CHAPTER 30
Others, whose worship went unnoticed or whose devotion faltered, labored quietly, observing the rewards of the favored and learning that to prosper was to choose wisely which god to serve.
Soon, allegiance became not only faith but strategy, and devotion shaped every corner of life—from careers to families, friendships to fortune.
Snippet from “The Book of Natural History” By Priestess Antonella Killoran
Alaios paced in the reception area outside Seren’s office, the thick soles of his boots muffled by the plush, silvery-gray carpet.
Every element of the room was an act of aggressive tranquility.
The walls were painted a pale, soothing lavender; the furniture upholstered in a dove-gray linen; and soft, indirect lighting emanated from alabaster sconces.
A delicate, crystalline fountain murmured in the corner, its gentle spill the only sound, designed to ease the most restless soul into repose.
He knew it was engineered to make him feel at peace, a reflection of the Goddess of Peace’s domain, but it wasn’t working.
He was a tightly coiled spring of raw strife: restless, angry, and consumed by worry.
It had been a month since Lyra started the trials, and the silence from Aetherfall was agonizing.
He knew the trials could last months—sometimes even a mortal year—but he couldn’t take the suspense anymore.
Unable to eat or sleep, the most recent scroll of Pending Strife Requisitions and Grievances sat still, untouched on his desk.
He thought since Seren was the one who had visions of those to join their ranks, maybe she would have an insight into Lyra’s current struggle and where she was in the trials.
After what felt like a millennium, the massive, pearlescent door slid silently open.
"The Goddess of Peace will see you now, God Alaios,” her priestess murmured, her voice as soft as the carpet.
He walked into the office, a stark shadow against the room’s pervasive calm. Seren sat behind a massive, circular, white stone desk, her expression serene and perfectly composed.
"Alaios," she greeted, her voice quiet and warm. “You look as if you haven’t slept since the Strife Temple was founded. To what do I owe the pleasure of this private visit?"
He ignored the pleasantry, his dark eyes sharp with a desperate edge. He moved straight to his demand, his voice a low, rough growl that felt brutally loud in the tranquil space. “Seren, I need you to perform a vision ritual. I need to see her. I need to know where she is in the trials."
Seren shook her head gently, her soft gray eyes full of regret. “Alaios, when a soul is in Aetherfall, the veil closes. The outcome is entirely their own. I cannot see anything. It is the nature of the ascension."
"I don’t care about the rules,” he countered, slamming his fist lightly on her white desk.
“The rules are in place for reasons, Alaios. Fate frays when gods mistake love for permission.”
“Fuck the rules. I know your gift, Seren. I know you can touch the threads of fate. She is facing the hardest test of her life, and she is alone. I need assurance, not platitudes about ‘the nature of ascension’ or how ‘fate frays’. I demand you try anyway.” His voice was raw, laced with the volatile power of his domain, a dangerous pressure building in the air.
Seren closed her eyes for a long moment, the silence amplifying the tension.
When she opened them, the regret had deepened.
“Your demands do not change the fabric of Aetherfall, Alaios.
Even my visions cannot pierce the silence of that domain.
If I force it, I risk seeing only what your own fear projects, or worse, damaging the tentative threads that are binding us to there. "
"Then risk it!” Alaios spat, taking a step closer, leaning over her desk. “I will take the chance, and I will take the blame. The others barely tolerate me, anyway.”
“That is not true,” she sighed. “We all respect and love you.”
He huffed, the sound a sharp exhale of air, as he turned. He paced, a restless energy vibrating through him. “If something happens, I need to know! I need to know she is alright!"
His desperation was a palpable force, vibrating in the air. He wasn’t asking as a fellow god; he was begging as a lover, a state so rare and unsettling for the God of Strife that it seemed to finally sway her.
Seren sighed, a sound heavy with resignation. “Very well, Alaios. I will try, but know there is no guarantee I will see anything."
She rose from her chair, the faint creak of its wood a soft sound in the quiet room.
Her movements were graceful as she walked to a nearby alcove.
She retrieved a delicate, footed golden bowl, its surface catching the dim light, and a small vial.
The vial held a thick, dark-blue liquid that seemed to absorb the surrounding light.
She placed the bowl on her desk; the gentle clink on wood was a small punctuation.
Carefully, she uncorked the vial, a faint sigh escaping as the stopper came free.
The thick liquid poured into the bowl, and Alaios recognized it as Moon Water—Nymera’s blessed water, known to enhance sight.
Seren then plucked three dried lavender buds and a pinch of shimmering, crushed mica.
The mica glinted like captured starlight as she sprinkled it into the water.
A soft, calming fragrance of lavender, sweet and floral, mingled with the sharp, clean scent of ozone, filling the air with a tranquil aroma.
She swirled the water with her finger; the moonwater caught the pale light. Her voice was soft and low, a hypnotic chant that wove through the office:
"Still the noise of this restless world. Let what was, what is, and what will be find its reflection in me. By silence unbroken and peace eternal, I command the veil to part for me to see."
She held her gaze on the water, the surface shimmering, but remained opaque. She repeated the chant, her voice growing slightly stronger, her brow furrowed in effort. The moon water refused to yield.
Alaios's eyes, wide with desperate hope, flickered between her and the shimmering, unnaturally still water. He strained to see what she saw, a silent plea in his gaze, as if the glinting surface held a secret only her perception could unlock.
Seren cast the spell again, the words ringing louder this time as if the fabric of their world could hear and make the vision appear.
"It is resisting,” Seren murmured, pulling her finger from the water. “Or the trial is not meant for our eyes, only hers. The vision is locked."
“Please try again,” he responded.
Seren nodded, a small, decisive movement.
She took a deep breath of the crisp, cold air and tried a fourth time.
Closing her eyes and pressing her thumbs to her temples, reciting a different, more ancient incantation in the language of the First Gods.
The words flowed low and melodically beneath her breath, “Vaelora ith naeva… saelith vin ara…” When she opened her eyes, she was trembling, and the water in the bowl was roiling, but no image formed.
Seren slumped back into her chair, her eyes, rimmed with a faint redness, scanned Alaios with a weary glaze. “It is futile, my brother. The veil remains. I cannot see her."
Alaios stared at the golden bowl, his rage deflating into a cold, heavy lump of dread. He looked at Seren, his voice barely a whisper, strained with a terrible vulnerability. “Do you think she's still fighting in the trials at least?"
Seren looked at him, her soft gray eyes full of quiet, unwavering conviction. She smiled softly and said, “I have faith she is, Alaios."
His jaw tightened, the familiar mask of granite control slipping back into place. “Faith, or actually knowing?"
Seren sighed, the sound heavy with the limits of her own divine power. “Faith only."