By the time we saw the village, the sun had vanished behind a wall of clouds that refused to move. The wind had stilled. Not a leaf stirred. Even the smell of rot from earlier had faded. It was replaced by something worse:
Total emptiness.
The village lay at the foot of a sloping hill, framed by brittle trees and crooked fences. Dozens of cottages stood in silence, their windows shuttered, smoke absent from the chimneys. It looked like a place paused mid-breath.
Lucas reined in beside me. "This is Erid Hollow," he said.
"It looks… abandoned."
He nodded slowly. "It shouldn't be. At least not to this extent."
We rode in.
No one greeted us. No children ran through the streets. The wells were dry, the carts untouched, as if everyone had left in the middle of their day and never returned.
"I don't like this," I muttered.
Lucas dismounted. "We'll ask questions. Someone should be around."
