Chapter 2

Mrs. Harrison' s face was a mask of horror. "The pact... Oh, James, what have you done?"

She rushed to my side, helping me to a chair. I was fading, my skin like dry leaves.

"He called it superstitious nonsense," I whispered, the memory of his dismissal a fresh pain.

"That boy!" she cried, her voice trembling with anger and fear. "He has desecrated something sacred! I warned him, I told him the stories held truth!"

She wrung her hands. "I must speak to him. He must understand."

I knew it was too late. The bond was not something that could be glued back together. The life of the Patriarch was extinguished, and mine was guttering like a dying flame. James didn't care about my warnings; he cared only for Brenda's whims, for her vision of a future scrubbed clean of the ancient and the wild. He saw the forest as his to command, to destroy.

Later that day, Mrs. Harrison tried. I heard her raised voice from the library, berating James. His responses were dismissive, arrogant.

Then, a new indignity. James' s personal assistant, a smug young man named Arthur, found me in the small cottage I occupied.

"Miss Elara," he said, his tone dripping with false politeness. "Mr. Harrison requires your... expertise."

He handed me a list. "Mrs. Van Doren has a slight headache. Mr. Harrison requests you fetch these specific herbal remedies for her. And also, her preferred brand of imported mineral water, chilled, no ice. And Mr. Harrison's favorite cashmere throw, the blue one, from his private suite."

He emphasized "private suite" with a knowing smirk. It was a deliberate humiliation, making me a servant to their new intimacy, a reminder of my fallen state.

Mrs. Harrison, when she found out, was aghast. "He made you do what? That boy has lost his mind!"

She knelt before me, her proud posture broken. "Elara, please. Forgive him. Forgive us. Is there nothing that can be done? We will honor you, honor the spirits, build a shrine..."

Her voice was desperate.

I looked at her, this woman who had always shown me kindness.

"The harm is done, Abigail," I said, my voice barely a breath. "The Patriarch is dead. Its wood... it feels every saw, every nail they plan for their new constructions. I feel it too."

I thought of the generations of Harrisons I had watched over. The ancestor, who I believed saved my tree, and by extension, me. I had poured my energy into this family, into this land. Years ago, I' d even diverted a significant portion of my own ancient power to subtly guide James through a corporate takeover that would have ruined him. A crisis Brenda later claimed she solved.

Now, I was dying.

"My protection is ended," I told Mrs. Harrison. "Your family's fate is now your own."

Her face crumpled. The weight of generations, of broken trust, settled in the room.