Malakai.
That was the only word which was running through his mind halfway through the tragic tale that Siofra was telling them.
The gentle, melancholic melody from the flute continued to drift through the dimly lit living room, enveloping Giovanni in a dreamlike haze. As he sat on the worn sofa the haunting notes seemed to tug at the very fabric of his being, stirring emotions he could not quite place. His fingers instinctively dug into the supple cushion as if grasping for some semblance of reality amidst the spell cast by the music.
The soft, mournful tones reverberated through the air, painting vivid scenes in his mind's eye—scenes of longing, of bittersweet memories, of a deep yearning that he could not quite articulate. Everything around him faded into the background, leaving only him and the captivating melody. He found himself lost in the ebb and flow of the notes, his senses heightened and his heart pounding with a mix of wonder and melancholy.
