Eirlys and her companions pressed onward from the forsaken village, their spirits burdened by the ominous encounter with the wraiths. The land before them stretched desolate and drear, each step drawing them closer to the heart of the curse’s domain, where the fabled accursed crown awaited, shrouded in secrecy.
The village they had left behind had once thrived, but now stood in mournful silence. The skeletal remains of houses lay scattered, their walls toppled and streets barren. What had once been a lively marketplace now rotted, its stalls decayed, shadowed by the weight of despair.
Among this ghostly stillness, they stumbled upon Bran, a lone survivor whose mind had been shattered by the curse’s dark tendrils.
Bran was a pitiable figure, clad in tattered garments, with eyes that darted frantically as though he saw phantoms no one else could see. His voice, hollow and cracked from disuse, trembled with terror.
“The crown… it corrupts all who approach. It gnaws at the mind, until nothing remains but madness!” Bran’s voice wavered, his gaze flickering between fear and some distant clarity, as though a part of him still clung to reason.
Eirlys approached him with slow and deliberate steps. “Bran,” she began, “we seek to destroy the cursed crown. We’ve heard of its power, but your knowledge may offer us further insight. Tell us, if you can—what have you seen of its effects?”
Bran’s eyes flitted to her, his lips twitching as though struggling to form coherent thoughts. “The madness…” he muttered, “it begins with whispers, soft and unrelenting. They crawl into your mind, feeding on your thoughts, your fears. Then the visions come—terrible visions—twisting your soul, showing you that which you desire most, or that which you dread beyond measure.”
Elric moved closed to Bran. “We have come to end this curse. Anything you can share with us will help in our quest. We do not seek glory, only to free these lands.”
For a brief moment, something flickered in Bran’s sunken eyes—recognition, perhaps even hope. “The center…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “The center of the village hides the truth. That is where the darkness gathers most.”
Eirlys nodded slowly, absorbing his words. “We thank you, Bran. Whatever you’ve endured, your courage to share this with us will not go unrewarded.”
Yet, as Bran stood there, something in his demeanor shifted. His trembling worsened, his breath coming in sharp gasps. “They’re here…” he muttered in a voice thick with dread. “They’re always here…”
Suddenly, Bran staggered backward, clutching his head. His face contorted in pain as he let out a guttural scream, a sound that echoed through the stillness, unsettling the very air around them.
“Elric!” Eirlys called, alarmed, as Bran collapsed to his knees, writhing in agony.
Before anyone could react, a dark, shadowy force materialized from the ether, swirling around Bran like a malevolent storm. The dark presence seemed to latch onto him, burrowing into his mind, corrupting him further. Bran’s eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and his face twisted into an expression of rage and madness.
“He’s being possessed!” Elric shouted, drawing his sword. “We must stop this, or he’ll be lost forever!”
Eirlys stepped back, her heart pounding as she watched Bran rise to his feet, his movements jerky and unnatural. His voice, now a deep, distorted echo, filled the air. “Fools! You think you can defy the power of the crown? The curse runs through the very veins of this land. You will perish like all the rest!”
Bran lunged at them, his strength now unnatural, his eyes wild with the madness overtaking him. Elric barely raised his shield in time to block the blow, the force of it sending him stumbling back. 
Bran’s movements were no longer those of a broken man—they were swift and deadly, as if the curse itself had infused him with dark power.
“Elric, hold him off!” Eirlys commanded, her mind racing as she tried to formulate a plan. She could see Bran’s struggle—beneath the twisted fury, a part of him still fought for control.
Elric grunted under the weight of Bran’s strikes, his sword meeting each with difficulty. “He’s too strong! This is not the same man we spoke to moments ago.”
Eirlys moved to Elric’s side, her hand gripping her sword’s hilt tightly. She could not strike Bran down—not yet. Somewhere within that corrupted shell, the man still fought, and she could not bring herself to destroy him.