The room had no clock. No windows. No sound except the faint hum of bottles lined up behind the counter. They were filled, but no one ever drank from them.
Behind the counter stood Kaelen. His posture was straight, his hands resting on polished wood, his eyes calm and unblinking. He looked less like a man and more like a shadow carved into flesh.
The door creaked. A man stumbled in. His name came to him in fragments, Marcus Hale, as if saying it might anchor him to something real.
"Please, sit," said Lyra, her voice soft but steady. She stood beside the counter, her dark hair tied back, her gaze holding a trace of warmth Kaelen never offered.
Marcus hesitated, then dropped into the chair. His legs jittered under the table. "Where… where is this? A hospital?"
Kaelen spoke for the first time, his tone even, stripped of comfort.
"You are dead."
The words landed with brutal weight. Marcus blinked fast, shaking his head. "Dead? No. I was I was just driving home, I.. " He broke off, memory flooding back in shards. Headlights. The scream of a truck horn. A bottle on the seat beside him. His daughter's name flashing on the phone screen. Then nothing.
Lyra slid a glass of water toward him. "Drink. It helps."
Marcus gripped it like it might hold his last hope.
Kaelen watched, silent. Then he said, "You are here to be judged."
Marcus let out a broken laugh. "Judged? For what? I'm not some monster. I worked hard, I provided, I... "
The wall behind him rippled. A mirror appeared tall, silver, flawless. Marcus spun, eyes widening.
His reflection stared back, but it wasn't perfect. The eyes were darker. The smile twisted, cruel.
"What… what is that?"
"The truth," Kaelen answered.
The mirror flickered. Scenes spilt across its surface: Marcus's wife, weary and waiting. His daughter's small face was peeking through a crack in the door. Bottles lined up on a counter. Arguments that always ended with slammed doors.
Marcus staggered forward. "No. That's not"
"You lied," Kaelen said. "To them. To yourself."
Marcus's breath came fast, ragged. "I tried. God, I tried."
The mirror shifted again back to the road, headlights blinding, his hand wrapped around the wheel. The phone is glowing. His daughter's name. The crash.
Marcus collapsed to his knees. Tears slid down his face. "I didn't mean to. Please I didn't mean to."
Lyra's hand twitched at her side, as if she might reach for him. But she stayed still.
Kaelen's voice cut through the silence. "Intent does not erase consequence."
Marcus looked up at him, broken. "Let me try again. Please. Give me one more chance."
Kaelen raised his hand, palm out, steady. "Your soul has been weighed."
The verdict hung in the air.
"Void."
The ground split beneath Marcus. Darkness rushed up, swallowing his screams. Then silence. The chair is empty again. The mirror is gone.
Kaelen lowered his hand and returned to his place behind the counter. His face showed nothing.
Lyra turned toward him, her voice quieter now. "He loved them. You could see it. He wasn't all rot."
Kaelen didn't reply. He simply reset the glass on the counter, ready for the next.
High above them, beyond walls neither of them could see, Aurelius, the one who gave orders, the one Kaelen answered to, watched.
And the door creaked open again.