***
{Inside The Projection}
The 'rebel'-controlled village, just east of the city, wasn't exactly a village.
It was a graveyard that hadn't figured out it was dead.
Dark. The place simply had no oil lamps or torches.
Without the Twelve Moons, it would've been impossible to see anything in there.
Upon entry, Malik ducked under a sagging archway made of splintered wood.
It acted as a guard, doing a fine job at testing the visitor's flexibility.
Though, the place wasn't truly unguarded.
It had the best guard of them all.
An incredibly bad smell.
Right, the stink of sewage slapped Malik hard.
Most men would've been disoriented by it, but he just shrugged it off, seemingly used to such smells, which he was, way more so than he'd like.
Before him, mud-brick huts leaned like drunkards, their roofs patched with palm fronds.
