WESTERN KINGDOM OF FRANCE, 884 A.D.
The western sky burned in shades of amber as a cavalry marched down the stony path from Josesselin toward the fortress of Vannes.
The sea wind carried the scent of salt and iron — the tang of weapons and weary armor that had known too many battles.
At the front rode Prince Hugh, heir to the throne of Bretagne. His posture was firm, his gaze steady. Behind him, thirty guards followed in silence, their faces hardened by exhaustion, their armor dusted by the long road.
Suddenly, Captain Aldric spurred his horse forward.
"Your Highness! Please, wait!"
Prince Hugh pulled on the reins. His horse neighed softly, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"What is it, Aldric?"
His voice was calm, but sharp as a blade.
"Your Highness, the day wanes. I fear we won't reach Vannes before nightfall. I suggest we find a place to rest."
Prince Hugh exhaled slowly, surveying the men around him — their shoulders drooped, their faces dim under the dying light of dusk.
"Do you know the nearest territory?"
"I do not, Your Highness."
The prince's voice rose among the riders.
"Does anyone here know?"
A young guard stepped forward, his tone steady.
"If I'm not mistaken, Your Highness, this is the land of La Fertilité."
"La Fertilité…" the prince echoed, turning to Aldric.
"Do you know who rules it now?"
Aldric frowned.
"Not the new lord, Your Highness. But the old one... Count Verdent."
"Count Verdent," murmured the prince. "Do you know the road to his castle?"
"I do, Your Highness."
"Then lead us there. Perhaps they'll grant us shelter."
The company moved once more, the rhythm of hooves echoing into the darkening horizon.
After nearly an hour, they reached La Fertilité — but the air felt wrong.
Silent.
Still.
Not a single villager in sight. Only ravens circling above, their harsh cries slicing through the wind.
Then came the stench — rot, blood, and something older, fouler.
Prince Hugh covered his nose, grimacing.
"Aldric... something's not right. Take ten men and scout the area."
"At once, Your Highness."
Aldric rode off with his men toward the stone castle that loomed in the distance.
The prince waited atop a ridge with the remaining guards.
Only the wind answered.
Moments later, three riders returned — pale, trembling.
One dismounted quickly, removing his helmet.
"Your Highness... they're all dead. The villagers — men, women, children... all of them."
"Dead...?" Hugh's voice dropped low. "Was it an attack?"
"No signs of one, Your Highness. No banners. No weapons. Nothing."
"Where is Aldric?"
"He's questioning a few survivors."
"And the lord of this land?"
"Also dead, Your Highness."
Prince Hugh's face darkened.
"Very well. Take me there."
They rode through the empty village.
Doors hung open. Tables overturned.
The smell of decay grew heavier — and on both sides of the road lay bodies: burnt, split open, some clutching their children even in death.
"This…" whispered the prince, "is worse than any battlefield."
At last, they reached the courtyard of the stone castle, where Aldric stood speaking to a scarred young man.
"Your Highness," Aldric bowed.
"What happened here, Aldric?"
"He will tell you, sire."
The young man stepped forward. His face was marred with burns stretching down his neck.
"Kneel," Aldric said softly. "This is Prince Hugh, son of King Leopold of Bretagne."
The youth obeyed. The prince gestured lightly.
"Rise. Tell me what happened."
"Your Highness… it all began with… the skull."
"The skull?" Hugh frowned.
"Yes, Your Highness. The skull of Lady Andarea."
The prince's gaze sharpened.
"Explain."
"I was a servant of the lord of this castle. Everything began with the execution of his wife — Lady Andarea."
"Execution?"
"Yes, Your Highness. She was burned alive… accused of murdering her husband's brother and several nobles."
"And the accusations were true?"
"They were, Your Highness. She killed them — but not without reason. Those men murdered her two sons."
The air thickened. The prince's hand clenched at his side.
"So the lord condemned his wife… for avenging their children?"
The servant lowered his head.
"Your Highness… the lord had fallen in love with her handmaiden. She was the cause of it all."
"Your name?"
"Esmond, sire."
"Speak freely, Esmond."
"I was born a slave in England. Lady Andarea too was once a slave. We were brought here together by our former master, but the lord of this castle ambushed him and took us. He forced Lady Andarea into marriage."
Esmond's voice faltered.
"For years she lived in fear. Then her sons were killed — one poisoned, one drowned. The lord knew, and did nothing."
"Coward," the prince hissed.
"After that… he demanded that their daughter — only eleven — be wed to his own brother."
"What?!"
"Yes, Your Highness. That broke her. Lady Andarea changed. From a gentle soul to a ghost of vengeance. One by one, those who had wronged her began to die."
"Are you certain she killed them?"
"I am not, Your Highness… but the night before it began, she spoke to a stranger — a woman cloaked in black. I heard whispers of a bargain: that Lady Andarea could reclaim the souls stolen from her."
Aldric tensed.
"A sorceress?"
"Yes… and after that night, Lady Andarea's eyes turned bright green — glowing like emeralds beneath the moon."
Esmond's hands trembled.
"That day… was her last."
He continued in a broken whisper.
"She was playing with her daughter in the courtyard. Then the mob came. They dragged her to the pyre. She screamed for me to take her child and run. I obeyed. On the road, I met an old woman. She told me to give her the child — the girl called her 'grandmother'. I did… and when I returned, the fire was already devouring the castle."
Tears streamed down his face.
"Lady Andarea's cries echoed through the smoke… and she cursed them all."
His voice dropped, trembling.
"'I curse you all… any who touch me shall lose their souls. May this land be buried beneath its own blood.'"
The wind rose, shaking the trees. Even the guards shivered.
Prince Hugh's expression darkened.
"A curse born of sorrow and flame…"
Aldric spoke low.
"But the bodies, sire? What of them? The skull?"
"Yesterday was the lord's wedding," Esmond said. "He married the handmaiden. During the feast, the old woman appeared again — with a white skull. She claimed that whoever touched it would be free from Lady Andarea's curse."
Prince Hugh closed his eyes.
"And they touched it…"
"They did, Your Highness. They laughed, mocked her name… and then — blood poured from their eyes and mouths. One by one, they fell."
Silence fell over the courtyard.
Aldric's voice quivered.
"If Lady Andarea truly had hair as white as silver—"
Prince Hugh finished softly,
"—then she may be of their kind."
"Aye, Your Highness," Aldric nodded grimly. "Old magic from the northeast of Bretagne… bound to vengeance and soulcraft — the ancient rivals of Merlin's line."
The prince looked toward the dark castle below the moonlight.
"Then the curse… still lingers.
As long as the skull remains."