Chapter 416: A Dream

Clark let out a sigh as he finished reading the letter, then handed it to Isolde. She took it gently—it wasn’t long, just a few pages of parting words and earnest instructions. Four lines stood out: he urged Oliver to treat her well, spoke of her future on the battlefield, and offered bits of advice from his own hard-earned experience. At the end, he made one final request: to be buried beside Prunella.

There were a few lines for Clark as well, mostly guidance for his career. But beneath all the advice, you could feel the final warmth of a man reluctant to let go of the world.

Isolde’s eyes turned red. She looked up toward the flickering firelight and managed a smile. “When I came back from the manor, I wanted so badly for him to like me. I tried so hard to please him. I toned down my wild ways, studied etiquette like a proper noble lady of Argentum… but in the end, it was only at the moment of his death that I truly received his love. Still, I got what I longed for. He said he only wanted to be buried beside Prunella. Maybe that means he doesn’t really care where it is, as long as she’s there?”

Clark didn’t object this time—not because of the letter, but because of what Isolde had said. Isolde had waited until Geoffrey’s final moments to be loved by him. And Geoffrey, even in death, had still been thinking of her. He probably wouldn’t have wanted to be far from her, even in the afterlife. As for the ancestral grave… maybe it was just a formality. If he could rest eternally beside the one he loved, and watch over the daughter he had never truly let go of, what else really mattered?

Clark found his thoughts drifting. Sadie’s face surfaced in his mind, and his heart warmed. If he could live and die with the one he loved, nothing else in this world really mattered. He looked up at Isolde and said softly, “Isolde, if they stay stubborn tomorrow, let’s bring Father and Mother back to Montlins Manor right away.”

Isolde’s eyes shimmered. “Alright.”

The three of them shared a quiet smile. Though tinged with sorrow, it felt—for the first time—like peace. Maybe this was the best outcome after all.

“If we’re really taking them back to Montlins Manor,” Oliver said, “shouldn’t we send someone ahead to start preparing the burial site?”

Clark shook his head. “No need to rush. Let’s wait and see what happens tomorrow. If they still refuse, we go. But if they give in… maybe that was Father’s wish all along. Maybe he did want to return to the ancestral grounds.”

Isolde had already made up her mind to leave, but she nodded. Clark had a point. They needed to see it through. They talked a while longer, drank a bit too much, and soon the haze of sleep began to settle over them. Oliver remained awake. He helped Clark lie down and rest, then gently pulled Isolde into his arms. She was so exhausted, she drifted off almost instantly.

It wasn’t clear how much time passed when suddenly the flap of the tent rustled open. Isolde sat up, startled. A man in elegant robes, gold at his waist, hair bound in a jade crown, with striking features and calm eyes—it was Geoffrey. Beside him, a woman in a deep red silk gown embroidered with butterflies and winding clouds, delicate and graceful, her eyes brimming with emotion—it was Prunella. Isolde had never seen her mother in life, but she’d memorized the portrait, stared at it for hours. She recognized her at once.

“Isolde, my daughter,” Prunella said, smiling through her tears. She stepped forward and took Isolde’s hand. Isolde stared, speechless, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. She was afraid—afraid if she spoke, the vision would vanish.

“Come,” Prunella whispered, wiping her tears away. She gently turned and led her forward by the hand. The wind outside howled, but Isolde didn’t feel cold. She followed in a daze, glancing between the woman leading her and the man quietly walking behind them.

Was she dreaming? Her steps were light, the world around her fading into softness, then sharpening again—like light filtering through a veil. Suddenly, Prunella released her hand. Isolde panicked and reached for her—grasping at air. “I’m right here,” a voice came from ahead. She looked up. Her parents stood beneath the jujube tree, smiling at her with so much tenderness.

Isolde broke down, sobbing. They were so close. But her legs wouldn’t move. Tears blurred her vision. Only their smiles remained, bright and clear. Then, hand in hand, they turned and disappeared into the grove. “We’ll always be here,” came their voices from afar.

“Mom…” Isolde cried out, helpless. She couldn’t move. Above her, the white moon hung cold in the sky. And in the jujube grove, a gentle light shimmered—just out of reach.

“Isolde, Isolde!” Oliver’s voice pierced the darkness, anxious and urgent. The world spun around her. She opened her eyes and saw his worried face hovering over her.

Isolde sat up slowly, disoriented. “It was… a dream?” She glanced at the fire—still burning steadily. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not long. Half an hour, maybe,” Oliver said. Before he could say more, Clark sat up too, his expression dazed. He turned and looked at Isolde, noticing the tears on her face. “Isolde… I dreamt of Father and Mother.”

Isolde gasped, scrambling closer and clutching his hand. “You saw them too? Then it wasn’t just a dream?”

“You saw them?” Clark blinked, stunned.

“Yes… I saw them under the jujube tree. They smiled at me. They said they’d always be there. Then they left, and I couldn’t catch up…”

“Me too!” Clark’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “They were smiling… under the jujube tree. Could it be… a visitation? A message from them? They heard us? They’ve been here all along?”

“Yes. I believe it.” Isolde sat down slowly, her heart aching and full. She replayed every detail of the dream—her mother’s gaze, the gentleness of her touch, the sound of her voice—savoring it as though it were real.

Oliver looked at the two of them in amazement, then pouted slightly, half joking, half aggrieved. “Just you two? Why didn’t I get a dream? I was here too! Maybe it’s just coincidence—you were talking about Montlins Manor earlier, and it got stuck in your heads.”

“You didn’t sleep. How would you dream?” Clark shot him a look. He still found it hard to believe… but he also desperately wanted to.

Isolde leaned into Oliver’s arms, murmuring, “If it really was a dream, then I hope I can have that dream every night.” She was still lost in it, that dream too vivid, too real to be just sleep. She believed in souls—because she was a soul returned from death. They were with her. And with that thought, her heart settled. She knew, at last, what she had to do.