Page 41 of Lies Among Gods

Alaios didn’t fight them so much as he simply stopped, the sudden cessation of violence leaving him trembling, the lightning fading from his fists as the sheer, cold reality of the event set in.

He was in the rain, hands stained, his dark clothes soaked, and his eyes, wide and wild, searched the place where she had fallen.

She was gone.

The only evidence she had been there at all was a stain of vibrant, arterial red blooming on the gray pavement, mixing instantly with the cold, steady rainwater—a pool of blood diluted and washed away—and her shawl that she had dropped. Her thin white dress, the knife—all had vanished.

He stooped, his fingers brushing the shawl, the dark, sticky crimson splattered across it. Bringing it to his face, he inhaled deeply, seeking the faint ghost of her scent, the phantom warmth of her presence, but only emptiness met his senses.

The trials had begun. He had hoped they would have more time, weeks, months, years even, to prepare her, to drill the final lessons of the Trials into her. He had hoped to fill her with so much of his strength that the trial couldn’t touch her. Now, she was there, alone, without his guidance, in a place he could not follow, facing a test designed to break the strongest of gods themselves.

The Council meeting was already starting when Raios and Rhaziel shoved him into the Great Hall, his soaked state and the lingering scent of ozone and blood a profound, immediate disruption to the meeting.

“This is why I avoid entanglements with mortals; they’re so fragile,” Elio scoffed. “Now, can we please start this meeting?”

Alaios took his seat, the cold marble of the Council chair a grounding contrast to the fire in his veins. He didn’t look at his peers, who were already whispering, their faces a mix of shock and icy disapproval. He simply stared at the large, arched window. His eyes, dark and turbulent, were fixed on the patch of wet pavement where the rain was slowly washing away the last traces of red.

Come back to me, Lyra. Survive this.

Chapter thirty-four

CHAPTER 28

Where shadows concealed ambition and devotion dictated favor, Threxus Sated descended, and the eyes of mortals turned toward abundance. He taught that hunger is both law and temptation, that desire for more can rule as fiercely as any god, and that even the faithful could falter when faced with excess. Those favored by Threxus prospered beyond measure, while restraint became a test few could pass, and moderation a lesson written in longing and envy.

Snippet from “The Book of Natural History” By Priestess Antonella Killoran

Lyra scrambled to stand, the crystal-clear water of the pool warm beneath her feet. She immediately looked down at her chest, her breath catching in a raw gasp. The delicate silk was stained with a violent bloom of crimson, the unmistakable signature of the wound. But beneath the red stain, the skin was smooth, utterly unbroken. The agonizing, white-hot spear of pain that had shattered her world moments before was gone. Hesitantly, her fingertips brushed against the skin, a whisper of apprehension guiding their gentle descent. The air hung still,charged with the unspoken fear of a sharp sting. Yet, there was nothing. No pain, no tenderness to betray her death. It was as if the wound had never been; a smooth, unmarked surface meeting her tentative touch.

The old man’s voice, a low, resonant chime, confirmed the impossible. “Your wound was healed as you fell into Aetherfall. The energy of the divine waters mending what the mortal tried to take."

"Oh," Lyra replied, the single syllable barely a sound, her mind struggling to reconcile the evidence of the vivid red stain with the profound lack of pain. Her heart, which had just been pierced, was now hammering in her chest, a crescendo of raw nerves building inside her. The abrupt shift from mortal terror and death to this ethereal, glowing chamber was almost too much to process.

The old man’s gentle smile never wavered. “Permit me to properly introduce myself. I am Eldric Aetherwyn.” He paused; his gaze fixed on hers as he let the name settle. “I am the first male, the first to walk the Elyndra, and the first blessed with the divine light."

Lyra's mossy green eyes widened, conducting an involuntary, rapid survey of the male before her—the pale, simple robes, the ancient, flowing white beard, the eyes that held the depth of untold millennia. The sheer, impossible weight of his claim settled over her.Alaios never mentioned him. Our history books never mentioned him. Who the fuck is he? Is this part of the trial?

He continued, his voice a steady, grounding presence. “And I am the one to guide you through Aetherfall and the trials. Follow me to the first door."

Fear, sharp and cold, immediately cut through the shock. Lyra looked at him, the uncertainty of her position—the fact that she was here, dead, without warning—too overwhelming tocontain. Alaios’s every word about the trials echoed in her mind, a chilling chorus blooming in her chest, like a suffocating vine constricting her breath. She blurted out the question that was eating at her most.

"Do you think I’ll fail?” The words, choked and rough like sand, barely stirred within her chest, a silent tremor against the lump in her throat.

The question hung heavy, thick with the sadness that instantly followed. She felt a profound, crushing sense of loss—the raw grief that she would never return to her human life, the life that, for all its flaws, had been hers. Thoughts of her family, of their political drama and their flawed love, flashed through her mind, quickly followed by the memory of Alaios—his fierce certainty, his dark eyes, the reckless passion.Will I ever see him again? See my parents? My brothers?The questions were a painful anchor weighing her down. And then, a spike of cold, pure rage at Tavian Creed, the male who had so casually stolen her last breath. She was here, facing this impossible test, because of a fanatic’s delusion.What the fuck kind of psychotic break did he have to think he was a part of deciding my fate?

Eldric looked down at her and patted her head, stating, “That is for you to decide."

His words did nothing to calm the nerves digging their claws into her. Lyra frowned, her brow furrowing. “How do I decide?”

“By making the right choices.”

“How will I know they are right?”

A warm smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, a silent, gentle gesture. He offered no words.

“Has anyone ever failed?” She asked, the words thick with the weight of her fear.

He nodded, his ancient eyes solemn. “Many have failed, Lyra. Their stories are not recorded in the history books, for the pathended during the trials. Each trial is something you will face alone, without guidance, and you will decide your fate."