The group moved cautiously through the village, stepping over debris, splintered wood, and stones scattered across what once were winding paths lined with cheerful cottages. Each step was careful; the ground was uneven, flooded in some places from broken wells and burst streams, while sharp edges of collapsed walls jutted unpredictably.
Fae walked ahead, moving slowly, her gaze fixed on the remnants of her home. "This was my favorite spot," she whispered, stopping near a half-collapsed cottage. Its roof sagged like a tired old hand, tiles scattered in the mud. "We used to hold our summer festival here… all the villagers gathered, music playing, laughter…" Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. "I remember chasing my little brother around this garden… he always laughed when I pretended to catch him."
