After all these years, the Sacred Hymn Hall remained just as lavish and magnificent, its style vastly different from the architecture popular in Lentat.
In the foyer, a page greeted the arriving nobles, musicians, and instrumentalists one by one as they came to attend the concert. As the start time drew closer and the carriages arriving from the distance grew fewer, he finally allowed himself to relax a little.
For an ordinary citizen like him, landing a position as a page at the Sacred Hymn Hall was a rare opportunity. If he performed well, it would be easy to catch the eye of some noble or musician and secure a better job. That was precisely why he treated every guest with utmost care, not daring to let a single thing slip, terrified of making a mistake.
"The concert is about to begin…" He watched the young musician who had come out of the side hall to welcome the audience straighten his bow tie and head backstage, and he felt himself relax even further — an instinctive reaction born from frequenting such occasions. "The weekly Sacred Hymn Hall concerts really are sold out every single time. Empty seats are almost unheard of. Truly the highest temple of music. But whether there will ever be another craze like the one from seven or eight years ago, who knows how long we'll have to wait…"
Seven or eight years ago, he had been nothing more than a boy of thirteen or fourteen, and that scene had left an indelible impression on him.
"I wonder if the people in the capitals of other countries are just as obsessed with music. Big Brother Bog always says in that mysterious tone of his that it's because Altor has too few forms of entertainment… But what other entertainment could there be for ordinary folk like us?" With the concert about to start, his thoughts drifted freely.
*Ding-a-ling* — a crisp sound pulled him back from his own world. A horse with a bell strapped to it was pulling a pumpkin carriage up to the front of the foyer.
"A carriage made from a pumpkin…" He felt this ought to be a very strange and eerie thing, so why did he think it was perfectly normal?
Before he could dwell on it, he saw a gentleman in a tailcoat step down from the pumpkin carriage and extend his right hand so that a lady in a purple court gown could steady herself as she descended.
"Lady, sir — are you here for Mr. Francisco's concert?" the page asked respectfully.
"Yes. Take us in and find us two extra seats," Lucian said in an ordinary tone.
The page quickly turned and led the two inside, a faint sense nagging at the back of his mind that he had forgotten something important — like, where were their tickets? Or that the Sacred Hymn Hall had never had a policy of adding extra seats?
"Why a pumpkin carriage?" Natasha regarded their brief ride with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
Lucian bent his right index finger and tapped his chin. "Don't you think it has a fairy-tale charm to it?"
Changing the subject, he gazed around the circular interior of the Sacred Hymn Hall and let out a soft sigh. "Truthfully, I'm more familiar with the stage up there than the audience seats down here."
"…I've never performed at the Sacred Hymn Hall," Natasha said, not without a touch of regret. That was mainly because of the restrictions her identity had imposed at the time.
The page somehow produced two high-backed chairs and placed them at the very edge of the last row. The instrumentalists nearby paid them no more attention than they had anything else, as though this were the most natural thing in the world.
Once Lucian and Natasha had taken their seats, the concert officially began. Today's musician, Francisco, strode to the front of the stage in a crisp black tailcoat. He first bowed to the boxes, then to the audience below.
He had a high nose, thin lips, and slightly prominent cheekbones — the typical look of someone from the Sacred Helz Empire. He was a young musician.
"I used to listen from that box up there… Hmm,
Lucian also spotted
He had no intention of meeting them — it would disrupt their quiet, ordinary lives.
Francisco raised his baton. Lucian and Natasha both fell silent, listening attentively to his music. According to the program, this was a symphony titled *Growth*.
The music began with questioning tones, as though searching for the meaning of life. Then, building upon that theme, the melody shifted slightly to unfurl a picture of youth brimming with vigorous energy. The melody changed once more, and warm, sweet love seeped into the heart of every listener.
Amid the melody, each listener seemed to revisit their own childhood, youth, and first love — a brightness that no amount of sorrow could obscure. But the melody then underwent yet another transformation. The instruments grew urgent and fierce, drums thundering, strings shrill, brass howling, together painting a scene of lightning, thunder, and violent storms — the inevitable hardships and setbacks of life's journey, evoking tension, pain, and melancholy.
Yet after the storm, the sky turned a deeper blue and the sun shone even brighter, proclaiming to all that suffering would eventually pass, and that a life tempered by hardship would possess far greater depth.
A serene "shepherd's flute" rang out, carrying a tranquil life to its utmost peak, before the music swiftly became a martial march, heralding the next challenge — but brimming with confident strength.
"Very fine music, but it seems quite different from a conventional symphony." As the piece ended, Natasha clapped while voicing her question.
Lucian smiled. Altor's symphonic tradition had, after all, developed this particular branch. "A single-movement symphony — more like a poem, really. A full symphony places greater emphasis on structural form, whereas this one is freer in its structure, focusing on its own ideas and content…"