THE FORGOTTEN MELODY

The palace corridors were quieter than usual. Morning had just broken over the shadowed underworld, and most of the castle was still cloaked in that cold twilight stillness. Velma walked with care, her hands folded in front of her, head bowed low. Her thoughts were in a hundred places—Lucian's warning, her approaching escape, Evelyn's heartbreak. And Daniel.

Always Daniel.

Her feet stopped just outside Azarel's chamber. The door wasn't fully closed. From the gap, a sound floated out, so hauntingly familiar that her breath hitched in her throat.

A melody.

The keys of a piano pressed slowly, gently, deliberately—each note filled with something... deeper. Soulful. Fragile.

Her eyes widened.

It was the lullaby.

The lullaby she used to hum on rainy nights when Daniel couldn't sleep. She had never heard it anywhere else. Never taught it to anyone.

And now… Azarel was playing it.

She pressed herself quietly against the stone wall, heart pounding. Every note sent goosebumps over her arms. The song was slow and delicate, played with precision and longing—as if someone trying to remember a dream that kept slipping through their fingers.

After a minute, silence followed. She composed herself, pushed open the door with her shoulder, and stepped inside with a silver tray of tea.

Azarel was seated at the large obsidian piano, his fingers resting on the keys. His eyes, usually sharp and cold, looked… lost.

He turned to her slowly. There was something in his face she hadn't seen before. A vulnerability that wasn't there yesterday.

"You heard it, didn't you?" he asked.

Velma placed the tea on the low table and bowed. "Heard what, my lord?"

"That tune," he said, eyes drifting back to the piano. "It just… came to me. I don't know where I learned it."

Velma kept her voice calm. "Perhaps something from your childhood?"

He shook his head. "No. I didn't have a childhood."

A long pause.

Then, almost absentmindedly:

"You… look like someone I used to know."

Velma froze.

Azarel turned toward her fully. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was intense.

"Your scent… it reminds me of… something."

He rose from the piano and took a few steps forward. Velma's knees nearly buckled, but she held her composure.

"Forget it," he said finally, waving it off. "It's probably nothing. Just another dream I'll lose when I wake."

Velma bowed again, whispering, "Yes, my lord."

She turned quickly and exited the room.

But her heart was on fire.

---

Later that evening, she found herself in Lucian's chamber once more.

"You won't believe what happened," she said, pacing the stone floor.

Lucian looked up from the scroll he was reviewing. "What now?"

"He was playing the lullaby. Our lullaby. The one only Daniel and I knew."

Lucian's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

"Lucian, I swear," she said. "He played it perfectly. And he said my scent felt familiar. That I looked like someone he used to know."

Lucian leaned back slowly, brow furrowed. "That's… impossible."

"Why?" she asked, stepping closer. "What if his memories are trying to come back?"

"Even if they are," Lucian said cautiously, "he's surrounded by demons, and bound by centuries of underworld magic. Any hint of humanity, any connection to the past, it gets buried again almost instantly."

"But what if we help it resurface?" Velma asked.

Lucian stood and walked to the window. "Velma, I told you. We have two days. If he starts remembering… fine. But we can't risk your life for a memory."

She looked down. "But he was almost there. I saw it. Felt it."

Lucian sighed. "I believe you. But we can't count on it."

Silence settled between them.

Then Lucian said, softly, "We're still getting you out of here. No matter what."

Velma nodded. "I know. But I'm going to try. Just in case… he can find his way back."

As she prepared to leave the chamber, Velma stopped at the door and looked back at Lucian.

"By the way," she said. "Evelyn told me something."

Lucian tilted his head, wary. "What did she say?"

"She said you told her you liked her. But that you couldn't be with her."

Lucian's expression hardened slightly. "That's true."

Velma gave him a long look, one that wasn't just curious—but challenging.

"I'm not trying to force you into anything, Lucian," she said. "But let me tell you something. If she stops chasing after you, you'll start chasing after her. And it'll be harder for you to admit it. I know you've trained yourself to live and breathe for Azarel. But you have a life too."

Lucian didn't respond. He looked down at his hands instead.

"She's a good girl," Velma added softly. "And she really cares about you. Don't make her regret that."

With that, she stepped out of the chamber and closed the door quietly behind her.

Lucian stood in the silence that followed.

Her words echoed in his mind: You have a life too.

He sat slowly back in his chair, gazing at the half-drunk tea she'd left behind. He didn't sip it. Didn't move.

He just sat there.

Thinking.

---

That night, Azarel sat alone in the grand chamber, the moonlight casting silver streaks across the black marble floor.

He sat at the piano once again.

He placed his fingers on the keys.

And he began to play.

Softly. Gently. Dreamily.

As he played, his eyes closed again.

The music floated like whispers in the dark.

And then—

He whispered a name under his breath.

"Velma."