Ever since the debutante ball at age five, something new had stirred within Aster—not just the full bloom of his Sound Magic, but an insatiable curiosity about the world beyond the mansion walls.
The Wynfall estate was beautiful, vast, and safe, but to a boy who carried memories of two lifetimes, it felt like a gilded cage. The high stone walls, the guarded gates, the constant reminders of danger—they all whispered the same message: royalty must stay apart.
One crisp dawn, when the household still slept, seven-year-old Aster discovered an old side gate left unlatched by a careless gardener. Heart pounding, he slipped through.
The royal capital exploded into his senses.
Cobblestone streets bustled with life. Vendors shouted their wares—warm loaves of honey bread, sizzling meat skewers glazed in spices, colorful pastries dusted with sugar that sparkled in the morning light. Children chased each other, laughter ringing like bells. Merchants hauled crates of glowing mana-fruits. Overhead, strings of unlit mana lamps swayed gently, waiting for night to become rivers of starlight.
Aster stood frozen on the corner, silver eyes wide.
This… this is the world I was reborn into.
He returned the next morning. And the next. And the next.
Soon he knew names and faces:
- Old Man Hervin, the burly fish vendor whose laugh boomed louder than his sales pitch.
- Mila, the teenage florist with quick fingers and quicker smiles, who always tucked a fresh bloom behind Astra's ear on the days she came along.
- The baker couple, Tomas and Lira, who pressed free cinnamon rolls into his hands because "a growing prince needs sweetness."
At first, no one recognized him. He was just a quiet white-haired boy with unusually polite manners.
Then, inevitably, someone did.
"Isn't that… the concubine's son? Prince Aster?"
He braced for the shift—bows, distance, whispered titles.
Instead, Hervin slapped him on the back (gently). "A prince eating street fish? Good taste, lad!"
Mila grinned. "Your hair's even prettier up close."
Tomas shoved an extra pastry forward. "Heard you sang at the big ball. Made my old mother cry happy tears."
They treated him the same.
Not as royalty.
As Aster.
That acceptance wrapped around his heart like the warmest melody.
Some days, Astra sneaked out with him. She clung to his hand, eyes huge at every new sight, but blossomed under the vendors' easy affection. Mila's flowers, Hervin's tall tales, the bakers' treats—she collected them all like treasures.
For the first time in this life, the twins tasted ordinary joy.
Until the day Arlienne discovered them.
"Aster Wynfall."
He returned through the side gate to find his mother waiting, arms crossed, foot tapping, face pale with worry rather than anger.
"M-Mama…"
She dropped to her knees and crushed him against her, trembling. "If something had happened to you… if someone had taken you… I couldn't—"
Her voice fractured.
Aster hugged her back fiercely. "I'm sorry. I just… wanted to see."
After a long silence, she sighed and stroked his hair. "Next time, tell me. We'll go together."
She didn't forbid him.
She understood the hunger in his soul.
In that moment, Aster loved her more than ever.
***
A month before her birthday, an idea took root.
Not a palace performance for nobles who barely knew her.
Not another distant song carried on mana waves.
Something real.
Something from the people who already loved her quietly—the common folk who smiled when her carriage passed, who sent anonymous flower bundles on festival days, who whispered that the kind concubine deserved better.
Aster began planning in secret.
Each morning visit became a quiet recruitment.
"I want to give Mama a birthday the whole capital celebrates," he told them one evening, standing on an overturned crate behind Hervin's stall.
The vendors stared.
"A prince… throwing a party for us commoners?"
Aster bowed deeply, white hair falling forward. "Please. She deserves to know how many people cherish her."
Silence stretched.
Then Tomas the baker thumped his chest. "If our little prince wants a stage, he'll have the finest stage Vornis has ever seen!"
Mila clapped. "I'll cover it in flowers until it looks like spring itself!"
Hervin nodded gruffly. "And I'll make sure every ear in the city hears about it."
Word spread like wildfire—carefully, secretly, through back alleys and market whispers. No noble ears caught wind. No palace spies noticed.
By the night before the birthday, the central plaza had transformed.
A sturdy wooden stage rose in the middle, draped in sky-blue and white silk—Arlienne's favorite colors. Flower garlands looped between lampposts. Lanterns waited to be lit. Food stalls prepared mountains of treats to give away free.
Hundreds had worked in shifts, grinning at the shared conspiracy.
Aster watched from a rooftop with Astra, hearts racing.
"Everyone's amazing," Astra whispered.
"They love her almost as much as we do," Aster replied softly.
"What song will we sing?"
He smiled. "One she'll remember forever."
***
The day before the birthday, Arlienne walked through the capital with two maids, buying ribbon and sweets for their quiet home celebration.
She stopped dead.
Lanterns crisscrossed entire streets. Garlands of blue and white blooms scented the air. A grand wooden stage dominated the plaza. Vendors bustled with festive preparations.
Her heart stuttered.
A celebration…?
She touched her chest, hope flickering—then dying.
Of course. Tomorrow is the queen's birthday. The king must have ordered decorations for the people.
The fleeting wish that it might be for her stung more than she expected.
She forced a gentle smile and continued shopping, unaware that every vendor she passed hid knowing grins.
***
In the palace, the queen surveyed reports of the capital's decorations with smug satisfaction.
"The people decorate for me even without command," she said, fanning herself. "Such devotion."
Her ladies-in-waiting murmured agreement, though some shifted uncomfortably.
Not one imagined the truth.
***
Only a trusted circle knew: the twins, loyal household staff, and the common folk who had built the surprise piece by piece.
On the morning of the birthday, Arlienne woke expecting tea, cake, and quiet songs at home.
Instead, she found her children dressed in their finest clothes, vibrating with nervous excitement.
"Why the fancy outfits?" she asked, amused.
"Just… a special day," Astra said, too brightly.
"Come with us, Mama," Aster added, taking her hand.
Arlienne laughed. "Where?"
"Close your eyes," Astra insisted.
A soft blindfold settled over her vision. Gentle hands guided her into a carriage, then down streets that grew noisier, warmer with voices and sunlight.
She smelled flowers, fresh bread, festival spices.
"Aster? Children, what—?"
"You'll see," they chorused.
They led her up wooden steps. A crowd's murmur surrounded her.
Aster's small hands untied the blindfold.
Light flooded in.
Arlienne blinked—and gasped.
Thousands filled the plaza, faces turned toward her with smiles and shining eyes. Banners waved: "Happy Birthday, Lady Arlienne!" "We Love You, Kind Mother of the Twins!" The stage bloomed with her favorite flowers. Blue and white silk rippled in the breeze.
"Mama," Aster said, stepping forward, voice steady despite trembling hands. "Happy birthday."
"Only for you," Astra added, eyes sparkling with tears.
Arlienne's hands flew to her mouth. Tears spilled instantly.
"This… all this… is for me?"
"Yes," Aster said simply. "Because you deserve the whole world to celebrate you."
A roar rose from the crowd.
"Happy birthday, Lady Arlienne!"
"Long live the people's lady!"
"We love you!"
Her knees buckled. The twins caught her, hugging fiercely.
Aster raised a hand.
Hidden beneath the stage, dozens of rented sound-amplification stones—bought with every coin of his allowance and generous donations from grateful vendors—flared to life in a circle of soft blue light.
His voice rang out, clear and resonant, carrying to the edges of the plaza and beyond.
Astra joined him.
They sang an original song—built on the tender, nostalgic melody of an Earth tune called "Beautiful Things," reshaped with lyrics born from Aster's two lifetimes of love.
Gentle piano-like chords and warm strings wove from Aster's mana. Their voices rose together:
"In a world of crowns and stone-cold halls,
You gave us skies of gentle blue—
Through every silent, lonely fall,
Your heart stayed warm, your love stayed true.
You smiled when shadows tried to win,
You sang when silence hurt the most—
You taught us beauty lives within
The ones who love without a boast.
Mother, our light, our quiet song,
More precious than any throne—
Today the world will sing along
And claim you as its own."
The melody floated like sunlight on water—soft enough to cradle hearts, strong enough to reach across rooftops.
By the second verse, half the capital could hear.
Merchants paused mid-sale.
Children looked up.
Guards on distant walls turned toward the plaza.
A mother's birthday song wrapped the entire city in warmth.
Arlienne wept openly, hands pressed to her chest.
Aster's voice cracked once with emotion, but Astra's steady harmony anchored him. Their small hands stayed linked throughout.
When the final note lingered and faded, silence held for one breathless heartbeat.
Then the plaza exploded.
Cheers shook the air. Applause thundered. People embraced strangers. Tears flowed freely.
Arlienne pulled both children into the fiercest embrace of their lives.
"My precious, impossible babies," she sobbed, laughing through tears. "How did you… how could you give me something so beautiful?"
"Because we love you," Aster whispered into her hair.
"And you deserve the whole world," Astra added.
The crowd parted. Vendors carried forward an enormous cake blooming with blue sugar flowers.
Aster guided his mother to the candles.
"Make a wish, Mama."
Arlienne closed her eyes, face radiant with joy she had never dared dream of.
I am already the luckiest woman alive.
She blew out the candles.
The plaza celebrated as one—food shared freely, laughter rising, lanterns lit as evening fell.
From a distant palace balcony, the queen watched in stiff silence as reports flooded in: the people were not celebrating her.
The king stood beside her, expression unreadable.
In the plaza, under strings of glowing lights, Aster looked at Astra and smiled.
They had given their mother the greatest gift imaginable.
And the people had shown her she was loved—not for rank, but for her heart.
For the twins, this was the truest performance of their lives.
Because tonight, Sound Magic hadn't conquered a palace.
It had united a city.
And proved, once and for all, that love sung aloud could be the most powerful magic of all.