Page 42 of Lies Among Gods

“You make it sound easy,” she grumbled.

“It will not be.” Eldric waved his hand, and the shimmering, crystal-clear wall of the ethereal chamber dissolved, replaced by a path that seemed to be woven from pure, swirling light. “After you,” he said, gesturing toward the newly created archway.

Lyra smiled tentatively, walking toward the luminescence. “Where does it go?” she said, her voice barely a whisper against the low hum of the chamber.

Turning, she looked back at Eldric. He merely waved his hand again toward the pathway, his lips sealed in an unreadable expression. Lyra took a tentative step into the swirling light, the air cool and charged against her skin.

Eldric followed her. They walked down a trail of woven light; the path stretching forward into a soft, endless gray. After what felt like hours, he paused. Out of the thin, gray air, a massive door appeared, unadorned and made of solid, polished obsidian.

He looked at her, his expression now stern. “Open the door and enter the first trial."

“What’s on the other side?” she choked out.

“That is for you to find out.”

On shaky legs, she went to the door, her hand pausing on the cold, heavy doorknob. The black surface was chilling against her palm.

Eldric’s voice boomed from directly behind her, resonating with a power that shook the very air. “Before a goddess may rule others, she must survive herself."

She turned to look at him, fear written on her face, but the door instantly vanished, the air around her rushing inward. Lyra felt herself falling, and she plunged into the cold, sudden darkness.

Chapter thirty-five

CHAPTER 29

As the gods bestowed blessings, society divided along the lines of favor. Those devoted to deities who granted abundance, protection, or prestige thrived openly—homes were filled with wealth, fields yielded more than enough, and children were guided along paths of ease and respect.

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

The blackness that enveloped Lyra was instantaneous and absolute, a sudden, suffocating void. It lasted only a moment before the cold, clarifying shock of Aetherfall flooded in, washing away the final traces of the ordinary world. The air rushed past her as she twisted and turned. Then, with a soft rustle of fabric, she landed on the ground, the impact barely a whisper. She found herself standing not on solid ground, but on a surface of perfect, liquid obsidian that reflected the churning sky above. The world around her was a mirrored storm scape, silent and impossibly still. Then, the silence broke.

The rain began, but it was all wrong. Each drop seemed to defy gravity, fallingupwardinto the tumultuous gray clouds,pulling the world’s sorrows and memories with it. Every droplet that passed her face became a vivid, three-dimensional memory. Each silver droplet opened as it rose, unraveling pieces of her past. She reached for a droplet; the memory reflected in it vanished as her fingertip touched it. She walked forward, wading through the storm of ascending memories, her eyes looking around, seeing the glimpses of her life.

The memories unfolded around her, sharp and merciless. First, there she was, sitting on her bed, tear-stained cheeks, a fragile letter shaking in her hands. The golden seal of Elio’s temple stared back at her, beautiful and merciless. It was the moment the world first taught her she would never be enough. Lyra found herself staring at the ghost of the girl she used to be—small, hunched inward, devastated in a way only loneliness could achieve. Grief carved through her chest, old and vicious. Not the pain of the knife that had killed her, but the far crueler wound of being unwanted. The first letter of rejection, the start of her journey of pain and rejection. She stepped back as the emotions hit her: rejection, fear, heartbreak, and self-loathing. She smashed her fist against the memory, causing it to vanish.

She walked forward, wading through the storm of ascending memories, trying to shake off the negative emotions that had just flooded her. More memories unfolded around her, sharp and merciless.

Another droplet burst into a ghostly fragment. The crying stopped, replaced by a desperate, frantic energy. The projection showed her younger self hunched over a laptop, light reflecting off her wet, determined eyes as she relentlessly researched temple protocol, digging through archives, trying to find the loophole, the correct phrasing, the perfect presentation that would make them say yes. Lyra felt the exhaustion, the hope, and the self-inflicted humiliation of that relentless, private pursuit course through her like an electric current. She couldhear the old thoughts swirling; I am one of the rejected.My life is over. What did I do wrong? How will I ever be able to fix this?It was a replay of the heartbreak, the sting of inadequacy returning as keenly as if the ink on that rejection letter was still fresh.

The memory made her heart clench with the old, familiar sting of inadequacy. A hot sting pricked at her eyes, blurring the edges of her vision. She blinked, turning her gaze, and a new memory bloomed into focus, vivid and sharp.

The ascending raindrops caught the light, and a new, detailed projection formed, forcing Lyra to confront another memory. It was the sterile, echoing hallway of the high school, the laminate floors reflecting the fluorescent lights. The image was painfully clear: her younger self, impossibly hopeful and defeated all at once, walking alone. Her shoulders were hunched, as if the weight of the world rested there. She clutched her book, her focus fixed on the ground, trying to be invisible, yet yearning to be seen.

Then, the projection of Adrian materialized—handsome and clean-cut, the epitome of the acceptable, favored youth. He was moving with the easy, careless confidence of someone who had never doubted his place. He stopped her, a motion so casual, yet so definitive.

The memory deepened, and Lyra felt a chill as Adrian’s voice, projected with haunting clarity, echoed in the silent, stormy void. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he said. “This is me breaking up with a girl who wasn’t worthy enough to worship my God. But I’m done lowering myself to your standards. I need a partner who’s… divinely aligned. So go—crawl back to whatever forgotten corner you came from. Maybe some pathetic deity will accept what the high pantheon wouldn’t. May the gods ever be with you.”

The words, so casually delivered, had been the first moment her dream died. Hearing them again, they felt like a physical blow—a sickening, dull punch to the gut that stole her breath. She didn’t just hear the rejection; she felt the crushing weight of his dismissal, the instant realization that her entire future had been discussed, judged, and dismissed by the very people she was trying so hard to impress. It wasn’t the refusal of a god; it was the cruel, quiet judgment of her peers. She saw her younger self flinch, the light in her eyes dimming, the hope draining out in real-time. The memory was a fresh, raw wound, and it cemented the truth: her life of failure had been a public, unavoidable performance, starting right there, with the boy who was too good for her, telling her she wasn’t good enough for him or the god he worshipped.

The memory flashed and was gone; in its place, a new one formed. She watched a shimmering vision of her parents’ disapproval, not shouted, but whispered—a thousand tiny cuts of judgment delivered through sighs and carefully edited conversation, all centered on her failure to be the perfect, polished girl.

It was her high school graduation. Lyra’s younger self stood awkwardly on the sun-drenched lawn, the cheap polyester gown clinging uncomfortably, the diploma a meaningless roll in her hand. Her mother, Diane, immaculate in a tailored suit, was aggressively smoothing Lyra’s already flat auburn hair. Lyra remembered the frantic, sharp tugs, the physical manifestation of her mother trying to correct her flaws.

Diane leaned in, her voice a low, exasperated hiss meant only for Lyra’s ear. “You are too much, Lyra, and yet not enough. Please stand up straight."

Lyra could see the raw, undeniable disappointment in her mother’s eyes as they glared at her eighteen-year-old self, a look that said,why can’t you just be easy like your brothers?Lyra’s younger self, exhausted by years of trying, only managed a defiant eyeroll.

Diane groaned, the sound heavy with martyr-like long-suffering. “There it is. That attitude. You’ll never get approved with that attitude. Obedience is required of you, Lyra. Be pliable. You are not a god; you are a vessel. If you can’t understand that, then they will never allow you to follow their worship."