The Final Reckoning

The air in the Granary of Souls is not air, but the dust of forgotten harvests, a fine, choking powder that smells of dry rot and the faint, sweet scent of decay. This is the place where abundance meets famine, the liminal space between the seed and the empty husk. The floor is a mosaic of desiccated grains—wheat, barley, millet—each one a tiny, hardened tomb for a life that never sprouted. The…