Elder Blood-Crow stepped forward onto the polished white jade threshold beneath the Heavenly Morality Archway.
His boots left two muddy, straw-flecked footprints on the pristine floor.
His ragged floral scarecrow vest hung loosely over his bruised shoulders, smelling strongly of river silt, asphalt, and donkey fur.
Blood-Crow held up his green volunteer logbook with both hands, presenting it to the hovering runic scanner like a sacred religious relic.
“Scan me, glorious celestial machine,” Blood-Crow whispered, his voice cracking with dry, desperate hope. “I paved roads. I cleared mudslides. I carried a pregnant beast up a cliff while she chewed my ear off. Grant me my eighty points.”
High above his head, the holographic scanner emitted three rapid pulses of emerald light.
Runic data streams spiraled through the air, cross-referencing satellite telemetry, highway camera feeds, and local farmer interview recordings.
The crowd of fifty mud-stained elders held their breath in collective agony.
