The wind howled fiercely against the ancient towers of Château de Chambord.
Dark clouds gathered above the kingdom, swallowing the moonlight and casting the world beneath into shadow. The torches lining the royal hall flickered violently as cold drafts swept through the towering chamber.
A dreadful silence lingered among the nobles.
Only the heavy voice of King Francis broke it.
The king stood beside the great throne, his weathered face hardened with restrained fury.
"Whoever hath committed this deed," he declared, "shall answer for it soon enough."
His words echoed through the hall.
Yet instead of fear, a faint smile appeared upon Queen Isabella's lips.
She stepped forward slowly.
Her crimson gown trailed behind her like a river of blood across the polished marble floor.
"So," she said mockingly, "am I to consider this thy surrender?"
Her eyes glimmered with amusement.
"Though if thou desirest, thou mayest yield now. I may yet show mercy."
Prince Lucien immediately stepped forward.
His sharp gaze never left her face.
"What is it that thou truly seekest to accomplish?"
Before Isabella could answer, King Francis spoke again.
"What dost thou want?"
The queen's smile vanished.
The warmth in her eyes disappeared completely.
"Enough of these games," she said coldly.
Then her voice rang through the hall.
"Give me the Crimson."
The moment those words were spoken, the chamber fell silent.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Even the storm outside seemed distant.
Prince Henry slowly turned his gaze away.
A storm far greater than the one outside had begun within his thoughts.
The Crimson.
The legendary relic.
The cursed treasure.
The object countless stories had spoken of.
Yet every account claimed it had been destroyed long ago.
Then how could Isabella still seek it?
Princess Marie-II stepped forward.
"The Crimson perished alongside Queen Margret."
Her voice remained calm despite the tension filling the room.
"It was consumed by the flames when she was burned."
King Francis nodded immediately.
"Aye. Queen Margret held it within her own hands. The fire took both queen and relic alike."
But Isabella laughed.
The sound was bitter.
Cruel.
"Lies."
Her eyes narrowed.
"If that be truth, then show me its ashes."
The king's expression darkened.
"We know not where even the ashes remain."
For a moment, Isabella remained silent.
Then she smiled.
A smile that chilled every soul within the chamber.
"Very well."
Her fingers tightened around the enchanted staff she carried.
The staff was unlike any ordinary weapon.
Countless crimson crystals adorned its length, glowing faintly like imprisoned drops of blood.
Slowly, she raised it toward the ceiling.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Even the air felt heavier.
Then—
With terrifying force—
She slammed the staff against the floor.
"Je t'attends, reviens vite!"
The words echoed throughout the château.
The moment the staff struck the marble, the entire castle trembled.
The floor cracked.
The walls groaned.
Several nobles stumbled as the violent shaking spread throughout the hall.
Then came the screams.
Outside.
Beyond the castle walls.
The dead were rising.
Rotting hands burst from beneath the cursed earth.
One corpse emerged.
Then another.
And another.
Hundreds followed.
Lifeless bodies clawed their way from forgotten graves, their hollow eyes glowing faintly beneath the darkness.
Like a tide of death, they advanced toward Château de Chambord.
The kingdom itself seemed to hold its breath.
High upon the castle tower, King Francis stared below in horror.
The color drained from his face.
"We must do something at once!"
But Prince Henry barely heard him.
His eyes remained fixed upon the undead army below.
Thousands of lives would be lost.
Countless families destroyed.
All because of one object.
The Crimson.
Meanwhile, something far stranger was happening nearby.
Princess Famoura Felóenz suddenly gasped.
A sharp pain pierced her mind.
Her vision blurred.
The world spun.
She clutched her head and collapsed onto the cold stone floor.
Voices echoed inside her thoughts.
Fragments.
Memories.
Forgotten pieces of the past.
Crimson.
The color red.
A book.
A gift.
Then suddenly—
She remembered.
Years ago.
Princess Marie-II had handed her a mysterious book.
Famoura had asked where it came from.
And Marie-II had smiled gently before replying:
"Someone gifted this unto thee long ago."
At the time, the answer had meant nothing.
But now—
The memory returned with startling clarity.
The book.
Its cover.
Its unusual weight.
Its deep crimson color.
Famoura's eyes widened.
Her breathing stopped.
No...
It could not be.
Could it?
Could that book truly be the Crimson?
The legendary relic everyone believed destroyed?
The realization struck her like lightning.
Nearby, Prince Henry whispered beneath his breath.
"Could the Crimson still exist?"
Without warning, he turned and ran.
Famoura immediately looked up.
Panic flooded her chest.
No.
If Henry discovered it first—
Everything would change.
She pushed herself to her feet and chased after him.
Behind them, Princess Catherine shouted,
"Where are the two of you going?"
Neither answered.
Both disappeared into the corridors.
Prince Henry moved quickly through the château.
His boots echoed against the stone floors as he rushed down staircases and through winding hallways.
His destination was clear.
Princess Marie-II's chamber.
If anyone knew the truth about the Crimson, it would be her.
Meanwhile, Famoura raced in the opposite direction.
Toward her own room.
Her pulse hammered inside her ears.
Every second mattered.
She reached her chamber and immediately pushed the door open.
The moment she stepped inside, she locked it behind her.
Her hands trembled.
Crossing the room, she hurried toward the large wooden cupboard standing against the wall.
With considerable effort, she dragged it aside.
The furniture scraped loudly across the floor.
Hidden beneath it lay a secret hollow.
A place no one else knew existed.
Famoura dropped to her knees.
Inside rested the object.
Wrapped carefully.
Waiting silently.
The Crimson.
Even after all these years, its deep-red surface seemed untouched by time.
Almost alive.
Almost aware.
Her hands shook as she lifted it.
The moment her fingers touched its surface, warmth spread through her skin.
A strange sensation.
Neither comforting nor frightening.
Simply... familiar.
Quickly, she stood.
There was no time.
She threw on her dark cloak and slipped the Crimson into the hidden pocket sewn along the inside.
The relic disappeared from sight.
But she could still feel its weight.
Its presence.
Its heartbeat.
Or perhaps that was only her imagination.
Taking a deep breath, Famoura approached the door.
Then she opened it.
And froze.
Prince Henry stood directly outside.
Waiting.
His sharp eyes immediately narrowed.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he asked quietly,
"What art thou hiding?"
Famoura's heart nearly stopped.
She forced herself to remain calm.
"I know not what thou meanest."
Henry clearly did not believe her.
Without waiting for permission, he stepped past her and entered the room.
Famoura's stomach twisted.
No.
No.
No.
He cannot find it.
Henry began searching.
Slowly.
Methodically.
Examining every shelf.
Every drawer.
Every corner.
Outside the doorway, Famoura stood motionless.
Her hands clenched tightly.
A silent prayer formed within her heart.
Please.
Do not find it.
Please.
Do not move the cupboard.
Henry's footsteps echoed softly through the room.
Then he stopped.
Directly before the cupboard.
Famoura felt all warmth leave her body.
Her pulse thundered.
God...
If he moves it—
If he sees the hollow—
Everything is over.
Henry stared at the cupboard.
His expression shifted slightly.
Then he frowned.
"What is this?"
Famoura's blood turned cold.
For one dreadful moment, she believed he had discovered the truth.
Terrified, she slowly turned toward him.
And saw him holding something in his hand.
Not the Crimson.
Not the hidden compartment.
But an old parchment map resting atop the cupboard.
The very same map Princess Marie-II had once given her.
Relief nearly caused her knees to give way.
Yet deep within her cloak, hidden from Henry's sight, the Crimson seemed strangely warm.
As though it understood.
As though it knew how close it had come to being discovered.
And somewhere beyond the castle walls, beneath the screams of the dead and the fury of the storm, something ancient seemed to awaken.
Something that had waited for centuries.
Waiting not for a king.
Not for a queen.
But for the girl who now carried the Crimson against her heart.