Rita Bralare, having endured the obligatory post-performance pleasantries, immediately made her way towards a quiet corner bar, seeking refuge from the inevitable swarm. Gil, meanwhile, put a firm hand on Dorian's shoulder before he could follow her example.
"Keep your wits about you," the old maestro murmured, his voice low and serious. "They smell blood in the water. They will test you." He then gave Dorian's shoulder a final, encouraging squeeze and turned, walking towards a group of conductor colleagues who were already beckoning him over.
The moment Gil stepped away, it was as if a dam had broken. A flood of singers, celebrities whose faces Dorian recognized from countless advertisements and Stellarcast streams, descended upon him.
"Percival! Absolutely breathtaking!" one gushed, her smile dazzling but her eyes sharp and calculating. "My manager simply must get your contact information."
"Your arrangements!" another exclaimed, subtly trying to elbow the first singer aside. "So fresh, so bold! I have a new album dropping next cycle, and a piece by you would be the jewel in the crown."
"Ignore him," a third singer interjected smoothly, offering Dorian a drink. "His style is far too commercial for your genius. My voice, however, possesses the depth your work demands."
The interactions were a whirlwind of compliments laced with barely concealed ambition. They praised his work, but their eyes were hungry, assessing him, looking for an opening, a weakness. They wanted a piece of the magic, a song that would elevate their own careers. Dorian, hidden behind his mask, felt completely overwhelmed, trying his best to be polite, non-committal, deflecting their advances with vague promises and awkward smiles.
Just as he felt like he was about to drown, a familiar, melodic voice cut through the cacophony. "My beautiful colleagues," Briane Taleini said, gliding effortlessly through the throng. "Would you mind borrowing my composer for just a moment?" She put a subtle but unmistakable emphasis on the word "my."
The singers froze, their professional smiles tightening slightly. They held their tongues, nodded politely, and allowed Briane to gently steer Percival away from the circling sharks.
He followed her towards a quieter alcove, letting out a shaky breath of relief. "Thank you," he said, leaning against a pillar. "Bring me back to the stage. Their eyes were not clear under the shadow of their ambition."
Briane chuckled, a low, musical sound. "A deal for another song, then?"
Percival looked at her, a wry smile hidden behind his mask. "Oh, you had your own motive, huh?"
"Aren't we all driven by something?" she replied smoothly. "But enjoy the night, Composer." She gestured towards the circulating trays of drinks. "Oh, but you cannot drink through that mask, I suppose. I guess we will have to leave you out of the festivities, then."
Percival spotted a server compadres gliding past with a tray of sparkling wine. He snagged a glass, lifted the bottom edge of his mask just enough to take a sip, and said, "Who says I cannot?" He took a long, satisfying drink, the cool liquid a welcome relief.
As the night wore on, Dorian began to loosen up. The initial shock of the gala faded, replaced by a strange, exhilarating confidence. He found himself navigating the conversations with a newfound ease, the mask providing a curious shield. The high-ranking officials, the Admirals and Viziers, had all departed hours ago, leaving the party animals behind: the singers, the media moguls, the composers, and surprisingly, the old legends. Even Rita was still there, holding court in a corner with a group of fellow pianists.
At one point, a singer, known for his gossip-mongering as much as his voice, casually drifted over to the small group where Percival was chatting with Juno and Briane. "Composer," he began, his tone dripping with false admiration, "what truly made you write that second song for Briane? A little bird flew past my ear and said it was supposed to be a one-song concert. What exactly did Briane do to change your mind?"
The insinuation, that Briane had somehow seduced Percival into writing the song, went completely over Dorian's head. But Briane caught it instantly, her expression tightening almost imperceptibly. The singer just smirked.
"It was easy," Dorian answered innocently. "Her voice is too special. It could not fit with 'Skyfall.' Each instrument needs to be handled differently."
"Is it not terribly tasking," another singer chimed in, "to create such an impromptu masterpiece?"
"Meeh," Dorian shrugged, completely oblivious to the waves of professional jealousy he was creating. "It was complete after about fifteen minutes. To be honest, I struggled more with Maestro Gil's composer desk. It is too complicated. The week I spent in the studio was mostly learning how it works. Hehe."
A collective gasp went through the small group of musicians. Fifteen minutes?
From across the room, a man who had been scowling silently all night suddenly pushed himself off the wall. It was Lorin, a composer and singer hailed as a genius by Accord standards, who had risen to fame five years ago and dominated the mainstream charts ever since.
"Fifteen minutes, huh?" Lorin said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He clapped his hands loudly, the sound cutting through the party's buzz. All the media moguls, composers, singers, and managers snapped their heads towards their gathering.
Lorin walked towards them, a sneer on his face. "Everyone!" he announced. "I think we can all agree on the mysterious man's writing talent, right? So, how about a little competition?"
Juno, who had been sitting quietly beside Dorian, spoke up. "What is the prize?"
"No prize," Lorin said, his eyes fixed on Dorian's mask. "Just pride. We will go to separate practice rooms. Each of us gets ten minutes to write a song based on a theme chosen by the legends here." He gestured towards Gil, Rita, and their colleagues. "Whoever is voted the winner by this esteemed crowd takes the glory." He leaned in close to Dorian. "So, Percival," he hissed, his voice full of venom. "The man who rose from the shoulders of giants. Are you in?"
The room went completely silent, all eyes on the masked composer.
Dorian looked at Lorin's sneering face, then at the expectant crowd. He felt Juno's hand gently touch his arm. He took a breath.
"Sure."
"Great," Lorin said, his smile turning predatory.
…
While the glittering, high-stakes drama unfolded at the Sela gala, the recordings of the concert had already hit the net. Across the galaxy, millions who couldn't afford the astronomical ticket prices were desperately searching Echoflow and Stellarcast for any sign of Gil Nothos and Rita Bralare's comeback. They did not find any official uploads from the maestro or the pianist.
…
Maree Brimen was still obsessively refreshing Percival's Stellarcast channel. Mala lay on her bed, scrolling through fashion feeds.
"Would he upload his song to his Stellarcast?" Mala asked, bored. "He just did the concert."
"I believe," Maree said with the unshakeable faith of a true fan. "He knows his fans. Look, he even replies to our comments sometimes. He will upload it tonight."
Mala refreshed the channel one last time out of sheer boredom. Her eyes went wide. "Maree! Look!"
Two new videos had been freshly uploaded: [Skyfall - ft. Juno Park] and [No Time To Die - ft. Briane Taleini].
"Is this it?" Mala asked, confused. "I thought it was just a rumor about the singer. And I thought he would be singing."
Maree stared at the thumbnails, her initial excitement giving way to a profound, crushing disappointment. "He is not singing?" She flung her heliopad onto her bed with dramatic flair. "I do not want to watch it if he is not there."
Mala immediately jumped onto her sister's bed, grabbing the discarded heliopad. "At least I want to see and find out. He wrote these, right?" She tapped play on the "Skyfall" recording.
…
The first view counter started ticking up. Then, the share function began to light up like a supernova across the Stellarcast network. People found the songs. They listened. They were stunned. This was not the usual Accord-approved song. This was something... else. Something real.
Word spread like wildfire. Comments sections exploded.
: Is this the song Gil Nothos came back for?
: It's incredible!
: Who is Juno Park?
Reply » : She is Apex GM's daughter.
Reply » : Her voice is insane!
: Wait, the second song is even better!
: Who is Briane Taleini singing for?
Reply » : Me… her husband.
: Percival wrote BOTH?? Who IS this guy?!
New viewers, drawn in by the buzz, clicked on the channel. They saw the simple, shadowed video of "Your Song," the composer's first and only self-performed piece. They listened. And the impact was significant. The stark contrast between the epic, defiant "Skyfall," the cold, chilling intimacy of "No Time To Die," and the raw, heartfelt vulnerability of "Your Song" created an instant mystique.
While Dorian was navigating the treacherous social waters of the gala, back at the mansion on Sela, Leo, monitoring the channel analytics from his temporary workstation, watched the numbers climb with quiet, robotic confusion. Views spiked exponentially. Subscribers flooded in by the tens of thousands every minute. For now, Dorian did not realize it, but with just three songs on his belt, he had flipped the entire board of the galactic entertainment industry.
…
Gale Amanar sat strapped into his seat, the familiar, uncomfortable vibrations of the transport ship a grim reminder that his brief respite was over. He missed Leah. He missed the simple, quiet life he had built in the pixels of Stardew Valley.
A Solar Weaver sitting next to him nudged his arm. "Hey, Gale. Wanna listen to this together?" She held up her datapad, an audio file cued up.
"What is it?" Gale asked, uninterested.
"Maestro Gil Nothos made a comeback," she said, her voice filled with awe. "This is one of the songs. They say it is the one that woke him up from his slumber."
Gale shook his head. "No thanks. I like to keep my mind ready for battle."
The Weaver shrugged. "Your loss." She put in her own earbuds and pressed play.
Gale stared out the viewport at the swirling colors of hyperspace. After a minute, he glanced over at his squadmate. Her expression was strange. As the song progressed, a single tear traced a path down her cheek. She did not sob; she just sat there, listening, crying silently.
Gale felt a pang of concern. "Hey," he said softly. "What happened?"
She did not answer immediately. She just pulled one earbud out and offered it to him. "Just... listen to this."
…
Briane Taleini, seeing the spark of competition ignite, stepped gracefully into the void left by the departing musicians. She clapped her hands, her melodic voice cutting through the excited chatter. "Alright, alright, settle down, everyone!"
The corner bar area had instantly transformed into a makeshift stage. One would think these polished celebrities would be concerned with keeping their dignity, but the potent combination of artistic pride, free-flowing drinks, and the sudden, raw challenge had created a cocktail of pure, electric excitement.
Lorin and Percival were being led to separate, soundproofed practice rooms just off the main hall. Gil stood talking with Vaseama, another renowned maestro and an old friend, the one who had provided the theme for Lorin.
"Giving 'being happy' as the theme was a bit... optimistic, don't you think?" Gil raised a white eyebrow, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "That is not your usual theme, Vaseama. Based on your own works, one would think you would give him something more... somber."
Vaseama, a small, bird-like woman with sharp, intelligent eyes, took a delicate sip of her drink. "The more you see of the worlds, Gil," she replied, her voice soft but firm, "the more you realize they do not need to be constantly reminded of their misery."
Gil chuckled, a low, appreciative sound. "Careful. Hopefully, you do not say those things when the Viziers and the Admirals are around."
Vaseama shot him an incredulous look. "Do you think I am stupid enough to do that?"
Gil raised his glass in a toast. "To your stupid head."
Vaseama clinked her glass against his. "To your ugly mug."
Nearby, Rita sat alone at a small table, sipping her drink with icy composure. A young woman, Jessere, an actress who had become a household name, approached her hesitantly.
"Teacher Rita?"
Rita looked up, her expression unchanging. "You finally have the guts to come and talk to me."
Jessere looked down at her feet, fiddling with the strap of her gown. "I am sorry, Teacher," she mumbled. "But I thought you would be leaving early. I was about to talk to you when you left, but then you did not leave, which is weird, because you always hated these kinds of events, and I thought maybe you were sick, or perhaps–"
"Stop," Rita sighed, cutting off the spiral of rambling. "You are a famed actress now. Do not tell me you still spiral into a ramble."
Jessere nervously twirled a strand of her perfectly styled hair. "Only when I am nervous."
Rita's icy facade softened, just a fraction. "Okay. Come here." She opened her arms, and her former student gratefully sank into a brief, comforting hug.
Ten minutes passed in a buzz of excited anticipation. Then, Briane, who had somehow naturally fallen into the role of MC, saw Lorin and Percival returning from their separate rooms. The celebrity crowd let out a cheer.
Briane stepped onto the small, makeshift stage, grabbing a spare microphone. "Alright, party people!" she called out, her voice easily commanding the room. "Are you ready for a showdown?"
The crowd roared its approval.
"Our two brave composers have returned!" Briane announced. "Ten minutes, one theme each! We need to decide who goes first. Let's make some noise for the reigning king of the charts, Lorin Dolla!"
A wave of applause, mixed with a few playful boos, swept through the room.
"And let's hear it for the mystery man of the hour, the composer who brought legends back together, Percival!"
An even louder, more curious wave of applause erupted for the masked composer.
"Okay, okay," Briane laughed, holding up her hands. "Seems pretty even! How should we decide?"
"No need," Lorin said, stepping forward, a confident smirk on his face. "I will let my junior play first. Show us what you have got."
Percival, standing silently beside him, did not back down. "Please," he said, his voice calm and clear behind the mask. "You are my senior. Let your junior learn from you."
Lorin's smirk widened. He clearly enjoyed the deference. "Sure."
Briane seized the moment. "Okay then! First up, with a theme given by the legendary Maestro Vaseama... Give your cheer to Lorin Dolla, everybody!"
Lorin stepped onto the makeshift stage, grabbing an acoustic guitar from a stand. He adjusted the microphone with the practiced ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, a picture of effortless, manufactured cool. He gave the crowd a charming, confident smile, the kind that had sold millions of records.
"Alright," he said, his voice smooth and amplified, instantly commanding attention. "Ten minutes, theme of 'Being Happy'. Hope you enjoy it."
He strummed a bright, major-key chord, a sound as clean and polished as his expensive suit. The melody that followed was instantly catchy, an upbeat, synth-pop-inflected tune perfectly suited for the galactic airwaves. His voice was strong, clear, and filled with a practiced, optimistic energy.
"Sunrise paints the chrome towers gold,Another cycle, story unfolds,Got my synth-brew, hot and bold,Forget the worries, break the mold."
The lyrics were simple, direct, and universally appealing. They spoke of finding joy in the small, everyday moments of Accord life, of pushing past the hardships with a smile. It was safe. It was familiar.
"Oh, the pulse of the city tonight,Neon glow, burning so bright,Leave the shadows, step into the light,Everything's gonna be alright!"
The celebrities in the crowd, the actresses and singers, were immediately won over. They swayed gently to the music, their faces lit up with appreciative smiles. This was the kind of music they understood, the kind that topped the charts, the kind that reinforced the Accord's message of cheerful compliance.
"He's good," an actress whispered to the media mogul. "He knows exactly how to write things for the people."
The mogul just nodded, his expression unreadable. 'Predictable,' he thought. 'But profitable.'
"Starliner hums a steady beat,Got good company, can't be beat,Sharing stories, bittersweet,Making moments, oh so sweet."
"Oh, the pulse of the city tonight,Neon glow, burning so bright,Leave the shadows, step into the light,Everything's gonna be alright!"
It was, by all Accord standards, a good song. A perfect piece of commercial craftsmanship. It completed the theme, ticked all the boxes, and left the listener feeling vaguely uplifted, vaguely content.
Lorin finished with a final, ringing chord and a dazzling, camera-ready smile. The room erupted in cheers and whistles, particularly from the singers and actors who recognized the skill involved in creating such effortless-sounding song.
Briane walked back onto the stage, clapping enthusiastically. "Give it up one last time for the amazing song from Lorin Dolla, everybody!" The crowd cheered again, Lorin taking a gracious bow.
"Alright," Briane continued, her voice taking on a new, dramatic tone as the cheers subsided. "On the opposing side, tasked with the theme of 'The One Who Got Away,' a challenge given by the Ice Queen herself! Give it up to the man of the hour, Percival!"
A different kind of energy filled the room now. Not the easy familiarity of Lorin's performance, but a sharp, electric curiosity. Dorian, hidden behind his mask, grabbed another acoustic guitar from the stand. He walked onto the stage, his movements calm and deliberate, the silence in the room absolute as he adjusted the microphone.
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**