Farcastles

FARCASTLES: CHAPTER TWO – THE CIRCLE

By the fifth morning, Ern stopped hoping the rain would end. He had crossed two bridges, three empty villages, and one field that smelled like old fire. At some point, the hills began to rise, and so did his doubts. But the road kept going, so he did too.

He arrived at camp just before dusk—if you could call it that. It wasn’t a fortress or even a proper outpost, just a muddy clearing scattered with tents and half-lit fires, bordered by crooked trees that looked like they wanted to run away themselves.

No guards challenged him. No horns announced his arrival. A boy half his age in a tunic two sizes too big just pointed him toward the stump and said, “Take a rock.”

Ern blinked. “What?”

“From the pile. Take one. Then write your word. That’s how we do it.”

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