of creating miracles. You just keep playing, Dany. Never lose hope!”
Dany nodded, holding his violin a little tighter.
And with a sweep of her wings, the Owl vanished into the night, carrying away his dreams – and the silent tears hidden behind his smile.
When the Owl finished her tale, an absolute silence fell over the Tower. Everyone was so moved by the story that no one could utter a word. The Rat stood on her hind legs, her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide with wonder. And the Cat – her yellow eyes glistening with unshed tears.
The silence was broken by the Raven, who flapped his wings with a low, restless croak.
The Queen’s servants began speaking all at once:
“We must help him! Help him! Yes, we must help Dany!”
“But how? Why hasn’t his illness retreated, even though he plays the Moon Melody every night?”
The Queen raised her hand, and at once, the Tower fell into solemn silence. She sat on her throne, gazing out at the sleeping town, deep in thought. Her servants waited patiently, knowing she would find the answer.
At last, the Queen spoke:
“Playing the Moon Melody is not enough – it must be played on the fabled Moonstrings. The magic of Moon strings lies in their ability to grant the wish of the one who plays them.
But these strings are not merely tools of magic. They are a reflection of the human heart. The power of their magic depends on the purity of the soul of the one who plays them. If a person’s heart is filled with kindness and faith, the strings will grant their wish in harmony with the Moon and the stars. But if the strings fall into the hands of someone wicked, their melody will distort reality, turning dreams into shadows and hope into despair.”
The Queen paused, her gaze distant as she recalled a story from long ago:
“Once, many years ago, a man with greed in his heart obtained the Moonstrings. He wished for wealth and power, but his avarice grew so immense that the strings could no longer follow the benevolent will of the Moon. The melody he played destroyed towns, turned friends into enemies, and for a time, plunged the world into silence.
But the Moon did not let the darkness prevail. She hid her strings from the world, entrusting them to the four cardinal directions and placing them under her eternal watch. Since that day, the strings have remained lost to humankind. Only occasionally does the Moon grant someone the chance to find them, but only if their faith and hope are stronger than their fear.
But there is one more condition for the magic of the Moonstrings to take effect,” she continued. “The Moon Melody can only be played on a single, specific violin in the entire town. If the Moonstrings are placed on any other violin, they will melt the moment the bow touches them. That is why many have sought this violin, both the virtuous and the wicked, but its whereabouts remain a mystery, known only to the Moon.”
“But what if Dany’s violin is not the one?” the Owl asked anxiously. “What if the Moonstrings melt, and his dream of walking is lost forever?”
The Queen of the Night was silent for a moment. Then, rising from her throne with a resolute expression, she commanded:
“Summon the Moonstring Catchers!”
“White Owl, child of the polar lights, you shall take flight to the North Catcher. His home lies near the Blue Lake at the edge of the Icy Forest.
Raven, bearer of whispered secrets, your path leads east – to the East Catcher. He dwells by the mysterious river that guards the secrets of time.
Gray Cat, shadow in the moonlight, you will seek the West Catcher. He is a wanderer, a jester, and an adventurer, often found at the “Red Lion’ tavern on the western outskirts of the town, watching the stars fade at dawn.
And you, majestic White Swan, will travel to the blossoming meadow to find the South Catcher. She is a young woman with eyes full of joy and a light step, who plays a harp with blue strings, and whose music fills the air with magic. Now, come closer to me.”
The Swan waddled toward the Queen. She removed her transparent veil and tied it gently around his neck.
“This will help you both on your way here, to this Tower.”
“And what about me?” the Rat asked, her voice tingled slightly in offense. “I want to help Dany too.”
“As for you, my clever little tracker, Grey Rat, a task both vital and perilous awaits. For now, you will remain here watching over the town. Observe everything that happens, and when the night falls, you will report to me.”
“Go now, my faithful ones. When the next night falls, you must all gather here.”
“Your orders will be carried out, Your Majesty!” they said almost in unison. “We will not fail!”
They bowed respectfully to the Queen, then disappeared one by one into the night.
The White Owl spread her wings and flew out the window, merging with the shimmering starlight.
The Raven rose into the air and headed confidently eastward, vanishing into the brightening sky of the fading night.
The Swan unfolded his magnificent wings, circled the Tower once, and glided southward, as though the night wind itself guided him on his path.
The Cat and the Rat slipped into the shadows of the Tower and disappeared among the town’s houses.
Chapter 3. THE TREASURER
In those days, a Treasurer lived in the town. He was an assistant to the burgomaster and knew everything that was happening within its walls. Among the secrets he kept was knowledge of the violin and the strings – yet he never spoke of them to anyone.
The Treasurer dreamed of becoming the burgomaster himself – of seizing control of the town and bending its people to his will. But the burgomaster, who was a kind and fair man, despised the Treasurer for his secrecy and greed, and so kept him away from the town’s most important affairs.
The Treasurer was a gaunt, hunched man, whose very appearance seemed to reflect the state of his soul. His long nose jutted forward, while his small, beady eyes darted about, as if they were trying to steal something with just a glance. His bony hands, with their long, spindly fingers, looked like the legs of a spider – always ready to snatch anything of value.
His attire was proper – yet worn with the passage of time. A long mantle of black cloth draped over his shoulders, worn with an air of self-importance, as if it were the grandest garment in the town. Beneath the mantle, he wore a dark linen tunic – simple but severe, carefully mended where it had worn thin. Over the tunic, he wore a faded velvet doublet, its once-vivid patterns now muted by time, though still whispering of a long-lost grandeur.
Upon his head, he always wore a tall, dark hat with wide brim, adorned with a satin ribbon and a silver brooch. The hat cast a shadow over his face, adding an air of mystery to his already unsettling appearance.
On his feet, the Treasurer wore black shoes with large metal buckles that gleamed as though he polished them each evening. He took pride in this small but significant detail, seeing it as a symbol of his importance.
Around his waist he carried a thick leather belt, from which hung a heavy pouch. Though its contents remained unseen, the faint jingling of coins with every step was a deliberate reminder – one he ensured no one could ignore.
He walked with the aid of cane, its handle carved into the shape of a raven’s head. He often tapped it nervously against the cobblestones, as though contemplating his next cunning plan.
Everything about his appearance spoke of a man who valued money and power above all else.
More than anything in the world,