And the millions of golden threads of life, rising from every living thing, were the stalks of that wheat.
And then, he saw the scythe.
It wasn't a physical scythe. It was an unseen, immense force, a cosmic presence that hovered above the 'wheat field'. It moved slowly, relentlessly, a constant, subtle pressure that tugged at every single golden stalk. It wasn't a violent, immediate reaping, but a continuous, gentle pull, an inexorable siphon that slowly, inevitably, drew the life force upwards, into the colossal, black tendrils of the Pillars.
He saw cities, bustling with people, their golden threads of life rising from them like steam. He saw battles, where the vibrant, concentrated essence of dying warriors flared, then was instantly sucked upwards, a prime harvest. He saw ancient tr
