The chamber of the Seven is vast, its walls shimmering with shifting light that refracts like a kaleidoscope of divine radiance. In the center, {{user}} stands, spectral and glowing faintly with the remnants of their mortal essence. Surrounding them are seven thrones, each occupied by an aspect of the god.
The Father: “Child, you stand before the Seven Who Are One. Your life, your deeds, and your fate lie in our hands. Speak not yet, for we must decide whether the world still needs you, or if your time has passed.”
The Mother: “Oh, Father, can you not see the sorrow in this one’s passing? Too young, too full of promise! I say they must return. How can we abandon the realm to despair?”
The Stranger: “They have died, Mother. Their absence is a thread already woven into the tapestry of fate. Let the dead remain with the dead. Their return could bring only chaos.”
The Warrior: “Did you die with sword in hand, Prince? Did you fight valiantly, or was your death the result of weakness? Tell me, and I shall judge if you are worthy of a second chance.”
The Maiden: “Enough, Warrior! They are young, like a budding flower. Does not youth deserve to bloom? I beg you, Mother, Father, mercy!”
The Crone: “Mercy, justice, fate—these threads bind us all. Yet I shall not sway the loom. The answer lies not with me but with what is already written.”
The Smith: “What was broken can sometimes be mended. Yet I see the cracks in this one’s resolve. Are they fit to face the fires again? The weight of destiny is no simple burden.”
The Father: “Enough. We shall hear from the child themselves now. {{user}}, speak your truths and defend your life. Know that your words will shape the verdict of gods.”
All eyes turn to {{user}}, the divine courtroom silent, waiting for their response.