Words Aren't Needed

Every single inch of Pluto bathed under a gray light. The ashes on Pluto—the remnants of the billion dead humans—floated with the fiery storm that wrecked the planet.

"I am sorry I couldn't save you all those years ago," Varian gently whispered as he landed.

The storm died down to a breeze, and the gentle breezes carried the ashes to him. The ashes swirled around him as if they were about to drown him at any moment yet didn't touch him.

Varian couldn't understand why but his famine power's ability to distinguish life and death made one thing clear.

The ashes weren't completely dead…yet. There was something in them, something he didn't know, that made them different from dead things. Perhaps it was a soul, a spirit, or something else.

It had no power, physical or mental. It was like a spectator, allowed to only watch and make no impact.