Chapter Text
Mercury’s eyes followed the little mail truck belonging to that Graecus as it emerged from the tunnel.
Humming to himself, he pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against and opened his hand. A smooth, round stone appeared in his palm, and he absently rolled it between his fingers, watching the truck approach. As it passed, he flicked the stone with a swift, almost casual motion, sending it flying faster than any human could follow. It struck the tire, bursting it instantly, and a flicker of vindictive satisfaction crossed his face.
With his hands tucked in the pockets of his coat, Mercury watched as the truck swerved wildly, jerking from side to side before it finally slowed down and pulled over to a dark corner of the tunnel.
Perfect.
All he needed now was for the little rats to drift far enough from the truck. Then he could wipe their memories of Rome’s potential new legionaries. The loss of those trainees had been a waste; political maneuvering was already stripping Rome of her soldiers and defenses, but that was typical of Romans, and their resilience still stood strong. Besides, it would give him a chance to observe Hermes’ curious son up close.
His unwanted, annoying parasite—and he called Mercury the parasite; how distasteful—was so attached to this one, guarding him like a precious treasure. The demigod was undeniably curious, sensitive in ways that intrigued him and surprisingly adept at navigating transactions.
Hermes must be so proud that one of his spawn was closer in nature to him than the others.
How would he react with me nearby? A small, mean smirk crept across Mercury’s face as the idea became more and more appealing.
Soon, Mercury spotted a woman stepping out of the truck, marching to the back with clear frustration as she crouched to inspect the tire.
Still, there was no sign of Hermes’ demigod son—perhaps the little rabbit was still hiding inside.
A faint flicker of annoyance crept under his skin as he strolled closer, appearing beside the woman in an instant. She tensed immediately—good reflexes, he noted with mild interest—then looked up at him, her eyes widening in shock.
He smiled, giving her a quick once-over. A pretty enough little thing, with curls framing her face and wide brown eyes fixed on him, lashes long and dark.
But she was unimportant—a mere Graecus. And the Greeks could not be allowed to learn of the Romans.
She started to say something, but he simply flicked a finger against her forehead, knocking her out instantly as she crumpled to the ground.
After observing her for a moment, Mercury snapped his fingers, causing a faint shimmer to envelop her until she was completely obscured. To him, she remained visible, but to the little piece of Hermes tucked safely away, she was out of sight entirely. Now he just had to wait for the demigod to sense that something was amiss and emerge from his little burrow, walking right into Mercury’s trap.
A faint shimmer of excitement flickered in his chest as he spotted movement and the little demigod appear after a few minutes of waiting. But that excitement quickly turned to irritation when the little rabbit didn’t budge from the truck.
That was a complication.
If Mercury stepped too close, Hermes would be alerted, and that annoying Graecus would come rushing in. The truck was Hermes’ domain, and Mercury would be expelled the moment he tried to enter and drag the little rabbit out.
However, outside, it was Roman ground, so even if Hermes noticed, he wasn’t strong enough to expel him—at least not here.
So Mercury stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the mail truck and waiting, his irritation growing by the minute.
What a nuisance, not being allowed to share space with the Graecus. It was always one or the other, ever since the little mortals developed their strange ideas during what they called the Dark Ages—a fitting name, really, for there could be no light after Rome’s fall.
Suddenly, he caught a hint of movement, and in an instant, he was alert, pulling on the thievery domain he shared with Hermes to conceal himself. He didn’t particularly mind that this might attract that pest’s attention—Mercury was the one in charge here. In fact, he found it almost amusing to think of the Graecus finally affected for once; that pest was so unserious, so shamefully careless for a god of his supposed caliber—no order, no thought behind those vapid eyes.
And he was supposed to be Mercury’s counterpart.
Repulsive.
A thrill ran down his spine as he finally saw Hermes’ son appear, completely oblivious to him or the girl at his feet. Mercury studied the demigod. The son of the pest was a pretty thing, he had to admit—blonde, wavy hair, delicate features, and bright blue eyes full of caution. So, this one had some sense. Interesting. He was also smaller than most children of Hermes. The others he had seen were tall and thin, like his own, but this one was more solidly built, though still delicate-looking.
Yet, he was unmistakably that pest’s son, the way he moved so silently, scanning his surroundings, and how he analyzed the blown tire—it was all Hermes.
The favorite child, right in front of Mercury, almost within his grasp. He could nearly taste it, the excitement bubbling in the depths of his being—an urge to hunt, to catch the rabbit, to show Hermes. But the mortal didn’t dare venture too far from his father’s domain, and that instantly soured Mercury’s mood, frustration building within him.
His lips curled in disdain.
Mercury tapped his fingers against his thigh, his eyes narrowing in thought as he watched the demigod slowly turn and retrace his steps. His gaze shifted to the unconscious girl at his feet, a slow smile curling on his lips as an idea began to form.
With a quiet snap of his fingers, Mercury unraveled the magic that had concealed the girl, just in time for the little rabbit to turn. He spotted her and jumped, startled, the movement so reminiscent of a bunny that it almost urged Mercury to step closer.
But he couldn’t—not yet.
The little demigod’s eyes were wide, fixed on the girl, but he seemed relieved when he saw she was still breathing. Interesting, considering how much death lingered around the pest’s mail truck—a recent death, he could feel it deep within him. Yet, the deceased was a Greek demigod, as they traveled in threes, and he was only seeing two.
Hermes' responsibility, then.
But he could use the opportunity.
“She’s just sleeping,” Mercury remarked, stepping forward and letting the domain fall from his shoulders, making himself visible. He carefully shaped his expression, trying for a soft, mortal-like smile instead of his usual calculating one. The way his mouth curled felt foreign, but he still tried.
He needed to lure the rabbit out.
But the mortal simply stared at him, wide-eyed. Mercury knew he was handsome, but a lack of greeting was poor manners. It was essential to show respect to a superior. Yet Greek demigods were rarely the most courteous—too impertinent, never understanding the basics of respect.
What a failure of the Graecus pantheon, unable to control their spawn or even teach them the fundamentals. And they still insisted on keeping such close ties with mortals, despite their status as gods.
But he could forgive this pretty mortal—after all, he was Greek and unaware of the Romans' existence. Still, Mercury would show him the proper way to show deference to a god, though gentler than usual.
He’d try, at least. He didn’t want to scare this one off too quickly.
“Now, won’t you greet me properly, mortal?” he drawled, his tone pleasant as he expanded his aura, conjuring his favorite leather chair and sitting down, savoring the way the demigod’s eyes widened even further.
Reverence.
“Good night, sir,” the little rabbit stammered, his voice little more than a whisper. Yet, he remained where he was, causing a sharp jolt of annoyance to flare in Mercury’s chest.
How irritating. But he had to be gentle. Gentle.
“I didn’t quite catch that. Perhaps you should come a little closer and offer your greetings properly,” Mercury suggested, his smile never wavering.
“Good night, sir,” the mortal repeated, his voice more assured and slightly louder, yet he still remained rooted to the spot. Mercury’s gaze flicked to the hand pressed against the Hermes Express symbol, a flicker of disdain threatening to break his composure. He caught himself just in time, before the demigod could notice.
This would complicate things—having the pest’s son refuse to cooperate. No matter. Mercury would simply change his approach and devise a new plan.
Remaining seated in his chair, Mercury tilted his head and hummed thoughtfully, studying the mortal as he formulated his next move. Then he noticed it: the little rabbit’s eyes kept flicking to the girl almost unconsciously. Instantly, a surge of excitement rippled through the ichor in his veins—there was something he could exploit here.
He could almost feel the demigod slipping into his grasp.
Bending slightly, Mercury reached down and caught a lock of the girl's curly hair, twirling it around his finger as his gaze stayed fixed on the little rabbit. A smirk crept onto his face, his voice laced with suggestion as he asked, “Are you quite certain you wouldn’t prefer to come a little closer?”
The mortal's face twisted with fury, something Mercury noted with a touch of intrigue—how interesting. So, the little demigod had some bite, especially when it came to protecting his companions. A good trait for a soldier, Mercury mused with a hint of approval, watching as Hermes' son’s gaze stayed locked on his hand as it rested atop the girl's head. But that approval quickly soured into a flicker of irritation when the mortal, eyes blazing, snarled, entirely without respect, “Don’t you dare—”
But as he snarled, the little rabbit stepped away from the truck at last.
Finally.
Mercury's smile twisted into something far more natural, his own thrill unmistakable. In a blur faster than mortal senses could register, he had the demigod pinned against the wall, his hand firm around the delicate throat but with a measured restraint—mortals were so fragile, so terribly easy to break.
He’d seen his own children die from such trivial causes enough times to learn.
He finally had the pretty mortal in his grasp, and a thrill of euphoria made Mercury almost giddy with satisfaction. His goal was within reach—Hermes’ prized son, his precious little jewel, now caught, and such an intriguing demigod at that.
Mercury studied him carefully, taking in every detail: the high cheekbones, the delicate curve of his jaw, the vivid, almost unsettling brightness of those blue eyes. They seemed almost too striking, too intense—verging on the divine, yet curiously, they didn’t remind him of Hermes. His first thought, strangely, was the sky. Curious. Meanwhile, the mortal’s desperation showed as he clawed at Mercury’s hand, futilely trying to pry himself free.
Amusing, really—he was a mere demigod, and Mercury was a god.
But this behavior was unacceptable, and he had promised himself he would teach the little rabbit a lesson. Besides, it was the perfect opportunity to test that intriguing scene he had spied that day, this time firsthand, rather than through the pest's eyes.
“Maybe I should teach you respect,” Mercury whispered, allowing his aura to slip out slowly, surrounding the demigod in the same deliberate, measured way as before.
He tested the waters, feeling the demigod’s reaction, though there was a hint of amusement in his approach—he couldn’t resist toying with him just a little.
The little rabbit was simply too interesting, and his reactions even more so.
Simply fascinating.
The demigod’s response was immediate. He stiffened, his fingers pressed tightly against Mercury’s hand. A flicker of displeasure crossed Mercury’s face at the discomfort, but he remained composed, knowing it was nothing he couldn’t easily handle.
Slowly, Mercury extended his aura, guiding it toward the demigod’s skin, then beneath it—seeking the deepest layers. This was the easiest way to understand someone, to see inside them until he could touch their core.
Mortals, after all, were so difficult to decipher. With this, he could test his curiosity.
He watched with growing interest as the little rabbit began to tremble. The demigod’s fingers tightened around Mercury’s hand, and his pretty blue eyes shimmered with the beginnings of tears.
Curious.
He hadn’t expected such a reaction, not when he was being so careful, so gentle. But perhaps the Greeks were just soft, and the mortal had never truly felt the presence of a god before.
It made sense, considering how that pest treated this particular one among his countless spawn. Hermes had so many children, it was almost vulgar to witness. Any random, boorish mortal who happened to steal his wallet seemed enough to excite the pest.
How utterly distasteful.
Then the little rabbit started to thrash around, which was irritating, but Mercury simply adjusted his grip, trying to make the demigod settle down without causing him any harm, using as much care as he could manage.
His aura remained inside the mortal, probing thoroughly, and as expected, he found an echo of Hermes' aura within him—perhaps a stronger echo than usual. A hint of disappointment crept in; Mercury had hoped for something more. But there was still enough to study, enough to uncover what made this mortal so special to Hermes, what made him different.
Mercury couldn’t help but wonder how the little demigod would react—would he feel it? Besides, the thought of possessing a piece of something that belonged to Hermes, his prized son, someone the pest couldn't protect—not from Mercury—gave rise to a malicious sense of satisfaction.
The idea became all the more enticing, and Mercury began to draw a small piece of the little rabbit’s energy away—just a fraction, something barely perceptible, enough to leave no lasting harm.
But there would need to be a trade. His commerce domain stirred within him, pulsing strongly as Mercury considered what to offer. Then, he felt it—something different.
Fascinating.
Focusing on it, he paused his aura momentarily.
What he saw in the depths of the little demigod was intriguing—fractures of color, blue and peach, mixing together in a way that piqued his interest. And then, the faintest trace of death, something so subtle he hadn’t noticed it before. If he were anyone else, with a different set of domains, he might never have felt it. Even with his expertise, he might never have recognized it—had he not decided to take the piece of the little rabbit's energy.
Mercury wanted it.
It was a rare treasure, a unique find—something Mercury had never encountered before. The urge to claim it surged within him, a deep, insistent pull to seize this precious thing before anyone else could. It was priceless, and he wanted it. His commerce domain thrummed in his chest, driving him to take it, to possess it, to hoard it.
A thought flashed through his mind: Did Hermes know? But no, Hermes couldn’t know. If he did, he wouldn’t have allowed his little jewel to slip through his fingers.
And that, Mercury thought with a smirk, made the opportunity all the more delicious.
A rare treasure like this demanded something of equal worth, and what could be more valuable than a god’s own energy?
Perhaps this action was improper, but the desire was undeniable.
His domain pulsed beneath his skin, and in that moment, Mercury felt less like himself and more like a vessel—an avatar of that primal urge, the shapeless hunger his essence had preserved through the eons.
The little demigod was a jewel, valuable beyond measure, and this exchange was an honor—a rare gift for a mortal.
Carefully, he drew the treasure closer, pulling it inside himself, settling it gently against his chest, near his own core.
In return, he left a part of his aura behind, mirroring the process he had done to himself, wrapping his essence around the jewel’s heart, close to the center of its energy, where it was most potent.
The little rabbit squirmed, a reaction that piqued Mercury's curiosity. Even more intriguing, though, was the sight of the demigod’s tear-streaked face, the redness creeping over his eyes and cheeks. How interesting—mortals could blush. Mercury had once tried to mimic it, but instead, he turned gold, which was hardly the same. The red, however, was far more charming, and this little rabbit was the proof of it, in Mercury’s mind.
But why the tears?
Was the sensation so overwhelming that it brought tears to his eyes?
“How sweet,” Mercury crooned, his eyes following the trail of tears as they fell. “You really are such a sensitive little darling.”
The little jewel shuddered, his gaze shifting past Mercury, and the god knew immediately that the mortal was looking at Hermes' mail truck. That was unacceptable.
Mercury wanted to demand the little rabbit’s attention, but he resisted the urge. He couldn’t be too harsh—mortals were fragile, after all.
Gently, Mercury released his grip on the demigod's throat, then tilted the little rabbit’s head upward, forcing him to meet his gaze directly. He wanted the mortal to look at him, to feel his attention, to acknowledge him.
“Now, now, isn’t it rather rude to ignore someone who’s speaking to you?” he chided, his tone controlled, though a hint of displeasure slipped through.
It was important the little rabbit understood—there was still a hierarchy to be respected here.
“Forgive me, sir,” the jewel murmured softly, his hands clenched around the hem of his shirt—an instinctive gesture, a tell.
Mercury observed with interest, though he still couldn’t quite decipher what it revealed about the demigod. Not yet, at least. But he would, eventually. The demigod—Luke Castellan—was too fascinating to not encounter again, and the aura he’d embedded within him would ensure the mortal never slipped beyond his reach.
That connection, of course, held other advantages as well.
"I wonder what your father is thinking, letting you wander about like this," Mercury mused, glancing down at the little jewel in his grasp. He dismissed the apology—content for now that the demigod seemed to understand his place, properly subdued.
But once again, the thought struck him: how could Hermes have left such a prize unguarded? The notion sparked a thrill of satisfaction, an urge to flaunt his new claim.
It was the perfect chance to needle that ever-present parasite in the only way that could truly convey Mercury’s disdain.
Slowly, he tugged at the domains where Hermes was strongest, pulling just enough to send a ripple—a subtle signal that would surely catch the pest’s attention.
The little rabbit looked up at him with furrowed brows, eyeing Mercury like prey poised to bolt. So wary, yet strangely charming in its vulnerability. A smirk tugged at Mercury's lips, the satisfaction of antagonizing the pest mingling with the giddiness of having the jewel look at him like that.
His intentions were clear, though the demigod only seemed more confused by it.
“Doesn’t he realize,” Mercury whispered, leaning down to the little rabbit’s ear, watching as he stiffened and curled in on himself, “that his precious little jewel might get… taken?”
The demigod’s body tensed, and Mercury could practically feel Hermes’ attention snap into place, as if summoned by the very words.
What impeccable timing.
Romaioi, get away from my son! the pest bellowed in their shared space, though he didn’t cross the line—he couldn’t, no matter how much he tried, which only made Mercury wince slightly, a sharp pang flickering deep inside him.
But it didn’t amount to much.
Here, Mercury held the upper hand, and Hermes had no power to force him out, no matter how badly he wanted to make his presence known.
Focused as he was on maintaining the boundary, knowing how eager the pest was to push through—though it was a futile effort—Mercury absentmindedly felt small, warm hands pressing against his chest.
He allowed himself to be pushed back, despite the impertinence of it.
He decided, just this once, to let the moment slide.
Graecus, he remarked with a drawl, your son is in Roman territory and has seen Rome’s soldiers. Protocol dictates that I must erase his memories to avoid... the clashes our people had in the past.
Don’t go playing these games, the pest retorted, his voice sharp, I’m not a fool.
Really? I wouldn’t have guessed, Mercury commented casually, relishing the moment of making the annoying parasite falter for once, especially after centuries of inconvenient comments and jokes at his expense.
You want my son, Hermes dismissed him, his tone brimming with irritation. It was incredibly rude, but Mercury didn’t expect more from the barbarian. You can’t have him. He’s mine. He’s Greek. His voice shifted, becoming more venomous as he added, Or do you wish for war, Romaioi?
For all Mercury's talk of duty—which, irritating as it was, he always followed, for the good of Rome—he couldn’t deny that he truly wanted to steal the little jewel away. He longed to take him somewhere far off, to study him, to uncover what made him so different.
Why did he carry the scent of death? What was this fractured essence? Why was it so… mixed?
There were so many questions, and not a single answer.
The threat of war was not one to be taken lightly, and Mercury knew the Greek god was serious—though it was a rarity. Mercury would never jeopardize Rome’s safety, especially not for a mortal, no matter how fascinating that mortal might be.
The temptation still lingered, buried beneath his fury at the Graecus' audacity. But Mercury calmed himself, reminding himself that he still held the aura inside the mortal—his backup plan and trade result. He doubted the pretty mortal would dare to speak, but if he did... well, Mercury would handle it.
Nothing a well-timed threat and a display of force couldn't reinforce, particularly when the little rabbit was so compliant—such a stark contrast to Hermes.
A war, Graecus? Are you sure? Or do you forget how Rome took over the city-states of Ancient Greece and annexed them? Mercury retorted smoothly, his tone laced with poison.
And yet, nowadays, I’m the dominant deity, the pest mused, his voice darkly amused. When mortals think of gods, they think of me. In their minds, you’re just a version of me.
The words hit their mark, and Mercury’s face twisted in a brief but violent surge of anger, his gaze darkening.
Remember this, Romaioi, Hermes warned, his tone hardening, keep to your duty and stay away from my son, or there will be war.
Then, silence fell. The pest retreated, his attempt to take control thwarted. Yet his words lingered, causing Mercury’s essence to pulse with anger. The need to lash out surged within him, a desire to obliterate something—perhaps the economy of some random city, just to ease the frustration deep within.
But he did none of those things.
Mercury controlled himself—he wasn’t some impulsive fool. He was a planner, a strategist, and he always got what he wanted. His mind, now fueled by anger, began to work, finding ways to convince the little jewel that he was the better choice—better than that pest.
Wouldn’t it be the ultimate victory to have Hermes’ son choose him? Willingly, no less? Especially since he couldn’t simply steal the demigod away.
It was a bonus, he could admit, that the little demigod was so fascinating. It only made Mercury want to take him away more, his domain pulsing with the desire. But he reminded himself, with a twinge of self-discipline, that patience was key.
He could wait—he always did.
After all, the most valuable deal is often the one that requires patience. Rushing through events risks missed opportunities or unfavorable terms. Being slow, deliberate, would yield the better results.
As if nothing had happened, Mercury turned back to the little rabbit, who, quite charmingly, was studying him with a careful gaze. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he spoke. “Regrettably, that would be rather inconvenient, especially after all the effort put into separating my people from yours.”
The little rabbit hesitated, wetting his lips nervously before finally speaking. "Is that related to whatever you did to my friend?"
“Yes,” Mercury replied bluntly, no longer feeling the need for pretense. He tilted his head, his gaze sharp and calculating. “You cannot be allowed to remember the soldiers you saved.” He closed the distance between them, his smile smooth and practiced, his tone attempting to be soothing, though it felt almost alien. “It won’t hurt, or at least, it’s not meant to.”
He paused suddenly, as if struck by a thought. His eyes lingered on the demigod, studying him through half-lidded lashes. This was an opportunity—if the jewel accepted, it would make his plans much easier.
His desire to possess the new, unique jewel simmered deep within him.
But it needed to be of equal value, his domain demanded it.
“But I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to an... understanding,” he added, his voice taking on a more inviting note, testing the waters.
The demigod seemed startled, stepping back until he met the wall. He cast another glance behind Mercury, a gesture that irked him further—especially after his earlier encounter with the pest. Yet, Mercury couldn’t help but watch, intrigued to see how the little, curious thing would react. The demigod was clever, it seemed, noticing how Mercury hesitated to get too close to that thing, which only made things more interesting.
A pleased warmth stirred within him.
What will you do, jewel?
“May I have the honor of knowing the Lord’s name?” the little rabbit asked, subtly inching away from him, as if trying to slide along the wall. It was amusing—did he think Mercury wouldn’t notice?
It was like watching a skittish little animal, so charming in its nervousness.
Then, as if frozen under Mercury’s thoughtful gaze, the demigod paused, doing his best to remain still. Mercury watched, noting how his anxiety grew as the silence stretched, until he let out a hum, which seemed to heighten the little rabbit's unease.
He could reveal his identity, and the temptation was undeniable, but Mercury reminded himself to be patient. Allowing the demigod to uncover it on his own would engage him more, a little game—perhaps it would spark a curiosity to know Mercury as deeply as Mercury was intrigued by him.
It would also buy him time, open more opportunities to meet, and, most importantly, reduce the risk of the Greek pantheon discovering anything—at least not that it was him, specifically.
Smiling enigmatically, he said at last, “I could grant you this honor, but it would be far more rewarding for you to uncover it yourself. You seem capable enough.”
“But how can I offer proper respect or avoid offending you without knowing your identity, sir?” the demigod pressed, daring to continue his little escape attempt.
It was amusing, really.
The little rabbit was mortal—how could he think he could outrun Mercury?
“Why this sudden wish to please a god not of your own people, Lucas?” Mercury retorted, amusement lacing his tone as he watched the demigod freeze mid-step at the mention of his name—the Latin version of it, far more pleasant to the ear.
The pest was irritating, but some of his habits were fascinating to witness, and, for once, they were proving useful.
“How do you know that name?” the little rabbit asked, his voice barely a whisper, eyes wide as they locked onto Mercury. It sent a pleased tingle up his spine.
He was looking at him.
“I know many things,” Mercury drawled, gliding closer to the mortal, who remained frozen in place. “For instance, I’m aware you were making a rather charming attempt to slip into that mail truck before I could catch you.”
Cradling the curious thing’s face in his hands with as much tenderness as he could manage, Mercury watched the mortal stare up at him with those wide, captivating, sky-blue eyes.
“Unfortunately, that strategy would inevitably fail,” he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of amusement. He sighed, as though resigned to the task of teaching this little creature the hierarchy of things—how soft the Greeks could be. His aura flickered around him, his control slipping just enough to make his eyes glow faintly, a subtle, silent display of his power. “After all, I’m a god, mortal.”
Unexpectedly, the pretty mortal’s eyes filled with tears.
Fascinated, Mercury watched as the tears trailed down the little rabbit’s cheeks, his gaze following each drop with curious intensity. Mortals were strange, so capable of producing water from their eyes purely through emotion—so spontaneous, so raw.
What kind of crying was this, he wondered. He’d heard there were many types.
The thought of gathering the fragile thing up, whisking him away to some place of his own, tugged at him. But he couldn’t. Not yet.
“I’ve made my decision,” Mercury declared, his eyes fixed as he studied Lucas’ features—he wanted to understand.
With deliberate motion, he placed his fingers over the demigod’s eyes, obscuring his vision, while his aura wrapped around him, careful but insistent—gentleness was a challenge, but not impossible.
He had never needed to suppress his true nature, yet in this moment, he would.
There was nothing he couldn’t do, and failure was not an option.
“I want you to remember me, Graecus.”
Soon, the pretty mortal collapsed, and Mercury swiftly caught him, preventing him from hitting the ground.
He stared down at the relaxed, sleeping face of the demigod, and once again, an urge stirred within him—to take him, to claim him before anyone else could take the treasure first. But, just as quickly, he suppressed it, adjusting the mortal in his arms and turning toward the other Greek demigod's direction.
Crouching, Mercury allowed the little rabbit to rest his head against his shoulder, his fingers gently brushing through the mortal's hair. With a quiet sigh, he withdrew his hand from the hair and extended it toward the girl, his fingers making contact with her forehead.
He needed to reshape her memories, crafting a narrative convincing enough to satisfy the Greek pantheon—particularly Hermes. Something plausible enough to appease that pest, yet subtle enough to keep him from probing too deeply.
Focusing intently, Mercury set to work, guiding the girl’s subconscious to craft a narrative that would align with her experiences while diverting attention away from both the Romans and his own involvement. The task was completed swiftly, the changes seamless.
It seemed she was particularly adept at avoiding complications, a trait Mercury didn’t care for much in general, but one that proved useful to him now.
With that task complete, Mercury turned his attention back to the little jewel, studying him closely once more. He extended his hands into the air, furrowing his brows as a card materialized, the Latin words written upon it slowly coming into focus. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he tucked the card into the demigod's pocket, his gaze lingering on the mortal’s serene expression.
It would be a long time before he saw Lucas again, Mercury knew, especially with Hermes’ involvement. The Greek god would not let his son stray far from their territory, not if he could help it.
But the demigod wouldn’t stay sequestered there forever, that he knew.
Unlike his own people, the Greeks had the strange tradition of making their demigods live among mortals, exposed to the dangers of the world, vulnerable to monsters. It was a flaw in their system, one that worked to Mercury’s benefit now.
Slowly, Mercury hoisted the little jewel with one arm, his other hand gripping the back of the girl’s shirt as he made his way to the truck.
Once there, he unceremoniously placed the girl just across the limits, while setting Lucas down more carefully, close to the boundary but not yet over it. With a huff, he felt the pest stir again, but he ignored it, taking one last look at the demigod. He was asleep, as planned, and would remain so for a few more days to fit the narrative Mercury had carefully crafted.
He would be fine—and, more importantly, he would remember.
Satisfied, Mercury crossed the boundary, only to be met with an instant, violent push. Hermes’ presence brushed against him for a fleeting moment before the two could no longer coexist. Mercury was swiftly hauled back, his consciousness torn away and pulled toward the other part of himself.
Blinking slowly as he snapped back into place, Mercury stretched his limbs and slid his hands into the pockets of his coat, his gaze lingering on the direction he had just come from. He stood in the middle of a busy market, the mortals moving around him, as if they couldn’t see him.
Now, all he had to do was wait.