The heat in Mastro Alfio's workshop suddenly became intense, almost palpable. Azzurra stepped forward, drawn by the glow of the crucible where the small grains of gold were beginning to lose their solid form. Under the action of the blue flame, guided by the goldsmith's steady hand, the metal did not merely melt; it seemed to dance. It was a drop of liquid sun rotating upon itself, expelling the last traces of that opaque gray that had once been poison and suffering.
"Look closely," Alfio murmured, his Catanese accent deepening into something resembling a magical chant. "U chiommu è svanitu. (The lead is gone). What you see now is only the light that remains when the pain has finished burning."
With a millimeter precision that contrasted with his stout and ruddy figure, Alfio took Belinda's Eye of Horus. With a swift and sure motion, he set two drops of molten gold directly into the pupils of the Egyptian symbol. The result was instantaneous: the gaze of the amulet seemed to ignite, shifting from a metallic fixity to an almost human depth. It was as if the eye now saw not only the visible world, but also the invisible currents that bound London to Sicily.
Then, the artisan dedicated himself to the pendant for Azzurra. He used the remaining portion of the metal to create a small solar disk, inside of which he inserted a fragment of the Shimmy doll's purple silk, preserved under a wafer-thin layer of transparent resin. It was a piece of jewelry that encapsulated their entire odyssey: the color of mystery, the fabric of sacrifice, and the gold of victory.
When Alfio immersed the finished pieces in water to temper them, the hiss of the steam sounded like the final breath of that leaden creature that had haunted them. Belinda slipped the chain around her neck and instantly felt a warmth radiate from her chest throughout her entire body. It was not just a thermal sensation; it was the perception of a spiritual armor locking into place.
Leaving the workshop, the midday sun of Messina overwhelmed them. The light bounced off the white marble of the Orion Fountain and the facades of the reconstructed palazzos. Belinda looked at Azzurra, who was clutching her new amulet with trembling fingers. "Azzurra, do you still feel that weight?" Belinda asked, caressing her face. The young girl shook her head, a radiant smile illuminating her pale face. "No, Mama. I only feel that my feet are bound to the earth, but my head is in the wind. It is as if I have become a bridge."
They strolled toward the waterfront, where ships cut through the Strait, creating trails of white foam. Elia walked a step behind, watching his women. That alchemical secret, that lead turned to gold, was now part of their family DNA. He knew they would never tell anyone the truth about Mastro Alfio or Shimmy's silk, but he also knew that from that day forward, the word "illness" would never sound the same in their home.
The air of the Strait carried with it the scent of salt and freedom. Belinda took a deep breath, filling her lungs without feeling that old sting that used to take her breath away. The cycle was truly complete. London was a distant memory, Erica was an invisible ally, and Sicily had become the crucible where lead had surrendered to grace. Life, in its purest and most precious form, began again from that pier, under the sun that would never again stop shining for them.