Page 61 of Lies Among Gods

Lyra listened, forcing her attention away from the magnetic pull of Alaios’s silent presence. The discussion revolved around a small, remote island that a devastating hurricane had recently hit. The mortal inhabitants, left stranded, without power and disorganized, were reportedly engaged in widespread pilfering and property disputes. Communications had broken downentirely, turning the once-structured community into a chaotic free-for-all.

Mira sighed, the sound carrying a distinct note of impatience. “Their prayers are quite loud, Elio. A cacophony of petty demands for what they feel they’ve lost. They’ve begun blaming the Peace Temple followers on the island for not foreseeing the storm, and my own priests for not providing enough sermons to buffer the anger.” She looked utterly weary, as if the sheer noise of mortal suffering was a tiresome buzz beneath her notice.

As the discussion continued, with Petro commenting dryly on the need to send labor legions to rebuild the infrastructure and Zephryn suggesting a strict rationing protocol, Lyra looked from face to face around the semicircle. She realized, with a start, that they all seemed profoundly, undeniably bored. This conflict, this desperate, mortal squabble over survival in the wake of disaster, was beneath them. Their expressions were detached, almost clinical—like CEOs reviewing a minor, regrettable fluctuation in quarterly market stability. The gods were not moved by the raw fear or the hunger of the people; they were merely irritated by the administrative disruption it caused. The sheer banality of their indifference was a cold shock.

It was Lyrion who finally articulated the sentiment, his voice smooth and condescending. “A simple, localized display of authority should be sufficient to quiet them. A brief intervention to remind them that order is preferable to chaos, and that their squabbles are disrupting the more necessary functions of Elyndra and our routines."

The conversation about Thalor Bay dragged on, a testament to the gods’ capacity for endless, detached administration. Their voices echoed like distant thunder in the vast expanse of the hall as they grappled with the fate of mortals, arguing over how much or how little to help the mortals end the strife.

Lyra caught herself staring at Alaios’s profile—the uncompromising line of his jaw, the severe set of his mouth—more than once; the pain of his month-long avoidance left a cold knot in her stomach. She forced her eyes away to stare at the skylight as the voices blurred and rumbled around her.

Chapter fifty

CHAPTER 44

The first rain did not fall as it always had. It came without wind, without thunder, descending in a steady, reverent hush, as though the sky itself had learned restraint. Those who stood beneath it spoke of a presence within each drop—not seen, but felt.

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

The following pages are unattributed to High Priest Aurelius Venn

Lyra slumped on her throne. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for a spark of insight, but the silence offered no answers. She felt a dull ache in her chest, a hollow space where helpful words should have been.

When Elio finally struck his fist down on the arm of his chair, signaling the adjournment, the pantheon rose with a collective, relieved sigh. Lyra watched as Alaios moved. He didn’t linger for the post-meeting chatter like the others. He was already a blur of black suit and granite will, moving with the long, ground-eatingstrides that always made him seem like he was walking against a perpetual headwind. His intent was clear: to escape her.

Lyra shot out of her throne, the turquoise silk of her dress a ripple of color against the pale marble. The sound of her quick footsteps was swallowed by the high ceiling, but she ran, desperate to close the distance. She burst through the massive doors of the Council Hall and into the corridor, sprinting to keep pace with his relentless escape.

"Alaios!" she called out, her voice sharp with desperation.

He didn’t stop. Without altering his pace, he continued his swift walk towards the gates of the Strife Temple. He was a wall of indifference, a self-imposed fortress she was struggling to breach.I deserve to know why he has tossed me aside.

Finally, just as he reached the mouth of the hall leading to his domain, she lunged forward with a force of wind shoving her the distance, her hand shooting out to latch onto his forearm. The contact was an electric shock, instantly slowing his momentum.

He stopped, but he didn’t turn fully; his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on the distance.

"Why are you avoiding me?” she demanded, her breath coming in ragged gasps from the raw emotions swirling in her. Her grip on his arm tightened, holding him in place. “Why did you not come to me when I got back?"

He finally offered a fractional shrug, a movement so slight it was almost dismissive. “I figured you’d be busy,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of the familiar growl that usually charged his words. He still wouldn’t look at her, focusing instead on the space just over her head.

The cold cruelty of his offhand indifference hit her like a physical blow. She had braced herself for this, but this… this was something far more devastating. His utter lack of emotional response, his casual dismissal of her pain, was a stark, brutalconfirmation that she meant nothing to him. It was as if she were speaking to a statue, carved from ice and apathy.

Her eyes burned, and the words barely escaped her throat, a threadbare whisper against the heavy silence. “Do you even care that I’m back?"

Alaios finally tilted his head, his dark eyes still refusing to make contact with hers, instead surveying the empty air above her shoulder. “Sure,” he replied, the single word a blade of polite detachment. “You’ve probably got lots to do without me bothering you."

Her voice shook now, trembling with the force of the hurt and the raw, untamed storm of her emotions. “You never bothered me until you started ignoring me. Did I do something wrong?"

She felt the last of her control shatter, along with the last flickers of control over her power. The sky, which seconds ago had been a warm, brilliant blue, was now an ominous, bruised purple. Jagged veins of white-hot lightning danced across the churning clouds, and thunder cracked like a whip, echoing with a deep, resonant roar. Big, icy droplets of rain fell in sharp, stinging splashes that chilled her face.

The simple, unvarnished question cut through the granite mask. Alaios’s shoulders slumped, the tension momentarily draining from his immense frame. He slowly shifted his gaze, and his dark eyes finally met hers. The coldness was gone, replaced by a devastating mix of pain, guilt, and a profound, exhausted tenderness that made her heart seize in her chest.

He sighed, a deep, rattling sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. Before she could process the change, he swept her up. One massive arm hooked beneath her knees, the other anchoring her back, and he lifted her against his chest as easily as if she weighed nothing. The warmth seeped into her skin as she tried to breathe him in, a deep inhale that filled her nostrils with his familiar, comforting scent.

The sudden shift—from crushing rejection to possessive strength—left her breathless. She instinctively locked her arms around his neck, burying her face in the expensive, familiar feel of his skin. A brief, fleeting thought of Amelisse and the missed appointments flashed through her mind, but it was immediately incinerated by the warmth of his embrace. The heavy, anchoring feel of his body, the steady beat of his heart against her chest, seeped into her skin, and the rest of the world vanished.

He carried her with long, powerful strides directly toward the towering black granite walls of the Strife Temple. The heavy doors, which had previously blocked her way, slid open at his approach, and he carried her across the threshold and down the austere, echoing corridor toward his private chamber. The rain had ceased, the storm contained, now that she was finally where she belonged.

The heavy doors to his private sanctum parted and then slammed shut behind them, sealing them into a profound, charged silence.