A gentle breeze swept through the golden waves of wheat stretching to the horizon, making a soft rustling sound.
Old Hark listened to that rustling as though he were hearing a traveling preacher perform sacred music. It sounded so pleasant.
A long time ago, traveling preachers often came near his farm to preach, recounting His Majesty the Savior's latest deeds and magnificent achievements. Everyone loved listening, especially the children.
The Imperium grew greater by the day, and people's lives improved day by day as well.
The wheat in the fields was the same.
"The wheat is almost ripe."
Old Hark took a puff from his pipe and sat on the ridge between the fields, murmuring to himself. He liked being among the wheat.
As long as the wheat grew well, no one would have to go hungry. Of course, they had stopped going hungry long ago.
Those memories of suffering and hunger had long since faded away.
Even the children on the farm did not know that Godric, this hot and humid agricultural world, had once suffered terrifying floods and a terrible famine.
Without the Savior's protection, without the arrival of the Imperium, they would all have starved to death.
Or been devoured by rotten Daemons and living corpses from the floods, their souls fed alive to the horrifying entity known as Raincaller.
Thankfully, all that was in the past. So long ago that the children who had endured it had grown up, grown old, or been buried in the earth.
But Old Hark had not died yet. He still remembered it all. He remembered the abundant blessings the Savior had brought to the Imperium, to Godric, this once-suffering world.
Old Hark sat on the field ridge.
He smelled the fresh fragrance of wheat carried on the wind and instantly