The air still trembled with the memory of what they had witnessed.
Even though the hidden passage had vanished…
Even though the library looked normal again…
Their hearts knew the truth.
Something was still there.
"They're… still there," someone whispered.
No one dared to look back.
Anthony Félix swallowed hard, his voice unusually low.
"That vampyr… it was terrifying."
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself, trembling slightly as if the cold had crawled into her bones.
"I still feel scared," she whispered. "It's like it's watching us."
Victor Laurent glanced toward the windows, where the evening shadows stretched across the floor.
He forced a laugh, but it sounded weak.
"This is exactly why I hate ancient places," he muttered.
But Famoura…
Famoura stood silent.
Not frightened.
Not shaken.
Her eyes were thoughtful.
Almost… hungry.
Then she spoke.
"I think… we should speak to the vampyr again."
The moment her words fell into the air—
A sudden chorus erupted.
"No!"
Their voices overlapped, sharp with panic.
Anthony stepped forward instantly.
"We can't take that risk again," he snapped. "What if it erases our memories? We already know about the secret Evigheden Library… that alone is dangerous enough."
Elizabeth nodded quickly, her face pale.
"Yes… please. Famoura, no."
Even Edward Laurent, who rarely showed fear, frowned.
"That creature wasn't bluffing," he said quietly. "It could destroy us."
Before the tension could rise further, Victor stepped forward, glancing toward the darkening sky outside.
"It's already too late," he said. "We should leave now."
Elizabeth nodded instantly.
"Yes, he's right. We need to go."
Famoura hesitated.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to argue.
But then she spoke softly—
"You all go ahead… I'll come later."
Edward's eyes narrowed.
He turned back sharply, his voice suddenly firm.
"Famoura, listen to me."
Famoura looked at him.
Edward continued, slower now.
"Staying here is dangerous."
He stepped closer.
"Come with us."
One by one, they began walking out of Sylvester Woodland Library, their footsteps echoing through the quiet hall.
Anthony walked quickly.
Elizabeth followed close behind him.
Victor kept glancing back nervously.
Edward remained last.
And Famoura…
Famoura stood alone for a moment, staring at the shelves as if the books were whispering to her.
Then she turned.
But before she could step forward—
Edward came back.
He extended his hand toward her.
"Come," he said softly.
For a brief second, Famoura stared at his hand.
Then, slowly…
she placed her hand in his.
And together—
they left.
---
Return to Château de Chambord
That night, Famoura returned to her grand home.
Château de Chambord.
The castle stood tall beneath the moonlight, its towers rising like silent giants.
The shadows of the château stretched across the ground like long black fingers.
And at the entrance…
stood her father.
Prince Charles.
His face was stern, his posture unyielding.
The moment he saw her, he stepped forward and stopped her.
"Where are you coming from at this hour?"
Famoura's expression remained calm.
"I went to the Central Library with my friends… for study."
Prince Charles's eyes darkened instantly.
His lips parted, ready to scold her—
But before a single word could escape…
A voice interrupted from above.
"Let her be, son."
Famoura's eyes lifted.
On the balcony stood King Francis.
His cloak fluttered slightly in the night wind.
His presence alone made the entire entrance feel like a courtroom.
Prince Charles stiffened.
King Francis spoke again, his tone calm yet commanding.
"How long will she keep studying? Let us see where it leads."
He leaned slightly forward.
"I have no objection to her education… after all, she studies without leaving a trace. No one even knows she learns."
His eyes sharpened.
"You should focus on the princes instead."
Then, with a small wave of dismissal, he added—
"Go rest, Famoura."
Famoura bowed slightly—not out of respect, but because it was necessary.
Then she walked inside.
Prince Charles watched her go.
His eyes were filled with worry.
But he said nothing.
Because even he feared the King's gaze.
---
The Crimson Object
The next morning…
A knock echoed through Famoura's chamber.
She opened the door.
Standing outside was her aunt.
Princess Marie I.
Her expression was cold, her posture rigid as stone.
"Come in," Famoura said politely.
Marie stepped inside without a word.
Then she placed something in Famoura's hands.
A velvet-wrapped object.
Deep red.
Like blood wrapped in silk.
"This was given to you when you were born," Marie said.
Famoura blinked in confusion.
"You're giving this to me now?"
She stared at the velvet.
"Don't you know who sent it?"
Princess Marie turned toward the door.
Her voice was sharp, almost irritated.
"I've told you before…"
She glanced back with cold eyes.
"I don't like children who ask too many questions."
And with that—
she stepped out.
The door shut.
Famoura stood there, frozen.
The silence inside her room felt heavier than before.
She sighed, rubbing her forehead.
"Oh God…"
Her voice lowered.
"Where have I been sent? Such strange people…"
Slowly, she placed the velvet gift on the table.
Then she knelt down.
Carefully.
As if the object might bite her.
She opened it.
Inside…
was a book.
But not an ordinary one.
Its cover was deep crimson.
Its pages were not paper—
They were fabric.
Maroon cloth pages, thick and heavy, as though they had been stitched from royal robes.
And the words inside…
were not written in ink.
They were made of thread.
Stitched delicately across the surface.
Famoura's eyes narrowed as she tried to read.
But she couldn't.
The thread was the same color as the pages.
The words blended into the cloth like hidden scars.
"What a strange book…" she muttered.
"I've never seen anything like this."
She leaned closer.
"But how am I supposed to read it?"
She scoffed.
"What rubbish…"
Suddenly—
A voice echoed from outside.
"Famoura!"
Famoura jolted in shock.
She quickly slammed the book shut and hid it under her bed.
The door opened immediately.
Prince Henry stepped inside.
His presence was arrogant as always, like he owned every room he entered.
"Uncle Prince Charles is calling you downstairs," he said.
Famoura's eyes narrowed.
"What now…"
She walked past him without another word.
Henry smirked faintly and followed behind.
---
The Sword Duel
Famoura descended the stairs, expecting to find her father.
But instead…
she saw Prince Phillip.
He stood in the grand hall.
And in his hand—
a sword gleamed beneath the sunlight.
Famoura's eyes lit up instantly.
Her face shifted from annoyance to interest.
"Give it to me," she said.
Phillip smirked, amused.
Then he handed her the sword.
The weight of it felt powerful.
Real.
Cold metal.
A weapon that did not care about royal blood.
Famoura held it firmly.
The duel began.
At first, it was controlled.
Measured strikes.
Careful movement.
The sound of metal clashing echoed through the hall.
Phillip was faster.
Stronger.
He moved like a trained warrior.
But Famoura…
Famoura moved like someone who refused to lose.
Then Phillip spoke, his voice taunting.
"You should surrender now, Famoura."
Famoura smirked.
"I admit—you have super strength and speed."
She lifted her sword again.
"But that doesn't mean you'll win."
Phillip laughed.
"This isn't something girls can handle."
Famoura's eyes sharpened.
"Then it's necessary that I defeat you."
With sudden force, she struck.
Phillip stepped back one step.
His smile faded slightly.
He raised a brow.
"Careful," he teased. "You might cut a strand of your hair."
Famoura stepped forward, fearless.
"You may cut my hair…"
Her voice lowered.
"But you can't cut my strength."
Then—
her balance faltered.
Her foot slipped slightly.
The sword fell from her grasp.
It clattered against the floor.
And Famoura fell.
Phillip walked closer, victorious.
He extended his hand.
"I told you…" he said with arrogance. "This isn't a game for girls."
Then he added coldly—
"And women can never become warriors."
Famoura stared at his hand.
Then she ignored it.
She rose on her own.
Slowly.
Proudly.
Her eyes were filled with fire.
She stepped close to Phillip.
Then leaned toward his ear.
And whispered—
"Then don't forget…"
Her voice lowered into something sharp and unshakable.
"…the very warrior you speak of…"
She stepped closer.
"…was born from a woman."
Phillip froze.
For one second…
his confidence vanished.
His expression softened into embarrassment.
Then he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Famoura smirked.
Victory didn't always require a sword.
Sometimes…
it only required truth.
---
Prince Charles Appears
At that very moment—
Prince Charles entered the hall.
He held several items in his hands.
His face was serious.
His eyes fixed on Famoura.
"Famoura," he called. "Come here."
Famoura turned immediately.
Her heart tightened.
Something about her father's tone felt different.
Not angry.
Not scolding.
But… heavy.
Prince Charles stepped closer.
"I have something for you," he said.
Famoura's eyes narrowed.
"What is it?"
Prince Charles did not answer immediately.
Instead…
he held the items forward.
And just like that…
The day took another unexpected turn.
As if fate itself had decided…
Famoura Felóenz was not allowed even one peaceful morning.