Serah's Judgement

Stage One – The Mirror of Truth

Serah stood before a towering arch made of woven bone and silver. The space beyond it shimmered like heat on asphalt.

The reaper beside her spoke for the first time.

> "The First Stage is the Mirror of Truth. Here, no lies survive—not even the ones you told yourself."

Serah stepped forward, her breath shallow. The moment she passed through the arch, the world shifted.

She found herself in a vast, silver room—endless mirrors on all sides.

They reflected her—but not the woman the world saw.

Instead, each reflection was twisted by truth:

One showed her counting blood-stained money in a candlelit office.

Another showed her dismissing a crying woman who had just confessed abuse by a deacon.

A third showed her whispering falsehoods into a dying man's ear, promising healing she knew wouldn't come—just to keep hope alive long enough for one last donation.

Serah spun, backing away.

> "No. That's not me. That's not who I—"

> "It is who you became," the mirrors whispered.

The walls began to close in, each reflection muttering a different lie she once believed:

> "I'm saving souls."

"I deserve comfort. I've earned it."

"God chose me to be above them."

The room pulsed. Her heartbeat roared in her ears.

The floor cracked. From it rose a final mirror—taller than the rest, glowing with black fire.

In it, she saw herself as others saw her: regal, pristine, divine.

But slowly, the image peeled like skin.

Beneath it—greed. Pride. Fear. A hollow woman standing on a pile of bones, clothed in gold she did not earn.

She screamed and struck the mirror.

It shattered.

And she fell to her knees among the shards.

The reaper appeared behind her.

> "You have passed the first stage," it said.

> "Barely," murmured a voice from the darkness.

The mirror shards burned to ash.

A new archway opened ahead—twisted iron and charred roots.

> "Stage Two awaits."

The Real World.

Earthbound Echoes

The city of Eastbridge mourned in black and gold.

Banners lined the streets. Her cathedral overflowed with flowers and tears. Reporters called her a saint. Dignitaries offered tribute.

But behind the grand stage, behind the polished eulogies, in the quiet of her private estate—reality unfolded.

Her brother, Caleb Monroe, stood in her study with bloodshot eyes and clenched fists. The house was suffocating in silence. He ripped open drawers, yanked files from cabinets, and slammed her office door shut behind him.

"Liar," he spat. "All those promises… All those lies."

Papers scattered like ash at his feet. He held one up—a glossy pamphlet about the rehabilitation center she claimed to fund.

"You said Mom would get treatment. You said you were helping people. You didn't even come see her when she was dying."

He threw the pamphlet across the room. It landed next to a thick envelope labeled Private – Legal Counsel.

Caleb picked it up. Opened it.

Inside: records of financial transactions—six-figure payouts, silence contracts, donation reroutes. His hands shook as he read name after name.

"You sold people's pain to buy your miracles."

He moved to her bookshelf. Her Bible was still there, shining under a gold lamp.

Caleb stared at it for a long moment, then reached past it—clicked open a hidden latch.

Behind the false wall: a black journal bound in leather.

He opened it.

Her handwriting flowed across the pages in perfect loops.

Confessions. Regrets. Strategies.

"Maintain the image. Never admit weakness. Faith is brand power."

Caleb closed the journal and sank into her chair. The tears finally came—hot, bitter, and thick with betrayal.

"You were supposed to be better," he whispered.

In the hallway behind him, the shadows stretched unnaturally across the floor.

No one else was in the house.

But something—someone—was listening.

Funeral Continued.....

Sanctified Illusion

Outside the grand cathedral, thousands gathered beneath a sky just beginning to bruise with dusk.

A massive screen displayed Serah's most famous sermon. Her face shone like a saint, voice echoing across the plaza:

"We must walk in righteousness, even when no one is watching. That is the path to glory."

The crowd erupted in applause. Some clutched rosaries. Others sobbed.

A marble statue of her, rushed to completion after her death, now stood at the church gates—robe flowing, arms open wide, a serene smile frozen in stone. Beneath it, in engraved gold:

"She walked with the divine."

The mayor took the stage beside the statue.

"Reverend Serah Monroe was a beacon of hope in a dark world. Her works—her faith—will live on forever."

News anchors spoke in hushed reverence. Cameras panned across the sea of mourners.

Meanwhile, just miles away, Caleb Monroe sat in her chair, staring at the black journal—her true gospel.

And across realms, Serah herself stood before the Second Stage of Judgment.