[Third Person Pov]
"This brat's shenanigans have gone on long enough. Let's get this over with so we can finally send him to the abyss. We have countless other souls to judge, and we've wasted more than enough time on this one." Minos's patience, already razor-thin, snapped further as he gestured sharply at Lucian, his voice echoing through the grand chamber.
"While I cannot agree with the part about sending him to the abyss—not yet, at least—I will concede that we have indeed lingered on this case far longer than necessary." Thomas Jefferson said calmly as he slid a thick stack of parchment across the stone table toward the other judges, each page marked with seals and notations.
"Before we can even begin to reach a verdict on where this child should be sent, we must first review the full breadth of his achievements," Shakespeare declared, lifting his quill with a flourish. "Everything he has done—the honorable and the deplorable, the virtuous and the sinful—must be weighed accordingly." He then turned his gaze toward Lucian, his expression softening just slightly. "Are you prepared, child?"
"You mean, am I ready for the mountain of praises that you're about to shower on me?" Lucian smirked confidently as he leaned back against the podium, arms crossed, practically basking in his own arrogance. "Please. Bring it on."
Thomas Jefferson cleared his throat as he assumed the role of narrator. "For the first six years of your life, there is little of note. You were… a child. A surprisingly quiet one, all things considered. Most of your time was spent in rigorous training—something quite unusual for someone of your age."
"Which, if I may add, is practically the definition of a virtue," Lucian chimed in with a proud grin. "Diligence. One of the seven heavenly virtues, isn't it? I began training before I could properly walk. If that isn't commitment, I don't know what is."
The judges murmured among themselves. Thomas Jefferson and Shakespeare begrudgingly nodded in agreement, while Minos scowled as though forced to swallow something bitter.
"The turning point came after your seventh birthday," Shakespeare continued, flipping the page. "With the death of your mother, your path diverged sharply. It is also at this age that you committed your first recorded sin: you kidnapped a young girl from her home."
"I wouldn't call it kidnapping," Lucian corrected, waving a hand dismissively. "She was being neglected. I'd call it a rescue. But fine, wording is subjective. Continue."
Thomas Jefferson resumed. "At seven years old, you encountered your companions and fought your way toward Camp Half-Blood. When the enemy forces overwhelmed you, you willingly sacrificed yourself—battling an entire army of monsters alone while ensuring your friends escaped safely. By all accounts, a noble and selfless act. The first spark of what would become your legend."
He flipped to the next section. "Afterwards, your years were filled with one personal quest after another. You dismantled cults, rescued countless children who were destined for sacrifice, and intervened in rites that would have cost innocent lives. Again—commendable actions. By age ten, you had slain a mountain god, reduced Atlas to tears and collected them, and somehow manipulated the Hesperides and stole their golden apples. A feat equal parts impressive and… utterly steeped in greed."
Lucian let out a rich, satisfied chuckle, his smile stretching wide. "Heh. Ah, those were the days. Truly some of my finest work."
"That little devil," Minos growled, slamming a fist on the arm of his seat. "I say we toss him into Tartarus for the greed alone. The boy clearly needs to learn restraint."
"We cannot pass judgment so hastily," Shakespeare rebuked, raising a hand. "From the moment he arrived at Camp Half-Blood, the living conditions of the demigods have improved dramatically. His influence—despite his flaws—has been undeniably positive. They are stronger, happier, more unified, and far better defended than they ever were before. He has become, unintentionally or not, a leader they trust and look up to. And we still have much more to review."
"I concur," Thomas Jefferson said, reviewing another page. "There is also the matter from a year ago—the incident involving the Helm of Darkness and the lightning thief. You confronted Hercules himself in direct combat. Not only did you survive, you earned his blessing and solidified yourself as the strongest demigod of your era. Furthermore, your actions helped prevent a three-way divine war. That, undeniably, leaves another considerable mark on your legend."
Lucian began rubbing his nails against his chest as though polishing them, then casually blew on them, wearing a smug expression.
"Then there was the matter regarding your siblings' Trial before Olympus," Shakespeare continued, glancing briefly at his parchment. "You willingly used your own mortal body as a shield to protect them from the divine radiance of the gods—a feat most would not survive. Following that, you sought out Medusa and liberated her from her accursed form. And shortly afterward, you aided Thanatos in reuniting with his lost son." He looked up, his quill pausing midair. "That last one, I must say, surprised even us."
Minos, meanwhile, merely leaned heavier against the table, looking as though he would rather be judging the damned souls in the lowest pits than sit through another second of Lucian's résumé.
Lucian, for his part, was barely listening. Boredom spread across his features like a slow fog. He even yawned—loudly—before checking his wrist as though wearing an invisible watch. 'Is everyone up there done yet? How much more do I have to endure?' he wondered, resisting the urge to tap his foot.
"And at last," Thomas Jefferson announced with a breath that suggested thank the gods, "we come to your most recent accomplishments." He scanned the final page. "During the Camp's most recent attack, you played a crucial role. You repelled the invasion, defended your fellow demigods, and became a steadfast pillar of strength during their darkest hour. And even then, your heroism did not end. You willingly absorbed the miasma that had infected the goddess Hestia into your own body, sacrificing yourself to save her."
Shakespeare tilted his head thoughtfully, voice softening. "Tell me… do you regret it?"
"Nope." Lucian cut him off before the question even finished leaving his lips. His eyes, calm and unwavering, resembled a tranquil lake untouched by wind. "I'd gladly do it all again."
Shakespeare allowed himself a small, approving smile.
Thomas Jefferson continued, "And before your inevitable death to the Abyssal miasma, you performed one final act of goodwill—you released Scylla from her cursed form, healing the poison that had imprisoned her as a monster for millennia. Only after that did you finally succumb, ending your fourteen years of life."
He set the papers down neatly, smoothing the edges before folding his hands. "Before we pass our verdict… do you have anything you wish to say?"
Lucian lifted his head slowly. "Yeah. Just one thing…"
The judges exchanged puzzled glances as Lucian's body began to shift. A deep crimson glow radiated from his chest, pulsing like a heartbeat made of flame. His Brightheart form surged upward, flooding his form with light. His skin darkened to a warm tan, his hair bleached itself into snow white strands, and intricate tattoos pulsed to life across his arms and neck. When he spoke, his voice thundered with authority—arrogant, unrestrained.
"Who," he demanded, "gave you permission to sit higher than my gaze?"
The judges froze. Even Minos jerked upright.
Lucian's golden irises glinted from beneath his white hair as his body dissolved into particles of light. In an instant, he rematerialized standing atop their desk, looking down upon the three legendary figures as if they were schoolchildren caught misbehaving.
"My eyes," he said, tilting his chin upward, "are up here—where all of you should be looking."
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