Three full years had passed since the night Aster collapsed backstage after his groundbreaking concert—a night that had not only pushed his young body to its absolute limits but had also ignited a firestorm of change across Vornis and beyond.
Three years filled with quiet, intentional growth, where the twins focused on healing, learning, and refining their craft in private.
Three years in which Sound Magic and emerging technology intertwined, evolving at a pace that left scholars and mages scrambling to keep up.
Three years without a single large-scale public concert, a decision enforced by Arlienne's unwavering maternal resolve.
"You are NOT risking your lives like that again," she had declared in the tense weeks following his recovery, her voice still laced with the raw terror of those seven silent days when her son lay unresponsive. "Not until you're older. Much, much older. I won't lose you to ambition—no matter how noble."
Aster and Astra, chastened by the near-tragedy and deeply respectful of her fear, had obeyed without a whisper of protest.
They turned their energies inward, channeling creativity into safer outlets.
Albums became their primary voice to the world, a way to share music without the physical toll of live performances.
By the time they turned eleven, the twins had released three complete collections—each one a seismic event in the cultural landscape.
The first was an expanded edition of *Our Mom*, with remastered originals and several tender new tracks that delved deeper into themes of gratitude, family bonds, and quiet resilience.
The second, *Echoes of Home*, captured the simple joys of everyday life: bustling markets, unbreakable friendships, the warmth of shared meals. Vendors across the kingdom hummed its melodies while setting up stalls, and children skipped to school reciting its uplifting choruses.
The third, *Hearts in Rhythm*, was their boldest yet—pushing boundaries with intricate layered raps exploring dreams and perseverance, soaring ballads that evoked hope in even the weariest listeners, and infectious anthems that turned quiet streets into spontaneous dance gatherings.
Each release sold millions of recorder stones, flying off shelves in Arc Merchant shops and black-market stalls alike.
Each album deepened the kingdom's insatiable hunger for Sound Magic, turning it from novelty to necessity.
Each one brought wealth pouring in like an unending tide.
***
During those three years, Sound stone technology advanced at a relentless, breathtaking pace.
Aster—fully recovered but forever cautious with his mana limits—dove headfirst into collaboration with the kingdom's brightest engineers.
The limitations of the original Sound Recorder Stones—Version 1—became fertile ground for innovation.
Short recording durations stretched into full albums through advanced compression runes.
Basic playback evolved into crystal-clear fidelity with refined resonance matrices.
Single-track stones gave way to multi-layered ones, allowing complex harmonies and beats.
And finally, after countless late nights in secure workshops filled with glowing prototypes and ink-stained blueprints, came the crowning achievement:
*The Harmonia Player: Version 2*
A masterpiece of enchanted craftsmanship—sleek, palm-sized, forged from polished crystal and lightweight mana-infused metal that shimmered faintly in light.
Multiple slots accommodated up to five sound stones at once, enabling seamless album playback.
Intricate runes allowed precise volume control—from a intimate whisper perfect for bedtime lullabies to a room-filling boom that turned gatherings into impromptu concerts.
Clarity dials fine-tuned audio—enhancing crisp highs for Astra's soaring notes or warming the lows for Aster's rhythmic depth.
Built-in resonance speakers projected sound in directed beams for private listening or omnidirectional waves for shared enjoyment.
Optional attachments expanded capabilities: larger speakers for public spaces, even basic rhythm enhancers for aspiring musicians.
The materials—rare crystals, enchanted alloys—made it prohibitively expensive for common folk.
Yet demand exploded like wildfire.
Nobles commissioned custom-engraved models with family crests.
Merchants installed in high-end shops to lure affluent customers with ambient melodies.
Taverns became evening hotspots, patrons lingering over drinks to favorite tracks.
Inns advertised "Harmonia suites" equipped with players, drawing travelers weary from road silence.
Wealthy families saved months to gift one to children, turning bedtime stories into musical adventures.
Export markets boomed—foreign dignitaries begged shipments, offering trade deals and alliances.
Arc Merchants—once modest dress boutiques under Madam Elira's steady hand—transformed into a continental powerhouse.
Branches sprouted in every major city, from Vornis's bustling capital to remote provincial hubs.
Dedicated trade caravans crisscrossed borders, guarded against bandits drawn to valuable cargo.
Elira herself—now among Vornis's wealthiest—credited the twins in every interview, gifting lavish bonuses and even naming a new headquarters wing after them.
Wealth flowed to Aster like rivers converging on an ocean—royalties from sales, licensing fees for technology, endorsements from grateful users.
At ten—barely a year after his collapse—he made a quiet announcement over a simple family dinner in the old mansion's cozy dining room.
"I want to build us a new home."
Arlienne paused, teacup halfway to her lips, eyes widening in surprise. "A new house? But this mansion has been our home for so long—it's comfortable, familiar."
Aster reached across the table, placing a gentle hand over hers. "That's why, Mama. I want us to have a place that's truly ours—built from our efforts, our music. No more relying on palace allotments that can be cut at whim. No more invisible strings pulling us back into politics. A home where we live freely, on our terms."
Her eyes softened, filling with a mix of pride, gratitude, and that quiet awe she often felt watching her son navigate the world with wisdom far beyond his years.
"Aster… are you sure? It's such a big step."
He nodded firmly. "I'm sure. We've earned this."
Astra bounced in her seat. "Yes! A new house! Can I pick my room? With a big window for stargazing?"
Arlienne laughed softly, the sound like gentle chimes. "If that's what you both want… then yes. I trust you."
She agreed.
She always did when their dreams aligned with love and independence.
***
One year later—at eleven years old—the vision stood complete, a testament to what music could build.
The new mansion crowned a serene hill on the capital's outskirts—offering panoramic views of the sprawling city below, palace spires glinting in distance like distant memories.
Pristine white stone veined with silver quartz, gleaming under sun or moon.
Graceful towers curved elegantly, echoing musical staffs in architecture.
Grand balconies wrapped upper levels, perfect for evening songs or quiet reflection.
Intricate carvings adorned walls—lyres, flowing sound waves, symbolic runes of harmony and resonance.
Crystal-lit corridors shifted hues softly—calm blues for relaxation, warm golds for inspiration—responding to ambient mood runes.
A vast central music hall dominated the heart—perfect acoustics tested personally by Aster, with floating mana chandeliers that dimmed or brightened with performance intensity.
Private studios for each twin—soundproofed yet connected via resonance links for seamless collaboration.
Enchanting gardens surrounded the estate—blooms enchanted to chime softly in breeze, paths winding through mana-infused groves.
Not ostentatious or sprawling like the palace.
Elegant.
Personal.
A sanctuary of independence.
Aster, Astra, and Arlienne stood before the massive oak doors on the day of unveiling—sun high, birds singing as if in welcome.
Astra twirled excitedly, her dress flaring like flower petals in the wind. "It's enormous! So beautiful! Aster—you really built this with our songs?!"
He laughed—a light, genuine sound that eased the lingering tension from years of palace shadows. "We built it together. Every note, every stone sold, every fan who believed—it's all of us."
Arlienne wiped away tears, her smile radiant through them. "You two… you always find new ways to make me cry with happiness. This is more than a home. It's a dream made real."
Seraphine and Lyria arrived soon after, carriages pulling up the winding hill path—jaws dropping as they stepped out.
"Aster… this is insane," Seraphine breathed, spinning to take in the view.
"You're only eleven!" Lyria exclaimed, eyes wide. "How are you already like this? Building mansions?!"
Aster shrugged playfully, though pride flickered in his silver eyes. "Hard work, good partners, and a lot of late nights with engineers."
Arlienne's smile turned mischievous as she linked arms with her daughters. "And a healthy dose of stubbornness. That part definitely comes from me."
The mansion buzzed with life as final preparations unfolded.
Loyal servants—carefully selected, generously paid—arranged furnishings with care: plush rugs in music rooms, crystal vases blooming with fresh flowers.
Engineers calibrated the acoustic runes one last time, ensuring every corner carried sound perfectly.
Because in two days…
Arlienne's birthday.
Their first celebration in the new home.
An intimate gathering—family, close friends like Madam Elira, a few trusted engineers and vendors who had become like extended kin.
Quiet music from the twins.
Simple joys.
A special gift symbolizing their new chapter.
***
Destiny, however, rarely arrived with gentle fanfare.
Two days before the birthday, a firm, authoritative knock echoed through the marble halls.
The butler—newly hired, impeccably professional—bowed deeply as he presented a silver tray in the sunlit foyer.
"My lady… a letter has arrived."
Arlienne paused mid-arrangement of blue roses—her favorite blooms, sourced specially for the occasion.
Aster and Astra looked up from decorating the dining table with streamers in sky blue and white.
The envelope sat ominously on the tray—thick vellum, sealed with deep crimson wax that gleamed like fresh blood.
Stamped with the royal crest: a flaming crown encircled by ancient runes of power.
Arlienne's expression tightened subtly—years of palace politics had taught her to mask unease.
Aster's heart slowed, a familiar dread coiling.
Astra swallowed nervously, glancing between her mother and brother.
Arlienne accepted the letter with steady hands, though her fingers betrayed a faint tremor as she broke the seal.
She unfolded the parchment carefully, eyes scanning the elegant script.
They widened.
Her breath caught sharply—audible in the quiet room.
"Mama?" Aster stepped closer, voice laced with concern. "What does it say?"
She lowered the paper slowly, face a carefully unreadable mask—though worry flickered in her silver eyes.
"It's… not from your father."
Aster's brow furrowed. "Then who?"
Arlienne glanced down at the letter again, as if hoping the words had changed.
"It's from the queen."
The room froze in stunned silence.
The air seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken tension.
Astra's hand instinctively found Aster's, squeezing tightly.
Seraphine and Lyria—who had been helping hang streamers in the adjoining hall—stopped mid-motion, ribbons dangling forgotten.
"What… does she want?" Aster asked, his voice low and measured, though a storm brewed beneath.
Arlienne swallowed, folding the letter with deliberate care.
"She requests—no, commands—that you and Astra perform at her birthday celebration in the palace."
Aster blinked, processing.
"Her birthday is in two days."
"Yes," Arlienne whispered, voice steady but edged with quiet pain.
Aster's jaw tightened slowly, realization dawning.
"But yours is too."
Arlienne nodded, her eyes distant with the weight of old memories and fresh insult.
"And she knows that. She's always known."
The silence that followed was cold and sharp, like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath.
The queen wasn't merely inviting.
She was forcing.
Demanding their presence on the one day that had always been sacred to Arlienne—a day the twins had claimed as their own through years of quiet defiance.
Forcing an impossible choice:
Honor their mother's birthday in their new home of independence.
Or bow to the crown's command and perform like summoned entertainers.
Astra trembled with rising anger, her small fists clenching at her sides.
"She thinks we'll just abandon Mama's birthday? After everything she's done to us—to hurt us, to cut our funding, to ignore us?"
Seraphine stepped forward, her usual playfulness replaced by fierce protectiveness. "This is typical of her. She's always despised your side of the family. This isn't an invitation—it's a deliberate stab, forcing you to choose and humiliate you no matter what."
Lyria added softly, her voice trembling slightly with empathy. "If you go, she'll parade you like trophies and make snide remarks about Mama. If you refuse, she'll call it treason or disrespect and punish you through the palace."
Arlienne folded the letter with gentle precision, though her hands betrayed a slight shake.
"She wrote: 'Your queen commands your presence at the palace celebration. Prepare several songs befitting the occasion. Attendance is mandatory.'"
Aster felt his blood heat—a slow, controlled burn rising from deep within.
The queen knew every detail:
The shared birthday, a coincidence that had always rankled her.
The new mansion—built without a single palace coin, a symbol of their independence.
The months of careful planning for an intimate family celebration in their new home.
The twins' deliberate hiatus from large-scale performances, prioritizing health after the near-disaster.
Their hard-won freedom from royal dependence.
Yet she demanded a free performance.
In her opulent palace halls.
On Arlienne's day.
Turning their triumph into yet another obligation, another reminder of her power.
"We aren't court jesters," Aster said coldly, his voice cutting through the tension like a clear note.
Astra nodded fiercely, her silver eyes flashing with indignation. "We won't ruin Mama's birthday for her petty games. She's just jealous—of our music, our freedom, everything we've built without her."
Arlienne looked at her children—then at the half-sisters who had become like daughters to her.
Her voice remained gentle, a calm anchor in the storm.
"Children… whatever path you choose, I will support you with all my heart."
But Aster shook his head resolutely.
"No, Mama. This is your day. She's weaponizing it to hurt us—to hurt you. We won't let her."
Arlienne touched his cheek gently, her fingers warm and steady despite the turmoil in her eyes.
"Aster… I don't need grandeur or parties. I need only you two—safe, happy, together."
"That's exactly why we won't go," Aster replied, his tone firm but laced with love.
Astra stood firm beside him, chin lifted defiantly. "We've worked so hard for this independence. We're not her puppets to summon at whim."
Arlienne sighed softly, worry etching faint lines on her face—a mother's eternal burden.
"But she is still the queen. Defiance… it carries heavy consequences. Fines, isolation, perhaps worse."
Aster met her gaze evenly—eleven years old in body, but his silver eyes carrying the unyielding weight of two lifetimes' wisdom and resolve.
"I know, Mama. But some things are worth the risk."
Astra squeezed his hand tighter. "So what do we do? Just send a refusal letter?"
Aster inhaled slowly, his mind already turning like gears in one of his inventions.
He looked at the letter in Arlienne's hand.
At the elegant new halls around them—symbols of their freedom.
At the half-finished birthday decorations: streamers in sky blue and white fluttering gently, tables laden with wrapped gifts, vases overflowing with blue roses spelling "Mama" in intricate arrangements.
At Arlienne herself—who had sacrificed her own dreams, endured palace slights, poured every ounce of love into raising them.
His decision crystallized—absolute, unshakeable.
"We are not going."
The room fell silent for a heartbeat.
Then Astra broke it with a fierce nod. "Right! We stand together!"
Seraphine clapped her hands delightedly, breaking the tension with her enthusiasm. "As expected from my brilliant little siblings! The queen won't know what hit her."
Lyria exhaled a long-held breath in relief. "Good… I was so afraid the pressure of a royal command would force your hand. But you're stronger than that."
Arlienne's worry lingered, her eyes searching Aster's face. "Aster… Astra… the queen will not accept a simple refusal. She'll see it as an insult—to her, to the crown. What then?"
Aster's expression sharpened—quiet intensity radiating from him like the hum of a perfectly tuned rune.
"I know she won't."
Astra leaned closer, curiosity overtaking her anger. "Then what? How do we respond?"
He turned to the window—gazing out at the capital sprawling below, the new mansion's elevated hill providing a perfect vantage of the distant palace spires glinting in the afternoon sun.
His voice lowered, steady with resolve that sent a shiver through the room.
"I'll send her a message…
One she'll never forget."
In that charged moment—surrounded by his family, the half-finished birthday preparations filling the air with anticipation, and the hard-won freedom of their new home enveloping them like a protective melody—Aster made his choice.
Not obedience to a crown that had never truly accepted them.
Not compromise that would erode their independence.
But defiance.
Clever.
Calculated.
Wrapped in the undeniable power of music.
The queen had issued her command.
Aster would craft his answer—with a song.
One that would echo far beyond the palace walls, reaching every ear in Vornis and beyond.
And in doing so, shake the very foundations of the crown's authority.