Page 31 of Lies Among Gods

"I feel like my path is the butt of a cosmic joke,” Lyra laughed sardonically.

"Sometimes we are all the butt of the joke in the cosmic scheme of things. You just need to learn to laugh along with it, or you’ll break.” Seren’s smile, a faint curve on her lips, carried a bittersweet tang.

"So, you’re telling me that my whole life is just some cosmic joke designed to make me miserable so I can learn to laugh at myself?” Lyra laughed, rubbing her temple.

Seren's gentle smile didn’t waver. “No, Lyra. I’m telling you that your life is a storm, and you are currently standing in the center of it, wondering why the wind is loud. The joke is not on you; the joke is on the pantheon. They thought the game was over, and then you walked in. You are the unexpected punchline, the chaos they never accounted for. Your misery is just the necessary fuel for the power you’re about to claim."

Lyra stared, the goddess’s perspective twisting her pain into a strange form of significance. “So, I just need to laugh at my own suffering?"

"You need to weaponize your perspective,” Seren corrected, her tone low and instructive. “Laughter is an acknowledgment of control. If you can see the absurdity of the life of a goddess-to-be, then you can rise above it. You are not a victim of this story, Lyra. You are the author. And the ending is yours alone to write."

Seren placed her hand briefly on Lyra’s arm, a soft, encouraging touch that felt like a blessing. “Watch them, Lyra. Watch who looks at you with hunger, who looks at you with fear, and who looks at you with honesty. Your eyes are your best weapon. Trust your quiet strength."

Seren’s words left Lyra’s thoughts churning. She tried to figure out a response to Seren’s words, her mind still grappling with the idea that her life was a ‘cosmic joke’ that she could control by learning to laugh. Before she could articulate the turbulent thoughts, Seren grabbed her hand and dragged her away from the column and into a small crowd of people clustered near a large ice sculpture.

Her eyes darted over the group, instantly catching sight of Alaios. He was standing slightly apart, a sharp, contrasting figure in a perfectly tailored, all-black tuxedo that only emphasized the powerful breadth of his shoulders and the intensity of his gaze. He looked impossibly handsome, a grounded anchor in the glittering chaos of the ball. Lyra’s heartgave a familiar, thrumming flutter against her ribs, a physical echo of the sudden spark that ignited.

Standing next to Alaios was Virel, the God of Famine, a man known for his sharp tongue and even sharper features. It was strange seeing these gods up close once she had only seen them in images.

"Lyra, meet Virel,” she said, her hand sweeping toward Virel.

Lyra offered a brief nod.

“Goddess-to-be Lyra Nymphaea,” Virel drawled, offering a dramatic, sweeping bow that made his crimson silk jacket catch the light. “A pleasure to see the source of all the latest gossip.”

“Then there is Alaios, whom you've already had formal introductions to, who is also surprisingly social tonight,” Seren said smoothly, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Alaios nodded, the grim lines etched deep into his handsome face remaining as still as carved stone.

"She’s currently recovering from a brief but thorough lecture on self-authorship,” Seren interjected lightly.

"Authorship?" Virel scoffed, taking a long sip of what looked suspiciously like spiced wine. “The girl’s dating Asmodeus, Ser. Her story is being written by the God of Lust. We all know how that ends.” He leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to be conspiratorial. “Look, Lyra, I like you, so let me give you the true divine history that won’t make it into your mother’s scrapbooks: Asmodeus has slept with all the Gods; it’s his…thing. So, you may want to be careful about your little mortal feelings.” Virel laughed heartily, a loud, uncouth sound that drew a few disapproving glances from nearby priests of Elio’s temple.

"All?" Lyra asked, shocked, her attention momentarily ripped from Alaios and fixed on Virel.

"Not all of us,” Alaios frowned, his voice a low, hard rumble that cut through Virel’s mirth.

Virel smirked, unrepentant. “Alright, all but one of us. Come on, Alaios, don’t be a spoilsport. It’s the highest compliment in the pantheon to find yourself in his bed."

Lyra looked at Seren, who simply nodded and smiled, a silent confirmation of the outrageous claim. The realization hit Lyra with the force of a small, cold wave: she was not special; she was simply the latest conquest, a very public one. She felt a sting of familiar rejection, quickly followed by a sharp spike of anger.I am not a box to be checked by anyone.

“I think you are under some misconception,” Lyra said smoothly. “I am not dating Asmodeus.”

Her eyes darted back to Alaios; a slight curve hinted at the corners of his lips.

“You need not be coy,” Virel snickered.

“I wasn’t being coy,” Lyra rolled her eyes.

Virel opened his mouth to reply when Seren tapped him gently.

“Let her be,” Seren snickered. “She has been through a lot; she doesn’t need you harping on her.”

Virel winked at Seren before tossing back his drink. He extended his hand to Seren, who accepted it and was swept away to the dance floor.

Lyra watched the retreating figures of Seren and Virel, the latter’s loud, crude laughter fading slightly as they joined the dancers. The ball felt suddenly muted, the glitter less charming, the music less inviting. The sting of Virel’s words—the casual confirmation that she was just another conquest for Asmodeus—had hardened into a knot of defiance.

She turned her attention fully to Alaios, who still stood like a solitary fortress in his black tuxedo, his arms now resting loosely at his sides. He looked impossibly handsome, an anchor of sharp, unyielding reality in a room built on illusion.