The fever finally broke.
In the week following the Founding Festival, the Royal Academy of Vornis began to breathe again. The corridors, once choked with students trying to catch a glimpse of the "Divine Twins," returned to the usual rhythm of shuffling boots and whispered spells.
The "Snowflake" miracle hadn't been forgotten—it had simply become a part of the academy's new reality. Aster and Astra were no longer just royal students; they were icons, but icons that had to go back to class.
Aster noticed the change on a Tuesday morning. As he walked toward the Magic Theory hall, students still bowed their heads, and some whispered as he passed, but the desperate crowding had ceased. It was a relief, yet it was also a signal.
The novelty was transitioning into a standard. For his goals, this was perfect. A miracle is a one-time event; a standard is a foundation for an industry.
But while the public hysteria calmed, the economic pressure surged behind the scenes.
Inside Aster's private workshop—a reinforced stone room in the west wing of the mansion—the air smelled of ozone, shaved metal, and expensive wood polish. Aster sat at his workbench, a jeweler's loupe pressed to his eye, delicately etching a complex resonance rune into a sliver of silver-flecked quartz.
"Prince Aster, the ledger for the morning is… concerning," a voice came from the doorway.
Raul, his mom's friend and now official business manager, walked in holding a stack of parchment that looked heavy enough to be a weapon. He dropped it on a side table with a dull thud.
Aster didn't look up from his work. "If those are more invitations to noble galas, burn them. If they are marriage proposals for Astra, burn them twice and send a formal complaint to the families for wasting my time."
Raul sighed, rubbing his temples. "I wish it were that simple. These are order forms, Aster. Serious ones. The Duke of Ravenhurst wants fifty 'Melody Boxes' for his daughter's debutante ball. The Merchant Guild of the Southern Port is offering triple the asking price for a bulk shipment of 'Restorative Sound-Orbs.' Even Archmage Thalorien sent a polite inquiry asking if you've considered making 'Focus-enhancing' resonators for the Academy library."
Aster finally set down his carving tool and removed the loupe. He leaned back, the adult soul of his past life staring out through the eyes of a child.
"And what did you tell them?"
"I told them we are processing the requests," Raul said tentatively. "But Aster… we have the gold. If we hire twenty more enchanters from the capital's guild and outsource the wooden casings to the carpenters' quarter, we could fulfill these orders by the next moon. The profit margins are astronomical. We could fund a private army with this."
Aster stood up and walked to the window, looking out over the sprawling city of Vornis. "No. We aren't increasing production by even a single unit."
"Why?" Rain asked, genuinely baffled. "You've spent years trying to prove Sound Magic is useful. Now the whole world wants it. Why stop now?"
"Because of two things, Rain. The first is human nature. In my studies of history, I've learned that value is not dictated by utility, but by scarcity. If every merchant in the street has a music box, then music becomes as common as the dirt they walk on. If only the elite have them, and even they have to wait, then music becomes a symbol of status. We aren't just selling sound; we are selling the 'Divine Gift.' You don't mass-produce divinity."
Raul frowned, trying to wrap his head around the cold, capitalistic logic. It felt strange coming from a boy who looked like an angel.
"And the second reason?" Rain asked.
Aster's expression soured. He walked over to a shelf and picked up a small, dull-grey stone. It was a mana-conductive crystal, the battery that powered his inventions. He tossed it to Raul.
"That's a low-grade mana stone," Aster said. "It's what Vornis uses for street lamps and basic heating. To run a Sound Resonance rune, I need stones with high vibration capacity—wind or light-aligned crystals. Vornis doesn't have mines for those. We've been scraping the bottom of the Royal Vaults, using leftovers from the last century. If I increase production now, we run out of fuel in three weeks. We'd be selling empty boxes."
The reality of the situation hit Raul. Vornis was a kingdom built on Fire Magic. Their resources were geared toward heat and industry, not the delicate, high-frequency needs of Sound Magic. The Palace hadn't bothered to secure these stones because, until Aster came along, they were considered "decorative" or "useless."
***
While Aster played the cold strategist, Astra handled the soul of their operation.
Late that evening, draped in a simple hooded cloak of charcoal grey, Astra moved through the lower districts of the capital. Aster knew what she was doing, and while his business mind called it "inefficient," his heart—the part of him that loved his sister—would never stop her.
He even purposefully left some "defect" devices on his workbench for her to "find." (but they are not really defects)
Astra walked through the "Grey Wards," where the laborers, the widows, and the orphans of the city lived. In these streets, the "Miracle of the Festival" was a story they had heard from afar, a glimmer of light that didn't quite reach the mud of their doorsteps. These people didn't have the luxury of buying a music box; they were lucky to have shoes without holes.
She found a group of children huddled near a flickering streetlamp. Without a word, she placed a small, rough-hewn wooden box on a crate and tapped the rune.
A soft, lilting melody filled the cold air—a song of warmth and home. The children froze, their eyes widening as the music washed over them. It wasn't the gold-plated, jewel-encrusted version sold to the Duchess; it was a simple device, but the magic inside was the same. It was a lullaby Aster had written during their early days when they were kids.
Astra slipped away into the shadows before they could thank her. She didn't want to be a goddess to them; she just wanted them to hear. She chose recipients by luck, by instinct—whoever looked like they needed a reason to smile that night.
In her mind, if Aster was building the empire, she was building the heartbeat.
***
The next morning, the tension of the resource shortage reached a boiling point. Aster requested an audience with his mother, Queen Elena, and the King's council.
"Vornis is suffocating my work," Aster stated plainly to the gathered nobles and his mother. "If I want Sound Magic to be spread throughout the world, I need resources. The Kingdom of Orestes sits on the largest mana-crystal veins in the continent."
The King, who had been listening from his throne, frowned. "Orestes is… difficult. They are a nation of miners and merchants. They don't care for 'miracles' or 'art.' They care for hard trade and the weight of iron. They have ignored our diplomatic invitations for years."
"Which is why I'm going myself," Aster said.
"You're a child, Aster," a council member snorted.
"I am a child who triggered a resonance with the Guardian Dragon," Aster countered, his voice cold and steady.
"And I am a child whose inventions are currently the most sought-after items in the noble quarter. Orestes doesn't care for art? Fine. I will show them utility. I will show them that Sound Magic can find cracks in their mineshafts before they collapse. I will show them that music can increase the productivity of their workers."
To the public, the announcement was simple: The Queen and the Divine Twins were taking a well-deserved vacation after the exhausting festival. A diplomatic vacation to the neighboring mountain kingdom of Orestes to enjoy the high-altitude air and the legendary hot springs.
But as the royal carriage crossed the border two weeks later, Aster wasn't looking at the scenery. He was looking at the jagged mountain peaks of the "Spine of the World," knowing that beneath that rock lay the battery for his future empire.
The journey was long and grueling. As they left the lush, green plains of Vornis, the landscape turned harsh and vertical. The roads were winding passes that hugged the edges of terrifying precipices. Astra spent most of the journey pressed against the carriage window, her eyes wide.
"Aster, look! The clouds... they're below us!" she whispered in awe.
Aster looked up from his notebook. He had been sketching a new design—a way to use Sound Magic to detect flaws in structural stone, a "gift" for the mining lords.
"It's beautiful, Astra. But keep your mana close. The air here is heavy with earth energy. It can dampen your voice if you aren't careful. It's dense, unlike the air in the Vornis valley."
She hummed a low note, testing the atmosphere. "It feels... heavy. Like the mountains are trying to push the sound back down."
"That's exactly why we're here," Aster said. "If we can make music thrive here, in the heart of the stone, we can make it thrive anywhere."
As their carriage crossed the Great Bridge of Khaz-Vahn, the gateway into Orestes, they were met by a line of guards clad in thick, dark-iron armor. These weren't the polished, ceremonial knights of Vornis.
These men looked like the mountains themselves—cracked, weathered, and immovable. Their shields were made of heavy granite reinforced with steel.
The lead guard stepped forward, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate in Aster's chest.
"State your business, travelers. The mountain passes are closed to merchants after sunset, and we have little patience for wanderers."
Their mom Arliene stepped out of the carriage, her regal bearing cutting through the cold mountain air like a blade. She didn't wear a crown, but the way she stood made the guards instinctively straighten.
"We are not merchants," she said calmly. "I am Arliene Wynfall. I have brought my children to seek the healing waters of your peaks. We seek only rest and the hospitality of King Boron."
The guard's eyes drifted to the two children peering from the carriage. He recognized the silver hair and the blue eyes from the reports that had filtered even into the mountains. The "Snowflakes."
He hammered a fist against his chest in a stiff salute. "The High King has been notified of your 'vacation,' Lady Arlienne. You are expected at the Citadel of Ironshold. But be warned..."
He looked at Aster, a flicker of something like skepticism in his eyes.
"The mountains do not have much use for songs. Here, only the sound of the pickaxe matters. We value what we can touch, not what we can hear."
Aster leaned out the window, a polite, innocent smile on his face that didn't reach his calculating eyes. "Is that so? Well, I've always found that even the hardest stone has a frequency at which it cracks. I look forward to finding yours, Captain."
The guard blinked, confused by the boy's cryptic words, but stepped aside to let the carriages pass.
As they rolled into the dark, cavernous tunnels that led to the heart of the mountain kingdom, Aster felt a surge of excitement. The "Miracle" in Vornis had been a performance. This... this was a conquest. He needed those crystals to scale his production, and he would get them by making the "hard" people of Orestes realize that music wasn't a luxury—it was a necessity they hadn't known they were missing.
Astra clutched her travel journal, her mind already wandering to the poor of this new kingdom. Aster looked at his sister and smiled. "In Orestes, Astra, the music will have to be stronger. But don't worry. We brought the thunder with us."
The heavy iron gates of the Citadel groaned open, revealing a city carved directly into the heart of the mountain, lit by thousands of glowing mana-stones. Aster's eyes widened at the sheer abundance of his "fuel" source. The negotiation was about to begin.