12. The Weight of the Return
She can hear it, the god's voice, low and
deep, like the hum of the earth beneath
her feet.
It whispers through the orchard, through the
trees, through the ground, calling to her,
calling to the town, calling to the bloodline
that brought it back.
She knows now.
This is not just her doing.
The god has always been
here, waiting to rise, waiting
for the right moment, waiting
for someone to remember.
The memory of it stirs in her, quiet at
first, but growing louder with each
passing day.
It's not just the harvest.
It's the cost of forgetting.
She doesn't know what to do.
How can she stop it?
How can she undo what has already been done?
Mesha Dreams in Ink. 