The smell of sewage is overpowering, a sickening mix of rot and decay from the city's abandoned parts. It is often hidden by underground systems, preventing the sickening smell from ever reaching the surface. But in this market, its vile odor wafts into the air, lingering, refusing to fade.

Shady deals happen in dimly lit corners. The distinct, sharp scent of iron mingles with distant cries, becoming mere background noise, drowned out by market's shouting.

Finding prey is hard today, but Theo has no other options. He has to be careful, or he'll get beaten again. The bruises left behind by the shop's owner are already a nuisance. It doesn't help that his vision is blurry, his focus slipping - maybe it's the hunger. Today he has to get something big, he can afford to starve but his sister can't. And besides, her tuition fees are coming up.

Then, his eyes lock onto someone.

A man, well-dressed in a slick black suit, sunglasses perched on his nose, a designer watch flashing on his wrist. He strides across the market, checking the time.

A lost rich boy, perhaps?

Pity. Theo will take his big fat wallet as a lesson fee.

Cutting through the alleyway to get ahead of his prey, Theo's feet move quickly. The stench of stale beer, sweat, and rotting produce thickens the air, clinging to his clothes as he weaves and slides through the crowd. A shoulder bumps against him, hard, but he barely registers it. He has a target. He just needs a clean entry.

Then he shouts.

"SHIT! MY WALLET! THIEF!"

Heads snap around. A wave of murmurs spreads through the crowd. Theo watches closely, eyes sharp on the man in the black suit. If he’s carrying a wallet, instinct should kick in—his hands will move, even for just a second. That’s all Theo needs.

But nothing.

Several people pat their pockets, but the man doesn’t react. No check. No clue. No easy grab.

"Fuck."

This is bad. Theo has to do it the traditional way.

He moves. Slipping through the shifting bodies, he adjusts his pace—not too fast, not too slow, just enough to blend in. Then, a sudden burst forward.

He shoulder-checks the man in the black suit. Solid muscle under expensive fabric—definitely not some clueless rich kid. Theo’s hand slips into the man’s pocket. The fabric is smooth, crisp. No leather. No cash.

His fingers brush something heavy and cold.

Metal.

Not what he was expecting, but no time to think. He grabs it, pulls it out, and stuffs it into his own pocket in one fluid motion.

The man barely reacts, but Theo doesn’t wait to find out if he noticed. He mouths a quick apology, then bolts.

His pulse slams against his ribs. Breath sharp, heart hammering.

Footsteps.

His own… or someone following?

Doesn’t matter. Just run.

----------------------------------------

Through the crowd. He shoves past a vendor. A woman yells—he doesn’t stop. Into the alleyway. Shadows stretch long in the dim light. His feet hit metal—fire escape.

Theo moves on instinct. His breath ragged as he hears heartbeats thunder in his ear, drowning out everything else. The metal creaks as he climb, hand slick against

the rusted bars.

The roof. Finally. He swings himself over and ducks low, slipping behind one of the air conditioning units. The metal hums against his back, the steady vibration grounding him as he sits, hazy and breathless.

He stays still, counting the seconds, listening.

Nothing. No shouts. No hurried footsteps. No one chasing.

His shoulders loosen, breath slowing. He reaches into his pocket. Time to check the prize.

No wallet.

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Instead, he pulls out a pocket watch.

Who the hell still carries a pocket watch? The guy had a perfectly good wristwatch too—what’s the point of having both? Weird.

Theo turns it over in his palm, the metal cool and smooth against his fingers. Looks well maintained. No scratches. No rust. Maybe some antique nut would pay for it

Then—clink.

Another sound, faint but distinct, from inside his pocket. Something else.

He fishes it out. A coin.

Old. Caked in dirt and grime. The edges worn, but the weight feels off - too heavy for copper, to solid for junk.

He drags the hem of his shirt over it, rubbing away the filth, eyes narrowing as the metal gleams in the moonlight.

Gold.

“FUCK YEAH!”

Oops. A bit too loud.

But finally - finally - he could sell this to anyone and get a decent chunk too. An antique. Gold.

Forget food. He could send his sister to college.

The thought barely settles before a sharp creak cuts through the night, followed by the groaning protest of metal shifting under weight.

Fire escape. Someone’s coming.

His feet move before his brain does—pushing off the floor, muscles burning, as he leaps to the next building.

Glance back.

A group of men in black suits. But these ones? Heavier. Bulkier. Padded.

Body armor.

His stomach drops. Shit.

The rich guy's bodyguards.

He poked a tiger’s den.

Adrenaline floods his veins, the ache of old bruises keeping him sharp. Focused. His eyes dart, scanning for any way out.

There!

A fire escape. If he times it right, he could fake a jump down, then climb inside one of the apartments.

But - every window is shut

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

There goes the plan. No time to think. He leaps onto the fire escape and starts climbing down fast.

"Not again!"

Open alley. Two ends. Both blocked.

At least forty bodyguards. Black suits, body armor, silent and waiting. Shit.

He won’t just get beaten this time. He’ll get killed.

No exits. No way out.

Even if he somehow escaped, they'd be hunting him.

Sound of footsteps.

Slow. Measured. Closing in.

He’s dead. Just another forgotten body in this godforsaken part of town.

…Sorry, Ellie.

Your brother let you down.

Then - suddenly.

"Don't give in too soon man."

... What.

"I will help you - only if you help me."

No. No way. Hallucinating now? Figures. This must be the light people talk about before they die.

Wow. Awesome. Fantastic. Great, great, gre—

"Nothing to lose right?" the voice said in his ear.

... Yeah.

"Great! Let me borrow your arm." His arm moves. Not by his will. Fingers clench around something unseen. The air shimmers, a sudden pulse of light rippling outward.

And then—he's airborne. No, scratch that. He’s falling. Fast

"THE HELL?" He can't even hear his screaming as wind slices across his face. His legs feel numb, his stomach lurching as the ground rushes up to meet him.

"Hiya kid! Name's Hermes! Pleasur-"

"GROUND FIRST!"

"Right!"

His arm yanks forward on its own, fingers clenching around something unseen. Another pulse—a shockwave of gold and silver—the air fractures like stardust, spiraling into a perfect circle.

And just like that—

His feet slam onto solid ground.

A roof.

Not one he recognizes.

"Okay! Again. Name's Her-"

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"

Theo’s legs give out, his body hitting the rooftop as a shudder racks through him.

His chest heaving, lungs burning like he just ran a marathon in freezing air. His fingers twitch against the rooftop, trying to confirm that yes, he’s still here. Still alive.

His hoodie and shorts—already falling apart before—are now barely more than wind-torn rags. His hair? Feels like someone dumped a truckload of gel on it, frozen stiff from the sheer force of the wind.

"Rude."

The voice. Still here.

From his ... pocket?

He reaches into his pocket—and something moves.

His fingers brush against metal, but before he can grab it, the coin wriggles on its own.

Theo yanks it out.

The coin flips rapidly in midair, like it’s been tossed by an invisible hand. Spinning. Spinning. Never landing.

"Okay! Once again—Hermes is my name, but I’m also known as the guy who just saved your ass. You’re welcome."

It talks. The fucking coin talks. And it glows, too, because of course it does. It's not enough that he was flying earlier.

Theo stares, mind blank.

"Like… the bag?"

"Yes, like the ba—No! The god, dumbass!"

The coin flings itself straight at his face.

"OW!"

The coin stop moving and lands neatly on the ground.

Theo blinks.

"So ... a coin is a god?" Yeah. Didn't expect to say that today.

"Yes!" the voice—Hermes—replies, far too enthusiastically.

He tried to stand up. His entire body trembles uncontrollably. His head spins. vision blurring. His stomach lurches, bile rising in his throat—threatening, but never quite escaping.

"Yikes, so it really is this bad," the coin hums.

Slowly, carefully, he lowers himself into a lotus position. His muscles scream in protest. He feels like absolute shit.

"What did you do?" His voice is hoarse. He just wants to go home.

"Just did what I always do—opened a path."

Theo suddenly hates Hermes.

"... Wow. Thank you for the insight, Professor." He mutters under his breath, sarcasm laced in every word.

His legs continue to shake, muscles rebelling against him, but he forces himself up. One foot. Then the other. The wind brushes against his face as he wobbles upright.

Then he notices.

An orange hue spreads across the rooftop. The last light of the sun stretches long shadows over the city.

"Where the fuck are we?" He snatches up the coin, fingers tightening around the metal. His knuckles turn white.

"How should I know? I was focused on saving your smooth baby bottom—excuse me for not looking both ways," Hermes' voice drips with sarcasm.

Theo exhales sharply. Yeah. Great. Fantastic.

"Oh, hey! Why not learn to use my power now?" Hermes chimes in, way too cheerful for the situation.

Theo grits his teeth. At this rate, they’ll turn to dust.

"Pray tell, what is your power?" He fights the urge to roll his eyes. This is still a god. A god who just saved him. He should not be rude.

Shit.

"Well! My authority is Passage!" The coin hums int his pocket. "As the god of trave—"

"Cool. How do I use it?" He asks. PATIENTLY.

A pause

"... Well, somebody’s in a rush~"

Theo wants to deck a god. Or in this case, a coin.

"Just do what I did!"

How. Helpful.