The temple’s great archway was inlaid with silver runes, a looping inscription that shimmered as one moved, the words appearing to follow the light: Fortune favours the fleet of foot and the quicker of mind.
Above the arch, a frieze depicted scenes of exchange: sailors unloading goods, scribes tallying ledgers, and masked figures passing purses in the dark. At the centre stood Hermes himself, half-smiling, one hand extended in greeting, the other palming a golden coin behind his back. The smile was neither kind nor cruel, only knowing, and it gave the impression that the God had already read every thought that entered the temple.
A pair of bronze doors, etched with wings and compass roses, marked the threshold. Travellers had worn their handles smooth; merchants had left offerings of coins wedged between the door’s seams, hoping for luck in their next deal. Beneath the steps, rows of pigeon-holes lined the foundation, each stuffed with rolled messages or scraps of parchment, a tribute to Hermes as patron of messengers and scribes.
Colourful banners of red and gold silk fluttered from the rooftop, painted with winged sandals and open hands. At the corners of the roofline, gargoyles shaped like foxes and ravens watched the crowds, their grins sly and mocking as if guarding secrets of their own. And yet, for all its splendour, there was a strange sense of motion about the place, as if the temple itself might one day loosen its mortar, gather up its bricks, and vanish down the road in pursuit of new travels and fortunes.
Jack smiled as he approached the steps where two anubian guards stood in silence, leaning on their spears. He retrieved an unimbued [Fireball] scroll from his jacket pocket, rolled it tight, and slipped it into one of the pigeon-holes as an offering.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I pray Hermes, God of travel, trade, thieves, and scribes, smiles kindly on me today. May he bless my steps, and may the sun’s radiant light guide me safely on the long road ahead.” He glanced inside the temple with a grin. And another class would be highly appreciated.
A faint draught passed through the alcove, tugging at the edge of the scroll. The coin wedged beside it shivered, giving a soft metallic chime. Whether the sound came from the wind or from Hermes himself, he could not tell.
Jack smiled and ascended the last few steps.
Inside, the temple was vast and bright, yet its light would not stay still. Shafts of sun filtered through coloured panes that scattered restless wings of gold across the marble floor. No shadow lay quiet for long; each trembled as if stirred by invisible movement. The air carried the mingled scents of parchment, oil, and incense. Somewhere deeper within, pens scratched parchment in rhythmic bursts, and sandals clicked against stone, echoing like distant footsteps keeping pace with his own.
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Jack felt Hermes here; not as a voice or vision, but as a presence woven into every book, parchment, and coin. The divine touch pressed against his senses. For a moment, he felt like he was back at the Royal Library, hunched over a dusty ancient tomb, uncovering its secrets. He couldn’t help but smile as he walked towards the Choosing Stone resting beneath the great statue of Hermes.
The God’s likeness loomed tall and fluid, carved as if mid-stride, one sandalled foot forever lifting from the floor. His eyes were cut from onyx, catching the light like dark mirrors. In his left hand, he held the caduceus; in his right, a rolled scroll pressed close to his heart. The sculptor had given him a faint smirk; Jack couldn’t help but think of his younger sister after every prank or quip.
Okay. Let’s see what happens now. Jack glanced up at the statue of Hermes. The statue seemed to watch him as he placed his palm upon the Choosing Stone. I pray I get another class. Warmth flowed up his arm, and light burst from beneath his hand; a rippling blue glow that spread across the polished floor.
Jack smiled at the list of options.
[Class Selection Screen-Internal View]
[Available classes: Student, Maid, Artist, Housekeeper, Researcher, Cook, Administrator, Scribe, Draughtsman, Librarian, Linguist, Mathematician, Scholar, Historian, Mage, Cartographer, Dancer, Jeweller, Poet, Bard, Blood Mage, Explorer, Beggar, Thief, Labourer, Actor, Woodsman, Carpenter, Tailor, Negotiator, Merchant, Farmer, Baker, Stable Hand, Horseman, Wanderer, Ice Mage, Fire Mage, Earth Mage, Priest, Architect, Outcast, Priest of Nemesis, Time Mage, Trapsmith, Brewmeister, Herbologist, Alchemist, Hunter, Swordsman, Warrior, Spearman, Hermit, Archer, Scout, Ranger, Blacksmith, Knight, Infiltrator, Tracker, Spy, Assassin, Rogue, Poisoner, Inquisitor, Priest of Demeter, Journeyman Scribe, Goblin Warrior, Priest of Hermes.]
This time, two classes were stricken out: Scribe and Archer, and Journeyman Scribe was available. Jack gave a deep sigh of relief; it was what he’d hoped for.
He scanned the new classes. “What the hell’s a Goblin Warrior?” he muttered after noticing the new addition to the list.
Having no way of knowing what a Goblin Warrior was, and no intention of choosing the strange class, he put it out of his mind. Let this be the right choice. The palm of his right hand itched where the blood-red rose had cut him. What does that mean? If that’s a message, I don’t understand. You’re the God of messengers, can’t you send me a clear message?
Jack glanced around the temple for a sign, but found nothing unusual. He again glanced up at the statue of Hermes. “You’re all knowing. Any advice on which class to choose?” He bowed.
The statue didn’t answer as he stood there waiting for a clearer sign. Somewhere behind him, coins clinked, a door creaked, and a courier murmured a hurried prayer. Minutes passed, and nothing changed; the world moved on.
Fine. As he was about to choose his class, a male cursed behind him. “Damn it! Not now!”
Jack spun around to find a middle-aged man with a mage’s wand hanging from his belt. He was trying to stop the flow of blood from his nose with a piece of parchment. A nosebleed. Is that a sign?
A young Priestess of Hermes offered the man a handkerchief. He dabbed his nose and thanked the woman.
Jack watched as the pair moved away. He spent a minute considering what it might mean. Do you want me to choose a priest class so I can heal nosebleeds? His hand itched more this time. Is that a yes or no?
He spent another minute considering whether it was a God-given sign or a coincidence. With no more ‘answers’, he placed his hand back on the Choosing Stone and chose his class.
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FantasySlice of LifeAdventureActionLight Litrpg
Orius Kane already lived his legend. He reached the apex of magical power, survived his age’s greatest calamities, and retired to the Realm Keepers: a circle of Archmages sworn to keep the world from ending.
What to expect
- OP MC
- MC and Apprentice Pov
- Organisation building
- city building eventually
- Weak to strong side character
- Slice of life moments
- No MC romance
Starring
- Orius Kane - Our Irreverent Realm Keeper
- Emmeline De Valemont - Our suffering guide/apprentice
The golden age of magic may be dead. Orius Kane disagrees. He’s willing to drag it back, kicking and screaming if he has to.