The castle of Fondeur rose alone in the heart of the countryside, surrounded by endless fields of wheat and distant hills lost in mist. Built from pale limestone, its walls shone under the sun, cracked with age but unshaken. Four towers marked its corners.
The main gate, a massive oak door reinforced with bronzeThe interior was cold and dim. High columns, narrow corridors, and heavy wooden doors led to rooms that smelled of dust, oil, and secrets. The throne room lay at the cente.Beneath the castle, tunnels twisted into darkness. No maps marked them. No light lingered. They were older than the kingdom itself.
An elderly man, close to seventy-five, wandered the dim corridors of the castle. His pale skin glowed faintly under the torchlight, long silver hair trailing over his crimson robe. His white beard rested neatly against his chest, and black sandals whispered across the stone floor, they called him Gelio Murrah.
The corridor was silent. Wide, closed doors lined the hallway, one after another. Though the man seemed deep in thought—almost as if casually walking—his eyes were alert, reading the castle like a book he'd memorized long ago.
Another man appeared, cloaked in black. Around sixty, with cropped hair, he clutched a rosary in his hand. He walked with quiet purpose, his name is Milan Cretus.
"Something is happening," said Gelio. "Your long stay in this castle has come to an end, my friend."
Milan raised an eyebrow and kept pace.
"I've just been informed," continued Gelio. "Some suspects have been captured—people believed to be tied to the attempt on the king's carriage. You know one of them well. Frankly, I thought she was a hundred meters underground."
"Is there someone," Milan asked, "who knows more than we believe?"
"According to Socrates," Gelio said, "the guards described two women. One with long, curly red hair. Tall. Masculine features. She's in the camp now, under interrogation. You must leave at once. Kletus is a solid captain,but he is not you."
"I'm grateful His Majesty trusts me with this," Milan said respectfully.
"This isn't a promotion," Gelio snapped. "That woman—the one we both know—is called Ekatulia."
Milan stopped dead in his tracks. His lips parted, but he said nothing.
"She's back," Gelio murmured, looking cautiously around them. "The witch found her way home. She was supposed to be gone. Yet here she is. That… is a mystery."
"Ekatulia must have her reasons," said Milan, quietly. "Of course, I will—"
"The king wants you to execute her," Gelio interrupted. "Her, and the others. The other is not only suspected of knowing about the assassination attempt—she's also accused of murdering Greek soldiers."
Milan's fingers tightened around the rosary.
"I want answers too," said Gelio. "But the king was clear. He fears her. Rumors might spread—that she supported him during the Turkish invasion."
"That wasn't him," Milan said firmly. "It was his father—the old king. He summoned the witch to help his son. And after the war, he rewarded her with land. I don't even know where those lands are today."
"She broke that pact," Gelio said. "She's here. Safris won't honor his father's mistakes. He wants everything erased—as if it never happened."
Milan fell silent.
"There's another issue," Gelio added with unease. "A child. The king… he pities her. But she's on the list. I could look the other way. You might let her live. But remember, eyes and ears surround us. If he finds out—I can't protect you."
He turned to leave, but paused.
"Take Freniud with you. The animals need fresh air."
Later, Milan sat at his desk. The chamber was enormous, lined with books, scrolls, and sacred texts. A long wooden table, flanked by thirty chairs, sat along the far wall. Light streamed in through stained-glass windows.The door creaked open. A rugged man entered—bearded, around fifty, with a long scar slashed across his cheek. His presence was coarse, threatening.
"You summoned me?" Freniud asked.
"We're leaving for Kletus's camp," said Milan, looking up . "The king requests your presence."
"May I ask what this is about?" Freniud said, arms crossed.
"A man like you is always ready," Milan said simply. "If I'm ready—you should be too."
Freniud let out a dry laugh. "With all due respect, Your Holiness—I've spent my life protecting you from your enemies. Don't talk to me about readiness."
"Do you see yourself as my enemy, Freniud?" Milan asked quietly.
"You know damn well I don't," said Freniud. "Don't insult me."
"Then are you my protector?" Milan pressed.
Freniud narrowed his eyes. "Does Your Holiness need rest? Or are you losing your mind?"
"I'm asking," said Milan, leaning forward, "because you act as if I owe you answers."
Freniud clenched his fists but said nothing.
"Do you know why the king allows you to remain here?" Milan continued. "Because I tell him I need you. Because I say you're useful—not the brute he thinks you are."
Freniud looked away, jaw tight.
"You know what the difference is?" Milan said, voice rising. "He hides what you make obvious. You're rude. Uneducated. Lacking any right to the life you live. So don't demand explanations."
Freniud stared at the floor, fury boiling behind his silence. Then, without a word, he turned and left.
As he exited, Gelio entered from the other side of the hall. The two passed close, but Freniud didn't so much as glance his way. Gelio turned to watch him go, then approached Milan.
"Did our friend not like the idea of walking the dog?" Gelio said with a wry smile.
Milan rose and pulled out a chair. Gelio sat slowly, groaning as he adjusted.
"I'm trying to keep him focused," Milan said. "He's always vanishing, ends up drunk in some brothel."
"You can't blame him," Gelio chuckled. "Weren't you the one who brought him here, when he was just a brat off the streets?"
Milan didn't respond.
"You're free of the old king's oath now," Gelio added. "The witch broke the pact."
"That worries me," Milan admitted. "She wouldn't come back without a reason."
"She's had decades to kill us all—and hasn't," Gelio said. "Don't tell me it's out of honor. Or respect for the dead king."
"That's the problem," said Milan. "I don't know what she wants."
"Then find out," Gelio urged. "I can't ask. I had her tongue cut out—just in case she spoke the name Fondeur again. Fortunately, you understand her."
Gelio leaned forward, sensing something more.
"You're worried. There's something else."
"The Laws of the Sages," Milan said softly.
"You mean the prophecies?" Gelio asked.
"The law that would replace the empire of God," Milan replied. "The one that defies Christianity. Ekatulia once prophesied a man who would define life beyond death—not through faith, but truth. I fear she's returned to become the sacrifice that unlocks the arrival of her prophet."
How can you be sure?.Gelio Replied.
There is one person that has good knowledge about it.
Gelio laughed out loud—mocking . But his grin vanished when he saw the calm seriousness in Milan's eyes.
"The monk," Gelio whispered. "From Galomé?"