The punishment did not come with shouting.
There were no raised voices, no shattered cups, no dramatic declarations of disappointment.
That was what made it worse.
Elmyra stood alone in the audience chamber, her hands folded neatly in front of her, posture straight and obedient in the way she had been taught since she could walk. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, reflecting off polished marble floors and gilded pillars, but the warmth did not reach her.
The queen sat upon her chair, back straight, expression composed.
"Elmyra," she said calmly, "you are confined to the palace for one month."
El's breath hitched.
"…House arrest?" she asked quietly, almost afraid her voice might echo too loudly in the vast hall.
"Yes."
The single word fell like a seal.
"You will not leave the palace grounds," the queen continued, her tone even and unyielding. "You will not visit Snowflake Mansion again. You will not send letters. You will not make contact."
El's fingers trembled, just slightly.
She swallowed.
"…May I ask why, Mother?"
For a brief, dangerous moment, El thought she had crossed a line.
The queen's gaze settled on her—not sharp, not furious, but distant. As if El were something to be observed rather than answered.
No response came.
The silence stretched.
El tried again, her voice smaller this time.
"Did I… do something wrong?"
Still nothing.
The queen turned her head away, eyes drifting toward the window as though El were no longer present.
The truth was simple.
The queen hated Arlienne.
She hated the way people spoke of her.
She hated the way her children shone without trying.
She hated that Snowflake Mansion felt alive in a way the palace never had.
And most of all—
She hated that El was smiling happily, when she returned from there, and the reason for that was them.
So, she did not answer.
"Return to your chambers," the queen said at last. "This discussion is over."
El bowed deeply, as she had been taught.
"…Yes, Mother."
Her voice did not break.
But her heart did.
◆ ◆ ◆
The first week passed slowly.
El remained in her chambers, watched by servants who smiled politely and guards who pretended not to notice the way she lingered by the windows.
She read books she had already memorized.
She practiced etiquette drills she had mastered years ago.
She sat through lessons that felt emptier than before.
At night, she lay in bed and stared at the ceiling.
She thought of warm tea held in both hands.
Of pastries shared without ceremony.
Of laughter that did not require permission.
She wondered if Astra noticed she hadn't returned.
She wondered if Aster felt something was wrong.
She did not ask.
She did not cry.
She had learned long ago that tears solved nothing.
◆ ◆ ◆
The second week was worse.
Her sisters visited her chambers one afternoon, expressions tight with frustration.
"You're grounded?" the first princess demanded. "For visiting Snowflake Mansion?"
El nodded, sitting quietly on the edge of her bed.
"That's absurd," the second princess snapped. "We go there all the time."
"I know," El said softly.
They confronted the queen.
They argued.
They pleaded.
They lost.
When they returned, the first princess hugged El tightly.
"This isn't fair," she muttered. "You didn't do anything wrong."
El smiled faintly. "It's all right."
But it wasn't.
◆ ◆ ◆
By the third week, El stopped asking questions.
She stopped trying to understand.
She followed the rules instead.
The palace returned to what it had always been—
A place of beauty without warmth.
A place of silence without peace.
And Snowflake Mansion became a memory she held carefully, like something fragile that might shatter if she touched it too often.
◆ ◆ ◆
At Snowflake Mansion, the absence was noticed.
"She hasn't come back," Astra said one evening, glancing at the empty sofa.
Aster paused in the middle of adjusting a rune-inscribed magic stone.
"…No," he replied quietly.
Another day passed.
Then another.
No carriage.
No message.
No small knock at the gate.
Arlienne said nothing—but her gaze lingered on the front door longer than necessary.
"She returned safely that day," Arlienne said once, almost to herself. "Something must have happened."
Aster nodded.
He felt that the queen had something to do with her not returning.
◆ ◆ ◆
Time moved forward regardless.
Across Vornis, preparations for the Kingdom Founding Festival intensified.
Banners were raised along main streets.
Magic lanterns were tested and retested.
Merchants prepared special goods.
Foreign guests began to arrive.
At the Royal Academy, excitement was impossible to ignore.
The annual Exhibition Matches were approaching—an event where third-year students showcased their abilities before nobles, parents, and dignitaries. It was both a competition and a display of prestige.
Students trained harder.
Professors adjusted schedules.
The campus buzzed with anticipation.
For Aster and Astra, it was also the perfect stage.
The Snowflakes headphones were complete.
Refined.
Stabilized.
Ready.
Aster had tested them relentlessly.
Mana efficiency was optimal.
Sound clarity surpassed even the Harmonic Players.
Everything was ready.
And yet—
Aster felt uneasy.
◆ ◆ ◆
The day before the festival, Aster walked toward the principal's office, documents neatly organized under his arm.
Permissions.
Safety runes.
Performance timing.
This should have been routine.
But something in the air felt… off.
As he rounded the corner of the administration wing, he slowed.
Someone was already there.
Kain Kaiser.
The son of Duke Kaiser stood outside the office, posture straight, expression tense. He was speaking with Archmage Thalorien through the partially open door.
Aster stopped.
Not close enough to hear the words—
But close enough to read body language.
Kain was not smug.
Not dismissive.
He was serious.
Urgent.
Thalorien listened with his usual calm, but his brow was slightly furrowed.
Aster narrowed his eyes.
What is he doing here?
The conversation ended.
Kain bowed stiffly and turned—
Their eyes met.
For a moment, the hallway felt too narrow.
Kain's expression flickered—something sharp, conflicted, almost restrained.
Then he walked past Aster without a word.
Aster remained still.
"…Ah," Thalorien said, stepping out. "Aster."
"Principal," Aster replied calmly.
Thalorien studied him longer than usual.
"You came about tomorrow's performance."
"Yes," Aster said. "And the announcement."
The archmage nodded slowly.
"…We will discuss it inside."
As the door closed behind them, Aster felt it clearly.
Something had shifted.
Kain Kaiser had never spoken to the principal before.
Not like that.
And whatever he had said—
It mattered.
Outside, the academy rang with laughter and anticipation.
Inside, unseen tensions gathered quietly.
The Kingdom Founding Festival was almost here.
And not everyone was celebrating for the same reason.
**************************
After that they went inside the Principal's office, Astra went with him,
And the Principal asked them to sit down
Aster hesitated for a moment after the principal's words settled into the air.
"…Principal," he said finally, his voice calm but serious, "is everything all right?"
Thalorien looked at him for a long second, then let out a slow breath.
"What you saw earlier," the archmage said, turning back toward his desk, "was not a casual visit."
Aster's fingers curled slightly at his side.
"Kain Kaiser came to me with a petition," Thalorien continued. "A formal one. Signed by several students."
Aster frowned. "A petition?"
"Yes," Thalorien replied. "To stop your performance. And to prevent the announcement."
The words landed heavier than expected.
Thalorien's gaze hardened slightly. "His argument was that the Kingdom Founding Festival is a sacred national event. That it should be taken seriously. He claimed allowing you to perform and announce your invention would 'cheaply commercialize' the celebration."
Aster remained silent, listening.
"He said," Thalorien went on, "'This is not a marketplace. This is not a stage for business expansion. It is a day to honor the kingdom's past.'"
Aster let out a quiet breath.
"And you rejected it, Right?" he said nervously.
"I did," Thalorien replied without hesitation. "After a long discussion."
The principal turned, resting one hand on his desk. "I told him that what you are doing is not exploitation. It is evolution. That sound, culture, and shared experience are just as much a foundation of a nation as swords and mana."
Aster's eyes narrowed slightly.
"But he didn't accept that," Aster said.
"No," Thalorien agreed. "I think, He believes your success threatens something he values."
He paused, then added more quietly, "Or something he fears losing."
Silence fell between them.
Thalorien studied Aster carefully. "I don't know what Kain Kaiser has against you. I don't know if it's pride, resentment, or something more personal."
Aster thought of broken headphones.
Of restrained anger.
Of eyes that looked less hateful than desperate.
"…He may try something else," Thalorien continued. "Not through rules. Not through petitions."
Aster lifted his gaze. "You think he'll interfere?"
"I think," Thalorien said slowly, "that when people fail through authority, they often turn to other means."
He straightened. "That is why I want you to talk to him."
Aster blinked slightly. "Me?"
"Yes," Thalorien said. "You are not unaware of conflict. But you are not reckless either. If there is something driving him, it is better to learn it now—before the festival."
Aster considered this silently.
"…Understood," he said at last.
Thalorien nodded. "Be careful."
Aster bowed respectfully and turned toward the door.
As he stepped back into the academy hallway, the noise of students, laughter, and anticipation washed over him—but it felt distant now.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
Kain Kaiser…
He hadn't come to stop the performance because of rules.
He had come because something about it frightened him.
Aster walked on, expression calm, mind sharp.
If there was a problem—
He would face it directly.