He recognized those sandals instantly—it was Harmes.
The messenger of the gods. The god of travel.
He dropped from the sky with effortless grace, his silver cloak trailing behind him like a comet's tail.
"Damn show-off," Kael muttered.
Harmes hit the ground without a sound—yet the air trembled. Power rolled off him like heat from the sun.
Then he spoke—smooth, sharp, echoing through the courtyard.
"Hello, Children of Olympus."
Then he looked directly at Kael.
"And cousins."
His silver eyes gleamed like forged moonlight. His silver cloak shimmered in the sunlight, casting flashes of light across the courtyard. He stood tall—posture flawless, like he'd been carved straight out of command itself.
No one moved. Not a breath.
Every student knelt, heads lowered, too afraid to even glance up.
Then his voice broke the stillness again—calm, but heavy with authority.
"Listen up, demigods. You were all selected for a quest."
The air tightened.
