"Here!" Astra announced, her voice ringing with triumph as she strode into the heart of the village. The clatter of shells spilled from her arms, cascading into a haphazard pile at her feet.
Sunlight caught the iridescent edges of the shells—fragments of clams, oysters, and scallops in pearly whites, seafoam greens, and muted pinks—scattering prismatic flecks across the dusty ground.
Behind her, the village lay in ruins, splintered wooden beams jutted like broken bones from collapsed huts, the acrid tang of smoke clung to the air, and villagers moved sluggishly through the debris, their faces smudged with ash and exhaustion.
"Shells?" Belk questioned, his gaze filled with skepticism at her logic
Vagnis squinted at the pile, his brows knitting together. "What're we going to do with shells?" He gestured toward the wreckage, where a child's tattered doll made of hay laid half-buried under a collapsed roof.
