Farcastles

FARCASTLES: CHAPTER FIVE – DAGGERPOINT

The gate to Daggerpoint hung open—not broken, not breached. Just... open. Like a jaw unhinged mid-sentence.

No one spoke as they passed beneath it. Ern noticed Gellon slow his steps, one hand resting on the hilt of Mercy. Myrr walked in with eyes half-lidded, as if listening to something the rest of them couldn’t hear.

Inside, the village was half a breath from ruin. Shutters hung crooked. Doors swung gently in the wind. A well in the square had gone dry enough to crack. But the strangest thing of all was that everything else—the laundry lines, the swept porches, the arranged chairs—looked like people had just stepped away.

“Too quiet,” Gellon muttered.

“No signs of struggle,” Sarra said. “No signs of peace either.”

Torv sniffed the air. “Smoke. North side.”