Part 1: Yasuk
At the edge of the village, the abandoned gallows stood silent, their ropes stirring in the desert breeze. The creaking wooden frame had bleached and cracked, its knots swollen with age. Doctor Muhammad Hosseini watched the ropes sway and wondered if anyone would use them again.
Since the world beyond the village had vanished, crime had dwindled to something barely perceptible. Greed and anger were never gone, but muted, like a low insect hum fading into the heat. In its wake, fear remained. Not panic, but something graver.
In the first days after the silence, men kept to the shadows while women drew their veils tighter and children slipped between houses without playing. Their laughter, once spilling through the streets had drained away, leaving the village muted and watchful. Even now, the air felt tense, as if it were waiting for something to happen.
After the lynching of the local platoon of Faith Guards, most crimes no longer seemed to matter. People increasingly forgot central authority, as it had collapsed into memory and, like the world beyond the hills, fewer people spoke of it each day. Now they spoke of it only in hushed tones, afraid it might return, and perhaps even more afraid it wouldn’t.