The morning after the grand finale on Sela, holographic headlines across the galaxy blazed with the same breaking entertainment news.
THE CRYSTAL CANARY CONQUERS SELA!
BRIANE TALEINI'S TOUR CONCLUDES WITH 1 MILLION IN ATTENDANCE!
A crowd of one million for a single stadium show was massive. It wasn't the biggest concert in galactic history by a mile, legacy acts and state-sponsored Accord mega-events had occasionally pulled larger numbers across multi-city simulcasts but for a solo pop artist who had completely rebranded her sound just months prior, it was a staggering achievement. It placed Briane firmly on a higher pedestal, elevating her from a mere pop idol to a generational icon.
But as the morning cycle continued, a second wave of headlines completely eclipsed the first.
PERCIVAL UNMASKED?! (ALMOST!)
THE PHANTOM PRODUCER TAKES THE STAGE!
The grainy, zoomed-in footage of the masked composer sitting on the beige sofa with Briane was being looped on every entertainment channel from the Core Worlds to the Mid Rims. The mystery surrounding him had reached a fever pitch. And it was all perfectly timed.
For the release day for The Sun-Drenched Soul.
Music critics and industry pundits had already published their speculative reviews based on the album art and Percival's previous track record. They warned the public to prepare their tissues. The composer who had written Skyfall and No Time To Die was a maestro of melancholy. He was the architect of beautiful, cinematic sadness. The galaxy was bracing itself for a somber, heavy, emotionally devastating album.
So, as the clock struck midnight in their respective time zones, people all over the Accord, no matter their race or planetary sector, tuned into Echoflow.
…
On the upper tiers of Nexus Prime, the morning rush was a bleak, sterile affair.
Vane, a mid-level Accord administrative worker dressed in a starched, uncomfortable grey uniform, stood in a long, unmoving line inside a high-end Brewka shop. The lighting was harsh, the air smelled of burnt synthetic beans, and the low hum of the city's atmospheric scrubbers vibrated in the floorboards.
Vane let out a long, heavy sigh. He checked his wrist chrono. 07:14 AM.
He tapped his foot against the polished floor. Tap. Tap. Tap. He was sick of waiting. He was sick of the line, sick of the grey walls, and profoundly sick of the endless reports waiting on his desk. His head throbbed with a dull, preemptive ache.
Above him, the cafe's automated audio system, synced to the top trending global playlist on Echoflow, seamlessly shifted to the next track.
[Bill Withers - Lovely Day]
It started with a sudden, walking bassline.
Ba-dum, bum-bum, ba-dum.
It was analog, warm, and incredibly infectious. Vane didn't even realize it at first, but his impatient, annoyed foot-tapping had unconsciously shifted. He was tapping to the groove. He found himself nodding his head just a fraction of an inch.
Then, a voice came through the speakers. It was a male voice, singing with a slightly weary, deeply soulful grit.
"When I wake up in the morning, love... And the sunlight hurts my eyes."
Vane blinked. He felt strangely targeted. It was the raw, uncomfortable reality of a new day. Waking up tired, facing the harsh, artificial glare of the Nexus Prime morning, it was exactly how he felt right now.
The song continued, the groove remaining steady, easy, and unhurried.
"And something without warning, love... Bears heavy on my mind."
The Accord worker frowned, a strange shiver running down his spine. The lyric perfectly captured the feeling of unspecified anxiety; that heavy, formless dread that sat on his chest every morning before he even clocked into his cubicle. The song understood him.
But then, the chord progression shifted, opening up like a flower blooming in time-lapse.
"Then I look at you... And the world's alright with me."
It was a musical "click."
The feeling washing over the cafe was one of instant, profound relief. The tension in Vane's shoulders, which had been coiled tight since he woke up, suddenly melted.
"Next," the barista called out.
Vane blinked, realizing he was at the front of the line. "Oh. A large synth-muurbeast Brewka, please."
He tapped his wristband against the terminal. The transaction processed in an instant, and the barista slid the steaming cup across the counter.
Just as Vane picked up the cup, the song effortlessly slid into its chorus. A chorus of smooth, harmonizing backing vocals washed over the lively bassline.
"A lovely day... (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day...)"
"A lovely day... (lovely day, lovely day, lovely day...)"
The barista, who usually looked just as miserable as the customers, handed him a napkin with a genuine, unprompted smile. "Thanks. Have a good one."
"Thanks," Vane replied, actually meaning it.
He pushed through the glass doors and stepped out into the bustling, metal canyons of the upper tier. He took a sip of his Brewka. It tasted the same as it always did, but as he joined the flow of thousands of other grey-clad workers, he found himself bobbing his head.
"Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day," he sang softly to himself, mimicking the backing vocals.
It was an earworm, stuck securely in his mind, but he didn't mind it at all. Because somehow, looking up at the smog-filtered sky between the skyscrapers, today actually seemed like a lovely day. The song was the musical equivalent of walking into a dark, stuffy room and throwing open the curtains to a clear, bright blue sky.
He didn't know the title of the track, and he didn't know the artist, but he knew he needed to look it up the second he got to his desk.
Vane took another sip of his Brewka, still mumbling, "Lovely day..." as he walked toward the office, entirely unaware that millions of other people across the galaxy were experiencing the exact same phenomenon at the exact same time. The Maestro of Melancholy hadn't come to break their hearts today.
…
On the planet of Sela, miles away from the roaring stadiums and media frenzy, Dorian Kepler stood in the pristine, marble-floored lobby of a luxury hotel.
Without his signature half-mask or his sharp producer's jacket, he looked like exactly what he was: an ordinary, slightly tired teenager holding a duffel bag. As he waited for the receptionist to process his checkout, he leaned against a decorative pillar, idly listening to the ambient chatter of the lobby.
The hotel was packed with wealthy tourists and corporate elites who had attended the concert the night before. And every single one of them was talking about The Sun-Drenched Soul.
"I'm telling you, it's Thinking Out Loud," a man in a sharp suit argued to his companion near the lounge area. "The pacing on that track? The warmth of the guitar? It's the emotional anchor of the entire album."
"Are you crazy?" his companion scoffed, sipping a synth-mimosa. "Did you even listen to Gravity? The weight of that blues solo is unparalleled. It's the best guitar work of the decade. Period."
Dorian smiled, looking down at his boots. It was surreal to hear his creations debated with such fierce, academic passion in the wild.
"Okay, but can we talk about The Bones?" a woman nearby chimed in, holding up her datapad. "Who is this 'Juno' girl featured on the last track? I've never heard of her, but her voice is incredible! The way her baritone grounds the whole song... 'The house don't fall when the bones are good'... it gave me absolute chills. It's so rugged, but so soulful."
"Really?!" another voice question. "She won the Best New Artist on the last Gilded Crescendo. But, the biggest shock was the third feature. Briane we knew about. This Juno girl is a rising star. But Nazir Kal?"
"I know! I thought he was entirely unmarketable! But his vocals on Leave The Door Open... oh my god. When he hit that high note? 'I'ma leave the door open, hopin'...' Absolute silk. It has so much swagger. I can't believe Percival took an underground nobody and made him sound like that."
Dorian's smile widened into a thoroughly satisfied grin. Nazir was probably pulling his hair out dealing with the sudden explosion of interest in himself, but Dorian had proven his point. Raw talent always won.
"Mr. Kepler?" the receptionist called out with a polite, professional smile. "Everything is in order. Your checkout is complete. We hope you enjoyed your stay on Sela."
"I did. Thank you," Dorian said, offering a warm nod.
He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out through the grand glass doors of the lobby. Waiting for him at the curb was a sleek, black luxury speeder, to quietly ferry the galaxy's most famous composer back to the private parking lot where his Millennium Falcon was waiting.
…
Dust swirled across the massive, scorched proving grounds of Aethelgard Academy. Hundreds of Solar students stood in rigid, immaculate formation, their uniforms stained with dirt and sweat from a grueling, months-long field training exercise.
At the front of the formation, the Head of the Solar Department, a man with shoulders as wide as a hover-truck, finally finished a speech that felt like it had gone on for three centuries.
He took a deep breath, his voice booming across the field with enhanced, concussive force. "DISMISS!"
"SIR, YES, SIR!"
Juno Park snapped a razor-sharp salute and slammed her right boot into the ground.
BOOM.
The collective stomp of hundreds of physically enhanced Solar students hit the earth with such synchronized force that a literal shockwave of sound and displaced dust rippled across the training field.
The rigid formation instantly dissolved. Juno let out a massive exhale, rolling her stiff shoulders. She wiped a smudge of dirt from her cheek and began walking toward the extraction zone.
She scanned the crowd of waiting transport ships and staff. Her eyes caught a towering, imposing figure leaning casually against a heavily armored Apex Guild transport. He was a Zynar.
"Zol Tam!" Juno called out, jogging over.
Zol Tam pushed himself off the transport and offered a respectful, though informal, wave. "Young miss. Good to see you in one piece."
"Is the ship ready?" Juno asked, eager to get off the dusty academy grounds.
"Of course," Zol Tam rumbled, gesturing to the open ramp. "Your father is waiting for you at the primary estate."
Juno stopped. She fidgeted with the hem of her tactical vest, suddenly looking anywhere but at the towering Zynar. "No, no. Tell him I'll be late. I need to see my... uuhh... my friend."
Zol Tam blinked. His eyes narrowed slightly as he processed the hesitation, the blush, and the word 'friend'.
Oh, Zol Tam thought, an internal grimace forming in his mind. 'So the young miss already has a boyfriend. I wonder which wing of the Apex HQ the Guild Master will demolish when he hears about this.'
"As you wish, miss," Zol Tam said smoothly. He paused, looking her up and down. "Though... you might want to clean yourself up first. The field training clearly took a toll on you."
Juno frowned, flexing her arms. "What? No, I'm fine. I'm barely tired. I can go right now."
Zol Tam cleared his throat, a low, rumbling sound. "I am not talking about your physique, miss."
Juno froze.
She slowly lifted her arm and sniffed the sleeve of her combat jacket. The smell hit her like a physical blow. Months of sweat, mud, plasma-burns, and recycled air. She had been surrounded by her equally filthy squadmates for so long that she had become completely nose-blind to the stench. She smelled like a wet Muurbeast that had rolled in a sulfur pit.
The realization struck her with the force of an orbital drop. Her cheeks flushed violently, turning a deep, burning crimson. She couldn't even fathom the level of embarrassment she would feel if Dorian smelled her like this.
"Fine!" Juno squeaked, pivoting on her heel so fast she kicked up a cloud of dust. "Let's just go to the house!"
She sprinted up the ramp of the transport, not looking back.
Zol Tam chuckled, his deep laugh echoing across the landing pad. "Wait, miss!" he called out after her, highly amused. "Which house?!"
…
Late in the afternoon, the sun was casting long, golden shadows across the Friton pasture when Dorian finally pushed open the heavy wooden doors of Round Table Studios.
Inside the Junction, the atmosphere was a mix of relaxed focus and quiet clicking. The team was hard at work on a massive Quality of Life update for Stardew Valley, while simultaneously polishing Hades based on the avalanche of player surveys they had received since launch.
Dorian walked in, dropping his travel bag by the door. He let out a long, exhausted sigh. "Good afternoon, everyone."
The Junction's glass ceiling was clear, letting in the bright afternoon sun. The usual artificial rain simulation they used for ambient noise was turned off.
"Good afternoon, Arty," the team chorused back, glancing up from their screens.
Dorian looked up at the glass ceiling, noting a network of new, very out-of-place metallic pipes running along the exterior rim. "What was that?"
Ross Dalle swiveled in his chair, a proud grin on his face. "Oh, that? Logan and Bem got bored yesterday. So, they built a literal rain machine outside our Junction room. Real water, pumped from the reservoir and sprayed over the glass. Now we can feel the rain even if there is no rain outside."
Dorian stared at the pipes. He had been gone for five days, navigating the stressful, high-stakes world of galactic pop tours, hiding his identity, and dealing with a literal goddess of love manifesting in his bedroom.
He slumped into his plush boss's chair, practically melting into the upholstery. "I've been gone for five days, and you guys are messing around to make lazying around more cozy..."
He closed his eyes. "Turn it on. I wanna be cozy too."
Bem tapped a few keys on his terminal. A moment later, a heavy, rhythmic pitter-patter began to drum against the glass ceiling above them. Real water cascaded down the panes, instantly transforming the bright, sunlit studio into a moody, incredibly comfortable sanctuary.
Dorian let out a contented exhale, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. "Much better. So, what are the updates we need to look at?"
Kasavin pulled up a holographic chart. "Based on the surveys we've read, the vast majority of players are highly satisfied with the game. But we do have a recurring request for Stardew. Some players suggested adding specific traditional celebrations from their native worlds to the Pelican Town calendar."
Dorian stroked his chin, his game-dev instincts taking over. "Hmmm. Not a bad idea. Of course, making all of them would be unwise, the code would bloat, and the calendar would be a mess. But maybe we can find one or two that are universally suitable? A harvest festival or a star-gazing event. We can add it several months from now as a free DLC."
"On it, Arty," Kasavin said, making a note on his datapad.
"How about you, Lin?" Dorian asked, spinning his chair to face the lead artist.
Lin Liseli looked up from her drawing tablet, her eyes wide and sparkling with amusement. "Hmmm. I was browsing around our community forum. Our fans are really creative."
Logan Kim didn't even look up from his code. "Creative or horny?"
Lin shot him a glare. "They are creative."
Dorian raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and dread pooling in his stomach. "Whoa. What's this about?"
"It's about the forum," Lin explained, pulling up a secondary screen. "They are making fan arts and fan fictions on Zagreus."
Dorian relaxed. "Oh, that's good. Player engagement."
Logan leaned back, a cynical smirk on his face. "Continue."
Lin cleared her throat. "Well, there's a lot of Zagreus x Thanatos. Zag x Meg. Zag x Dusa..."
Dorian was a bit shocked, but he didn't find it groundbreaking. He just hadn't expected the community to latch onto the romance mechanics so quickly. "Oh, that's fast. Well, it's the ships we kind of imply in the narrative anyway. We literally put Nectar in the game for a reason."
Logan waved a hand. "Continue, Lin."
Lin's cheeks dusted with a faint pink. "Well... then there is Zag x Chaos. Zag x all three Fury sisters at the same time. Zag x Skelly. Zag x–"
"Okay, okay! I get it," Dorian cut her off quickly, holding up both hands.
His mind wandered for a brief, terrifying second. He had built a pristine, finely tuned roguelike about escaping hell, and the galactic net had immediately turned it into a dating simulator. The internet never disappointed in its ability to think completely outside of his expectations.
Dorian rubbed his temples. "Let's filter this 18+ stuff into their respective columns and age-gated boards. We don't want our younger fans to see these early."
Kasavin looked over his glasses at Dorian. "Aren't you young, too? You're barely an adult under Accord law."
"That's different," Dorian deadpanned, "I'm a professional."
Lin giggled, tapping her terminal. "Way ahead of you, boss. I already did it. In fact, I wrote a script to sort them out automatically based on tags."
Dorian narrowed his eyes playfully at his lead artist. "Joke's on you. Are you sure you're not just reading them one by one to sort them?"
"Heyy!" Lin protested indignantly, her face turning completely red. Then, she muttered defensively, "Some of them are really well-written, okay? The prose in the Thanatos ones is exceptional!"
The entire team burst into an easy, echoing laugh, the sound blending perfectly with the cozy, artificial rain pattering against the glass above them.
…
Several hours later, the Millennium Falcon descended from the twilight sky, its repulsorlifts humming smoothly as it settled onto the private landing pad in the Kepler pasture.
As Dorian stepped off the ramp, his eyes immediately caught a flash of striking colors. Parked near the edge of the property was a sleek, aggressively designed cruiser. It was painted in stark, matte black with vicious red accents.
His eyes widened slightly. Black and red. The signature, unmistakable colors of the Apex Guild.
He rushed. He sprinted across the pasture, his boots tearing up the damp grass as he made a beeline for the house.
He threw the front door open, a wave of warmth, laughter, and the overwhelming, heavenly smell of cinnamon and fried dough hit him.
In the kitchen, Juno was standing at the stove, wearing one of John's oversized aprons, expertly flipping golden-brown pastries in a vat of oil. John was beside her, chopping vegetables, while Lyra sat at the counter, watching. Marcus was currently engaged in a stealth operation, his hand slowly inching toward a plate of freshly hot churros cooling on a wire rack.
"Welcome back!" they all chimed as he stood panting in the doorway.
But Dorian's focus locked entirely onto Juno.
The last time he had seen her in person, the last time he had really talked to her face-to-face, was during the intense recording session for The Bones several months ago. Between his producing duties, the launch of Hades, and her grueling Solar field training, they had been reduced to zero communication.
Seeing her here, in his house, laughing and cooking together with his family, did something strange and sudden to his chest.
He just moved. He rushed across the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind in a tight, sudden hug.
"You're back already," Dorian murmured into her shoulder.
Juno froze for a split second, the tongs pausing over the hot oil. Then, she relaxed back into his embrace, a soft, genuine smile touching her lips. "How are you doing, superstar?"
John, catching the sudden shift in the room's dynamic, immediately cleared his throat. He pointed a stern finger at the door, signaling for Lyra to leave.
Lyra rolled her eyes but dutifully hopped off the stool. Marcus, however, completely missed the social cue, his fingers finally closing around a sugar-coated churro.
John sighed, walking over and physically hooking an arm around Marcus's waist, dragging the protesting boy out of the kitchen.
"Hey! My churro!" Marcus complained as he was hauled into the hallway.
The kitchen fell quiet.
A few seconds later, John, Lyra, and Marcus collectively decided that privacy was overrated. Three heads slowly, simultaneously peeked back around the doorframe to spy on them.
"Can I go back in there and take several more churros?" Marcus whispered loudly.
"Let your brother stay there," John hissed, pushing Marcus's head down.
Lyra narrowed her eyes, observing the comfortable, intimate way her brother was holding Juno. She let out a small, thoughtful hum. "So... he is not looking for a harem."
John blinked, looking down at his daughter. "What?"
"Nothing," Lyra said quickly.
Back in the kitchen, completely ignoring the peanut gallery in the doorway, Dorian buried his face slightly into the crook of Juno's neck.
"I missed you so much," he said, his voice quiet.
Juno chuckled, a warm, vibrating sound that he felt against his chest. "Really?"
Dorian took a dramatic, exaggerated sniff of her collar. He frowned playfully. "Sniff, sniff... what is this smell?"
Juno's entire body went rigid. The memory of her panic on the Aethelgard training field, the realization of her own post-combat stench came rushing back with horrifying clarity. Even though she had rushed home, scrubbed herself raw in a sonic shower, and applied copious amounts of floral body wash before flying to Friton, the sudden comment triggered an instant, mortified reflex.
"Ah!"
Flustered and entirely embarrassed, she accidentally shoved him backward with a surge of her enhanced Solar strength.
Dorian was practically blasted across the kitchen, his feet sliding across the floor as he barreled toward the far wall.
"Whoa!" Dorian yelled.
Juno gasped, realizing what she had done. Her reflexes fired. She lunged forward, grabbing his shirt before he could crash into the pantry, yanking him right back toward her.
Dorian stumbled, crashing back into her chest, laughing breathlessly.
"Ahahaha! I'm joking!" Dorian wheezed, looking up at her panicked face. "You smell lovely. Like cinnamon and expensive flowers."
Juno glared at him, her cheeks burning bright red. But as she held him by the shirt, her hands registered the solid resistance beneath the fabric. She blinked, her anger fading into surprise.
She ran a hand lightly over his shoulder and chest. "You've been working out."
Dorian smirked. "Farming is hard work. But there is a lot of things I want to tell you. First... your second song is officially released."
Juno's expression softened into a proud, slightly wistful smile. "Yes, I've heard it already. The mastering is beautiful, Dorian. It's just a shame my 'Juniverse' can't hear my voice live."
"We'll figure that out," Dorian promised, letting go of her waist so she could tend to the churros.
They easily fell into conversation, the months of separation melting away as they shared a plate of hot, sugar-dusted pastries right there by the stove.
In the hallway, John finally smiled, satisfied that his son was happy.
"Alright, kids," John whispered, shooing them away from the doorframe. "Let your brother be."
Lyra nodded, turning and walking away with a small, approving smile.
Marcus, however, was still staring tragically at the plate in the kitchen. "My churros..."
Lyra grabbed him by the collar, dragging him down the hall. "Come on, Marcus. I'll make you more tomorrow."
…
Later that evening, the heavy, soundproof door of the home studio clicked shut, sealing them inside a quiet, glowing sanctuary. The rest of the Kepler household had gone to bed, leaving the two of them surrounded by the soft hum of audio servers and the ambient blue light of the mixing console.
Dorian sat in his usual producer's chair, spinning slightly, while Juno made herself comfortable on the plush leather couch against the back wall, pulling her knees up to her chest.
"So," Dorian said, tapping his fingers over the holographic keyboard. "You've heard the final, polished album. But as a featured artist, you are entitled to hear the classified, top-secret files."
Juno raised an eyebrow, a playful smile resting on her lips. "Classified files? Are you hoarding unreleased Gil Nothos tracks in there?"
"Better," Dorian grinned, pulling up a folder ominously titled: TSDS_Demos_DO_NOT_PLAY.wav. "I'm going to show you the scrap vocals. The original pitch demos where I had to sing every single part acapella before I sent them to you, Briane, and Nazir."
Juno's eyes lit up with genuine glee. "Oh, please play them. I need to hear the great Composer Percival's raw vocals."
"Prepare to be amazed," Dorian said, hitting play.
The studio monitors crackled to life. It started off decently enough. Dorian played his rough, acoustic sketch of Better Together, his voice warm and steady. Juno nodded along, visibly impressed. But then, Dorian slyly skipped ahead to the demo track for Leave The Door Open.
"Now," Dorian announced like a tour guide, "this is where I had to map out the vocal runs for Nazir Kal. Pay close attention to the emotional depth."
On the recording, Dorian's voice started smoothly, navigating the lower verses with ease. But then, the bridge hit. The infamous, sky-high note approached.
"I'ma leave the door open, hopin'–shit"
The recorded Dorian attempted to push his vocal cords into the stratosphere. Instead of a silky, flawless high note, what came out was a strangled, desperate squeak that sounded remarkably like a startled Friton goose being stepped on. It cracked, faltered, and died instantly.
Juno stared at the speakers for one second of pure silence.
Then, she completely lost it.
She burst into a fit of unrestrained, genuine laughter. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as the sheer absurdity of the noise echoed in the acoustic perfection of the studio.
"Oh my... oh my god," Juno wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye. "Was that... were you choking? Did you swallow a bug during the recording?"
Dorian quickly slapped the pause button, though he was grinning from ear to ear. He puffed out his chest in mock indignation. "Hey, don't laugh. That is a masterful display of control."
"Control?!" Juno gasped, leaning back on the couch and clutching her stomach. "Dorian, it sounded like you were physically fighting the microphone!"
"It was an artistic choice!" Dorian argued playfully, spinning his chair to face her. "I intentionally sang it terribly so Nazir would feel more confident when he stepped into the booth. It's advanced producer psychology."
Juno snorted, shaking her head. "Sure it is. Remind me to never let you sing my high notes."
The laughter slowly subsided, leaving a comfortable, warm silence between them. Dorian rested his chin on his hand, looking at her. Beneath the relaxed smile, he could still see the faint, lingering exhaustion in her posture, the subtle bruises on her arms, the tiny plasma-burns healing on her knuckles.
"Enough about my vocal failures," Dorian said, his voice softening. "How was Aethelgard? Did you survive the mud?"
The shift in topic was like flipping a switch. Juno sat up straighter, the stoic, refined Solar heiress facade completely melting away. In its place was a fierce, passionate warrior who had just conquered a mountain.
"Survive? Dorian, my squad completely dominated the northern sector," Juno said, her eyes shining with pure adrenaline. She leaned forward, using her hands to illustrate the battlefield. "They dropped us in the middle of a swamp with only basic rations and heavily nerfed energy rifles. The third-year cadets thought they could ambush us near the ridge."
"Let me guess," Dorian chuckled. "You didn't let them."
"Not a chance," she grinned, her hands moving rapidly as she explained the tactics. "I routed my squad through the mud banks to flank them. You should have seen their faces when we breached their perimeter. I had to go hand-to-hand with their squad leader, a guy twice my size but I used his own momentum against him and threw him straight into a synthetic briar patch!"
Dorian listened intently, completely captivated. He didn't interrupt. He just watched her eyes light up as she detailed the grueling marches, the tactical mind games, and the sheer, exhausting thrill of pushing her Solar-enhanced body to its absolute limits.
The digital clock on the console silently ticked past midnight, then one in the morning, then two.
Outside, the Friton night was dark and quiet. But inside the studio, the two of them remained anchored in their own little world. One a masked musical prodigy who commanded millions, the other a fearsome Solar warrior destined to lead a galactic guild. But here, in the warm glow of the monitors, they were just Dorian and Juno, talking easily, comfortably, until the first rays of the Friton sun began to peek through the window.
⋘ 𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒂.. .⋙
🎮:
- Stardwey Valley: Completed.
- Hades: Completed.
🎬: -
♬:
- Your Song – Elton John (ch.9)
- A Lovely Night – La La Land (ch.20)
- Merry Go Round of Life – Howl's Moving Castle (ch.25)
- Small Fragile Hearts – Victor Lundberg (ch. 27)
- Skyfall – Adele (ch. 29)
- No Time To Die – Billie Eilish (ch. 30)
- Yesterday – The Beatles (ch. 32)
- Lovely – Billie Eilish, Khalid (ch. 47)
- Best Part – H.E.R. feat. Daniel Caesar (ch. 67)
- Lovely Day – Bill Withers (ch. 68)
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**