The world shifted. One moment, Jack and Reina stood amidst the ethereal glow of the Symphony Garden. The next, they were back on the uneven ground of the Nameless Valley.
The air was cooler here. Thick with the murmur of hundreds of voices. Above them, the floating landmass of the Symphony Garden shimmered.
A hush fell. Heads turned. The crowd, initially scattered, began to converge. A ripple of recognition swept through the assembled transcendent.
Unlike every single participant who had emerged from the garden before, Jack and Reina didn't radiate disappointment. Instead, a subtle aura of enhanced vitality clung to them. Like fresh rain on parched earth.
The freshness was a tangible difference. It could be felt more than seen. But it was unmistakable to those attuned to such energies.
"They did it." Someone whispered. "They actually did it."
The murmur grew into a chorus of excited questions. Within seconds, Jack and Reina were at the center of a rapidly tightening circle. Multitude faces pressed in. Etched with hope, curiosity, and a dash of envy.
"How?" A burly man with a thunderous voice asked excitedly. Pushing past a slender woman clutching a flute. "What did you do differently?"
"Did you find a hidden trick?" Another piped up. A wizened old woman peering over spectacles perched on her nose. "Is there a specific note? A specific rhythm?"
"Which goddess moved?" Demanded a young man. His hands were still trembling from his own failed flute attempt. "Did one goddess react more than the others?"
The questions came thick and fast. A chaotic volley of eager confusion. Jack held up a hand. A gesture that somehow carried an innate authority. The clamor died down. Though the expectant tension remained.
"We don't know how or why." Jack stated. His voice was even. Cutting through the lingering buzz. "There's no hidden trick. No specific note. No secret chant."
He glanced at Reina. Whose expression was a calm mirror of his own. "We played a song. We put our hearts into it. A few statues moved. We got blessed."
A collective groan rippled through the crowd. This wasn't the secret they wanted. They wanted a formula. A cheat sheet.
"That's it?" someone grumbled. "Just 'heart'?"
Jack allowed a hint of sarcasm to creep into his tone. "That's it."
"However..." He continued. Overriding further complaints. "... we can perform the song we played inside. Perhaps it will give you... ideas. Inspiration. Whatever you need to re-evaluate your own approach."
The grumbling ceased. Eyes widened. This was tangible. A direct example.
"Yes! Please!"
"Thank you! Thank you!"
"Give them space!" A voice commanded from the edge of the crowd.
Hands pushed at shoulders. Creating an impromptu clearing in the dusty valley floor. People settled down. Sitting cross-legged or standing in silent anticipation.
Instruments were lowered. Voices hushed. The air crackled with a different kind of energy now. Focused. Eager to study.
Jack sat down and took out his guitar. The finely crafted acoustic instrument he had imbued with minor rune enhancements for projection and clarity.
Reina sat beside him. Her gaze was serene. Her hands clasped loosely before her.
Rune, their mechanical fairy companion, detached from Jack's shoulder. And hovered silently nearby. Tiny steam vents puffing almost invisibly.
Jack strummed a few chords. Rich and melancholic.
Reina took a deep breath. She glanced at Jack. A silent exchange passing between them. A shared understanding of the narrative they were about to weave. Then, her voice, breathy yet clear and pure, filled the valley.
"Who would listen to a silent cry,
Beneath the cold, uncaring sky?
No sunbeam warms, no gentle hand,
Just phantom touch in barren land.
Shadows stretch, they mimic chains,
Whispering fears in the silent rains.
This tired heart, it beats so low,
Where does a forgotten spirit go?
..."
Reina's voice soared, dipped, and curved around the words. Infusing them with a raw vulnerability and a desperate yearning that resonated deeply.
Jack's guitar work was intricate. Weaving a harmony of jazz-infused melancholy beneath her vocals. It built, peaked, then slowly faded. Leaving only the echo of the last, lingering note.
Silence.
For several long, suspended seconds, the valley was utterly still. Even the gentle wind seemed to hold its breath. Jack and Reina sat still. Unmoving. Their gazes swept over the silent crowd.
Then, a single clap broke the spell. Followed by another. And then a thunderous wave of applause. It wasn't just appreciative. It was awed.
Responses varied. A mosaic of stirred emotions and sudden epiphanies.
A grizzled old troubadour nodded slowly. His worn mandolin resting across his knees. "The story." He mumbled in his raspy voice. "It's the story, isn't it? Not just the notes, but the ache woven into them."
He stood. His movements were stiff. He walked away from the main group. Finding a quiet spot. He pulled out a tattered notebook. Scribbling furiously.
His previous attempts had been technically perfect. Full of dazzling arpeggios. But devoid of the quiet sorrow Reina had just poured forth.
A group of four young choristers, acolytes from the Church of Redemption, exchanged wide-eyed glances. Their voices were usually booming with anthems of faith and glory.
"We tried to impress." One said. Her voice was barely a whisper. "To showcase our range. We didn't try to feel."
They broke off into a quiet corner. Humming tentative harmonies. Their usual bravado was replaced by deep introspection.
Barnaby, the old lute player with a gentle smile, simply sat. Tears were welling in his eyes. He hadn't noticed them until they spilled onto his weathered cheeks.
"A lonely girl." He murmured. His gaze was distant. "Dreaming of kindness. Of belonging."
He closed his eyes. His fingers unconsciously traced patterns on his lute. He had failed his earlier attempt. His own composition had been a lively jig. A shallow celebration of rustic life.
Now, he knew it was utterly inadequate. A jolt of fresh inspiration struck him. Not a melancholic chord like Jack and Reina's. Another lively one instead. But no longer shallow. It would be the true manifestation of his life story.
He rose. His steps were surprisingly spry. Heading straight for the line forming at the Satyr Statue. His mind was already reshaping his performance.
Not everyone was moved. A few scoffed. Convinced it was just another fluke.
"All that fuss for a sad song." One dismissive voice grumbled. But it was quickly drowned out by the enthusiastic murmurings of the majority.
The energy had shifted. The atmosphere was no longer one of frustrated competition. But of shared artistic exploration. People scattered.
Some to their instruments. Some to quiet contemplation. Others, like Barnaby, went directly back to the Satyr Statue. Trying to acquire another token. Their faces were reflecting newfound determination.
Hours passed. Night grew darker. The twin moons climbed higher. Jack and Reina, having made their point, retreated to their camp. Observing the transformed valley.
Then, it happened. A soft, golden luminescence erupted from the floating landmass above. It wasn't just a localized glow in the garden. It pulsed outward. A clear beacon visible to everyone below.
Success. Someone had done it.
A roar went up from the crowd. "Another one!"
Jack watched. "Looks like Barnaby had his moment." He commented. Recognizing that it was Barnaby's turn entering the Symphony Garden this time.
Indeed, a few minutes later, an elated Barnaby reappeared from the teleportation point. Clutching his lute tightly. His usually calm face was beaming radiantly.
His entire being seemed to hum with an inner light. A clarity in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He walked with a lighter step. A renewed sense of purpose. When he saw Jack and Reina, he bowed deeply.
"Thank you!" He said. His voice was thick with emotion. "Your song... it opened my eyes. I played not just a tune this time. But also my real feeling and emotion."
"Glad it helped, Buddy!" Jack replied. A genuine smile was gracing his lips.
Before long, another light pulsed from the Symphony Garden. The valley buzzed with renewed vigor. The feeling of possibility was infectious.
The second success came from the group of four choristers. The same ones who had silently re-evaluated their approach. The Divine Acolytes from the Church of Redemption.
They had pooled their talents. Crafting a harmony that spoke of quiet resilience in the face of adversity. A hymn of understated strength instead of booming power.
Their blessing light shone brightly. A worthy reward.
And then, just a few hours before the dawn, the next blessing flared. This time, it was the young woman with a delicate harp. Her fingers had previously flown across the strings with shaky nervousness. Lacking of confidence.
After hearing 'Dream World', she had chosen a lullaby. A piece she had learned from her departed mother. She infused it with every ounce of gratitude and longing she had for her mother. Her simple, heartfelt performance moved the statues.
Each time the light of blessing appeared, it ignited the spark of hope in hundreds of hearts below. The enthusiasm was no longer just a flicker. It was a roaring bonfire.
Musicians and singers who had previously given up were now grabbing their instruments. Practicing their voices.
Those who hadn't even attempted to gain a token were now lining up at the Satyr Statue. Playing their music. Desperate to be part of this transcendental phenomenon.
Morning dawned. Painting the eastern sky in soft pastels. The valley was still awake. Still bustling.
Jack knew the garden was a transient phenomenon. Historically, it would last for about three days before vanishing as mysteriously as it appeared. There was still time for others.
However, the blessing was a unique event. A single individual couldn't receive it twice. No matter how many times they performed. He and Reina had achieved what they came for.
"Time to head back, Love." Jack said. Stretching. His enhanced body felt particularly limber. "Lonestone awaits."