Chapter 218

Chapter 218
Elvira

The Bloodmoon countryside stretched before me, a landscape of muted deep, sleepy greens. The wind whispered through the rolling fields, carrying the faint scent of late summer flowers. I gripped the car wheels tighter, my pulse quickening with every mile closer to Father’s house. I hadn’t been sure I would come. Not until I confirmed that Felen had no way of reaching him, that her venomous curiosity wouldn’t taint what little serenity remained in his days.

I remembered the chaos that had followed her disappearance, the rumors, the hunts, the betrayal, how close everything had been to slipping through our fingers. I had survived that storm with Jaxon at my side, and now, here I was, seeking silence in a house that belonged to a man whose mind had begun to betray him. The car came to a stop over the gravel, the sound unnervingly loud in the silence of the countryside, and I wondered if Father was awake, if he remembered who I was.

The house came into view, a modest structure surrounded by wildflowers, the kind that swayed even by the smallest breeze. My breath hitched. It had been months since I’d last seen him. I prayed silently that tonight, he would recognize me, or at least not be frightened by my presence.

I entered quietly, the wooden floorboards creaking underfoot. A faint light flickered from the hearth, casting shadows that danced like restless spirits across the walls. He was seated in the armchair by the fire, hands folded over a blanket, eyes distant but not unseeing.

“Elvira?” His voice cracked, uncertain, but there was a hint of warmth there.

I swallowed hard, forcing a calm I didn’t fully feel. “It’s me, Father. I came to see you.”

He blinked slowly, and for a moment, I thought the familiar lines of recognition would never appear. Then he nodded, almost imperceptibly, as if deciding that yes, this young woman at the threshold was indeed the daughter he remembered, or perhaps the daughter he wished he still had in his mind.

I crossed the room, lowering myself to sit beside him. My hand brushed his, seeking the connection I had always feared lost. “I wanted to make sure you’re safe,” I said, voice soft. “Felen can’t reach you here.”

He chuckled, a low, hollow sound. “Felen… Felen… snakes and stars… can’t trust the stars… or maybe the snakes…” His words tangled in themselves, a riddle of half-formed thoughts and memory fragments.

I squeezed his hand gently. “It’s alright, Father. You’re safe now. You don’t have to worry about her.”

His gaze met mine, fleeting but steady. “Safe… yes… but the moon… the bloodmoon… it sees everything…”

I exhaled slowly, as if releasing a weight I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying. “I know, Father. I know.”

The evening unfolded quietly. I sat with him as he wandered in his thoughts, speaking in riddles, stories stitched from threads of yesterday and long-forgotten days. He spoke of friends I never met, of battles fought and lost, of a world I could barely grasp because it existed only in the corners of his mind. And yet, in his confusion, there was a clarity, a subtle pattern of truth that only the heart could understand.

At times, he reached for my hand, or I for his, anchoring us both in the present, grounding him and myself. I listened to the way his voice softened when he spoke of family, of his hopes and fears, even if the words didn’t always make sense.

“Did… did you… find the sun?” he asked at one point, staring at the fire. “Or did the darkness… swallow it again?”

I tilted my head, smiling despite the ache in my chest. “I found it, Father. It shines brighter now, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t fade.”

He hummed, a sound between amusement and agreement, then leaned back in his chair, exhaustion threading through his movements. “Good… good… the threads… the threads bind… but some… some fray…”

“Then I’ll hold them together,” I whispered, brushing my thumb across his knuckles. “I’ll hold them together for you.”

Night crept in, folding the world into shades of shadow and silence. I stayed by his side, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as sleep claimed him. I traced the lines of his face with my eyes, memorizing the subtle twitch of his lips, the softness of his eyelids, the way his hair fell across his forehead. It was a different kind of battle I was fighting tonight, the fight against time, against decay, against the creeping erosion of memory.

At one point, his hand twitched in mine, fingers curling around mine as if remembering something vital. “Elvira…” he murmured, voice faint, “…always… protect the flame…”

“I will, Father,” I said, my throat tight. “I promise.”

The fire crackled, and I let my gaze wander to the window. The countryside lay in darkness, a quiet sea of shadows punctuated by the occasional flicker of moonlight. I imagined the Bloodmoon itself, high and vigilant, watching over us, and felt the strange comfort of its silent presence.

Hours passed in the hush of the night. His breathing deepened, his riddles gave way to murmurs, and eventually, to the rhythmic calm of sleep. I stayed awake, hands wrapped around his, keeping watch. I thought of the battles I had fought, of the losses endured, of the weight of everything that had led me here. And yet, in this quiet vigil, there was a sense of fragile victory. I had survived the storms, protected those I loved, and here, in this modest room, I could finally be present for the man who had given me life and now needed me to simply be there.

I whispered stories into the dim light, fragments of my life, fragments of his, woven together in quiet conversation only I could hear. “Tomorrow, we’ll have tea like we used to. I’ll tell you everything about Morrien, about the pack, about…” My voice faltered, choked with emotion I refused to fully release. “Everything. And you’ll hear it. Every word.”

His hand twitched again, brushing mine with a faint pressure, an echo of connection, a tether to the man he had been. And I held on to it, refusing to let go.

Sleep eventually beckoned me as well, but I stayed, half-reclining in the chair beside him, head resting lightly against the arm, hands still cradling his. I felt the weight of the night, the weight of the past, and the fragile hope of the future.