CHAPTER 35
As generations passed, devotion became an inheritance rather than a choice.
Children are given the privilege on their sixteenth birthday to register for one of the Gods, their futures sealed in ink and blessing alike.
Approval from the divine became not merely sacred, but necessary—governing labor, marriage, shelter, and worth.
To be favored was to be seen; to be denied was to fade quietly from society’s edges.
Snippet from “The Book of Natural History” By Priestess Antonella Killoran
It had been ninety-one days since Lyra had vanished, the day the fanatic’s knife had pierced Lyra’s heart and the trials had claimed her.
Ninety-one days of agonizing silence, and Alaios was unraveling.
The granite facade he wore for the world was fracturing under the relentless internal pressure of fear, guilt, and a god’s-sized inability to do anything about it.
He paced the marble floor of his office, every step doing nothing to quiet his internal struggles.
The Strife Temple itself seemed to mirror his mood; the air was heavy with contained volatility, oppressed darkness, and the faint scent of ozone clinging to the ancient stone.
His priests and priestesses seemed to be avoiding him, so as not to face his wrath.
He hadn’t slept or eaten properly, subsisting instead on a diet of unchecked worry.
The fear that Lyra had failed—that she was gone for all eternity, erased by the ascension process–was a cold, crushing weight.
I should have made her stay with me. The thought was a cruel, endless loop of self-recrimination.
I should have broken every protocol, locked her in the sanctum, and filled her with so much of my own strength that the knife wouldn’t have even scratched her.
Once the media knew, I should have hired guards to watch and keep her safe.
I should have acted instead of just letting her be out there on her own.
His hand clenched into a fist, the memory of the white silk dress and the blooming red stain a vivid, brutal image.
When he closed his eyes at night, he could see her falling with the dagger piercing her heart; it fueled his nightmares and kept him awake.
He had been so focused on the future, on preparing her for the inevitable war and the fire he felt for her, that he had forgotten to shield her from the simple, ugly violence of a life as a deity.
He was a blur as he ran out of his office, his only destination, the one place that held any possible information. The only place that held any bit of hope he could grasp onto.
The Goddess of Peace’s temple, a bastion of aggressive serenity, offered no comfort as he walked straight through to Seren’s office, ignoring the protests of her priestess. Alaios stood before Seren’s desk, the soft lavender walls and murmuring fountain doing nothing to soothe his internal storm.
"Seren," he demanded, his voice low and tight with desperation. “It has been three months. I need a sign. I need you to see something."
Seren looked up, her soft gray eyes full of an almost unbearable sympathy. “Alaios, you know I can’t. I’ve told you—"
"Tell me again!” he interrupted, slamming his palm on her desk, the sound a sharp, startling crack in the tranquil space as objects bounced on the surface. “Please, tell me she is still there. Tell me she hasn’t failed! I just need to know she is still fighting."
She sighed, a sound heavy with resignation, and slowly pushed a crystal-clear glass of water across the desk toward him.
“Take a breath, Alaios. She is still fighting.
The threads of her fate are still taut in Aetherfall; they have not broken.
That is all I know. The lack of a conclusion is her current success. "
He stared at the ceiling, then at her. “‘Take a breath’? You expect me to find peace when the only mortal I have ever cared for is facing a trial designed to break the strongest of our kind, alone, because I failed to protect her?"
Seren leaned forward, her voice soft but firm.
“Your guilt is a storm of your own making, Alaios. This was always to be her fate, not something for you to fight. Lyra’s trial is hers alone to battle.
If she is to command any of this chaos in Elyndra, she must command herself.
She is not failing. She is being challenged.
Breathe. Things will work out as they were meant to. "
His jaw tightened, the words hitting him with the cold indifference of divine law. He wasn’t looking for a prophecy; he was looking for an anchor. And Seren, with her gentle wisdom, could only offer faith. He pushed the glass of water back, the movement short and sharp, and turned to leave.
"May you find peace, Alaios,” Seren called after him.
"I wouldn’t know what to do with it if I found it,” he grumbled, blurring out of the office and back toward the familiarity of his own domain.
When he arrived back at the Strife Temple, the sight that greeted him in the reception area was both inevitable and deeply irritating.
Lyra’s parents, Pollo and Diane, sat stiffly on one of the benches, their anxiety a palpable, oppressive weight.
Pollo’s face was etched with worry, and Diane was clutching a crumpled handkerchief.
Flanking them, their two older sons—polished and utterly useless—stood nearby, their expressions a mix of concern and boredom.
They had been coming to his temple two or three times a week for the last month, a constant, agonizing reminder of the silence from Aetherfall.
Alaios huffed a breath, the sound heavy with martyr-like long-suffering. He forced the granite mask back into place, smoothing the worry lines from his forehead.
"God Alaios,” Diane began, rising quickly, her voice high-pitched and strained.
He cut her off with a curt nod toward the door. “My office. Now."
They filed into his office, the four mortals standing awkwardly before his desk. Alaios didn’t bother to sit as he gestured his hand towards the chairs around his office.
"I have just returned from the Temple of Peace,” he stated, his voice flat and impersonal. “The Goddess Seren confirmed Lyra is still fighting in the trials. Since the veil remained closed, nothing else was seen. That is all the information I possess."
Diane’s face crumpled immediately, and her husband put a hand on her arm.
Pollo nodded, those green eyes locking with his. “But... what does that mean? She is fighting? She has been fighting for so long already. Is she hurt?"
"It means she is not done fighting,” Alaios replied, meeting their gaze with a cold finality that discouraged further questions. “As I have stated every time you have come here, I will inform you the moment I have news. Until then, you will simply have to wait. There is nothing more to discuss."
“Is there anything we can do?” Orin asked, his shoulders straightening as he put on a brave face.
“Are there any sacrifices we can make?” Cadence queried, his shoulders slumping.
“Who would you offer a sacrifice to?” Alaios grunted, frowning. “Me? One of the other gods? We aren’t the ones who decide the outcome. Lyra must choose her path now.”
Cadence nodded, looking down at his feet. “We all just feel so useless. The history books never told us anything about…” He waved a hand.
“The books never told you mortals any more than you needed to know,” Alaios growled. “So coming here constantly and asking the same questions and getting the same answers is all that will happen until her trials are over. All any of us, including me, can do is wait.”
He watched as the small hope in their eyes dissolved into disappointment and fresh fear.
The guilt was still there, but the frustration of having to repeat the same empty, comforting words quickly overshadowed it.
They were Lyra’s family, and he owed them the truth, but the truth was a razor-sharp silence he couldn’t break.
“Let me show you out,” he grumbled, standing up.
Diane enveloped him in a tight, warm embrace, her arms squeezing him like a bear’s hug. “Thank you for talking to us.”
He gently patted her back; the rhythmic thud of his hand was a small sound in the quiet room. He offered her the small bit of comfort he could. Diane pulled away and smiled up at him.
Pollo stepped up, offering his hand. “I know you are busy and providing reassurances isn’t what you do, but we truly are thankful for whatever you can tell us.”
Alaios nodded, having no further words to offer.