CHAPTER 16
At last, the murmurs of discord drew the attention of the pantheon.
Alaios Tugadóir descended, and where his feet touched, divisions sharpened and old grievances flared.
Strife was not punishment, but a teacher, guiding mortals to understand that peace under War was fleeting and that survival required both cunning and courage.
The faithful learned that obedience alone could not protect them; some lessons must be earned in conflict.
Snippet from “The Book of Natural History” By Priestess Antonella Killoran
Lyra snuggled up in bed, playing a game on her phone.
She had no plans other than to do nothing.
The silence of her room, broken only by the faint, rhythmic sound effects of the game, was a fragile sanctuary she desperately needed.
After the chaos of the last few days—the gods, her parents, and the constant press—the idea of simply existing without a script felt like the most rebellious act she could commit.
She just needed a few hours where Lyra was allowed to be a girl in sweatpants and a t-shirt, not the Unaligned, not the Reject, and certainly not the ‘Future Goddess’.
Diane, moving with the frantic, purposeful energy of a mother on a mission, threw open Lyra’s door. “Lyra, get up. It’s a family dinner, and you will not disrespect your brothers by missing it."
Lyra burrowed under the blanket and let out a low, rumbling groan that vibrated in her chest. “Mom, can I just have one day of peace and quiet?”
Diane snatched at the blanket, but Lyra clung on, desperate to hold on to this fragile comfort. The blanket suddenly yanked free. It landed with a soft thud on the floor. Diane’s gaze swept over Lyra, a sharp, assessing look.
Lyra exhaled, a weary puff of air that seemed to carry the weight of her mother’s perpetually watchful, anxious eyes.
The fabric of her bedsheets rustled as she slid off, the floor cool beneath her bare feet.
She trailed after her mother, the scent of bacon faintly clinging to the air, down the dim hallway and into the dining room.
A sudden thought to run out the door to avoid whatever conversation her mother had planned hit her, but she knew her mother would run after her if she did.
The room was set with intimidating formality.
Her father, Pollo, was already seated at the head of the long oak table, looking uncomfortable in his Sunday best. Flanking him were her two older brothers, their wives, and, of course, her mother, who directed Lyra to her seat with a sharp gesture.
The air was thick with the rich, comforting scent of bacon, eggs, biscuits, and sausage from the centerpiece platter—a smell that usually signified happy family memories but now felt like a distraction before an inevitable verbal execution.
Lyra reached for the platter, grateful for a moment of quiet before the storm, and began filling her plate, savoring the wonderful-smelling food.
She knew, with bone-deep certainty, that this brunch was not for shits and grins; it was a mandatory intervention, and she was not mentally prepared for the lecture that was coming.
Her mother didn’t even wait for everyone to finish serving themselves before launching into the offensive. Diane set her fork down with a sharp clink against the porcelain.
"Lyra," her mother began, her voice low and measured, yet vibrating with controlled anxiety.
“We need to talk about your image. It’s simply unacceptable.
You are destined for a seat among the gods, and you are parading around looking like a delinquent teenager.
Your appearance needs to reflect the honor being bestowed upon this family and yourself. "
Diane paused, taking a dramatic sip of water.
“I took the liberty of organizing your closet the other day. Since separating the clothes didn’t seem to work, I have taken another step.
I’ve discarded several items that were entirely too ‘trashy-like’ or too ‘godless-casual.’ You now have a proper wardrobe of dignified, reverent pieces that speak to your future position.
I even purchased a few new pieces for you also.
There is no need to pay me back; consider it a gift. "
Lyra shoved food into her mouth to squash the angry retort lingering on her tongue. If I wanted to live a grandma chic lifestyle, I would have let you choose my wardrobe before. But apparently, I am not allowed to be me!
Her brother, Orin, leaned forward, his expression solemn.
“Mom is right, Lyra. Your attitude has been...
difficult. Even as a kid, you were this way.
We saw the pictures from yesterday all over Pantheia and the news.
The way you shoved that microphone? That reflects poorly on us.
You need to be poised and thankful. The gods value gratitude, not disobedience. "
"And the lack of composure in front of the cameras is a real problem,” added her sister-in-law, Elara.
She grabbed her husband Orin’s hand. “You look like a deer in headlights every time you’re asked a simple question.
That look is interpreted as weakness, Lyra.
You need to present strength and certainty. "
Lyra’s emotions were bouncing all over the place—anger warring with a deep, aching sadness.
She felt the pressure of their collective disappointment pressing down on her, an unbearable weight.
I am trying to do the best I can to just be me, but how am I supposed to answer questions I don’t have the answers to?
"I don’t know what I’m a goddess of!” Lyra snapped, the words coming out sharper than she intended.
“Plus, how much detail about my diet am I supposed to go into? Should I tell them my mommy decides what I should wear and if it’s not her style, she throws my clothes away?
I don’t know what I am supposed to tell them!
I can’t exactly lie to them about these things that literally have no answers! "
Her other brother, Cadence, the pragmatic one, tapped his fingers on the table.
“We all need calm heads to handle this properly. You don’t have to lie, Lyra.
You just have to be prepared. This is a public relations war now.
Your silence is weakness, but your candor could be a disaster.
” He looked at his wife, Anya, who nodded sagely.
"Cadence has a point,” Anya said, ever the organizer.
“What if we make cue cards? A list of answers to common questions.
Something simple, noncommittal, and suitably reverent.
For example: ‘What are you a goddess of?’—your answer is simply, ‘That is a matter for the fates to announce in due time.’ Or, ‘Are you dating God Asmodeus?’—‘My focus is solely on preparing for my divine path.’ We can sit down, make a list of the most common questions, and write the answers for you to memorize. "
“So, I'm prepping for a pop quiz, wonderful,” Lyra grumbled.
Diane glared at Lyra; her lips pressed into a thin line. “This is not a pop quiz, Lyra. This is serious, and your sarcastic attitude is entirely unhelpful."
"I know, Mom,” Lyra replied, her tone dripping with mock solemnity. “I was just trying to crack a joke to lighten the mood of my pre-death public relations training."
Orin shook his head, pushing a hand through his neat hair. “See? There we go. That’s the exact reason you need to be coached, Lyra. You always revert to sarcasm, and that is not the look of a poised, grateful goddess-to-be."
Lyra opened her mouth to shoot back a defensive retort, but Diane cut her off, her voice laced with the sting of necessary cruelty. “A perfect example is the video with Adrian. I know you didn’t want me to bring it up, but it needs to be said."
Pollo cleared his throat, his gaze soft but firm. “We are not saying what the boy did is right, Lyra. We are saying that you need to be careful not to let there be videos like that on the internet, which show you in a less than... favorable light."
Lyra felt a surge of hot, uncontrollable fury.
She slammed her hands flat on the table; the sound echoing the rapid, angry beat of her heart.
“Do you think I wanted that? Do you think I want to have cameras in my face all the time?
Is it enjoyable for me to have my personal life dissected for clicks?
Then, throw in the fact that my family is constantly telling me how I am not good enough. "
Cadence’s face flushed a deep red. He leaned forward, his voice tight and sharp.
“Do you think that we all wanted a part of this?
We are all being scrutinized due to you and the spectacles you keep making!
Our jobs, our friendships, our lives—everything is suddenly public because of your constant poor choices! "
Pollo slammed a fist on the table, silencing them both. “We all need to calm down! Lyra, you need to understand: when you make these spectacles, it is not just you affected. It’s all of us. Your brothers, their wives, your mother, and I. Our reputation is now tied to yours."
Diane nodded curtly, her anxiety momentarily subdued by her husband’s show of authority. “That is why we need to work with you on the best way to present yourself, Lyra. Especially since you are being pursued by a god. You need to be beyond reproach."
Lyra flung her hands into the air, the gesture one of complete, bitter surrender. “Fine. Whatever. Just give me the cue cards. I don’t need to exist so you can all have the perfect version you decided I should be."
Diane sighed, the sound a soft whisper in the tense air, her shoulders slumping with weariness. Cadence’s fist hit the table with a sharp crack, the sudden noise making the scattered dishes jump.
Lyra stared at the food on her plate, her appetite utterly gone.
They were trying to give her a script for her life, turning her into a polished, plastic doll, an echo of the goddess they all wanted.
The rage and sorrow mixed into a sick knot in her stomach.
She looked down, gripping her fork so tightly her knuckles were white, and tried to summon the strength to simply nod and survive the rest of the morning as they planned everything from her wardrobe to the words coming out of her mouth knowing they would never listen to her and understand what she was losing.