The grand hall of the Church of Lumina thrummed with anticipation, voices rising and falling like waves against stone. Aster—still adjusting to the idea that he would soon bear a new name—lay cradled in his mother's arms, overwhelmed by the sheer press of bodies. Nobles in robes heavy with gold thread. Soldiers whose polished armor caught the light of floating orbs. Priests in flowing white, officials in somber gray, attendants and servants hovering at the edges. Far more people than had ever visited the mansion in the quiet weeks after their birth.
Why so many? he wondered, tiny brow furrowing. Mother only gave birth a month ago. Barely anyone came then.
He couldn't voice the question, but fragments of conversation drifted down to him like falling petals.
"That is Lady Arlienne?"
"The king's concubine… the only commoner His Majesty ever chose."
"And these are the twins? His newest heirs?"
"Look—white hair, just like their mother."
The words struck him like individual blows.
King. Concubine. Royal blood.
The pieces snapped together with dizzying force.
His mother wasn't merely a noblewoman of high standing. She was the king's concubine—a commoner raised to that exalted, precarious position not through alliance or politics, but through something rarer. Love, perhaps. Or enchantment.
And because of her origins, she had been granted a grand mansion outside the palace rather than a suite within its walls. A place of beauty and comfort, but also of deliberate distance.
Which meant he and his sister were…
Royalty.
Princes and princesses.
My father is the king.
His infant heart pounded against his ribs. Even in this helpless body, the implications crashed over him. Their father had visited only once—briefly, on the night of their birth—his presence formal and fleeting. Aster had sensed, even then, the weight of duty that kept the man distant.
Still, the blood in their veins was undeniable.
He had been reborn as a prince.
But royalty was only part of the spectacle unfolding around him. This world held something far more extraordinary.
Magic.
He had glimpsed it in glowing lanterns that needed no flame, in runes etched into walls that pulsed with soft light, in the very air of the church that seemed to shimmer with unseen currents. Yet today's ceremony would reveal something deeper—something irrevocable.
In this world, every person awakened to a single elemental affinity at birth. One magic, fixed for life. No exceptions.
And for the royal family of Vornis, that affinity had always been fire.
Blazing. Destructive. Unmatched in raw power.
Generation after generation, royal heirs inherited it along with their vast natural mana reserves, ensuring the throne's military might. The hall buzzed with eager certainty.
"Of course they'll have fire."
"Two new royal fire mages—Vornis will be unstoppable."
"The bloodline remains pure."
Lady Arlienne's heartbeat quickened beneath Aster's ear as she approached the altar. Her arms tightened—just slightly—around him, a subtle shield against the weight of expectation.
The high priest raised the crystalline sphere, its surface swirling with liquid light.
"First, the elder twin," he intoned.
Mira stepped forward, gently presenting Astra.
A low hum filled the chamber as threads of golden light unfurled from the orb, reaching toward the infant like curious tendrils.
The sphere pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
A third time—
Then a clear, bell-like tone rang out, pure and piercing.
The priest's eyes widened.
"This child…" he began, voice carrying over the sudden hush.
The crowd leaned forward as one.
"…has been blessed with Sound Magic."
A collective gasp rippled through the hall.
"Impossible!"
"No royal heir has ever—"
"Sound Magic? That forgotten branch?"
"Where is the fire?"
"Could the orb be mistaken?"
Aster's own eyes widened in shock.
Sound Magic? For Astra?
Rare was an understatement. Sound Magic had faded into near-myth. Only scattered records remained from centuries past—no spellbooks, no living masters, no established paths of study. Most considered it a magical dead end, beautiful but impractical in a world that prized destruction and utility.
He glanced up at his mother. Her breath trembled, but not with dismay. Recognition shone in her eyes, soft and bittersweet.
Mama… you have it too.
The whispers he had overheard suddenly made sense.
"It was her voice that captured the king."
"Her singing could move even the hardest heart."
Yes. Lady Arlienne carried the same gift—and now her daughter did too.
Before the crowd could fully absorb the shock, the priest cleared his throat.
"Next, the younger twin."
Aster was lifted and placed before the sphere.
He felt it immediately—a warm, probing tug at the mana coiled deep within him. The crystal brightened, light swirling in restless waves.
Then—
PANG!
A resonant chime exploded outward, louder and richer than Astra's. Light flared in rippling patterns, as though the very air vibrated in response.
The priest staggered back a step.
The hall fell deathly silent.
"This child…" the priest whispered, awe and disbelief warring in his voice, "…also possesses Sound Magic."
Chaos erupted.
"Both of them?!"
"Not even a spark of fire?"
"Two Sound Mages born to the royal line—how can this be?"
"A disaster for the succession!"
"Or an omen—"
"Blessing or curse?"
Aster barely registered the uproar. Inside his tiny chest, something vast stirred—a deep resonance, a thrumming chord that answered the world's hidden rhythms.
Sound Magic.
Not fire. Not destruction.
A magic of voice, of music, of emotion.
Exactly like the dream I carried through my first life.
His mother stepped forward, gathering both twins protectively against her heart. Her voice cut through the murmurs, quiet but unyielding.
"These are my children. Their magic is not a flaw."
The priest regained his composure, placing a reverent hand upon the still-glowing sphere.
"Though their path diverges from tradition, the Light has spoken. From this day forward—"
He turned to Astra.
"You shall be named Astra Wynfall."
Then to Aster.
"And you, Aster Wynfall."
Astra and Aster.
Twins bound by the rarest magic in the realm.
As the ceremony concluded amid lingering whispers and uncertain glances, one question hung in the perfumed air:
What place could two Sound Mages have in a royal family built on fire?
Only Aster knew the answer forming in his heart.
This time, I will not waste my second chance.
************
Three Years Later
Three years slipped by like notes in a quiet melody.
Aster Wynfall—once Raze of Earth—had grown into a bright, energetic three-year-old with white hair that caught sunlight like fresh snow and eyes that held memories far older than his body. He could run, speak fluently, and reason with startling clarity, yet one rule remained ironclad:
He was not permitted beyond the high walls of the Wynfall estate.
The mansion and its grounds were vast—manicured gardens blooming with luminescent flowers, shaded courtyards where fountains sang, training yards ringed by protective wards—but the walls were a constant reminder. As children of the king's concubine, the outside world held dangers: political intrigue, jealous rivals, or simply the curiosity of common folk who might recognize royal features.
Still, Aster was far from lonely.
Astra was his shadow, his echo, his constant companion. Where Aster went, Astra followed—often at a wobbly run, cheeks puffed in determination.
"Aster! Wait for me!" she called, toddling after him through the rose garden, voice indignant.
He slowed, grinning over his shoulder. "I'm not running away."
"You are too!" She caught up and latched onto his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Aster didn't pull away. In his previous life he had been alone; now he had a sister whose love was fierce and uncomplicated. Her presence filled spaces he hadn't realized were empty.
Over those three years, Aster pieced together more of his new family.
His half-siblings visited sporadically, always with escorts and always briefly.
Crown Prince Leon, stern and dutiful, offered polite nods and small gifts.
Second Prince Varus, cold and observant, spoke little but watched everything.
Princess Seraphine doted on Astra shamelessly, brushing her hair and calling her "my precious doll."
Young Princess Lyria, only a few years older than the twins, already practiced basic fire spells under strict tutors.
They were courteous, curious—but distant. An invisible barrier separated the palace-born from the concubine's children, widened by the scandal of the Naming Ceremony.
Fire was the royal legacy. Aster and Astra had shattered it.
Their father, King Valor Wynfall, had visited only once more after the ceremony. He had stood in the sunlit parlor, tall and regal, yet somehow hesitant.
"Arlienne," he had said softly, "bring the children to the palace. They would be safe there, educated properly among their siblings."
But their mother had refused with gentle firmness.
"The palace courts are no place for children bearing Sound Magic, Your Majesty. Whispers would become blades. Let me raise them here, away from politics and judgment."
The king had studied her for a long moment—love and regret mingling in his eyes—before yielding.
Perhaps out of lingering affection.
Perhaps because he, too, feared the court's reaction.
Either way, the mansion remained their world.
By his first birthday, Aster had already formed complete sentences—a development that left servants whispering of miracles and priests exchanging meaningful glances.
And with words came music.
It began innocently enough. One quiet evening, Aster hummed a half-remembered melody from Earth. Astra clapped in delight.
"Again, Aster! Do it again!"
He obliged, and her laughter rang like bells.
Their mother, passing the nursery doorway, froze.
"You two…" she breathed, stepping inside. Tears gathered as she knelt between them. "Your voices already carry the gift."
That night she sang them a lullaby—unaccompanied, voice soft yet impossibly rich.
The air itself seemed to listen. Gentle vibrations stirred the curtains. Mana danced in delicate waves. Even restless Astra stilled, eyes wide with wonder.
Aster felt it in his bones: this was Sound Magic made manifest.
When the final note faded, he whispered, "Mama… your singing is magic."
Arlienne's smile turned wistful.
"In this kingdom, Sound Magic is thought weak, darling. Few are born to it. Fewer still can teach it. Most who possess it hide the gift, for it brings little power in battle or court."
She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.
"But it is not weakness. It is beauty. Emotion. Connection. The rarest magic of all."
Her gaze grew distant, remembering.
"My voice drew your father across every barrier of station… yet even he does not fully comprehend what sound can truly do."
Aster's young heart raced.
This world had forgotten music.
No concerts. No bards traveling the roads. No songs passed down through generations. Spellcraft revolved around elements—fire, water, earth, wind—while sound lingered in dusty tomes and faded legend.
A world starved of music… and I, who loved it more than life, have been sent here with the very magic it lacks.
Purpose ignited within him, bright and fierce.
I'm not here merely to live quietly.
He clenched his small fists.
Mama, Astra… this entire kingdom… I'll show them what Sound Magic can be.
I'll bring music back—louder, clearer, more powerful than anyone imagines.
I'll become the greatest singer Vornis has ever known.
Astra tilted her head, sensing his sudden intensity. "Aster? Why are you smiling like that?"
He turned to her, eyes shining. "Because I just decided something important."
"What?"
"That you and I are going to be the best singers in the whole world."
Astra blinked, then broke into a radiant grin. "Singers? Really?"
"And we'll prove Sound Magic isn't weak at all."
Her face lit with pure, childish joy. "Then I'll sing with you forever and ever!"
Aster took her outstretched hand, squeezing gently.
"Together."
Their voices were still small.
Their magic, undeveloped.
Their future, uncertain.
But they carried the rarest gift in the realm—and Aster carried memories of a dream that refused to die.
In that quiet nursery, beneath the watchful stars of a new world, their true journey began.