The Village in the Mist
Luna had spent three full moons practicing the spell in front of the pond, and that morning it finally came out perfect. Her wings, as delicate as dew, folded over each other until they disappeared under the fabric of her new dress. Her pointed ears rounded out. Her skin, which glowed in the dim light, became as ordinary as that of any girl from the village.
"Just for a little while," she promised herself as she saw her reflection in the water. "I just want to see how they live."
She crossed the forest barefoot, slippers in hand, and when she reached the hidden village—the one humans called Mistvale because the fog never fully lifted—she stood still, her mouth wide open. There were stalls selling warm bread, children running with ribbons in their hands, women shouting as they bargained and laughing a second later. Everything smelled of cinnamon, firewood, and life.
Luna walked slowly, touching everything. She tried a candied apple and almost cried with happiness. She stopped to listen to a musician playing a crooked lute. She had never felt her heart so light.
Far from there, in the same market but down the blacksmiths' street, a man in a gray cloak and a pulled-down hood walked with his hands in his pockets. No one gave him a second glance, and that was exactly what Bastián wanted. For weeks he had endured advice, meetings, and suits that weighed more than armor. Today he was just a man with no last name, with an appetite and permission to make mistakes.
He stopped at a roasted chestnut stall and reached out to pay. Right then, a clear laugh made him turn his head.
Luna was running backward, dodging a boy with a red ribbon, oblivious to what was behind her.
The collision was brief and clumsy. She bumped backward into his chest, he caught her by the shoulders to keep her from falling, and the chestnuts rolled across the ground without either of them noticing.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't..." Luna began, turning around.
And then she saw him.
He had eyes the color of the forest after the rain, a shadow of weariness in his gaze, and an expression so startled he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. His hood had slipped back slightly, and the mist-filtered light traced his face with impossible softness.
Bastián, for his part, couldn't move. That girl had flushed cheeks, hair tangled with leaves, and a gaze so vibrant she felt like the first real thing he had seen in months. He had known silk-draped princesses and ladies with a thousand titles, but none had ever looked at him like that—as if he were simply a man.
"It's fine," he finally managed to say, his voice lower than he intended. "Are you... okay?"
"I think so," Luna whispered, without looking away. "I think I've never been better."
They stood there, face to face, without letting go, as the village kept up its noise around them and the world seemed to have stopped just for them.
