Saint Seiya: The Legend of Seiya

92 - The Imprisoned Princess

In Lower Asgard, as the region was known beyond the fortification walls where Valhalla Palace stood, was where the miserables lived. Where hunger devastated families and took, day after day, the elders, as well as the newborns, in what was undoubtedly the harshest winter in its history.

The sharp and icy winds sometimes gave a truce and the population went out to the streets to exchange, seek help from each other, throw themselves in the taverns or beg mercy in the temples and shrines of the region. In the center of an abandoned square of their tents, the population gathered to receive an insufficient amount of bread and mead that came from distant farms or even from the palatial stock. There was no uproar or confusion, just the silent acceptance of a people who knew very well their destiny on this Earth.

And as the crowd jostles in line and then spreads across the square to speak to acquaintances or even to laugh at some old or invented tale, a sweet and beautiful music spreads across the square, played by a sensible violinist who, sitting on the roof of a tall bandstand, played the sorrows of them all.

As soon as the distribution of food was over, the men and women scattered in the square slowly fell silent to listen to that beautiful lament that the violin was singing; his high-pitched voice, his precise and long notes, while the young man with long fair hair, but dirty, played his Nordic violin without saying a single word, for the solfeggios of his instrument were enough for no one to have any doubt of the pain that silenced him in the chest, as it was a common pain for everyone there.

The silent crowd, however, was gradually taken over by a hubbub among them all, for among them was a foreigner. That was an abandoned people and, therefore, they did not received any visitors or tourists; it was very rare for the single road of its entrance to welcome any entourage, especially in a terrible winter like that, so those who didn't live there easily stood out. And that foreigner even tried to hide his identity under a tunic and a dark hood.

The crowd parted from him and a clearing formed with a single figure in the center, a foreigner who was much smaller than the inhabitants of that inhospitable region. The violinist stopped playing his tune and looked at that curious figure; his voice was deep, though he had a delicate face and a shining instrument.

"Who's there?"

All eyes were on that figure, who looked like a child next to them all. His voice sounded sweet under the hood:

"I want to see the ruler of Asgard. I come from very far." replied the intruder in common speech, not understanding exactly what the violinist had asked him.

"And who shall I bring before our ruler?" asked the violinist in a language the boy could understand.

The foreigner took off his hood and replied with his name, revealing himself to everyone.

"My name is Shun."

The fiddler came down from that high roof gracefully and landed in front of the boy; he was a little bigger than Shun and looked him deeply in the eyes. The sweet eyes and calm face showed exactly what Shun was: a peaceful visitor. As that musician who, like Shun, also had a sweet and calm face, although his voice was so much deeper. He stowed his harpinger violin on his back, the bow at his waist, and asked Shun to accompany him.

Under the prying eyes of that suffering population, but with a piece of bread to take back home, the violinist escorted the foreigner down the main street to the footbridge of the upper city fort, where the stones he walked on were even different and more refined. But the truth is that hunger and misery had not spared those who lived there, although they were few, they were few as hungry and miserable as those who lived beyond the bridge.

It was a short march from there to Valhalla Palace, so they were soon traversing the cold, dark corridors of the ancient building to the huge double door that preceded the Hall of Hilda, the governess of Asgard. The guards all straightened their postures as the violinist approached with that foreigner and no detachment made any move to interrupt or question what he was doing walking in Odin's Palace with someone from so far away. As were the calm notes of his violin, so was his artistic heart; beside him, Shun remembered that these were a people of peace and that was how he preferred things to unfold.