Omi Quill's marker went to the workshop.
It crossed Night Ground upright, cutting a narrow furrow through the street. No hand carried it. The carved name faced the collapsed wall where Omi had died.
His daughter followed.
"Omi Quill."
The marker turned toward her voice.
Sefa stepped between them without touching either.
"Name recognized. No current person answered."
The daughter kept following.
"I know. Move."
Sefa moved.
Grief was not authorization. It also was not his property to block.
Tev Orro's marker pulled free next. His grave held workshop dust and family soil because no body had been recovered. The marker traveled toward the north door whose thin hinge had saved five workers.
Older graves opened across Night Ground.
Bodies did not rise.
The ground stopped holding them.
Wrapped bones slid sideways through soil and appeared at family doors. Coffin boards crossed house floors without breaking them. Grave tags rang field-battery patterns as they moved.
