Chapter 168 CHAPTER 168
Morning came softly to Red Valley.
The mist still clung low over the grass when Lisa opened her eyes. For a moment she forgot where she was. Then the scent of river water and wood smoke drifted in through the open window, and she remembered. Their last day.
Beside her, Isabel was already awake, tying her hair back with quiet efficiency. Celine still slept in the third bed, one arm flung carelessly over her face, breathing slow and steady.
“You’re up early,” Isabel whispered.
“So are you,” Lisa replied, pushing herself upright.
They dressed quickly and stepped outside into the cool air. The village was already stirring. Women moved between houses carrying baskets, and someone was coaxing a fire to life near the communal hearth. The rhythm of the place had a comforting steadiness that Lisa had grown fond of in just a few days.
“Princess,” one of the older women called gently when she saw them. “Before you leave today, I promised to show you something.”
Lisa smiled in recognition. “The tree.”
“Yes,” the woman said, pride warming her voice. “The one your mother planted.”
Isabel’s eyes lit up. “Let’s go now before everyone gets busy.”
Lisa nodded, she did not want to leave Red Valley without seeing it.
As they walked toward the edge of the village, the woman kept a steady pace, her hands folded loosely in front of her. The path curved gently through tall grass still wet with dew, and the valley seemed to hold its breath in the quiet of early morning.
After a few minutes, Lisa spoke. “Yesterday, Luna Irene mentioned something about my mother and her friend visiting before the fire. She called it a disaster.”
The woman’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Never mind Luna Irene,” she said with a small, forced smile. “Sometimes she speaks before thinking. Even I struggle to follow her meaning.”
Lisa glanced at Isabel. Neither of them looked convinced.
“But she connected it to what happened seventeen years ago,” Lisa pressed gently.
The woman shook her head. “The past carries many shadows. It does not mean every shadow hides a monster.”
It was a careful answer. Too careful.
Lisa chose not to push further. There would be time for questions later. For now, she allowed the morning to remain quiet.
They reached the edge of the village where the land opened into a wide clearing bordered by wildflowers and tall trees. And there it stood.
The tree was unlike any Lisa had ever seen.
It was tall, but not in an ordinary way. Its trunk was strong and wide, yet its branches seemed to weave and braid into one another as though made of different trees merged into one. Flowers of different colors bloomed across it—crimson, gold, violet, pale blue—each cluster distinct, yet somehow harmonious. It was as though many species had chosen to live within a single body.
Isabel let out a soft breath. “What kind of tree is this?”
The woman smiled. “Old. That is what we call it. We do not know its true name. Your mother brought the seedling with her. She said it was a gift from a friend and that she wanted it planted here in Red Valley.”
“She trusted you,” Lisa said quietly.
“She did,” the woman replied, her voice thick with memory. “She said it would thrive here because this land blends well with all things. She wanted it cared for properly. She believed it would become something special.”
Isabel stepped closer, studying the blossoms. “It looks like it has a mind of its own.”
The woman nodded. “It blooms when it wishes. Some days it is full of leaves and nothing more. Other days it is covered in flowers. And when someone with a dark spirit approaches, the blossoms close themselves as if hiding.”
Lisa felt something stir inside her chest at those words.
She stepped forward slowly.
The bark of the tree shimmered faintly in the morning light, textured and warm in color. She reached out her hand and placed her palm against it.
The warmth surprised her.
It was not the warmth of sunlight on wood. It was something deeper, something alive.
A slender tendril, thin and graceful like a living vine, unfurled from the trunk and wrapped gently around her forearm. It did not constrict. It simply held her there, as though recognizing her.
Isabel gasped. “Lisa—”
The ground beneath Isabel’s feet trembled softly, just enough to make her stop where she stood. The woman beside her stepped back instinctively, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Nothing like this has ever happened,” she whispered.
Lisa did not hear them.
The warmth spread through her arm and into her chest. She closed her eyes without meaning to, and the world shifted.
The clearing dissolved.
In its place, she saw her mother.
Helena was younger, her hair loose around her shoulders, her face bright with laughter. She knelt in the soil, pressing earth gently around a small sapling. Beside her was another young woman, slightly younger than Helena, helping her steady the fragile trunk.
They were laughing together like girls who trusted one another completely.
Lisa’s throat tightened. “Mom,” she called softly.
Helena did not respond. She could not hear her.
But the other woman stilled.
Slowly, she turned.
“She cannot hear you,” the woman said calmly, her voice clear and deliberate. “But I can.”
Lisa felt her breath catch.
The woman’s face was beautiful, almost luminous. Her features were sharp but elegant, her eyes intelligent and knowing. There was something achingly familiar about her.
The resemblance struck Lisa like lightning.
The woman was not Sarah.
She was older.
But the resemblance was unmistakable.
The same bone structure. The same shape of eyes. The same quiet intensity beneath the surface.
“Do you want to say something to your mother?” the woman asked gently, as if this were a perfectly ordinary conversation.
Lisa could not find her voice.
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. “You’re—”
The woman smiled faintly. It was not a warm smile. It was observant.
“She trusted me,” the woman said softly. “She believed friendship was stronger than fear.”
Helena, unaware of the exchange, continued packing soil around the sapling.
The woman stepped closer to Lisa. “Blood remembers,” she added quietly.
The world tilted.
The warmth in Lisa’s arm surged suddenly, too much, too fast. The vision shattered like glass.
She collapsed backward onto the grass, the tendril withdrawing instantly into the tree as if nothing had happened.
Isabel was at her side in seconds. “Lisa! Talk to me.”
The older woman dropped to her knees, panic in her eyes. “I swear, Princess, it has never done that before. Never.”
Lisa’s vision swam. The sky above her felt too bright. Her body trembled, not from pain, but from something overwhelming and profound.
“Lisa,” Isabel said again, gripping her shoulders. “What happened?”
It took effort for her to speak.
When she finally did, her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I know.”
The words trembled on her lips.
“I know.”
She pushed herself up before either of them could stop her. Her legs felt weak, but adrenaline carried her forward.
“Lisa!” Isabel called after her.
She did not answer.
She ran toward the village, toward the center of Red Valley, toward something she could not yet name but knew she had to confront.
Behind her, the magnificent tree stood still and silent, its blossoms stirring softly in the morning breeze, as though it had simply shared a memory and returned to waiting.
Across the forest in the mountains, in front of the fireplace of Seraphine’s house, she opened her eyes slowly.
The faintest smile touched her lips.
“She found it,” she murmured to herself.
And in that moment, she knew that the connection had been made exactly as she intended.