TU14. Business As Usual
The massive rectangular structure stood as a manifestation of divine touch, wrought from pristine marble and gleaming gold. Aeacus climbed the tall stairs, the rhythmic tapping of his golden staff echoing against the stone.
Neck-straining pillars lay in perfect rows before the Pantheon. Above, the frieze was embroidered with the tales of the old gods — divine entities of immense power. They were beings who far preceded the age of the Olympian gods, their histories immortalised in fluid, moving stories carved directly into the architecture.
Nyx, the Goddess of Night, appeared as a veiled lady with a stern expression. Her eyes glowed with mythical light as the God of Darkness floated beside her through the cosmic void. Their fingers interlaced in the very first creation of daylight. Yet, even this grand depiction could only capture a fraction of their true divine authority.
Aeacus stalked through the antechamber, its walls lined with beautiful paintings and various artefacts resting atop ornate pedestals. He could have taken the time to inspect them, to appraise their intricacy, but today, the luxury of time was something he did not have.
Inside the main chamber, tall walls stretched toward an opening in the ceiling that bathed the navy-blue carpet in soft, golden light. A distinguished crowd, draped in ornate gold and exquisite jewellery, filled the room. Their soft-spoken voices reverberated off the tapestry-draped walls.
Rows of pillars stood throughout the space, meticulously engraved with olive leaves, grapevines, and stylised flower petals, all painted with gold over the pale marble stone.
The hushed discussions waned as the old man approached the raised platform, an area fashioned specifically for a throne. Aeacus studied the oak seat. Golden satin fabric decorated the piece, pinned from the top edge of the backrest to the ground, anchoring the throne in place like glittering guy-wires.
The emptiness of the throne set a deep void in his heart. This was where Rhadamanthus used to sit. If it weren't for Minos's greed, his dearest friend would still rule Elysium.
"Aeacus, my friend!" an energetic voice called out from behind. A golden-helmed individual spread an amicable smile across his androgynous face.
"Ah, Achilles, King of the Isles of Leuce." Aeacus returned the smile, extending his arm for a firm handshake.
He studied the long, golden hair that peaked out from beneath the warrior's helm. Those stark golden eyes were sharp, still holding a lingering trace of his natural, legendary wrath. His Wildren features were worn with palpable pride: cheetah ears that poked through his helm, strong feline fangs, and a spotted tail that flicked behind him.
It immediately reminded Aeacus of Tachyon. How could it not? She was a descendant of this glorious king, after all.
Placing his other palm on top of Aeacus’s hand, Achilles cleared his throat. "It is an honour to see you again. You must bring forth your heroic journey sometime; the fall-from-grace story is always a hit." He winked before holding out his splayed hands. "However, we have something far more important to deal with today, do we not?"
Aeacus bobbed his head. "Indeed, my lord. The battle might be won, but the war is far from over."
The old Judge turned to the crowd, who had gathered around him in hasty anticipation. "Heroes, Kings, Philosophers, and the Great People of Elysium. I come before you today to seek your help."
Achilles crossed his arms, nodding along with his charming grin.
"As you might already know, the duties governing the realm of Leimonopolis and the Tribunals remain vacant following the recent debacles. I have lost my dearest friend, and you have lost your king of Elysium."
Aeacus gestured to the empty throne. It had been the Earthly equivalent of thousands of years since the betrayal. The active mourning had long faded from the crowd, though the pain of Minos's treachery was still etched onto their faces. A hushed whisper rolled through the assembly like a rippling wave.
Clutching his golden staff tighter, Aeacus continued. "I ask for your assistance. I seek the most knowledgeable, but also the most just, to take a seat as the two High Judges of the Underworld. As heaven decrees, a single High Judge was never the grand design…"
"An audition for the most critical of roles, if you will," Achilles added with a chuckle. His presence easily eased the tension within the crowd.
Aeacus held up two fingers. "Two Judges will be selected from the applicants."
Sparks of anticipation gleamed in their eyes. Some crept closer, closing the gaps within the crowd.
"Where do I sign up?" a king asked, his voice echoing with confidence.
"Me too!" a queen shouted, waving her hands.
"Let me be your aid, King Aeacus."
One after another, the esteemed souls stepped forth to express their keen interest.
Aeacus nodded respectfully. This was exactly why the heavens were filled with these people; they were not only capable but wholly willing to embrace difficult roles and heavy responsibilities. By all means, the High Judges of the Dead were one of the most highly regarded positions in this eternal society. In their past lives, these souls had been heroes, kings, and virtuous individuals. Their goodwill stemmed from the very core of their existence.
The laborious discussions took place over a long while. Eventually, the many candidates were reduced to the final two.
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King Oedipus of Thebes was selected due to his self-inflicted journey, a man who had eventually blinded and exiled himself. He deeply understood the souls that were unable to forgive themselves. Much like Tachyon, there was a stark difference between truly wicked souls and those who were simply trapped within the agonising Tartarus of their own minds. Oedipus would stand as the pillar of that empathy from now on.
Aeacus could have recruited anyone who strictly adhered to the guidelines, down to the exact glyphs and runes. However, being a judge called for something far more complex, just as the nature of mortal lives and their stories was complex. For aeons, he had understood that no system was perfect. He had made peace with that reality long ago, but he also knew it could always be better. Oedipus’s profound, tragic empathy would make him the most humanised judge of them all.
The other selected Judge was the Fox Empress from the peninsula, a land bridge between the Orien and Eurian continents called Anatolia. Empress Alexine Fenrith stood as a symbol of unyielding moral law triumphing over the tyranny of her father.
She had famously performed proper burials for her brothers, who had died cowardly in the war, a crime considered an absolute disgrace under Anatolia's rigid laws. Her argument had been revolutionary: while one action could define a man, a single wrong action should not be counted as an absolute judgment of his soul.
What if her brother had found his courage in that dark time of battle? Would he have died with valour and secured his passage to Elysium? What if he had been better equipped and trained? Could he have fought with confidence? Regardless of his failure, he was still her beloved brother. In life or in death, he was the very same person he had been before setting out to warm. He was a boy far too young to understand the true cost of bloodshed until it was too late.
Despite her valiant standpoint, her father had ordered her execution. Just like her brothers, under those unyielding laws, her years of great service to her people meant nothing. Her head was severed for what she stood for. Her prioritisation of love, compassion, and morality, even when it cost her own life, granted her a rightful seat among the High Tribunals.
It took several days for the monumental task to be completed. When it was finally done, Aeacus bid his farewells, hiding his weariness from the distinguished crowd.
Tired, with a hunched back and leaning heavily on his staff, he was climbing down the wide staircase when the cheetah Wildren called out to him. "High Judge Aeacus!" the boisterous call echoed, accompanied by frantic footsteps.
"Ah—King Achilles?" Aeacus raised his drooping brows, his forehead damp with sweat. "Do you need anything?"
"Heading out to Tartarus, I see?"
"Yes. There are misjudged souls that need to be reassessed," Aeacus explained. It was another mess King Minos had stirred up during his tyrannical rule, and one that needed fixing as soon as possible.
"Ah, I see," Achilles smirked, his fangs peeking out. "I know it has been a while for you, but might I suggest you visit the Temple of the Oracle?" He rubbed the back of his neck contemplatively. "It will help with your search. And the Ashen One will be there."
"The Ashen One?" Aeacus's eyes widened. His exhaustion was entirely forgotten, instantly replaced by a spark of excitement. She was one of the most powerful Oracles in Elysium.
Achilles bobbed his head in acknowledgment. "Anyway, I appreciate you spearheading this task."
"It is my duty, after all." Aeacus bid his farewell to the King of Leuce.
They clasped arms once more, and soon after, Achilles departed on his swift feet, bearing a smile as bright as radiant gold.
Aeacus made his way through the beautiful streets, flanked by rows of residential buildings and bustling markets offering various wares and food. Everything was available for free to the natives of this realm. However, imported items and artefacts, like the potions of Mnemosyne and Lethe, were considered luxuries far beyond standard heavenly wealth.
The tall, imposing building at the far end of the street was the Temple of the Oracle. It shared a similar architectural design with the grand directorate building he had just left, boasting elegant Hellenic features. However, this temple featured a grand dome atop its structure, crowned by a magnificent statue of the Titaness Clothia.
As he took long strides through the dispersing crowds, a soft giggle reverberated from his left. The pitch was so wonderfully familiar that it prompted him to glance over.
"Tachyon?" Aeacus gasped in surprise.
"By Zeus's beard!" Tachyon gasped, her spotted ears perking up. She immediately turned to whisper to her mother and sisters, "It's Charon Aeacus! The one I told you about!"
"You are returning from the Temple of the Oracle?" he asked, pointing at the domed structure some half a hundred strides away.
"We are, High Judge Aeacus," Hermione said as she stepped forward, her hands demurely clasped over her thighs.
"It is wonderful to see you finally reunited with your long-lost daughter," he replied with an amicable, warm smile.
"Thank you for always taking care of her," Hermione said, performing a slow, graceful curtsy.
"You sought the Oracle's guidance, I presume?" the old man asked. "I hope your fates and fortunes now come with bright light and comfort." His eyes strayed toward the pristine blue sky, watching the gentle breeze guide the drifting clouds.
"We did, Your Majesty," Hermione said with a soft chuckle. "But, we only went there to thank the Oracle for such an accurate fortune, the very prophecy that led us south to finally find my daughter."
Still smiling, the old man turned to his former stewardess. "I wager the Catharsis scroll I gave you bore fruition, then?"
To his surprise, Tachyon smiled lightly and shook her head. It took her a quarter of an hour to recount the incredible events at the crossroads, the tale of Empress Aurora's own Catharsis, one that had defied the divine rules of heaven.
Once she finally finished, it left Aeacus in a thoughtful silence. He wouldn't normally be surprised by the sheer authority of the Astral Empress of Osten. But how exactly she had managed to achieve something that transcended the conventional laws of reality was baffling.
"I would have selected such a great empress to be the High Judge of the Dead," he murmured absentmindedly. But logic quickly gnawed at the thought. It wouldn't be possible, since Aurora was not dead in the traditional sense. At least, not yet anyway.
Still, the thought of the righteous empress made him deeply curious about her current whereabouts. Perhaps that was another question he could ask the Oracle today, among the other business he had to attend to.
Tachyon studied the tired old man, who appeared entirely lost in his thoughts. She stepped closer, bringing her sunny face into his downcast view.
"We shall not delay you any longer, Charon—" Tachyon quickly corrected herself, a flush hitting her cheeks. "I mean, High Judge!"
"Enjoy your well-deserved rest, Tachyon." Aeacus offered a small, affectionate wave.
With that, the party parted ways, their animated discussions waning as they dissolved back into the bustling crowd.
Aeacus stood still for a moment, feeling a newfound swell of emotion. It was a strange mix of a sudden, hollow void and a deep, comforting warmth in his heart. He simply never thought his Catharsis scroll would fail so miserably when encountering the Goddess of the Crossroads, while the Empress's Catharsis had prevailed so brilliantly, bringing Tachyon back to her family at last.
As he turned to resume his walk toward the temple, a profound sense of peace settled over him. It was, and forever would be, his greatest pride and honour to have been the Charon who ferried the most powerful empress into Leimonopolis.
