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FARCASTLES: CHAPTER SEVEN – THE MAP BENEATH THE FIRE The sun rose over Daggerpoint with no intention of warming it. Smoke still drifted in lazy columns from the orchard, and the scorched remains of the Hollow-creature lay crumpled in the village square like a nightmare that hadn’t quite finished. Ern sat on the edge of a well, hands clasped, watching ash settle over the rooftops. His word still echoed in his head—stay—but now it clung to him differently. He had stayed. He had fought. And yet, he felt as unmoored as ever. The others moved quietly through the aftermath. Torv sharpened his blade in rhythmic silence. Gellon helped a limping villager mend a broken cart axle, though his sleeve was still wet with blood. Myrr stood by the remnants of the Hollow’s maw, staring at something only they could see. Sarra paced like a caged wolf, her armor already cleaned, eyes already on the road ahead.
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They hadn’t spoken much since the attack. Until now. “There’s something inside it,” Myrr said. They all turned. Myrr knelt beside the blackened corpse and pulled away a slab of root-flesh with their knife. Beneath, nestled in warped bone, was a circular piece of metal—melted at the edges, but still bearing etchings. Not words. Not sigils. Lines. Arcs. “A map,” Sarra said, crouching beside them. “Looks like a fortress,” Torv added. “Or what’s left of one.” Ern leaned in. “What’s that mark there?” Gellon squinted. “North Castle seal. But distorted.” Sarra took it in her hands. “This wasn’t a monster. It was a messenger.” They were still absorbing that when Alder May appeared behind them, her steps slow but certain. “You’ll need to leave by midday,” she said. “Whatever comes next won’t wait for the Castle’s orders.”
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Sarra stood. “What do you know of this place?” “Only what was passed down. A ruin beyond the ashline, buried after the Accord. Neither Castle wants it remembered. Which means it matters.” She held out a wrapped bundle. “This was meant for someone else. A man I trusted. But he’s two winters gone now. I think it belongs to you.” Sarra opened it. Inside was a letter sealed in dark wax—and a pendant in the shape of a divided flame. She stared at it a moment too long. Then tucked it away like a memory she didn’t want to share. “What is it?” Ern asked. “A relic,” May said. “From before the Castles split. Before there were sides.” No one spoke for a moment. Then Gellon broke the silence. “So… do we tell the North? Ride back like good little banners?” Torv’s voice was flat. “And watch them bury it all again?” Sarra looked at each of them in turn. “We follow the map.” Myrr nodded. “The land wants us to.” Gellon sighed. “Of course it does.”
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Ern looked toward the smoldering edge of the Hollow. The world beyond Daggerpoint was suddenly much larger—and more dangerous—than he’d ever imagined. He thought again of his word. Stay. He wasn’t just staying now. He was choosing to go. “I’m coming,” he said. Sarra smirked. “Good. You’re still on watch tonight.” They packed their things. Myrr folded the map like it was glass. Sarra kept the letter close. Gellon made sure no one saw him wince when he lifted his pack. By midday, the five of them were gone. The smoke trailed behind them like a second shadow, rising, curling. Pointing toward something deeper. Toward the truth the Castles buried. Toward the fire beneath the map.
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