The sound of galloping hooves thundered through the dark valley.
Dust rose like storm clouds, and in the distance, the faint metallic clink of armor echoed against the wind.
Lying on the cold ground, Famoura stirred. Her vision was a blur of colors — gold, silver, and crimson. The last thing she remembered was the chaos at the castle gates, the cries of battle, and the weight of the Crimson Book pressed against her chest.
Now, only silence surrounded her… until the horses came closer.
Her pulse quickened. For a brief moment, she wanted to close her eyes and pretend it was all a dream — but the world refused to fade. With trembling hands, she pushed herself up, every bone in her body aching.
A stream ran nearby, its surface glowing faintly beneath the pale moonlight.
Famoura glanced toward it, her mind racing.
The Crimson Book — the one every army sought, the one that could destroy kingdoms — was still with her.
The rumble of hooves grew louder.
They were close.
Without another thought, Famoura limped to the riverbank.
She whispered softly to herself, as if the river could hear her, "Hide it… protect it from their greed."
Then, she tossed the book into the water. It sank slowly, vanishing beneath ripples of silver light just as the soldiers arrived.
"There she is!" shouted one of the horsemen.
A dozen torches flared to life. Swords gleamed in the firelight as they surrounded her.
"Seize her!" barked the commander, his voice echoing through the trees. "Take her to Château de Brissac! She'll speak soon enough."