The morning sun in the High-Rock Palace did not rise; it pierced through the thick layer of clouds that clung to the mountainsides, turning the grey stone city into a jagged island of gold.
Aster and Astra did not waste a moment. Accompanied by two silent royal guards provided by the King, they descended into the lower tiers of the city. The air grew thicker with the smell of coal smoke and damp earth as they reached the "Crag-House," the orphanage where Elian resided.
It was a grim, functional building made of unpolished basalt. There were no gardens or play areas; the children here were raised to be apprentices, their small hands already calloused from practicing with miniature picks and shovels. When the silver-haired twins arrived, the head teacher—a stern woman named Martha with hands like iron—nearly dropped her ledger in shock.
"The Prince and Princess? Here?" she stammered, bowing so low her forehead almost touched the soot-stained floor.
"We are here for Elian," Aster said, his voice carrying the authority of a ruler despite his small stature. "He is under my personal patronage for the next two weeks. We will be taking him for his training."
The teacher looked bewildered, but she didn't dare question a royal decree. Within minutes, Elian was brought out, looking nervous but cleaner than he had been at the fountain. He clutched a small bag of his meager belongings as if it were a shield.
"Come, Elian," Astra said, giving him a warm, reassuring smile. "We have a lot of work to do, and very little time to do it."
***
While the twins led Elian away, their mother, Arliene, remained in the royal suite at the Palace. Her workspace was a far cry from the serene gardens of the Wynfall palace. Her desk was piled high with thick scrolls of Orestian law and trade ledgers.
She was the anchor of this operation. While Aster provided the vision and the magic, Arliene provided the legitimacy. She spent the morning meeting with stone-faced bureaucrats, negotiating the zoning permits for the "Snowflake Harmonic Store."
"Those grim old men," Arliene sighed to herself, dipping her quill into the ink. "Everything must be measured, weighed, and stamped three times. They don't understand 'innovation'; they only understand 'tradition'."
But she didn't give up. She was the woman who had survived the hostility of the Wynfall court; she knew how to navigate the stubbornness of men who thought they were as immovable as mountains. Every document she filed was a brick in the empire Aster was building.
***
Aster and Astra led Elian to the very edge of the capital's highest hill. There stood a place the locals called "The Weaver's Drop"—a massive waterfall that tumbled off the cliff face, falling thousands of feet into the misty valley below.
The roar of the water was deafening, a constant, heavy vibration that made the ground beneath their boots tremble. From this vantage point, they could see the "Spine of the World" stretching out into the horizon, the jagged peaks looking like the teeth of a sleeping giant.
"It's... it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Elian whispered, his fear momentarily forgotten as he stared down at the clouds swirling at the bottom of the mountain.
"It's more than beautiful, Elian," Aster said, stepping closer to the precipice. "It's a stage. In this country, the sound of work—the hammers and the picks—is always loud. If you want to be heard, you have to be louder than the mountain itself."
They sat on the smooth, cold stone near the edge for some time, simply watching the water fall. Aster was observing the boy, watching how he breathed, how he carried his shoulders. Finally, Aster turned to him.
"Tell me, Elian. What is your magic type? Every child in Orestes is tested at the church, aren't they?"
The boy looked down at his calloused hands, a flash of shame crossing his face. "It's... it's Wind, Prince Aster. But it's weak. When the orphanage kids were taken to the church, the priest told me I'd never be a great miner. Wind can't shatter rock. It can't smelt iron. My parents... they abandoned me when I was five because they knew I wouldn't be 'strong' enough to provide for the family."
He kicked a small pebble over the edge. "I can barely blow out a candle if I'm not focused. To the people here, Wind magic is just... air. It's useless."
Astra reached out and placed a gentle hand on Elian's arm. "They told us Sound Magic was useless, too. They said it was just noise for children."
Aster's eyes lit up with a predatory, creative fire. "Wind? Elian, do you have any idea what you just told me?"
The boy blinked, confused. "That I'm... not a good worker?"
"No," Aster laughed, a sound of pure Raze-like excitement. "Sound is nothing more than vibrations traveling through the air. In a vacuum, there is no music. My Sound Magic creates the vibration, but the Wind... the Wind is the carrier. You aren't 'weak,' Elian. You are a natural-born amplifier."
Aster stood up and walked to the very edge of the cliff, where the wind was whipping his silver hair into a frenzy.
"Listen to me. In Vornis, the air is still and heavy. But here? The wind is constant. If you learn to wrap your voice in your wind magic, your song won't just reach the front row of a crowd. It will reach the next mountain peak."
Elian looked skeptical. "But I don't have Sound Magic. I can't do what you do."
"You don't need it," Aster countered. "I have enough Sound Magic for both of us. What you have is the fuel. Now, I want you to do something for me. Stand up."
The boy obeyed, his legs shaking slightly as he stood near the roaring waterfall.
"I want you to forget about 'songs'," Aster commanded. "Forget about the lyrics or songs you knew. I want you to look at that valley down there. I want you to think about every time a merchant called you a nuisance. Think about every cold night in that orphanage. Think about the parents who left you because you weren't didn't have what they expected."
Aster's voice became a low, resonant hum, subconsciously using his magic to stir the boy's emotions.
"Now," Aster shouted over the roar of the waterfall. "I want you to scream. Not with your throat—with your gut. I want you to scream until the clouds at the bottom move. Use your wind magic. Push the air out with everything you have!"
Elian hesitated. He had been taught his whole life to be quiet, to be invisible, to work in silence.
"DO IT!" Aster roared.
Elian took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, his small chest expanding. He thought of the hunger, the cold, and the silence of the mines. He felt a spark of heat in his belly—the dormant wind mana he had been told was useless.
He opened his mouth and let out a scream.
At first, it was thin. But then Aster stepped behind him, placing his hands on the boy's shoulders. Aster let his own Sound Magic flow into Elian, acting as a stabilizer.
"Again!" Aster urged.
Elian screamed again. This time, his wind magic flared. A visible ripple of air distorted the mist in front of them. The sound hit the wall of the waterfall, and for a split second, the falling water seemed to hesitate, scattered by the sheer force of the vibration.
The sound echoed off the surrounding peaks, returning to them as a thunderous roar.
Elian stopped, gasping for air, his face flushed. He looked at the waterfall, then at his hands. "Did... did I do that?"
"That," Aster said, his eyes gleaming, "was the sound of a star being born. Your wind didn't just carry the sound; You have the power to vibrate the very atmosphere of this kingdom, Elian, because we are on top of a mountain nation."
Astra clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling with joy. "It was incredible! It felt like the mountain itself was shouting back at us!"
Aster turned to the boy, his expression becoming serious. "For the next two weeks, we are going to train harder and harder. You are going to scream until your wind magic becomes as natural as breathing. Then, we are going to teach you how to turn that scream into a melody. King Boron thinks his people are made of iron? We're going to show him that iron is just something that rings when you hit it hard enough."
Elian looked at the two royal twins—the boy who saw his worth and the girl who gave him courage. For the first time in ten years, the boy from the "Grey Wards" didn't look at the ground. He looked at the horizon.
***
As the sun began to set, casting long, purple shadows across the Orestian peaks, the group began their walk back to the Palace. Elian was exhausted, but there was a new light in his eyes.
Aster walked slightly behind, watching the boy. He was already composing the song in his head. It wouldn't be a pretty valley-ballad. It would be a mountain anthem—something heavy, percussive, and soaring.
Wind and Sound, Aster thought. The perfect resonance. Orestes doesn't know what's coming.
Back at the palace, Arliene looked out the window and saw the three children returning. She saw the way Elian walked—head held higher, shoulders back. She smiled, realizing that her son wasn't just building a store or securing a contract.
He was building a soul for a kingdom that had forgotten it had one.
"The documents are ready, Aster," she whispered to the empty room. "Now, you just have to give them something worth signing for."
The training had begun. And in the silence of the night, the mountains of Orestes seemed to tremble with the anticipation of the first true song they would ever hear.