"Damn you, Bastian!" shouted an enraged man, slamming his fist on the table. "How could you let them take your sister? I've told you a thousand times—never leave Melody alone. Those bastards wouldn't miss the chance to snatch a gypsy girl like merchandise."
He was furious, lost in helplessness and fear for his daughter.
"Gaston, please," Lluvia pleaded, trying to calm him. "Yelling at Bastian won't bring our daughter back. And Melibeth might hear you—it could upset her. Please, Gaston, calm down."
"How can you ask me that? She's my daughter! They've taken her as a slave—to do God knows what! Lluvia, they took my little girl, and I couldn't stop it."
The tension in the hut was thick, the pain palpable. Lluvia tried to soothe them all, but it wasn't easy.
"Mother, Father… I have no excuse. But I swear—my sister will come home on her own two feet. Father, she will return. I won't rest until I bring her back."
The determination in his gaze was unmistakable—black as night. He didn't know how, but he would do it. A gypsy's word was law.
The goldsmith looked at his son, then at his wife, before stepping out of the humble hut. He was confused, and part of him didn't want to upset his other daughter, who was already in a fragile state. She might learn that her twin had been taken to be sold as a slave. He didn't know how the news would affect her—or how it might worsen her condition. Protecting his family was everything, even if it meant sacrificing all he had.
Meanwhile, Bastian stayed behind with his mother, trying to calm her tears.
"Mom, everything will be okay," he whispered to her.
"Bastian… did your sister take her ocarina?" she asked, her voice tinged with urgency.
"Huh? Yeah, Mom. She hid it among her things and took it with her. But what does that matter now?" he replied, confused.
"Do you know if she still had it when they captured her?"
He was startled by her reaction. He knew the ocarina was important to her—more than that, it was a family heirloom. "She might've had it with her when they took her. When I came back and packed her things, it was gone. Mom, I know you're upset, but it's just an ocarina. Does it really matter now?"
If the ocarina had been used, Lluvia could trace her daughter's location. But if others heard it, secrets would surface—secrets that could hurt innocent people. She wondered whether to give the instrument to Melody without explaining its true nature. It wasn't just a musical object. Melody was still a girl—hopeful, frightened. I should talk to Gaston first, thought the emerald-eyed woman, now calmer.
"Mom, are you okay?" Bastian asked, fanning her gently. She'd gone pale, distracted.
"Yes, Bastian. I'm fine. Thank you, my son, for worrying about me." She stroked his cheek and kissed his forehead.
"Go keep Melibeth company. I need to finish some pieces—they're due tomorrow," she said, hurrying out of the cabin.
"Okay, I'll go with Melibeth…"
He didn't finish the sentence. Lluvia was already gone, leaving him with the word with still on his lips. He stood and went to see his sister, just as his mother had asked. He wore his best mask—so Melibeth wouldn't see the sadness and frustration behind his eyes.
He entered the room. There she was, lying in bed, a book in her hands. As always, her eyes sparkled—as if she were reading it for the very first time.
"Hello, Bastian," she said as soon as she saw her brother. "Come talk to me. How was the Aldremir festival? Mel is so lucky. What's that place like, little brother? Come sit beside me." She made room for him, and Bastian accepted the invitation.
"Let's see… what can I tell you?" said the gypsy thoughtfully, hand on his chin. "Aldremir is big—well, it's the capital of Alkarya. People wear finer clothes, there are colored lights in the streets, and the best part is the music. That's where we gypsies shine. And obviously, I'm the best at it, little mouse," he added with a wink.
"You're so full of yourself, Bastian," she replied, laughing at his conceit.
"And tell me—hasn't any young lady swept you off your feet?" she teased, provoking him. It worked. The boy blushed, remembering the girl by the stream and her sky-blue eyes.
"Maybe. But I'm not telling you anything yet. You're so nosy, Melibeth. You want to know everything."
"Fine, Bastian. Don't tell me if you don't want to. But why hasn't Mel come to see me since you arrived?"
Tension gripped the brown-haired boy. He didn't know how to answer.
"Maybe she's with Clara. She'll come. It's late. Try to sleep."
"It's late, but I'm not sleepy yet, and—"
"No, young lady. It's late. You should sleep," he said, reaching out his hand to take her book.
"Rest, little mouse."
She watched him leave, closing her eyes and clinging to the calm he tried to offer. But Bastian left the room feeling as though he carried a mountain on his shoulders.
He walked forward with resolve, ready to find his mother and tell her he was going to search for his sister. But a murmur from outside stopped him. He knew it wasn't right to listen—but curiosity was stronger. He hid behind the slightly open door, while the echo of his parents' voices filled the space.
"No, Lluvia! You won't use that, do you understand? It's too dangerous. Eriol could sense your magic," Gaston said harshly, his voice laced with anger and concern.
"And what do you suggest?" Lluvia replied defiantly. "If Melody uses the ocarina, he'll still sense her presence."
"It's different, woman. Melody isn't a full fairy. She doesn't know what she is—or what she can do. She's just a child. How could you give her that relic? We agreed Melibeth was the one meant to guard it."
"That doesn't matter now!" Lluvia burst out, her voice rising with anger and despair.
Bastian's heart pounded. His father's words echoed in his mind: fairies, magic, powers. It was inconceivable—something only nobles possessed. Confusion flooded his thoughts. He stepped back, trying to return to his room, but his foot struck a piece of furniture. The sharp noise shattered the tense silence.
Suddenly, everything went quiet. A cold stillness filled the cabin.
"Bastian, come here. Now," Gaston's voice rang out—firm, annoyed, authoritative.
The young gypsy approached the workshop like a child caught in mischief, head bowed under his father's stern gaze.
"How much did you hear?" Gaston asked, his voice low but heavy with tension.
"E-everything, Father. I'm sorry…" Bastian murmured, his voice barely audible, as if the words weighed more than the world.
"Gaston…" Lluvia broke the silence, placing a hand on her husband's arm. "It's time he knew. There's no point in hiding it anymore."
Gaston let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the decision.
"All right… Bastian, your mother… your mother is a fairy. And your sisters are too—or they will be."
The boy stared at him in disbelief, searching for any sign that this was some kind of cruel joke. But his parents' faces were grave, heavy with a solemnity that left no room for doubt.
"Lluvia and I are from the fallen kingdom of Azrrahen. We're not gypsies from Celestia. The village took us in years ago, thanks to the patriarch. Before we came to Alkarya, we had other lives… other names."
"What lives? And why did you change your names?" Bastian asked, his voice trembling as he tried to absorb what he was hearing.
Lluvia spoke then, her words slow and strained:
"My name was Rosella Amelie Howl de la Vallière, Duchess Consort of Azaír. Your father was Arnaid Anouk, a soldier in the royal guard of Azrrahen."
Bastian blinked several times, as if trying to wake from a dream.
"How…? This doesn't make sense. A duchess, a fairy… and a soldier? It all sounds… unreal."
"I'm not a duchess anymore, Bastian. I'm not that woman," Lluvia replied softly, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. "I escaped that life. Your father helped me find freedom. My family—the Howl clan—promised me to the Duke of Azaír. That's when my hell began." Her voice broke. "The duke turned my life into torment."
Her hands trembled as she spoke, and her green eyes shimmered with a pain that felt older than time. Bastian felt his chest tighten. He wanted to tell her it was enough, that she didn't need to relive it—but his father's silent gesture told him to let her speak.
"The Howl clan was part of Azrrahen's royal bloodline," Lluvia continued, her voice cracking. "Fairies born with the virtue of light. We were chosen for a purpose. But that light awakened a hunger for power that consumed everything—our kingdom, our family. Azrrahen burned."
She paused, her voice barely a whisper. "I survived because, by the time the massacre came, I was already married. Your father was taking me to Miraz."
The air was so thick with sorrow it felt hard to breathe. Bastian looked at his mother—so vulnerable, so unlike the strong woman he had always known. And for the first time, he understood: the deepest scars are not carved into the skin, but into the soul.