The Weight of Souls

Avery stepped into the Council chamber and froze.

The space stretched wider than any building in the living world, shadow pillars spiraling into darkness above, mist crawling along the floor like living smoke. The air thrummed with power, a low vibration that pressed against the chest, making it hard to breathe.

At the far end, five figures sat upon thrones carved from something that looked like obsidian and bone. They did not rise. They did not blink. They simply watched.

“You are late,” said the central figure. The voice was a chorus—male, female, young, old—all speaking at once. Avery’s knees threatened to buckle.

“I—sorry,” Avery whispered. The words sounded small, fragile, like a child’s apology in a cathedral.

The murmurs of other reapers echoed through the chamber, voices like dry leaves scraping stone. Whispers of the fledgling who lost a soul. The phrase stabbed through Avery’s chest.

Kael stepped beside them, scythe resting casually over one shoulder. “Don’t look scared,” Kael muttered. “It makes you smell like weakness.”

Avery swallowed and straightened. “I’m ready,” they said, though their voice quivered.

“Ready?” one of the Council members hissed. Their eyes glowed faint red through the shadows of their hood. “Do you even understand what you lost?”

Avery’s stomach churned. “I… I tried. I hesitated, yes—but he begged me. I—”

“You hesitated,” the chorus repeated, rising in a wash of overlapping tones. “And now he is gone. Do you know what the consequences of lost souls are?”

“I—no—but I—”

“Silence!” The central figure’s voice boomed, cutting through the chamber. “You are not here to think. You are here to obey. The cycle of death is fragile. A single failure—” Their voice softened, almost curiously. “A single hesitation—can unravel what we have held for centuries.”

Avery’s palms burned. The sigil on their hand pulsed faintly, a reminder that they were bound to this place now, bound to this duty, whether they liked it or not.

The central figure leaned forward. “You will be tested. Redemption is possible, but only if you prove capable of carrying the weight of your failures.”

Kael stepped forward, voice low and gruff. “You’re getting a punishment. Don’t complain. You get one chance to prove yourself.”

Avery’s eyes darted between Kael and the Council. “Punishment?”

“Yes,” the central figure said. “A mission. You will recover—or contain—a corrupted soul. It is dangerous. It is unstable. You are to act under supervision, though the Council does not guarantee safety. Fail, and your service ends permanently.”

The chamber went silent. Avery’s stomach dropped.

Kael’s pale eyes bore into them. “Listen carefully. This is not a game. Hesitate. Fail. And you won’t be coming back from the Veil. Understand?”

Avery nodded, words failing them.

Kael crouched slightly, lowering their voice. “This soul is already disrupting the Veil. Wraiths are drawn to it. You will need focus, speed, and ruthlessness. I’ll guide—but only enough to keep you alive. You do the rest.”

Avery swallowed, glancing at the sigil. The lines twisted faintly, pulsing as if impatient. I have to do this, they thought. I have to.

The central figure’s chorus echoed through the chamber once more. “Go. Your mission begins now.”

Kael extended a hand to Avery. “Let’s move, rookie. This is where the real work starts. Fail, and it won’t just be you paying for it.”

Avery took Kael’s hand, heart hammering. The Council’s thrones disappeared behind them as the rift opened. Beyond it, the Veil shifted like storm clouds in motion—dark, dangerous, alive. And somewhere inside, a corrupted soul waited.

Somewhere inside, Avery knew, their first true test had already begun.

Later, alone in a shadowed alcove, Avery sank to the floor, back against a pillar. The sigil pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat. I can’t fail again. I just can’t. Their hands shook as they clenched and unclenched them, thinking of the old man, of the soul that was lost.

Kael crouched beside them, scythe balanced lightly. “Feel that pulse?” they asked, tapping the sigil. “That’s a tether. Every soul you lose stretches it thin. Hesitate again, and it snaps. You’ll wish the Wraith had eaten you last time.”

“I can’t just take them,” Avery whispered.

“Then you’ll die,” Kael said flatly. “Or worse.”

Avery swallowed. “So this is my life now. Always… waiting to kill?”

Kael’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s survival. Mercy doesn’t exist here. You’ll learn. Or you won’t.”

Avery’s mind raced, the weight of the Council’s judgment pressing down. Every fiber of their being wanted to cling to humanity, to empathy—but the sigil burned against their skin, a reminder that the Veil had claimed them.

Kael stood, stretching, scythe slung casually. “Time to see if you’re made for this. Remember: hesitation is death. Delay is disaster. Mercy… doesn’t exist here.”

Avery rose slowly, heart hammering. The Veil outside shifted like storm clouds, dark and alive. Somewhere in its depths, the corrupted soul waited—and with it, whatever horrors had been drawn to it.

And Avery knew one thing for certain: their first true test was already beginning.