Sela Kailani knelt, the weight of the harvest heavy in her hand. Each pumpkin pulsed faintly, a heartbeat beneath its orange skin. She’d been tasked to cull the overgrowth, but tonight felt different. The air tasted like frost and decay. A whisper slithered through the rows – not wind, but voices. They spoke of ripeness, of sacrifice. Sela tightened her grip on the scythe, a sudden chill crawling up her spine as she noticed one pumpkin glowing brighter than the rest, beckoning her closer. It felt…hungry.