𝐖𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 | percy jackson

a meeting with the messenger god

"Time and space are easy, kids. Parenting is... something else entirely," Hermes sighed, his voice carrying the weight of millennia. He sank deep into a cream sofa, seated in a private room that felt removed from the gambling world the demigods were just in. The walls were stark, save for the centerpiece of the room—a sleek, glass slate holding an aquarium shimmering with blue light behind the God. 

Ciarda glanced at it with disinterest, her sharp eyes unimpressed by the display. "Have a seat," Hermes gestured, his tone casual. Ciarda hesitantly sat, only doing so when Annabeth tugged at the coat she wore.

A waiter, moving with a practised grace, approached and placed a glass of whiskey before Hermes. The God didn't bother with a thank you, merely watching as the woman retreated into the dim light. Percy, sitting nearby, offered a quick, "Cheers," in her direction, but his attempt at warmth was met with a startled look. The waiter's green eyes widened before she scurried away, eager to disappear.

Low hums of jazz were muffled by the isolated walls. Hermes turned to Ciarda, and something shifted in his expression. "I remember you," He murmured. "You were there the last time I saw Luke."

Ciarda didn't flinch. Her voice was calm and detached as she responded, "Yes. I heard you argue. He said it was your fault—everything that happened to his mom. That he hated you."

Each word she spoke was like a blade, sharp and unsympathetic. The wounds she opened were old but deep, and though Hermes's face betrayed little, the glass in his hand trembled ever so slightly. She wasn't fussed, he hurt her best friend. 

He took a long gulp of whiskey, letting the burn silence his reply. The quiet that followed was delicate. "Help us get to the Underworld." Annabeth's clear voice shattered the fragility. "Help us retrieve Zeus's master bolt from Hades, and he'll see that you care."

Hermes didn't respond immediately. The indistinct jazz seemed to swell in the stillness, filling the room whilst his fingers traced the rim of the whiskey glass. The crystal gleamed under the light, probably worth more than Percy's mother's car.

Finally, Hermes raised his eyes, locking them onto Ciarda's. There was something raw, almost pleading, in his gaze, but she held her stare, unflinching. The weight of a god's power radiated from him, a subtle tremor that made her stomach churn with instinctive fear. But she stood firm, refusing to yield.

There is a way into the Underworld," Hermes said bitterly. "A secret way. I've helped others find it before." He paused. "Do you know what happens? Every time?" His postured hardened. "Every single time."

"You don't want my help," He muttered, the finality in his words clear. "Trust me."

 Hermes sipped at his whiskey while his eyes drifted between the young demigods. Percy glanced nervously at Ciarda, who sat rigid. She didn't seem impressed—or worse, she seemed disappointed. Percy swallowed, knowing if Hermes caught a whiff of that disdain, things could spiral.

"No, we actually kind of do," Percy mentioned quietly, his voice breaking the stalemate. He regretted it instantly, the way three pairs of eyes snapped to him, but pressed on.

"I was warned to stay away from Luke and his mother," The god began softly. His chords were laced with regret. "Warned that no matter how much I tried to help, I would only make things worse. But I went anyway. And it wasn't just bad for Luke. It was awful for all of us." He stared at his glass, swirling the amber liquid inside. "Do you know what that feels like?"

The air seemed to tighten around necks like a fateful noose, waiting for a response. But none came from Ciarda for a long, simmering moment. Then, her voice cut through the room bashfully. "I don't really care."