Not far away, an old pewter mug forgotten on the table began to change. The dull metal did not turn to gold, but decomposed and recomposed itself into an incredible structure: it became colored glass, light and etched with veins that looked like butterfly wings, while still retaining its original shape. Silas rose with a whispered breath, reaching out a calloused hand. He brushed the mug; it was smooth, vibrant. The magic he knew always had a price—a smell of burning, a mark of exhaustion. This, instead, was... clean. Absurd and beautiful. Even the iron nails holding together the stable door nearby, under the wave of that emotional heat, decided to stop being hard. They curled in on themselves, transforming into petals of a soft, gray material that smelled of roses but kept the weight of iron. “Tsuki, stop... you’re rewriting everything,” Etan murmured from within, but his was no longer a furious protest. It was a realization full of wonder. Silas sat back down, but this time he didn't reach for his bow. He simply watched that girl with the moon-hair sleeping with the deep breath of someone who has eaten their fill for the first time. Between his fingers, he took one of those crumbs that had become a gem and smiled in the darkness. He didn't know what that creature was, but in that cabin, for one night, reality had ceased to be a prison and had become a wonderful game.

  ?Chapter 3 opens with a different light. It is no longer the silvery, cold glow of the three moons, but a timid, peach-colored dawn filtering through the cracks in the cabin’s logs. Tsuki opened her eyes slowly. The heavy sensation in her stomach had vanished, replaced by a strange, vibrant lightness. She felt rested, as if every fiber of her body had been recharged during the night. Beside her, the spot in the bed was empty; Martha had already gotten up. She sat up, her white hair falling over her shoulders like a cascade of silk. The scent of last night’s jasmine still lingered in the air, but it was fading, overtaken by the aroma of barley coffee boiling on the stove. From the corner of the room came an unnatural silence. Martha and Silas were sitting at the table, backs hunched, heads bowed toward each other. They were so still they seemed like part of the furniture. They didn't speak. They didn't move. They stared at something on the wooden surface with an intensity so sharp it was almost painful, as if looking away might make the whole world vanish.

  ?Tsuki slipped out of bed. Her bare feet made no sound on the packed earth. She approached them, curious about that silent ritual. “Look at that, Tsuki...” Etan murmured. His voice was different this morning: less hysterical, more guarded, filled with a wonder he couldn't hide. “Look at what you did while you slept.” Tsuki peered over Silas’s massive shoulder. On the table, scattered among the cracks in the wood, the breadcrumbs from dinner were gone. In their place, a handful of transparent stones caught the first light of the sun, reflecting glints so vivid they hurt the eyes. Beside them, the rainbow glass mug sparkled like sunken treasure. The two didn't notice her. Silas reached out a calloused finger, touching one of the stones with the delicacy one uses to touch a newborn. “It’s not possible, Ma,” the man whispered, his voice breaking. “These... these are worth more than the whole forest. More than our entire lives.”

  ?Tsuki took another step forward, the shadow of her body falling across the table. Silas jumped, but it was Martha who reacted first. The old woman, who until a moment ago seemed petrified by greed and wonder, changed her expression the exact instant her eyes met the girl’s electric blue ones. The veil of almost obsessive concentration broke. Her wrinkled face opened into a smile that chased away every shadow of avarice. She rose quickly, stepping between Tsuki and the stones—not to hide them, but to protect the girl from that atmosphere of tension. “Good morning, little sparrow!” Martha exclaimed, her voice warm and bright as if nothing strange had happened. She went to her and took her hands, rubbing them to warm them. “Did you sleep well? Your face is fresh as a May rose, despite all the nonsense your invisible friend was saying last night.” Silas remained seated, instinctively closing his hand into a fist over the gems, looking at Tsuki with an expression that wavered between sacred terror and veneration.

  ?Tsuki looked at Martha, then pointed to the shining stones on the table. “Are those... the crumbs?” she asked, tilting her head. “Did they change their skin because they were sad to be just leftovers?” Etan gave a mental groan. “Sad? Tsuki, you turned bread into pure diamonds! It’s not sadness, it’s chemistry... or a miracle that’s going to get us all killed if anyone finds out!” But Martha didn't seem disturbed by the girl’s bizarre explanation. She stroked her cheek, ignoring the fact that Silas was trembling. “Maybe so, little one. Maybe here things change their skin to please you. But let’s not think about stones now. The stomach is calling again, and I’ve put some milk on to warm that smells of honey.” Despite the woman’s warmth, Tsuki felt Silas’s tension like a tightened cord. The man couldn't tear his eyes away from her, or perhaps from what she represented: a power that could rewrite poverty in the blink of an eye.

  ?“Go on, sparrow. Go outside and breathe a bit,” Martha said, handing her a light wooden bucket. “The stream back there is fresh, and the dawn air will take the smell of smoke and stale air off you. Get some water, wash your face. It’ll do you good.” Silas bolted to his feet, nearly knocking over his stool. The gems on the table tinkled. “But Ma! That’s my job! I’ll go to the stream, she doesn't know... she might...” he stammered, with the heat of a child whose favorite toy has been taken away. In truth, he didn't want her to leave; he was afraid that living miracle might vanish among the trees. Martha silenced him with a sharp snap of her dishcloth against his shoulder. “Sit down, you big oaf! Look at those shoulders—you look like an ox and think like a calf. Let her go; she needs space, not your breath on her neck every second.”

  ?Tsuki took the bucket and went out. The morning cold nipped at her skin, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was... new. “Tsuki, keep your eyes open,” Etan murmured. His voice was different: flat, monochromatic, as if he were speaking from behind a pane of glass. “Did you see how they looked at those stones? That is a greedy look. That man sees you as a gold mine, not a person. You must be guarded.” Tsuki walked toward the sound of the water but stopped for a moment. “Guarded?” she repeated, testing the word on her tongue. She didn't know what greed was. To her, a shiny stone or a breadcrumb had the same value: they were just things that changed. “Why do you talk like that, Etan? You sound... far away. As if you were made of ash.” He didn't answer right away. The silence in Tsuki’s mind became heavy. “It’s not easy, is it?” she continued, and a veil of sadness clouded her face, dimming the light in her blue eyes for a moment. “Staying there where I was for seventeen years. In the dark. Without hands to touch, without a mouth to eat soup. Now you are the shadow.”

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  ?“I'm fine,” Etan replied, but the lie was transparent. “Think about the water. And don't trust them.” They reached the stream. To Tsuki, that little brook leaping among the rocks was a majestic river, a silver deity that roared. She saw silver minnows darting at the surface, fast as thoughts. They seemed like magical creatures to her, gentle monsters of a submerged world. “I want to catch one,” she said with enthusiasm, lifting her tunic and moving to dip a foot into the clear, icy water. She wanted to feel that life slip through her fingers. “Stop! Don't!” Etan blocked her, and this time his voice had a jolt of real concern. “There’s a thing called a current, Tsuki. The water moves; it has a strength all its own. It would push you away, drag you under the rocks. You aren't made of marble now; you’re light. The river would eat you.” Tsuki withdrew her foot, staring at the water with a mix of respect and fear. “Does the water eat people?” “The water doesn't choose, Tsuki. The water follows its path and takes what it finds. Just like life outside that cell.” Tsuki stood watching the fish, the empty bucket forgotten in the grass. She felt Etan’s sadness flowing through her like that icy current, and for the first time, she understood that being free also meant being afraid of drowning.

  ?Tsuki remained crouched on the bank, her knees sinking into the damp moss and her white hair brushing the water’s surface like silk threads. She watched those silver arrows darting beneath the surface, enchanted by how the light broke upon their scales. They were creatures made of speed and silence, and she felt a physical need to understand how they were made. “You’ll never do it with your bare hands, Tsuki,” Etan cut in. His voice was flat, almost a tired whisper coming from a distant room. “They’re faster than you. And if you fall in, the current will do the rest. It’s a stupid, blind force; it would drag you away without a second thought.” “But I want to see them,” she insisted, speaking softly toward her own chest. “I want to see what they’re like when they aren't running.”

  ?Etan sighed. That forced confinement in the darkness of the mind was making him apathetic, but Tsuki’s curiosity was a spark he couldn't ignore. “Then try this. Take a stone. A good heavy one, but flat. If you can throw it into the water right where they’re swimming... if you’re lucky, the blow will stun one. It’ll float for an instant, and you can grab it.” Tsuki didn't know the concept of "difficult." She chose a gray stone, smoothed by the brook, and gripped it tight. A slight, almost imperceptible smile appeared on her face, but her electric blue eyes lit up with pure challenge. She stood up, tense and vibrant, and threw, following an instinct that needed no calculations. SPLASH. The impact was surgical. From the bottom of the pool, a fish as long as a hand began to rise, floating on its side. Tsuki, with a little cry of triumph, reached over the water and grabbed it with both hands. But the instant her fingers closed around the prey, the enthusiasm turned into pure horror. The fish was alive, pulsing, but most of all it was covered in a layer of cold, slimy mucus. The scales felt like a thousand tiny frozen blades sliding against her skin. Tsuki stiffened instantly. She remained petrified, almost comically motionless, with her arms stretched forward and the fish squirming weakly between her palms. Her blood ran cold with revulsion. “Tsuki? What are you doing? Why are you standing there like a statue?” Etan asked, confused by this sudden freeze.

  ?“E-Etan...” she croaked, a look of profound disgust wrinkling her nose. “I don't like it. I don't like it at all. It’s... it’s wet but it’s not water. It’s slimy. It feels like it’s dirtying my soul.” “It’s a fish, Tsuki. It’s normal for it to be like that.” “I want to throw it away!” she exclaimed, but her fingers seemed glued shut from the shock. The sensation was so alien and unpleasant that she couldn't even coordinate the movement to open her hands. She was terrified by that slimy texture. “I can't, Etan! Help me, get it off me!” Etan, despite his melancholy, couldn't help but feel a prick of amusement at such an exaggerated reaction. “Calm down. What you’re feeling—that urge to escape an unpleasant sensation—is called revulsion. Or disgust. It’s the way your body tells you it doesn't like the feel of something.”

  ?Tsuki made a face, shivering slightly. “Revulsion is horrible. It’s worse than hunger. Why do fish have to be made of revulsion?” “Just open your hands, you little fool. Let it go before you turn it into a stone out of sheer fright.” With an immense effort of will, Tsuki shook her hands violently, flinging the fish back into the stream with a clumsy, frantic movement. She watched it disappear into the current, then began frantically rubbing her hands on the wet grass and her tunic, trying to erase that tactile memory. “Never again,” she murmured, her face still twisted in a grimace. “Never again will I touch something that has revulsion on it.” Etan chuckled softly in the dark. For a moment, the weight of their situation had seemed lighter, chased away by Tsuki’s comical battle against a slimy fish.

  ?Tsuki kept rubbing her hands frantically against the damp grass, then on the dirt, then again on her tunic, but that pungent, sickly-sweet smell of mud and scales seemed to have seeped into her pores. She felt it on her like a curse. She brought her fingers to her nose, made a face of pure horror, and felt her stomach churn. “It stinks, Etan! It still stinks!” she cried, almost weeping, completely forgetting the bucket in the grass and the task Martha had given her. In her head, there was only one thought: run to the kind lady, the only one who knew how to clean the world. She turned and bolted toward the cabin, tripping over roots, her heart pounding in her ears. “Tsuki, wait! The bucket! Watch out!” Etan tried to warn her, but she was deaf to everything. She just wanted that revulsion to end.

  ?She reached the door and flung it open with a sharp kick, ready to call for help, but the words died in her throat. Before her was not the warmth of the hearth, but a barrier of muscle and dark skin. Silas’s back was planted right on the threshold, massive and motionless as a second door of flesh. But it was what lay beyond him that froze Tsuki’s blood. Through the gap between the man’s arm and side, she saw the scene. Silas was clutching the shining stones in one hand, his knuckles white with the force. With the other, he supported his mother’s body. Martha was slumped over, her head tilted back and her eyes dull, fixed on the thatched ceiling. The lively spark of the woman who had cradled her was gone; there was only an empty shell, pale and chilling. Tsuki stood speechless, her fish-smeared hands still raised in mid-air. The world around her seemed to stop. The stench of the stream was instantly replaced by a metallic, ancient smell: the smell of death. “Run... Tsuki, run!” Etan screamed, his voice a scratch of pure terror tearing through her mind.