The Mirrors

You voted, and STAY won. You kept him on her stage, and her channel stays under review. November ninth, 9 a.m., Aphrodite's marble bath: she plans day thirty like a wedding. On her giant phone, two live tiles, hers big, his small, and a red button right beside his. Sunday, you're my guest, darling, she purrs. My live. My button. Her live, her risk, Hermes shrugs. I'm just the guest.

Noon, her hall of mirrors, a fitting for Sunday. In every mirror, someone stands beside him. He turns. Nobody. Just a dark coin and three red seeds, like the empty seat in her chariot. Hermes knows that trick. He wore it once, against the giants: a helmet that hides a god from gods. So who's wearing it now?

He grabs the empty air. His glove closes on cold iron. He pulls. Nobody follows the god of the dead, says the voice. Day one, the tenth viewer. Halloween, the guest in his mask. Saturday, the voice on the voicemail. Hades. The last line. If Hermes passes him, the god of the dead goes mortal. One follower, uncle? Hermes grins. Sunday, on her stage, I pass you.

Here is the trap: on a YouTube Go Live Together stream, the ads go to the host. The analytics too. And the host can remove the guest at any time.

Now the choice: tell Olympus, and the god nobody follows might finally get followers. Hide it, and Hades stays invisible, one seat away. And at 9:12 p.m., Aphrodite gets an offer for Sunday's button. She doesn't say no.