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Mercy looks back. “We need to hurry.”

I can’t move.

Everything we’ve been told...wrong.

Not completely.

Corrupted.

A tradition layered over another tradition until nobody remembered where the cruelty began.

“Excess,” I whisper.

Mercy looks at me. “What?”

“The Harvest feeds on excess.”

“Yes.”

“Food. Drinking. Sex. Fear. Blood.”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t care where it comes from.”

Understanding flickers across her face. “No.”

“It just wants to be fed.”

“Yes.”

“So why does it need me now?”

“Because I am dying.”

The words stop me. “What?”

Mercy looks down at herself. “The roots are failing.”

The barn flickers.

For a second, I see the real structure.

Rotting wood. Roots everywhere. Bones woven through the walls. Then candles and tables again.

“I have held it for too long.”

“And if you die?”

“It loses its anchor.”

“And?”

“The Harvest returns to wherever it came from.”

That sounds excellent.

Mercy shakes her head. “It will not go willingly.”