Bellissa
To that being full of Love, forgotten deep within each of us,
To life’s experiences, which offer us, every single day, the precious possibility of remembering it once more.
... Bellissa...
A call... A plea... A single word laden with prayer, sorrow, and despair... powerful enough to shatter a heart.
…
Consciousness slowly reclaims its hold. From beneath a black veil emerges a soft bluish glow, gentle and reassuring. My mind is blank. Who am I? Where am I?
Then, like a flood, the light of memories rushes back. My name is Assa. I am a Selenite. My last memories? The Vistani camp, my traveling brothers and sisters. A beautiful starry night. A lively, vibrant celebration. A perfect harmony beneath the celestial dome.
The place where I awaken feels strange. What I first mistook for moonlight is in fact a constellation of glowing bluish stones. Moonstones, clustered inside a human-sized geode. Their soft light is mirrored by a gentle warmth against my chest. I bring my hand there and find the comforting presence of my pendant — a simple moonstone held by a cord tied in a sailor’s knot. To see so many of them shining like this inside this small cave is a rare and wondrous sight. I allow myself to lie still and simply contemplate them for a few moments.
Then the questions return, insistent. Where am I? I do not know this place. Nearby, a gentle trickle of water sings softly over the stones. Beneath me, the living rock vibrates with a song unlike any I have ever known.
Once more I search my mind. “Bellissa…” The call echoes again — fleeting, yet heavy with raw intensity. The voice is foreign to me, and yet… something within me recognizes it. But where am I?
I sit up slowly. The ceiling is low, yet high enough for me to rise without fear. I am still dressed in my traveling clothes: a simple dress, a cloak, a knife at my belt, and an empty waterskin slung across my shoulder. All my belongings, reduced to the bare essentials. In the soft glow of the moonstones, my skin has lost its familiar golden hue, and my long dark braid seems duller, almost ordinary. I press a hand to my forehead and feel the reassuring weight of my medallion, concealing the Mark of Selene — that delicate reclining crescent moon, tinged with blue. Everything appears to be in its rightful place… but to what end?
I fill my waterskin, then slip out of the mineral cocoon. Behind me, the bluish glow of the geode slowly fades and vanishes. A naturally carved tunnel winds ahead, faint daylight spilling from its end a few meters away. I move cautiously and emerge into a breathtaking sight… one entirely foreign to me.
A faint smile touches my lips. Clearly, I was expected elsewhere. New land, new reality, new journey. Such is the fate of us Selenites — to wander for our celestial Mother, the Moon, offering our aid or our presence wherever destiny calls. A pity. I had grown fond of my last world. But no matter. I leave its heavy memories behind. A new existence now unfolds before me.
My eyes scan the horizon. The mouth of the cave opens onto a canyon sculpted by the patient hands of nature, its walls painted in shades of ochre, warm brown, sandy yellow, and vivid red. Perched near the top of a rocky promontory, I am granted a vast, almost desert-like view. Yet I feel no fear. I know I was not abandoned here by chance.
As if in answer to my thought, a brief flash glints on the horizon — then another, and a third — like sunlight reflecting off polished metal or armor in the early morning light. A smile blooms on my face. Good. That is the direction I must take.
After carefully choosing a safe path down to the canyon floor, I set off into this new land.
…
It takes me nearly an hour of walking before I reach a sturdy palisade. A banner ripples gently in the breeze: undulating dunes of golden yellow against a sky that fades from sunset at its base to a starry night at its crown. In the heart of that nocturnal field, two curved white blades cross in harmonious symmetry.
The sun is still low, yet the heat already presses against my skin. By midday, it will be merciless. The path I follow bears the clear marks of frequent passage — wagon wheels and footsteps carved into the dust. It forks left and disappears deeper into the canyon, but the palisade stands firmly ahead, blocking a natural passage. Knowing nothing of this region and having met no one, I approach with my hood drawn low.
A few meters away, I spot two guards on the other side. One of them calls out in a familiar dialect, though heavily accented and rough.
-“Halt! Move along — the camp is under quarantine!”
I stop and pull back my hood so they can see my face.
-“I’m lost… and I am a healer. Perhaps I could help?”
The two men exchange a brief glance. One of them hurries away. The first guard speaks again.
-“Wait!”
At least he is direct. I wait patiently, observing the strategic position of the camp. The gates face a gently rising path, flanked by steep, irregular cliffs. Some sections of the rock have been naturally hollowed out, offering shelter or storage. Access to the heights seems nearly impossible except by the main path, which is lined with practical military tents. A very defensible location.
Soon the second sentry returns at a brisk pace from the upper part of the camp. After a quick exchange, the barrier opens for me.
A quarantine zone. I offer a silent prayer and touch my forehead. A faint mark appears on the back of my hand — a ward of protection against most natural afflictions this land might carry. As long as it remains visible, I should be safe.
I step inside as invited. The messenger leads me through the camp at a calmer pace. These men and women are sturdier and more robust than any I have encountered before. Beside them, I must look almost fragile. Their skin is weathered by the sun, yet lacks the golden shimmer of moon-touched folk. Their hair is deep, intense black. They are clearly warriors — dressed in no uniform, a motley collection that suggests mercenaries.
But what strikes me most is the heavy, oppressive atmosphere that clings to the camp. It has nothing to do with the heat. The glances exchanged are somber, sometimes resigned. The air itself feels thick with the shadow of an approaching, inevitable end. It breaks my heart.
And yet, beneath it all, I sense their profound bond with the earth and fire of this land. They are strong, seasoned fighters, undoubtedly feared by their enemies. Here, however, they wage an unequal battle against nature and fate — one they cannot win alone.
Lost in these thoughts, I barely notice when we reach a larger, more elaborate tent. Having crossed nearly the entire camp, we now overlook the canyon and the surrounding lands. The site has been chosen with great cunning.
The sentry lifts the tent flap and motions me inside. The interior is Spartan, arranged for command. A powerfully built man, much like the others, is just rolling down his sleeve over a fresh bandage on his wrist. Beside him, a slighter man puts away medical tools while a basin of crimson liquid sits between them.
At first, I do not notice his slightly ashen complexion or the deep fatigue etching his face. No — I am instantly frozen by his eyes. That deep, peculiar gaze carries the painful echo of a past I have tried, and failed, to forget.
The astonishment is mutual. When our golden-hued eyes meet, he rises abruptly. He manages only a stunned whisper — “Bellissa?” — before swaying and collapsing onto his cot. The healer and sentry rush forward, crying “Malek!” But he has already slipped into unconsciousness. Emotion, illness, and bloodletting have finally overwhelmed him.
I move quickly as they lay him down. Placing a hand on his neck, I feel his pulse racing and irregular, his breathing ragged, his body burning with fever. His skin grows grayer by the moment. Silently invoking Selene’s blessing — uncertain how locals view magic — I guide him gently toward restorative sleep. His breathing soon steadies.
I turn to the healer.
-“What ails him? What is truly happening here?”
My question seems to unsettle him. His shoulders slump in resignation.
-“I don’t know… No one does. They’ve been here three weeks, and everyone is affected to varying degrees. It started with just two or three. When more began falling ill, they were ordered to isolate. Strangely, no one in the city has sickened despite early contact. It does not appear contagious.”
-“And you? Are you affected?”
He shakes his head.
-“No. I came from the city. In three weeks here, I’ve shown no symptoms. I’m careful, but it doesn’t seem to spread through the air.”
-“What are the symptoms?”
-“First comes localized pain, then cramps. Some vomit, others don’t. Then the fever rises and the pain burns like fire. No one has died yet, but several have fallen unconscious. I’ve tried every potion and remedy I know, without success. Bloodletting helps nothing… I can only ease their suffering. I don’t know what plagues them.”
I extend my senses, searching for the source of the affliction. Focusing on Malek, I feel again the strong earth and fire energies that bind him and his people to this land. Nothing magical or divine seems amiss. The illness is of natural origin. I offer some of my own strength to his weakened body, enough to reduce the fever and help him hold on a little longer.
I turn to the sentinel who has stepped back.
-“Let him sleep. It will restore his strength. When he wakes, make sure he drinks plenty of water and eats beans, sesame, or grains. Prepare the same for the others who have been bled.”
The sentinel glances uncertainly at the healer, who finally nods. The man leaves. I turn back to the smaller man.
-“Where are the other patients? I will see what I can do while trying to identify the cause. And for pity’s sake… stop the bloodletting. It only weakens them further.”
His expression tells me that medicine in this land still has much to learn. There is no time for debate. I rise and follow him.
Before leaving the tent, I cast one last glance at Malek. He looks merely asleep now. My heart tightens, and I step outside.
I am led to a row of tents serving as a field hospital. About twenty men and women lie in varying degrees of distress. Only one slight woman tends to them as best she can.
I attend to the most critical cases, granting half a dozen of them a little more time, holding them to life until I can uncover the truth.
I question them gently, but nothing conclusive emerges. They have not crossed diseased lands, bear no strange wounds or bites, and have eaten nothing unusual. The sickness seems to attack the entire body at once. Its severity appears linked to each person’s constitution and natural resistance — or perhaps their degree of exposure to the source.
Much of the morning slips away in this manner. I find no easy diagnosis. It feels like a toxin… but which one? Nature hides so many, and I surely do not know all those native to this land.
Eventually I return to Malek. Water and food have been placed beside him, but he remains unconscious. I settle on a small camp stool near his bed and watch him in silence — a tranquil force of nature, at least for now. With his eyes closed, he shares almost nothing with “him.” And yet… that gaze from earlier, that stunned expression… A deep feeling begins to stir within me. What if… it truly is him? I was told that two bound souls always find each other again… but those words were meant only to comfort me. Could it truly be possible across realities…?
I take a deep breath and push the thought aside. There will be time for answers later. The exhaustion of healing and the rising midday heat weigh heavily on me. I cannot delay any longer.
I gently take his relaxed hand, intertwining our fingers, and bring them to my forehead, touching my mark. His warmth draws a bittersweet smile from me. Then I close my eyes and begin to hum softly.
Letting the melody carry me, I slip into his inner world. Before me rises a solitary rocky outcrop, ochre, yellow, and red like the stones of this land. It stands alone on barren ground, swept by a light wind that lifts grains of sand. It radiates strength, uprightness, and reassuring serenity… yet also profound sorrow and solitude. As I draw closer, I am surprised to find that the seemingly solid rock crumbles easily beneath my fingers. A small fragment falls away, revealing a dark, pulsing vein. Nothing malevolent emanates from it, yet it resembles a living filament.
Closer inspection reveals life — faint, but undeniable. Too vital for mineral, too still for animal… it must be vegetal. A root.
Stepping back, I see that similar roots protrude in many places. The entire formation is being slowly weakened by an invasive plant, threatening to collapse.
I push deeper. The vibration grows stronger, more familiar, yet still unplaceable. At the heart of it all, I finally behold it — magnificent, majestic, imperious. A flower unknown to me, cloaked in deep black, resembling a shadowy orchid, both breathtaking and deadly. It is always astonishing how nature’s most beautiful creations can also be the most lethal.
Now that I have found and identified the source, I must remove it before irreversible harm is done. Gently, I take the flower in my hands and sever it from its roots. Deprived of its vital force, the roots will wither and be expelled by the rock-body. Nature can now begin its work of regeneration.
My consciousness returns slowly, like waking from a deep dream. The healer is watching me. I straighten wearily on the small stool and separate our still-joined hands. In my palm rests the black flower, already wilting before our eyes — the physical manifestation of my healing.
-“You recognize it? This is the source of the illness. I was able to extract it…”
-“Yes! Narciegra! A rare and deadly poison, difficult to detect. But an antidote exists — I know it. I’ll prepare it at once!”
I nod and let him go. The flower turns to harmless dust in my hand. I hold Malek’s sturdy hand a moment longer — nearly twice the size of mine — and smile at the contrast. Beneath his skin, his pulse grows stronger. The poison is gone. Life is reclaiming its hold.
Relief washes over me, but exhaustion follows swiftly. I have given too much in too short a time. I must rest. Gently placing his hand on his abdomen, I rise with difficulty and find a wider seat farther in the tent. I settle there, nestle in, and fall quickly into sleep.
…
My sleep is far from restful. Dreams pull me back to that fateful day. The sky is a perfect blue, the sea magnificent, the lands lush and verdant. Your boat waits a few meters away, majestic — just as you always were in my eyes. Yet a dull apprehension pulses deep within me. It is only a short journey to the neighboring archipelago, two days at most. An important ceremony prevents me from joining you. You are serene, confident, reassuring me with your smiles and your embrace. I try with all my heart to believe you, to convince myself there is no reason to worry.
The storm struck as suddenly as it was violent. Rarely had such fury been recorded in living memory. You should have been returning… It was only supposed to be two days…
Sea searches were launched — for you, and for others caught unaware. In truth, few of the lost were ever found alive. As the days passed, hope faded and pain deepened.
I had always known that when we bound our hearts — our lives of such different lengths — this moment would likely come. But your soul was so radiant, your heart so beautiful. You were in the prime of life. We had decades ahead of us… or so I believed. It still tears me apart.
Lost in memory and rekindled sorrow, alone on a wind-swept rock adrift in the ocean’s heart, a whisper reaches me — burning, intense, sending shivers down my spine.
…Bellissa…
…
I awaken slowly. Dusk now reigns over the camp. I must have slept through the entire afternoon. As I prop myself up, I see him. He is sitting on his bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped before his mouth. His gaze is so intense it pierces straight through me — closed, impassive, yet profoundly inquisitive.
I am instantly disarmed. The same eyes, the same intensity… yet so distant, so impenetrable. I struggle to compose myself and offer him a smile that tries — and fails — to appear confident.
-“You’re awake, I’m glad. The affliction has been neutralized… you must already feel it.”
He does not move. He does not nod. He remains like stone. When I stand, his eyes follow me, analyzing every movement. I feel utterly exposed. My discomfort grows unbearable. I notice he has not touched his food, only drunk some water.
-“You… should eat something, and drink more. You lost blood from the letting… it will help you recover faster.”
Nothing. It is like speaking to a wall. A wave of anguish rises within me, an urge to flee. I stammer a vague excuse and a mumbled good evening, then nearly run from the tent.
Outside, I stand frozen just beyond the flap, trying to steady my breathing. I am trembling. Being flustered or intimidated is not like me. Fear rarely touches me — I trust Selene, I trust my destiny. Death holds no terror; it is merely another passage. But since bonding my soul, I have willingly accepted vulnerability. I fear not for myself, but for him. With love came apprehension, worry, sorrow, and despair.
I thought I had left all that behind. Yet now everything has reopened in a single heartbeat. It is as if he has returned… yet not the same. Does he know me? Recognize me? Why this wall of silence? Why this cold distance… and yet that burning intensity?
I shake my head, unsure where to begin. He is clearly not ready to speak, and I still have patients to check on. Perhaps the healer has prepared the antidote. With a heavy heart, I head toward the field hospital.
There, I am relieved to see relaxed faces and lighter expressions. The healer and his assistant move busily among the patients. I learn he has gathered what is needed to treat the most affected. More supplies will arrive from the city tomorrow. For the first time, hope fills the air.
The coolness of night begins to settle over the camp. Fear and anguish have lifted. Smiles reappear, and laughter can be heard once more. The shadow of merciless death has retreated, allowing life to reclaim its rights.
Soon a great fire is lit — a fire of joy and celebration. Nearly thirty able-bodied souls gather around it. Conversations flow, and the enticing aroma of roasting meat drifts through the air. It comforts my heart, yet my own stomach remains knotted. Eventually I slip away from the festivities and follow the path upstream along the camp.
Night has fully fallen. The cool air revives me. The sounds of laughter and song fade into the distance, as if from another world. Soon I stand bathed in the benevolent, soothing glow of the Moon. Thank you… Even here, she remains the same — the one constant across all realities. The starry sky above, however, is entirely unfamiliar — further proof of how far I have traveled.
Lost in thought and gentle nostalgia, I begin to hear music — rhythmic, joyful, and lively. At first, it cradles me, then it seeps into my very being. Dance steps rise naturally within me. Yet instead of matching the energetic rhythm, my movements remain soft and delicate, like a slow waltz or a lullaby. Yes… this is what I need — gentleness, tenderness.
So absorbed in my own world, I do not hear him approach. Only when I execute a wider turn do I find myself facing him, so close. I let out a small gasp of surprise. Our bodies brush. I tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
So close… He stands nearly half a head taller than me… and I feel so fragile.
So close… I can smell the warm, sun-weathered scent of his skin.
So close… His shadow envelops me, both impressive and reassuring.
His eyes have not softened since the tent, yet in the moonlight his features appear gentler, less angular. My heart races wildly. This proximity both unsettles and draws me in.
Time seems to stop. He does not move, does not speak. Unable to bear it any longer, I raise my hand and lightly brush his cheek, a faint, almost sad smile on my lips. It feels as though he stands before me.
Though his expression remains guarded, I feel a powerful arm slide around my back with surprising gentleness. The moment has come. My heart thunders. I rise onto my tiptoes to close the distance and kiss him — lightly, tenderly — closing my eyes.
When I open them again, he slowly opens his in return. And there, at last, I see beyond the impenetrable facade. I see that soul — beautiful and warm. Finally, the wall between us begins to crumble.
His free hand cradles my face, gentle despite its calloused strength. His lips claim mine, tender yet commanding. He pulls me closer. I respond, clinging to his neck.
As we kiss, tears slip quietly down my cheeks — not from sorrow this time, but from boundless, overwhelming happiness.
