Lyra's POV
I didn't sleep after the voice spoke in my head.
How could I? A godit had to be a god whispered directly into my thoughts. Told me I'd hear silence today. Promised it would terrify me.
Now, walking through the Celestial Court's hallways, I'm shaking so hard I have to clench my fists to hide it.
There she is, someone whispers as I pass. The freak who hears lies.
Can she really judge a god? another voice murmurs.
She's judged everyone else. Why not?
I keep my eyes forward, spine straight. I learned years ago that showing weakness only makes things worse. People either fear me or hate me. Sometimes both.
The Divine Court opens before me a massive room that seems to go on forever. The ceiling shows stars I don't recognize. The floor looks like glass, but it's solid under my feet. Rows of seats fill with gods and mortals, all here to watch me condemn someone to death.
My stomach twists. I've done this hundreds of times. Why does today feel different?
Because you know something's wrong, a voice whispers in my head. You just don't know what yet.
I push the thought away and take my seat in the Judgment Box a raised platform where everyone can see me. Where I can't hide.
Lyra, my dear child.
I look up. Archon Domitius approaches, his white robes flowing. He's ancient, powerful, the head of the Celestial Council. When he smiles at me, it's supposed to feel kind.
It doesn't.
Are you prepared? he asks gently.
Yes, sir.
Good, good. He pats my shoulder like a grandfather would. This is a simple case. The god is clearly guilty. Just confirm his lies when he speaks, and justice will be served. Then you can finally rest.
Music fills my ears. Wind chimes and flutes, delicate and sweet.
He's lying. About what, I don't know. But every word carries music.
I understand, I say quietly.
Domitius's smile widens. I knew we could count on you.
He returns to his seat. The Court settles. Silence falls real silence, the kind without music and I almost relax.
Then the doors open.
Guards march in, six of them, surrounding a figure in chains.
And I forget how to breathe.
The prisoner is tall, even with his hands bound in glowing metal. Dark hair falls across his face. His clothes are torn, stained with something that might be blood. The chains hum with power, clearly draining him.
But he doesn't stumble. Doesn't beg. He walks with his head high, like he's not a prisoner at all. Like he's choosing to be here.
The gods in the audience shift uncomfortably. Even they seem nervous.
This is Kairos, I realize. God of Time and Inevitability.
The god accused of murdering Fate herself.
The guards force him to his knees in the center of the Court. The chains glow brighter, and I see him wince. Just barely. Like he's trying not to show pain.
Then he looks up.
Our eyes meet.
Everything stops.
I don't know how to explain it. It's like recognition, but I've never met him before. Like my entire body knows him, even though my mind doesn't. A pull in my chest, sharp and undeniable, yanking me toward him.
What is this?
Kairos stares at me with eyes that look like dying stars gray and silver with flecks of gold. Despite the chains, despite the exhaustion clear on his face, something in his expression shifts when he sees me.
Surprise? Relief?
Fear?
State your name for the Court, Domitius commands.
Kairos's gaze doesn't leave mine. When he speaks, his voice is deep and steady, like distant thunder.
Kairos, God of Time and Inevitability.
No music. Just his voice, clear and strong.
But that's normal. I only hear music when people lie. He's just stating facts.
You are accused of murdering Fate, the cosmic entity responsible for all destiny, Domitius continues. This crime has thrown the universe into chaos. Prophecies have failed. Mortals are born without purpose. Reality itself is unraveling. How do you plead?
The entire Court leans forward.
Kairos finally looks away from me, turning to face Domitius. I did not kill Fate.
I wait.
The music always comes when people lie. Always. It's as reliable as breathing.
Mayor Hendricks lied about taxes I heard trumpets. My mother promised to visit I heard guitars. Theron said we'd be free I heard harps. Every single person who's ever lied to me created music I couldn't ignore.
But now...
Nothing.
Pure, absolute silence.
My heart starts racing. This is impossible. Everyone lies. Everyone. Especially people accused of murder. They lie to save themselves, to escape punishment, to
Judge Lyra? Domitius prompts. Does the accused speak truth or lies?
All eyes turn to me. Hundreds of them. Gods and mortals, all waiting for my answer.
I open my mouth. Close it. My hands are shaking again.
There should be music. There's always music.
I... My voice comes out wrong. Too quiet. Too uncertain.
Kairos turns back to me. His eyes hold something I can't name. Like he's been waiting for this moment. Like he knows exactly what's happening in my head.
And suddenly, I remember the voice from last night.
Tomorrow, you'll meet me, Lyra. And when you do, you'll hear something you've never heard before. You'll hear silence. And it will terrify you.
Oh gods.
That was him. That was Kairos in my head.
But how? He's been imprisoned for weeks. His power is drained. He shouldn't be able to
Judge Lyra, Domitius's voice sharpens. We're waiting.
I force myself to focus. Maybe my curse is broken. Maybe being near a god is interfering with it. Maybe
Domitius leans forward. Tell us, child. When Kairos claims he didn't kill Fate, do you hear lies?
I look at Kairos. He's still watching me with those impossible eyes.
Tell them the truth, his expression seems to say. Tell them what you really hear.
But if I do, if I admit my curse isn't working...
They'll know something's wrong. They'll replace me. And being replaced by the Celestial Council doesn't mean retirement. It means death.
Judge Lyra? Domitius presses.
My mouth is dry. My pulse pounds in my ears.
Before I can answer, Kairos speaks again. Not to Domitius. To me.
You're the anomaly, he says quietly. Fate told me about you. She said a girl who hears truth as silence would save everything. Or destroy it.
The Court erupts in shocked whispers.
I stare at him, frozen.
Silence! Domitius roars. The prisoner will speak only when
She can't judge me, Kairos interrupts, his voice calm despite the chaos. Because her curse doesn't work the way she thinks it does.
Ice floods my veins.
How does he know that?
Kairos's eyes hold mine. Your curse is backwards, Lyra. You've been living a lie your entire life.
And just like that, my whole world shatters.
Because deep down, in a place I've never wanted to look
I think he might be right.