Chapter 2: The Spotlight Serenade Begins

"Every voice has a birthplace. Some are born of joy. Mine was born of ruin."

---

The throne room of Aeloria was nothing like I imagined.

It didn't shimmer with grandeur the way the orphanage storybooks described. No, this place hummed with power. It pulsed beneath the marble, curled in the arches, and sang from the ancient stained glass windows that filtered sunlight into pools of rose and gold. The air tasted faintly of lavender and lightning.

Magic lived here. Old, waiting magic.

I stood at the center of it all, clutching the edge of my gown like it might tether me to the ground. All around me, the other contestants—princesses in silks and gemstones—lined the curved staircase in perfect formation. Their poise came effortlessly. Mine was borrowed, trembling at the edges.

In front of us, the court assembled: lords and ladies from distant kingdoms, ambassadors in jewel-toned robes, musicians with silver instruments resting in their laps. And on the raised dais, flanked by guards and royal advisors, sat Queen Aria.

Even half-asleep in enchantment, she looked like a story come to life.

Her eyes—misty with magic—fluttered open just long enough to meet mine, and a shiver slid down my spine. There was sorrow in her gaze. But something else too. Recognition? No—it was gone too fast to catch.

A voice rang out, cutting the silence like a conductor's baton.

"Let the Spotlight Serenade begin!"

A soft chord rippled from a harp nearby, and the first contestant stepped forward.

I watched her with envy. Her voice flowed like silk, gliding through a song about the moon's lullaby. The court murmured in approval. Then another girl stepped up. Then another. Each with notes more perfect than the last.

And still I stood there, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Lyra of no known House," a courtier called. "You may approach."

The room shifted. Murmurs stirred like wind through grass. No known House. It hung in the air like a stain.

I stepped forward. My bare feet echoed too loud against the polished floor. My hands shook. My throat tightened.

I had no noble lineage. No courtly training. No magic I understood.

All I had was my voice. And even that felt fragile beneath the weight of a thousand watching eyes.

The Queen leaned forward slightly. "Sing," she said, her voice low, ancient, and impossibly kind. "Let your truth be heard."

I closed my eyes.

My heartbeat was a drum. My lungs a storm.

And then—I let go.

The first note escaped like a secret. High, soft, trembling. I thought it might shatter in the air… but it didn't. It grew. It blossomed. The notes came like breath, like birds in flight, like stars painting their way across a midnight sky.

I didn't know the song I was singing. But my soul did. It poured out of me, raw and bright, ancient and aching.

I sang of a kingdom lost in dreams.

Of a queen trapped beneath woven spells.

Of a girl who was not born noble but was forged by fire and longing.

I don't know how long I sang. Time unraveled. Magic coiled in the air around me, spun from silver and moonlight. My body glowed faintly with each note, like the song was pulling something from deep within me—something I didn't even know existed.

Then came the final note.

I held it—not with power, but with truth.

And when I released it… the air cracked like thunder.

That's when the silence fell.

And everything began to change.

---

The moment I finished my final note, the silence that followed was unbearable.

Not a breath. Not a whisper. Not even the soft scrape of a chair.

The royal court—filled with shimmering gowns, polished crowns, and cold, unreadable stares—sat frozen. The final hum of my voice seemed to linger in the air, like it didn't want to leave either. I could still feel the vibration on my skin, as if my voice had threaded itself into the very walls of the palace.

Then came the sound.

A crack—like ice fracturing underfoot—echoed across the marble floor.

The air shivered. The golden chandeliers overhead trembled, their crystals singing like wind chimes. Goosebumps rose along my arms. My heart punched against my ribs.

And then, as if pulled from the depths of the earth, it appeared.

A portal.

Right in the center of the hall, a swirling vortex of blue light opened. It spiraled like ink dropped into water, glowing with threads of silver. Gasps rippled through the audience. Nobles clutched their pearls. Even the judges—the poised, poised judges—leaned forward in shock.

Queen Aria stood.

No one moved.

She stepped down from her dais, her velvet cloak trailing behind her, and her eyes—moon-bright and unfathomably ancient—met mine. A chill passed through me, not of fear, but recognition.

"I did not summon this," she said, her voice low, barely above a whisper. Yet every soul in the room heard it. "This magic… it answered her."

Her gaze flicked toward the portal, then back to me.

"You," she said slowly, "have awakened something old. Something that has waited for far too long."

My throat dried. "What… what is it?"

"The first trial," she replied, "was meant to test only your voice. But the spell has changed. Your song has rewritten the rules."

A murmur ran through the room like fire catching in dry grass.

I staggered back. "What do you mean rewritten—?"

But before I could finish, the portal pulsed.

A deep note resounded from its center—a single, drawn-out E. It resonated in my bones. The portal expanded, its edges warping reality, and with a final flash of silver-blue light, it solidified into a gateway.

My heart screamed to run. But something deeper… something older… pulled me toward it.

"You've awakened the Gate of Echoes," the Queen said solemnly. "It reveals the soul of the singer. Each contestant must now face it. Alone."

Whispers turned to shouts. A girl in crimson fainted. Seraphina stood, her pale eyes flicking to me like blades.

"This wasn't part of the contest," she snapped, her voice like frost. "How do we know she didn't tamper with the magic?"

The Queen's expression darkened. "No one can fabricate the Gate. Only the voice of the chosen can summon it. And it will not be denied."

A hush fell again. The Queen raised her hand and beckoned me forward.

My legs moved before I could think. The crowd faded behind me. The magic of the gate hummed louder, like it recognized me. Like it had always been waiting.

As I stepped to its threshold, the world bent inward.

Time slowed. My vision narrowed.

And then I crossed through.

Darkness.

Instant, consuming, velvet-dark. I couldn't see. I couldn't hear. Even the sound of my own breath was gone.

Then—faint and faraway—a voice.

Not mine.

Not human.

"Sing, child of silence," it whispered, from somewhere within. "Sing, and let us see your truth."

A shimmer of light bloomed around me—like stars forming a constellation.

I stood in a mirrorworld: a cracked stage under an obsidian sky. No audience. No judges. Only a reflection of myself standing across the stage—except this Lyra was weeping shadows. Her mouth opened in a scream I couldn't hear.

My chest constricted. My hands trembled.

The voice returned. "Your first trial is not of pitch, but of heart."

Then the stage split. Flames licked the edges of the world. A melody curled into my mind—unfamiliar, yet etched into me like a lullaby I'd long forgotten.

I closed my eyes.

And I sang.

Soft at first—uncertain. But as the magic stirred within me, the notes grew. I sang through the fear, through the silence, through the grief I never named. I sang the ache of being forgotten, the longing of empty nights, the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, I was meant for more.

The reflection across the stage stilled.

Then, one by one, the shadows peeled from her.

My mirror-self stepped forward, her eyes matching mine—clear, steady, no longer weeping.

She reached out her hand.

I took it.

The moment we touched, the world shattered like glass.

---

When I opened my eyes, I was back in the throne room—kneeling, gasping, as if I'd run through a thousand lives. Sweat soaked my back. My lungs burned.

The portal vanished with a whisper.

Queen Aria stood above me.

"She has passed," she said.

Gasps. Applause. Distant voices. But none of it mattered. All I could see was Seraphina, her lips curled in a venomous smile. And beside her—watching me not with scorn, but with a strange, flickering curiosity—stood Leander Thorne.

The prince.

His eyes met mine.

And for a heartbeat, I swear—he heard my soul.

---

Gasps rippled through the throne room like a wave.

The last echo of my note still hung in the air—glimmering, suspended—as if the room itself hadn't yet dared to exhale. Queen Aria had risen from her throne. Not fully, but enough for every courtier and noble to freeze in stunned silence.

One of her gloved hands trembled as it lifted to her chest. Her lips parted, her eyes fluttered—half-mooned with light—and she spoke words that didn't seem entirely her own.

"She is not what she seems," the Queen whispered. "The veil is thinning."

An uneasy murmur rose around me.

The magic that had flared around me was still humming—low and bright like the last vibration of a struck crystal. I blinked, unsure if I should bow, flee, or speak again. But before I could move, something else stirred.

A groan. Deep. Ancient. Like stone grinding against stone.

Then—cracks began to form on the floor beneath the dais.

The court recoiled in terror. Sparks of violet light shot through the marble veins of the palace, weaving glowing patterns across the floor. Magic surged, wild and unrestrained, as if something old had been stirred from sleep.

From the center of the throne room, just behind the Queen, a circle of silver light bloomed. It expanded slowly, swirling with mist and music, until it became a full portal—tall and shimmering, with a haunting melody pulsing from within.

"What is this?!" cried one of the nobles. "This was not part of the ceremony!"

Queen Aria stood now, her eyes clear for the first time. Her voice cut through the chaos like a song with no melody.

"The prophecy has shifted. The trials must change."

A stunned silence followed.

She turned her gaze—piercing and regal—directly to me. "Lyra… your song has awakened the first seal. The Spotlight Serenade will no longer test beauty of voice alone. The magic calls for something deeper now—something truer."

Behind her, the portal shimmered brighter, as if responding to her decree.

"The first trial begins now," the Queen said. "You will enter the Realm of Reflection. There, your voice will not be your weapon—it will be your mirror. What you see on the other side may not be what you expect… but only those who pass may continue."

Gasps turned to fear. Some contestants stepped back, eyes wide. Even Seraphina, so sure of herself, looked uncertain.

Ronan reached my side. "Lyra," he said in a low voice. "You don't have to do this. No one knew the trials would be… this."

"I do have to," I whispered, though my hands trembled. "I don't know why… but I feel it. That portal—it's calling me."

Queen Aria extended her arm, motioning me forward. "Who will be brave enough to go first?"

For a moment, no one moved.

Then I took a breath, straightened my shoulders, and stepped toward the portal.

My footsteps echoed in the silence. The swirling light reached out to meet me, tendrils of melody brushing against my skin like a breeze that knew my name.

Just before I passed through, I glanced back. Leander Thorne—one of the judges—stood among the royals, watching me with a storm in his eyes. Not fear. Not pity. Something deeper. Something dangerous.

Something familiar.

Then the portal consumed me—and the world turned inside out.