Chapter 25: Origin of the World · Illusions of the Gods (Chapter six)

Silent over the dark depths of the Underworld,

the God of Death sits quietly upon the throne of darkness.

Like a cold star piercing through the veil of the soul,

the scale in his hand measures the final truth of the world.

And it burns the body black as ash.

On one side lie the bags of good and evil,

every thought, every step,

all become invisible weights placed with precision.

The greedy man’s golden pouch rings hollow on the tray,

but the tears of the oppressed weigh a thousand pounds.

Hypocritical words scatter like smoke,

while honest souls bloom with pure light.

The coward tries to flee, but cannot escape his gaze,

and the brave one’s medal shines upon the scale.

He is impartial, letting the thunderous judgment roar,

rich or poor, noble or lowly, all return beneath this law.

Look— the sinner trembles as the beam of justice rises high,

while the virtuous one walks toward eternal peace.

The God of Death guards the charter of justice with icy resolve,

and across endless years, writes the same solemn song.