Judge Of The Dead A Soul's Verdict

Chapter 1: The First Door

The hall of judgment was silent. The air was heavy, colder than any winter night, yet it carried no breath of wind. Marble pillars stretched high into the endless dark, vanishing into shadows that had no ceiling. The floor shone like polished glass, reflecting every flicker of the lanterns that floated without chains or holders, suspended in the still air as if the hall itself willed them to remain.

At the far end of this vast and solemn chamber stood the throne of the judge. Kaelen sat upon it, his posture straight and unwavering. His eyes were as calm as still water, deep and unreadable. He wore black robes that seemed woven from shadows themselves, each fold absorbing the lantern light. His expression never wavered, as though carved from stone.

Beside him, a few steps lower, stood Lyra. Her hands were clasped together, her fingers trembling though she tried to still them. Her silver hair fell across her shoulders, glowing faintly in the lantern light, and her violet eyes were wide with anticipation. She was new to this place, still human in heart though she no longer drew breath. Her task was to observe, to assist, and to learn. Yet her chest felt tight, for she knew that what was about to begin would not be easy.

Then, from the void, a door appeared. It did not swing open on hinges but simply manifested with a sound like stone grinding against stone. A figure stepped through.

Marcus Hale stumbled forward, his eyes darting in panic. He looked to be in his forties, with short dark hair and lines of worry etched deep into his face. His shirt was wrinkled, stained with sweat, and his breathing came fast and uneven. He blinked at the endless hall, the pillars, the lanterns, the throne. Confusion filled his eyes, followed quickly by fear.

“Where am I,” he whispered. His voice echoed, bouncing off the pillars. He turned in a circle, as though searching for an exit. “What is this place?”

Lyra took a step forward, her voice soft but steady. “Marcus Hale, you have entered the hall of judgment.”

His gaze snapped to her, wild and desperate. “Judgment? What do you mean? I was in my car. I remember the rain, the headlights, the crash. No. No, that cannot be real. I am still alive.”

Kaelen’s voice rolled through the chamber, low and unyielding. “You are not alive. You stand here because your time has ended. Now your soul will be weighed.”

Marcus froze. He stared at Kaelen as though he were a phantom. “Weighed? No. No, listen, you do not understand. I have a family. My wife, my children. They need me. I cannot be here.”

His words trembled with desperation, and for a brief moment, Lyra’s heart ached. She lowered her eyes, unwilling to show her pity where Kaelen could see.

The judge lifted his hand. A mirror of black glass appeared before Marcus, hovering in the air. Its surface rippled like water. Kaelen’s words were final. “The truth will speak. Nothing can be hidden here.”

The mirror brightened, and Marcus’s life began to unfold within its depths.

At first came his childhood. A boy running barefoot through green fields, laughter ringing as his mother called him back inside. The scent of fresh bread in a small kitchen. A father’s hand upon his shoulder, guiding him as he learned to fish by the riverside. Marcus’s eyes softened as he saw it, and for a moment his lips curved into a smile.

Then the mirror shifted. His youth appeared, restless and filled with mistakes. Nights lost in smoke and drink, anger flashing in his eyes during heated arguments, fists slamming onto tables. He flinched, looking away.

“Stop it,” Marcus whispered. “That was a long time ago. I changed. I worked hard. I became better.”

The mirror ignored his plea.

His marriage appeared next. The day he held his wife’s hands beneath the open sky, promising love and devotion. The birth of his first child, his tears falling freely as he cradled the fragile new life in his arms. The second child came years later, and his laughter filled the room as he lifted the baby high above his head. His chest swelled with pride as he watched them grow, their smiles bright, their voices calling him father.

Marcus’s own tears welled as he reached toward the vision. “Yes. Yes, that was me. I was a good man. I loved them. I worked for them.”

But then the mirror darkened. His voice raised in anger, his hand struck his wife across the cheek during an argument. The children were crying, frightened, as he shouted. Nights where he stumbled home drunk, collapsing on the couch while his family sat silent in fear. The memory of his wife alone in the kitchen, her face pale, her eyes hollow with sorrow.

“No,” Marcus choked. He fell to his knees, gripping his hair. “I am not that man anymore. I changed. I begged for forgiveness.”

Lyra’s breath caught. She wanted to speak, to comfort him, but Kaelen’s gaze silenced her.

The mirror showed the final scene. The rain is pouring down. Marcus’s car is swerving. The wheel in his hands as his vision blurred. The flash of headlights. The shattering of glass. Then, silence.

Marcus sobbed into his hands. “It was not supposed to end like that. I tried. I tried to be good.”

The hall was silent for a long moment. Then a deeper voice spoke, reverberating from everywhere at once. Aurelius, the master of this realm, unseen yet all-encompassing.

“Kaelen, render your judgment.”

The judge rose slowly from his throne. His shadow stretched long across the polished floor. His eyes held no hatred, no pity, only truth.

“Marcus Hale,” Kaelen intoned, his voice echoing. “Your soul is stained. Love was within you, but pride, violence, and selfishness outweighed your devotion. You could not master yourself, and those you loved suffered because of it. You shall be cast into the abyss.”

Marcus’s scream filled the hall. “No, please, give me another chance. Please. For my children. For my wife.” He reached toward Lyra, his fingers trembling. “Help me. Do not let him send me away.”

Lyra’s eyes burned with tears, but she could not move.

Kaelen extended his hand. The floor beneath Marcus cracked open, a chasm of endless black yawning wide. From its depths rose chains of fire, wrapping around Marcus’s limbs. He thrashed and struggled, his cries echoing, but the chains dragged him down, pulling him into the abyss until the darkness swallowed him whole.

The chasm sealed itself, leaving the hall silent once more.

Lyra’s shoulders shook. She whispered, her voice breaking. “Was there no hope for him? Could he not be forgiven?”

Kaelen looked at her, his eyes as cold as stone. “Forgiveness was his to seek in life. In death, there is only judgment.”

Above them, Aurelius’s voice rumbled. “Well done, Kaelen. Another soul weighed. Another truth revealed. The hall must remain unshaken.”

Kaelen lowered himself back onto the throne, his face expressionless. Lyra wiped her tears with trembling hands. The lanterns flickered, casting long shadows across the polished floor.

The silence returned, heavy and suffocating, waiting for the next soul.