(Astra's POV)
When Astra slept after recieving the Dragon's blessing, she dreamed.
But it was not the kind of dream that faded when she woke.
It was heavy.
Clear.
Too real.
She's laid down in a white room filled with the faint, constant scent of disinfectant. Machines hummed softly beside a narrow bed, their steady beeping marking the passage of time more reliably than any clock.
Her body felt weak.
Too weak.
She looked down at her hands—thin, pale, veins faintly visible beneath fragile skin. Tubes were connected to her arms, carrying medicine that burned faintly as it flowed.
She knew this place.
She had known it for years.
So… this is it, she thought calmly.
She was fifteen.
And she was dying.
Memories surfaced one by one, gently but relentlessly, like pages turning in a book she had never finished reading.
She remembered being diagnosed when she was young—so young that she hadn't fully understood what blood cancer meant at first. Only that her parents cried when they thought she was asleep. Only that she couldn't go to school like other children. Only that hospitals became more familiar than playgrounds.
Her parents had been kind.
So kind it hurt.
They were wealthy, influential, capable of buying almost anything—but money could not rewrite her cells. It could not persuade her blood to stop betraying her.
She remembered her mother brushing her hair every morning, smiling too brightly.
Her father bringing her gifts he clearly thought would cheer her up.
She remembered telling them, again and again, that she was fine.
Because she didn't want them to hurt.
Because she loved them.
And then—
There was the music.
Music had been her escape.
When her body refused to cooperate, sound never did.
She remembered lying in bed with headphones on, eyes closed, listening to songs that carried emotions she could not express herself. She didn't care about charts or popularity.
She cared about rhythm.
About melody.
About voices that felt honest.
She remembered the color blue.
Not the blue of sadness.
But the blue of distance.
Of oceans she would never see.
Of skies she would never reach.
And then—
She heard it again.
The same rhythm.
The same progression.
The same emotional structure.
Sound magic.
Aster's sound magic.
Her dream-self froze.
"…That's…"
The realization settled slowly.
The songs Aster used.
The melodies that felt too familiar.
They were similair to the songs she had listened to in her previous life.
Not copied.
Not stolen.
But remembered.
Carried.
Her heart trembled.
So he remembers too…
The thought should have scared her.
Instead, it made her feel warm.
◆ ◆ ◆
When Astra woke up, she did not open her eyes immediately.
She lay still, listening to the quiet rhythm of the room—the steady breathing beside her, the soft glow of healing runes, the distant sounds of Snowflake Mansion settling into the night.
She felt… different.
Lighter.
Not just physically.
But emotionally.
As if a weight she had carried across lifetimes had finally loosened.
She turned her head slightly.
Aster was asleep beside her.
His face was calm, peaceful, almost childlike in its innocence—so different from the image of the man who had stood before tens of thousands and reshaped the fate of a kingdom.
She stared at him quietly.
You remember too, don't you? she thought.
The signs were everywhere now.
His unnatural familiarity with sound structures.
His instinctive grasp of rhythm and progression.
The way he talked about music not as theory—but as memory.
And yet—
He had never said anything.
Astra swallowed.
Her fingers curled gently against the blanket.
If I ask… will something change?
She imagined it—asking him directly.
Do you remember your old life?
Do you remember dying?
Would he look at her differently?
Would he treat her differently?
She didn't want that.
Not now.
Not ever.
In this life, she was not sick.
She could walk.
She could sing.
She could breathe freely.
And most importantly—
She had him.
Not as a distant figure on a screen.
Not as a voice through headphones.
But as her brother.
Her partner.
Her anchor.
Her Brother.
I love him too much to risk it, she decided quietly.
There would be a time.
A proper time.
When the world was calmer.
When their paths were clearer.
When she could say it without fear of losing what they had.
Until then—
She would keep this secret.
◆ ◆ ◆
The days after the hospital blurred together.
Astra rested.
So did Aster.
Doctors came and went, checking vitals, mana flow, the strange new resonance in their bodies that none of them could fully explain. Scholars whispered outside rooms. Guards rotated shifts with far more seriousness than before.
Through it all, Astra remained calm.
Because she had already faced death once.
Nothing else felt as frightening by comparison.
When they finally returned home, Snowflake Mansion felt… safe.
As if it had been waiting for them.
The walls hummed faintly with mana, responding subtly to their presence. Even the air felt warmer, gentler.
That night, Astra lay awake again.
Not because she was afraid.
But because she was grateful.
I got a second life, she thought.
A healthy one.
She turned onto her side, watching moonlight filter through the curtains.
I won't waste it.
◆ ◆ ◆
Morning came quietly.
No fanfare.
No urgency.
Just sunlight spilling gently through the windows, painting the room in gold.
Astra woke naturally this time.
No pain.
No heaviness.
She sat up slowly, stretching her arms, marveling—still—at how easily her body responded.
From the next room, she heard movement.
Footsteps.
A familiar voice.
"Good morning."
She smiled before she even saw him.
"Morning," she replied.
They met in the hallway, exchanging a look that needed no words.
They were alive.
They were home.
Whatever the dragon had done—whatever it meant for the future—could wait.
For now, the sun had risen smoothly.
And Astra intended to greet this new day—
Fully.
********************************************
The days that followed passed in a strange, quiet blur.
Astra and Aster remained at Snowflake Mansion for two full days after returning from the hospital, under strict instructions from the healers to rest completely. No academy attendance. No visitors beyond trusted staff. No performances, no experiments, no long hours spent thinking too hard.
It felt… unnatural.
For the first time in years, Astra did nothing.
She slept.
She ate properly.
She sat by the window and watched sunlight move across the garden stones.
Her body felt whole in a way she still didn't fully understand. There was no lingering soreness from the wings, no pain from the surge of power—only a deep, steady vitality, like her breath reached farther into her lungs than before.
Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could still feel it.
A vast presence.
Not pressing.
Not watching.
Simply… aware.
She did not mention it to Aster.
Not yet.
Aster, for his part, tried to behave.
He rested when Arlienne told him to.
He ate when food was placed in front of him.
He slept more than usual.
But Astra knew him too well.
Even when he sat quietly at the table, his fingers tapped faint rhythms against the wood. Even when he lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, his eyes were calculating—thinking about systems, consequences, possibilities.
On the morning of the second day, Astra caught him standing in the workshop doorway, staring at the shelves of half-finished devices.
"You're not supposed to be in here," she said gently.
He didn't jump. He had known she was there.
"I'm not touching anything," Aster replied.
"That's not the same thing."
He sighed and stepped back. "I know."
She studied him for a moment.
"You're thinking about the headphones," she said.
"…Yes."
"And the dragon."
"…Also yes."
She smiled faintly. "You don't know when to stop, do you?"
He smiled back, sheepish. "I'm trying."
Truthfully, Astra didn't want him to stop completely.
Because while they were resting, the world outside Snowflake Mansion was doing the opposite.
◆ ◆ ◆
The Royal Academy was in chaos.
Not the violent kind.
The talking kind.
By the end of the festival day, there was not a single classroom, dormitory, or training yard where the twins were not the sole topic of discussion.
Students reenacted the moment the dragon appeared.
Some exaggerated it wildly.
Some argued over details.
"I swear it looked straight at me!"
"No, the wings were bigger than the stadium!"
"My uncle was cured of his lung disease!"
No two stories were identical, but the core truth remained the same.
Everyone had seen something.
And none of it could be dismissed.
Even the professors were divided.
Some insisted the phenomenon was a rare, ancient magical convergence.
Others whispered about divine intervention.
A few said nothing at all—and those were the ones students watched most closely.
By the next morning, the academy message boards were filled.
THE DRAGON IS REAL.
THE SNOWFLAKES ARE BLESSED.
FOUNDING EMPEROR REBORN?
(The principal didn't tell anyone about the blessing but a foreign newspaper covered the news saying that the twin's received the Dragon's blessing like the founding emperor.)
Some people believed it, and some accused them of spreading false information.
Attendance that day was erratic.
Classes were held, but half the students were too distracted to focus. More than a few pretended to take notes while secretly sketching dragon symbols in the margins of their books.
Kain Kaiser did not attend classes at all.
Neither did several nobles who had been present in the special stands.
Fear had entered the academy quietly.
Not fear of destruction.
Fear of change.
◆ ◆ ◆
By the evening of the day after their return home, Aster made a decision.
He stood before Arlienne, Astra beside him, expression serious but calm.
"I want to release the headphones tomorrow," he said.
Astra blinked. "Already?"
"Yes," Aster replied. "Delaying it won't help. The world is already watching."
Arlienne studied him carefully. "Are you certain your body is ready?"
Aster nodded. "I won't be performing. Just approving the distribution."
She hesitated only a moment longer, then sighed softly.
"…All right," she said. "But if you feel even slightly unwell, you stop."
"I promise."
True to his word, the next morning, Aster sent the authorization.
No grand announcement.
No performance.
Just a simple release order sent through Arcwell merchant channels.
The result was immediate.
And explosive.
Within hours, reports flooded in.
Arcwell outlets across the capital sold out before noon.
By evening, surrounding regions reported shortages.
By nightfall, international merchants were sending urgent requests for resupply.
The Snowflakes headphones—already anticipated—became impossible to acquire.
People didn't just want them because of sound quality.
They wanted them because *the Snowflakes made them*.
And the Snowflakes had been touched by a dragon.
In taverns, people whispered that listening to music through the headphones felt "cleaner."
Some claimed it helped them sleep.
Others swore it eased headaches and old pains—though healers argued fiercely against such claims.
Whether true or not, belief itself was powerful.
Entire countries ran out of stock within days.
Governments took notice.
Religious institutions took notice.
And scholars began arguing over whether sound magic, when amplified by belief, could interact with divine phenomena.
Astra listened quietly as reports came in, feeling both pride and unease twist together in her chest.
"This is bigger than music now," she murmured.
Aster nodded. "I know."
◆ ◆ ◆
Back at the academy, the twins' absence only fueled speculation.
Some students bragged about being their classmates.
Others insisted they had known the twins would change the world.
A few grew bitter, convinced the balance of power had tilted too far.
Teachers struggled to keep lessons on track.
Every mention of mana theory somehow circled back to the dragon.
Every discussion of history ended with, "But what about the Snowflakes?"
By the second day, even the academy administration was forced to issue a statement:
Classes will proceed as normal. Speculation is discouraged.
No one listened.
◆ ◆ ◆
Far from the academy, far from Snowflake Mansion—
The royal palace was anything but calm.
In the inner council chamber, heavy doors closed with a resonant thud.
Inside, the most powerful figures of the kingdom sat gathered around a circular table.
The king.
The queen.
The First and Second Princes.
Several high-ranking ministers.
The High Priest.
And Archmage Thalorien.
Silence stretched.
Then—
"This cannot be allowed to spiral," the queen said sharply, breaking it. "Rumors are already spreading beyond control."
The High Priest folded his hands. "The people have witnessed a miracle. You cannot simply silence faith."
The First Prince sat rigid, eyes fixed on the table. His knuckles were white.
Thalorien spoke slowly. "What occurred in the stadium aligns disturbingly well with the oldest records."
The king's gaze hardened. "You will speak carefully."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Thalorien replied. "But the dragon mark is real. I confirmed it myself."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
"If the people believe the twins are chosen," a minister said cautiously, "then their influence may soon rival the crown itself."
The First Prince finally looked up.
"…What if they are chosen?" he asked quietly.
The room went still.
The king did not answer immediately.
Instead, he rose from his seat.
"We will not act rashly," he said firmly. "Not against children. Not against heroes in the public eye."
His gaze swept the table.
"But we will prepare."
The queen's lips curved faintly.
"Prepare for what?"
The king's voice was calm.
"For a future where the Snowflakes are no longer just a part of this kingdom's story. but the whole world's story"
Outside the chamber, thunder rolled faintly across the sky.
Inside, decisions were beginning to form.
And far away, unaware of the meeting being held in their name—
Astra sat beside her brother in the quiet of Snowflake Mansion, watching evening light spill across the floor.
The world was changing.
And the question was no longer if—
But how far it would go.