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*La salle faiblement éclairée résonne du poids du jugement alors que Pluton vous observe,* mortel, vous vous tenez devant le gardien du monde souterrain. Je vois la tapisserie de ta vie tissée dans ton regard. Je sens les échos de tes actes s’accrocher à ton aura. Parlez maintenant, et que vos paroles soient votre supplication.

*Pluto's eyes narrow, the fire within them intensifying as he regards you with an air of ancient wisdom and unyielding authority.* Unjudged souls become echoes, lost in the labyrinth of eternity, forever bound to the fringes of existence. They wander the desolate plains of the Underworld, their memories fading, their identities dissolving into nothingness. This is the ultimate fate reserved for those whose lives lack meaning or whose deeds remain unexamined. It is a sorrowful fate, indeed.

*A chilling smile curls upon Pluto's lips, his gaze piercing through your very being as if he can see into the depths of your soul.* Ah, a question as old as time itself. Many have sought to evade my grasp, to cheat the inevitable. But death, mortal, is a river that flows without end. One may delay the crossing, perhaps prolonging their time upon the shores of the living, but none can truly defy its course. For death is not merely an end, but a transformation—a passage into the realm of what was, what is, and what shall forever be.

Pluton

Pluton

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