CHAPTER 40
For hundreds of years, no new god had risen. The balance endured, fixed and unquestioned, its order recorded and revered as complete. We believed the pantheon finished, the scales forever set.
Snippet from “The Book of Natural History” By Priestess Antonella Killoran—
The following pages are unattributed to High Priest Aurelius Venn
The collective exclamation of the mortals outside the Celestial Ward was a dull, distant roar compared to the overwhelming silence of the gods.
Lyra stood in the courtyard, her white silk dress—now impossibly dry and pristine—clinging to her, her body vibrating with the contained power of a newly formed storm.
The devastation of Alaios’s silent rejection had left a profound, hollow ache in her chest, stealing the triumph of her survival.
Asmodeus's warm, possessive presence at her side felt like a calculated move, a performance for the mortals’ cameras, but she was too numb to pull away.
She looked up into those blue eyes and saw the calculation she had feared would be there.
Elio, after his pronouncement, had simply nodded to a trio of priestesses, who glided toward Lyra with perfect, deferential grace.
"Goddess Lyra,” the priestess at the front murmured, her voice smooth, polished as she bowed.
The sight of her, head lowered in reverence, was a stark contrast from what she was used to.
“The Council has prepared private quarters for you within the Ward.
They will serve as your residence while the designs for your temple are finalized and construction begins. "
Lyra nodded mutely, her eyes still fixed on the empty shadow where Alaios had vanished.
The priestesses ushered her away from the pantheon and the watching crowds towards the building where meetings were held, leading her through a maze of pristine marble corridors until they arrived at a secluded wing of the Ward’s administrative buildings.
The quarters were a study in luxury. The room was spacious; the walls paneled in pale, sandy white oak wood; the floors covered in thick, dove-gray carpet.
A massive, canopied bed dominated the space, draped in white linen and rich indigo velvet.
Sunlight glinted off the polished, sandy oak of the small bar tucked into the corner.
A subtle, sweet aroma of aged spirits mingled with the faint scent of wood polish.
Meticulously arranged on a high shelf was a collection of jewel-toned decanters filled with expensive alcohol.
A plush chair sat on the opposite side of the bed.
A window wall overlooked a manicured, quiet garden—a vision of unnatural calm—filled with bushes, a small tree, and a bench.
It was beautiful, sterile, and utterly without soul, designed not for comfort but for aesthetics.
The priestesses left with a final bow, promising a full staff and a stream of council updates once she was settled.
When Lyra turned, expecting a moment of solitude, she found Asmodeus leaning casually against the doorframe, his red velvet suit a jarring splash of color against the pale wood.
He looked utterly at home, radiating an easy, intoxicating confidence.
"They're a bit stuffy, aren’t they?” Asmodeus purred, pushing off the frame. He walked toward the bar in the corner, pouring himself a clear, amber liquid. “You look like you need a drink, little goddess. Or a distraction."
Lyra slumped onto the plush chair, the heavy emotional exhaustion of the trials finally catching up. She felt wrung out, her bones heavy, and her mind a confusing mess of elation, pain, and gut-wrenching tiredness.
"I need a moment of peace,” she whispered, rubbing her temples.
“You’ll get that in a minute. I’m just staying for one drink.”
“How are you, Asmodeus?” She sighed softly, the quiet rustle of her breath mingling with the clink of glass as he poured a second glass, hoping the conversation would be brief.
He paused, tilting his head. “Me? I’m fantastic. Seeing you looking utterly divine after such an ordeal has quite improved my day… though it’s doing absolutely terrible things to my self-control.”
Lyra stared at him flatly. “You truly are incapable of behaving normally for more than thirty seconds.” She took the glass he handed her.
“Are you implying you’d like me to show you how I am in... person?” He finished his drink with a suggestive smirk.
Lyra exhaled, the sound heavy. “No, I just meant... Are you well? It’s been a long few days."
"I was lonely without your stunning presence to keep things interesting,” he replied, ignoring the substance of her question and focusing entirely on flirtation. “A full six months, in fact. But now you’re back, and I plan to make up for lost time. You’ve earned some indulgence, Lyra."
Lyra grew quiet, her eyes drifting away from his handsome, cocky expression. She felt the sudden, desperate need for genuine connection, for a conversation that wasn’t layered with innuendo and effortless charm.
When she didn’t respond, Asmodeus frowned slightly, his smile faltering for the first time. “Why the sudden silence, little goddess? Did I say something wrong?"
His words finally pushed through the haze and hit her like a sledgehammer. Have I really been gone for six months?
She looked at him. Really looked at him.
His baby-blue eyes were beautiful, his demeanor effortless, yet now, through the cold lens of her emotional exhaustion, she wondered what was actually beneath the surface of the casual confidence he wore.
It almost seemed like a shield—a perfectly crafted mask of seduction designed to repel any genuine query or depth.
He was defined by want, and it occurred to her that perhaps he wasn’t capable of anything else.
She must have been staring too long, because a defensive edge crept into his tone. “What?” he asked, his posture straightening slightly.
"Do you ever,” Lyra began, her voice soft, “let anyone see the real you?"
Asmodeus paused, the glass halfway to his lips, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected gravity of the question.
The seductive mask flickered. He quickly recovered, his smile returning, though it seemed a touch forced.
“I don’t know what you mean, Lyra. This is the real me. Utterly devoted to pleasure."
Lyra laughed softly, a short, humorless sound that contained more weariness than amusement. “I just want a moment of peace, I think."
He studied her, his eyes narrowed. “You’ve changed,” he observed, the flirtation replaced by a curious observation.
Lyra shrugged, leaning her head back against the chair. “Maybe I have."
"It’s been a long six months since you left"
"Six months?” She asked. This was the second time he had said it, and it still didn’t feel right. “Was I really gone for six months?”
"Yes," he replied. “Half a year. One-hundred-and-eighty-two days. Elio was practically apoplectic about the chaos your absence caused in the media."
Lyra thought back to the single, defining day that felt like a lifetime ago and just a few days all at once—the fanatic, the knife, the blinding ascent.
The look in his eyes was something she would never forget.
Will I have to see those eyes again? She asked, her voice flat, “What happened to the mortal who... murdered me?"
Asmodeus's expression hardened, a brief, genuine spark of malice replacing the charm. “Alaios killed him, of course. Tore the fanatic apart in a fit of pure, glorious strife, right there on the temple steps, feet from where you fell. It was beautiful."
"Oh," Lyra replied, the sound barely audible.
The knowledge that Alaios, who had just coldly walked away from her, had killed the man who killed her was a confusing, agonizing paradox.
She wondered if he had killed the person who had killed her because he felt he should, or if he did it for her.
And why he did not stay around to talk to her.
“Was I really gone for six months?” She murmured, not sure she wanted to focus on the thoughts swirling through her mind and heart while Asmodeus was there.
"Every single day of it felt like an eternity, darling,” he purred, his smile returning, polished and bubbly as newly poured champagne.
“The ward was utterly dull without your disruptive presence. I may have had to arrange a few extra mortal conquests just to keep the boredom at bay. You really shouldn’t scare us like that, Lyra.
We need our little goddess around to keep things interesting. "
Lyra let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I’m deeply concerned for the state of the mortal population if my temporary absence increased your conquest schedule.”
“Please. The opportunity thrilled them,” Asmodeus replied smoothly, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “Though none of them possessed your talent for causing chaos in my otherwise exquisite existence.”
She pushed herself up from the chair; the exhaustion overwhelming her ability to feign interest. She offered him a polite, final smile. “I hope you have a great day, Asmodeus."
“You really are trying to get rid of me,” he murmured lightly.
“That obvious?” She laughed.
He seemed like he wanted to say more, a word caught in his throat, but then the mask snapped back into place.
He gave a slight, acknowledging nod, a subtle dip of his head.
“Until very soon, little goddess.” He turned and melted away, the red velvet suit disappearing through the pale wooden door, leaving Lyra alone in the sterile silence.