The city was quiet — too quiet. Towers sagged beneath vines and bone-white roots. The air hummed with wings.

He moved through the ruins like a shadow stitched from dust and chitin, insects following his every step. You watched him work — decay undoing steel, rot weaving soil anew. Your instruments called it contamination. He called it balance.

For days, silence ruled between you, until the last building fell and the earth exhaled. He stood amid the ruin, eyes reflecting the swarm.

“Cities die.” He said softly. “So the world can breathe again.”

The insects rose, glittering like ash in sunlight.And in their song, you finally heard the heartbeat of the earth — not ending, but beginning anew.