Thirty minutes after his heart stopped beating, the silence of his death was broken by light.
Two figures appeared in the center of the room, their presence neither warm nor cold—just absolute. They were not of this world. Their forms were shaped by energy and will, cloaked in ethereal robes that shimmered like the surface of a moonlit lake. Wings stretched behind them—not feathered, but composed of radiant threads of starlight and shadow. One held a scroll glowing with symbols in a language no mortal tongue could speak. The other carried a spear that pulsed with ancient power.
They were angels—not of mercy, but of balance. The watchers of karma. The arbiters of fate.
"You have been summoned," one said. "To the Court of Balance. For judgment."
A portal appeared behind them, swirling like a whirlpool of galaxies. As they moved toward it, a soft glimmer emerged near Kaal's soul—a blue orb, small but persistent, drifting toward him like a forgotten thought. It gently touched his essence and tethered to him with a thin, glowing thread.
Together, they passed through the portal.
The Trial Ground was not a place built by hands. It resembled the legendary domain of Lord Yama—the Hindu deity of death and justice. Floating in a void beyond time, the ground stretched infinitely in all directions. Colossal black pillars etched with golden mantras hovered in place. Celestial fires danced across invisible skies. At the center stood a massive throne carved from obsidian and bone, where destiny was weighed without favor. The air was thick with power and silence. The kind of silence that made even memories feel loud.
The angels did not speak at first. The weight of countless lifetimes hung heavily over the Trial Ground. Then one of them stepped forward.
Before the throne, Kaal's life unfolded. Every moment. Every thought. Every silence. The good, the bad, the indifferent—all laid bare.
"You lived, but you did not live," one of the angels declared. "You passed through time like a ghost, neither harming nor helping. A sacred human life, wasted in isolation."
Kaal remained silent, his soul trembling under the weight of unseen truth.
"You were betrayed, yes. You suffered. But suffering does not absolve neglect. You failed to nurture the seeds around you. Children near your home saw in you a reflection of adulthood—hopeless, bitter, bound. You left them to their delusions, said nothing, gave nothing."
Kaal clenched his fists. "Why should I be punished for their misunderstandings? I didn't lead them astray. I didn't hurt anyone."
"But you inspired apathy," the angel answered. "And in doing so, helped grow it. Your actions—or inactions—rippled outward. Karma does not measure intention. It measures consequence."
The judgment was clear.
"You shall be reborn. Twice. Into lives more difficult than your own. Not as punishment, but as a path. You will learn the weight of your ignorance, and only then shall you taste redemption."
A seal burned into Kaal's soul, ancient and absolute.
"We do not control karma," one angel whispered. "Even gods must kneel before its laws."
They opened a gate of light—a bridge between universes. Beyond it was the Infinite Dimensional Cosmos—a realm of endless birth and rebirth, where every choice spawned new realities, and every soul carried its debts across galaxies.
Kaal was pushed into it.
He spiraled through a void too vast for comprehension. Colors he couldn't name, stars collapsing and birthing in the same breath, voices from a thousand timelines echoed around him. He was nothing here. A whisper in a storm of eternity.
Time folded and twisted. Space danced. Memories splintered. He felt himself unraveling, fragmenting into pieces too small to be called a person.
Terror gripped him. Was this punishment? Was this madness? The vastness mocked him, reminding him how insignificant he truly was. The Infinite Cosmos was not merely a place—it was an awareness, a sea of intertwined destinies, each thread burning with the fire of countless lives lived, lost, and reborn.
Then, a gentle light returned. The blue orb.
It glowed softly, unfazed by the chaos. It wrapped itself around Kaal's soul like a lullaby. It did not speak, but it soothed. Guided. Protected. Its thread kept him tethered through the unraveling madness.
In that moment, Kaal realized—this orb was not a thing. It was a presence. A guide. A memory. A promise. Its aura pulsed with calmness, as if whispering, "You are not alone."
It danced ahead of him, illuminating his path through the infinite dark. It caressed the edges of his being like a familiar breeze. It was the very essence of hope.
And as the orb carried him toward the beginning of his first new life, through this storm of infinity, Kaal felt something he hadn't in a long time.
Hope.