Inside the small village, a group of four individuals walked steadily through the narrow streets, guided by a puppet no larger than an arm.
It hovered slightly above the ground, its wooden limbs moving with unnatural smoothness as though invisible threads pulled at it from somewhere unseen.
The streets were uneven, stones cracked and darkened by years of soot and something far older than smoke.
Villagers lingered in doorways and behind half drawn curtains. Their eyes drifted toward the newcomers, calm and almost bored, before sliding away as if nothing of importance had appeared.
A woman continued washing vegetables in a metal basin. A man hammered rust from a blade. Children chased one another around a well that had long since run dry.
People came and went in the under dark. Survivors were not rare.
Those untouched by corruption were simply fortunate.
