[The scene opens with the slow creak of an iron gate swinging open. Mist swirls through a graveyard under a starless sky. Reverend Ezekiel Graves steps forward, his boots crunching against the gravel path. The air is thick, silent save for the occasional whistle of the wind. Ahead of him lies an open grave, its jagged edges crumbling into darkness. Graves pauses, standing at its edge, his gaze locked on the abyss.]

“Tombstone. For years, you’ve ferried souls to their final rest, guiding the dead to a destination you will never truly know. You’ve stood on the precipice of eternity, watching others fall, untouched by the weight of their passing. But now, you are no longer the ferryman. You are the cargo.”

[He kneels, scooping a handful of soil from the grave. It sifts through his fingers as his voice grows colder.]

“This earth is more than dirt. It is judgment. It is where rebellion ends and truth begins. You’ve spent your life observing death, a neutral witness to its inevitability. But this time, you will not observe. You will face it.”

[He rises, brushing the dirt from his hands. His shadow stretches long and jagged across the graveyard as the torchlight flickers behind him.]

“You speak of purpose, of identity, as if this match will define you. But the soil does not care for your story. It does not ask for your name or your reason. It only takes. You think you’ll carve your legacy into the annals of Arcadia, The only mark you’ll leave is etched into stone a reminder of your failure, a grave bearing your name.”

[Graves picks up a rusted shovel leaning against the grave, gripping it tightly as he paces along the grave’s edge.]

“This is not a fight for survival. This is not a contest to prove your worth. This is judgment. You’ve spent your life ferrying others to their end, believing it makes you untouchable.”

[He stops, driving the shovel into the dirt beside the grave. His tone deepens, cutting through the stillness.]

“You think yourself the guide, the one who carries others into eternity. But you are not a guide. You are lost. You seek purpose in the soil, but what you’ll find is silence. The grave you’ve approached is not a doorway to greatness it is your reckoning. Your neutrality will crumble and the tide will drag you down.”

[Graves steps closer to the camera, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper.]

“In this grave, there will be no freedom, no identity, no salvation. There will only be dirt, darkness, and my hand casting the final shovel of judgment. The oars you clutch will splinter, your boat will sink, and you will be left to drift into oblivion, forgotten. Because buried alive is not just a stipulation, it is your sentence.”

[The camera lingers on the grave as Ezekiel turns away, his Disciples emerging from the shadows, their chants rising as the scene fades to black.]