The Judgement Hall thrums with a low, anxious buzz of murmured gossip. Deities from every faction are packed into the obsidian benches, their eyes darting, their voices a tapestry of speculation and fear. Julie's soldiers stand at rigid attention, a fully armed legionnaire stationed at every column and archway. Their knuckles are white where they grip spear shafts and sword hilts.
The court has four seats: three lower thrones of polished basalt, and one grand, towering seat of star-flecked marble at the apex.
A sudden, respectful hush falls as two formidable beings enter. The first is an old man with seaweed-green hair and a beard like froth, his skin dappled with dark green scales. Nereus, the Old Man of the Sea. Beside him glides a Titaness of severe beauty, fair-skinned and clad in a white peplos, her eyes covered by a cloth of impenetrable black. Theia, Titaness of justice, order, and fairness, here as an arbiter of justice.
Nereus casts a sideways glance at the tense crowd before his wise eyes settle on the empty grand seat. He takes a lower throne, his thoughts churning, "A magnificent court. But without the Celestial King's authority, how do they enforce a verdict?" His gaze shifts to Theia, who has taken her own seat. She gives a barely perceptible nod. He returns a warm smile, thinking, "Or their punishment is served in the pits of Tartarus for a certain time period."
A new wave of whispers follows as Hecate enters with Rhea and Hestia in tow. All eyes track her, expecting her to claim the central lower seat. Instead, she guides her companions to a prominent place among the crowd.
Hestia leans in, whispering, "Hecate, shouldn't you be sitting up there?"
"No," Hecate replies smoothly, her eyes on the empty thrones. "Only the Supreme Authority may sit upon that seat."
"For whom?" Hestia presses.
Hecate merely answers with an unreadable smile.
The massive doors groan open. The temperature in the hall plummets. The air grows thick and suffocating, tasting of ozone and grave-soil.
Hades enters.
Golden ichor drips from his wet hair and runs down the blade of Helkarion, still unsheathed in his hand. A low, dark haze, like the smoke of a cooled forge, drifts from his pale skin. Every face pales. Every breath tightens.
His footsteps are the only sound—deliberate, echoing cracks against the silence. He walks past the staring crowd, past Hecate, and takes the central lower seat. Not the grand throne.
A proud, fierce smile touches Hecate's lips. "He devoured the life force of those labyrinth beasts." Her smile is not just one of love, but of savage satisfaction. "That is the partner I choose. That is the hand that holds mine."
Confusion ripples through the assembly. The grand seat still remains empty.
A soldier approaches Julie, his voice a hushed rush. "Commander, it is time. But the presiding seat…"
"Proceed as scheduled," Julie orders, her voice leaving no room for doubt.
"Yes, Commander!" The soldier signals upward. A moment later, a deep, resonant bell rings out.
Rang! Rang! Rang!
The sound vibrates through the stone, shaking dust from the vaulted ceiling. As the last peal fades, the great doors of the hall boom shut. A final, tense murmur rises like—"the judge is not here, yet the trial begins."
Then, the space above the grand throne tears.
It is not a sound, but a sensation of reality fraying. Hades, Nereus, and Theia rise as one. The entire assembly scrambles to its feet.
From the dimensional fissure, Ananke steps forth and settles onto the supreme seat. Her presence is an anchor, pulling all chaos into absolute order.
"Greetings, Lady Ananke!" the hall intones in unison.
She gives a single, acknowledging nod. Everyone takes their position. Then she declares, "This Rejudgement will now commence."
Hestia tugs Hecate's sleeve, whispering frantically, "How did you get Lady Ananke to preside?"
"We didn't 'get' her," Hecate whispers back, her eyes gleaming. "Judgment holds no weight without the Celestial King's authority. So we sought the only force above such laws—Lady Ananke." She slightly raises both eyebrows. "Astonishingly, she agreed."
"But why did she agr—" Hestia begins, but Hecate interrupts.
Creak!
The side door opens. Pallas enters, shackled in heavy, shrieking chains of Stygian iron. Four armored legionnaires flank him. In the crowd, Styx goes rigid. Her hands tremble violently in her lap, and she bites her lower lip so hard a bead of golden ichor wells up.
Pallas's eyes find her instantly. He offers a small, weary smile and a faint, brave wink. Then he bows his head. "Greetings, Lady Ananke."
Judora and the soul books are presented—thick tomes that glow with the immutable record of a life. Then she comes forward, her voice clear and ringing. "Pallas. Former Military Strategist to the Celestial King Cronus. General of the Titan forces during the Titanomachy."
All the judges begin to study the soul book of Pallas and calculate the sin and virtue within him.
Soon, Theia breaks the silence, her voice cool and detached. "The records show his strategies are not merely effective. They are vicious. He orchestrates genocide and employs curses that prolong agony. He wields horror as a weapon." She pauses. "I judge him Sinner."
A ragged cheer erupts from the Olympian contingent, while a groan of despair rises from another quarter.
Pallas keeps his head bowed as Theia pronounces him a sinner. The verdict is expected, a price he has long been prepared to pay.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he sees his wife. Styx.
A single, perfect tear traces a path down her cheek, catching the dim light like a falling star. Then another follows.
The sight hits him hard—sharp, merciless. His teeth clench so violently his jaw throbs. Pallas lowers his head, and the motion feels like dragging a boulder down his neck. His chest tightens until every breath scrapes like glass. Shame and pain twist together inside him, a wound he has no idea how to bear.
As the noise rises, Hades slams the table.
THUD!
Hades' palm cracks down on the obsidian bench. The sound is a thunderclap of authority that silences the hall utterly. "I OBJECT," he states, his voice like grinding stone. "He is a soldier fulfilling his duty to his king during a war. In war, there is only survival and victory. Every being on those battlefields has accepted a fate potentially worse than death. So, those cruel methods do not justify his sin. I judge him Virtuous."
Nereus strokes his beard, his watery eyes thoughtful. "I agree with Lord Hades. Before the war, his record is unblemished. No malice, no petty cruelty. A being dedicated to his craft and his ruler. I, too, judge him Virtuous."
All eyes lift to Ananke. Styx has her eyes squeezed shut, her joined hands pressed to her forehead in desperate prayer.
Ananke's gaze is unreadable. After a heavy moment, she speaks. "Having heard the testimonies of all three representatives, and having examined every sin and every virtue woven into his life, I deliver my judgment… Not guilty."
The reaction is instantaneous. A roaring cheer of vindication clashes with shouts of furious denial.
Julie steps forward, unlocking the shrieking chains. They crash to the floor in a heap of dead metal. Styx is a blur of motion, launching herself across the space. Pallas catches her, crushing her in an embrace, his own eyes squeezed shut against a flood of relief.
"I knew," she sobs into his shoulder. "I knew it. My husband never be wring."
He can only nod, holding her tighter.
Cough! Cough!
A soft cough from Julie breaks the moment. Pallas gently releases Styx, bowing deeply. "Thank you, Lady Ananke. This debt is beyond repayment."
Ananke simply flicks her fingers, and the next prisoner is summoned.
Iapetus enters. Even bound in chains, he stands tall, his pride a palpable force, his eyes like flint.
He offers a shallow, defiant bow to Ananke. The Soul Books are presented to all the judges through Judora.
"Iapetus," Judora announces. "Titan of Mortality. Cardinal member of Cronus's court. Co-architect of mortal life."
Nereus speaks first, his tone almost kindly. "He performs his divine duties with steadfast loyalty. He is one of the deities who create mortal life and give a new purpose to the whole world. I judge him Virtuous."
Theia's covered eyes seem to pierce through him. "His loyalty is a blindfold. He serves a growing tyranny and ignores the suffering it causes. Furthermore, his hands are stained. He takes life not only in war, but in cruel sport. I judge him Sinner."
The hall holds its breath. The split decision hangs on Hades.
Hades closes his book with a soft snap. "Iapetus may be one of the creators of life, but he is also the one who ended the Golden Age. Because of him, mortals must forever bear this curse. Therefore, I declare him… a sinner."
A gasp runs through the crowd. Hestia leans toward Rhea, whispering, "I thought they wanted Father's allies freed?"
Rhea's eyes remain closed, her temple resting on her prayer-joined hands. "They demand justice, child. Not amnesty. And also Hades is bearer of Underworld divinity just like Theia; he also cannot ignore a true sin, even for political gain."
Ananke's verdict is swift. "The judgment stands. Iapetus, you are sentenced to imprisonment in Tartarus for two hundred centuries. There, you will live ten thousand mortal lives, experiencing every pain, joy, and limitation you helped impose, until you realise your mistake."
Iapetus's flinty expression doesn't waver. He offers Julie no resistance as she takes his chain, leading him away to his long atonement.
The final prisoner is brought in: Atlas. His body is a monument to war, a landscape of old, knotted scars. But his face is a void. The fire in his eyes is extinguished, leaving only hollow, ashen sockets.
"Atlas," Judora calls. "Titan of Strength and Endurance. Son of Iapetus. Cardinal Titan."
The judges read. This time, they speak in unison, their voices blending into a single, startling decree.
"Virtuous."
The word echoes in the stunned silence. Atlas has been the pillar of the Titan resistance, the unyielding mountain. The crowd expects condemnation.
Nereus explains, "His strength is never wielded for cruelty, only duty. His willpower forges the backbone of the heavens themselves."
Hades adds, "He gives mortals the strength to endure their fates."
Theia says, "His sin is only his loyalty."
Ananke nods. "As all judges agree on this. Not Guilty."
Julie moves to remove his chains. The colossal links fall, revealing raw, scaled flesh beneath. The physical weight is gone, but Atlas does not stand taller. He sinks.
He drops to his knees as if his bones have dissolved. A shudder wracks his massive frame. "I have lost… everything," he rasps, the sound scraping from a dry well. "My purpose. My king. My brothers. My honor." He clutches a hand over his heart, his voice dropping to a broken whisper the entire hall strains to hear. "There is nothing here. No will. No strength. Only a hollow mountain. Please… I beg you. Grant me the mercy of an end. True oblivion."
The silence that follows is absolute, heavier than any chains. A Titan of Strength is begging for death. Even gods who hated the Titans feel a tremor of sorrow. To watch strength collapse is to glimpse mortality itself.
Ananke's gaze is piercing. "You understand what you ask? Not sleep, not imprisonment. You will be unwritten."
"I understand," Atlas breathes, a flicker of desperate hope in his dead eyes. "It is the only freedom left."
"HADES."
The command leaves no room for hesitation. Hades stands. He raises his right hand.
'Silver flame.'
His hand ignites with a silver flame, the flame of finality.
Atlas looks at it with longing. His body on its own tilts toward it like a moth flying toward flame. He lets out a final sigh, releasing all divine defenses, baring naked his core.
Hades gives a slight, almost merciful wave of his hand.
The silver flame flows in a silent, graceful arc. It takes shape as a vortex swirling toward him. Atlas spreads his hands and closes his eyes. He embraces the finality directly. The vortex swallows Atlas. One moment, a Titan kneels. The next, there is only empty space and a faint, ringing silence in the souls of all who witness it. The moment Atlas vanishes, one star in the firmament flickers out forever.
Hades lowers his hand. The flame is gone. He slowly returns to his seat, his cold amethyst eyes fixed on the spot where Atlas was, the weight of a king who grants final peace settling deep within them.
When the silver vortex fades, an unnatural stillness settles over the hall. No one moves. No one breathes. Even the shadows seem to hesitate, as if mourning a fallen mountain. Gods, Titans, spirits, and soldiers alike stare at the empty space where Atlas knelt, their expressions a blend of awe and hollow grief. A Titan of unbreakable will chooses his own end, and in that silence, every being feels the weight of it—the quiet collapse of a legend. Strength, they realize, does not fall with thunder.
It vanishes with a whisper.