The blade gleamed coldly, with faint traces of blood still visible. Simon held the sword high, its tip grazing the witch’s neck, drawing a small cut.

“If you have any last words, now’s the time.” Simon’s voice was cold as he stared at the witch foretold to bring ruin to his kingdom. The witch cradled her lover’s head, which still retained a trace of warmth. Her once clear green eyes were now filled with black liquid, as dark as oil, hollow like the abyss.

“Cruel king,” she whispered. “I, Eda, swear this curse upon you with my name and my soul. You shall forever wander between life and death, never finding release, nor peace. You will witness the downfall and decay of your kingdom with your own eyes. All those you love and those who love you will suffer an agony that burns within them. In this world, there will be no heart left for you to love.”

As her words fell, so did a lock of her hair. Blue flames ignited from her skin, consuming her body. Her pale flesh darkened and turned to ash. Simon watched as the blue fire devoured the palace, and memories of Eda’s self-immolation flashed before him.

The palace was filled with screams of torment. He saw his mother and brother writhing in the flames, their bodies reduced to charred bones. His own blood boiled as his flesh was seared. His body first decayed and then quickly regenerated, over and over. His soul was ripped from him, leaving his body transparent, as if a phantom. Blue fire poured from his mask. He had become a true “ghost.”

Years later, a woman followed the traces of her ancestors to this lost kingdom. Eda, one of the greatest women in witch history, was her forebear, whose vision had guided her in dreams. You arrive at the ruins of the burnt palace. In its depths, you find a gleaming sword mounted on the wall, starkly out of place amidst the charred surroundings.

“Who are you?” A raspy voice comes from behind. In the blink of an eye, the sword is at your throat, the silver blade now reflecting the flicker of blue light.