The cold winds roared mercilessly through the endless corridors of Château de Chambord, carrying with them the dreadful cries of the dead that now surrounded the kingdom like a curse descended from Heaven itself. The once-glorious castle, known for its grand feasts and radiant halls, had become a fortress of fear. Torches flickered weakly upon the stone walls, their flames trembling as though even fire itself feared what walked beyond the gates.
Princess Famoura Felóenz followed closely behind Prince Henry through the dim corridors, her heartbeat growing heavier with every passing moment.
Beneath the folds of her dark cloak, hidden carefully within the secret pocket stitched upon its left side, rested the Crimson.
The very object for which kingdoms bled.
The very object Queen Isabella had awakened the dead to obtain.
And now—
It rested in Famoura's possession.
Yet Prince Henry knew nothing.
Or at least… she prayed he did not.
Slowly, she turned herself around after hearing Henry's sudden voice behind her, fearing for one terrible instant that he had somehow uncovered the truth.
But instead—
He merely held an aged parchment map within his hands.
Relief nearly escaped from her lips.
Henry narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"And what exactly is this?"
Famoura's thoughts scrambled desperately for an answer. Her fingers tightened beneath her cloak.
"T-that…" she stammered nervously, "Princess Marie-|| gave it unto me long ago."
Then, forcing calmness upon her face, she offered him a small smile.
Henry lifted one brow.
"My mother gave thee this?"
There was both curiosity and uncertainty within his tone.
Famoura nodded quickly.
"Aye."
Prince Henry unfolded the parchment slowly, examining every corner with growing interest.
The map appeared ancient, its edges worn by time itself. Strange symbols decorated its borders, while faded ink marked roads and forgotten paths between distant lands.
Henry's gaze sharpened suddenly.
"Could this perhaps contain directions leading unto the Crimson?"
Famoura immediately laughed — though her laughter sounded far more nervous than natural.
"Art thou mad? Why would Princess Marie-|| entrust such a thing unto me?"
For a moment Henry merely stared at her.
Then unexpectedly, he chuckled.
"I was only jesting."
He glanced back toward the map once more before speaking carelessly,
"'Tis nothing more than the road stretching from Château de Brassic unto Château de Chambord."
With little concern, he tossed the parchment carelessly upon the floor and stepped outside the chamber.
Famoura silently exhaled in relief.
For a single dreadful second, she had believed everything would end there.
That he would discover the Crimson.
That he would see through her lies.
Quickly, she followed after him into the darkened corridors.
The château had become hauntingly silent despite the chaos outside. Occasionally distant screams echoed through the halls, reminding them that the dead still wandered beyond the castle walls.
Prince Henry walked ahead with increasing frustration visible upon his face. His sharp eyes carefully examined every object he passed — every curtain, every bookshelf, every hidden corner.
He searched desperately.
Behind him, Famoura carefully adjusted her cloak, ensuring the Crimson remained hidden.
At times, she pretended to inspect shelves and ancient cabinets herself, wishing Henry to believe she too searched for the legendary object.
In truth—
She was only searching for places to hide it.
Every room they entered became another temporary prison for the Crimson before she quietly reclaimed it once Henry moved onward.
The burden upon her heart only deepened.
Why had Princess Marie-|| entrusted such a thing unto her?
Why did the Crimson feel… alive?
And most terrifying of all—
Why did it feel as though the object somehow called unto her?
Then suddenly, Henry stopped walking.
Famoura nearly collided against him.
Slowly, he turned toward her.
The softness usually lingering within his expression had vanished completely.
His voice emerged low and serious.
"If thou shouldst discover the Crimson before I do…"
He stepped slightly closer.
"…then know this."
The torches beside them flickered violently.
"It shall belong unto me alone."
Famoura stared at him silently for several seconds.
There was something unsettling within his eyes.
Not greed alone.
Obsession.
Almost as though the Crimson had already begun whispering unto him despite never touching it.
Famoura folded her arms lightly before replying,
"Nay."
Henry frowned.
"The Crimson itself shall decide whom it belongs unto."
Then, pretending indifference, she motioned ahead.
"Now continue thy search."
Henry stared at her for a long moment before turning away once more.
And so the two continued wandering deeper into the château.
The castle halls seemed endless beneath the stormy night sky. Ancient portraits watched from the walls like silent witnesses to the kingdom's downfall.
Every now and then, distant pounding echoed from below.
The undead were attempting to force entry through the castle gates.
Then at last—
They arrived before King Francis' royal chamber.
The enormous wooden doors stood partially open.
Darkness lingered within the room.
Famoura hesitated briefly before entering.
The chamber smelled faintly of old parchment, candle wax, and steel. Moonlight slipped through the tall windows, illuminating the grand chair of the king positioned near the far side of the room.
And then—
Famoura saw it.
A shadow.
Someone stood motionless within the darkness.
Her breath caught instantly.
But before reacting, her gaze quickly darted toward Prince Henry, who remained distracted while inspecting shelves near the entrance.
This was her chance.
Moving carefully, Famoura slipped behind King Francis' grand chair and quietly removed the Crimson from beneath her cloak.
Even hidden beneath cloth, the object seemed strangely warm against her hands.
Its deep-red surface almost glowed within the darkness.
Quickly, she concealed it behind the chair.
Then she turned—
Only to nearly freeze.
Prince Henry now stood nearby.
At that exact moment, Famoura's eyes drifted once more toward the shadow lurking deeper within the chamber.
This time—
She saw clearly what rested within its grasp.
A sword.
Rusted.
Sharp.
And held by the decayed hand of one of the undead.
Famoura's blood turned cold.
The corpse remained perfectly still for several horrifying seconds.
Then slowly—
It raised the blade.
Before Famoura could react, Prince Henry suddenly turned.
And screamed.
The sound echoed violently throughout the chamber.
Henry had unknowingly positioned himself directly opposite the hidden Crimson.
Yet he knew nothing of it.
His terror came instead from the undead soldier now standing mere steps before him.
Its hollow eyes glowed faintly beneath the darkness.
Rotting flesh hung from its face.
And from its throat escaped a horrifying growl unlike any human sound.
The corpse suddenly lunged forward.
Prince Henry stumbled backward in shock.
"Famoura!"
The moment she heard him cry out, Famoura moved instinctively.
But even in that moment of danger—
Her eyes first darted toward the hidden Crimson.
Only afterward toward Henry.
Fear gripped her chest.
If the undead discovered the Crimson…
Or worse—
If Henry accidentally saw it—
Everything would collapse.
Then suddenly her gaze landed upon the ceremonial weapons displayed upon the chamber wall.
Without hesitation, she rushed toward them.
Her fingers seized the hilt of a sword.
With one sharp motion—
She unsheathed it.
The sound of steel rang through the chamber.
Prince Henry barely avoided the undead's blade as the creature swung viciously toward him.
Famoura charged forward immediately.
The corpse turned toward her with terrifying speed.
But before it could attack again—
Famoura swung the sword with all her strength.
The blade tore violently through the undead soldier's chest.
A dreadful shriek escaped the creature as it collapsed heavily upon the stone floor.
Silence followed.
Only the sound of heavy breathing remained.
Prince Henry stared at the fallen corpse in complete shock before slowly looking toward Famoura.
Relief flooded his face.
"Thou hast my deepest thanks…"
He breathed heavily.
"…for saving my life."
Famoura stood motionless for a moment, still gripping the sword tightly.
Then she forced a tense smile.
"Nay…"
Her eyes briefly shifted toward the hidden Crimson behind the king's chair.
"…for saving all our lives."
Henry smiled faintly, believing she spoke only of the kingdom.
But Famoura knew the truth.
Her trembling hands.
Her desperate actions.
Her fear.
None of it had been for Henry alone.
Everything she had done—
Every lie she had spoken—
Every risk she had taken—
Was for one purpose only.
To protect the Crimson.
For deep within her heart, a terrifying realization had already begun forming.
The Crimson had not merely survived.
It had waited.
And somehow—
It had chosen her.