CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT

Alva gasped awake.

Her eyes opened slowly as golden morning light poured across the bed, but the world felt... wrong. Silent. Heavy. Her chest rose and fell shakily as if waking from a long, deep drowning.

She sat up, blinking, heart racing.

And there he was—Cody. Sitting quietly on the floor near the window, his back against the wall, shadows under his eyes, clothes rumpled. His eyes, though still beautiful, looked distant… haunted.

He stood slowly, his voice low but tender. "You're awake."

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, shrinking slightly. "Where's Alice?" she asked quickly, eyes darting around.

"She's here," Cody said softly. "She's resting. Just like you were."

Alva's hands trembled. "How long was I out?"

"Three days."

She looked at him again, really looked. "Cody... what happened?"

He walked toward her but didn't sit. Instead, he stared out the window, avoiding her gaze. "It's… complicated."

Alva's voice turned sharp. "No more secrets. Please."

A long silence stretched between them before Cody finally turned.

"You remember the tree?" he asked.

Her heart thudded. "Yes… in flashes. In dreams. I remember the screams. The night. The blood…"

Cody nodded once. "It bloomed. The cursed tree — it's awake now."

Alva's eyes widened. "No… that's not possible. That was a story… a nightmare."

"It was real," he said. "And it's not done with us."

Alva backed up slightly on the bed. "Cody… what are you saying?"

He walked toward her again, slower this time. His eyes were calm but unreadable.

"I'm saying that Alice didn't just scream. She… unlocked something. Something ancient. Something inside all of us."

"Us?" Alva whispered.

Cody paused. "You, me… Tim. Even Sam. We were never what we thought we were."

Alva's voice cracked. "What are we then?"

He didn't speak for a moment.

Then he said, almost too quietly, "Monsters. Or maybe… gods."

She blinked. "What?"

"The tattoos," he continued. "They disappeared the moment she screamed. Yours. Mine. All of them."

He held out his wrist, where the mark once pulsed red. Gone.

"I remember now," Cody said. "Not all, but enough. Enough to know that this… this world… this life… was borrowed. Covered. Hidden by time. We're not vampires. Not witches. Not werewolves. But we are older. Stronger. Cursed in ways they feared."

Alva stared, stunned. "And Alice?"

"She is the Tree's daughter," Cody said slowly, his eyes dimming. "The key… or the weapon. They want her to choose."

Tears welled in Alva's eyes. "She's just a child, Cody…"

"I know," he said, his voice tight. "But the choice won't wait."

Alva shook her head, backing away now. "No. No, no, no. This isn't happening. I just wanted peace. I just wanted you. Her. Us."

"You still have us," Cody said carefully.

"Do I?" she snapped, pain in her voice. "Because the man I married—he never told me he was a prince. Or cursed. Or bleeding in some ancient war I never asked to be a part of."

Cody's face stiffened. "Some truths… are too dangerous."

"And some lies," Alva said coldly, "kill people."

The room fell silent.

Alva stood from the bed slowly, her legs shaky but strong.

"What else aren't you telling me?" she whispered.

Cody looked at her — really looked — and for a second, she swore she saw something break behind his eyes.

"The Witch King has returned," he said finally. "And Kyle's.... That's the truth. But everything else… I'll protect you from it."

Her breath caught. "I don't want protection. I want the truth."

He stepped closer, voice gentle but firm. "Then you'll get it. But not all at once."

She looked away, unsure if she wanted to cry or scream.

Outside, the wind shifted.

Somewhere deep within the earth, the Tree hummed.

Alva stepped away from Cody, her chest rising and falling fast.

"I need space," she whispered, but there was steel beneath the softness of her voice.

"Alva—"

"No," she said sharply, raising her hand. "Don't. Don't come near me."

Cody froze.

Alva walked to the other side of the room where Alice still lay peacefully on the bed, her silver hair glowing faintly under the sunlight pouring through the window. Without another word, Alva bent down and gently lifted the child into her arms.

Alice stirred only slightly, murmuring something in a language Alva couldn't understand — the same hum she'd heard during that terrifying night.

Alva pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Shh… it's okay, baby. Mama's here."

She turned back toward Cody, her eyes narrowed now, shielding her pain with anger. "I don't trust you right now," she said, her voice trembling. "And I don't know if I ever will."

She left the room.

Cody didn't follow.

Instead, he stood in place, watching the doorway long after it had closed, his heart heavy, his fists clenched at his sides.

Alva walked quickly down the hallway, holding Alice tightly to her chest. She reached Alice's room—still decorated with little glowing stars on the ceiling and tiny fairy lights—and stepped inside.

She closed the door, locked it with a sharp click, and slumped to the floor with her daughter in her lap.

The soft sound of Alice's breath calmed her slightly. Her hair still shimmered that haunting silver, even in sleep.

Alva rocked her gently. "You're just a child," she whispered. "You shouldn't have to carry all this."

She looked at the room—quiet, safe, untouched by ancient trees or ancient curses. But her thoughts kept swirling.

The tattoos disappearing.

Cody's strange, guarded words.

The Tree calling Alice "the key."

"No," she said again, firmer this time. "No one is taking you from me."

Alice stirred slightly in her arms and let out a soft hum. Alva brushed her daughter's glowing hair gently aside.

"I'll protect you. Even if I have to fight the gods themselves."

Outside the room, Cody leaned against the wall just beside the locked door, head tilted back, eyes closed.

He didn't knock.

He didn't speak.

But from inside, Alva could feel the weight of him there—silent, waiting, and full of guilt.

And so, mother and daughter remained locked in a room where only love, fear, and glowing silver light lived.