The Crossroads Compass – Chapter 1
Asher
The roar of the crowd is deafening, but all I hear is white noise.
I stand center stage, sweat glistening on my skin, heart pounding like it’s trying to break free from my chest. The last notes of my encore fade away, replaced by the thunderous applause of twenty thousand fans. They’re screaming my name — well, my stage name — like it’s a prayer.
“Thank you, London!” I shout into the mic, mustering every ounce of enthusiasm I can fake. “You’ve been incredible!”
As I make my exit, tossing my guitar pick into the crowd (cue the inevitable social media frenzy), I can’t help but think: Is this all there is?
The moment I’m backstage, the facade crumbles. My shoulders slump, the manic energy that fueled my performance evaporating like cheap cologne. I trudge towards my dressing room, nodding mechanically at the congratulations from crew members and hangers-on.
“Killer show, Ash!”
“You killed it out there, man!”
“Asher delivers again!”
I manage a weak smile and a thumbs-up. Inside, I’m screaming: I have a name, damn it! But do I? Really?
The door to my dressing room closes behind me with a soft click, shutting out the chaos. I lean against it, letting out a long, shuddering breath. The silence is deafening after the roar of the arena. My eyes scan the room, taking in the trappings of my rock star life. A rack of designer clothes worth more than some people’s yearly salary. A table laden with exotic fruits and top-shelf liquor. Stacks of fan mail and gifts piled high in the corner.
It’s all so… empty.
I shuffle to the vanity, dropping heavily into the chair. The face staring back at me in the mirror is a stranger — Asher Maddocks, rock god. Eyeliner smudged, hair artfully disheveled, a glint of mischief in blue eyes that have seen millennia pass.
But underneath it all, I see Hermes, though no one else does. God of travelers, thieves, and commerce. Trickster, messenger, guide of souls. Now reduced to… this. A glorified jukebox for the masses.
“Some fall from Olympus,” I mutter, reaching for a makeup wipe. “Bet if Zeus saw me now he’d laugh his thunderous ass off.”
As I scrub away the stage makeup, I can almost hear the old man’s booming laughter. ‘Look at you, Hermes! Playing dress-up for the mortals. How the mighty have fallen!’
“Shut up,” I growl at my reflection. “At least I’m not hiding in some backwater town pretending to be a tailor.”
Great. Now I’m talking to myself. Maybe I really have lost it.
A knock at the door interrupts my descent into madness. “Asher? The after-party is starting. Everyone’s waiting for you.”
Ah yes, the after-party. Where I’ll be paraded around like a prized stallion, expected to charm industry bigwigs and pose for selfies with VIPs who couldn’t tell Hermes from Hermès.
“Be right there!” I call back, the lie slipping easily from my tongue. I am the god of liars, after all.
I turn back to the mirror, staring into my own eyes. In them, I see the weight of countless years, of civilizations risen and fallen, of loves found and lost. I see a god who’s lost his way, who’s forgotten what it means to truly live.
And suddenly, I can’t breathe.
The walls of the dressing room seem to close in on me. The pile of fan mail on the table — declarations of love and devotion from people who don’t even know me — mocks me with its emptiness. The rack of elaborate stage costumes looks like a collection of hollow shells.
My gaze falls on the coffee table, littered with music magazines featuring my face on the cover. “Asher Maddocks: The Voice of a Generation,” one headline screams. Another asks, “Is Asher the New King of Rock?” I snort. If they only knew how old their “new king” really is.
In the corner, a guitar signed by some of the biggest names in music leans against the wall. Once, I would have been thrilled by such a gift. Now, it just reminds me of how far I’ve strayed from who I really am.
“Screw this,” I mutter, standing up so abruptly the chair topples over.
I grab my emergency backpack from the corner, stuffed with a change of clothes, cash, a burner phone, and a few other things I need. I’ve had it packed for the last week, certain I was ready to start a new life. I rummage through I’m to he sure I have everything and come across a small, ancient coin — a drachma from my early days. I’d almost forgotten I had it.
I take one last look around the room, at all the symbols of Asher Maddocks’ success. Gold records on the wall. A shelf full of awards. Racks of designer clothes. It’s a life most people would kill for, and I’m walking away from it all.
Good riddance.
As I slip out the back door, I can hear the commotion starting. My absence has been noticed. There are shouts, hurried footsteps, the beginning of a panicked search for the missing rock star.
But I’m already gone, melting into the shadows like I’ve done countless times before. The cool night air hits my face, and for the first time in years, a spark of excitement lights me up.
I hail a cab, sliding into the back seat before anyone can spot me.
“Where to, mate?” the driver asks, eyeing me in the rearview mirror.
I hesitate for a moment. Where do you go when you’ve been everywhere? What’s left to see when you’ve witnessed the rise and fall of empires?
But… there’s one place I’ve been avoiding, one corner of the world that still holds the echoes of who I used to be.
“Heathrow,” I say. “I need to catch the next flight to Greece.”
The driver nods, pulling away from the curb. As the lights of London blur past the window, my shoulders lighten and the muscles relax. I’m Hermes, god of travelers. It’s time I remembered what that means.
My phone is probably blowing up back in the dressing room. My manager will be having kittens. The record label execs will be tearing their hair out.
Good. Let them panic. Let them wonder.
For the first time in decades, I’m not Asher Maddocks, slave to schedules and expectations.
I’m just… me.
Whoever that is.
As we speed towards the airport, I start to laugh. It bubbles up from deep inside, a sound of pure relief and joy. The cab driver gives me a concerned look in the rearview mirror.
“You all right back there, mate?”
“Never better,” I reply, grinning like a madman. “I’m going home.”
Home. The word feels strange on my tongue. Is Greece still home? Can it be, after all this time?
I guess I’m about to find out.
The rest of the ride passes in a blur as I begin to remember all the things I loved about my home country. The warmth of the Mediterranean sun on my skin. The taste of fresh olives and feta. The sound of bouzouki music drifting from tavernas.
But it’s not just the sensory memories that flood back. I think of the Greece I knew millennia ago, when mortals and gods walked the same paths. The majestic temples, the philosophical debates in the agora, the epic tales told around fires.
And I think of modern Greece, a country of contrasts. Ancient ruins standing alongside bustling cafes. Traditional villages perched above beaches filled with tourists. A place where the old and new coexist, much like myself.
Before I know it, we’re pulling up to the departures terminal. I toss some cash at the driver — probably way too much, but hey, I’m feeling generous — and step out into the cool night air.
The airport is a hive of activity, even at this late hour. Travelers rush past, dragging suitcases and clutching passports. Families say tearful goodbyes. Businessmen power-walk towards their gates, briefcases swinging.
I take it all in, breathing deeply. This is my element. Movement, transition, the in-between spaces. I feel more like myself than I have in years.
At the ticket counter, I flash a charming smile at the attendant. “When’s your next flight to Athens?”
She taps at her keyboard, frowning slightly. “I’m sorry, sir, but the next direct flight isn’t until tomorrow morning.”
I lean in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Surely there must be something sooner? I’m not picky about connections.”
Maybe it’s my natural charisma, or maybe it’s a touch of divine intervention, but her frown melts into a smile. “Well… there is a flight to Rome leaving in an hour, with a connection to Athens. But you’d have to hurry.”
“Perfect,” I say, sliding my credit card across the counter. “Book it.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m settled into a first-class seat, a glass of champagne in hand. As the plane takes off, I watch London disappear beneath the clouds.
Goodbye, Asher Maddocks. Hello… well, I’m not sure yet. But I’m looking forward to finding out.
The flight attendant stops by my seat, a puzzled look on her face. “Excuse me, sir, but… are you Asher Maddocks? The rock star?”
I wink at her, pressing a finger to my lips. “Now that would be quite a story, wouldn’t it? But I’m afraid I’m just a regular guy on his way to a much-needed vacation.”
She nods, not entirely convinced, but moves on. I settle back in my seat, closing my eyes.
As I drift off to sleep, lulled by the hum of the engines, I swear I can hear the distant sound of waves crashing against ancient shores.
Calling me home.
You have been reading The Crossroads Compass...
When I flipped off my CEO and went viral, a trip to Greece was supposed to help me find myself. I never expected to find a god instead.
I’m Thalia Moretti, and my life was perfectly mundane until I met Asher—a mysterious stranger with killer looks and an encyclopedic knowledge of ancient Greek history. Our whirlwind romance across the islands feels too good to be true.
Turns out, it is.
Asher isn’t just devastatingly charming—he’s Hermes, the immortal messenger god moonlighting as a world-famous rock star. And that antique compass I bought on impulse? It’s a divine artifact that every power-hungry minor god wants to get their hands on.
Now I’m caught between jealous ex-goddesses, mythological conspiracies, and my own awakening powers as we race to rally the scattered gods of Olympus. Because when divine politics threaten both worlds, apparently a sarcastic social media manager from Brooklyn is exactly what the universe ordered.
Sometimes the best way to find yourself is to lose yourself completely—preferably with a god who looks incredible in tight jeans.
The Crossroads Compass is “Mamma Mia!” meets Greek mythology with a rock star god romance.
