.

“Let me guess: this woman wants to serve some bloody caviar again? I can’t with this woman. Does she realize she's reducing the populace of my subjects?”

“Which doesn't change the fact that she can do wonders with them,” Hermes replied cheerfully. “And she's a far better cook than Aphrodite.”

“Yes, but damn it, can't Hestia make a feast WITHOUT fish and seafood? Soon I will have no one to rule over!”

“Eternal law of the jungle, man: Eat or be eaten. And thanks to this, you fight with too much natural increase. In fact, all Hestia wants is a few clams. Come on, Po-Po. If you agree, I'll tell Ares and Dionysus that you want to go on wine with them.”

Poseidon's eyes widened.

“Ares and Dionysus are going to drink wine?! And I don't know anything about it?! Okay,” he said with determination on his face. “Take as many clams as you want, but tell Ares and Dionysus I'm coming with them!”

“I knew we'd come to a consensus.” Hermes smiled. “Come on, Herc.”

Together with Hercules, they caught dozens of mussels and brought them to Hestia to Olympus. She grinned from ear to ear as she saw the two sacks full of shellfish. She ordered Hercules and Hermes to put them in the kitchen, and once they had, she chased them outside, saying, “No peeping before dinner.”

“Do things like this happen often?” Hercules asked as they were flying back to Ares.

“What things?” Hermes looked at him with surprise.

“Like Hestia and Uncle Poseidon? How often do you have to do something like this?”

“You talk as if you don't remember your failed Bacchanal. Back then we had to get an eye cream from Argus for Poseidon, who in turn wanted Cupid's arrow, to whom we had to bring some Water of Oblivion, and Pain and Panic didn't give it to us until we got  fireproof pants from Hephaestus. A favor for a favor. That's how it works, Herc. And I act as an intermediary between one favor and another. Sometimes they don't know how to do something and expect me to know...”

Suddenly Hermes realized that he was confiding in Hercules, so he fell silent. Hercules, in turn, wanted to say something, but they had already reached Ares. As Hermes relayed the message from Poseidon to Ares, Hercules' mind was deep in thought. The other gods carelessly gave Hermes orders, and he carried them out quickly and efficiently. He would come in, receive a message or requests for “favors”, and fly away, sometimes even into the depths of the sea. But though Hercules watched carefully, he heard none of the gods say the words he wanted to hear from them. They just told Hermes to do something and went back to their activities as if he wasn't there.

Upon learning that he and Hephaestus would have to take Poseidon with them, Ares jumped up and down in anger. He quickly regained his composure, however, and sighed in resignation. Meanwhile, Hermes flew over to Hercules.

“Let's go, Herk. Souls are waiting.”

Chapter Text

“What?”

“I'll explain it on the way.”

Hercules was genuinely surprised to learn that Hermes was also responsible for guiding souls to Hades. It seemed that the boy had only known about one small part of Hermes' work on Olympus so far. Suddenly everything was much more complicated than he thought. He was curious what else he might learn today.

For several hours they flew from place to place, collecting the souls of people who died that day into one, tight group. Upon taking one of them, Hercules observed a sudden change in Hermes' expression – from laid-back amusement to surprise, then something akin to regret. The soul that caused it belonged to the little thief seen by the god the day before.

When they had collected all the souls and lined them up at the entrance to the Land of the Dead, Hermes hovered over them, materialized in his hands a list and began to check if everyone was there. He read the names on the list, and the souls under him confirmed their presence. No one seemed to be missing. Hermes tucked the list into his robe.

“Okay, people. I'm going to check if you have any obols. Sorry for the scrutiny, but you know… A guy named Sisyphus once told his wife not to bury him with an obol, and we had quite a brothel back then. Poor Thanatos has a mental trauma to this day.”

Hermes flew slowly over the souls. They showed him their obols and he just nodded with understanding and his usual smile. That smile, however, persisted until Hermes stumbled upon the young man from yesterday again. The boy’s hands were empty and his eyes were lowered to the ground, so as not to look the god in the face. Hermes landed beside him, magically took an obol out from his robe, and handed it to the boy, who looked up and stared in amazement, first at the coin, then at Hermes. Hermes only smiled.

“It's obvious, little one, that you're not very rich, and besides, you died very early. You didn't know you were about to die, so you didn't have time to steal an obol for Charon.”

“What will happen to me?” The boy asked, never taking his eyes off Hermes. The messenger of the gods suddenly became gloomy. “I am scared, Great Hermes. What awaits me in Hades?”

I don't know, Hermes wanted to say. It was the first answer that was coming to his mind. But he couldn't get it out of him. Because he also wanted to erase the fear from that innocent face. The face of the boy he had seen the day before. So he smiled at him in a gentle, friendly way.

“Cheer up. Now at least you don't feel pain or hunger. And in the face of death, all men are equal.”

The boy seemed a little more built up by this fact. It was all Hermes could do.

He went back to checking the rest of the souls until he finally got to the last one and let all the dead into the Underworld. Now he faced a task that made him sick to his stomach and shiver. But he had to deliver the scroll from his boss to Hades, even though he knew she would probably regret it. Not that he wasn't used to the gods taking out their anger on him, but he didn't like it.

He put his hand into his robe and immediately found a message for the lord of the underworld. As the souls lined up for Charon, Hermes leapt into the air and flew inside. Hercules quickly followed him.

“Where are we going?” The hero asked after a moment.

“I have to deliver Hades a message from the boss.”

“I see.”

It didn't take them long to reach Hades' chamber. Even without following Hermes, Hercules walked these dark corridors often enough to know the way to where his dear uncle was hatching evil plans to take over Olympus or do some evil boo-boo to his brother or nephew; or he was roasting the butts of his two not-so-bright subordinates.

Melpomene: Speaking of Hades' henchmen...

Pain and Panic sat by the Water of Forgetfulness as they had the day before. When they saw Hermes flying around the corner, they smiled maliciously.

“What? The day off didn’t work out?” Panic asked.

“You showed them good yesterday, Hermes..." Pain added.

After a while, Hercules came out from around the same corner and both demons were speechless, but soon the first shock passed and Panic said with resignation:

“What do you want this time, Jerckules? We didn't even leave this place.”

“Actually, I'm with Hermes.” Hercules explained.

“The dead have arrived. I just need to deliver one scroll from my boss to your boss and we'll go.” Hermes turned to Hercules, "Herc, stay here and wait for me. It'll take about a minute and a half.”

“But I'm supposed to watch you work. This is my exercise.”

Hermes looked into his eyes and knew that arguing with Hercules won't make any sense. Besides, the hero could come in handy. If he reacted fast enough, he might stop Hades. Therefore, Hermes just smiled ironically and said:

“Then let's not waste any time.”

They entered the chamber. Hades was sitting on his throne, deep in thought, when suddenly his eyes widened in amazement at the sight of Hercules. But then his face took on a grim expression. Hermes flew over to Hades, taking a grayish scroll from his robe.

“Message from the boss.” He just said, smiling, and extended his hand with the scroll towards the god of the afterlife.

Hades rose from his throne without a word and took the message. As he began to read it, Hermes started to back away, but the (literally) turning hot Hades immediately burned the scroll in his hands, then threw a fireball fast enough for Hermes not being able to escape. Hercules' eyes widened as the bullet struck Hermes square in the stomach and sent the messenger of the gods crashing into the nearby wall.

“That damn old man's got some nerve!” Hades yelled, forming more orbs. “First he sends me to this shithole.” he threw the first bullet at Hermes. The messenger of the gods just covered himself with his hands. “and then sends messages like: ‘Greetings from Olympus. I hope the weather is good for you…’!”

  The second bullet missed Hermes, because the god managed to rise from the ground, grab Hercules by the arm and flee from the chamber. They ran (well, Hercules ran. Hermes flew) a bit of the Underworld, until finally the messenger stopped and leaned against a nearby wall. He was breathing heavily, which was strange for Hercules. Theoretically, a god shouldn't be tired, not just because he was a god, but because of his winged sandals. After a moment, Hermes' breathing returned to normal and the god straightened up.

“I hate situations like this.”

Hercules remembered the scene in the chamber of Hades. He slowly realized what he had actually seen. And after a while he sobered. His inner sense of justice let out a furious roar at the memory of Hermes lying on the floor being attacked by Hades in horror.

“Sorry.” The hero began softly. Hermes looked at him in surprise, so Hercules explained: “That I didn't react.”

Hermes smiled kindly and patted the boy on the shoulder.

“Yeah, he surprised me too. I should have run away immediately.”

“It's not... it's not fair!” Hercules exclaimed with a trembling voice. “You just delivered the message. Hades shouldn't take it out on you!”

Hermes' smile faded and the god became sad.

“That's how it is sometimes, Herc. Some kill the messenger who brings bad news.”

Have you ever heard the phrase "kill the messenger"? Phil's words echoed in the demigod's memory.

“I'm just acting as a lightning rod. I'm the closest person they can take it out on after receiving news that pissed them off.”

“Then maybe don't deliver them.” Hercules suggested. Hermes just looked at him sadly.

“What if it's something bad and there's no messenger to deliver the news? What will it be then?” He said quietly.

The sentence sounded like a reprimand, though it was certainly not Hermes' intention. After a while, the god moved away from the wall, brushed off the invisible dust and looked at the hero behind him with a slight smile.

“Let's go, Herc. My working day is about to end, and you need to tell the boss about it.”

Narrator: Soon Hercules and Hermes returned to Olympus.

Melpomene: And they met the boss of all bosses. Of course, Phil was also present.

“I have a little question, boss.” Hermes said as he and Hercules stood before Zeus. “Should I go or stay?|

“You can go.” Zeus replied.

“Bye then, Herc, Phil.” Hermes bid them goodbye and left.

However, as soon as he crossed the threshold of the throne room, he hid behind a column. This conversation was about him. He had the right to know what Hercules would say about him, and being present in the chamber, he could not be sure whether the hero was telling the truth or not. So Hermes hid himself and listened attentively.

“So how was your day with Hermes, son?” Zeus asked.

“Well ... We started by delivering one very heavy package from Apollo to Hephaestus. By the way, Apollo asked Hermes if he had repaired his lyre.”

“And had he?”

“No, because after yesterday's punishment he was supposedly too tired. But just so you hear, dad, how did Apollo say it-”

“Okay, okay.” Phil grumbled. “Just keep going.”

“When we handed the package to Hephaestus, he instructed Hermes to tell Ares that his weapon would be here in two days. Ares, in turn, told us to ask Dionysus if their joint wine trip is still on. Then Hestia called Hermes and told him to go to Uncle Poseidon and get some clams for her. Uncle Po-Po was a bit hesitant at first, but Hermes convinced him and we got these clams. Then we led the souls of the dead to Hades. One of the souls didn't have an obol, so Hermes gave her one. And then, well...”

Hercules paused and secretly squeezed his hands as he remembered the incident with Hades. Zeus and Phil were surprised by the young man's behavior. Finally, however, Hercules pulled himself together and looked sadly at his father.

“What was in the message you had Hermes deliver to Hades?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, just a little teasing with my dear brother. Why do you ask?”

“Because after reading this message, Hades attacked Hermes in anger. He just took it and threw a fireball at it.”

Zeus' eyes widened, then he frowned. After a moment of silence, Phil spoke up.

“What about my question, kid? How many customers of  Hermes have said ‘thank you’?”

For some unknown reason, a shiver ran down Hermes' back. Meanwhile, Hercules looked at his trainer.

“None." He replied. “Neither Hephaestus, nor Hestia, nor Ares, nor Apollo. I waited for them to say the word, but it didn't come out of their mouths even once.” Hercules looked back at Zeus and said, “Today I learned many things about Hermes that I had no idea about at all. His job is hard because he has to fly long distances; ungrateful, because no one thanks him for it, but everyone wants something from him; and sometimes even dangerous, because as a messenger who delivers bad news, she is the closest person others can take it out on. Now I know what he meant when he said it's good to be selfish sometimes. And I'm not surprised that he wanted to take one day off. This morning I thought his stunt yesterday was irresponsible and stupid. But now I understand him.”

Hidden behind the column, Hermes could not believe what he was hearing. Someone was standing up for him. Someone took his side with Zeus. Someone understood him and dared to talk about his thankless work. Hermes felt a nice warmth – unspeakable joy and gratitude to Hercules, as well as unstoppable tears in his eyes.

Phil smiled, walked over to Hercules and patted him on the back.

“That's it, kid.”

“Everything is good,” Zeus began, “but what exactly was this exercise supposed to teach him?”

“Empathy.” Phil explained, turning to face the god. “I wanted Hercules to understand that people have reasons to do what they do and that sometimes their work can be really hard and terrible.”

“I understand.” Zeus replied and leaned back in the throne. “Go home, son. It's very late now.”

“I have a request for you, Dad.” Hercules said suddenly. Zeus looked at him intently. “I want you to give Hermes more days off.”

“Don't worry. I will.” Zeus smiled.

Hercules bid goodbye to his father and left the throne room with Phil and Pegasus. As soon as they crossed its threshold, they met Hermes, who flew up to Hercules, took his hand and shook it profusely.

“Thanks, Herc. For everything.”

“It’s nothing. And I'm sorry about yesterday. I didn't know what I was saying.”

“No problem.” The messenger of the gods leaned over and shook Phil's hand. “Thank you too, man.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” The satyr replied.

Narrator: Zeus decreed that Hermes would have two days off a week during which he was not to be given any orders unless it was something very serious.

Melpomene: And by “something very serious” he meant something that would threaten to collapse the whole of Olympus and stuff like that. From now on, Hermes could also complain about anyone who attacked him while he was working.

Narrator: The end.

Melpomene: Not yet.

Narrator: No?

Calliope: There's one more thing that needs to be done.

A few days later, when Hermes had finished escorting souls to the afterlife and went inside to deliver another grayish scroll to Hades (Hermes hoped this wasn't another “teasing”), he felt a sudden pull on his robe. He looked behind him and immediately beamed. Looking at him from below stood a familiar boy smiling from ear to ear.

“Hey, kid. I was wondering what happened to you.” Hermes suddenly became serious. “All good?”

“Not too bad.” The boy replied, still smiling. “I ended up in Erebus, so it's good, but very boring.”

The boy giggled, then suddenly became sad. His gaze wandered to the black earth, but then the little boy looked back at Hermes. And then the god heard it, a low hum, yet very clear.

“Thank you, Great Hermes.”

Hermes felt his face flush as his mouth, as if by itself, formed into a wide smile. The messenger of the gods stroked the dead boy's head.

“No problem. I'm glad everything ended well. Goodbye, little one.”

He turned to Hades' chamber, still smiling.

Chapter Text

Narrator: The Mount Olympus. The home of the Greek gods. The place where Zeus and other deities reside and rule the Hellenistic world. From time to time, however, a great event takes place on Olympus…

“MEEEEEEEEEEN’s NIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!” Ares' scream echoed throughout his house, and it was highly likely that the rest of Olympus heard it too.

…

“Men's Night.” Apollo said, flying in his sun chariot across the sky.

…

“Men’s Night! It's today!” Hades shouted, and he bent his elbow down in joy. “Yesss! I'm finally getting out of here!”

…

“Men's Night.” Zeus smiled dreamily.

“Men's night.” Hermes whispered happily, returning to his to-do list.

Narrator: Yes, Men's Night. An event organized by and for male gods. An evening that the sterner sex part of Olympus (especially the married one) awaits with longing. Bacchus arranges drinks and food…

Bacchus began to count the jugs of wine brought by his satyrs. After a while he took a sip of one and tasted it.

“Good as always.” He said to himself. “336 BC has never failed me.”

Narrator: Apollo gets the music…

The god of art was still hesitating what to play and whom to take with him. He couldn't ask the Muses, because women weren't allowed on the men's evening. He also couldn't play solo all night because he wanted enjoy the party too. Bacchus' satyrs, on the other hand, were terribly commercial (who can endure a repertoire based solely on pipes?). So Apollo had a tough nut to crack.

And suddenly it dawned on him.

“Karaoke!” He exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Damn, I'm brilliant.”

Narrator: Hephaestus deals with tech…

Hephaestus, with a little help from Poseidon, introduced a flat, transparent stone into the banquet hall, in which the king of the seas usually watches shark fights. Today, however, he was going to use it as a relay for supply transmissions, and maybe even something spicier… The two gods set up a screen in the center of the room, in front of a large couch. Poseidon activated his device and after a while all they could see were black and white balls bumping against each other. Poseidon slammed the screen from above, but it didn't help. He and Hephaestus looked at each other as if that would help them.

Just then Hermes flew in. Seeing the disturbance in Poseidon's gadget, he was amazed and began to examine it from all sides.

“There's no antenna.” Hephaestus explained. “We need something to help him catch the signal.”

“Hmm…” Hermes purred, putting his hand to his chin.

He pondered for a while, until finally an expression of enlightenment appeared on his face and the messenger of the gods attached his caduceus to the back of the relay. Immediately an image of an empty stadium appeared in the stone. Hephaestus and Hermes high fived.

“Just give it back to me when the party's over.” Hermes replied, and flew on.

“Okay.” Hephaestus replied and waved at him.

Kalliope: Of course, the ladies also organize their ladies' night...

Narrator: Yes, yes, but it is at the Men's Night that our story begins.

Hermes looked around the banquet hall. It was already quite full of gods and deities, who were already slowly making themselves comfortable before the big event. Ares' slightly dim-witted sons Deimos and Phobos had a drinking contest (lemonade for now, as Ares didn't trust his sons after a few more) in the side bar, but Bacchus quickly joined in and outbid them both, so Deimos and Phobos went out to the toilet for a while. Hades and Zeus were bantering (probably again Hades wanted to get the boss to transfer, and the boss didn't want to), and then the King of the Underworld just shrugged and went to talk to Thanatos, who was talking to Hypnos (or was Hypnos talking to Thanatos? Hermes always had difficulty recognizing which is which. After all, they were twins). Morpheus and Phantasos, having just finished bringing dreams (and nightmares) to mortals, slumped wearily onto the couch and grabbed a nearby cornucopia to share a meal. Apollo, in the karaoke corner, was tuning his lyre while talking to Hephaestus and Ares. And since they were close enough for him to hear them, Hermes immediately knew what they were talking about.

“Ah, it's good to spend one evening without women.” Apollo said.

“Very true.” Hephaestus admitted. “I love my sunshine, but I'd go crazy if I was just around her.”

“Dude, I work with her!” Cupid interjected. “At least you don't have to listen to that stupid song all the time.”

“But Aphrodite isn't at least half as annoying as Athena," Ares replied, a furious scowl on his face. After a while, he began to mock his sister: “Athens is much more civilized than Sparta. Your Spartans at least can count on their fingers?”

After a while Poseidon joined in.

“Would you ever try, Ares, to spend a whole day with my Amphitrite. Her positive energy kills me. Who is able to smile so wide twenty-four hours a day?!”

“Hey, Amphitrite at least does not whine over your ear.” Zeus appeared out of nowhere.

“That's nothing! I have to put up with NINE women at home! Imagine your daily problems times nine.” Apollo said, and returned to the lyre.

Hades came smiling from ear to ear.

“Really, guys. Why did you get into this? The bachelorhood rules!” He suddenly put one arm around Hermes. “Right, Hermes?”

The god of thieves quickly freed himself from the embrace of the lord of the afterlife and said with a smile:

“Hades, baby, I don't mind being friends with you, but please keep a distance of two meters.” Then he cleared his throat and added: “Indeed, when I listen to you gentlemen, I don't want any dating and female company in general.”

“Cheer up, guys!” Zeus replied briskly. “It's a Men's Night, so no ladies until the end of the party!”

It was then that Deimos and Phobos shouted that the long-awaited wrestling match was about to begin. All the men began to crowd on the couch. Eventually, Morpheus and Phantasos had to move to the floor along with Thanatos, Hypnos, Asclepius, and the sons of Ares; and Zeus, Hades, Ares, Apollo, Bacchus, Poseidon and Hephaestus landed on the couch. Hermes, in turn, stood behind the couch, between Ares and Hephaestus. Only Cupid did not watch, because “he did not approve of senseless violence, which instead of love teaches contempt.” The screen in transparent stone showed a stadium with two players who looked alike. One of them was wearing a blue loincloth and the other was wearing a red one.

“You see that fine badass over there?!” Ares shouted, pointing to the jock in the red armband. “It's from my city, Sparta!”

“The Delphian looks good too.” Apollo remarked with a smile.

“I bet he went to the oracle earlier and the Pythia told him there was no point in trying ‘cause the Spartan will kick his ass!” Bacchus sneered.

Hermes leaned forward to see better. By doing that, he drew the attention of Ares and Hephaestus, who looked at him reluctantly.

“Anyone from Arcadia?”

“You’re so in touch with the current events, Hermes!” Hephaestus chuckled. “This fight is between Delphi and Sparta.”

“Hey, one can always dream. I invented wrestling, so they could return the favor by showing a fighter from my main cult center.” The messenger of the gods replied.

“Hello everyone!” The announcer spoke up. “My name is Thucydides and I will be reporting today's duel between the players from Sparta and Delphi!”

The gods in front of the screen let out one big, loud roar of satisfaction.

“On the left, wearing a blue band, the player from Delphi, Neimanes!”

The Delphian raised his hands and began to greet the audience from all sides. There was a burst of applause, which soon died down.

“On the right, in a red band, a representative of Sparta, Pudzianos!”

More cheers as the Spartan followed suit.

“The contestants are preparing for the fight,” Thucydides began, and Neimanes and Pudzianos stood facing each other, assuming fighting positions. Meanwhile, the judge appeared. “It's about to start, folks. The referee gives his final instructions aaaaaaaand…they've started!”

“Just no divine interventions, Apollo.” Ares said.

“And vice versa, Ares.” The god of arts replied, giving him a cold look.

The fight has begun. For the first few seconds, the contestants just jumped around each other, keeping each other at a distance. After a while, Pudzianos threw himself at Neimanes and knocked him to the ground. He elbowed his opponent's neck and twisted his arm. After a moment, he let go of him and began to beat him. Neimanes was knocked out.

“Now kill him!” Hades exclaimed. All the gods looked at him in surprise. A slightly embarrassed Hades laughed nervously and said: “Hey, I was just joking.”

He frowned and sank into his place on the couch.

Meanwhile, on the screen, the referee started beating his hand on the floor to get up after a few hits and raise Pudzianos' arm up, announcing his victory. The gods on and around the couch uttered long, disappointed “Hey!”

“It wasn't a fight, it was just some mockery!” Phantasos commented.

“It only just started and it's all over?” Poseidon grumbled.

“Neimanes didn't even defend himself.” Bacchus added.

“And no one died ...“ Hades interjected, but this time his statement went unnoticed.

Everyone got up from their seats, ignoring Pudzianos' pathetic and disorderly statement. After the initial shock wore off, Ares finally realized that his man had won. The god of war took the largest jug of wine and began to drink it to the dregs, only pausing between sips to tease Apollo.

“And who is the master here?! And who is the master here?!”

“Ares!” Deimos and Phobos shouted.

“And who is the sucker?!” Ares asked.

“Apollo!” His two sons replied.

“Yes, yes, I got it!” Apollo replied irritably. “Now be quiet! You’re cringe!”

“Cringe?” Ares raised his eyebrows, then shouted: “This is SPARTAAAAAAAAA!”

“You know what?” Asclepius said. “That joke was also cringe.”

The party was starting to get going. The gods drank wine, talked, ate and joked. At some point, Apollo approached Hermes and smiled at him in a way that the messenger found suspicious at best.

“How about we sneak out to the girls?” He asked, rubbing his hands together.

Hermes looked at his brother, one eyebrow raised and the other frowned.

“How old are you? Fourteen?”

“Don't tell me you don't want to. Your lips say no, but your eyes say yes.|

“What my eyes really say is: 'I don't want to get punched in the teeth, so find another loser, Apollo.'”

Immediately, with lightning speed, an excited Thanatos appeared.

“What are you talking about? What are you talking about? What are you talking about?”

“This idiot wants to go to the goddesses.” Hermes explained, pointing to Apollo with his thumb. Thanatos' face dropped.

“Why the heck would you want that?” He asked Apollo with a grim expression.

“Well, I know you want to know what they do when we're not there.”

“Actually,” Thanatos touched his chin thoughtfully, “it's not such a stupid idea.”

“Apollo, honey.” Hermes put his arm around his brother. “Tonight is Men's Night, so most guys don't even want to think about girls. You recently complained about the Muses.”

“I'm sure there will be quite a few males who will want to go spy on a group of females who, in their own private company, can do or say something REALLY interesting.” The god of art replied, smiling in an awfully confident way.

“Okay, let's check it out.” Hermes said.

And he rose into the air so as to be clearly visible to all the gods. Then he whistled to get their attention. After a moment, their eyes were directed at Hermes hanging in the air. The messenger of the gods was sure that no one would want to go listen and see the women they were complaining about today.

“Hey guys.” He began. “Apollo took the initiative to go eavesdrop on our dear ladies! What do you say?!”

“Sure!” There was one big, joyful scream.

“When are we going?!” Bacchus asked.

This took Hermes completely by surprise. Unbelievable. First they complain about them, and then they want to peek at them. Well… He needed to update hid views on male psychology.

Melpomene: And so the gods went to the place where the whole female part of Olympus was.

Kalliope: Actually, looking back on it now, I feel a little silly. Damn, what stupid thoughts they must have had back then!

Narrator: Erm... Ladies...

The goddesses were sitting on a cloud, dressed in nightgowns and pajamas. Thick Ionic columns were placed around them. The light during this brown evening was provided by twinkling stars and oil lamps hanging on columns. The gods eavesdropped in various ways – some (like Zeus, Morpheus, and Phantasos, for example) turned into flies or other barely visible creatures; others (like Ares, Hephaestus, Poseidon, Bacchus or Hades) rested on nearby clouds and watched everything from a safe distance; still others, like Apollo or Hermes, simply hid behind columns.

Hermes couldn't believe he was doing this. He felt like a kid peeking into the ladies' locker room but not wanting to get in trouble, so he was very nervous. But oh well, knowing life, once the gods got caught, they'd need his negotiating skills (which was why he brought his caduceus with him). Besides, part of him wanted to know what the goddesses were talking about among themselves.

And so far they haven't talked about anything interesting (from a male point of view). From what the gods could tell, they were talking about what they would do when spring comes. Aphrodite complained that she would have a lot of work to do with couples in love, Demeter replied that as the goddess of fertility, she would have to decorate everything with flowers and reward the farmers for their hard work during the autumn. The other goddesses were also saying many things, but the gods paid little attention to it. After some time, all the enthusiasm of the guys hidden around the area began to slowly wane.

“Hey, girls.” Athena, who was also tired of talking about spring, suddenly said. “Maybe we could play spin the bottle?”

The gods suddenly came to life. The other goddesses agreed to her proposal and sat around. Athena materialized a bottle in her hands and placed it on a small table, now surrounded by the rest of the women. When the guys heard the sound of the bottle being set in motion and then spinning, they felt the tension rising. Soon the sound became quieter and softer, until it stopped, which meant that the bottle also had stopped. Seated with Hades on a nearby cloud, Poseidon froze as the neck of the bottle pointed to his wife.

“Well, Amphitrite,” Aphrodite said, leaning her elbows on the table. Finally, she uttered the phrase: “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” Amphitrite replied, or rather sang.

“Okay.” The goddess of love replied. There was some unnatural malice in her voice. “Then tell us Poseidon's most embarrassing secret.”

The sea king paled at these words. He could already imagine the moment when his wife would say: “Oh, that's easy. Po-Po has wet dreams sometimes…” If the rest of the gods find out about this, Poseidon will be doomed. He clasped his hands pleadingly and began to whisper in an ingratiating tone:

“I'm begging you, darling. I'll lower the latch on the privy, I'll tidy up, and I'll do whatever you ask me to do, but please don't do this to me...”

Amphitrite pondered the question for what seemed like an eternity to her husband. However, finally she smiled widely and replied in a cheerful tone:

“Po-Po's biggest secret is that she has sore sinuses.”

“Thanks.” The king of the seas squealed gratefully. “I could always count on you, my love.”

“Sinuses?” Aphrodite asked with a mixture of disbelief and displeasure.

Amphitrite’s smile faded and Poseidon's wife said irritably:

“Yes, sinuses.” She grabbed the bottle. “Now let's move on.”

She turned the bottle, which began to spin violently around its axis. After a moment it stopped at Hestia, whose eyes widened. The hearth goddess lowered her gaze. This time, Athena had a mischievous smirk on her face.

“Come on, Hestia. Truth or dare?”

Hestia cleared her throat, then began rubbing the back of her neck with her hand, feeling like she was sweating. Her silence added to the tension. Hermes understood her hesitation. If Hestia chose the first option, she might have burned herself with embarrassment answering some uncomfortable question. And if she chooses the dare, she may have to do something that will humiliate her even more. In fact, Hermes himself did not know what he would choose.

“Truth.” The goddess of the hearth said, confident this time.

Hermes just nodded understandingly. In the end, the truth was safer.

“If you were to spend a romantic evening with Bacchus, Hades or Hephaestus, which one would it be?”

The named men were startled at first, then frowned and listened more closely. Meanwhile, Hestia looked at Athena coldly.

“You had to pick those three, you had to.”

“Hey,” Athena shrugged, “what fun would it be to give you all the hotties to choose from?”

“And why are you bringing my husband into this?” Aphrodite asked, shooting Athena a glare. The goddess of wisdom sighed, then said:

“Alright. Then why don't we change Hephaestus to…” She paused to think for a moment. All the gods gasped in anticipation until Athena had an epiphany and exclaimed enthusiastically: “To Hermes!”

The messenger of the gods was flabbergasted. Then he looked at Apollo, standing behind the next column, who was staring at him with his hand over his mouth to suppress his chuckle. Hermes knew he wasn't very handsome, but that was mean!

“So you're making me choose between dating a guy whose beer belly has already reached Orion's belt…”

“If anything, it's a wine tummy.“ Bacchus whispered, offended.

“...a guy I'd be afraid to take to a coffee shop because his haircut could set the curtains and tablecloth on fire...”

“Suddenly I felt a strong urge to burn Hestia at her next fondue feast.” Hades told his neighbor.

„...and a skinny jazzman?”

„Skinny?” Hermes looked down at himself. Indeed, he wasn't very muscular... but ‘jazzman’ didn't sound all that bad.

“Who do you choose?” Athena asked. All three ‘candidates’ were all ears.

“Hades is out right from the start. Bacchus, hmm... I'd probably have to put up with his ‘impeccable’ table manners during a romantic dinner. In general, probably the entire repertoire for a date would be confusingly similar to one of his Bacchanal.”

“Yeah, probably.” Aphrodite admitted, then stood up, put her hands on her hips, and began to mock the god of wine in a booming voice: “Come on, let's go for one... well... four barrels, actually.”

“We'll get drunk under the table,” Artemis took the initiative “and we'll remember so much from this evening that we massacred all the equipment of this pub.”

Hermes and Apollo giggled even louder (but still quietly enough not to betray each other).

“Yes, it's Bacchus.” Apollo replied, suppressing a laugh with difficulty.

“Ares would be great too.” Athena changed the subject, rising to her feet and clearing her throat.

“Oh no. Don't even think about it.” The god of war hissed. But his sister not only thought about it, but she did it.

“Hey, how long has it been since the last war? Hmm... quite a long time ago. If so, I'll start one. Hephaestus, give me some weapons...”

“Here, Ares!” Aphrodite cried, this time playing the role of her husband. “Just don't get burned! And don't mess it up or I'll kill you!”

“Someone said something about the war?” Hestia called, apparently as Hades. “Ares, baby, just don't take prisoners.”

“No naval battles at two in the morning or a couple of my sharks will eat your ships!” Amphitrite threatened, pretending to be Poseidon.

“Take it easy, as if I'm lulling you to sleep.” Demeter said in a calm and quiet tone that would supposed to belong to Morpheus.

“And I'm going to send you a nice nightmare. Buahahaha.” Persephone did not fail to take the role of Phantasos.

“I'll play you a lullaby on my lyre!” Apollo, played by Melpomene, offered. “Oops...it's broken again...”

Hermes chuckled, looking at his brother, who had just stopped laughing. Suddenly there was silence among the goddesses, because smiling Hera got up from her place, assumed an upright posture, became serious and cleared her throat. Then she said in a menacing tone:

“What are you all doing here?”

“They want to start a war, boss.” Calliope explained in a cheerful Hermes tone. She spoke nasally.

“Do I really sound like that?” Hermes asked Apollo.

“More or less.” His brother replied.

“War?!” It had to be said that Hera was a great imitator of her husband's furious tone. “Forget it! You didn't even clean up after the last war!”

“But...but...there hasn't been any war in a long time!” Athena argued as Ares. “I'm bored, damn it! And the guys from Sparta too!”

“Even so, I still say no!”

“You’re always ruining every party.” Hades, or rather – Hestia, grumbled.

“Hm...” Hera said. “I feel like I've forgotten something... What exactly are we here for?”

“We were supposed to determine the course of winter for the next year, boss.” Hermes-Kalliope explained.

“Oh! True!” Hera said it in such a way that all the goddesses burst out laughing.

Hermes was laughing too, though he was trying hard to keep his composure. After a while, however, Zeus flew to him in the form of a fly. Hermes immediately became serious and cleared his throat. The king of all gods commanded:

“Tell the others we're getting out of here and going back to our party.”

“Yes, boss.”

Hermes quickly escaped from his hiding place and gave the rest of the gods a message from Zeus. In fact, most of them didn't mind, and even wondered why they were going only now. In separate groups, but still they all headed in the direction from which they had come. After a while they came together in one gloomy group of guys with their heads down and grimaces of discontent on their faces.

Hermes himself, before quickening his pace and joining the gloomy Apollo, caught in his ear a fragment of the conversation of the goddesses, who were slowly beginning to calm down after their massive outburst of silliness.

“So it turns out you would go out with Hermes.” Athena's voice said.

“Well, of the three you gave me, he seems the most acceptable to me.” Hestia admitted.

Hermes just smiled at his thoughts. He had to admit that the ladies had been kind enough to him, and that, after all, they had made some point. The meetings on Olympus looked more or less the way the goddesses described them. However, the rest of the guys in the Pantheon might have had some objections. But oh well... the bottom line was to have some self-irony.

As soon as the gods reached the banquet hall, there was an awkward silence. And then Apollo spoke:

“Well, gentlemen, I told you it wasn't a good idea, but you guys were so stubborn…”

“Hypocrite.” Hermes whispered to himself.

“It was a total disaster!” Deimos exclaimed.

“No more peeping at goddesses.” Thanatos said, and Hypnos added:

“Let this evening remain the Men's Night.”

There was silence again, but it was broken by the thunderous laughter of the gods, who remembered again their quite successful parodies. Zeus laughed at Hades, Ares at Poseidon, Thanatos at Bacchus, Phantasos and Morpheus at each other. Anyway, they might not like their own caricatures, but it was fun to laugh at others. The impressions from the visit to the Ladies’ Night remained in their memory for a long time.

Chapter Text

Narrator: Muse, sing of Hermes, the son of Zeus and Maia, lord of Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks…

Melpomene: Bob, what are you doing?

Narrator: I recite the Homeric Hymn to Hermes. I wanted to tell something about the past of the messenger of the gods.

Kalliope: Bob, this hymn is long and written in very convoluted language. Do you want to bore the faithful readers of The Tales of Hermes?

Narrator: Eh… what do you propose for the beginning of this chapter, ladies?

Kalliope: What we do best: singing.

Narrator: No, no and no! No singing on such a serious topic!

Melpomene: All right. Let's just keep going. Just no Homer, Bob.

Hermes tossed and turned restlessly in his bed. He had that dream again. He was a little boy again, making his way through this cursed forest…

Darkness was all around him, sunlight barely reaching him through the densely intertwined branches, and the worst part was that it looked like it will be a twilight soon. The rough leaves brushed Hermes' shoulders, and the thorns of the bushes hurt his legs. Hermes was hungry, cold, and terrified. He had just been banished from Olympus and had to find some temporary shelter. In addition, every little rustle made him shiver. Yet he kept walking ahead.

Finally, he was so tired that he sat down on the ground and leaned against a nearby tree. He looked up. Through the thick, twisted branches he could barely make out the brown sky, dotted with whistles. Exposed to the cool air, the open wounds on his limbs hurt even more. The young god hugged his legs and began to cry.

Why was he doing all these things? He should know that testing the patience of others can end up like this! And yet he did not stop, and now he was done for. Perhaps after this whole thing with Apollo, he expected the gods to forgive him anyway. Nevertheless, it was all over now. Zeus does not change his mind. Now Hermes will be alone forever, away from Olympus. He was already beginning to miss the other gods. Though Zeus' jokes were embarrassing; though Athena was too stiff for Hermes; although Aphrodite seemed a little too pink to him; though Ares was monothematic and Hades too irritating, Hermes found himself missing them. After all, such company was much better than none at all.

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a twig snapping. Hermes stared straight ahead with wide eyes. Before him stood a great lion with black fur, a fiery mane, and red eyes that glowed in the darkness like twin flames. Hermes cringed even more. It was the only thing that came to his mind in this deplorable moment. He was so scared he couldn't think straight. He wanted to run, but was afraid to move, lest he aggravate the predator. The lion was approaching him, appearing in all his terrifying form. In a moment, the lion's face was about two inches from Hermes' face. The god could smell the animal's hot, musty breath, and its red eyes bore deep into him, as if taking pleasure in the fear of their helpless victim. And then the lion opened its mouth and bit Hermes' left shoulder, who howled in pain.

Hermes woke up on the floor. The sky outside the window was still dark. The messenger of the gods rose from the ground, brushed off his nightgown, and adjusted his nightcap. His heart was still beating like crazy, but it was slowly calming down. He sat on his bed and leaned forward in thought. He hated it when Phantasos gave him this nightmare, because the god of thieves always had trouble falling asleep afterwards. Didn't the master of nightmares know that Hermes had to work the next day? Sometimes he had the impression that Phantasos loved to torment him so much, sending him THIS dream.

Hermes put his spectacles on his nose and his boots went down on his feet. He went to Phantasos' house to talk to him. He wanted the god of nightmares to finally end this harassment at night. Otherwise it can't be done.

Phantasos didn't live far away, but even if Hermes had to follow him to the other side of the world, the messenger of the gods' determination, his footwear, and (perhaps most of all) his irritation would get him there at the speed of light. Still dressed as if he had just woken up, Hermes stood in front of Phantasos's doorstep and knocked on his door in a way that would have made anyone think of a neighbor nervous about playing heavy metal on full blast. Phantasos kept Hermes waiting for about half a minute before he swung the door open, looked the night guest up and down, and asked:

“What?”

“I need to talk to you seriously, man.” Hermes replied, dropping his chin to his neck and scowling at Phantasos.

The god of nightmares sighed and stepped aside to let Hermes inside.

“Just be quick about it.” He said as the messenger of the gods entered.

Phantasos' house was decorated in a very surreal way. Pink uneven walls, purple columns, a golden clock with a bent hand in the corner, a green table by the window with a row of equally green, twisted and caricatured faces; finally a long staircase leading to the bed where a large rainbow blanket rested. With this innocent-looking blanket, the god of nightmares sent bad dreams to mortals.

Phantasos put the blanket on the floor, making room for himself and Hermes on his bed. The two sat facing each other, Hermes cleared his throat and got to the point.

“I came here because you've been making me suffer the same nightmare for a very long time...”

“Oh come on!” Phantasos was indignant. “I only come to see you occasionally. The last time was three weeks ago.”

“I do not care. Just keep that blanket of yours away from me!” Hermes hissed. “I have work tomorrow. Without sleep, I will confuse mails and barely know who is talking to me.”

“Sorry, but I have my job too. It's my job to give nightmares to sleeping people, and I won't slow down because someone doesn't like their dream. I know I'm not like Morpheus, but hey! My job is also important.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Hermes said, waving his arms. Then he sighed deeply and looked once more at the god of nightmares. “Then could you come to me with something… well, something else?”

Hermes looked down. Meanwhile, Phantasos again examined his visitor from top to bottom. Hermes was behaving differently than usual. His face was serious, his hands clasped in his lap, his thumbs twitching nervously. Phantasos perfectly understood where this unusual behavior comes from. But he couldn't help it other than extending his hand towards his visitor. After a while, a small ball formed on it, in which the messenger of the gods saw his recent nightmare and at the same time an unwanted memory. He flinched at first, then quickly looked away and frowned at Phantasos.

“Why are you showing this to me?” He whispered.

Phantasos only smiled, but the smile bore no trace of cruelty.

“I know the greatest fears of every human, hybrid, and god. I send them while they sleep so that they will overcome them. Don't you remember, Hermes? That's the only reason Zeus let me do this. Because my nightmares helped mortals face their fears without much harm to them. And this,” He pointed to the ball in his hand. “this is YOUR greatest fear, Hermes.”

Hermes put his hand into the orb and waved his hand, causing the orb to dissolve. Then, avoiding the god of nightmares' gaze, he spoke softly:

“It was the worst event in my life. I don't want to remember it. But you... you...” Hermes' voice trembled more and more as he looked into Phantasos' eyes and gave him a cold look. “You won't let me forget.”

“Someday, perhaps, you will have to face this lion.” Phantasos replied in a serious tone. Hermes rose from his seat and leaned over his host, giving him another cold look.

“It's never going to happen. And do you know why? Because I'm never going into that forest again. Even in a dream. Got it, Phantasos?”

The god of nightmares said nothing, but his surprised and terrified eyes were enough for Hermes to acknowledge his victory. The messenger of the gods turned and started heading towards the exit.

“Goodnight, Phantasos,” He called just before closing the door behind him.

Kalliope: Please don't tell me, Bob, that this is one of those chapters where the main character overcomes his fear.

Narrator: No. Let's leave that aside for now. Today we're going to talk about something completely different, although this something is connected in some way with Hermes' nightmare. May I continue?

Melpomene: Yes, please.

Hermes yawned, pulled his glasses off his nose, and rubbed his sleepy right eye. In his hands was a scroll with a to-do list. Meanwhile, Zeus dictated further instructions to him. The messenger of the gods quickly returned to transcribing them, though he was so sleepy that his eyes barely remained open.

“Don't forget to gather everyone in the afternoon. There are a few things that require our attention.” Zeus continued.

“Yes, boss.” Hermes replied and yawned again.

“Something wrong, Hermes?” The king of the gods asked, looking at his servant with concern.

“No. I'm just sleepy.” Hermes explained with a slight smile. “It's because of…” his face fell and he looked down, “one nightmare.”

“Phantasos can be overzealous in his duties. He likes his job very much.”

“Apparently.” Hermes said shortly, and changed the subject, “Is that all, boss?”

“I think so.”

“Then I'll get to work.” Hermes replied, tucking away the list and taking off.

It was interesting that his fatigue slowly wore off the longer he was up. As he moved from one place to another, his mind was occupied with other thoughts. Although he tried to focus on his work so as not to think about the incident in the forest anymore, the memories swirled chaotically in his mind, making him feel pain, bitterness, fear and regret.

When he had finally done the last job Zeus had given him, and there was still some an hour and a half, Hermes simply sat down in his place at the large table and let out a deep sigh of relief. After a moment, his gaze rested on the caduceus he was holding. Hermes' hand slid from the tip of the golden staff to the bottom. Nervous fingers registered every edge, every little groove of a divine attribute. Hermes knew very well the three branches growing from one end of the caduceus, and the two snakes entwined around the staff, which, in time, intertwined with the stick and turned into gold.

Suddenly Hermes saw Apollo giving him a caduceus.

This stick has the ability to settle disputes… – his brother's words rang in Hermes' ears. He gripped the caduceus with both hands and squeezed it. And then he smiled at his memories.

The world seemed so damn big when you were only a day old. The little eyes of the blue newborn baby lying in the cradle, dressed only in a diaper and wrapped in a blanket, wandered with interest around the grotto where he had come to be born. There were torches on the stone walls, but they were not currently lit, for sunlight was streaming into the cave from outside. Suddenly the baby wanted to go somewhere and watch the world outside his house, so Hermes pushed back the blanket and got to his feet. The body, not accustomed to the upright position, swayed along with the cradle, but the boy quickly caught his balance. He rocked the cradle, tilting the weight of his body forward. After a moment, it tilted so sharply that it was very close to the ground. So the boy just jumped from the cradle to the stone floor and was free.

The first few steps towards the exit were very difficult for Hermes. The cold floor, weak legs and lack of practice made him look quite clumsy, but as soon as Hermes got a rhythm and gained confidence, he was much better at it. At last he went outside, and there he saw a great range of mountains. He realized that he himself was on a very high mountain, covered with grass. He looked around and his eyes landed on a turtle grazing next to him.

Melpomene: I have a small request for you, Bob.

Narrator: Yes?

Melpomene: Could you omit the explanation of how Hermes constructed the first lyre? A detailed account of this massacre is really not something people want to read.

Narrator: Oh, come on. It doesn't sound that bad.

Calliope: Oh yeah? Erm… Le’ts read it: Thus speaking, he took up the tortoise in both hands [40] and went back into the house carrying his charming toy. Then he cut off its limbs and scooped out the marrow of the mountain-tortoise with a scoop of grey iron…

Narrator: Okay, okay. Maybe some parts should be skipped. In that case…

Hermes held up the object he had just constructed. A ram's horns were attached to the empty shell of a tortoise wrapped in ox skin. Thin calf intestines, dried in the sun, were tied to the shell and to small wooden pegs at the top. The boy ran his fingers over the intestines, which made a pleasant, soft sound. Hermes smiled with satisfaction and began to play. After some time, he discovered that it was better not to strike the strings too sharply, because then they would play out of tune. The individual sounds merged into melodies, sometimes sounding better, sometimes worse, but it was still music and gave little Hermes pleasure.

After a while he stopped playing and hugged the instrument to his chest like a teddy bear.

“I'll call you ‘lyre’!” He exclaimed proudly. But soon his wide smile disappeared from his face when he heard the voice of his mother, Maia:

“Hermie! Where are you, my baby?!”

A petite, blue-skinned woman with navy blue curls tied in a simple bun entered the grotto. Seeing the child sitting on the grass, she smiled and then took him in her arms. Hermes was still holding the lyre tightly, so Maia was at first surprised to see a strange object in her little hands.

“What have you got there, my little boy?” She asked in a sweet tone and put her hand on the instrument. As her fingers hooked on the string, making a nice sound, Maia smiled and looked at her son. “Where did you get that, honey?”

“I made it.” Hermes replied.

His mother obviously didn't expect an answer from such a small child, because her eyes widened and she almost dropped both Hermes and the lyre.

“What?” Hermes asked irritably.

“Y-are you talking? But, but…”

Melpomene: Well, whatever to say about Hermes, he was a very bright child. Not only could he talk and walk the day after he was born, but he also constructed the first lyre. So you can say that he was a young genius.

Kalliope: It's a pity that he used this genius not only for tinkering.

Hermes slipped out of the cave after dark. Some force led him to Pieria. Somehow he knew there were herds of cows grazing there. And he wanted to see these cows and steal them. All the way to Pieria he thought of his plan, which just had to work. And when he finally got there, he saw a whole herd of cattle grazing. Hermes tiptoed to one of them. There was a sun mark on her buttock, so the cows belonged to the god Apollo.

Hermes wasted no more time. He separated about fifty cows from the herd and began to lead them across the sandy surface, but he made them go backwards on purpose, but he walked normally himself. When he reached the plain where the sand was running out and there was no way to leave any footprints, he began to lead the cows in the normal way. After some time, Hermes spotted an old man who was working on a vine, and who at once saw a strange boy with cows in the distance.

“Shit. That's not good.” Hermes said to himself.

And then he went to the old man and said:

“Old man, digging about your vines with bowed shoulders, surely you shall have much wine when all these bear fruit, if you obey me and strictly remember not to have seen what you have seen, and not to have heard what you have heard, and to keep silent when nothing of your own is harmed.”

“Um... okay.” The old man replied.

Calliope: Erm... Bob? There wasn't supposed to be any Homer’s quotes.

Narrator: I'm sorry, but this text was great and I couldn't resist it.

Hermes walked with the cows over mountains, ravines and meadows, until finally, just before dawn, he drove Apollo's stolen herd to the enclose near the watering hole of Alpheus in Pylos. And since the little one got hungry during all this journey, he immediately lit a fire, killed two cows, skinned them and roasted them on a spit. After he had eaten, the sun was slowly beginning to rise, so Hermes quickly ran to his home in the grotto. He didn't meet anyone on the way, not even a dog. And when he managed to get to the top, he silently approached his cradle and climbed on it. Then he hugged the lyre lying there like a teddy bear and wrapped himself in a blanket so that it would appear that he was sleeping soundly.

Someone tapped Hermes on the shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts about the past. The messenger of the gods shuddered at first, then looked up to see Apollo smiling friendly at him.

“Hello, Hermes. Oh,” He suddenly looked sad, “you look awful.”

“It's because of Phantasos,” Hermes explained.

“Don't feel down!” Apollo sang, slapping his brother even more coarsely. Then he headed for his chair, saying: “We're having a very beautiful day today.”

Hermes smiled and rested his chin on his shoulder, following his brother with his eyes. If the messenger of the gods had known a few years ago, when he was stealing those cows from Apollo, that he would be so close to him and that Apollo was even a decent guy, he might have thought twice about his theft. And so their first meeting was not very pleasant.

He showed up in the afternoon. Even for a ten-year-old, he was very big, and he wore golden armor and a helmet. He held a long bow in his hand. Apollo strode into the cave with confidence, and soon he was standing by the cradle, peering into it. Lying inside, Hermes squeezed his eyes shut tightly, pretending he had just gone to sleep. He had to wait it out. He had to look like a normal baby. His heart was beating like crazy in fear. The little hands gripped the lyre tightly. There was silence for a moment. Hermes mentally begged Apollo to go away, but the boy stood and leaned over him, only increasing the boy's anxiety.

“Come on, little brat,” Apollo began. Hermes' body went cold. But the little boy didn't move. “tell me where you hid my cows or I'll spank you.”

Hermes turned to face him and said:

“Cows? What cows? What does ‘cow’ even mean?”

“Don't pretend! I know it's your doing.”

“Listen, man. Do I look like a cow thief? I am small, defenseless and delicate. And also very sweet. I can't even walk, let alone drive cattle.”

“You're smart for a baby, but I saw through you, kid. You stole my flock.”

Hermes looked anxiously from side to side, searching for some way out of this awkward situation. He smiled a nervous smile at Apollo.

“I swear I didn't see the thief of your cows. But when I find him, I'll tell you. Now go away, because I want to sleep.”

Enraged, Apollo violently pulled Hermes out of the cradle by the diaper and looked into his eyes.

“Take me to my cows or I'll throw you into Tartarus, brat!”

Tears of fear appeared in the boy's eyes. Moments later, Hermes burst into tears.

“It's not fair! You’re so big and scary!”

“Come on, don't make me angry. Just point out where you hid my fifty cows.”

“But I'm innocent! I didn't steal any cows, I swear!”

“Enough of this! We're going to Zeus.”

Apollo took Hermes under his arm and brought him to Mount Olympus. There they both stood before Zeus. Seeing how big he was and how menacing the king of the gods looked, Hermes swallowed. Damn it! Why did all the big guys have to go after him! But Zeus only leaned over the two boys in front of him and raised an eyebrow in slight surprise at the sight of Hermes, who was holding up his slipping diaper with one hand and still had his invention in the other.

“Apollo, why did you bring this child here?” Zeus finally asked.

Apollo stepped forward and announced:

“Oh Great Zeus, I brought this impudent brat to you because it just so happens he stole fifty of my cows. I have to admit that he did it in a very clever way. When I went outside this morning to tend to them, I noticed that there were few of them. I counted them once, twice, and finally a third time to make sure, and then I started looking for them. I saw the first traces of my cows only on the coast, but they were a bit strange. It seemed that the cows were going to the meadow from which they had been stolen. However, these traces ended when the surface changed from sandy to rocky. For some time I wandered, asking various people if they had seen a man with a large herd of cows, but finally someone came to help me. Mortal Onchestos, when he was working in the vineyard, saw this little kid here,” He pointed to Hermes “walking with my fifty cows towards Pylos. Probably that little thief hid my cows somewhere there, then went home and lay down in his cradle. Around noon I found him there acting all innocent. He kept evading my questions, but I know it's him!”

“Okay, I've heard the plaintiff, time for the accused.” Zeus announced and turned to Hermes. “Who are you exactly, baby? You don't look mortal.”

“I am a god, just like you.” The infant explained, leaving everyone astonished. “Just the day before yesterday, the nymph Maia gave birth to me. My name is Hermes.”

“You do have a divine aura around you.” Zeus said. “But don't think that will affect my verdict. So what do you have in your defense, Hermes?”

“Oh Great Zeus, as I said, I have only two days. So I don't know what lying or stealing is yet. Moreover! I'm not even sure I know what a cow is. Besides, being such a small and weak child, I couldn't steal fifty cows, let's be real. And this big guy,” He pointed to Apollo. ”broke into my house and started threatening me that if I didn't confess, he would throw me into Tartarus. And I didn't even leave the house and I barely understood what he was saying to me! Therefore, justice is on my side.”

Then something happened that both young gods did not expect. Out of nowhere Zeus began to laugh loudly and heartily. When he had finished, he leaned over Hermes and said:

"Hermes, son of Maia, you are the most intelligent baby I've ever seen. Not only did you cleverly steal the cows from Apollo, but your explanations were quite clever. I also suspect that if it weren't for Onchestos, Apollo would never have found you. But don't hold a grudge, boys. Apollo, it was just a childish prank. And you, Hermes, will take Apollo to his flock at once, and you will part in peace. After all, you are brothers.”

“Yes, Zeus.” They replied simultaneously, but they glared at each other suspiciously.

So Hermes took Apollo to Pylos and to the barn near Alpheus, where he gave his cows to the art god. However, Apollo suddenly noticed cow skins lying on the ground in a corner and became angry again.

“You killed my cows?! This is too much, brat!”

He grabbed him by the diaper again and lifted him up. Terrified, Hermes closed his eyes and clutched the lyre still in his hands. Apollo was about to hit him in the face with his fist, when suddenly the boy's finger caught on a string, which made a soft sound. The elder god's fist stopped in the air. Amazed, Hermes opened his eyes timidly and was immediately surprised to see Apollo speechless and with his mouth open. And then the god of the arts looked at the future patron of thieves and travelers and blurted out:

“Where... where did that sound come from?”

At first, Hermes blinked twice.

“What sound?”

“Well, the one just now. I've never heard anything like this before.”

And then Hermes was enlightened. Lyre. He was still holding it in his hands and must have accidentally struck one of the strings. Some inner force told him to play, and the little boy immediately did. Apollo's face softened at once. He put Hermes on the ground and listened to the melody coming out of the new instrument. After a moment, he smiled in delight. He looked at Hermes and timidly asked:

“Could I try too?”

Fearing what it would be like to refuse an older and stronger god, Hermes stopped playing and held out his lyre to Apollo. Hermes listened attentively and had to admit that Apollo was much better at singing than he was, but why would he be surprised? Years of practice. However, sometimes the god of arts hit the strings too hard and it spoiled the melody a bit. Finally Apollo paused and said to Hermes:

“This thing is great! It makes the soul all warm and happy.”

“Then I'll give it to you.” Hermes said calmly. Apollo stared at him first, then his face lit up with hope.

“Really?”

Hermes nodded with a smile.

“I called it lyre. The secret is to play it by gently striking the strings. If you do it abruptly, it only makes false notes.”

“I understand.” Apollo replied, staring at the lyre in fascination.

Then he looked at Hermes and his face took on a sad expression. He stared at him for a moment longer, then finally he set his lyre aside. From his bosom he pulled a long gilded stick with three leaves sprouting in different directions. The ten-year-old held out a stick towards the infant and said:

“This stick has the ability to settle disputes. Take it, Hermes. In exchange for a lyre.”

“And what do I need it for?” Hermes asked.

“It's the herald's staff. I have a vague feeling you should have it.”

Hermes took the stick. He and Apollo drove the cows out of the farm. Soon the baby saw two fighting snakes in the meadow and decided to try his gift. Hermes ran to the snakes and put his golden staff among them. The snakes immediately stopped fighting and wrapped themselves around it, turning their heads towards each other. Hermes brought the staff closer to him and studied the serpents, smiling slightly.

The messenger of the gods scanned the conference table. All the gods were already in their places, tight and ready to make some decisions. Hermes leaned back in his chair, unrolled his agenda scroll, cleared his throat, and began the meeting:

“So, folks, let's start with...”

Chapter Text

Narrator: Hermeneutics. The art of interpreting religious, legal and philosophical texts as well as symbolism. Martin Heidegger made a revolution in this field of knowledge...

Calliope: Bob, haven't you gone a little overboard? Heidegger lived in the twentieth century, and we have antiquity here.

Melpomene: Besides, why are you talking about hermeneutics now? Does it have anything to do with our hero?

Narrator: Oh, contrary to what one may think, it has a lot to do. The name itself comes from the name of Hermes. After all, this is herme-neutics. Supposedly, this is because Hermes, as the messenger of the gods, conveyed the divine will to people and interpreted it in a sense.

Calliope: Few people know this, but sometimes the head of the Great Zeus was not able to understand certain issues, especially in the field of philosophy, for which Greece – after all – was famous.

“My head…” Zeus moaned, brushing his hair back with his hand.

In the lap of the king of the gods was unrolled another scroll brought to him by Athena, with the work of some philosopher. Zeus himself didn't know why he was reading this, but he was already starting to get a migraine from this series of incomprehensible sentences. At first everything seemed to be comprehensive (he always thought so), but now Zeus felt that he needed a little help (he always felt so).

In the end, he couldn't stand it.

“Enough of this! Hermes!”

The messenger of the gods, as usual, appeared unexpectedly quickly with a smile on his face. And when he saw the scroll in Zeus’ lap, he just sighed at the thought of having to explain some confusing text to his employer again. Really, was it necessary for Athena to give it to her boss to read? Maybe she wanted him to get wiser? Or did she think he liked it? Anyway, it always ended up with Hermes being summoned to interpret the text.

“What this time, boss?” Hermes asked and flew to the scroll. His eyebrows rose and a smile spread across his face as Hermes said: “Oh, Zeno of Elea.”

“Well, I don't really understand what's going on with the turtle and Achilles.”

“Okay then, let's see what we have here...”

Hermes took the scroll from Zeus and began to read its contents carefully. His head swiveled from left to right as his eyes flicked through the words written on the scroll at a very fast pace. The face of the messenger of the gods expressed deep concentration, accompanied by furrowed brows and curled lips, wandering from left to right side of the face.

After a moment, he snapped his fingers and a large school blackboard materialized in front of Zeus, and in the hands of the messenger of the gods was chalk.

“So,” Hermes said finally, and began to draw a long line on the board and mark several points on it, “we have a race between the tortoise and Achilles. Achilles is twice as fast as the tortoise. Now, suppose Achilles decided to give the tortoise a head start of 1/2 distance. But when Achilles finally starts moving and covers 1/2 the way, the tortoise covers 3/4. By the time Achilles has gone 3/4, the tortoise has already gone to 7/8, and so on ad infinitum.”

“Don't summarize it for me, just explain it to me!” Zeus got irritated.

“Okay, okay, boss. I just wanted to get to this. Let's start with the fact that both Zeno of Elea and his master do not recognize the existence of the movement, and this paradox,” Hermes pointed to the drawing on the board, “is supposed to be an argument for this position. For the Eleatics, movement is only an illusion, because the true Being would be self-contradictory if it were dynamic and changeable. The hypothesis itself is absurd, because change is something obvious. Note, Zeus, that this paradox is based on dividing the path taken by the tortoise and Achilles into segments.” Hermes chalked all the points on the axis he had drawn, then turned back to the king of the gods. “In the real world, you can't divide segments indefinitely. Besides, at some point Achilles will eventually have to catch up with the turtle and pass it.”

“I thought the same.” Zeus said and smiled.

“So you see, boss, this paradox is only to prove the theorem about the non-existence of motion. Anyway, you should already know that Zeno likes absurd arguments[1].”

“Thanks a lot, Hermes.” Zeus beamed again.

“I commend myself for the future.” Hermes replied, saluted and flew away.

Narrator: Day after day, Hermes was explaining philosophical texts to Zeus. Sometimes in very unconventional ways.

“Hermes!” Zeus cried after several fruitless minutes over one of Plato's texts.

“Yes, boss?” Hermes flew into the chamber immediately.

“Could you explain to me what this theory of soul is about?”

“Ah, I see.” Hermes replied. “Are you reading Plato again, boss?”

“Yes.” The king of gods’ gaze wandered to the floor.

“I think I know how to explain it to you, but you need to call three people here...” He began to count on his fingers: “Athena, Bacchus and Ares.”

“If the situation calls for it...”

After some time, the deities of war, wisdom, and wine stood before Zeus, all somewhat dissatisfied with having been distracted from their duties, and hoping that this explanation would not take Hermes long and they could get back to their domains. Meanwhile, the messenger of the gods flew closer to them and landed right next to Bacchus.

“Let us assume for the moment that these three are parts of the soul.” After a moment, he placed a hand on the shoulder of the wine god. “Bacchus, as we see, likes to enjoy life. He eats and drinks a lot, so he will be the appetitive part of the soul, residing in the belly.” Hermes has gone to the god of war. “Ares, on the other hand, is very easy to piss off and often acts under the influence of strong emotions. Therefore, he is the spirited part, coming from the chest. And finally, our dear lady,” He said, approaching Athena. “Athena is always guided by reason, which is why she is the rational part of the soul that is in the head.”

Hermes snapped his fingers and a chariot appeared in the chamber. The messenger of the gods helped Athena mount it, and he harnessed Bacchus and Ares as horses (Bacchus agreed to be in the harness, but on the condition that he would not have to drive Athena anywhere. Ares was much more resistant, claiming that “never in his life will be that nasty woman's horse”, but Zeus convinced him with one thunderbolt).

“You see, boss,” Hermes said again, “usually one part dominates the other two. The appetitive part dominates in farmers and merchants. The spirited part dominates in soldiers, and the rational part – in philosophers. But no matter which part of the soul is influencing a person, reason is the one that more or less restrains the appetite and spirit.”

“Excuse me! I'm not going to be run by this wench!” Ares protested, pointing at Athena with his thumb.

“Be quiet, spirited part.” The goddess of wisdom replied and slapped her brother on the helmet.

“But it is enough for reason to fall asleep, and then we have a total disaster.” Hermes continued. “The appetitive part eats and drinks without restraint, which ends with a hangover and heartburn. In turn, the spirited part demolishes furniture in a fit of rage and wants to punch everyone in the face. So it's better to keep your desires and nerves in check. Do you understand now, boss?”

“I guess so.” Zeus replied, though his expression was still uncertain.

Narrator: But one day something happened that made the king of the gods very angry.

All the gods gathered in the throne room, where a familiar transparent stone was already standing, showing some blond bearded man with a crooked nose and one eye larger and more bulging than the other. The bearded man spoke at the podium in front of a larger audience that either booed or agreed with him.

“There are three senseless fears in this world: the fear of death, the fear of suffering, and the fear of the gods. The first is because after death we go into oblivion and we don't feel anything; second one is because if suffering is strong, it does not last long, and if it lasts long, it is not strong; finally, the third is because gods do not exist. They were invented so that we act morally, even in secret, when no one sees us and is unable to punish us...”

“Oh, enough of this!” Zeus said, turning off the stone with the remote control. “What do you mean we don’t exist?!”

“And that the fear of death is senseless?” Hades added annoyed.

“Hermes!” Zeus called his servant, who immediately appeared at his side, ready and (as usual) smiling.

“Yes, sir?”

“Who is this insolent guy?”

“It's Critias.” The messenger of the gods answered, then he made a circle with his index finger and thumb, adding: “With a touch of Epicurus[2].”

“Well, but the other Epicurus claimed that we were too busy to care about people.” Athena corrected.

“And that pleasure is the highest good." Bacchus interjected, smiling. “I personally like his approach to life.”

“Don't change the subject!” Zeus yelled, then added a little more calmly: “Can someone explain to me on what basis this dumbass claims we don't exist?”

“Well, he explained it himself.” Hermes said. “We are just an excuse for people to live godly.”

“How dare he not believe in us at all?!” Zeus became even more annoyed.

And Hermes was still calm.

“Big deal. A lot of people don't believe in us.”

“For example?” Ares asked doubtfully.

“Well, the Egyptians, for example.” Hermes replied.

At first, Ares looked surprised, but then he smiled slightly.

“Ah, that's right.”

“It's just a pity that it's hard to tell their monsters from their gods.” Poseidon commented. “When I approach Sobek, I'm afraid he'll bite my head off.”

“So the Egyptians. And who else?” Aphrodite asked, and Hermes replied:

“Aztecs…”

“Oh, yeah.” Phantasos began. “Not only are their names unpronounceable, and their diet is based mainly on human hearts, but the boss of this whole business is a feathered, ugly as night reptile.”

“Slavs…” Hermes continued. This time Hephaestus spoke:

“The gods of these guys are great too.” Then he frowned and began to speak in a thicker voice: “Hey, I'm Svetovit. Don't even think about stealing my pouch, because I have eyes in the back of my head. Or rather, a head on the back of the head.”

“Celts...”

“Don't even remind me about those hen-peckers.” Ares grumbled, putting his hand to his forehead. “Three women as deities of war…[3] What is this world coming to?!” He asked loudly, looking up and throwing his hands up.

“There are also Vikings...”

“These are even nice.” Zeus said. “Although Loki outplayed me a few times at pieces.”

“But it is we who are the reflection of classical beauty.” Narcissus replied, who appeared out of nowhere. As he said these words, he kept staring at himself in the mirror.

“Anyway,” Zeus concluded, "no guy is going to tell people we don’t exist. Any ideas how to handle it?”

Hermes decided to tame the king of the gods.

“Take it easy, boss. He's a sophist. They pay him to tell all sorts of nonsense.[4] Anyway,” A malicious smirk appeared on the face of the messenger of the gods. “I already know how to restore the faith in him.”

Narrator: The gods allowed Hermes to act. That night in the house of the sophist Critias happened something that he will remember forever.

Critias slept peacefully in his bed, snoring. His sleep was so sound that the sophist didn't even hear the flutter of wings flying through the window into his house. Nor did he hear the floor creak as someone's feet landed on the ground and slowly began to walk towards him. Perhaps he felt a slight discomfort as the mysterious visitor's breath brushed his ear.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Hermes whispered in Critias' ear. “wake up.”

Critias just shooed him away with his hand. But that wasn't enough to make the messenger of the gods go away. Hermes leaned over the sophist's ear again and tried again:

“Critias, get up. There are pancakes for breakfast…

“Just a minute, Mom.”

Hermes straightened up and looked at the mortal before him. A thoughtful grimace appeared on the god's face.

“Isn't anything able to wake this guy up? I really don't like to put people on their feet in a brutal way.”

He snapped his fingers in a moment of illumination. He leaned over his victim's ear again, then said in a menacing, hissing voice:

“I have come for my two tenners, Critias. If you don't return them to me, Vito and Antonio will break your legs.”

  With a smile on his face, Hermes took two steps away from Critias' bed. The sophist woke up almost immediately, waving his arms nervously and shouting: “No, don't hurt me! Any day now I'll have my paycheck and everything and I'll give you back, for real!” He covered his face with his hands for a moment, then finally decided to look at the visitor standing in front of him. Critias' first reaction was surprise, and then the man slowly lowered his hands, looking at Hermes, who was standing before him, smiling broadly.

“Oh, gods…” He wailed.

“Yeah! I told the boss I'd convert you!” Hermes replied. “There's nothing like shock therapy.”

“Please don't hurt me! I was only joking," Critias went on, covering his face with his hands again.

“And you're not going to say we don’t exist again?”

“Yes, yes, just please, no thunderbolts.”

“I knew we'd come to an agreement. I personally have nothing against your atheism, but you know, Zeus can be so intolerant… Anyway, bye, man.”

Hermes patted him on the back and left his house the same way he had come. Returning to Olympus, he announced to the rest of the gods that the problem with Critias had been solved. Zeus was only slightly disappointed. He wanted so much to throw a thunderbolt at the sophist.

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful sunny day. The entire retinue of Bacchus rested in the Arcadian forest. The crowns of trees and flowers in the meadows were beginning to come to life after the winter break. The small river winding through the forest was already full of various creatures, which from time to time jumped to the surface and then returned to the water again. The god of wine himself sat under a tree and dozed while his satyrs danced around, grazed on the grass, chatted, played, or just followed in Bacchus's footsteps and lingered under the surrounding trees.

Right next to the river a young satyr with thick black hair, oval face, gray eyes, a slim, almost skinny build sat alone and wet his feet. He was just finishing tying two wooden pipes together, taking care, however, to leave two or three centimeters between their ends. There were five holes in both pipes. It looked like two flutes joined together at the mouthpieces, but widening slowly the farther down they went. When everything was ready, the satyr smiled at the sight of his own invention and decided to try it immediately.

He put the instrument in his mouth. The left hand rested on one pipe and the right on the other. The satyr blew, and the pipe made a high-pitched, uneven sound that caught the attention of the other satyrs and even woke up Bacchus in a rather violent and unpleasant way. However, the young inventor was not discouraged by this and continued to play. This time, in addition to blowing, he also pressed the holes in the pipes, controlling the tones produced by the new instrument. At first the melody seemed disjointed and not pleasant to the ears, but the more the satyr got going; the more dynamic the sounds he produced from the instrument became, the melody was not only more tolerable, but also more beautiful, because it was more harmonious.

The creator himself was more and more enchanted by the sounds made by the strange flute. He felt like he had never heard anything so beautiful. The melody he played hid the joy of life – its dynamism and grandeur. No other instrument he knew could compare to it. Even Apollo's lyre.

Someone placed a hand on the musician's shoulder. The satyr stopped playing and looked up. The god Bacchus smiled kindly at him.

“What's that strange flute, Marsyas?” He asked, removing his hand from the shoulder of the satyr, who smiled at his words and replied proudly:

“Aulos. I made it myself.”

“Would you like to play it for me at my next dinner at Olympus?”

The god Bacchus himself was delighted with the aulos! This only attested to the uniqueness of this instrument.

“Of course.” Marsyas said. “How could I refuse god? Besides, the best instrument in the world should reach the widest audience possible. For too long humanity has been deprived of this wonderful invention.”

Marsyas got to his feet and started playing again, this time jumping on the grass with joy. The other satyrs also began to dance to the beat of the aulos. Bacchus himself just stood there, surprised by what he had just heard. He wasn't sure whether to worry or laugh at Marsyas' pride. Ultimately, however, he decided to let it go. Was it the first time he heard the boast of a young inventor?

Narrator: But what Bacchus didn't know was that this would be the beginning of something far more complicated and troublesome than a simple dinner on Olympus.

Melpomene: Let's change the scenery for a moment.

All the gods sat at a long table, on which a variety of fancy-looking dishes were piled up – meats, fish, soups, fruits, cakes, drinks... Many of these wonderful dishes were made with ambrosia and in various configurations – from sauce to dipping bread, to decorations on a huge, multi-story cake. Sitting next to Apollo (Hestia always seated them side by side, and even if she didn't, they'd probably find new seats) Hermes was eating a chicken leg as he listened to his brother talking.

“So that mortal goes to the oracle and asks what's in store for him, and I say, 'You're going to kill your father and marry your mother. That's all. Have a nice day.”

“I must admit you're sick.” Hermes said after swallowing a piece of chicken. “You can't tell them: ‘This week you will win the lottery’, just texts like this right away?”

“Hey, I know the future, but I don't create it. Let mortals complain to the Fates.” Apollo replied, taking a sip of his wine, and as he put down his cup, he added: “Besides, if I hadn't told this to Oedipus, you wouldn't be able to see your beloved Antigone in theaters.”

“True.” Hermes admitted, smiling ironically.

Suddenly, Bacchus stood up from his seat and raised his hands, drawing attention to himself and silencing the rest of the gods. After a moment, he lowered his hands, looked around the chamber with a wide smile, and finally said in a solemn tone:

“Dear friends! Today I brought a special guest with me! Say hello to Marsyas, who will play an instrument of his own design, aulos!”

Bacchus and sat back on his seat. There was thunderous applause, and Marsyas, bowing low to all, stepped forward.

“And how hard Bacchus sweated to smuggle him here...” Hermes whispered to Apollo, still clapping. “I told him the boss doesn't allow mortals to roam around Olympus, but Bacchus was a pain in the ass and finally begged the boss to make an exception this time.”

“I'm telling you: a bottle of wine works wonders.” Apollo replied.

When silence fell and all the gods began to watch him intently, the satyr put his aulos in his mouth and began to play. Again, at first the instrument made a false tune. The gods winced, and a few even covered their ears. Immediately, however, after listening more carefully to the melody played by him, they discovered that the sounds of the aulos are not so bad after all, and they were even catchy. Hermes found himself tapping his feet to the beat under the table.

He tilted his head towards Apollo and whispered:

“Nice music...”

“Don’t make me laugh. Big invention... Two flutes tied together and that's it.” The god of art said.

Hermes looked at his brother. Only now did he notice that Apollo’s expression was sour, as if disgusted. Apollo watched Marsyas play, who also began to twitch in place. From time to time, the god of art, as if out of boredom, would take something in his mouth and eat, still staring with jaded eyes from the satyr.

Marsyas began to finish slowly. He plucked the tune a little more, picking up a rhythm quickly, then playing it slower and slower until it finally fell silent. The satyr bowed to the audience, which gave him warm applause. Only Apollo clapped without much enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Marsyas himself had not yet left the stage, but was roughly embraced with one arm by Bacchus, who spoke again to the rest of the gods:

“See what wonders my satyrs can tinker?!”

“Indeed, it was a great performance.” Zeus commented, then turned to Marsyas: “Remind me, boy: what is the name of this wonder?”

“Aulos, oh Great Zeus.” Marsyas replied modestly, but then adopted a much less humble tone: “It's the greatest instrument in the world, isn't it, sir?”

There was a sudden silence at the table. Zeus himself at first blinked in embarrassment at the proud Marsyas, but then cleared his throat and with a polite smile declared diplomatically:

“Well, there's no accounting for tastes.”

“But the sounds of the aulos cannot be compared with anything.” Marsyas replied, rubbing his instrument with pleasure against his cheek. “This is music worthy of the gods.” He paused in his play and looked around at the faces of the surprised guests. “I am sure that the god Apollo himself could not have played his lyre more beautifully.”

More shock appeared on the faces of the merrymakers. Apollo's eyes widened immediately, and then he frowned as he stood up. Something started to boil inside him.

“What did you say, wretched mortal?! You dare compare this cat music to my lyre?!”

“I challenge you, Great Apollo, to a duel.” Marsyas replied, still smiling, and raised his head haughtily. “My aulos versus your lyre. Let's see which instrument and which one of us is better.”

“You dare challenge the god of art to a duel, impudent?!” Apollo yelled. “You dare say you're better than me?!”

“You know, man.” Ares said suddenly. “Your lyre is boring. I much prefer aulos.”

Apollo was suddenly dumbfounded.

“Me too." Phantasos added. “It was quite a nice change from your many pathetic recitals.”

“And I like the lyre.” Athena replied. “Its sounds are very beautiful.”

“And I like both.” Bacchus interjected.

“In my opinion, there is nothing to compare. They are two completely different types of instruments.” Hermes announced with a shrug.

As soon as he said that, Apollo looked at him in disbelief. Hermes felt a little uneasy about this. There was something strange in Apollo's eyes.

“But that wretch offended me!” He leaned closer to the face of the messenger of the gods and added in a lower voice: “And he offended your invention.”

“Don't worry about it, man. It's just an object.” Hermes tried to reassure his brother with a nervous smirk.

“An object?” Apollo asked in disbelief.

He remembered the day when he heard those wonderful sounds for the first time. Never before had his ears met something so beautiful; something that could calm anger so quickly and put a person in a state of blissful happiness. And then Apollo saw little Hermes reaching out to him with his hands in which rested a lyre, this amazing invention that could produce such wonderful music.

And now this stinking satyr dares to claim that his clattering flute is better than a glorious celestial lyre?! Oh no! This slander Apollo would not bear! He looked at Marsyas with a determined look and declared:

“I accept the challenge. However, I have a condition: The winner will be able to do whatever he wants with the loser’s body. What do you say, Marsyas?” A mischievous smirk appeared on Apollo's face.

Marsyas smiled too.

“I agree.”

“Tomorrow morning, in Arcadia, then. We'll see which instrument is better.”

Melpomene: And so the storm broke out. The news of the unusual duel spread throughout Greece and interested many people, both mortal and immortal. Hercules and his friends were no exception.

“Challenging Apollo to a duel? It's madness!” Hercules said when Icarus told him the news.

“No, Herc, baby. It's an act of courage!” His loony friend replied. “God of art versus a talented amateur. This will be the match of the century!”

Suddenly, Icarus started jumping around his friend like a hyperactive frog and shouting: “Can we go, Herc? Can we, can we, can we?” Finally, he stopped right in front of Hercules and looked at him with big, sad eyes. A bit embarrassed by this, the hero replied:

“Well, I don't know... Arcadia is far away.”

“Please, please, please! You take Pegasus and I take my wings.”

“Herc, you know it won't do any good." Cassandra said, gloomy as ever. “Agree to it, then we'll go there, see the spectacle, and get it over with.”

It was already late evening. Hermes sat in the house of Apollo and watched his brother, who was doing something intently at the lyre. The muses had gone somewhere, leaving both gods alone. They had nothing to say to each other for a long time. Finally, Hermes decided to break the silence. He raised his head, smiled at Apollo, and began:

“Then what will you do with him, if you win?”

“I'll skin him.”

Hermes chuckled.

“And what do you do really?”

“I'll skin him.” Apollo repeated quite seriously, scowling at his brother.

Hermes' smile instantly vanished from his face.

“I understand scaring mortals a little to teach them who's in charge, but don't you think, mate, that skinning the guy is a bit too much?”

Apollo stopped working on the lyre and looked Hermes in the eyes. The god of art's gaze was serious, even dead serious, and at the same time there was something sad in his dark eyes. And then Apollo sighed, took his lyre with both hands, and, raising it a little, placed it on his lap.

“Zeus has his thunderbolts, Poseidon has his trident, you have your caduceus, winged boots and traveling hat. And I have a bow and a lyre. The bow that kills and the lyre that purifies. It was the lyre that made me forgive you for stealing my cows. You have constructed something that can bring sweet melancholy to the soul and soothe anger. Don't you think your invention is the greatest instrument in the world? You should be proud of it.”

“Like Marsyas?” Hermes asked, smiling sarcastically. After a short pause, he added: “Honestly, I rarely get a chance to listen to it. Besides, I mainly fix it, because someone doesn't want to do it themselves.” He added, looking at his brother meaningfully. There was another brief silence. Finally Hermes got to his feet and said: “Anyway, I don't think flaying is adequate to the crime, even if Marsyas offended you. Think about it more deeply, Apollo.”

Without saying anything else, Hermes headed for the exit. Apollo followed him with his eyes until the messenger of the gods disappeared outside, leaving the god of art alone with his thoughts. Apollo stared at the door for a moment longer as his hands, still on the lyre, gripped the edges of the instrument tightly.

Melpomene: The dawn has come, and with it came the great day. A large number of people have gathered in Arcadia, ready to see the spectacle they have been eagerly awaiting.

The place of the duel was the same forest where Marsyas had constructed the aulos the previous day. Tribunes had been set up in the meadow where gods, satyrs and men sat. At the bottom, both participants of the duel were already standing – lonely Apollo and Marsyas accompanied by Bacchus. The god of wine approached the satyr, leaned closer to his face and whispered:

“I think it's crazy, but I wish you luck. Apollo is not an easy opponent.”

“Thank you, oh Great Bacchus.” Marsyas said, bowing his head in respect.

Hercules, Icarus and Cassandra were present in the stands, as well as Phil, who was also looking forward to the duel (after all, Marsyas was of the same species as him, so Phil was eager to see the satyr win over the god of art) and was happy as a child.

“Wait a minute. What is Midas doing here?” Hercules asked when he saw the king in question below, between the two players.

“You know, Herc? I'm surprised myself.” said Hermes, who suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The hero, Icarus, Cassandra and Phil all looked at him in surprise and he just continued: “For some reason, the boss thought Midas would be a good judge.”

“Well, if dad says so...” Hercules replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Bacchus said another thing to Marsyas, then sat on the tribunes. King Midas spoke to the audience:

“Friends! We are gathered here to watch a one-of-a-kind duel between the god of arts Apollo, who will play the lyre,” He pointed to Apollo with his open hand. The people in the stands cheered, and when they had finished, Midas pointed to the god’s opponent with his other hand and announced: "and the satyr Marsyas, who will perform with his homemade instrument, the aulos.”

The satyr was applauded as well, almost as loudly as Apollo. Finally, Midas announced the start of the duel and stepped aside. God was to play first. He stepped forward and looked around the stands. His eyes quickly spotted Hermes among the crowd of nameless mortals (noticing Hercules right next to him, Apollo was slightly surprised, but immediately returned to his brother). Honestly, I rarely get a chance to listen to it… He will listen to it today. Today he will learn what a beautiful thing he created...

Apollo picked up the lyre and rested the edge of it against his chest so that his left hand would hold the instrument and his right hand will be free. His right hand hung over the strings. He didn't play for a while, enjoying the concentration of his audience, especially the short skinny man with rose-colored glasses. A slight smile appeared on Apollo's face, and the god of arts began his performance.

First, he slowly moved one of the ten strings, and then he grabbed the taut threads with two fingers and pulled them, but precisely, without any sudden and unnecessary movements. The delicate sounds of the lyre echoed through the Arcadian forest, and the echo intensified the solemn mood they carried. A sweet, melancholic melody. Perfect for reflection. Thought provoking. It wrapped listeners' ears in blissful reassurance and hypnotized them with its sad tones. Apollo, meanwhile, kept his eyes on the stands and studied Hermes' reactions. The god of arts' eyes seemed to expect some answer from the god of thieves.

Hermes had a rare opportunity to really listen to his invention. As the soft, sad sounds reached his ears, he flashed back to the moment when he played it himself for the first time; how he struck his little hands without order or composition against the just fastened strings; how a random melody played on a new instrument echoed through the mountains of Cyllene where he lived. And he remembered how proud he was of his lyre; how he embraced it with joy, and how he gave it the name by which the whole world now knew it. And then his mind conjured up an image of an upset Apollo having eaten two of his cows. And how the overgrown god of art instantly froze at just one accidental sound of a lyre.

Where… where did that sound come from?

What sound?

Well, the one just now. I've never heard anything like this before...

And Apollo downstairs continued to play. His gaze was still focused on Hermes, yet his hands never struck a false note. With confident movements, he produced beautiful sounds from the strings. Something inside Hermes tightened in his throat and caused a burning sensation that began to radiate from the sternum to the rest of his body.

This thing is great! It makes the soul all warm and happy.

Then I'll give it to you.

So many years have passed...

I called it lyre. The secret is to play it by gently striking the strings. If you do it abruptly, it only makes false notes.

Is it possible that it was he – Hermes – who built something like this?

Zeus has his thunderbolts, Poseidon has his trident, you have your caduceus, winged boots and traveling hat. And I have a bow and a lyre. The bow that kills and the lyre that purifies...

When craftsmen make this instrument according to the same method as he did years ago, the meat of the ox, mutton and tortoise are given to him as the maker of the first lyre.

You have constructed something that can bring sweet melancholy to the soul and soothe anger...

They play it during the celebrations of various festivals to honor the gods. They play it during weddings and feasts. Moreover, they even play it in the theater. It is with the lyre that the bards tell their stories. It is said that it even reached the Vikings.

But that wretch offended me! And he offended your invention…

Hermes was thrown into great agitation. He was barely able to keep his boots from bouncing him up. And Apollo continued to play! He played and moved his brother in such a beautiful way. Hermes wondered if he would be able to produce such wonderful sounds from the lyre and evoke in his listeners the same feelings that he now felt inside himself. And after a little pondering, he came to the conclusion that he couldn't. Even though he constructed it, he couldn't play it better than his talented brother. It's actually a good thing Hermes gave him that lyre. Apollo made good use of it.

Apollo ended the performance and bowed to the audience, who rewarded him with thunderous applause. Hermes did it too. A gentle smile shone on his face, and at the same time it was so sad that it betrayed traces of melting mood. It was enough to make Apollo smile too, but it was a smile of deep satisfaction. The thought crossed the mind of the god of art that the victory was already his.

Now it was the turn of Marsyas, who lost a bit of confidence after Apollo's performance. Going out in front of the audience, he stiffened and assumed an impassive expression on his face. He put the aulos in his mouth and began to play. Just like last time, the first few notes weren't very impressive, but then the melody started to pick up. The echo and silence were reinforced by a high-pitched sound that was chaotic at first, but after a while it became rhythmic, more orderly, but still very dynamic. It reminded Hercules in the audience of the armies, preparing for war, setting out from the spot, walking through fields, forests, city-states and villages, playing flutes and pipes to each other, and finally clash with the enemy on the battlefield. The hero's heart began to beat strongly to the beat played by Marsyas. Hercules, like Hermes before him, felt a heat inside him, but it was not caused by melancholic emotion, but by something quite the opposite – a strong agitation of suddenly awakened passions. The young man wanted to get up and move, to do something with himself, just not to sit still, otherwise the energy boiling inside him would explode and burst him from the inside. At the same time, strangely enough, he felt very comfortable with it, as if with this new energy he was able to do anything. So when Marsyas suddenly finished, Hercules was disappointed.

After taking his due thunderous applause (TOO thunderous for Apollo’s liking), the satyr took a few steps back. Midas raised his hands, silencing the crowd, and said:

“I think the fight is even. Both participants showed us the artistry of their skills. However, there can only be one winner in this contest.”

Midas snapped his fingers and his servant fetched a pillow with a golden wreath on it. The king picked it up gently and showed it to everyone in the stands. Everybody was watching him tensely. On whose temple will the wreath rest? A god of the arts or a mortal but talented satyr? A few people even kept their fingers crossed for their favorite to receive a prize. Marsyas was very nervous, Apollo very calm. After all, there was no way for him – the patron of art - to lose to any mortal.

“I hereby declare that the winner is Marsyas.”

It is difficult to describe the shock that Apollo experienced when he heard the verdict of the king of Phrygia. At first it was surprise, which soon turned to anger. However, the sight of Midas, already holding the wreath above Marsyas' head, immediately brought Apollo to his senses. He had to do something. He couldn't let that jabbering fool win. So Apollo began desperately looking for a solution. His gaze rested suddenly on the aulos. And when the wreath was about an inch from Marsyas' head, Apollo was enlightened.

“Wait a minute!” He shouted. Everyone looked at him in surprise. Apollo smiled and said: “There's one more thing I'd like to challenge Marsyas on.”

“What?” Midas asked.

Hermes shivered. Apollo was up to something, and the messenger of the gods didn't like it.

“Oh, something very simple. Let's try to play our instruments upside down.”

There was consternation in the stands. Hermes frowned. Surely Apollo didn't want to…? Unbelievable. Who would have thought that his older brother would be such a sore loser. After all, in the case of any wind instrument, the result of such a procedure would be only one. Midas, as a judge, shall never agree to this. The king himself seemed undecided.

“Well... it’s an interesting proposition.”

“The duel is over, Great Apollo.” Marsyas declared seriously. “I won. Deal with it.”

“A true master should be able to play his instrument in every possible way.” Apollo replied, smirking mischievously. “If you are a coward, you are not worthy of this golden wreath.”

Hermes had to admit that his brother was really perfidious. Not only was he proposing a challenge in which Marsyas had no chance, but he also played on the satyr's ambition. All for the victory. Was he that proud? And then it hit Hermes like a hammer. The messenger of the gods widened his eyes as he made a terrifying discovery. Impossible. No, no, no! Please, not that. Please, somebody tell him that this… this monster down there isn't his brother.

“I agree.” Marsyas replied after a short thought and sealed his words with a handshake of Apollo, who smiled even wider.

Hermes looked at Midas. Don't agree to it under any circumstances.

“Then please take your positions beside me.” Midas announced.

The die were cast. Hermes felt a surge of heat as Apollo stood to the right and Marsyas to the left of Midas. Sweat broke out on the messenger of the gods’ brow as they both turned their instruments upside down. Hermes froze as Apollo played his lyre freely, the tones of which were as beautiful as ever, but instead of his earlier delight, the god of thieves felt only a chill all over his body. Then it was Marsyas' turn. He put the splayed ends of the aulos in his mouth and began to play. Something tightened in Hermes' throat as he heard a dry, bland tune, like the sound made by the plugged whistle. The satyr kept trying. He blew harder and harder, desperately trying to get more out of his invention. Hermes closed his eyes, not wanting to see it. Still, he heard how each subsequent attempt by Marsyas failed.

“I don't think there's any doubt who won.” Apollo said suddenly.

Hermes bit his lower lip and opened his eyes.

“Yes, but that doesn't really prove anything.” Midas replied.

Apollo without a word of warning, but with a malicious smirk on his face, snapped his fingers and soon Midas' ears began to grow and narrow. They looked more and more like donkey ears with every passing second. The audience burst into laughter (well, with a few exceptions), and the king himself blushed in embarrassment and immediately fled from view.

Apollo and Marsyas were left alone. Another demonic smile appeared on the god's face. The satyr's face began to show fear. Seeing all this, Hermes swallowed.

“So it looks like I won.” Apollo replied. “Your aulos is useless because you can't play it upside down.” His face suddenly took on a serious, menacing expression. In a low, hissing voice he said: “Now, dear Marsyas, you will learn what awaits the impudent ones who dare to consider themselves better than the gods.”

He laid the lyre on the ground and snapped his fingers again. Out of nowhere, two centaurs appeared and grabbed Marsyas by the legs and tied him upside down to a nearby pine tree. Marsyas grew paler and paler with every moment, but the horror on his face reached its climax as a long, curved knife appeared in Apollo's hand. Hermes squeezed his hands in his lap in anger.

“What is he going to do?” asked Hercules, who seemed to be very intrigued by the behavior of the god of arts.

“He will skin him.” Hermes replied, not even glancing at the youth, even though he turned his shocked gaze to the messenger of the gods.

“We have to stop him!” Hercules said and was about to get up to put his plan into action when suddenly Phil pulled him down.

“Don't you remember, kid? According to the agreement, the winner of this duel will be able to do whatever he wants with the loser. Besides, you wouldn't stand a chance against god. That poor fellow,” Phil turned his gaze to Marsyas “is already a goner.”

“But that's not fair! Let me go, Phil!”

Apollo approached the terrified Marsyas slowly. Bloodlust was evident on the god's face. His lips twisted into a smile of demonic madness. Apollo stood right in front of Marsyas and was already bringing the knife closer to the satyr's skin, when suddenly Hermes flew up out of nowhere and blocked his way to Marsyas with his own body. Apollo looked at his brother in amazement, as did the audience in the stands and the loser himself. The eyes of the messenger of the gods were cold, relentless and ready to do anything to keep Apollo from his victim.

When the first astonishment had passed, Apollo frowned and said to Hermes:

“You know very well that I have the right to do with this wretched mortal as I please. That was the deal.”

“I won't let you do this.” Hermes whispered.

“That impudent braggard dared claim he was better than me, and that his stupid pipe was better than your lyre. You can't stop me.”

“Then get past me and do it!” Hermes shouted. Apollo, however, just stood and stared at him in disbelief. The messenger of the gods said even louder: “Come on, Apollo! Skin Marsyas over a stupid lyre! Show me I should’ve never made it!”

The art god's eyes widened in shock. After a while, however, something resembling regret appeared in them. Apollo was speechless. He didn't even move from where he was, but he still held the knife up in his trembling hand, as if he was hesitating. The audience also watched the whole scene tensely. And Hermes was staring at him the whole time. There was something desperate in his voice, which trembled more and more every moment.

“The lyre that purifies! A lyre that makes the soul warm and cheerful! A lyre that can evoke sweet melancholy and soothe anger! Yeah, sure!”

“Hermes-” Apollo began, but his voice was weak and the next words were stuck in his throat.

“And you know what's the worst thing?” The messenger of the gods asked, in a calmer but still trembling voice. “The worst thing is that when you played it today, I was proud. For the first time since I built it, I was proud of my invention. You brought out beautiful, touching sounds from it. For a moment…” He lowered his gaze for a moment, then looked Apollo in the eye again. “For a moment I thought I did the right thing by building it.”

Apollo's shoulders slumped as he remembered the smile on Hermes' face as he played the lyre; a smile that had been one of Apollo's goals in this duel.

“But now,” Hermes began again louder. “you want to hurt someone just because they don't think the sounds of the lyre are the greatest in the world! Because he has a different opinion than you! You proposed a challenge with turning the instruments upside down, knowing in advance that the odds will not be even! You played on Marsyas' ambition to get him to agree to this, and now you're coming with a knife to skin him! My lyre made you a monster, Apollo! I hate it! I regret having done it!”

The last sentence echoed through the woods like an angry accusation. The lust for murder left Apollo long ago. Now there was only hesitation, shame and regret. Never in his life did he want Hermes to regret having invented the lyre.

“If you harm Marsyas now, you will stain my invention in blood! Music should not be a source of misery! It should bring people joy, solace, purification… It should move them, make them think! Who if who, but the god of art should know about it best! That's why I can't let you do something so terrible for vengeful satisfaction!”

He straightened up and spread his arms wide, as if to block access to Marsyas with his whole body. Now everyone was waiting to see what Apollo would do. He stood before Hermes, still holding the knife in his hand. The god of art and the god of thieves exchanged glances, the former – an uncertain glance, while the latter – a cold one; and then Apollo looked down, then looked back at Hermes. After a moment, he threw the knife to the ground, and an expression of relief appeared on the face of the messenger of the gods. The audience in the stands began to cheer.

Hermes freed Marsyas and helped him recover from his long hanging upside down by guiding him by the hand. The satyr's blood slowly began to circulate properly, and after a while he began to walk on his own.

The rest of the day passed very quietly and without any annoyance. Bacchus invited everyone to a fiesta, where there was plenty of good food and, of course, wine (but Zeus, being a responsible adult, did not allow Hercules or his underage friends to drink even a drop of alcohol). It was fun and peaceful. The muses took care of the music to make the feast more pleasant for the guests. Marsyas was in the company of Bacchus and his kin all the time. In turn, Hermes and Apollo (as always) sat down next to each other and began to talk. The messenger of the gods was happy that his brother was acting normal again.

Suddenly, Hermes remembered something and nudged Apollo, who was eating beside him. The god of arts stopped eating and looked at him with mild surprise.

“Hey,” Hermes began, “ you’ve changed Midas's ears back to normal, haven't you?”

Embarrassment flashed across Apollo's face. He smiled nervously, shrugging.

“Well, not quite. I forgot. But I will do it soon, seriously. He's not going to die from this, is he?”

They looked at each other seriously, but then burst out laughing. They fell to the ground and started rolling around giggling like crazy under the table.

Chapter Text

Narrator: The Prometheus Academy. A high school where Athenian youth have an opportunity to develop their minds and appropriate, pro-social attitudes. It is here that the son of Zeus and future hero – Hercules – attends. Our hero doesn't know, however, that today he has a little surprise waiting for him... Phew, four sentences already and no one interrupted me.

Hercules was standing on the pier on Phil's Island, waiting for the school barge. The sun had just risen, so the sky still had a purplish-pink color. Meanwhile, a long boat with its sails furled was already visible on the horizon. The boat was yellow in color and an orange eye was painted on the bow. Students sat on benches and rowed towards land. There were ten oars, five to the left and five to the right. The barge finally moored to the shores of Phil's Island, almost in front of Hercules. And then the young hero saw something strange, because at the helm, instead of the familiar fluffy lady in a white chiton, was none other than Charon.

Hercules blinked in disbelief, then rubbed his eyes again. However, when he looked back at the helmsman, he still saw the ferryman of Hades, and it was hardly an illusion, because the annoyed Charon stabbed him with a bony finger.

“Ouch!” Hercules blurted out. Since when did Charon have such sharp phalanges?

“Are you coming or not?” The ferryman asked. “I don't have all day.”

Hercules suddenly regained some of his spirit.

“Wait, what are you doing here, Charon? Shouldn't you be ferrying souls across the River Styx or something?” He asked.

“Your ferryman is ill, so Zeus ordered me to replace her.”

“I see. That explains it all.”

Hercules climbed onto the barge and took his place at the oar. He happened to be the last student the school boat picked up, so he just headed for the academy, trying hard not to let his strength get out of hand as he rowed. The sun, meanwhile, had risen a little higher and the sky had taken on a bluer color.

When the barge moored to the pier that was facing the Prometheus Academy and Hercules could see the complex of classic pastel yellow buildings, the hero breathed a sigh of relief, because every time he looked at Charon out of the corner of his eye, he had the impression that the boatman was about to veer off the road and take the barge straight to Hades.

Hercules went ashore and, together with Cassandra and Icarus, passed through the gate that separated the Academy from the pier. Hercules looked at his schedule to see what his first lesson of the day was.

“Today is Thursday, right?” Hercules asked his friends.

“Yes, man, and you know what it means,” Icarus replied, then exclaimed: “LIVER THURSDAY!”

“Yuck.” Cassandra and Hercules said almost simultaneously.

“It seems,” Hercules suddenly started “that our first class is PE.”

“Great,” Cassandra said grimly. “Another festival of embarrassment.”

“Maybe it won't be that bad.” The hero said. “Maybe there won't be a dodgeball this time.”

“You are daydreaming.” Cassandra replied.

“But that’s why we love you.” Icarus interjected and added more demonically: “The most important thing is that you take care of Adonis with your great strength.”

“Sorry, man. Hero rule number 223: ‘A hero never uses his strength to get back at anyone.’”

Soon they arrived at the gym. Hercules and Icarus separated with Cassandra at the cloakrooms and quickly changed into gym clothes (red, short tunics on the hips). Then they appeared in a large, open square covered with gravel, where other students from their class were already prepared. They expected to see their gym teacher – a short guy with a big blond afro, a beer belly, and skinny arms. However, when the gym teacher entered the square, all the boys stared in surprise, because they saw none other than Ares himself.

The god of war looked around the square with menacing eyes, and finally shouted:

“Two-row rally!”

Everyone immediately formed into two lines and even stood at attention. Ares began pacing back and forth, like a hoplite commander explaining strategy for the next battle to his men.

“Listen to me carefully, daisies, because I'm not going to repeat myself!” He began. “Because your PE teacher is sick, I decided to replace him! I realize you Athenians are a bunch of warm, unfit pussies, so I'm going to show you what a REAL PE class looks like! We will start with a warm-up: two hundred laps of the square, five hundred push-ups and three hundred sit-ups, and then we will get to the wrestling! Any questions, wimps?!”

“And what if someone is exempt from PE?” Icarus asked.

“Then we'll throw him off the Tarpeian Rock.” The god of war replied bluntly, and added: “Don't draggle. Let’s run.”

For Hercules, the warm-up was not particularly strenuous. In the end, Phil was more demanding and three hundred push-ups were the hero's daily bread. However, when he looked at the other students, and in particular at the skinny Icarus, who was barely breathing after a minute of running, Hercules guessed that it was an incredible effort for them. It was a wonder that after the warm-up, a few of them did not die or did not throw themselves off the Tarpeian rock with the last of their strength (although the sight of breathless and barely alive Adonis was worth those two hundred laps for many people in the room). Seeing the state of his “wards” and realizing that the warm-up took almost an entire lesson, Ares took pity on them and sent the boys to the locker room and break.

Hercules took the worn-out Icarus on his back and left the gym. Outside, they met Cassandra, who smiled maliciously at the sight of them.

“I see that PE was successful.”

“Cassandra, my darling. I am glad that I can see you before I die.” Icarus replied, or rather groaned.

“You won't believe who we had for a substitute teacher.” Hercules added.

“Well, who?” The girl asked without enthusiasm.

“With Ares.” The hero replied, but contrary to all expectations his friend did not seem to be even a bit moved by this. She just snorted and said:

“Give me a break. We had a pool with Poseidon. He was also a substitute.”

Hercules stared at her in surprise, but said nothing. He simply pulled out his schedule again to make sure what else awaited him on this peculiar day.

“We have poetry now.” He said after a moment and smiled. “Nothing out of the ordinary is going to happen.”

“I wish you were right, man.” Icarus replied.

Poetry lessons were always held in a theater-like area. Everyone was already sitting in the audience (some were even breathing heavily after PE) and talking to each other about various topics. Hercules sat Icarus in the place next to Cassandra, but moved him a little to sit between them and spare his female friend from his best friend's intrusive advances. Then all three prepared their school supplies and waited for the teacher – Miss Cassiopeia. However, when the bell for class rang and everyone looked at the stage downstairs, after a while Apollo himself stepped on it.

“Hello, children!” He said happily. “Your poetry teacher, Miss Cassiopeia, is sick, so I've come here as a substitute teacher.”

Hercules' jaw dropped in response to the shock the boy just experienced.

“Okay, that's weird.” He replied, pulling himself together. “First Charon drives us to school, then we have PE with Ares and Poseidon, and now this?”

“Mister Hercules, please don't talk.” The god of arts turned to him. “Just because you're the son of Zeus, it doesn't mean you can interrupt poetry lessons.”

“Excuse me, Great Apollo.” Hercules replied and got up to bow slightly in the act of contrition.

Apollo smiled kindly and said:

“Please, take a seat.” And as Hercules sat down, Apollo added: “Let's begin the lesson, children.”

They all looked at their substitute teacher and waited to see what Apollo would do next – whether he would start a poetry test, or tell a story, or do something else. Nevertheless, the atmosphere was a bit tense. Finally, Apollo began:

“Alright. Who can tell me the difference between a tragedy and a comedy?”

“Banal.” Cassandra replied quietly.

“I know! I know!” Icarus waved his hand vigorously.

“Yes, boy?” Apollo asked, looking at him.

“Comedy ends well and tragedy ends badly.”

“Excellent! What famous tragedies do you know, children?”

“Antigone!” shouted someone in the audience.

“Prometheus!”

“Oedipus Rex!”

“Our grade cards!” Cassandra said, then pointed to Icarus and added: “And this guy here!”

Apollo ignored her joke and went on:

“Alright. What comedies do you know?”

Silence fell. In fact, no one knew a single comedy because they hadn't learned about any yet. Lady Cassiopeia preferred to mortify them than to cheer them up. In turn, Apollo standing below, after a long wait for an answer, finally sighed and moved on to the next question:

“And what famous poets do you know?”

“Hesiod.” Hercules replied immediately.

“Virgil.” Helena interjected.

“Ovid!” Icarus exclaimed, and leaned more towards Cassandra, saying: “He wrote The Art of Love which I have studied very well. How about a little practice, sweetheart?”

“Or would you prefer to study my fist when it lands in your eye?”

And that's more or less how the lesson went. Apollo asked questions, students politely answered. The interesting thing was that no one was embarrassed by the fact that they had the god Apollo himself in front of them, and from time to time they made some silly remarks. Apollo, on the other hand, ignored everything and treated his temporary charges like small children. For Hercules, time dragged on mercilessly. The hero kept wondering what had happened to the four employees of the Prometheus Academy that they had fallen ill at the same time, and even more he wondered why the Olympian gods had decided to come down from their pedestals and replace them. Apparently, his divine father felt that his son deserved the best education.

When the poetry lesson was finally over, Hercules breathed a sigh of relief and sincerely hoped he wasn't waiting more surprises that day. Since he felt a bit hungry, he, along with Icarus and Cassandra, went to the buffet – a large orange-walled building with a second floor where the slightly “more important” students of the Academy were staying (mainly Adonis and his security. Not that his security was anyone important...). Above the buffet where lunch lady was distributing food, a fresco was painted depicting the black silhouette of Prometheus chained to a rock and a bird leaning over him. The rows of tables were already half-occupied when Hercules and his friends entered. However, their favorite table was free.

Hercules, Icarus and Cassandra took their trays with them and stood in line to eat. The line was moving quite quickly and soon the hero and his friends found themselves right next to the lunch lady, who looked somehow different. She was slender with green skin and a great perm; she wore leaf earrings, and behind her left ear was a thin twig with leaves on either side.

“Hestia?” Hercules was amazed, not even noticing that he said it aloud.

“Yes, your lunch lady is sick, so I'm replacing her.” The goddess of the hearth answered, and then she put some strange black soup on the young man's tray. Hercules raised his eyebrows in surprise, then looked at Hestia, who just smiled and said: “It's a specialty from the Slavic countries. It's called black soup.”

- Th-thank you.” Hercules replied hesitantly and only went to the table.

No sooner had he sat down at the table and dipped his spoon in the soup than Hermes flew into the buffet, dashed over to him and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. Seeing him, Hercules just sighed.

“I have come to tell you,” Hermes began, “that you are to report to the headmaster.”

“Now?” asked Hercules doubtfully.

“Yes.” the messenger of the gods replied, and nodded his head. “He has something important to tell you.”

“Alright.” The hero said resignedly and stood up. Then he turned to his friends: "I'll probably be back in a while, so you can eat without me.”

Hermes and Hercules headed to the building where the headmaster's office was located. For some unknown reason, the young man felt uneasy, like he was going to his execution or something. Admittedly, he happened to be on the principal's rug many times (high school life was hard enough, even without the strength you could barely control). But this time Hercules didn't know what he actually did. Anyway, who knows – maybe this time something nice awaited him there... On the other hand, the hero knew that after today he could expect anything.

They finally reached the building where the headmaster's office was located, Hermes opened the door and let the young man in, but he did not enter himself, he only closed the door behind the boy. Hercules had expected to find a tall, rugby ball-shaped man (narrow neck, rounded belly, and skinny legs), brown hair, and a large nose, but there was someone much bigger in the chair. It was difficult to identify him, because the sun falling through the window made Hercules see only the dark outline of someone's figure at first. After a while, however, the figure leaned forward more and to his great horror Hercules saw Hades smiling at him in a demonic way.

At that moment, Hercules woke up. On this awakening, he got up so violently that he immediately fell off the hammock he had been sleeping in. As he felt the impact with the ground in the darkness of the night, followed by Phil's snoring, it slowly dawned on him that he was just having another nightmare. Charon, Ares, Apollo and Hestia did not come to Prometheus Academy as substitute teachers, and Hades was not his high school’s director. It was just a dream. Just a dream that won't come back.

Narrator: Meanwhile, on Mount Olympus...

Phantasos felt he rocked. What he loved most about his job was that he could express himself artistically. And this school idea was so good that Phantasos couldn't help but be proud.

“I can't, Phantasos,” He said to himself. “Where do you get such brilliant ideas from?”

Chapter Text

Hephaestus rubbed his sleepy eyes as he was walking past the gate to Olympus. Suddenly, his eyes widened in amazement, disbelieving what the divine blacksmith had seen at the gate. The god of fire and smiths stepped closer to make sure he had seen correctly, and after a moment had to admit that he had. On the other side of the gate lay a basket with a white bundle, from which a blue head with a sparse navy blue hair, chubby cheeks, and closed eyes stack out. Hephaestus opened the gate and lifted the baby from the cloudy ground. The baby in the basket still slept soundly, apparently the creaking of the gate wasn't loud enough to wake them up. After a while the divine blacksmith saw a sheet of paper pressed between the wall of wicker and the eiderdown. He didn't touch it, though, but began to limp to Zeus's throne room.

Apollo and Hermes lay bellies on the cloud and watched with interest the mortal who approached the oracle in Delphi with fear. He was very nervous, trembling mercilessly, and had both hands firmly on the brim of his hat. Finally he spoke in a trembling voice:

“Oh G-g-great Py-py-pythia! R-reveal to me-me plea-please-se, w-what will ha-happen when m-my lord Cre-croesus declares war on Persia?”

“And what will happen?” Hermes asked, turning to his brother.

“Hm…” Apollo hummed, looking at his notes. “According to what is written here, Croesus will lose and his kingdom will be razed to the ground. Interesting…”

Apollo put his notes away, cleared his throat, and exclaimed:

“In this war, a great empire will be defeated!”

“A great empire will be defeated in this war…” the Pythia downstairs repeated in a sleepy tone and with her eyes closed.

Croesus's servant was speechless at first, then smiled gratefully, bowed to the priestess of Apollo, and said: “Thank you, Pythia.” Then he went away.

“Now let him figure out who I meant.” Apollo replied, chuckling maliciously.

Hermes just looked at him with an expression of displeasure.

“You know what, man? It's not funny in the long run.”

Suddenly he felt that Zeus was calling him and he was very impatient, which meant that the matter was very serious. So the messenger of the gods got up, took a caduceus from the ground and said:

“Sorry, bro. Duties call.”

He quickly flew to the throne room, where Zeus and Hephaestus were already waiting for him. After a moment, Hermes' eyes rested on what the divine smith was holding in his hands. Wrapped in a white blanket, the baby was still asleep, his chest slowly rising and falling under the eiderdown. Hermes raised his eyebrows at the sight of the child, but then turned away and looked at his employer.

“Did you call, boss?”

“Yes, Hermes. I would like to ask, do you know this boy?” Zeus pointed his finger at the baby in Hephaestus' arms.

Hermes flew closer and began to carefully examine the child from all sides. The first thing that caught the eye of anyone who looked at him was the blue skin and dark blue hair, both characteristics of a baby and a messenger of the gods. But other than that, the baby looked like any other child – chubby, with a high forehead, a tiny rounded nose, small eyes and eyelashes. He was about four months old. Besides, Hermes had to admit he was very cute.

The messenger of the gods took off his hat and scratched his bald spot. After much thought, he put his hat back on, held out his hands to Hephaestus, and asked:

“May I?”

"With pleasure." the blacksmith replied, handing the child over to Hermes. “Holding this baby is keeping my testosterone levels down.”

The still sleeping little boy rested in the arms of the messenger of the gods. The calm and charming face caused the patron of thieves an involuntary, gentle smile. But then Hermes turned sad and looked at Zeus.

“I'm sorry, boss. This is not my baby.”

“How so?” The god of thunder wondered.

“Such a pretty child can't be mine.” Hermes replied and smiled.

“I agree.” Hephaestus added.

“And yet I say that it is and I have a proof.” Zeus said and held out a sheet of paper towards Hermes, which the messenger of the gods took and unfolded with one hand. “We found this letter on this little boy. It is addressed to you, Hermes.”

Hermes looked at the paper and began to read it silently.

Dear Hermes,
I'm sorry you're only finding out now and in this way. I tried to tell you earlier, but I really didn't have much of a chance. Anyway, I couldn't keep the truth from you any longer. It wouldn't be fair to you and our little one.

The child is your son, my beloved. Hermaphroditus is his name, after you and Aphrodite who brought us together. I decided to send our baby to Olympus, because here he will be safer than in Arcadia. Besides, it's about time you spent some time with him. I hope Hermaphroditus doesn't get in the way of your work and that you two get along great.

Kisses for you,

Dryope

Hermes was stunned. He looked again at the child he was holding, then at the letter, then at the child again, and then back at the letter. And he still couldn't believe what he had just learned. After all, it's not every day you become a father. Then the image of Dryope flashed before his eyes, and a strange longing awoke in his heart. Well, their relationship was difficult, it was practically a long-distance relationship. They finally decided to break up. And now it turned out that he was left with more than just memories.

Suddenly, he felt the baby in his arms start to move. The little eyes opened, sending a strange shudder through Hermes. The messenger wondered how his son would react to seeing him. One option immediately popped into his mind: that as soon as the little boy saw him, he would cry. Hermes at his age would probably be scared to see a stranger holding him in his arms.

However, at the sight of his father, Hermaphroditus first blinked his small eyelids as if in surprise, then smiled broadly and extended his hand to Hermes, which touched his chin. The god of thieves couldn't control himself – he just beamed and hugged the boy tighter to his chest. However, sadness soon appeared on his face. All the while Hermes wondered if the baby was really his (maybe it had blue skin like him, but it was way too pretty). Besides, even if it was, he didn't know what to do next. He had never taken care of babies before.

“Sorry boss, but I have to go somewhere.” He said suddenly to Zeus.

He put the letter in his robe, hugged the child tightly so as not to drop it, and flew as fast as he could to the people who could confirm his paternity, because they knew everything. He flew to Fates.

Throughout the flight to Hades, where the three ladies resided, little Hermaphroditus laughed, still running his hand over his “father's” face, neck, and clothes. Hermes himself was laughing too, especially when the little boy grabbed him by the nose. However, after a while, the baby began to weigh on him. If Hermes was going to keep him, he had to either find a nanny for the duration of the job or figure out some better way to carry the baby so his hands would always be free. When Hermes finally reached Hades, he covered the little boy's eyes (the land of the dead was not a place that such young children should see) and stepped inside. It didn't take him long to find the Fates, as they were usually in a room with a large stone table on which a map of the entire known world was carved. There Hermes found them arguing over their only eye. However, upon realizing that they had a visitor, they immediately called themselves to order.

“We knew you would come, messenger of the gods.” Clotho said.

“We would have baked cupcakes, but we didn't feel like it.” Lachesis added.

Hermes realized that he was still covering Hermaphroditus’ eyes, and this made the little one in his hands very restless, so the messenger of the gods removed his hand and let his “son” look around. Then he cleared his throat and said:

“I came here because...”

“Because you want to know if the child you hold in your arms is yours.” Atropos finished for him.

All three approached Hermes and leaned over Hermaphroditus, who was apparently frightened by the three “differently beautiful” maidens, because he turned his head and clutched “father's” robe tightly. Hermes, meanwhile, started stroking his back to calm him down. After a while, Clotho said:

“This is your son, Hermes.”

Hearing this, Hermes looked again at the child, especially at his eyes, which blinked curiously. The child smiled. The god of thieves felt a little embarrassed, and on the other hand, he felt a strange relief. The matter was settled. The Fates knew everything and finally dispelled his doubts about paternity. In fact, he could leave by now, but something inside him made him look up at the Fates, and as if in a trance, he asked:

“What awaits him?”

“What are we, fortunetellers?” Lachesis was annoyed.

“We can't reveal such things to you, because you will manipulate fate and make a terrible mess.” Atropos explained.

“I just want to know if my son has a terrible or a great fate.” Hermes replied.

“Listen, Herm,” Clotho began, “we understand that as a new father you are worried about your child, but if we now tell you what awaits Hermaphroditus, you may spoil everything and as a result his future will be worse than it was originally intended to be. You will either try to avoid it or, on the contrary, strive to fulfill it as soon as possible.”

Hermes had to admit they were right. However, inner curiosity and anxiety did not allow him to just accept it. So he resorted to a little trick. He smiled seductively at Fates and said:

“Did I mention that you look gorgeous today, ladies? So radiant and fanciful. Have you changed coats for more spring colors?”

All three giggled and turned their heads away in embarrassment. If they could, they would blush. Hermes already knew he had won. After all, it is known that in order to get information from the Fates, you have to flatter them a bit.

“Alright now, we can let you know on little secret.” Clotho replied. She leaned towards him, then whispered in the ear of the messenger of the gods: “Your son will be a being of two natures.”

She took two steps back. Hermes didn't quite understand this prophecy, but impatience appeared on Fates’ faces and all three sisters quickly chased him out of Hades.

On the surface, Hermes sat down on a nearby stone and set his son on his lap. Hermaphroditus gave him a broad smile, which made Hermes beam as well. But he soon sobered up. He didn't quite know what to do now. He had never cared for children in his life. The fact that they need to be changed and fed with milk he knew only from observations and reports from other parents. He wasn't afraid of changing diapers, after all, he'd seen worse things in life than baby poo, but still, he feared that he'd be able to take care of Hermaphroditus without killing him in the process.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Hermaphroditus’ face took a sad expression, and the little boy began to cry. Panicked, Hermes tried to calm himself. He lifted the baby up. Examining him carefully, he found no wounds or bruises. He also smelled the boy's diaper, but he could tell by the smell that it wasn't really a time for changing diapers. The messenger of the gods hugged his son tightly and began to rock him. However, this had no effect. Hermes really didn't know what was going on. It wasn't the diaper, or the pain, or the need for closeness, so what? Meanwhile, Hermaphroditus continued to weep. Hermes was afraid that someone would come running or that some wild beast would come here. It was settled – he needed the advice of someone who knew about childcare.

The god of thieves rose into the air, still cradling the screaming Hermaphroditus, and quickly flew back to Olympus. Hermaphroditus was still crying, which only made his father more nervous. Hermes held the boy close to him, stroked his head and whispered in his ear all the time: “Now, now. Don't worry. Everything will be fine…” However, the little boy continued to cry tearing at the ears of his father, who was trying to stay calm.

At some point, Hermes sighed deeply.

“Too bad you can't tell me what you really want...”

Once he reached Mount Olympus, he flew to the first person that came to mind when he thought of someone who might know how to handle small children.

“Forgive me, boss, for interrupting,” He began as soon as he flew into Hera's chamber, “but I need help.”

At the sight of the child in the messenger of the gods’ arms, Hera was speechless at first, and then an otherwise familiar smile of tenderness appeared on her face. Zeus' wife approached Hermes and bent over the boy, who did not stop crying for a moment. The face of the goddess was beaming all the time. Meanwhile, Hermes was getting more and more stressed out.

“Is this your baby?” Hera asked, and looked at the god of thieves, smiling even wider. “One can see the family resemblance right away.”

“Please help me. I… I don't know what's going on.” Hermes replied.

“Can you give him to me for a moment?” The goddess asked, holding out her hands to him.

Without a word, Hermes handed over his son to her, and then Hera raised one hand, in which a baby bottle, filled with milk, immediately materialized. Then Hera calmly but firmly put the nipple of the bottle into Hermaphroditus' mouth. At first, the boy didn't seem to understand what had just happened, but soon he started drinking the milk. Meanwhile, his father breathed a sigh of relief.

“So he was hungry...”

“Yes, I recognized the scream.”

“Scream?”

Hera looked away from Hermaphroditus and looked at Hermes.

“Babies can't communicate in any other way than by screaming. Over time, you can tell if a scream means hunger, pain, or a dirty diaper.”

“Oh…” Hermes just nodded understandingly. Meanwhile, Hera smiled kindly at him.

“By the way, it's really interesting that a guy who is usually asked for a favor is asking me for help.”

Hermes cleared his throat. A blush appeared on his cheeks, which, combined with his blue skin, took on a purple color.

“I can't help it, boss.” He shrugged. “I've never taken care of a baby before.”

“Then you can always ask me, Demeter or Hestia for advice.” Hera replied. She looked away from Hermes and looked at the baby she was nursing. She immediately put the bottle down on a nearby table and looked back at the messenger of the gods. “Looks like he's finished.”

Without saying a word, she handed the child over to his father. Hermaphroditus was as serene as before he left Hades. His little eyes blinked slowly until he finally closed them. By the rhythmic movement of his chest, Hermes guessed that his son had fallen asleep. The god of thieves looked at Hera gratefully.

“Thank you, boss.”

Narrator: And thus began Hermes' adventure with fatherhood.