Chapter 022: The Eyes Of The Gods
[Perseverance does not equal worthiness. Next time you want to get my attention, wear something hot.]
Support me on Ko-Fi, and commission NSFW content or advanced chapters
Join me on Discord, where we share memes and sometimes l-lewd images
PLEASE ENJOY THE CHAPTER
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
{MIDDAS, SOLYRA 25, 999 – 20:57}
{LOKI}
Loki lounged sideways in her seat at Ganesha's absurdly oversized banquet table, one leg hooked over the next, her fingers already sticky from whatever sweet had been set out as a centerpiece. The room glittered—golden columns, pennants in every color, and an archway wide enough for Ganesha's own ego. The gods' table was its own little kingdom: Freya perched at her right, all silver-lidded grace and dangerous serenity, while across the spread Hermes had already begun his third quiet round of dice under the table.
There was no privacy here—just a thousand eyes, mortal and divine, trained on every flick of a tail, every twitch of a godly brow. Loki lived for this kind of spectacle. She watched Freya from the corner of her eye, noted the way the goddess scanned the crowd with the bored patience of a queen who'd already decided which pawn she'd take next. What caught Freya's gaze tonight, Loki wondered—who had earned the next round of games?
The doorman's staff rang the floor. His voice, stuffy with ceremony, called out above the murmurs of the crowd: "Lucian Gilford, accompanied by Miss Rose Fannett!"
That got attention. Even gods who'd barely looked up from their plates took a moment to seek the newcomers. Loki arched a thin brow and grinned, just a little, as she leaned forward for a better view.
Lucian stepped into the hall—black hat, black boots, black coat, with seams so fine they might've been pressed by the hands of Hephaestus herself. Rose was beside him in scarlet, looking every inch the Guild's champion, her tail disciplined, her expression composed as stone.
But it was the merchant that held the room, at least for a heartbeat. He looked nothing like the men who came begging for patronage or favor, nothing like the adventurers trying too hard to catch a goddess's eye. He looked… unbothered. Almost stubbornly himself. Loki's grin widened.
"Well, well," she drawled, glancing sidelong at Freya, "looks like Orario's favorite rumor finally made it to the grown-ups' table. You think he'll manage to keep both his dignity and his head tonight?"
Freya's lips barely curved. "That depends," she murmured, eyes never leaving Lucian, "on whether he understands whose table he's been invited to."
Loki lifted her cup in silent salute as Lucian and Rose approached, every step watched by gods and mortals alike. Tonight, she thought, the fun was just beginning.
Freya was the first to rise, sliding from her seat with that feline grace that made every mortal glance her way and every god bristle with suspicion. Loki, not one to be left out—or to let Freya have first bite—hopped down from her perch, falling in just a half-step behind.
They wove through a slow swirl of dignitaries and adventurers, the sea of gossip thick enough to taste. Loki kept one eye on Freya's silver cascade of hair and the other on the merchant who'd managed to make a banquet out of a building permit.
She expected nerves. She expected awe. She expected at least a hint of humility. What she didn't expect—what froze her halfway across the room—was the sight of Lucian, head bowed in conversation with Hestia. Tiny, pouting, too-blue-eyed Hestia, the city's youngest goddess. She stood on tiptoe beside him, hands waving as she explained something with enough conviction to charm the ink out of a contract.
Loki flicked her gaze to Freya, catching the smallest narrowing of those famous eyes. She leaned in, just as Lucian asked, "And you're earning how much a day, running your own cart?"
Hestia's cheeks puffed, her pride obvious even from across the hall. "Seven hundred and fifty Valis, after I pay for bread and sweet rice. I keep looking for a child, but…" Her voice faltered, but she caught herself, lifting her chin. "I'm not giving up!"
Loki opened her mouth to toss a barb—something about divine allowances, or how many gods were one sandwich away from closing shop. She was already forming the first syllable when Lucian, with infuriating casualness, said:
"If you're not too proud to work for someone else in the meantime, I could use help with deliveries and inventory. Hours are flexible, pay's decent. Interested?"
The entire conversation seemed to stall—like a clock that missed a gear. Freya's head turned, slow and regal. Hestia's eyes went wide, her breath catching as if she'd forgotten how to speak. Loki closed her mouth with a soft click, just in time to swallow her own snark.
He's offering her a job? Loki blinked. Here, now, in the hall of gods and mortals alike? She half-expected a punchline, a trick, something with teeth. Instead, Lucian just smiled, easy as you please, and waited for Hestia's answer.
A ripple of whispers shot through the crowd. Loki's tail twitched, half with laughter, half with disbelief.
The tension stretched—Hestia gaping, Freya's eyes narrowing, Loki practically vibrating with the urge to cut in. But it was the little goddess who found her voice first.
"Um—how much does it pay?" Hestia asked, her hands fidgeting with the blue ribbon at her neck. "And what… what exactly would I be doing?"
Lucian's tone didn't shift—still easy, businesslike, as if offering work to a goddess was just another line on his ledger. "It's simple. I'd want you to man the shop when I'm out, help track inventory, maybe handle a delivery now and then. If something gets low, you make a note or let me know so I can restock. There'll be paperwork, but I'll teach you. It's not hard, just detail work. Most days, you'll have plenty of time to read."
He paused, catching Hestia's eyes. "I'll pay you fifteen hundred Valis a day, more if you pick things up quickly or keep the shop running smooth when it gets busy."
Even Loki had to admit, that was a respectable sum for part-time shop work—twice what Hestia cleared after expenses on her best days. The offer hung in the air, and Loki found herself searching for the catch. There was always a catch with mortals, and usually three when a goddess was involved.
Hestia blinked, surprise warring with hope, a flush spreading up her neck. "Fifteen hundred… every day?" She did the math silently, lips moving. "That's—well, that's more than I've ever—" She clamped her mouth shut, eyes shining.
Lucian only nodded, as if it was nothing at all. "If you want a trial week, that's fine. No pressure. You can leave anytime. Just help me keep the place in order."
By now, the crowd around them had quieted, drawn in by the strangeness of the scene—a goddess, a foreign merchant, and the kind of workaday honesty that seemed somehow more shocking than any divine boast. Loki caught Freya watching, inscrutable, weighing the new variable Lucian had just introduced to the game.
Freya's voice flowed into the hush, smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. "A goddess working for a mortal? That's-"
"She can speak for herself," Lucian said, cutting across Freya's words without hesitation or apology.
It was not loud, nor rude—just clean and final, a merchant's boundary drawn where no one else dared draw it. The air seemed to shift, several mortals within earshot paling at the tone. Even the gods' table paused, watching to see who would blink first.
Loki whistled, low and sharp, unable to hide her delight. Mortals either groveled before Freya or lost themselves in her gaze—not once had she seen someone talk over the Lady of Beauty with nothing more than a calm look and a flat line of logic. Was Lucian somehow immune to Freya's charm? Resistant? She studied him, half-expecting the beginnings of a flush or an anxious twitch, but found none.
How? Loki wondered. It was a puzzle—and she loved puzzles.
Freya's lips parted, a glimmer of curiosity flickering in her storm-silver eyes. For a heartbeat, even she seemed caught off guard. Hestia, for her part, stared between them, breathless.
All around, attention redoubled. The banquet's hum quieted as mortals and gods alike tried to weigh the odds and catch the punchline.
Loki's grin stretched. "Now this," she murmured, just for Freya, "is a game worth watching."
Lucian broke the tension with an easy pivot, turning away from the stand-off as if he'd never been fazed by a goddess's challenge. He offered Hestia a gentle smile. "Take your time. Think about it, all right? The shop will still be there tomorrow."
Then, with unhurried calm, he looked to Loki. "It's good to see you again," he said, that merchant's glint back in his eye. "Have another order?"
Loki flashed her teeth—half-fox, half-coyote. "Always. The more you sell, the more I want."
But it was Freya who stepped in, her voice a velvet thread of challenge. "I do," she purred, gaze never leaving Lucian. "I'm thinking… something worth ten million this time. At least."
Loki choked on a laugh, delighted and horrified in equal measure. Lucian didn't flinch. If anything, the corner of his mouth ticked upward, a man who enjoyed being tested.
"Maybe a car then," he said, voice dry as autumn leaves. "But I'm not quite ready to sell those."
Rose, who had lingered just out of the circle, frowned, her tail giving a single, involuntary flick. "Car?" she repeated, the word strange in her mouth, and half the gathered mortals echoed her. "What's a car?"
Loki leaned in, eyes alight. "You know, I was wondering that myself." She glanced at Lucian, all curiosity and mischief. "Come on, Gilford—what's a car? A chariot without horses? Something for crossing continents, or just another one of your artifacts?"
Freya's gaze sharpened, her interest piqued, and the gods' table seemed to draw a little closer, every ear straining for secrets.
Lucian tipped his head, his expression wry but not mocking. "A car is… well, it's a sort of carriage. But instead of horses or oxen, it has its own engine—a machine that burns fuel, turns wheels, and takes you anywhere roads will go. No magic, no enchantment. Just parts, oil, and a bit of clever engineering."
He paused, letting the words hang. Several gods leaned forward, interest sharpened. Even the mortals within earshot blinked in disbelief.
Freya's eyes narrowed, all calculation. "And this… engine, it runs without divine blessing? Without spirit stones or runes?"
Lucian nodded once. "All on its own. Metal, fire, and ingenuity. Where I'm from, you'll see whole cities full of them—thousands moving at once, every hour of the day. Some faster than any horse, some strong enough to haul whole homes behind them."
There was a ripple through the crowd—a mix of skepticism and envy. Rose's tail flicked, betraying her astonishment even as her tone stayed dry. "You expect us to believe all that happens… just with gears and fire?"
Lucian shrugged, meeting her eyes. "You asked. I don't expect anyone to believe it right away. But if I ever decide to sell one, you'll see it with your own eyes. Until then, maybe we'll stick to pizza and water."
A small, reluctant smile tugged at Rose's lips. Loki was grinning wide, delighted by the confusion and curiosity bubbling through the crowd.
No magic, Lucian had said. And for once, in a room full of gods, that was somehow the most magical thing anyone had heard all night.
Freya's smile grew, the promise of mischief glinting in her eyes. "I'd like to buy one."
Lucian didn't blink. "Again, I'm not selling them yet. Unless you want to fork over two hundred million." He tossed the number out like a gauntlet—part dare, part joke, the price so high it ought to have ended the conversation.
"Deal," Freya said, her tone smooth as velvet.
The table stilled. Loki's grin stretched, eyes flickering with delighted disbelief. Rose's brows shot up, lips parting in shock. Hestia made a faint squeak, quickly clapping a hand over her mouth.
Lucian studied Freya, and for a moment the bravado wavered—just enough for the gods to scent it. "You're serious?" he said.
Freya didn't so much as blink. "Two hundred million," she repeated, folding her hands atop the white linen. "And I'll pay up front, if you deliver."
Loki whistled, shaking her head. "Careful, merchant. The Lady of Beauty always gets what she wants."
Lucian looked between them, then let out a breath that might have been a laugh—or a curse under his breath. "Let me know if you're still interested in a few years. That's about how long it'll take me to figure out shipping."
Freya's smile didn't fade. "I can wait."
The crowd murmured, watching the strange, shifting balance of power across the gods' table—Freya's open appetite, Lucian's stubborn reserve, Loki's wicked glee. Rose, quiet, watched Lucian as if trying to weigh what else he might be hiding.
Loki slipped from Freya's side and intercepted Lucian as he turned away, her hand catching his elbow in a gesture light enough to be friendly, firm enough to mean business.
She leaned in, voice pitched for his ears alone. "Listen, Linda—let me give you a little free advice, seeing as you're new to these waters."
Lucian raised a brow. "Should I be worried?"
"Only if you like your head where it is." Her grin flashed. "You want a god to lose interest in something? Don't set your price at a paltry two hundred million. Try a few billion—better yet, make the thing look about as appetizing as sewer stew after a festival. Because right now?" She tipped her head toward Freya, whose eyes tracked them with that same unblinking, hungry focus. "Freya looks like she's shopping for more than just your wares."
Lucian's smile tightened, and for the first time all night, uncertainty flickered at the edge of his composure. "Duly noted. I'll try to keep the menu less tempting."
Loki patted his arm, releasing him with a wink. "Or learn to run faster. Either way, you're in the deep end now."
She sauntered off, her laughter tumbling back over her shoulder, and left Lucian to stand alone for a heartbeat—considering the crowd, the gods, and just how high the price of curiosity could really go.
Loki slid back into her seat, crossing one leg over the other, a fox's smile ghosting on her lips. She kept her eyes on Lucian as he worked the room—talking now with a pair of older merchants from the northern districts, his cap forever slightly askew, his hands moving with a craftsman's surety even as he gestured over numbers and wares.
Rose was always nearby, never more than an arm's length away. Sometimes she said little, other times she answered questions for him, and whenever a conversation lagged, she stepped in with a dry comment or a firm glance, her tail telegraphing exactly how much nonsense she would tolerate from the more ambitious guests.
It was when Mia Grande joined the little cluster that Loki found herself truly interested. The innkeeper's presence quieted some of the more boisterous gods, her reputation enough to buy Lucian a sliver of peace and a smattering of new respect. Mia's voice was a low, steady anchor; even Rose seemed to stand a little straighter beside her.
Loki leaned sideways, draping herself almost onto Miach's chair. The blue-haired god barely looked up, scribbling in his journal with the focus of a priest lost in prayer.
"You think they're a thing?" Loki asked, keeping her tone teasing but not quite as sharp as usual. "They look good together."
Miach paused, pen hovering over the page. He followed her gaze, lips curling in a thoughtful half-smile. "Perhaps. She trusts him, and he—" he shrugged gently, "he listens. That's rare in Orario, especially on nights like this."
Loki watched as Lucian laughed at something Rose said, his posture finally easing, a glint of gratitude passing between them—so quick most would have missed it. The gods gossiped, the mortals whispered, but there was no question: the pair made a striking silhouette against the golden riot of Ganesha's hall.
"Good for them," Loki mused, and wondered—not for the first time—how many other gods tonight were quietly plotting to tip the scales in their own favor before the next banquet rolled around.
Loki didn't have to wait long for the next act. The crowd parted with almost comic predictability as Ganesha himself strode across the banquet floor, arms spread wide, his crimson cloak swirling and his voice already booming before he'd even crossed half the distance.
"ROOOOSE! LUCIAN! WELCOME, WELCOME TO MY MAJESTIC MANOR—GANESHA SEES AND GREETS YOU BOTH!" His laughter bounced off marble columns and rattled the crystal.
Loki watched, delighted, as half the mortals shrank back and Rose's tail flicked in irritation. Lucian's expression barely shifted, but the set of his jaw and the flatness in his eyes made it perfectly clear he was unimpressed with the divine spectacle.
Ganesha charged into the heart of their conversation, oblivious—or perhaps immune—to the delicate thread of merchant negotiations that had been unfolding. Lucian took a single step back, planting his feet as the towering god loomed over him and Rose both.
"Glad to see you, Lord Ganesha," Lucian said, his tone polite but so thinly veiled it was almost sharp. "But maybe next time you could wait for us to finish our conversation before making your grand entrance? Some of us aren't used to being upstaged in the middle of a sentence."
It wasn't angry, but it was a scolding—a line in the sand, clear for everyone to see. The mortals gawked, and a few gods stilled their wine mid-toast. Even Rose looked briefly startled, then covered it with a subtle, approving nod.
Ganesha blinked, confusion knitting his brows for half a second before his wide grin returned, this time a little sheepish. "Ah! Yes, of course, conversation! Very important. Ganesha respects the flow!" He stepped back with exaggerated care, making a show of clasping his hands behind his back.
Loki nearly laughed aloud, unable to hide her admiration. Lucian, it seemed, wasn't just immune to Freya's charm—he had no fear of Ganesha's volume, either.
"New favorite merchant," Loki murmured to Miach, watching the ripples of astonishment and reluctant respect pass through the hall. "No contest."