Circle Two

They reached not for truth, but for shimmer and spin, Chasing the glint of the latest within. Forgotten lay purpose, abandoned lay need, As fashion eclipsed both function and creed. Their hearts beat fast to the pulse of the new, Yet left behind systems that none could renew. So now they are swept by the merciless gust - The whirlwind of versions, decay, and dust.

First Scene: Infernal Hurricane #

The descent from the Legacy Garden was a steep and jarring fall, and we landed in a place utterly devoid of light. Here, an infernal hurricane that never rests spun and lashed the air with ceaseless fury. I heard not sighs, but shrieks and lamentations, as souls were buffeted and smashed against the rocky walls.

"Hold fast to me," the Sage commanded over the roar. "For this is the circle of Lust. But here, the sin is not of the flesh. It is of the mind—and of the toolchain."

Caught within the violent, ever-shifting gale, I saw the spirits of developers. They did not cling to each other, but to the ghostly forms of logos and frameworks. I saw a soul clutching a shining icon for a JavaScript framework that was popular for a month, another desperately holding onto a NoSQL database wholly wrong for their relational data, and a third being torn apart by the conflicting dependencies of a dozen new libraries.

"Who are these, my master?" I cried out.

"These are they who subjected reason to desire," the Sage bellowed. "They are the victims of 'Shiny New Toy Syndrome' and 'Resume-Driven Development.' They chose their tools not for the project’s need, but for the fleeting thrill of the new, for the passion of a technology they lusted after."

"They abandoned stable, proven systems for the latest fashion, leaving a trail of half-finished migrations and unmaintainable code in their wake. Their punishment is to be forever swept up in the storm of their own creation. As in life they were slaves to every new wind of doctrine and every passing technological fad, so in death they are helplessly buffeted by that same chaotic energy. They can never find purchase, never build anything stable, for the hurricane of 'The Next Big Thing' immediately rips it from their grasp and smashes it to bits."

Second Scene: The Alcove #

The Sage raised a hand, and the storm parted for a moment, revealing a small alcove. Here, hunched figures worked frantically beneath a canopy of violently fluttering banners. On each banner, a trending buzzword glowed: "AI-Powered," "Blockchain," "Quantum-Ready."

"They are the Chronic Evangelists," the Sage said. "In life, they pushed tools not to solve problems, but to posture. To signal relevance. To sell solutions no one had asked for."

One soul stood before a mirror, chanting the acronyms of fashionable stacks, each chant causing his reflection to change: from Full-Stack Developer to DevOps Engineer, from AI Specialist to Web3 Architect. But the mirror always cracked before he could speak a full sentence.

"They believe identity flows from the tool, not the task," said the Sage. "And thus, they are cursed to forget themselves each time the wind changes."

We turned away as the wind returned, swallowing the alcove once again.