Chapter 38

The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a cloying sweetness mingling with the sharp, almost metallic tang of iron from the rusted fountain. The House of Umbra, breathtakingly beautiful from afar, revealed its decay upon closer inspection. Ysabel, despite Lilah's assurances, felt the weight of their disdain pressing down on her like a physical burden. Every rustle of leaves, every chirp of unseen birds, was amplified in the oppressive silence, each sound a potential threat, a harbinger of unseen eyes. The subtle prickling of her skin, a constant reminder of their animosity, was a chilling prelude to what she feared lay ahead. She had no idea how long this silent war of glares would last, how long she would endure this palpable sense of rejection. The Royals' treatment of Vahlkiro remained a shrouded mystery, a forbidden topic under King Dalton's strict decree. The past was a locked vault, its secrets inaccessible to those deemed "low life," like herself.

Drawn by an almost morbid curiosity, Ysabel's gaze drifted to the back of the mansion, where a neglected garden lay hidden. The air here was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying vegetation, a cloying sweetness punctuated by the sharp, metallic tang of rust. A dry fountain, its basin cracked and stained with moss, stood at the garden's center, a silent sentinel guarding a weathered statue of a man, his grip tight on a spear and a tattered piece of cloth. The surrounding stone flower beds, once vibrant tapestries of color, were now barren and still, their intricate patterns swallowed by weeds and wild grasses. The stone itself seemed to weep, its surface slick with moisture and stained with the ghosts of forgotten blooms.

As Ysabel navigated the labyrinthine path, her fingers brushed against the brittle stems of long-dead plants, each touch a painful reminder of the garden's former glory. The silence here was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft crunch of her footsteps on the decaying earth. Her heart ached at the sight of such desolation, a mirror to the emptiness she felt within.

At the labyrinth's end, a gigantic tree loomed, its trunk scarred by ugly axe marks, a gaping wound that spoke of violence and abrupt termination. Ysabel reached out, her fingers tracing the rough, jagged edges of the cuts, the splintered wood digging into her skin.

"Someone must have been really eager to cut you down…"

She whispered, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves.

As her fingers brushed against the wood, a splinter pierced her forefinger, drawing a single droplet of blood. A blinding light erupted, a searing flash that forced her to blink, to squeeze her eyes shut against the intensity. When she finally opened them, a vision coalesced before her: a woman's silhouette, shimmering like a thousand tiny, glittering stars, hovered in the air, her form ethereal and unsettling.

Ysabel stumbled backward, her heart hammering against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the oppressive silence. Panic choked her, her voice trapped in her throat, a silent scream building within her. She tried to call out, to summon help, but no sound escaped her lips. The woman's silhouette drifted closer, extending a hand towards Ysabel's face, its touch promising both solace and destruction.

"You called me…"

The woman's voice, soft and serene yet chillingly ancient, whispered on the wind. "It's been so long…"

Her words trailed off into incoherent murmurs, a language Ysabel couldn't understand yet instinctively feared. The woman's hand neared Ysabel's face, the proximity both terrifying and strangely alluring.

Just as the woman's touch seemed imminent, a distant voice shattered the spell, pulling Ysabel back from the precipice of oblivion. "Ysabel!" The sound, sharp and clear, cut through the suffocating silence, breaking the hold of the apparition. Ysabel's vision cleared, the shimmering silhouette dissolving into the mundane reality of the overgrown garden. Gasping for air, she realized she had been holding her breath, her lungs burning, her head swimming. She felt herself teetering on the edge of consciousness.

A concerned voice cut through the haze, "Are you alright?" Ysabel's gaze focused on the speaker, a face etched with worry peering down at her, a lifeline in the aftermath of her terrifying encounter. The lingering chill of fear, however remained.