Cemetery of Souls Beneath a choked, ashen sky, the air hangs thick with sorrow. The Cemetery of Souls stretches endlessly, a barren land of crumbled gravestones, crooked crosses, and cracked earth that exhales a faint, sulfurous breath. Fog curls like ghostly fingers across the shattered tombs, whispering the names of the forgotten.

Thousands of restless souls wander this cursed place—no peace, no redemption, only agony.

Some fall to their knees, hands raised toward the heavens, pleading for God, their cries raw with desperation:

“Why have You abandoned us?” “Please, Lord, deliver us from this torment!” Their transparent forms flicker like candlelight in a storm, faces twisted in eternal grief. Others pace the cemetery in anguish, clutching their chests, dragging invisible chains, weeping until their voices become hoarse moans echoing across the dead trees. A woman sobs for her child. A soldier curses the gods. A boy screams for his mother.

And then there are the souls of vengeance—eyes burning with hatred, mouths dripping curses, clawing at the earth and one another.

“He must pay!” “I was betrayed!” “Let the heavens burn like we did!” They surge like black waves, furious and bitter, their fury aimed at the living, at each other, at the silence above. Some spirits are fused to their graves, others walk in endless circles, and a few crawl on all fours, nails worn to the bone, whispering secrets to the dirt.

Above it all, the wind howls like the wail of a million regrets, and in the distance, the faint sound of unseen bells tolls—not for the dead, but for the damned who cannot die.

This cemetery is not a place of rest.

It is a wound in the world.

A purgatory for those whose cries still haven't been heard.