By Zephyria March.
To celebrate the opening of a new musical, early spring flowers were placed one by one on the stalls, fresh and vibrant. The wind, still clinging to the end of winter, sharply brushed past their ears. On the theater’s outer wall, several painters hung from swings, repeatedly retouching the portrait of a beautiful man.
Today was the premiere of the new musical sponsored by the Ernhardt family, the
It was a play personally spearheaded by the second Young Master of the Ernhardt family, and meticulously reviewed multiple times by the third Young Master of the Claudian Marquisate. News that His Majesty the Emperor himself had visited the theater for a private rehearsal had the audience, lining up since dawn, buzzing with anticipation.
The musical invitation in Ivan’s hand was so worn from being handled that its corners were almost completely frayed.
The invitation, received along with a letter requesting attendance at the musical and promotion of the play, was impeccably polite. The sender was Mikael Ernhardt. Apparently, the rehearsal was attended only by His Majesty the Emperor and a few individuals involved in the play, and then Mikael’s friends were invited next.
Lately, Ivan had looked noticeably tired. Had he not slept well again today? My feelings, unable to imagine the end of a Wyvern Knight who crossed seas and leaped over cliffs, and Ivan’s, who had groaned in the library trying to study for exams, could never be the same.
After a moment’s thought, I bought a bunch of yellow daffodils from a stall. Ivan, who had been quiet all this time, let out a soft “Hoo,” and looked up at me. His thin shoulders brushed against my chest as if leaning in.
“Who are you buying that for? You don’t even know any of the actors.”
“For you.”
“…For me?”
“Yes. They’re yellow daffodils.”
“…”
Ivan grew quiet again after deeply inhaling the floral scent. Both of us were merchants, so we were well-versed in interpreting flower meanings and horoscopes.
Instead of adding further explanation, I held Ivan’s hand tightly and led him toward the theater.
Several guests were already seated in the VIP section. As we entered, a boy with black hair and blue eyes stood up and extended his hand to Ivan for a handshake.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, how you helped my brother so much.”
“I was the one who received help. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Young Master Ernhardt.”
“You can just call me Mikael.”
“…You resemble him so much.”
“…What? What do you mean…”
“Mikael also talked my ears off about his younger brother throughout his Academy days. Seeing as you, Young Master Mikael, opened a theater specifically to boast about your brother, it reminded me of those times.”
The boy then laughed aloud. Haha! His cheerful laughter also greatly resembled Mikael’s. After laughing for a while, the boy wiped his eyes with delight and asked playfully,
“Don’t you think my brother would have liked it too?”
“If it’s the Mikael I know, he certainly would have.”
“Thank you so much for coming today.”
“I will always come if you invite me in the future.”
“Haha, next time you should receive an invitation from someone else.”
Even in such a casual remark, the boy’s blue eyes suddenly flashed. His sharp gaze sent a shiver down my spine. Instead of sorrow, a misplaced anger flickered from the boy who firmly believed his brother was alive.
It was my turn to greet him, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. “I hope your play is a success” felt entirely inappropriate for the situation. “He will return soon” – could I even say that?
Seeing my hesitation, Young Master Mikael just smiled brightly.
Ivan gently placed the bunch of yellow daffodils I had given him into the boy’s arms.
“This is a gift from my wife to you, Young Master.”
“Oh, for me?”
“Yes. Because they carry flower meanings like hope, new beginnings, and rebirth, fitting for a spring day like today.”
“Ah. …Um, thank you. I’ll cherish them, Baroness Vikoff.”
“…Yes. Thank you for the invitation.”
Besides us, there were two other guests in the VIP section.
Marianne Philodendore, whom I had only ever remembered with a perpetually cheerful smile, looked astonishingly pale. She glanced up at us and offered a quiet nod in greeting.
Lord Benjamin Claudian, sitting beside her, was even more so. Every time tears threatened to spill from his swollen eyes, he roughly wiped his face with the back of his hand, seeming to have no energy to acknowledge us.
Ivan watched his friends quietly for a moment, then gently secured a seat for me first.
I sat beside Ivan and took his hand again. He took a small breath and squeezed my hand so tightly that the veins on his hand stood out. It felt like holding onto someone dangling from the edge of a cliff. Even as sweat beaded on my palms, I didn’t let go of Ivan’s hand.
The musical was more enjoyable than I had expected.
Laughter erupted from various parts of the audience during the scene where a young Mikael, with his rough speech, buried his head in a book while studying in the library and sighed deeply. The scene where he saved a friend in crisis during the Academy semester, and his dedication to training from dawn till late night, were enough to evoke admiration and longing from many.
When he sighed deeply while missing his family atop the Yuil Mountains, it was poignant, and then seeing him lead his party at the forefront after killing hundreds of monsters, we were filled with admiration once more. The affection woven into the large and small, delicate episodes resonated with the audience.
And then, the climax of the third act.
As Mikael, who leaped into the portal himself to defeat the Ninth God, appeared on the left side of the stage, a powerful timbre, like a thunderous lightning strike, filled the theater. The rapidly beating drum sounds echoed in our chests, and while various string instruments sent shivers down our spines, the delicate sound of a flute cut through the space.
The black cloth descending from the right side of the stage was instantly enormous and ominous, capable of swallowing an actor whole. The cloth, embracing black smoke, formed the shape of a giant human and rippled like a cloud. Hands made of pitch-black shadow and bright, lightning-like blue light clashed dozens of times in the air.
Good and evil sang in turns.
A bright world, beautiful scenery, the love a mother gives her daughter, a father to his son.
Empty loneliness, endless despair, the violence of the strong against the weak, the rich against the poor.
Actor Mikael relentlessly charged towards something amorphous. Each time, the sound of an instrument, like the swish of a sword, cut through the air. The brighter the beams of light poured onto the small human fighting the great evil, the more melodies were gradually added above him.
As the clear, beautiful singing voices layered into harmony, the once-giant cloth gradually shrank. Finally, with the black shadow reduced to the size of a handkerchief clutched in one hand, Actor Mikael stood center stage and raised that hand high.
All the light on stage illuminated the lone actor’s entire body. He sang with explosive vocal power. Even though his face was completely hidden by a mask, his confident smile seemed vividly visible before my eyes.
“I shall return, to the place where I belong—!”
His singing voice, rising higher and higher, as if pushing the limits of human vocal cords, held me spellbound.
Then, at one moment,
Drip.
Sound and light vanished simultaneously.
Unable to bear even a moment of silence, loud and powerful applause filled the hall.
I originally did not prefer musicals or plays. When seated in the audience, I knew my size and height would inconvenience those behind me, so I never went near theaters.
Even I could not tear my eyes from the stage for a single moment. The sheer amount of money poured into this production was evident in every scene, filled with dazzling costumes, direction, songs, and dances, leaving no empty space.
As the audience responded with tears of emotion, applause, and cheers, light descended upon the stage, and actors appeared one by one to bow. Ivan, who had held back his tears until then, couldn’t bear it any longer and took out his handkerchief.
As the audience members gradually left their seats, the murmuring voices could be heard from afar. “It was fun,” “My legs hurt from sitting so long,” “But when will we ever see something like this again?” “Will Lord Ernhardt really return?” “No way.” Their lighthearted chatter made my heart sink.
Yes, it was an enjoyable play.
Each part, including intermissions, lasted three hours, for a total of nine hours. During that long screening time, the audience below bought snacks during breaks, went to the restroom, stretched their stiff bodies, and moved around. They laughed when the actors laughed, cried when the actors cried, fully enjoying the play.
Unlike the VIP guests, who had remained mostly silent except for occasional sniffles.
It was Mikael Ernhardt who broke that silence again. Mikael clapped, whistled, and waved the bouquet in his hand, just like the rest of the audience. However, he did not throw his bouquet onto the stage like others. I blankly watched the daffodils gently swaying in his hands.
Mikael smiled again as he looked at his brother’s friends.
“After the premiere, parts 1, 2, and 3 will be screened separately, so I really wanted to show you today. It turned out really well, didn’t it?”
“…”
“I want to keep it on stage for about 40 years, I wonder how long it will be in vogue.”
“…”
All three of Mikael’s peers were drenched in tears and couldn’t lift their heads. I, who had only accompanied Mikael for a brief moment during his long journey, could barely manage a tearless smile. Gritting my teeth, I took a breath and managed to reply,
“It truly… seems to have captured Mikael well. It will be screened for a long time.”
“Really? …Was my brother… really like that?”
Those deep, blue eyes greatly resembled Mikael’s. The round, gentle eye shape, the deep, clear blue hue, and the way endless waves seemed to crash within them with weighty presence.
Swallowing my choked breath several times, I forced my voice out.
“Of course, in person… he was even better. I didn’t get to see Lord Ernhardt sing, but he flew around the stage like the actors, without any wires.”
“Haha, I suppose so. My brother… is a Grand Sword Master.”
“…”
“I wish I had been born a little earlier. Then I could have had a place in this play too.”
“…”
“There’s so much I don’t know about how he lived, what he did, what he saw, what he thought… It felt like watching someone else’s story, so I couldn’t even cry.”
“You…!”
At Mikael’s self-deprecating lament, Marianne immediately lifted her head.
“How can you say that… Mikael loved you so much.”
“Ah, I know that.”
“Kuhung.”
“Ah, Benjamin, what are you doing? You watched it with me the whole time. Blow your nose. You’re not some wild boar… Ah, just kidding! Just kidding!”
Marianne cried out with a sob. Young Master Mikael, while laughing, teased Benjamin and was then pinched in the side. Marianne, telling him not to bully Mikael, playfully tapped Benjamin’s back. Watching them care for each other so familiarly, I turned my gaze back to the stage.
The stage, where dozens of people had just cried, laughed, ran, and sung, was now empty.
It had already been over two months since the Dragon, manifested above the capital, spoke of Mikael’s death. Although a funeral had not yet been held, many people were implicitly mourning the new hero who had saved the continent with his life.
On the other hand, Lord Michael Ernhardt, who had torn through monsters and evil gods on that stage, seemed utterly unacquainted with defeat. He was cheerful, strong, and upright from beginning to end. He was exactly as all those who missed him wished him to be.
…If you’re going to come back, I wish you’d hurry. So my husband stops crying.
If you would just ride a Wyvern into the middle of the capital and drop down, how wonderful that would be. If you did that, I wouldn’t care about promoting the musical; I’d lie down in the middle of the street and bark like a dog.