While the air in the 1st Hello was thick with the scent of copper and the sound of cracking whips, the 1st Paradi existed in a state of eternal, crystalline morning. Here, the sky was not a void, but a soft expanse of shimmering opal, and the ground was covered in grass that felt like crushed silk beneath the feet.
Sana, a woman whose beauty on Earth had been matched only by the purity of her spirit, sat by a fountain that flowed with liquid light. She was draped in a gown of such pristine white it seemed to emit its own soft glow. Beside her, two women assigned as her celestial attendants—Lyra and Mira—moved with a quiet, graceful efficiency. They, too, were dressed in the brilliant white of the holy, their movements as fluid as the winged horses that occasionally streaked across the sky above them.
The peace here was absolute, a heavy, golden silence that was only broken by the melodic chime of the fountain.
"It is hard to believe such stillness exists," Sana murmured, her voice like a soft bell. She reached out, her fingers trailing through the cool, glowing water. "After the noise of the world, this feels like a dream I never want to wake from."
Lyra, the taller of the two attendants, smiled as she folded a silken wrap. "It is the reward for a soul that never wavered, Sana. But even in this perfection, there is one thing we all find ourselves drawn to discuss."
Mira leaned in, her eyes sparkling with a touch of very human curiosity that even the 1st Paradi couldn't entirely wash away. "She means the High Judge. Zoe Holiyos Liffender."
At the mention of his name, a slight flush of pink touched Sana's cheeks. Even among the saints, the Sovereign of Death was a figure of undeniable, haunting magnetism.
"He is... imposing," Sana admitted softly. "I felt his gaze during the sorting. It was like being touched by a winter wind, yet I could not look away. They say his greatness is matched only by his coldness."
"He is the pillar of the afterlife," Lyra added, her voice dropping to a respectful whisper. "He holds the balance of the Paradi and the Hello in his hands. But the laws that govern him are as rigid as the ice he sits upon. You know the Great Mandate, don't you? A High Judge is forbidden from the entanglements of the heart. He is not allowed to fall in love. His soul must remain as neutral as a mirror."
Mira sighed, looking toward the distant, dark spires of the High Court. "Imagine having all that power and beauty, but never being allowed to feel the warmth of another soul. It seems a lonely price for greatness."
Sana looked thoughtful, her gaze following a white horse as it glided toward the golden arches. "The laws are ancient," she said gently, "but perhaps we misinterpret them. Perhaps it is not that he is forbidden to love, but that his heart is so vast it has yet to find a vessel strong enough to hold it."
She paused, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Maybe the Sovereign isn't cold by nature. Maybe he has simply not found the right person yet—someone who can look into the winter of his eyes and not shiver."
In the sterile, frigid atmosphere of the High Court's private sanctum, Zoe Holiyos Liffender stood before the Aureole of Oversight. It was a gargantuan, curved screen made of liquid starlight that rippled with every soul's movement across the two realms. With a flick of his fingers, he scrolled through the vast geography of the afterlife, watching the machinery of justice grind on.
To the right, the screen glowed with the amber warmth of the Paradi. He saw Sana by the fountain, her serene face a testament to a life well-lived. To the left, the Shadow realms pulsed with a sickly violet light. He watched the 3rd Hello, where souls were being pricked by the needles of their minor deceits, and the 2nd Hello, where the corrupted were forced to walk through a swamp of their own bitter words.
Then, his hand paused. The screen zoomed into the jagged, mechanical arena of the 1st Hello.
On the rotating plates, the scene was one of unmitigated brutality. Marianne, Zippo, Robert, and hundreds of others were trapped in a cyclonic dance of agony. The air was filled with the rhythmic crack-hiss of the whips—each strike a physical manifestation of a victim's hatred.
Marianne's family was showing no mercy. Her mother's lash caught the shoulder of her heavy red coat, the fabric—so carefully chosen for its strength—shredding like wet paper under the weight of the supernatural blow.
"Wail for us, Marianne!" her father roared, his whip catching her across the ribs.
The "Devil Killer" didn't scream at first, but as the rotation quickened and the lashes multiplied, a raw, gutteral cry escaped her scarred throat. Beside her, Zippo was curled in a ball, her one arm shielding her head as the men she had killed tore into her red tunic, the crimson cloth mingling with the fresh, pink marks of the lash. It was a sea of red-clad souls, wailing in a chorus of despair that vibrated through the screen.
They were truly experiencing hell within hell.
Zoe stood motionless, his reflection caught in the liquid starlight of the screen. To any casual observer, he was a statue of ice. But his chief assistant, Kaelen, who had stood by the throne for three eons, noticed the minute shift.
Zoe's jaw had tightened by a fraction of a millimeter. His fingers, usually draped elegantly at his side, were curled into a rigid tension. Most tellingly, his winter-sea eyes weren't scanning the crowd for data—they were fixed, with a haunting, desperate intensity, on the single figure of the woman in red whose clothes were being torn to ribbons.
Kaelen watched the Sovereign, a cold dread settling in his own immortal chest. He saw the way Zoe's chest rose and fell in a rhythm that was far too human.
Without a word, Kaelen turned to leave the sanctum. He didn't need to hear a command to know that the balance of the afterlife had just shifted on its axis. As he reached the heavy obsidian doors, he paused, looking back at the lonely figure of the Judge silhouetted against the suffering on the screen.
He shook his head, a mournful sigh escaping him.
"The pillars are cracking," Kaelen whispered to the shadows of the hallway. "The fall is near."