Love's Greeting
Edward Elgar, infused with love. The quintessential composer of Britain's national Romantic school. He taught himself composition and spearheaded a revival of British music with his Romantic orchestral mastery. Among his works, the most renowned is the Pomp and Circumstance march, penned at the request of the royal family. And a close second is Salut d'Amour. For anyone Korean, this one's probably even more familiar—it's a wedding staple, and it's even been rearranged into pop songs. One reason I picked it was that it's originally a chamber piece for just violin and piano. And another? Elgar composed it as a heartfelt tribute to his fiancée, Alice, brimming with love and gratitude. Perfect for a wedding, right? But none of that mattered now. I brushed aside the stray thoughts bubbling up. All that counted was nailing the performance. That alone would be the greatest gift for my brother.
I turned my head toward Monica, locking eyes with her. With a slight nod from me, she nodded back and faced forward.
Alright, let's do this.
Screeech—
I slowly raised the bow to the strings. Twang, twing—
Monica kicked things off first. The piano—no, the modified carillon—rang out, its notes spreading in every direction. This hall wasn't purpose-built for music, but the sound bloomed outward, bouncing off the walls in a gorgeously resonant echo. I'd designed the modifications with this exact space in mind, so it was no surprise.
As the warm, enveloping melody flowed, the restless audience fell silent as one.
A few more notes drifted by.
Without hesitation, I drew the bow across the strings.
Screeech—
Just like always. The moment the bow glided smoothly over the strings, my field of vision blurred. The bright lights faded. The packed hall emptied. Every gaze upon me dissolved. In their place, pure melody reigned supreme.
But unlike solo performances, there was one more presence here. Twang, twing, ting. Monica right beside me, syncing perfectly to weave the harmony.
Ah—
Bliss. Pure, utter bliss in this moment of making music. In crafting this beautiful piece with my own hands.
Screeeeech—
Bliss in sharing Elgar's profound sincerity—his devotion to his wife Alice—with the people of this world through my playing.
Of course, amid it all, I never lost sight of my goal.
Congratulations, brother.
It was back when I was very young, right after awakening to my reincarnation. Everything was chaos. Life here felt so short, while my time on Earth stretched endlessly. I might have drifted through this world unmoored, floating aimlessly until the end.
My brother Kyle was the one who grounded me, planting my feet firmly on solid earth. Our parents' love was never lacking—in fact, our family was far warmer than most noble houses. But the person I spent the most time with, the one just a few years older, was Kyle. We raced through fields together. Fought with wooden swords, splashed in streams, laughed, shouted. When I first played for him, he clapped with genuine awe, hyping me up: You're going to be a musician for the history books!
This piece was for him. For that brother.
The wedding at Clover Estate drew a massive crowd of guests. Some had a keen ear for music; others couldn't care less. Music might be a popular pastime, but tastes vary wildly. Even the finest piece falls flat without an engaged audience.
“……”
But right now, in this moment, everyone in the hall wore the same entranced expression, staring at the same spot. Eyes half-lidded in a daze, mouths slightly agape—a look they'd never show to save face under normal circumstances.
There stood a young man and woman, conjuring a melody that made hearts tremble.
Even musical novices sensed it instinctively. This piece was on another plane from anything they'd heard before.
“Impossible……”
An elderly man seated a bit apart murmured in a quavering voice. He was a priest from the Armonia Church. Arden was set to perform at the temple soon, but word of this wedding gig had drawn him here irresistibly. He wasn't alone—other priests had come, even the Saintess herself. Nearby tables held priests from other faiths too, all lured by rumors of this prodigy named Arden.
They all listened in rapture. But for the Armonia contingent, it went beyond admiration to outright shock.
The old priest had never found fault with any instrument he'd played or heard. Sure, some were superior within their type. But comparing across instruments? Absurd. Each stringed instrument had its unique charm—no one was inherently better.
Or so he'd thought. Until now.
How can a melody like this exist?
One listen, and he was hooked. Compared to this sound, every other string instrument he knew sounded dull, shrill, or grating. But the notes from that young man's violin were different—astonishingly delicate yet profoundly deep.
The real marvel was its expressiveness. With every slide of fingers on the fingerboard, every stroke of the bow, the sound shifted like a living creature. The instrument was singing.
“Ahh.”
Tears welled in the priest's eyes. He'd never doubted the goddess's judgment, but hearing it firsthand confirmed it. That young man was truly beloved by the goddess of music.
―――
As the piece built to its climax, plunging deeper into the audience's souls, Kyle—standing with the groom's side—stared blankly at his brother on stage.
The kid who'd always trailed after him was up there now. Every motion of Arden's hands rippled across the hall, drawing every eye. It was astonishing, surreal.
How did he master this in just two weeks?
Kyle had felt guilty pushing him to prepare a piece so quickly, but Arden had exceeded expectations—leaped past them entirely.
A smile spread across Kyle's face as he watched. He fought back the tears welling up, though. Crying at his own wedding? The rumors would never die.
While Kyle battled his emotions, Arden's performance neared its close. The audience sensed it too, their faces etched with deep regret and longing. They wished this moment could last forever.
But all things end. The melody began to fade, the bow trembling faintly on the strings before stilling.
―――
No one spoke until the sweet afterglow swirled around the ceiling and vanished.
Salut d'Amour—born from Arden's fingertips, perfected through Monica's keys—had seared itself into every soul present.
Clap, clap, clap.
Count Clover shattered the long silence first. His eyes were red-rimmed, gleaming with pride. That sparked it—a dam burst, and thunderous applause swallowed the hall.
Clapclapclapclapclap!
“Unbelievable! Such beauty!”
“The Clover second son is no ordinary man!”
Amid the roar, gasps of awe echoed everywhere. Even scions of great houses shed decorum, offering heartfelt praise. Dignified priests joined in. Stella, the Armonia Saintess, looked ready to weep—restraining herself only to avoid impropriety at someone else's wedding.
“Thank you!”
Arden and Monica bowed, faces flushed, to the enraptured crowd. Then Arden delivered a brief toast he'd prepared for his brother.
Only then did guests snap out of the music's spell, remembering their role: celebrating the bride and groom.
But Arden's melody replayed endlessly in their minds. Who could blame them? Even the stars of the show felt it.
One exception.
“Wow. Looking sharp.”
Arden, back among the guests, oblivious to the impact he'd made. He just grinned at his sharply dressed brother.