Judge Of The Dead A Soul's Verdict

Chapter 3: The Third Soul

The hall felt heavier than before. Marcus Hale and Seraphine Valen were gone, yet their echoes lingered, brushing against the pillars and the polished floors as though they had left an invisible residue behind. Lyra pressed her hands to the counter, feeling her chest tighten with the weight of memories she had never lived. She had only been observing, only assisting, yet every soul that passed through left a mark she could not ignore.

Kaelen remained on his throne, unmoved, his eyes fixed on the shelves behind him. The bottles glowed faintly, each one containing a life that had already been weighed. He had seen thousands of souls, but he never allowed himself to become complacent. Every judgment required his full attention, every life deserved scrutiny. Even a small miscalculation could ripple through eternity, unbalancing the hall itself.

The far door shimmered again, forming as if from mist and shadow. It was not a door in the mortal sense. No hinges, no wood. It was a fold in the fabric of the hall, a crack in the void where a soul would emerge. Lyra held her breath.

This time, the soul that entered was young, barely in his twenties. His clothes were tattered, dirt smeared across his skin, and his hair hung in damp clumps around his face. His eyes were wide, reflecting fear, confusion, and a fleeting spark of hope. He stumbled forward, his bare feet making no sound on the polished floor, yet the echo of his presence seemed to vibrate through the hall itself.

“Step forward,” Lyra said softly, her voice carrying across the expanse. She did not want to frighten him more than he already was.

“I… I do not belong here,” the young man stammered. His voice cracked as he glanced around the hall, at the pillars, the shelves, and the glowing bottles that seemed to contain the weight of countless lifetimes. “This… this is a mistake. I was climbing… I remember the wind, the rock, and then nothing.”

Kaelen’s gaze shifted toward him. “All souls arrive here. None by mistake. Your life has ended. You will be weighed, as all must.”

The young man swallowed hard and blinked rapidly. His hands trembled as he folded them in front of him. “My name… my name is Elias Crow.”

Kaelen’s hand lifted, and a silver mirror appeared before Elias. It hovered at least a foot above his head, smooth and reflective, pulsing faintly with a strange light. “Step closer. The mirror will reveal your soul.”

Elias approached cautiously. His eyes were drawn to his reflection, which shimmered before dissolving into the first memories of his life.

He saw himself as a child, running barefoot across the grass with his younger sister. Her laughter was high and clear, and the sunlight bathed them both in warmth. Their mother knelt beside them, guiding their hands to plant flowers in the garden. Elias’s chest tightened as he remembered the sense of safety he had felt, a fleeting joy now impossible to return to.

The mirror shifted. Adolescence came next. He was older, angrier, and more impatient. He argued with his friends, stole small items to feel some sense of control, and hurt others in moments of thoughtlessness. The mirror did not flinch. It showed every harsh word, every selfish act, every betrayal. Elias’s hands clenched into fists as the memories assaulted him.

“I was just a boy,” he whispered. “I did not know better.”

The mirror shifted again. At eighteen, Elias had met Maris, a girl whose laugh could fill a room, whose eyes held the spark of mischief and compassion. They had shared quiet nights under the stars, whispered dreams of a future together, and promises that felt eternal at the time. He had loved her fiercely, yet he had failed to protect her from harm. The mirror replayed those failures, forcing him to confront every choice he had made and every mistake he had left unresolved.

Elias sank to his knees, tears spilling down his face. “I tried to be good. I loved her. I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

Lyra’s chest tightened as she watched him. She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but Kaelen’s steady gaze held her in place. Mercy was not hers to give.

The mirror shifted to Elias’s final days. A climbing expedition along a jagged cliff. His friends’ voices shouted warnings. Wind tore at their clothes and hair. One misstep. A slip. A grasping hand reaching for nothing. The crash, the scream, the sudden silence. The mirror repeated the moment endlessly, showing every tiny detail, every failed action, every irreversible consequence.

Elias clutched at the floor. “It was not supposed to end like this. I did not mean to die. I did not want… I did not want to leave her behind.”

Kaelen’s hand rose, and shadows began to stir on the floor, curling around Elias’s legs. They lifted him gently but firmly, holding him in place as his memories floated above him, glowing faintly like fireflies in the dark. The mirror rippled again.

“Your soul is weighed,” Kaelen intoned. “Your intentions were pure, but weakness allowed harm. The mirror reflects the truth of the soul, not the wishes of the heart. You cannot escape what has been done.”

Elias screamed, reaching toward Lyra, his voice raw and trembling. “Please, no! Do not let it take me! I am not ready. I am not ready!”

Lyra pressed her hands against her chest. “I am sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she shook with helplessness. She wanted to intervene, to save him, but she could not. The hall demanded balance, and Kaelen upheld it without compromise.

The shadows wrapped around Elias, lifting him slowly, carrying him toward the void. His cries echoed across the hall, fading gradually as the darkness consumed him. His life, his hopes, his mistakes—all sealed into the abyss.

The floor closed behind him, leaving the hall smooth and undisturbed. Lyra exhaled shakily. The weight of the soul lingered, a shadow pressing against her heart. She realised more fully than ever that judgment was not merely about truth. It was about the burden of countless lives, balanced delicately in a place that demanded order above mercy.

Kaelen returned his gaze to the shelves. The bottles pulsed faintly, each one representing a life already judged. He did not speak, but his presence reminded Lyra that there would always be another soul. The work never ended. The hall never rested.

The far door began to shimmer once more. Another soul would enter, another story would unfold. Lyra straightened, bracing herself. The weight of the hall pressed down, but she knew she would meet it again, carrying each story with her, learning to bear the invisible burden of judgment without faltering.