We stand frozen like two wooden posts as a flurry of murmurs ripples through the audience.

"Milo, is that really you?" Diamante asks again.

My breath catches in my chest. How does she know my name? Why is everyone staring at me? It feels like a boulder has dropped onto my chest, sinking deep.
Sarcastic, sharp‑tongued Milo hates being the center of attention and usually navigates group situations about as well as an introvert trying to survive in a hyperconnected world: background discomfort, but manageable. But a hall with hundreds of people and at least fifty magical creatures? That's too much. Way too much.

Cold sweat runs down my back. My mind goes blank — a total blackout.
The hall becomes a vortex of indistinct voices; they reach me muffled, twisted… as if someone had shoved a tube between me and the rest of the world. I see mouths moving, but can't make out the words.

Then, suddenly, I feel it.

Not just my emotions, but everyone's. All at once, crashing onto me. A wave so violent and sudden it knocks the breath out of me, almost nauseating.
I just want to slip away, disappear beneath the marble floor.

But then Fiore's voice cuts through, strong and clear as a hammer strike:

"Yes, it's him! We came all the way here, given the circumstances!"

The sound ricochets through the amphitheater, sharp and certain. It yanks me out of the stupor I was sinking into.

I look at him.
Since he caught me at the Rocca, he hasn't done anything but help me. Actually, he's probably been doing it for much longer.
Maybe it's because of the Code. Or maybe it's just the way he is.
Either way, I'm grateful.

"Ah! Excellent!" Zuan shouts, triumphant. "Now that we have a representative for the Fairy People, we can finally vote on closing the Veil."

The audience bubbles with excitement: hands raised, someone drumming on a stick, a chorus of approval rising from one side of the amphitheater. Diamante glares at Zuan, shaking her head in exasperation. Nicodemo, hands gripping the lectern, lifts his eyes to the sky as if invoking divine patience.
Fiore, on the other hand, seems to be enjoying the storm. He scratches his chin with a sly air, then raises his hand like a schoolboy. His voice cuts through the clamor:

"I vote against. I agree with Diamante and Nicodemo. Closing the Veil is a huge pain. Besides, it's a cowardly move." His tone is bright, irreverent.

Silence falls suddenly, like a sonic boom, an abrupt void echoing through the amphitheater. Even I, still trying to grasp what's happening, stare with my mouth open. The audacity!

Zuan explodes, eyes blazing: "W-what do you mean??" His outrage spreads like a wave of heat; someone in the audience pounds fists and feet, the noise reverberating. Nicodemo tries to restore order, but his voice is lost in the chaos. Diamante joins the effort, but her words mix with a flash of sparks—(I assume a spell?!)—someone casts into the crowd, a blue streak slicing through the air.

By now, the situation is completely out of control.

I stand there, half petrified, feeling a mix of emotions I can't quite define. Astonishment? Respect, maybe? With just one sentence, Fiore has broken the dam. In this assembly, every word of every person weighs like a move on a chessboard—and he has just put the King in check. Some cheer him, some insult him, some shout in outrage. The tension thickens, heavy as the air before a storm.

He shoots me a sidelong glance, a crooked smile that seems to say, "Oops." Then he starts moving toward the arena, motioning for me to follow. Nobody notices us: too much fury, too many eyes glued to the verbal fight.

We push through the chaos toward the stern figure of Diamante.

"Diamante!" Fiore shouts.

"Fiorenzo! Milo!" she reaches us, still burning with frustration. "Let's go, quickly. This is no longer an assembly—it's a tavern."

We slip out through a side exit, leaving the amphitheater's chaos behind. Diamante walks ahead with quick, decisive steps: each click of her heels on the marble like an exclamation point, commanding direction like a conductor's baton. Her back is straight, and even without seeing her face, you can sense she's a woman used to being followed.

"Here!" she signals, opening a heavy door, an invitation tinged with undeniable authority.

We enter a room that seems to have stepped out of another era: tall, dark bookshelves crammed with assorted volumes line the walls; in the center, a charming damask sitting area with softly curved sofas, as if awaiting guests for five o'clock tea. The air smells of old paper and a faint trace of tobacco.

Everything clashes sharply with the woman's rigid manner.

Diamante closes the door decisively, and the distant murmur dies abruptly, as if a theater curtain had just fallen.

"Oh, Milo!" Her voice suddenly warms, almost sugary; she seems to measure each syllable to hit the target dead-on.

She reaches me in two steps and wraps me in a tight embrace—enveloping, almost deliberately designed to leave a mark.

I stiffen. My eyes dart to Fiore, but he's absorbed in examining a shelf in the library with far too much ostentatious interest.

"It's wonderful to see you! You've grown into a splendid adult. Thank you, Fiore, for bringing him here safe and sound."

Fiore gives a lazy wave of his hand.

I pull away from her arms, uneasy. This woman gives off bad vibes.

"Um…" I begin, trying not to sound rude. "May I know who you are? Do we know each other?"

"Oh, Milo, of course. You don't remember… so many years have passed. Too many. And I… always trapped in this… delirium." She sighs, hugging herself, but doesn't seem truly fragile; this too feels like a studied pose.

"I am your grandmother. Diamante."

The word lands heavy, but my face remains a wall.

"My… grandmother?"

"Yes. Your mother's mother, Sofia."

I hadn't heard my mother's name spoken in… I couldn't say how long. It's not a topic Uncle Bruno and I touch on often. Or ever. And honestly, I don't know why. I'd forgotten.

"I didn't know I had… living relatives, let's say," I say, raising an eyebrow. Could it be true?

I look at her: her face tells me nothing.

"Maybe it could be…" I continue. "…but I don't remember anything about my family."

A sharp pain digs into my head, as if something inside wants to get out. I squint for a moment.

"That's normal. That horrible day…" Diamante replies, her voice now heavy. "The day Sofia and your father, Cesare, died so tragically… Your grandfather and I were… devastated. We couldn't help you. You wouldn't speak, wouldn't eat, wouldn't move. Only Bruno could get a bit of you out of that… apathy. So we decided he would take care of you until you came of age."

I suddenly feel nauseous. I collapse into one of the soft armchairs.

Fragmented memories sneak in like burned photographs in my mind: Uncle Bruno handing me a slice of pizza; Diamante's face, blurred, younger. So it's true.

Then anxiety rises again. My throat tightens, and I struggle to breathe. Damn it, I have to control myself.

"Diamante, that's enough," Fiore interjects, his voice firm, no frills. "He only lifted the Veil a few hours ago, after twenty years. Let's not overload him."

"Of course, of course…" she replies with a smile, trying to stay flawless but betraying a crack. "I'm just… happy to see him again."

"Yes… Twenty years we haven't seen each other," I murmur, regaining control. "Why?"