Stonebridge was not a bridge. It was a town named after a bridge, a massive stone arch that spanned a deep gorge at the town's southern edge. The bridge was ancient, pre-invasion, built by hands that had long since turned to dust. It was also, according to Jace's vague notes, the source of the town's trouble.The guild approached Stonebridge on a cloudy afternoon, the gorge appearing suddenly through the trees, a dark slash in the earth. The bridge arched over it, impossibly graceful, its stones worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain.The town itself was larger than the other villages they'd visited. Maybe two hundred people, with a proper inn, a market square, and buildings made of the same grey stone as the bridge. People moved through the streets with purpose, not the slow shuffle of dying communities. Something was wrong here, but it wasn't obvious.They found the inn—The Traveller's Rest—and secured rooms. The innkeeper, a plump woman with sharp eyes named Bess, welcomed them

The road from the nameless town took them through rolling hills and past small farms that grew smaller and more scattered as they traveled east. The land here was good, rich soil, reliable rain, gentle slopes that caught the morning sun. But the farms themselves told a story of struggle. Fences that leaned. Barns that needed paint. Fields that were planted but not tended.Something was wrong with the people too.At the first farm they passed, a man stood in his field, staring at the sky. He didn't move when they waved. Didn't respond when Finn called out a greeting. Just stood there, arms at his sides, face blank, like he'd forgotten why he was there.At the second farm, a woman sat on her porch, rocking in a chair that moved back and forth but never seemed to go anywhere. Her eyes were open, but she didn't blink. Didn't look at them. Didn't acknowledge their existence."What's happening to these people?" Sera asked, her hand on her sword."I don't know." Kaelen touched her pendant. T

The road south from Frosthold took them through a narrow valley that wasn't on any map Jace carried. The mountains rose on either side, grey and silent, their peaks lost in clouds. The stream that ran alongside the road was clear and cold, fed by snowmelt from the heights they'd left behind.They walked for two days without seeing another person. No farms, no villages, no travelers. Just the road, the stream, and the occasional deer that watched them pass with unblinking eyes."Are we sure this is the right way?" Finn asked, for the fifth time."The road exists," Jace said. "Roads exist for a reason. Usually.""Usually?""There's always a first time."On the third day, they found the village.It wasn't hidden. It wasn't abandoned. It was just... there. A cluster of buildings, maybe thirty of them, arranged around a central square. Smoke rose from chimneys. Clothes hung on lines. People moved through the streets, going about their daily lives.But something was wrong.The buildings had

Three days passed before they saw another settlement.The forest gave way to rolling hills, and the hills gave way to farmland, but not the lush, thriving farmland they had seen in other parts of the kingdom. These fields were overgrown, the crops sparse and struggling. Fences leaned at odd angles. Barns stood with their doors open, empty and dark."Something happened here," Sera said, her hand on her sword."Something happened a long time ago," Jace replied. "These fields haven't been properly tended in years."They followed a dirt road that wound between the fields, past farmhouses with shuttered windows and no smoke from their chimneys. Some of the houses looked abandoned. Others showed signs of life—a curtain twitching, a door closing quickly—but no one came out to greet them.At the end of the road, they found the mill.It was a large building, three stories tall, built of grey stone with a wooden waterwheel that hung motionless over a dry creek bed. The creek should have been fu

The road north from the orchard wound through hills that grew steeper and more rugged with each passing mile. The soil here was thin and rocky, better suited for goats than crops, and the few farms they passed were small and struggling. The people they saw watched from doorways, their faces wary, their hands never far from tools that could serve as weapons.Something had happened here too. Not a single event, just years of hardship, of loss, of slow decline. The kind of decline that didn't show up on maps but left its mark on every face.Jace had heard about the pond from a trader in the last town. "They say it's cursed," the trader had said. "People go there to grieve, and they don't come back the same. Some don't come back at all.""Cursed how?" Finn had asked.The trader had shrugged. "You'll see. If you go. But I wouldn't."-The pond was at the bottom of a narrow valley, surrounded by weeping willows whose branches trailed in the water like long, grey hair. The water was dark—not