The night had been unlike any other in the history of Orestes. As the moon hung high over the jagged, obsidian peaks, a low, haunting hum began to seep through the thick stone walls of every home. It flowed from the lowliest miner's shack in the soot-stained valleys to the highest noble's villa in the Upper Tier.
It was a melody that didn't come from the streets or the palace musicians; it seemed to vibrate out of the very bedrock of the mountain. It was the "Song of the Sentry," a sequence of harmonic patterns Aster had meticulously programmed into the Raze Harmonic Player. It wasn't loud enough to wake a light sleeper, but it was persistent—a deep, resonant cello-like vibration that harmonized with the natural frequency of the mountain's heartbeat.
The people of Orestes, accustomed to the rhythmic, bone-jarring thumping of industrial hammers and the constant, angry hiss of steam, found themselves waking in the middle of the night. They didn't wake in alarm, but in a state of profound wonder. They slept on it, the music weaving into their dreams, turning nightmares of collapsing tunnels into visions of open skies.
By the time the sun began to peek over the obsidian spires, the entire nation was gripped by a single, burning question that superseded the day's production quotas: Where is that music coming from?
***
The morning was barely an hour old when a squad of the Royal Guard, clad in their heavy, clanking plate armor, arrived at the twins' guest wing. The message was silent but clear. Aster was summoned immediately to the throne room.
King Boron sat upon his throne of reinforced iron, his massive hands gripping the armrests so tightly the metal groaned. Beside him, his high-ranking advisors were whispering frantically, And curios about the music they couldn't explain. The air in the throne room was thick with a tension that felt heavier than the mountain itself.
"Prince Aster," the King boomed, his voice echoing like a rockslide. "Explain this. Now."
Aster stood in the center of the vast hall, appearing perfectly composed, almost leisurely. He had expected this. He didn't bow out of fear; he simply met the King's gaze with a calm, steady intensity that made the older man narrow his eyes.
"To what are you referring, Your Majesty?" Aster asked, his voice smooth as polished marble.
"Do not play games with me, boy!" Boron roared. "My scouts report that the sound—this... this ghost-music—is radiating from the Sentry's Crown. The sacred peak! The High Priests are in a frenzy, claiming the spirits of the first miners are restless. But I am not a superstitious fool. I know this has your scent all over it. What did you do to my mountain? Did you plant explosives? Forbidden artifacts?"
Aster smiled, a small, enigmatic curve of his lips. "I did nothing to damage your mountain, King Boron. I simply gave it a voice. As for the 'how' and the 'what'..." Aster took a step forward, his silver hair catching the morning light streaming through the high windows. "I recall our agreement quite clearly. You gave me one week to prove the power of music. You promised me that within that week, I had the freedom to operate as I saw fit to prepare for the Moon-Feast performance."
The King slammed a fist onto the arm of his throne. "I didn't give you permission to haunt my kingdom! My subjects are stopped in the streets! They are looking at the sky instead of their workbenches! Production is down three percent this morning because people are too busy listening to the music!"
"And isn't that a change worth investigating?" Aster countered subtly, his voice gaining a touch of steel. "For the first time in generations, your people are looking up instead of down. They are curious. They are awake. You promised me this week, King Boron. You gave me your word as a Sovereign. I will explain every detail of my methods once the week is over. But until then, I ask that you honor your promise. Do not ask me to reveal my secrets until the final note of the performance has been played tomorrow night."
The silence that followed was suffocating. King Boron ground his teeth, the metal of his gauntlets creaking. He hated being outmaneuvered, especially by a child who hadn't even reached his first second decade. But the Orestian code of honor was the foundation of their civilization—it was as rigid as the iron they mined. A promise made was a debt that must be paid.
"Fine," Boron growled, leaning back, his eyes burning with a mix of fury and reluctant respect. "You have your silence until tomorrow night. But be warned, Prince—if this 'music' causes a riot or halts production in the Great Mine, your week will end early in a dungeon. And your 'Snowflakes' will be melted down to nothing."
"I accept those terms," Aster said with a sharp, graceful nod. "I look forward to seeing you in the front row tomorrow."
***
Returning to the training Room, Aster found Elian waiting near the fountain. The boy looked energized, but his eyes were wide with a mix of awe and terror. The low hum of the mountain seemed to have given him a new kind of confidence, as if the earth itself was now his backing choir.
Aster didn't push him hard today. He knew the importance of the "Peak Performance" curve. "We will only train for a few hours, Elian. Your technique is locked in. Your resonance is stable. Now, we just need to ensure your stamina is at its peak."
They ran through the most difficult transitions of "The Voice of the Peaks," the song Aster had written to harmonize specifically with the frequency currently being broadcast from the mountain. Every time Elian hit a high note, the Raze unit in the distance seemed to vibrate in sympathy, creating a hauntingly beautiful double-layered sound.
"That's enough," Aster said, stopping him mid-verse. He stepped forward and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Go to your room. Astra has prepared a herbal tea from Wynfall's royal gardens; it will coat your throat and prevent any inflammation. From this moment on, you are on absolute vocal rest. Do not speak a single word—not a whisper, not a hum—until we are on that stage tomorrow. Your vocal cords must be like a coiled spring. Understood?"
Elian gave a firm, determined nod. He didn't even say "yes." He scurried off toward the guest wing, his eyes bright with the realization that he was the center of a national mystery.
***
Shortly after noon, Princess Lumine arrived. She looked remarkably refreshed after her restorative sleep, though there was a new, secret bond in the way she looked at Aster—a shared memory of the sky that no one else could understand.
"You should hear them in the markets, Aster!" she laughed, sitting on the edge of a stone bench, swinging her legs like a common girl instead of royalty. "The whole nation is hearing the songs now. Even in the low hum, they can pick out the melodies. Everyone is talking about you and Astra. They call you the 'Silver Ghosts' who brought the mountain to life."
"And what are they saying about the concert?" Astra asked, joining them with a tray of light refreshments.
"They're terrified of missing it," Lumine replied, her voice softening. "My father's officials are being mobbed for tickets. People who haven't left their districts in years are planning to walk to the Great Plaza tonight just to be there when the sun goes down. You've done it, Aster. You've turned apathy into obsession in less than twenty-four hours. because now, the whole nation is dying to know the secret behind how they are hearing the music"
"Obsession is a double-edged sword," Aster noted, looking toward the distant peak. "They expect a miracle now. If we don't give them one, their disappointment will be twice as violent as their curiosity."
***
As the afternoon light faded into a deep, industrial amber, Aster and Astra walked together to the Great Arena. It was a massive, open-air structure built into a natural bowl of rock. Normally used for military displays and strength competitions, it felt cold and imposing.
Aster spent the next few hours walking the stage, his eyes scanning every inch of the structure. He checked the hidden resonance stones he had embedded in the parabolic shell to ensure the sound wouldn't just be heard, but felt in the audience's chests. He tested the mana-cables that connected the stage's lighting array to magic stones stored nearby for the mana, ensuring there would be no lighting issues during the performance.
Astra stood in the center of the stage, her hand trailing over the sleek, crystalline piano Aster had designed for her. She looked up at the Sentry's Crown, which was now glowing with a faint, ghostly luminescence in the twilight.
"It feels different today, doesn't it?" Astra whispered. "The air... it feels heavy. Like the whole city is holding its breath."
"The whole country is thinking about the music, Astra," Aster said, walking up to stand beside her. He looked out over the twenty thousand empty seats, imagining them filled with soot-covered miners and stern nobles. "Tomorrow, this arena won't be a cold bowl of stone. It will be a pressure cooker. And when Elian opens his mouth, we're going to blow the lid off this kingdom."
Astra smiled, leaning her head against her brother's shoulder. "I was scared when we first got here. I thought Orestes was too hard to impress, maybe even you can't achieve anything here, But now I see that you always have a plan for everything"
"Everything has a breaking point, Astra," Aster replied, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the first stars were appearing. "Even iron. You just have to know when to strike after heating it."
The low hum of the mountain continued to pulse—a steady, rhythmic heartbeat that reminded every citizen of Orestes that something impossible was coming. The stage was set. The mystery was at its peak. Tomorrow, the Snowflakes would either melt under the weight of a nation's expectations or turn the mountain itself into a masterpiece.
***