600 | Weak Souls Return

600_Lord Yellow Explains Why Souls Return and Human Stubbornness

Chapter 1: Lord Yellow Arrives to Discuss Soul Health and Diesel Learns He Has No Soul

As Lord Yellow arrives to discuss soul health and Diesel learns he has no soul, the mundane reality of the classroom shatters. The bell clangs, dull and tired, through the walls of Crystic Mystics 101.

Fluorescent lights hum overhead, washing every desk in pale, nervous daylight. Posters about soul health and vibrational balance peel at the corners, breathing with the stale air of the oldest building on campus.

This is the one class that admits life is weird.

The Teacher stands at the front, hands folded, eyes too bright for this hour. Half the class doesn’t trust that brightness. The other half secretly lives for it.

“Today’s guest is from the afterworld,” the Teacher says.

The words hang there.

Someone in the back coughs. A laugh slips out from somewhere else, too high, too fast.

“Lord Yellow can help you understand why it’s important to increase your soul’s health, wealth, and power.”

A ripple passes through the rows.

Half the students stare at the door.

The other half stare down at their phones under their desks, pretending not to be waiting for something impossible to walk in.

The air tightens.

At first, nothing happens.

Then the room inhales.

Pressure gathers near the whiteboard, subtle at first, as if the air were growing thicker. Dust motes slow in the sunlight, caught in an invisible current. The overhead lights flicker, buzz, and then burn steady again.

Someone is suddenly standing beside the Teacher.

He doesn’t enter. He appears, as if the air condenses into color—a tall figure in layered robes the shade of late afternoon sunlight, yellow melting into gold at the edges. His face is calm and too still, as if someone had painted it there. His eyes seem to look everywhere at once and nowhere anyone can name.

“My name is Lord Yellow,” he says.

His voice doesn’t sound exactly. It’s vibration. It runs through the desks. Pens rattle. Screens glitch for half a second, freezing on half-typed messages.

“It is my job to direct arriving souls to their merited position in the afterworld.”

The room goes dead silent.

Second row, middle: Diesel slouches in his chair. Hoodie half-zipped, dark hair in his eyes, sneakers tapping a restless beat against the tile. He knows what everyone expects—make a joke, break the tension, turn horror into comedy.

That’s his role.

He raises his hand and doesn’t wait.

“Nice to meet you,” Diesel says, a crooked grin forming. “But I don’t have a soul. What position do I get?”

A couple of kids snort. Someone whispers, “Classic.”

He throws it out there like always, the line he’s used a hundred times.

Only this time, it doesn’t feel funny in his mouth.

It feels like a confession wearing sarcasm as armor.

Lord Yellow doesn’t even look at him.

The glowing visitor instead sweeps his gaze over the rest of the class. “Does anyone have any questions?”

Diesel blinks.

His grin freezes.

Abby sits two rows over, notebook already open, pen lined up perfectly with the spiral. She’s the girl who color‑codes scripture, never misses youth group, always has the right answer ready.

Even she frowns.

“Diesel just asked you a question,” Abby says.

Her voice is clear, debate-club firm. Her curls bounce as she turns slightly toward Diesel, then back to Lord Yellow.

Lord Yellow tilts his head, eyes moving slowly, like he’s trying to find a sound on a broken radio.

“Who is Diesel?” he asks.

A few people twist in their seats now. Maybe this is a bit. Maybe the ghost from the afterworld has a sense of humor.

Diesel feels all their eyes land on him at once.

Suddenly, he’s hyper-aware of his own body—knees stuck under the desk, elbows too sharp, chipped black nail polish on his fingers.

“Diesel is the student sitting right in front of you,” Abby says. She points straight at him.

Diesel lifts his hand in a half-wave. “Hey,” he mutters. “Present. Unfortunately.”

Lord Yellow stares at the exact spot she points.

His golden eyes narrow.

Still nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Lord Yellow says calmly, “but that chair appears empty. I am unable to perceive soulless students.”

The words hit the room like glass shattering.

Someone gasps.

A laugh bursts from the back row, way too loud, then dies fast.

Diesel’s skin prickles, cold static crawling up his arms.

Soulless.

He calls himself that all the time. No soul, no rules, no problem. It gets laughs. It keeps people from looking too closely.

But now something that claims to sort souls after death says it like a verdict.

Abby’s eyebrows slam together.

“We can all see and hear Diesel,” she insists. “Are you telling me he really doesn’t have a soul? All this time, I thought he was making up stories so he could do whatever he wanted.”

Diesel flinches.

Because she’s right.

He has said it so often that people quote him back like a meme. I don’t have a soul. First, it’s a joke. Then it’s a shield. Then he starts to wonder if it’s true.

Lord Yellow folds his hands. Tiny ripples of pale light shiver around his fingers and fade.

“I cannot see or hear soulless ones because there is no real soul,” he says. “You can tell Diesel it is possible to earn a soul, but I doubt that is something he is interested in. Do any souls have a question?”

Souls.

The word lands like a line drawn down the room.

Diesel stares at his desk. Carved initials from past students blur under his eyes. He laughs under his breath, but it sounds wrong, hollow.

“I feel canceled,” he whispers. “Now I know what my little sister feels like when my friends and I ignore her like she’s not even there.”

The ache in his chest deepens.

Ignored is one thing.

Erased is something else.

Somewhere inside him, something flickers—weak, like a phone searching for a signal.

Nobody notices.

Yet.

Chapter 2: Rev Asks Why Souls Return, and Lord Yellow Explains Vibrational Frequency

While Rev asks why souls return and Lord Yellow explains vibrational frequency, Rev sits by the window, where the gray afternoon sky presses against the glass like it wants in. His notebook is already packed with scribbles—arrows, boxes, half‑finished diagrams. Words like karma, entropy and late-stage capitalism crowd the margins. Rev is the guy who thinks too much and then thinks about the fact that he thinks too much.

While Diesel spirals in silence, Rev listens.

“Merited positions,” Lord Yellow says, and the phrase digs into Rev’s brain.

Merited.

Like grades. Like college decisions. Like how some people always seem to deserve more.

Rev lifts his hand.

“Why do I keep getting new bodies instead of staying in the afterworld?” he asks.

His voice is soft, but the question feels heavy, like it’s been sitting in his throat for years, waiting for the right crack in reality to escape.

Lord Yellow’s wandering gaze finally locks onto something.

He looks straight at Rev.

The air around Rev’s desk thickens. He doesn’t see the faint yellow halo forming there, but he feels a pressure behind his eyes, a strange weight in his chest.

“Excellent inquiry,” Lord Yellow says. “But if you think about it for a minute, you can answer the question yourself. What do you think I would say?”

Of course.

The mystical version of answering a question with a question.

Rev hates when his dad does that. He hates it now, too.

Under the irritation, something else stirs—a sense that the universe is nudging him, refusing to hand him an answer he hasn’t actually earned.

“That’s the same tactic my dad uses when he knows I’m not ready to hear the answer,” Rev says.

He rakes a hand through his hair, eyes dropping to his notebook.

“Whenever he asks me a question,” Rev goes on, “I’ve learned to assume the reason behind things is my own density and stubbornness.”

A couple of kids glance his way, surprised. Density and stubbornness sound like self‑drag and a diagnosis.

Lord Yellow’s eyes brighten, like someone turns up a dimmer switch inside him.

“Ah ha,” he says. “Two smart souls.”

He flicks his gaze between Rev and Abby—drawing a circle around them with his words.

Diesel notices the way that the circle stops before it reaches him.

The bruise inside his chest throbs.

“So,” Lord Yellow says, “why do you think your soul repeatedly reembodies?”

Rev stares out the window.

Clouds drift past in uneven slabs of gray, layered like skins.

“I think I keep coming back because there’s an infinite diversity of human experiences,” he says.

Infinite choices.

Infinite mistakes.

Infinite news alerts about disasters and wars and arguments over whose life matters more.

“Wrong,” Lord Yellow says.

The word is sharp, but not cruel—like a quick cut through a rotten branch.

“There are only two human experiences: pain and pleasure,” he continues. “Try again, but remember you asked why your soul returns.”

A rustle moves through the room.

Of course, adults reduce it to pain or pleasure. Everything always boils down to what hurts and what feels good.

Diesel wants to roll his eyes so hard they leave orbit.

He leans back and mutters, “You forgot being burned out, senseless, and empty. But I guess that doesn’t count as a noteworthy experience.”

Nobody reacts.

Nobody even twitches.

His words vanish into the air like breath on a cold window—there and gone.

Rev chews on his pen cap.

Only two experiences feel wrong. Life outside this classroom is not that simple. Kids are protesting in the streets. Ice caps are dying in slow-motion livestreams. Group chats bounce between panic attacks and memes to cover them.

“Do I come back because there’s an infinite diversity of soul experiences?” Rev asks. “Not just human experiences—soul experiences?”

Lord Yellow inclines his head.

The light around him pulses once, warmly, like a heartbeat.

“Getting warmer,” he says. “But what would be the point of continuous, random, accidental events?”

Random.

Accidental.

Rev thinks of videos that go viral for no reason. Of tragedies that flood his feed while he’s just trying to finish math. Of kids his age in other countries who never get to sit in a classroom and argue about the afterlife.

“That’s the core of my question,” Rev says.

The words spill faster now, pulled by something deeper than curiosity.

“I look around at everything happening in society,” he continues, “and it all looks chaotic and senseless. I see some good things, but also chaos, confusion, and destruction—maybe more of that than anything else.”

Faces flash in his mind—protest signs, crying parents, politicians with perfect smiles and dead eyes.

“Even in nature,” Rev says, “the cycles feel pointless and repetitive. Water evaporates, forms clouds and makes rain. The rain collects, then evaporates again. Trees grow, die and become soil for more trees. The sun rises and sets every single day, no matter what happens.”

Diesel huffs a quiet, automatic line: “Except there’s no sun on cloudy days.”

He says it to distract himself from how close Rev’s words land.

Rev doesn’t stop.

“All day,” he says, “I breathe in and out over and over. My real question is: how can I learn to perceive the deeper mysteries of my soul’s cycles? How do I change my perception?”

His fingers dig into the page.

The paper under his hand is already wrinkled from past erasures, from drawing and redrawing the same patterns.

He is tired of patterns that don’t go anywhere.

Lord Yellow’s expression softens.

“I like that your question keeps evolving higher,” he says. “If you are not asking the right question, you will not receive the real answer you seek. The best way to improve your perception of truth is to increase the vibrational frequency of your soul.”

For a moment, the whole room hums.

Increase the frequency.

Get above the static.

Get above the noise.

Diesel crosses his arms.

“When I want to get high,” he mutters, “I use rock music, drugs, or entertainment.”

This time, it’s not really a joke.

He thinks about concerts where bass drops hit like earthquakes in his ribs. About smoke curling from his fingertips on nights he wants everything blurry. About gaming marathons where hours vanish and nobody expects anything from him.

Evan sits beside him.

Quiet. Watchful. The kid who is always in the frame but never in the center.

He hears Diesel.

“He can’t hear you,” Evan whispers back. “Marijuana, alcohol, and violent video games are in the human pleasure category. They end in pain later.”

Evan doesn’t say it like a sermon.

He says it like a pattern he’s seen too many times—in friends, in headlines, in the glassy stare of his older brother after one too many nights out.

Diesel swallows.

Human pleasure. Future pain.

The equation is familiar.

He still hates the answer.

Chapter 3: Diesel and Rev Admit Their Faults While Abby Defends Her Creator

As Diesel and Rev admit their faults while Abby defends her creator, the classroom clock ticks, loud and relentless. Outside, life keeps going like normal—lockers slam, a whistle shrills down on the field, someone laughs too hard in the hallway.

Inside this room, reality feels thinner, like everyone is sitting on the edge of a secret.

Rev’s mind loops around Lord Yellow’s words: frequency, perception, cycles.

He stares at the half-empty page in front of him.

“I keep coming back because of my density and stubbornness,” Rev says finally.

He’s not exactly asking anymore.

He’s confessing.

“The solution to all my problems is not to be dense, stubborn, and foolish,” he continues. “But I only see my faults in hindsight. I realize my misjudgments after I understand the truth.”

Hindsight.

It hits him harder than he expects.

He thinks about friendships he lets fall apart because apologizing feels like losing. About signing online petitions and then going back to scrolling like nothing actually changes. About arguments at home where he keeps talking long after he knows he’s wrong.

Diesel lets out a broken little sigh.

“I usually know when I’m being foolish,” Diesel says.

His voice is flat, tired.

“But I don’t stop,” he adds. “Because being foolish permits me to do whatever I want. It usually ends badly, but I keep following my thoughts and feelings anyway.”

There it is again.

A joke’s skeleton, stripped of its punchline.

He thinks of 2 a.m. texts, confessions he sends when the world feels blurry, then wishes he could erase them in the morning. He thinks of ghosting people before they get close enough to see how empty he feels.

Abby shifts in her seat.

Their talk of density and foolishness sounds like they’re blaming themselves for something she thinks is built-in.

“What’s the big deal?” Abby asks.

She sits a little straighter.

“We were created as flawed human beings, so that’s how we’re going to act,” she says. “My Creator doesn’t expect me to be perfect. If he wanted perfect people, he would have made them that way. Just be who you are and have blind faith that things will get better.”

Blind faith.

The words soothe her. They feel like warmth on a cold night.

To some of the others, they sound like a command to stop asking questions.

Lord Yellow’s light dims for a second, as if he’s thinking.

“There are three main aspects of self,” he says. “Purity of health, quantity of wealth, and intensity of power.”

The words echo.

Health.

Wealth.

Power.

They sound like things adults argue about on TV. They sound like the reasons some kids at this school go to therapy and yoga, while others eat vending-machine chips for lunch and pretend everything is fine.

“Your soul vibrates according to your level of consciousness,” Lord Yellow says.

Thin bands of golden light pulse out from his chest in slow waves.

Most students don’t see them.

They feel a sudden urge to breathe deeper.

“To increase vibrational frequency,” Lord Yellow continues, “you must decrease whatever causes your low vibrations—anger, hate, revenge.”

The word revenge hangs in the air.

Everyone pretends not to think of subtweets, screenshots, and long, vindictive group chats. Silent treatments. Block lists. Cancel campaigns run from behind private accounts.

Diesel drums his fingers on the desk, chasing something safer.

“When I listen to music,” he says, “I turn the bass up. I love low vibrations pounding through my body.”

He imagines those low vibrations as actual waves—thick, dark ripples rolling through him, shaking everything loose. At concerts, he feels them like armor, like thunder in his bones. For a few minutes, he is the opposite of invisible.

Abby glances at him, then back at Lord Yellow.

Her faith pushes up against what she’s hearing, bristling.

“My Creator is just like me, because I’m made like him,” Abby says. “He gets angry, loses patience, and takes revenge, just like people. He has a big ego because he wants everyone to praise him and be grateful for his generosity. He dislikes disobedient souls and sends them to an everlasting, torturous prison with no hope of getting out. Those who don’t believe my Savior is all‑loving and forgiving get cast into outer darkness forever.”

The air goes razor‑sharp.

Some students stare at their notebooks. They’ve heard this before—sermons, youth group, TikToks—but never this blunt in Crystic Mystics.

The words everlasting and no hope crawl along the floor like shadows.

Evan shifts in his chair.

His jaw tightens.

He’s seen that version of faith used as a weapon too many times—in arguments, in comment sections, in people cutting family out over theology.

“I’m glad I don’t have the same Creator as you,” Evan says.

He doesn’t say it to be edgy.

He says it because the idea of a universe that looks like Abby’s God terrifies him.

The space between Abby and Evan crackles—belief and anger and fear colliding like charged clouds.

Lord Yellow lifts one glowing hand.

Chapter 4: Lord Yellow Compares Vibrations to Radio Stations and the Students Leave Class

When Lord Yellow compares vibrations to radio stations and the students leave class, he instructs the room to imagine a radio tuned between two stations. “Imagine a radio tuned between two stations,” he says.

His voice drops low, steady.

“One station plays a beautiful symphony. The other plays discordant jazz. On top of that, there is static. Turning the volume up only makes more noise.”

As he speaks, the metaphor crawls into the room and comes alive.

Those who are even slightly sensitive feel it:

Invisible waves crisscross the air.

Some glide—smooth, shimmering, like blue ribbons.

Others are jagged, neon-yellow scribbles.

They slam into each other, producing itchy, unresolved patterns that make hearts race and thoughts scatter.

Diesel shuts his eyes for a second.

He can hear it—the clash, the hiss.

He thinks of his own life as one long attempt to crank the volume high enough to drown out everything weird underneath.

“I hate when that happens,” Diesel mutters. “Especially when I can’t hear the jazz song playing.”

He hesitates, then tacks on, awkwardly, “My Creator made… Abby, all music in this world.”

The sentence tangles on her name.

He’s not used to saying my Creator out loud, not in front of someone whose Creator feels like a cosmic judge with a permanent death sentence ready.

Lord Yellow’s golden gaze passes over Diesel’s desk and keeps going, blind.

“Surrounding and enveloping your soul with low-vibration energy will cause your soul to vibrate at a lower, chaotic frequency,” Lord Yellow says.

In Rev’s mind, the words turn into a picture.

A small bright orb—the soul—wrapped in layers of gray fog. Darker clouds stack over it. Red streaks of rage. Black threads of hate.

The more they pile on, the more the orb shakes—not in a clean rhythm, but in ragged, broken pulses.

“The mystic afterworld vibrates at a high frequency,” Lord Yellow continues. “Souls filled with discordant, low-vibration energy cannot tolerate higher vibration.”

Rev imagines trying to step inside a song so pure it hurts while still clinging to armfuls of static and broken speakers.

Abby imagines heaven as white-hot light, where people clutching bitterness feel like they’re burning alive.

Diesel imagines his face pressed against thick glass.

On the other side: a world of light, colors flowing together in quiet music.

On this side: a dark hallway, his phone at one percent, his earbuds blasting to drown out the emptiness.

He knocks on the glass in his mind.

No one hears.

The bell finally rings, shrill and ordinary.

Chairs scrape—backpacks zip. The screen's light comes back up.

The spell doesn’t break.

It just follows them.

Everyone walks out with something invisible hovering over their shoulder—a question, a wound, a half-understood clue.

Rev leaves wondering if stubbornness is a prison or a puzzle he can solve.

Abby marches into the hallway, clutching her beliefs tighter, trying to force Lord Yellow’s universe and her Creator’s rules into the same shape.

Evan studies the others and wonders if there’s a way to build a world where no one’s faith becomes someone else’s cage.

And Diesel steps into the corridor feeling more like a ghost than a joke.

The word soulless trails him like a second shadow.

Deep inside, under layers of sarcasm and noise, something flickers again.

Small.

High‑pitched.

Like the first fragile note of a song trying to push through static.

He pretends not to feel it.

For now.

Because this Crysticism thing—this talk of frequencies and earned souls and afterworlds—feels less like a sermon and more like the opening puzzle in a game he never agreed to play.

But games have rules.

And if there’s one thing Diesel knows how to do, it’s learn the rules.

Then break them.

Chapter Synopsis: Lord Yellow visits Crystic Mystics 101 from the afterworld to discuss soul health, wealth, and power. Diesel tests his usual defense mechanism by declaring he has no soul, which Lord Yellow startlingly confirms by stating he cannot perceive soulless students. Rev asks why souls repeatedly reembody, leading Lord Yellow to explain that human souls return due to dense density and stubbornness, requiring them to raise their vibrational frequency by eliminating low-vibrational emotions like anger and hate.

Core Themes & Laws:

• The spiritual consequence of lacking a soul and the possibility of earning one

• Vibrational frequency as the metric determining whether a soul can tolerate higher realms or remain trapped in low-vibrational chaos

• The nature of human return and reincarnation as a response to density, stubbornness, and unresolved cycles of pain and pleasure

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Lord Yellow: A glowing visitor from the afterworld who directs arriving souls to their merited positions and teaches about vibrational frequencies.

• Diesel: A skeptical student who uses the shield of being "soulless" until Lord Yellow's verdict makes him feel truly erased.

• Rev: A thoughtful student who asks probing questions about reincarnation, perception, and density.

• Abby: A color-coding, rule-following student who defends her concept of faith and creator against Lord Yellow's lessons.