A full year had slipped by since the queen's decree sliced their budget in half. Aster and Astra Wynfall had turned eight years old—still royal children by blood, yet their daily lives bore little resemblance to the gilded existence of palace heirs.
The Wynfall mansion, once bustling with servants and abundant supplies, had grown quieter. The monthly allowance from the palace fell far below even the modest standard for a concubine's residence. Beloved maids were dismissed with tearful goodbyes and generous severance. Meals simplified: fresh fruits became seasonal treats, elaborate dishes gave way to hearty but plain stews and breads. Practice rooms, once stocked with premium mana stones, now relied on careful rationing.
Yet Aster never once complained.
Instead, he worked.
Every single day.
In that year, he accomplished something no mage, scholar, noble, or royal in the kingdom's long history had ever imagined: he invented recorded sound.
***
The spark ignited in the afterglow of Arlienne's birthday celebration.
For weeks afterward, people flooded the mansion gates with letters. Children sent clumsy drawings of the twins on stage. Merchants offered free goods in gratitude. Strangers begged for encores—any chance to hear those voices again. Street performers attempted clumsy imitations of the new rhythms, drawing small crowds of their own.
Aster read every letter, listened to every story relayed by the remaining staff.
One evening, as he and Astra practiced harmonies in the sunlit music room, he paused mid-note.
"I can't sing everywhere at once," he murmured, more to himself than her. "I can't be in every plaza, every home, every heart that wants music."
Astra tilted her head. "But… we can visit more places?"
He shook his head, silver eyes distant with thought. "No. Sound can."
The idea crystallized: capture their voices, their melodies, their magic—and let it travel without them.
He sought out Madam Elira—the shrewd dress merchant who had orchestrated the food rescue during the birthday feast and become a quiet ally.
She found him waiting outside her shop one crisp morning, hands clasped behind his back, expression serious beyond his years.
"I have an idea," he said without preamble. "But I need magic stone engineers. Do you know any?"
Elira arched a brow, amusement flickering. "Engineers? Little prince, what scheme are you brewing now?"
Aster leaned closer and whispered, "I want to record sound inside magic stones. Store a voice, a song—and play it back whenever someone wants."
She stared for five full seconds.
Then burst into laughter, clutching her sides. "Record sound? Like trapping a melody in a jar? Child, that's impossible!"
Aster simply smiled—quiet, unwavering certainty in his silver eyes.
"Not yet."
Something in his expression—the calm confidence of someone who had already seen the impossible become real—made her laughter fade.
She studied him for a long moment.
Eventually, she sighed. "Alright. I'll introduce you to a few. But if you shock me again like you did with that plaza madness, I swear I'll start charging consultation fees."
***
Working alongside seasoned magic stone engineers at age eight was absurd on its face.
Yet Aster grasped concepts that left the adults baffled.
He spoke of frequencies as casually as weather. Explained resonance with simple demonstrations—tapping glasses of water to produce tones, showing how vibrations traveled through air and solid alike. Drew diagrams of wave patterns on scraps of parchment, referencing principles no textbook in Vornis contained.
Because he remembered Earth.
Physics classes. Music production software. Microphones and speakers. The science behind sound, fused now with the intuitive flow of Sound Magic.
The engineers—initially skeptical of collaborating with a child—soon found themselves scrambling to keep up.
They tested hundreds of stones in a rented workshop on the capital's edge.
Crystals shattered under unstable mana surges.
Some overheated and melted.
One prototype, when Astra excitedly sang a high note during testing, exploded in a harmless puff of pink smoke that left everyone coughing and laughing.
Failures piled up.
But Aster treated each as data, adjusting rune patterns, mana infusion rates, storage matrices.
Months passed in a blur of late nights, ink-stained fingers, and quiet triumphs.
Then, one rainy afternoon, he held a palm-sized crystal that shimmered with stable, soft mana.
"Ready?" he asked the room.
Astra nodded eagerly. The engineers leaned forward. Elira crossed her arms, trying to hide her anticipation.
Aster sang a short, familiar melody—the lullaby Arlienne often hummed.
Runes etched into the stone glowed gently, absorbing the sound waves like a sponge drinking water.
He stopped.
Tapped the activation rune.
The melody played back—perfectly clear, perfectly his voice.
The room fell silent.
An engineer dropped his stylus.
Elira's basket of fabric samples slipped from her fingers.
Astra gasped, clapping hands over her mouth. "Aster… that's you! Inside the stone! Exactly you!"
Aster's grin split wide, exhaustion forgotten.
"We did it."
They had created Sound Storage Magic Stones:
- Palm-sized, durable crystals.
- Capable of recording several minutes of audio.
- Reusable with a simple mana reset.
- Affordable to produce in batches once the process was refined.
A revolutionary invention that would soon ripple through every corner of Vornis's magic industry.
Aster didn't yet grasp how profoundly.
***
When Arlienne first heard the playback, she stood frozen in the workshop doorway.
"You… made this?" she asked softly, holding the warm stone as if it might vanish. "At eight years old?"
Aster scratched his cheek sheepishly. "I had a lot of help."
Elira, hands on hips, snorted. "Help? Yes, we followed instructions. But this?" She tapped his forehead gently. "This impossible idea came from here. I've lived fifty years and never dreamed of trapping music in crystal."
Arlienne studied her son more closely.
His intelligence—far beyond his years.
His creativity—drawing from places she couldn't name.
His perfect recall of complex patterns.
His voice—already carrying nuances no child should possess.
"He's too smart," she murmured later to Elira, pride and a mother's quiet worry mingling. "Too unusual."
But fear never took root.
Only fierce pride.
"Aster," she said that night, tucking him and Astra into bed, "if this path brings you joy—if sharing music this way is your dream—then I will support you with everything I have."
Aster's heart swelled.
"Thank you, Mama."
Astra hugged her tightly from the other side. "We'll work hard—together! Always!"
Arlienne kissed both foreheads, eyes shining.
"My miracles."
***
With the stones perfected, Aster moved to the next phase.
He drafted announcements—carefully worded, exciting without arrogance—and had them printed as magical newspapers inserts and colorful posters plastered across the kingdom.
THE TWINS' FIRST OFFICIAL CONCERT — OPEN TO ALL
Location: Royal Capital Central Plaza
Date: One Month Hence
Entrance: Completely Free
Special: Premiere of Revolutionary Sound Storage Stones Available for Purchase
Hosted by Prince Aster Wynfall & Princess Astra Wynfall
The kingdom erupted.
"Concert? What new word is this?"
"The singing twins performing again?"
"Free? For commoners?"
"Sound storage stones? Like the rumors?"
Posters appeared on every tavern door, every market board, every village square.
Merchants spread word along trade routes.
Children practiced "concert" like a magical incantation.
Aster and Astra practiced relentlessly.
New harmonies refined to crystalline perfection.
Original songs composed—Aster channeling passions from two lifetimes into lyrics about hope, love, discovery.
Rehearsals stretched late into nights, voices blending until they became one instrument.
This wasn't a private tribute or spontaneous celebration.
This was deliberate.
Public.
For the entire nation.
And they were ready.
***
The day arrived under clear spring skies.
The capital transformed.
The central plaza—already vast—overflowed. Guards closed surrounding streets hours early, directing rivers of people into orderly queues. Estimates later claimed over fifty thousand attended, with countless more listening from nearby rooftops and alleys.
Stalls ringed the edges: snacks, glowing lanterns, handmade souvenirs. Prototype sound stones were displayed on velvet—demonstrations drawing gasps as recorded snippets played.
The stage stood magnificent: reinforced wood draped in flowing blue and white silk, amplification arrays ringing the perimeter like a crown of crystal.
People arrived from dawn.
Some traveled days from distant towns.
Families spread blankets.
Friends shared food.
Children waved hand-painted signs: "We Love Aster & Astra!" "Play the Fast Words Again!"
Gifts piled backstage: flowers, letters, carved wooden instruments, embroidered handkerchiefs.
Aster peeked through the curtain, breath catching at the endless sea of faces.
"Wow…" Astra whispered, clutching his sleeve. "So many…"
He wasn't nervous.
Excitement thrummed in his veins like mana before a spell.
This was the first true step.
Not just singing.
Spreading music to a world starved of it.
He turned, offering his hand.
"Ready?"
She squeezed tightly.
"Always."
***
Over the past year, life at Wynfall mansion had settled into a new rhythm.
Quieter—fewer palace messengers, fewer luxuries, fewer illusions of royal favor.
Richer—filled with music, invention, and bonds forged in the plaza's lantern light.
Seraphine and Lyria visited often, sneaking away from palace duties with baskets of books, sweets, and court gossip. Seraphine braided Astra's hair while Lyria challenged Aster to mana control games. Their laughter lifted Arlienne's spirits like sunlight through clouds.
The brothers—Leon and Varus—appeared rarely. Polite nods, brief words. Distant in a way that carried quiet sadness, as if invisible walls separated blood.
The king visited twice. Conversations careful, gifts generous but impersonal. His eyes lingered on the children with unspoken regret, as though approaching closer might shatter fragile peace with the queen.
***
News of the concert reached the palace like wildfire.
Courtiers gossiped in hushed clusters.
"Royal children performing publicly?"
"Unprecedented."
"Scandalous."
The queen raged.
Porcelain shattered against marble. Maids flinched as she paced, one hand resting on her rounding belly—pregnant again, mood volatile.
"Insolence!" she shrieked. "Royal blood singing for peasants like common bards!"
Three furious letters arrived at Wynfall mansion, demanding cancellation.
Arlienne's reply—identical each time, written in her elegant hand:
"I want my children to do what makes them happy."
The queen's face purpled. Physicians hovered.
As her pregnancy advanced, fury simmered into cold calculation.
She stopped writing.
Perhaps exhaustion.
Perhaps distraction.
Perhaps a deeper scheme.
Nobles suggested sending palace guards, decor, even musicians to "elevate" the event and save face.
Arlienne refused politely each offer.
"We have all we need. This is their achievement—theirs and the people's."
Even the king's quiet attendants were turned away at the gate.
Her voice remained gentle.
Her resolve, iron.
***
Concert day transformed the capital.
Banners fluttered from rooftops in blue and white.
Mana lamps glowed softly even in daylight, cycling colors like celebratory signals.
Streets brimmed with vendors selling commemorative ribbons, toy flutes, painted stones.
Children dashed about with pale-blue hair ribbons, declaring themselves "Astra's Fans."
Travelers from provinces swelled the crowds.
Never had a non-festival event drawn such anticipation.
Backstage, Aster adjusted his sky-blue tunic. Astra fidgeted with her ribbon for the twentieth time.
"Nervous?" he asked.
"A little," she admitted.
"Good. Means we're serious."
Arlienne placed hands on their shoulders.
"You've already made me prouder than any mother could dream. Today, share your light. The world is ready."
Seraphine poked through the curtain, eyes wide. "The crowd is enormous! I've never seen anything like it!"
Lyria bounced behind her. "They're chanting your names already!"
Aster hugged his mother. Astra clung to her arm.
Then—showtime.
Some nobles attended incognito, cloaks pulled low, unable to resist curiosity.
They found no reserved seats—only standing room at the edges.
"Look at this turnout…"
"Absurd."
"Why didn't the queen stop it?"
"She tried."
"The people… they're genuinely excited."
"Is this good or bad for the crown?"
"I can't tell anymore."
In the palace, the queen sat rigid on her throne, fanning furiously.
"This spectacle will end in disaster," she muttered.
The king—observing quietly from beside her—simply said:
"…Let's see what the children can do."
***
Backstage one final time.
Aster peeked out.
Endless faces. Waving signs. Floating lanterns. Mana sparkling in excited bursts.
His heart raced—not fear, but exhilaration.
A year of work.
A year of dreaming.
This was it.
He turned to Astra.
"You ready?"
She nodded firmly.
"Let's shine."
Hand in hand, they stepped onto the stage.
A tidal wave of cheers crashed over them—deafening, joyous, alive.
"Aster!"
"Astra!"
"The twins!"
"Sing for us!"
"We love you!"
The air itself seemed to shimmer with collective mana.
Amplification stones hummed awake.
Aster's silver eyes glowed under the spotlight.
He raised both hands for quiet—which fell almost instantly, reverent.
"Thank you for coming!" His voice rang clear across the plaza and beyond. "Today is historic—for Vornis, for Sound Magic, for all of us!"
Astra stepped forward, waving.
"Please enjoy our first official concert!"
The response shook the stage.
Aster and Astra exchanged one final glance.
A nod.
A shared smile.
Then Aster raised his hand.
Mana surged like sunrise.
The first notes rose—crafted from nothing, perfect and pure.
And the concert that would echo through history…
Finally began.