The chamber was still. The light in the great hall seemed dimmer, as though the walls themselves held their breath for the next soul.
Lyra shifted uneasily at Kaelen's side. The shadowed Judge stood motionless, his presence steady, but his silence pressed on her like an unseen weight. After the chaos of the sadist before, she almost feared what would come next.
Then the air stirred.
A tall figure emerged from the darkness at the far end of the chamber. He walked with measured steps, his shoulders straight, his chin lifted as though he had marched this path many times before. His clothes were worn, once fine, now dulled by dust and age. A faint golden clasp at his chest hinted at royalty, though it had lost its shine.
His eyes were not cruel, not twisted like those of the others who had stood here. They were weary. Haunted.
Lyra's breath caught. This man was different.
"State your name," Kaelen said, his voice low, carrying across the chamber.
The man paused, his gaze flickering up toward the unseen Judge. For a moment, pride stiffened his frame. Then he bowed his head, as if acknowledging the authority here.
"I am Alaric Marrow," he said, his voice deep but frayed at the edges. "Once king of Thalros."
Lyra's eyes widened. A king.
She studied him closely. His hands trembled, though he tried to still them. His jaw tightened as though holding back words he feared to speak.
Alaric's gaze shifted to Lyra. "Is this girl my arbiter?"
Kaelen did not answer. His silence was an answer in itself.
Lyra straightened, her heart hammering. "I… I am here to witness. To learn."
The king's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "Then witness, child. See what power costs."
He stepped closer, the echoes of his boots heavy in the chamber. Lyra could almost feel the weight of his presence, as though the shadows bent around him.
"I was loved once," Alaric said. "Respected. My people trusted me to keep them safe. I believed I could. But trust is a fragile thing."
His voice faltered. He drew a breath, steadied himself, then continued.
"When war came, I made a choice. A single decision. I chose to send men into battle I knew they could not win. I sent them anyway, because I believed it would buy time for the women and children to flee."
Lyra's chest tightened. She whispered, "That doesn't sound like cruelty. That sounds like a sacrifice."
Alaric's eyes met hers, and for a moment, they glistened. "That is what I told myself too. Sacrifice. A noble word to cover bloodshed. But they were not soldiers, child. They were farmers. Blacksmiths. Fathers and sons who trusted me with their lives. And I marched them into slaughter."
Lyra's throat ached as if his words had struck her directly. She wanted to argue, to say that he had done what any ruler would do, but the sorrow in his eyes silenced her.
"They trusted me," Alaric whispered. "They marched with heads held high because their king had asked it of them. They sang songs as they left the city gates. Do you understand what it is to hear a thousand voices sing your name, only to hear silence the next dawn? I do."
His voice cracked, and he pressed his hand against his chest as though steadying his heart.
"I told their families it was for the good of the kingdom. I told myself the same. But the truth is simpler. I was afraid. Afraid of losing my crown. Afraid of being remembered as the king who fled while his people bled. So I sent others to die in my place."
Lyra clenched her fists. She wanted to deny it, to comfort him, but the raw honesty in his confession left her hollow.
Kaelen still said nothing. His silence was merciless.
Alaric turned his face upward, toward the Judge's shadow. "You know what followed. The war was not slowed. The enemy pressed on. Villages burned. I stood upon the walls of my city as fire lit the sky, and I knew every death traced back to me."
His voice lowered, nearly breaking. "I was not a king. I was a coward wrapped in gold."
Lyra stepped forward before she could stop herself. "No. You were trying to protect them. You cannot carry all that alone."
Her voice shook, but she held his gaze. "If you hadn't tried, maybe more would have died. Maybe the women and children wouldn't have escaped. You gave them a chance."
Alaric's lips trembled. For a heartbeat, the proud lines of his face softened. "Do you think I have not told myself that every night? Do you think I did not cling to that thought until it choked me?"
His hand rose, trembling, as though he reached for something that was not there. "But the faces of the dead are louder than excuses. Their silence follows me here."
The chamber seemed colder. Lyra hugged her arms to her chest. She wanted Kaelen to speak, to guide her, but he remained still, his eyes glimmering faintly from the shadows.
Alaric sank to his knees. For the first time, the proud king bowed his head. "Judge… tell me. Am I damned?"
The silence stretched. Lyra's breath quickened, waiting for Kaelen's verdict.
At last, Kaelen's voice broke through, steady and deep. "You are not damned for being human. You are judged for the truth you tried to bury."
Alaric's shoulders shook. He covered his face with both hands.
Kaelen's words were few, but they struck with the weight of stone. "You feared shame more than you feared death. That is why you sent others to die in your stead. Pride, not sacrifice, guided your hand."
Lyra's chest burned. She wanted to argue, but she knew Kaelen was right. The truth was sharp, impossible to ignore.
Alaric let out a sound between a sob and a laugh. "Then I am a coward until the end."
"No," Lyra said quickly. She knelt beside him, her small hands clutching his arm. "You're a man who made a mistake. A terrible one. But that doesn't erase the love you had for your people. That doesn't make you like the monsters who stood here before you."
Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. "You regret it. That has to mean something."
Alaric lowered his hands. Tears carved paths down his face, catching the dim light. "If regret could bring them back, I would be a king again."
The hall seemed to darken, as if the chamber itself mourned with him.
Kaelen's voice echoed again, calm and final. "The dead cannot be returned. But acknowledgement is the first step toward judgment. Rise, Alaric Marrow."
The fallen king slowly stood. His frame shook, but he stood tall one last time. His eyes shifted to Lyra, softening.
"You remind me of my daughter," he whispered. "She was young, gentle… like you. She begged me not to send the farmers to war. I did not listen."
Lyra swallowed hard. "Maybe this is your chance to listen now."
Alaric's lips curved into the faintest, broken smile. "Perhaps."
Light began to gather at his feet. It swirled upward, soft and golden, wrapping around his form. Lyra gasped. Unlike the shadows that had claimed the cruel souls before him, this light felt warm, almost forgiving.
Alaric closed his eyes, a single tear sliding down his cheek. "Tell my people… I am sorry."
His body dissolved into the light, fading until only silence remained.
Lyra stayed kneeling long after he was gone, her hands trembling. Her heart ached, but not with fear. With sorrow. With pity.
She turned to Kaelen, her voice fragile. "He wasn't like the others. He wasn't evil."
Kaelen's eyes glowed faintly from the shadows. "Not all souls are monsters. Some are men who could not bear the weight of their own choices."
His voice lowered, softer than Lyra had ever heard. "Remember this, Lyra. Power always demands payment. Crowns are the heaviest chains of all."
Lyra shivered. The truth of it lodged in her chest like a stone.
She looked at the empty space where Alaric had stood, and for the first time since arriving in the hall, she felt the weight of judgment not as fear, but as sorrow.
Her voice was quiet when she whispered, "I don't know if I can do this."
Kaelen did not move, but his gaze lingered on her. "You already are."