I woke up with a sharp crack in my neck and a forest floor that smelled suspiciously like pine needles, moss, and regret. For a second, I thought I might have died. Or maybe I was trapped in some sort of cosmic time loop designed to torture me.

Blinking against the early morning light filtering through the thick canopy overhead, I realized I was lying flat on my back, staring at a patchwork quilt of sky framed by tangled branches. My heart was pounding, and the dull ache at the back of my skull reminded me that something had definitely gone sideways.

“Oof.” I groaned, propping myself up on an elbow. My limbs felt like jelly left out in the sun, wobbly and unsure.

“Finally awake, Sleeping Time Lord?”

I turned my head slowly, and there was Astronaros, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in that infuriating way that said, You really messed up this time, huh? Except his lips twitched with a smirk, so maybe it was half judgment, half amusement.

“Don’t remind me,” I muttered, sitting up a little straighter and instantly regretting the movement. My vision wobbled and threatened to go dark again.

Astronaros crouched down beside me with the ease of someone who’d been through worse and lived to tell the tale. “You passed out,” he said, tone a little softer now.

“Great,” I said. “I have the stamina of a broken hourglass.”

“You definitely overdid it.”

I sighed, running a hand through my messy hair — which, given the way I’d collapsed, looked like I’d stuck my finger in an electrical socket.

“It was the training,” I said, trying to sound confident. “Hermes pushed me to manipulate time in ways I wasn’t ready for. I thought I could handle it.”

“And?”

I gave a bitter laugh. “Turns out I can’t. Not yet.”

Astronaros’s eyes softened, and for a moment, all the teasing vanished. “You always want to control everything. Even time. Maybe you need to learn how to let go a little.”

Let go. Words easier said than done when you’re the demigod of time.

I swallowed, not sure how to answer. Instead, I glanced around the forest clearing we’d collapsed in. The moss beneath my fingers was cool and fragrant, the early light turning the leaves golden-green. Somewhere overhead, a bird sang a lazy song, utterly unconcerned with my existential crisis.

“Hey,” Astronaros said, nudging my shoulder gently. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I forced a smile. “Just... embarrassed.”

“Because you passed out like a newborn star?”

“That too.”

He laughed softly, the sound like a warm breeze through the trees. “We all have our moments. Even gods.”

I gave him a sideways glance. “Even you?”

He shrugged, but there was a glimmer of something—maybe vulnerability—behind his usual calm.

“Come on.” He held out his hand. “Let’s get you back to camp. You need rest. And maybe less time magic for a while.”

I hesitated, then took his hand. His grip was firm but gentle, grounding me more than I expected.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

“For what?”

“For... not laughing too hard.”

Astronaros grinned. “I’m saving that for later.”

I groaned but let him help me to my feet.

We started walking back the way we came, the forest alive with the quiet sounds of morning: birds chirping, leaves rustling, a squirrel chattering at a particularly slow-moving caterpillar.

“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “About that dream.”

Astronaros raised an eyebrow. “Dream?”

I looked down at my hands, still trembling slightly. “You know... the dinner. The mousse. The truth magic.”

“Oh.”

He was silent for a moment, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“Did you really dream it?”

I shrugged. “I think so. Or maybe my mind was just trying to process everything I’ve been feeling. Maybe it’s magic playing tricks.”

Astronaros nodded slowly. “Dreams can be like that. Sometimes they’re warnings. Sometimes wishes. Sometimes just chaos.”

“Yeah,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “Mine felt like all three.”

He was quiet again, then said, “You’ve been holding a lot inside, haven’t you?”

I blinked, surprised by how well he’d read me.

“Maybe too much.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said softly. “You carry the weight of time itself. That’s not easy.”

“Not easy is an understatement.”

We walked on for a few minutes, the crunch of leaves underfoot the only sound.

Then Astronaros stopped, turning to face me fully.

“You don’t have to carry it alone.”

I blinked at him, feeling something warm rise in my chest.

“Especially not when I’m here.”

My breath caught, and for a moment, I wanted to believe in that—really believe in it.

Before I could say anything, a familiar voice broke the moment.

“Well, well. Look who’s up.” Hermes appeared from behind a tree, grinning like a trickster who knew exactly what they were about to unleash.

“I was beginning to think you’d slept through your whole life,” he teased, flashing those sly eyes.

I shot him a glare. “Thanks for the subtlety.”

Astronaros just rolled his eyes. “What did he do to you?”

“Let’s just say I tried to bend time a little too much and ended up flat on my face.”

Hermes laughed. “Classic Pneumeros.”

“Not helping.”

Hermes crouched beside me, expression suddenly serious. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You need to learn patience. Time doesn’t respond well to impatience.”

“I know,” I said, embarrassed.

He tapped my forehead lightly. “You’re powerful. But even the strongest need to rest.”

Astronaros nodded. “Hephaestus could help with that.”

“Oh yeah,” Hermes said with a grin. “The nerdy god of forge and healing magic. Softest guy you’ll ever meet. And he might have a thing or two to teach you about slowing down.”

I groaned. “Great.”

Astronaros laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s not all hammers and sparks. Hephaestus is surprisingly gentle.”

Hermes clapped me on the back. “And besides, I’ll make sure to keep things interesting.”

I smiled despite myself. “Thanks, guys.”

We started walking again, the sun climbing higher, warming the forest around us.

As we approached the camp, I felt lighter somehow. The embarrassment wasn’t gone, but the tight knot in my chest was loosening.

Maybe it was the company. Maybe it was the trees. Or maybe it was finally starting to admit that I didn’t have to be perfect.

Because sometimes, even the demigod of time needed a moment to just be... human.