“Alice, please inform everyone that the honorable Basela will be holding the mass shortly, and afterward, we’ll perform the laments.”

Alice raised a brow, but her lips curved into a relieved smile as she nodded. Raising her hands, she called out to gather the attention of the restless crowd.

Meanwhile, I turned to Ju, leaning into her shoulder for support.

“Help me find a quiet corner to change,” I murmured, “I’m low on mana and need to recharge a bit before we start the laments.”

Her right brow arched sharply as she studied me, her eyes narrowing with concern.

“You look completely spent! What on earth have you done?” Her eyes flicked to my wrists, and she gasped. “Are those chain marks?”

Damn! I hadn’t even noticed the faint traces left by the chains. I sighed. She was practically bursting with questions, but what could I possibly tell her?

“Believe me, there’s an explanation for this—but not now, please,” I murmured, my tone pleading. “Once this is over and we’re back in our room, okay?” All the while, my mind raced, frantically trying to piece together how I’d explain it when the time came.

The crowd began to shift and part as people hurried to claim the best spots in front of the makeshift stage prepared for the mass.

Ju nodded, though I saw her tightening her lips, but she didn’t press further. I let out a grateful sigh as we moved against the flow of the crowd, making our way toward a nearby building. Like many houses in Huiesta, it stood empty, its forlorn silence a stark contrast to the bustling square behind us.

The door to the simple house creaked open with a protesting squeal after I gave it a firm shove with my shoulder. We stepped into a dusty, long-abandoned room, the only small window covered with wood planks. The air inside carried the stillness of years, the space stripped of anything useful—save for a broken stove and a couple of rickety, half-destroyed chairs.

We left the door ajar to catch the sounds of the world outside. With a sigh of relief, I let the illusions of my makeshift attire dissolve, revealing the red evening gown beneath. Ju arched a brow at the sight of it but said nothing.

From outside came the soft rise of a chanted voice, shaky at first but unmistakable. The freshly minted priestess had begun. For a brief moment, I feared her nerves might overwhelm her, and that she'd falter in front of the crowd. But as the moments passed, her voice grew steadier, louder, and more assured, filling the air with a quiet confidence.

With a relieved sigh, I began pulling out various pieces of clothing from my inventory, showing them to Ju. I trusted her completely when it came to deciding what I should wear for different occasions. Left to my own devices, I knew I would fail spectacularly. After some deliberation, she settled on a gray skirt that fell below my knees, paired with long boots and a shirt with full sleeves.

As I began to undress, I couldn’t help but ask,

“How is it that you left the castle without me?”

She chuckled softly, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Well, the guards informed us that you had slipped out during the night with Drackar,” she paused, coughing lightly to mask her amusement, “dressed in a striking red evening gown. Besides, Sid assured us that you were fine. Given all that, Alice was certain you would eventually meet us in Huiesta. She pointed out that you can travel much faster on your own—or with Sid—and knew that you’d promised the children to join them and sing in Huiesta. She simply couldn’t imagine you breaking that promise.”

Realizing the conversation was again steering into dangerous territory, I decided it was time to shift the topic. As I adjusted the shirt, I glanced around the room and asked, “How come there are so many empty houses here in Huiesta?”

Ju shrugged, leaning lightly against the wall. “This used to be an old mining town. Most of these houses were abandoned after a mining collapse, similar to what we just dealt with. The mine here was never reopened, so a lot of the residents migrated to Oxfarm, where the new mine is. Unfortunately, about half the victims of the Oxfarm disaster were originally from here. That’s why this mass was organized in Huiesta.”

“Oh, I see,” I murmured, the pieces falling into place. “So we’ll probably have to repeat this whole event in Oxfarm.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “In principle, yes. Though I can’t help but wonder why the priests there haven’t done it already. Now they’re gone too.”

"Was this also a silver mine?" I asked curiously.

"No, it was a coal mine," Ju replied. "But with wood prices so low, it was deemed unprofitable and abandoned after the collapse."

I watched my image in a mirror: she had managed to craft that elusive balance: not too poor but not overly rich, not bland yet not ostentatious. She now asked me to top it off with a leather jacket to give my appearance the final touch.

As we exited the building and headed toward the congregation, I was startled to see the prince seated in the front row, surrounded by a group of paladins.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“The prince is here?” I asked, surprised.

Ju shrugged. “Yes, and also my aunt, the vice-queen, with some elves.”

“Oh. Why are they here?” I asked, raising a brow.

“I’m not entirely sure how they found out,” she admitted. “I think it’s a mix of courtesy and curiosity.” She finished with a casual shrug. “Someone probably mentioned that you’d be singing.”

Just then, I spotted Alice heading our way.

“She’s wrapping up the mass in a few minutes,” Alice announced. “I was just coming to fetch you.”

As we moved closer, I got a better look at the group gathered in the front.

“Is that Therella hiding behind the queen?” I chuckled, noticing her sullen expression. “Why does she look so miserable? Was she dragged here against her will? Is she pouting?”

Alice smirked. “She’s sulking because Sid wouldn’t give her the grand entrance she wanted. She wanted him to fly her here in some big dramatic show, but he insisted they take the carriage like everyone else.”

A grin spread across my face. Sid was still sticking to my request to avoid showing off as a dragon in public. Although it wasn’t common knowledge that Sid was the dragon, and I preferred to keep it that way, the dragon’s existence was no longer a secret. Yet the fact that he’d snubbed Therella’s grandiose plans made my heart skip with satisfaction.

Ju shook her head with a half-smile. “You’re just mean,” she said, teasingly.

Then it was time for us to perform. Lucky for me, I was functional and with enough mana left to manage the task. The priestess took a seat beside her simple altar, which had been moved to one side of the stage, while the lament singers, including myself, positioned ourselves on the other. A group of people brought out chairs and a bench for the children. I was given a chair near Tom and Mike.

The audience—several hundred strong—was gathered in a loose half-circle before us. The prince and the vice-queen sat in the front row, on chairs and benches borrowed from somewhere. Beyond their guards, many others stood, while some had climbed onto mounds of excavated rock to get a better view.

A few women from Alice’s childcare group guided the children onto the stage, forming a half-circle to my left. Once everyone was settled, Alice stepped forward. She delivered a short, halting speech about the lost miners and their grieving families. Her words were simple but heartfelt, and they resonated with the crowd. Finally, she introduced us and gave a brief explanation of what we would be singing.

I knew I didn’t have enough raw emotion within me to make the performance truly impactful. But feelings were crucial to the quality of the songs—that much I’d learned from my performances back on Earth. I tried to conjure the right mood, to immerse myself in the moment, but then I realized it would be forced. Manufactured emotions mixed into music never translate well.

As Tom began to lead, his guitar accompanied by Mike's drums, I hesitated, desperate for how to begin. Then inspiration struck: I focused on the emotions of the children in the choir. I’d experimented with this yesterday, and it had worked surprisingly well. Their emotions were raw and genuine—more so than mine—so I pushed further, channeling their feelings into my voice, giving them an outlet through song.

The result was beyond anything I’d anticipated. The songs carried a profound depth—an ache of longing, heartache, and near despair—but also a fragile thread of hope and love. It was their feelings, amplified through me, that gave the performance its richness and resonance.

In this world, they didn’t applaud but cheered, their voices carrying the weight of their emotions.

As we performed, the crowd stood silently, listening intently. By the time we finished, I could feel the atmosphere shift. The anger and frustration that had been palpable earlier had melted away, leaving behind an air of sorrow, longing, and an unexpected sense of forgiveness. I noticed tear-streaked cheeks throughout the congregation. For a few moments, there was only silence, heavy and meaningful, before the cheers began. And once they started, it seemed they wouldn’t stop.

The cheers were still echoing when the vice-queen approached me. To my surprise, she inclined her head in a respectful bow. Her eyes were glistening with genuine tears, one of which she brushed away with a delicate hand.

“That was no act,” I thought, surprised by the sincerity of her emotion.

With a sad but warm smile, she spoke. “I never dared to hope I’d hear a disciple of the Hesperides again. It touched my heart. Wonderfully done, Lady Lores.”

I blinked, not fully grasping what she meant about the Hesperides. At first, I thought it might be some kind of elaborate elven compliment. But when I glanced at Ju, I noticed her face had gone pale.

“What does this mean?” I asked her, my confusion growing.

The vice-queen looked between us, then sighed and raised a brow. “Children! They don’t even know what they do,” she muttered. Then, stepping closer to me, she lowered her voice.

“The Hesperides was the finest singing school to ever exist—a unique and unparalleled tradition. Their mastery lay in magically infusing feelings into their songs, creating interpretations so powerful and evocative that, once heard, no other rendition could compare. Listening to anyone else attempt the same song would feel... cheap. Vulgar. As if it was an insult to the music itself.”

Her gaze softened as she continued. “But the Hesperides were destroyed nearly a century ago during the great revolution. They sided with the people, their songs stirring courage and unity among the oppressed. Their music became the voice of grievance, sorrow, and hope, galvanizing the masses.

“The revolution nearly toppled Emperor Constancius—nearly. In the end, internal strife among the leaders and the betrayal of the Guaravian King ensured its failure. Furious, Emperor Constancius declared the Hesperides enemies of the empire and his personal adversaries. He sent special commando troops to hunt them down. Every singer, every teacher, every student. They were wiped out.”

She paused, her expression grave. “And yet, Lady Lores, whoever taught you to sing... knew their secrets. I am old enough to remember how their songs were sung, and I recognize it when I hear it.”

She shrugged lightly, as if trying to ease the weight of her words. “That’s all. I didn’t mean to frighten you, children. But it’s a remarkable thing, to see their legacy live on.”

I gasped, trying to think of a reply when a distant horn cut through the air. Another followed, then another, each one sounding more urgent than the last. We exchanged confused glances, unsure of what the signal could mean when Wetina came running toward us.

"Lady Lores," she said, her voice tinged with urgency, "we are under attack!"

Her words landed like a thunderclap.

Just then, the sound of heavy huffs pounding the earth drew my gaze towards the South. Through a rising cloud of dust, a group of black-clad riders appeared at the crest of the nearest hill. They began their descent toward the village, more emerging with each moment. It was as though a wave of black steel was surging over the horizon, unstoppable and ominous.