Page 39 of Lies Among Gods

Lyra woke with a rush of adrenaline and excitement; the memory of Alaios and yesterday’s adventures left a warm, potent energy thrumming beneath her skin. She stretched languidly, a contented smile curving her lips. Today. She was going to see him today. The thought alone made her heart race, eclipsing all the stress of the past few weeks—the temple gossip, the fight with Asmodeus, and the family drama. Today was for Alaios.

She was halfway out of bed, planning her rapid escape to the tram, when a tap-tap echoed at her bedroom door. She rolled her eyes, a wave of exasperation washing over her.

Diane then pushed the door open and whispered, “You have company. Dress accordingly.”

Lyra sighed, letting the comment about her clothing hang in the air, choosing to ignore the familiar lecture. She tossed the soft terrycloth robe over her pajamas, tying the belt loosely.Who on earth would be at our house this early?She wondered, the icy panic of a potential public relations crisis replacing the warmth of her recent memories.

She entered the living room to see a male she vaguely remembered meeting at the ball, but couldn’t recall his name. So many of the priests blended together with their matching garb and haircuts. He wore robes of pristine white and gold, and held a scroll of parchment that glowed faintly.

"Goddess-to-be Lyra? A summons has arrived from the Temple of the Sun,” the male said in a monotone voice.

She nodded in response. A summons from Elio. The vibrant energy that had pulsed through her moments before vanished, leaving behind a cold dread that clung to her skin like a chill mist.

"Goddess-to-be Lyra,” the priest said, bowing low with a deference that felt more like duty than respect. “I have been instructed to deliver this immediately and escort you to the Great Hall of the Council."

Lyra took the scroll. The parchment was thick and cool against her palm, sealed with the unmistakable, authoritative crest of the Sun. She broke the seal and unrolled it. The language was formal, demanding, and left no room for refusal:

By order of the Pantheon Council, you are hereby mandated to attend the monthly Council proceedings, effectiveimmediately. Your presence is required this day in the Great Hall. Compliance is mandatory.

Her jaw tightened. Her morning with Alaios had just been summarily canceled. A chill of disappointment, sharp and unwelcome, prickled her skin. The hope that had bloomed moments before withered, leaving a hollow ache in its place. Is this why he asked me to come by after lunch? At least I can see him at the meeting.

She dressed quickly, choosing one of the few items her mother had deemed ‘suitable for divine company’—a delicate white silk dress. It was flowy and simple, hanging from thin spaghetti straps. She grabbed a soft green shawl to toss on her shoulders.

As she swung her door open, a wave of annoyance washed over her when she caught sight of what was waiting on the other side of the door: the priest. A hot wave of annoyance surged through her, prickling her skin.He couldn’t just wait in the living room; he had to stalk me to my bedroom?

The priest turned and walked back down the hallway. “I am here to escort you, Goddess-to-be. We must not keep the Council waiting."

“Forgive me,” Lyra said. “I know nothing tests divine patience quite like a woman getting dressed.”

A grimace creased his brow, a taut line mirroring the tension in his jaw. The sound of his footsteps, a muffled thud against the floorboards, receded as he turned his back. As they stepped outside, the air was cool and heavy. A soft, steady rain was falling, a quiet, insistent drumming on the pavement. The media stayed quiet; no questions today, just took pictures. It was almost weird not hearing them yelling questions today.Are they showing Elio’s priest reverence, or are they bored with me?

Lyra paused beneath the patio, tilting her head back to look up at the gray, swirling clouds. They were deep, full, and heavywith promise. Instead of finding the sight depressing, Lyra felt a profound sense of connection.

How pretty,she thought, watching the drops fall, as if the world is being cleansed.The rain belonged to no one, and yet it touched everything.

“God Elio is waiting,” the priest huffed.

She lowered her gaze from the sky, pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders. She turned to the waiting priest. “Shall we, then?"

With the Sun God’s priest leading the way, Lyra walked out into the drizzle toward the car. They rode in silence heading to the temple district. The car pulled to a silent stop before the Celestial Ward. Lyra raised her head, her mossy green eyes lifting to behold the sight. Fifteen colossal temples ringed the Celestial Ward, each a monument of stone and light, their towers piercing the low, churning clouds. Elio’s shining gold, Mira’s flowing blue glass, the black basalt of Alaios and the others’ domains all converged, forming a council of giants beneath the heavy, pregnant sky. A fine mist, more than a downpour, kissed her face, each droplet catching the diffused light and tracing a cool path down her cheeks. The buildings seemed to loom, silent and eternal, their presence both oppressive and magnificent against the backdrop of swirling gray and white.

It struck her as she noticed a profound silence, a silence that felt less like peace and more like a held breath. A palpable feeling of being intensely watched settled over Lyra, raising the fine hairs on her arms. It wasn’t the clamor of the media; it was deeper, colder, like dozens of unseen eyes were fixed on her every move. She spun slowly, scanning the expanse of the courtyard, the reflective windows of the towers, the great oak trees, and the shadowed corners of the colonnades. She saw nothing—no figures lingering, no movement. Just the rain falling steadily.

Just the constant scrutiny of the media playing with my nerves,she told herself, shaking off the cold, unnerving sensation.Everyone knows I’m here. It’s just the gods watching their new toy, nothing sinister.

She pulled the thin shawl tighter around her shoulders, steeling her nerves, and continued to follow the priest. The cleric, pristine in his white and gold, moved with a rigid, hurried pace that discouraged conversation.

Lyra took a step forward, following the priest, when she heard a low, shuffling noise directly behind her. She spun around, her thin shawl swirling with the movement.

Standing barely ten feet away, concealed partially by a tree, was the creepy guy from the tram.

He was a mess: his clothes were disheveled, and his eyes, usually just unsettling, were now wide and wild, gleaming with a fanatical intensity that sent a primal bolt of terror through her.

"I knew you were special the first time I saw you on the tram,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, cutting through the drumming rain. It was a declaration, not a compliment, and it made her skin crawl.

"Umm… alright, Mr….” Lyra paused, her mind scrambling for his name, and realizing she didn’t know it.

"I am Tavian Creed,” he whispered, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. His hands were hidden beneath a ragged, oversized jacket, and his body was tense, coiled like a spring.