Chapter 138 Do We Return Part 2
The locket sizzled. Daisy let it dangle, watching as the heat made the iron sweat. Old stories tugged at her memory—her grandmother had whispered rumors that this locket was once part of the Stolen Chain, crafted by a witch who traded her name for safety. Some said it could map a path home; others claimed it had sealed the fate of every owner before Daisy, binding them to choices they couldn't escape. When she opened it now, the scrap of map inside had faded, replaced by a new word burned into the paper: "HOME." The word flared up at her, too simple to trust. For a breath, warmth surged inside her, longing for that promise, but suspicion rose just as fast. The locket had changed before, pulling her into trouble each time. Was it guiding her to safety now, or luring her into a trap she couldn’t yet see? Daisy closed her fist around the locket, hope and warning fighting in her chest, unable to settle on either one.
Xeris caught her glance. “You feel it, don’t you?”
She nodded. “It’s like standing in the middle of a spell that never ends.”
Oliver, hands in his pockets, scuffed at the dirt. "What do we do now? Wait for the Ironclaw to catch up, or hope Willow finds us first?" The Ironclaw—a relentless band of hunters with metal-bound arms and fire in their wake—had tracked them for days. If they broke through, the valley would burn quickly, and everyone they brought with them would be wiped out in minutes. He glanced toward the dark gap in the trees. "If Ironclaw breaks through, the valley burns—everyone we've brought with us, gone in minutes." His voice dropped, tight with fear. "And if Willow gets here first, she'll wipe all of this from our heads. We'll forget who we were." Willow, the memory witch who had traded her compassion for power, could unravel a lifetime with a single touch. Her name alone was enough to unnerve the group.
Mira turned, her smile so wide it nearly split her face. “Neither. This valley is hidden from them. It always has been.” She glanced at Daisy. “If you want to break the chain, you’ll have to start here.”
At that moment, a tremor stirred the grass at Daisy's feet, and the green blades withered in a quick ripple outward before springing shakily back to life. Daisy’s breath caught. Beside her, the stones shivered, and a strange echo fluttered from the trees, repeating Mira's last words in a distorted, hollowed tone. For a heartbeat, the air seemed stretched too thin before settling back into stillness. Daisy's hand tightened around her locket, unease prickling under her hope. Was the valley truly as safe as Mira claimed?
Daisy wanted to ask what that meant, but her tongue stuck. The air was thick, every breath a dose of memory and warning.
Delia and Maribel arrived at the meadow’s edge. Maribel was awake, eyes sharp, taking it all in with suspicion. Delia helped her sit, fussed with the blanket, then watched Daisy with a hopeful, terrified look.
Cornelius scanned the ridges, weapon ready, but relaxed as the silence held.
Mira beckoned Daisy closer. “There’s someone you should meet.”
She led Daisy past the stones, up a winding path to the nearest cottage. The door was open. Inside, a fire burned, and a woman—older than Maribel, skin lined like riverbeds—stood waiting. She wore a robe embroidered with daisies, and her eyes were the same cold gray as Mira’s. A sudden cold prickled down Daisy’s spine, sweat beading along her neck before her mind could even make sense of what she was seeing. Her pulse thudded in her ears, the edges of the world going sharp for an instant, as if her body had realized the truth just ahead of her heart.
Mira bowed her head. “Mother.”
The older woman smiled. “So you’ve brought them.”
Mira nodded. “Just as you said.”
Daisy stared, realization falling like a hammer. As the truth hit her, the room’s colors seemed to bleed and dull around the edges, the steady crackle of the fire dimming to a hush. Even the shadows shifted, drawing back from Mira as if uncertain what shape to hold. It was as if the valley itself held its breath. "You're not Mira," she said.
The older woman laughed, a sound that was at once gentle and savage. “We all wear many faces here. Welcome, Daisy Smithson. Welcome to the end of your chain.”
Daisy felt the heat from the locket, saw the black lines on her arms blaze, then fade.
Behind her, Oliver and Xeris stepped in, each watching the older adult with very different hunger.
Outside, Delia’s laughter rang out as Maribel told some ancient joke. Cornelius wandered the stones, mapping every line, but as he circled the ring, the carved daisies and spirals seemed to blur beneath his fingertips. What had been crisp patterns softened and shifted, the shapes threatening to slip out of memory even as he tried to fix them in his mind. With each new lap, frustration creased his brow. He stepped back suddenly, blinking hard, and called out to the others, "Does anyone else see this? They're changing. I can't keep them straight." The tremor in his voice cut through the quiet, slicing Delia's laughter short. Delia glanced over, her smile faltering, and Maribel's eyes narrowed, trying to focus on the marks herself. Each time Cornelius returned to a stone, its marks looked not quite as he remembered, as if the valley itself was quietly sanding down the edges of recollection. The valley was alive, but it was also a trap, a living, breathing spell that wanted them to forget.
Daisy gripped the locket, the only thing in the world still hers. For a flicker of a moment, her thoughts circled one question, sharp and bright: What am I willing to surrender? The locket pressed hot against her palm, as if demanding an answer, and the unspoken promise of risk hung heavy in the charged air.
She was ready for whatever came next, but as she turned toward the door, her gaze snagged on the window. Outside, above the standing stones, a figure stood perfectly still across the meadow—distant, almost lost in the shimmer, but unmistakably mirroring Daisy’s stance. Head tilted, hand clasped at their chest, as if clutching an invisible locket. The figure’s eyes seemed to find her through the glass and, in that instant, Daisy felt her hope twist into a sharpened question.
And for the first time since the city fell, she thought: maybe they had a chance. She reached back, tightened the straps of her pack, and checked the locket one final time, memorizing the line of the stones and the nearest exit. If the world were giving them a sliver of hope, she would be ready to act on it.