The Orchestrated Speech

The sun hung low, staining the sky in burnt amber. The vast expanse of the Food Estate stretched before them, an open graveyard of failed promises. Once heralded as a solution to the nation’s agricultural crisis, it now stood as a testament to greed’s folly. Rows of brittle stalks trembled in the dry wind, their whispers lost in the endless horizon.

David knelt by the cracked earth, running the soil between his fingers. The texture was wrong—lifeless, as if it had been stripped of more than just nutrients. He brought the dirt to his nose, inhaling the scent of something long decayed.

“Nothing grows here,” he muttered. “The land is dead.”

Bintang stood a few steps away, adjusting his coat against the sudden chill. “More than just dead,” he said, eyes scanning the desolate field. “It was drained.”