The necessity for order led Grayfia to convert one of the palace's side wings into Avalon's first Small Claims Court. The environment was austere, featuring long oak tables and the House of Gremory crest carved into the wall. Sirzechs occupied the seat of Sovereign Judge, while Grayfia, with her steel-cold gaze, acted as the Prosecutor of Order and Court Clerk.
The morning began with cases that tested Sirzechs' divine patience. A blacksmith Hollow accused a neighbor of "staring too intensely at his hammer," while Benedict, the baker, sought compensation in coins because a group of new Hollows was practicing "military marching" too close to his greenhouse, causing his soufflés to collapse.
"Lord Sirzechs," Grayfia interrupted, adjusting the reading glasses she had manifested for the sake of bureaucracy, "Clause 42 of the Residential Code is clear: unauthorized rhythmic vibrations exceeding 15 decibels in baking areas are subject to a fine of three silver coins."
Sirzechs sighed, signing the decree.
"Justice be done, Grayfia. But please, tell the guards to march in felt boots next time."
However, the session was suddenly interrupted by a sound Avalon had never heard before. It wasn't the striking of metal or the hiss of magic, but a pure, melancholic, and vibrant melody that seemed to make the very marble of the court resonate. The sound came from the plaza, and the Voice of the World, always attentive to the evolution of consciousness, did not take long to manifest.
«Notice. The individual designated as Hollow Number 28 has reached aesthetic epiphany through harmonic resonance.» «Evolution to Race: Homo-Hollow (Avalon Variant)... Success.» «Naming: Sebastian... Confirmed.» «Skill Acquired: [Soul Polyphony]. Profession: Royal Composer and Maestro.»
Sirzechs and Grayfia stepped out onto the court balcony. In the center of the plaza, a new humanoid emerged from the light. Sebastian possessed a distinct appearance: he was a middle-aged man with the air of a European intellectual, grey hair slicked back, and long, agile hands. As a mark of his race, he had thin plates of white bone surrounding his ears, resembling a sculptural adornment that seemed to catch every vibration in the air. In his arms, he held a cello made of black wood and ivory, manifested by his own will.
Sebastian's music was so powerful that the Hollows who had previously been arguing over coins stopped dead in their tracks, feeling emotions they couldn't even name. But for Avalon's bureaucracy, the birth of an artist meant a new kind of problem.
"Lord Sirzechs," Grayfia said, already preparing a new scroll, "we have an acoustic dilemma. Sebastian's art is sublime, but his constant practice directly conflicts with the silence statutes of Benedict Village. Furthermore, he does not produce immediate consumer goods like bread or clothing. How shall he be integrated into the monetary system?"
Sebastian climbed the court steps and gave an elegant bow; his accent was refined and calm.
"My Sovereign, Lady Grayfia. Music is the architecture of time. Avalon has houses for the body, but it needs a cathedral for the spirit. I request permission to found the Conservatory of Music and the Theater of Avalon."
Sirzechs smiled, enchanted.
"Granted, Sebastian. Beauty is as necessary as bread."
However, the implementation was not simple. The Small Claims Court had to judge its first "Intellectual Property" case when a Hollow tried to whistle Sebastian's melody to attract customers to his fruit stand without paying the required "Author Credits."
Grayfia, imperturbable, created the Cultural Development Tax. Every citizen of Avalon would pay a small fraction of their coins to maintain the Theater, ensuring Sebastian could compose without worrying about hunger. In exchange, Sebastian would have to perform weekly concerts to maintain the morale and sanity of the inhabitants.
By the end of the day, Sirzechs signed the decree to found the Theater. Avalon now had laws, bread, fashion, and finally, a voice. He looked at Grayfia, who was organizing the new files on "Acoustic Pollution vs. Artistic Expression."
"Grayfia, will you ever rest from the paperwork?" he asked, amused.
"When Avalon is perfect, my Lord. And since perfection is a moving horizon, I believe I shall have work for the next thousand years."
Sirzechs laughed, while in the distance, the notes of Sebastian's cello lulled the marble city to sleep, proving that in Avalon, even the chaos of bureaucracy could sound like a symphony.
Time in the Great Forest of Jura flowed differently for those who held eternity in their hands. Three months had passed since the first marble stone was laid under the will of Sirzechs Gremory. What was once an experimental clearing had transformed into what the scouts of other races whispered to be a "White Mirage."
Author's Note for WebNovel:
Avalon is no longer just a village; it's a cultural hub! With the birth of Sebastian, we see that evolution can come from art as much as from labor. But as the "White Mirage" grows, the silent neighbors of the forest—the Goblins and Direwolves—are finally approaching.