Hermes

Hermes is not the messenger of the Gods. He moves with swiftness beyond measure, light itself bends to his stride, sound trails behind his laughter. On Greek Astra, Hermes is the flash at the corner of one’s eye, the blur between heartbeats, the messenger whose words reach their mark before they are even spoken.

Yet speed alone does not define him. Hermes is a trickster, weaving lies into truths and truths into riddles. His mischief is not malice but motion, a constant shifting that unsettles the stagnant. Where others demand reverence, he delights in play, his clever tongue and nimble hands shaping fate in unexpected ways.

Legends whisper that he can slip through locked doors and vanish into thin air, that his footsteps skim the edge of reality itself. Even the gods watched him warily, for no one could predict where Hermes would land next. Since on Greek Astra, he’s grown slightly bored. He is the spark of curiosity, the chaos of invention, the restless pulse that reminds even immortals that the universe was never meant to stand still, he looks beyond Earth or even the Astras to see what’s in the universe as a whole, if only he had a way to accomplish this.