The sun rose and set over the jagged peaks of Orestes with a relentless, rhythmic certainty. For the citizens of the Orestes, time was measured in the weight of the ore brought up from the deep mines. But for Aster, Astra, and Elian, time was now a dwindling resource.
With only five days remaining until the Great Performance, the training had moved from the high-altitude peaks back to the heart of the city. Elian's voice had transformed. It was no longer the thin, wavering reed of a frightened orphan; it had become a sharp, piercing gale. Under Aster's technical direction and Astra's emotional guidance, the boy had learned to "anchor" his mana into the bedrock.
"You aren't just singing to the people," Astra would remind him during their evening sessions. "You are singing for yourself. If you didn't like it yourself, then people won't like it either."
***
On the morning of the fifth day, the grand opening of the "Snowflakes Musical Store" took place.
Located in the Upper Tier's merchant district—ironically placed between a heavy-duty tool smithy and a refinery office—the store was a shimmering anomaly. Aster had used his own personal funds to renovate the space. The exterior was made of polished white quartz that stood out like a sore thumb against the soot-stained basalt of the surrounding buildings. Above the door, a sign made of enchanted glass pulsed with a soft, blue light: THE SNOWFLAKE MUSICAL EMPORIUM.
Inside, the store was a marvel of Wynfall elegance. Rows of "Harmonic Players"—small, crystal-encrusted devices that could play recorded melodies—sat on velvet cushions. There were Sound Stones of varying quality, some containing the gentle lullabies of the valley, others containing the upbeat rhythms. King Boron himself had arrived for the ribbon-cutting, flanked by his stern advisors. He looked at the shimmering crystals and the delicate instruments with a look of profound skepticism.
"A pretty cave you've built here, Prince Aster," Boron rumbled, his voice echoing in the small shop. "But my people do not buy 'pretty.' They buy things that last. They buy things that serve a purpose."
"A soul that is fed with beauty lasts longer than one that is starved, Your Majesty," Aster replied, his voice calm and professional.
The King let out a dry, short laugh. "We shall see. I have given you the permit, but the market is the ultimate judge. If these shelves are still full when the Performance is over, you lose more than just a wager. You lose the contract and mainly my respect for you."
As the doors opened to the public, the result was exactly what the King had predicted.
Miners in their heavy leather aprons walked past the shop, casting suspicious glances at the glowing blue sign. A few stepped inside out of curiosity, but when they saw the prices—and realized the "tools" inside couldn't crack a single rock—they walked out shaking their heads.
"Twenty gold for a stone that whistles?" one miner scoffed. "I can get a new pickaxe and a week's worth of ale for that. These valley-folk think we're fools."
By midday, the sales ledger was almost entirely blank. Only a few lower-level nobles, eager to curry favor with the visiting royals, had purchased small trinkets. Aster stood behind the counter, his expression unreadable, watching the street through the quartz window.
"Aster... the sales are really low," Astra whispered, standing beside him. "The King is watching from the balcony of the refinery office. He looks like he's already celebrating his victory."
"Let him," Aster said, a sharp glint in his eyes. "He's thinking like a politician. He thinks people buy music based on utility. They don't. They buy music based on need. Right now, they don't think they need it. They haven't felt the hunger yet."
***
Princess Lumine became a frequent visitor during these slow days. She would skip into the store, her pink hair a bright spark of energy in the quiet shop, and sit on the counter, swinging her legs.
"Don't mind them," Lumine told Elian, who was practicing his breathing in the back room. "The people here are like the iron they mine. You have to heat them up before you can shape them. Right now, they're cold. But once they see the stage... once they hear what we've been working on... they'll melt."
Lumine had become an unofficial member of their team. She had even convinced Sir Korg to stand guard outside the shop. The sight of the First Sentry guarding a "toy shop" was enough to keep the rowdier miners from mocking the store openly, but it didn't help the sales.
Between visits, the four of them—Aster, Astra, Lumine, and Elian—spent their time at the construction site.
***
The stage was being built in the Great Plaza, an open space near the Arena where the King held his military reviews. It was a massive undertaking. Aster had redesigned the blueprints three times, driving the Orestian engineers to the brink of madness.
The stage was shaped like a giant, parabolic "Resonance Shell." It wasn't just wood and nails; it was an instrument in its own right.
"The back wall must be curved at exactly twenty-two degrees," Aster had instructed Grundel, the lead engineer. "And I want the floorboards to be layered with thin sheets of copper. We need the electrical conductivity to sync with the mana-crystals."
"It's a stage, not a siege engine, boy!" Grundel had roared. But he had followed the instructions.
As the structure took shape, it began to draw a different kind of attention. It was a strange, beautiful thing—a white-and-gold shell rising out of the grey stone. At first, the citizens ignored it, but then the rumors began to shift.
"Did you hear?" a woman at the market whispered. "It's not just the foreigners performing. They've taken one of our own. A boy from the Slums."
"The little orphan who used to sing at the fountain?" her husband asked. "They say the Prince has been training him to be a great singer. They say he's also improving everyday."
The curiosity was a small flame, but it was growing. In a land where "strength" was the only currency, the idea of an Orestian boy standing on a royal stage was a powerful hook.
***
In the privacy of their palace suite at night, Astra watched her brother. Aster was constantly tinkering with a "Master Control Stone"—a massive, multi-faceted crystal that would act as the "mixer" for the entire concert.
He's working himself to exhaustion, Astra thought, her heart heavy with a secret she still couldn't share. He acts like he's lived through a hundred failed shows. He knows exactly how to manipulate the crowd's expectations. Where did he learn to be so... cynical, yet so hopeful?
She remembered her brother from her previous life. He had been a dreamer, too. He had always tried to make her laugh when the hospital room was too quiet. Seeing Aster's back as he hunched over his work, she felt a surge of protectiveness.
"Aster," she said softly, walking over and placing a hand on his shoulder. "You should sleep. The store's failure today... it doesn't mean that we have lost."
Aster looked up, his eyes bloodshot but glowing with a strange fervor. "The store's failure today was a necessity, Astra. If we had been successful immediately, the King would have found a way to tax us or shut us down before the festival. He thinks he's already won. He's relaxed. That's exactly where I want him."
He turned back to the crystal. "And the sales? They'll come. People don't buy the record until they've heard the anthem. We're not selling stones, Astra. We're selling an experience they didn't know they were allowed to have."
***
By the third day before the Big day, the atmosphere in the city was electric with a localized tension. The "Snowflakes Musical Store" remained largely empty of customers, but it was no longer ignored. People would stop and stare at the instruments through the window, their faces filled with a mix of longing and confusion.
Elian, meanwhile, was undergoing his final "rehearsal of the heart."
Aster had taken him to the Arena, the place where the concert would be held. The space was vast, capable of holding twenty thousand people. Standing on the empty stage, Elian looked small—tiny against the backdrop of the massive stone pillars.
"Look at the top row," Aster commanded, pointing to the very edge of the Arena's rim. "There will be a miner there who has just finished a twelve-hour shift. His hands will be bleeding, and his back will be breaking. He won't care about your 'technique.' He won't care about your Wind Magic."
Aster stepped closer to the boy. "He will only care if you can tell him that his struggle matters. If you can make him feel like his heartbeat is also a melody, then you've won."
Elian nodded, his jaw set. "I'm not afraid of them anymore, Aster. I used to think the mountain was a cage. Now I know it's more than that."
Lumine, watching from the wings with Astra, wiped a stray tear from her eye. "He's going to do it. My father has no idea what's coming. He thought he's getting a trade contract, before you arrived; he doesn't realize he's getting a revolution.
***
As the final sun set before the two-day countdown, the "Snowflakes" team stood together on the balcony of the Palace. Below them, the city was quiet, but the lights of the refineries glowed like embers.
Aster looked at the ledger of the store—still mostly zeros. He looked at the massive stage in the plaza—still silent. He looked at his sister, his friend, and the boy he had trained.
"Five days ago, they laughed at us," Aster said, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to vibrate in the air. "Four days ago, they ignored us. Three days ago, they began to wonder."
He held up the Master Control Stone, which pulsed with a deep, rhythmic light.
"Tomorrow, we do the final sound check. And on the night of the Moon-Feast, we give this kingdom a voice."
The silence of Orestes was about to be shattered. Not by the hammer, and not by the pick—but by a melody that had been forged in the wind and tempered by the heart of an orphan.
The "Prince's Wager" was no longer about stones and gold. It was about proving that even in a world of iron, the soul could still sing.
***
Status Report: 3 Days Until Moon-Feast
Store Sales: 2% of Target (Critical)
Public Interest: 45% (Rising)
Elian's Stability: 75% (Almost there)