The month of March arrived, bringing with it the pungent scent of sea salt and the first glimpses of a sun that no longer merely illuminated but finally began to warm. On an afternoon of crystal-clear light, the roar of a motorcycle—deep and rhythmic like the beat of a steel heart—announced a long-awaited return. Samuele, the man everyone called "The Griffin" for his sharp profile and the aura of mystery that enveloped him, had returned to Sicily.
It had been a long time since they had seen him. Samuele had always been a nomadic spirit, a man who appeared and vanished, following currents that only he knew how to interpret. For Belinda, however, he was much more than an old friend: he was a link to that subtle world she had once tried to master and by which she had nearly been destroyed.
When Samuele crossed the gate of the villa, Tiziana immediately sized him up with her cat-like eyes, the muscles in her arms tensed in a posture of instinctive defense. But Samuele gave her a lopsided smile—a nod of respect between predators—and the atmosphere relaxed at once.
"Where is my goddaughter?" he asked in that deep voice that seemed to vibrate in the chest of anyone listening.
Azzurra ran outside, her loose hair dancing on her shoulders. Despite her twelve years and the ladylike poise she was acquiring at the ballet barre, she threw herself into her godfather's arms with the enthusiasm of a child. Samuele lifted her off the ground, laughing.
"You've become a reed, little dancer. But you need strong roots so as not to snap in the wind," he told her, setting her down. From the pocket of his worn leather jacket, he pulled out two gifts. The first was an elegant package—a designer perfume from a famous French maison, with fresh notes of mandarin and white flowers, perfect for her age. "Because beauty should also be a pleasure for the senses," he added with a wink.
The second gift, however, was different. It was an amulet of protection: a labradorite stone set in raw silver, which released bluish flashes whenever it caught the light. "Keep it close, Azzurra. Labradorite doesn't build walls, but it shields the soul from energies that do not belong to us. You will need it."
While Azzurra ran into the house to try on the perfume, Samuele turned his gaze toward Belinda. No words were needed. He saw the marks of exhaustion around her eyes, the excessive thinness, and that veil of melancholy that renal failure had woven into her.
"Come with me, witch. We need to breathe," Samuele said, holding out his hand.
They walked in silence to the beach below the villa. The sand was still cold and damp, the shoreline deserted and dotted with driftwood brought in by winter storms. They sat on a log smoothed by the salt, gazing toward the horizon where the sky and the Ionian Sea merged into an indistinguishable blue.
"I feel the lead inside you, Belinda," Samuele began, without taking his eyes off the sea. "You've burdened yourself with a weight that your natural filters can no longer process. But the body is not just flesh; it is also energy in motion."
"I don't want to do magic anymore, Samuele. The price was too high," she replied in a thin voice, feeling the bitter taste of her own fragility.
"It's not about invoking demons or attracting gold, you fool. It's about realigning yourself with what surrounds us. Close your eyes."
Belinda obeyed. She felt Samuele's hand lightly brush her shoulder—a warm, reassuring presence. "Visualize the Water," he whispered. "Imagine the sea before us entering you. Not like a flood, but like a slow tide. Let the water wash your cells, carrying away the toxins, the stagnation, the weight of the creatinine that fatigues you. Imagine your kidneys becoming clean sponges, flushed by the purity of the Ionian."
Belinda concentrated. For a moment, she truly felt a fluid coolness rising from her feet to her pelvis. Then Samuele continued. "Now call the Air. Feel the wind caressing the surface of the sea. Imagine that wind entering your lungs and blowing away the fog from your brain—that residue of the edema that still makes you dizzy. Air and Water, Belinda. The flow that cleanses, the breath that liberates."
As they remained in that meditative silence, something strange happened. The air, which until a moment before had been still and lukewarm, began to quiver. A sudden wind, born from nothing, rose with unexpected violence, kicking up swirls of sand around them. The sea, previously smooth as a mirror, began to ripple furiously; waves started crashing against the shore with a rhythmic, powerful roar, as if Belinda's breath and that of nature had fused into a single, accelerated heartbeat.
Belinda opened her eyes, startled. She felt an electric energy racing down her spine—a vitality she hadn't felt in months. Around them, the storm seemed to dance in a perfect circle, while the rest of the coast appeared motionless.
Samuele burst into a thunderous laugh—that pirate's laugh of his that tasted of freedom. "Careful, witch! Take it easy, or you'll risk causing a hurricane!" he exclaimed, looking at her with eyes shining with an ancient complicity. "You still have too much strength inside you to surrender to a medical report."
Belinda smiled. It was a true, full smile that lit up her face, making her suddenly resemble the radiant woman of seven years past. She felt light, despite the illness. She understood that Samuele hadn't brought her there to heal her miraculously, but to remind her that she was a part of those elements—that her spirit was not sick, even if her body had to face a grueling challenge.
"Thank you, Griffin," she murmured, letting the wind toss her hair. "I forgot what it feels like to be part of the flow without trying to control it."
They stayed there for a long time, while the sea slowly calmed and the wind returned to a light breeze. When they stood up to head back toward the house, Belinda walked with a straighter back. Samuele walked beside her, a silent guardian who needed no promises.
They both knew the sword of Damocles was still there, that medical check-ups would continue, and that the exhaustion would return. But that evening, in the hallway of the villa, Belinda did not feel the weight of her kidneys. She felt only the scent of white flowers that Azzurra had sprayed in the air and the muscular strength of Tiziana preparing dinner. She felt, finally, like a warrior capable of defying fate with a smile on her lips.