A month passed since the discovery at the Sala del Ritorno (Hall of Return). Time, for Belinda, was no longer marked by grief, but by the Wheel. The weeks that followed Mabon and the discovery of Teresa's freedom were not dedicated to frantic searching, but to quiet and preparation. Belinda's inner volcano had not stopped burning, but had found its own equilibrium, a constant fire that warmed instead of destroyed. During that month, the Villa was the scene of intense purification. Belinda's grimoire was always open, now not as a history text, but as a practical guide for life. Elia had completed the restoration of the dry-stone wall, an act of Mabon that had extended into the cold season, and now he dedicated himself to caring for the citrus groves.
Mattia and Erica had finally left their small apartment to move into a typically Victorian detached house in the Notting Hill area. Not an elegant, modern loft, but a house with a history and, above all, a garden. For Belinda, the idea of her brother settling in a house with soil to cultivate was a powerful symbol, a sign that even the most distant branch of the family had returned to honour its roots, even in freedom. Contact with Mattia and Erica was daily. Video calls were no longer rushed, but moments of deep sharing. Belinda had sent them Great-Aunt Teresa's dance shoes and passport, objects that Mattia now kept with religious devotion, hanging them as a sacred relic in his new dance school. "It's as if I finally have permission to breathe, Belinda," Mattia had confided to her on the phone. "Those shoes danced for me before I was born. My dancing isn't just a choice; it's a reconciliation."
The small tin box with the Seeds of Return remained at home with Belinda and Elia. The seeds were only to travel for the celebration of Imbolc, on February 1st, the festival of the Growing Light and purification. "Imbolc is the festival of purification, new beginnings, and the Goddess Brigid," Belinda explained to Elia, preparing a small carved wooden box for the seeds' journey. "It is the time to honour the light that grows. Our mother and Anna used the almond tree for this: the almond is the first tree to flower in Sicily, even in February. It is the first announcement of spring, the sign that life has resisted the cold." Elia, while not delving into the mystical details, fully understood the emotional significance of the act. "Then those seeds must be sent with the utmost respect. Not just ordinary mail."
Belinda took the Imbolc embroidery (the symbol of the growing light) from the chest. She wrapped it around the small tin box, like a talisman. The day before sending the package, she and Elia performed a small ritual in the Villa. They burned a piece of paper on an altar candle, on which they had written Grandfather Giovanni's name and the word "Greed." "We burn the burden, not the man. And we light the lamp," Belinda murmured. The smoke rose straight, a subtle thread of purification, before dissolving into the salty air. There was no hatred in the act, only the will to close an energetic account open for three generations. The following day, the package containing the Seeds of Return, the Imbolc embroidery, and a detailed letter with planting instructions, was shipped to London via express courier.
On February 1st, the difference between Sicily and London had never been so stark. In Catania, the sky was intensely blue, even if the air was cool; in Notting Hill, a cold, damp fog enveloped Mattia's new Victorian house. The house, with its bay windows and dark red bricks, was an oasis of warmth inside. Belinda, Elia, and Samuele connected with Mattia and Erica via video call, the light was scarce, but the emotion was palpable. Mattia and Erica had prepared a small temporary altar on the garden table: a white candle, a bowl of milk (an Imbolc tradition), and, in the centre, the small tin box containing the precious seeds. "We are ready, little sister," Mattia said, his voice strained with emotion. "Your package arrived intact. It seemed to hold a diamond, not dried seeds."
Belinda, seated in the Villa's living room with Elia and a sleeping Azzurra, guided them. "Imbolc is the awakening. It is the promise. You are planting more than a tree; you are planting the freedom of our Great-Aunt Teresa and our new conception of family: one that chooses emotional closeness, even at a distance." Mattia and Erica, wearing gardening gloves, knelt in the small patch of soil at the back of the Victorian house. The earth was cold, compact. They opened the tin box. Mattia, with almost surgical care, deposited the seeds in the furrow he had prepared. "These seeds are our Lighthouse," Belinda declared, her voice echoing through the speakers. "They are our hope that wisdom (the embroideries) and freedom (Teresa) will sprout even in this new land. They are the sign that Mattia and Azzurra are linked by a root that is not only Sicilian, but human."
As Mattia covered the seeds with soil, Erica lit the white candle. The smoke from the candle, even across the screen, seemed to reach Belinda. It was the perfect closure: the acceptance that family could be present without being imprisoned. The true treasure was not gold, but the possibility of cultivating dreams, wherever one might be. "And now, we just have to wait for Imbolc in bloom," Mattia said, his face finally serene. The ritual was concluded. But the Wheel kept turning. Belinda knew that the goal now was twofold: to honour the cycles and to prepare for the peak of light, Litha, the summer solstice. Sicily had given its wisdom; now it was time for Belinda to use that strength to create.