Let no man claim purity while his breath is borrowed from dust.

The living have walked as if immortal. But dust remembers their oaths, their betrayals, their hypocrisy— their fear.

The dust is not merely a symbol of death. It is a standard of truth. It tests what was built with lies, what was crowned by blood, what was anointed by silence.

You wear fine garments, but the dust tests their origin. You offer sacrifices, but the dust tests your intent. You raise your hands in worship, but the dust remembers what you buried with them.

Let the prophets and pretenders alike be tested. Let the child and the elder stand still and inhale.

For every breath is a judgment. Every wind a return. Every speck of dust— a witness.

The ones who thought the earth would forget… shall be visited in dreams. In illness. In the coughing of their children. In the thinning of their walls. In the sudden decay of what should not rot.

The dust is loyal— not to men, but to justice.