The final, heart-wrenching notes of Aster's closing rap still lingered in the night air—soft echoes bouncing off distant buildings—when he stepped forward once more. His chest heaved with labored breaths, small frame trembling beneath the weight of exhaustion, but his silver eyes burned with unquenchable fire.
The plaza—fifty thousand strong—hung in reverent hush, many still wiping tears, hearts raw from the emotional torrent.
"Everyone…" Aster called, voice amplified clearly despite his fatigue. "I have a question."
Tens of thousands of faces turned upward, attentive, adoring.
"Do you want to hear… more songs?"
The response was instantaneous, volcanic.
"YES!!!"
"One more!"
"Keep singing!"
"Don't stop!"
"ASTERRRRR!"
"ASTRA!"
"Wynfall Twins forever!"
Aster smiled gently, though his hands—hidden behind his back—shook uncontrollably.
They couldn't see.
They couldn't know.
His limbs felt leaden.
Mana channels burned like molten threads.
Heartbeat pounded erratically from the double mana potion overdose.
Vision pulsed at edges.
But he stood tall, fueled by sheer will and the roaring love surrounding him.
"Then tell me…" he continued, voice steady through amplification, "would you like to listen to our songs—"
He raised his hand dramatically, mana flaring one final burst of light.
"—anywhere? Anytime?"
Confusion rippled through the crowd.
Murmurs spread like wind through wheat.
"Anywhere? Anytime?"
"Is he planning to tour the kingdom?"
"Sing every day?"
"That's impossible—even for him…"
Aster chuckled softly, the sound warm and knowing.
"Let me explain."
Astra glanced at him sidelong—concern deepening, but trust unwavering. She knew her brother. Once his mind seized a dream, nothing could pry it loose.
Aster lifted a small, palm-sized crystal from his pocket.
It shimmered with faint azure glow—runes etched delicately across its surface.
"This," he declared proudly, holding it high so lantern light danced across facets, "is a Sound Recorder Stone."
Absolute silence fell.
Front-row Arlienne leaned forward.
Seraphine and Lyria exchanged wide-eyed glances.
Distant nobles in observation towers froze mid-conversation.
Even wind seemed to still.
Aster's voice rang clear.
"I have found a way—through Sound Magic—to capture sound. Voices. Melodies. Entire songs. And store them inside these stones."
Gasps erupted—sharp, universal, rolling outward like thunder.
"Store… sound?"
"Inside a stone?!"
"Impossible!"
"No magic in history—"
"Is this some royal illusion?"
"Did the prince… invent this himself?"
Aster held the stone higher, letting glow bathe his face.
"Only the engineers who assisted me—and I—know the full process. No one else in Vornis can replicate it yet."
Truth.
The engineers grasped basics—rune placement, mana infusion.
But the intricate resonance layering? The frequency stabilization drawn from Earth's physics fused with intuitive Sound Magic?
Only Aster's reincarnated knowledge enabled that.
Astra stepped beside him, smiling proudly despite worry.
"It means," she said softly, voice carrying like bells, "you can listen to our songs whenever you wish. At home. On journeys. In quiet moments."
Aster nodded.
"Starting tonight, you can purchase individual songs… or our entire album—Our Mom."
The plaza trembled.
Album.
A foreign word, yet instinctively understood tonight.
A complete collection—preserved forever.
He gestured backstage.
Workers wheeled forward large wooden crates—dozens, lined neatly, filled with hundreds of prepared stones, each engraved with unique runes, labeled carefully.
"To make this possible," Aster continued, "we have partnered with Arc Merchants—the company owned by my mother's dear friend, Madam Elira."
Wild cheers erupted at her name—many recognized the woman who had helped countless times.
"Beginning immediately, every Arc Merchant shop in the capital—and soon in major cities across Vornis—will sell these recorded songs."
He tapped the demonstration stone once.
A soft, familiar melody floated into the air—Astra's pure voice from an earlier lullaby track, playing flawlessly without new magic.
The crowd gasped as one—miracle made tangible.
A stored song.
Playing independently.
No ongoing spell.
No performer present.
Just crystal and captured sound.
Realization crashed like lightning.
This wasn't entertainment.
This was revolution.
Invention.
A new era for art, economy, magic, communication.
An eight-year-old had reshaped the world.
***
The plaza erupted like a volcano long dormant.
"That's incredible!"
"I must have one!"
"This changes everything!"
"We can hear them at home—every day!"
"Aster is a genius!"
"Astra's voice forever!"
"The greatest day in Vornis history!"
Parents hoisted children onto shoulders for better views.
Teenagers screamed names until voices cracked.
Elderly wept openly, clutching chests.
Vendors who helped create the stones cheered loudest—pride swelling.
Even skeptical nobles—those who attended to mock or observe—stood speechless.
A few began slow, genuine applause.
Others frantically calculated: profits, influence, threats to traditional magic industries.
***
Far across the city, in the palace's opulent halls—
Reports reached the queen swiftly.
Servants whispered.
Courtiers relayed crystal messages.
When full details arrived—the recorder stones, the sales announcement, the plaza's frenzy—
She crushed her crystal wine goblet in bare hand.
Glass shattered.
Blood dripped down pale fingers, staining silk.
"He… dared…"
Rage filled her eyes—cold, venomous.
"THE BRAT DARED TO—"
Servants knelt frantically with bandages, trembling.
The king stood at a high window, gazing toward the plaza's distant glow.
Expression unreadable.
But if one looked closely…
A faint curve touched his lips.
Pride.
Mingled with deeper fear.
"Aster," he whispered to empty air, "what are you becoming…?"
***
Backstage, the twins bowed deeply one final time.
"Thank you for listening. For believing. For changing our lives with your love."
Astra bowed beside him.
"We promise to keep singing—for all of you."
The audience roared—final, endless wave.
Arlienne wept openly now, pride and relief overwhelming.
Seraphine screamed like an obsessed fan, jumping in place.
Lyria waved frantically.
The people of Vornis would remember this night forever:
The Birth of Recorded Music.
A turning point.
Aster didn't yet grasp the scope.
Culture shifting.
Economy transforming—new industries, jobs, wealth flowing through sound.
Magic research exploding—scholars scrambling to understand resonance storage.
Politics trembling—power no longer solely fire and sword.
Future generations learning songs before spells.
All from an eight-year-old's dream.
Born of another world's regret.
But that full story…
Was for chapters yet unwritten.
***
The moment Aster stepped fully backstage—curtains closing, cheers muffled—he reached his absolute limit.
Vision flickered black at edges.
Knees buckled.
World tilted.
"Aster?!"
He collapsed.
Astra caught him inches from floor—small arms straining under sudden weight.
"Aster!"
His body burned fever-hot, convulsing faintly from mana overload.
Arlienne rushed through the curtain, terror seizing her face.
"No—no, Aster!"
She dropped beside them, cradling his head.
"Aster, wake up! Please!"
Seraphine and Lyria sprinted in, screaming for healers.
Guards bolted toward physicians' tents.
Maids hurried with blankets, cold compresses.
Aster's breathing—shallow, ragged.
Mana channels flickered erratically—visible azure lines pulsing beneath pale skin like fractured lightning.
The double potion.
The extreme output—conjuring full orchestral accompaniment for hours.
An eight-year-old body pushed far beyond safe limits.
They carried him swiftly to the prepared carriage—rushed back to Wynfall mansion under cover of night.
***
For seven agonizing days, Aster remained unconscious.
Arlienne rarely left his bedside—sleeping in snatches on a chair, hand never leaving his.
Astra curled beside him nightly, gripping his fingers, silent tears soaking blankets.
"I won't let go," she whispered each dawn. "You promised."
Seraphine and Lyria visited daily—bringing healing salves, storybooks, favorite sweets—anything to fill the heavy quiet.
Healers came and went, expressions grave.
"His channels are severely strained."
"Overdraft this extreme—in a child—it's miraculous he survived."
"Two full potions? Unheard of."
"Rest is the only cure now. Time. And hope."
Arlienne broke in the hallway after one such prognosis—sinking against wall, sobs muffled in hands.
"It's my fault… I should have stopped him… he's only eight…"
Astra—overhearing—shook her head fiercely, hugging her mother.
"No. He did it because he wanted everyone to smile. Because he dreamed bigger than anyone. Aster never regrets what he believes in."
Arlienne pulled her close, tears falling into white hair.
"You two will be the death of me…"
Yet pride flickered through grief.
***
Outside mansion walls, the world spun onward—oblivious to Aster's coma.
They knew only triumph.
Sound Recorder Stones sold out everywhere.
Arc Merchant shops—once quiet fabric and dress boutiques—transformed overnight.
Lines formed before sunrise.
Crowds jammed entrances.
"Do you have the lullaby?"
"Aster's final rap!"
"The full album—please!"
"We'll pay double—no, triple!"
Streets clogged with eager buyers.
When capital stocks vanished, black-market prices soared.
Smugglers carried crates across borders.
Within days:
Vornis provinces.
Neighboring Renniet markets.
Distant Arkhlund taverns.
Even far Krestia ports.
All echoed with the twins' voices.
Most listeners didn't understand "concert."
But they heard an eight-year-old prince rap about life's beauty.
Felt something long dormant awaken.
Begged for more.
A revolution ignited.
***
Engineers worked tirelessly in secured workshops—using master recordings to imprint new stones.
But duplication wasn't simple.
No digital copy-paste.
Each crystal required individual charging.
Rune etching.
Mana stabilization.
Resonance core alignment.
Hours per stone.
"This is only version one," the lead engineer muttered, wiping sweat. "Prince Aster sketched ideas for version two—longer storage, multiple tracks—before…"
He trailed off.
Arlienne—visiting for updates—stiffened.
"Don't say 'before.' My son is strong. He will wake."
Astra clutched a glowing stone, whispering nightly:
"He promised he wouldn't leave."
***
On the seventh night…
Moonlight spilled silver across Aster's room.
Astra dozed at bedside, head on blankets.
Arlienne slept fitfully in her chair.
One recorder stone—left playing softly—filled the quiet with Astra's recorded lullaby.
Gentle.
Soothing.
Then—
Aster's fingers twitched.
Astra stirred.
"Aster…?"
Eyelids fluttered.
Arlienne gasped awake.
"ASTER!"
His eyes opened slowly—unfocused, then sharpening on tear-streaked faces.
"M-Mama…?"
Arlienne broke—sobbing, pulling him into careful embrace.
"My darling! You're awake!"
Astra threw herself onto him, crying harder.
"You idiot! Two potions?! We thought—we thought—"
Aster blinked confusion.
"Ah… sorry… Wanted to finish…"
"Finish?!" Both shouted through tears.
"You almost died!"
He managed weak smile.
"You saw? Pretty cool, right?"
Mother and sister smacked his shoulder lightly—relief overwhelming.
"Foolish child!"
"Reckless idiot!"
But arms never loosened.
His voice rasped.
Body ached like shattered glass.
Mana empty—hollow.
But he was alive.
Astra sniffled. "Never again."
He ruffled her hair gently.
"Promise."
Arlienne kissed his forehead repeatedly.
"You're grounded. One month. No magic."
"Mama… I'm eight."
"Exactly."
He laughed—wincing.
Then Arlienne's expression softened.
"Aster… while you slept, everything changed."
He blinked.
"What?"
Astra held up a recorder stone—glowing softly.
"Your album sold out. Every city. Even other countries."
He froze.
"Really…?"
Arlienne nodded, pride shining through tears.
"Shops overflow. People call it miracle. Gift. Future of magic. Sound Magic is now… the magic of hope."
Aster stared—at stone, at sister, at mother, at moonlit ceiling.
Whispered:
"…We really did it."
Arlienne kissed him again.
"Yes, my love. You did."
He closed eyes, exhausted smile lingering.
This was only beginning.
World changing.
Because of music.
Because of Sound Magic.
Because of a boy carrying dreams from another life.
And now—awake—he would chase them further.
Together.