The after-party for the Gilded Crescendo was at its peak. To an outsider, it might have looked like an ordinary, albeit high-end, nightclub. The bass thumped, the drinks flowed, and bodies moved rhythmically on the dance floor. But the air here was different. It was thick with something heavier than perfume or cologne. It was the scent of concentrated power. Every person in this room possessed money, influence, or fame that the average citizen of the Accord could only dream of in their wildest fantasies.
Dorian stood alone at the far end of the sleek, obsidian bar, nursing a drink he hadn't touched in twenty minutes. He leaned back, tilting his head up to stare at the complex, shifting light system on the ceiling, the only source of illumination in the dim, moody space. He watched the lasers cut through the smoke, dissecting the dancing crowd.
'I don't belong here,' he thought, the sentiment echoing loudly in his mind. 'And I don't want to belong here.'
He wanted to be home. He wanted the quiet of Friton, the rustle of the wind through the apple trees, the silly squeaks of the Junimos. He sighed, the sound amplified slightly inside his mask.
He looked around for an escape or an ally. Briane was in the center of the dance floor, living her best life. Juno was nowhere to be found, likely dragged away by her father. Ratik was deep in conversation with a group of managers near the VIP booths. He was on his own.
He sensed movement to his right. A group of middle-aged looking men and women were walking toward him with purpose. They moved differently than the artists, less fluid, more predatory. He recognized them instantly. The media moguls. The gatekeepers.
Dorian sighed again, straightening his posture. "Fine. I'll make a network."
The man leading the pack stopped in front of him. He had silver hair perfectly coiffed and a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Composer Percival," the man said, his voice smooth as silk. "Congratulations on your first awards. A remarkable debut."
Dorian nodded politely. "President Seaner. Thank you for your kind words."
Seaner, the President of Scenery Records; one of the "Big Three" labels in the galactic music industry, widened his smile. "Please, call me 'Producer.' My fellow artists under me all call me that. It fosters a sense of family."
Dorian chuckled with practiced ease. "Well, I am not under your label, President Seaner."
Seaner threw his head back and laughed. "Hahahaha! I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? I like that. Sharp."
He gestured to the people flanking him. "Well, first thing first. Let me introduce my colleagues."
He pointed to a sharp-eyed woman with cybernetic implants along her temple. "This is Vera Kross, head of Kross-Media Distribution. She controls sixty percent of the holofilm theaters in the Core Worlds."
Vera nodded, her eyes scanning Dorian like he was a balance sheet. "Composer."
Seaner moved to a heavy-set man with a datapad permanently fused to his wrist. "And Jarell Vane, the Chief Operations Officer of Echoflow."
Dorian shook their hands. He could feel it, a backed-up, heavy aura of confidence radiating from them. These weren't just rich people; they were the architects of culture. They held the entertainment corners of the Accord in a chokehold. One word from Seaner could blacklist a singer from every radio station. One nod from Vera could ensure a movie never saw a theater screen. One tap from Jarell could bury a song in the algorithm forever.
He had to tread carefully.
The conversation that followed was light, filled with compliments and industry buzzwords, but it was probing. They were testing the waters, looking for cracks in the mask, trying to figure out where he came from and where his loyalties lay. Dorian parried their questions with vague answers, playing the role of the eccentric, reclusive artist.
Then, Seaner took a sip of his drink and leaned in closer. The air shifted.
"Composer," Seaner said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "I have seen your resume... or lack thereof. There is a rumor floating around the void of space... whispers that you collaborate closely with a small, independent game studio called Round Table Studios. Is that true?"
The other moguls went quiet, listening. This was the real question. They knew Round Table was a disruption, an anomaly that was making money outside their controlled ecosystem.
Dorian didn't flinch. He let out a short, dismissive scoff.
"Round Table?" Dorian shook his head. "No. That is just a rumor started on the net boards. Someone saw I liked a post about Stardew Valley soundtrack once, and the forums went wild, treating it as fact."
He swirled his drink, looking Seaner in the eye. "I clarified nothing, of course. Why would I? It keeps my name in the search algorithms. I'm just riding the wave of fame, President. Free publicity is good business, isn't it?"
The tension broke instantly.
"Hahahaha!" Seaner roared with laughter, slapping Jarell on the back. "A man after my own heart! 'Riding the wave.' Brilliant!"
"Using the gamers to boost your streaming numbers," Vera chuckled, shaking her head. "Ruthless. I like it."
They all laughed, a collective sound of approval for what they perceived as savvy manipulation.
Dorian stood there, watching them laugh, his mask hiding his expression.
'Holy shit,' he thought, a cold chill running down his spine. 'Even their laugh sounds like it has money.'
…
The after-party finally wound down, the noise and the flashing lights fading into the early hours of the morning on the Rheesion hotel.
Briane walked with Dorian and Ratik towards the private holding bay, her heels clicking on the polished floor. She looked tired but happy. "Congrats again, Composer," she said, bumping his shoulder gently. "It is a shame about Record and Song of the Year, though. You deserved at least one of them."
Dorian laughed, the sound muffled slightly by his mask. "It's okay, really. The fact that my two songs were nominated at the same time is an honor in itself. Besides," he added, looking at her, "your live performance of 'No Time to Die' tonight? It was incredible. Much better than the first concert. You owned that stage."
Briane beamed, a genuine flush of pride on her cheeks. "Thank you. See you later, Composer. Don't forget our shooting for the music video next week!"
"I won't," Dorian promised.
They waved goodbye as Briane headed for her own transport. Dorian and Ratik walked towards the battered but beloved Millennium Falcon. The moment the ramp hissed shut behind them, sealing them away from the galaxy, Dorian reached up and unclasped his mask. He pulled it off with a groan of relief and slumped into the co-pilot's seat.
"You're piloting," he mumbled, closing his eyes. "I'm tired."
Ratik didn't argue. She took the pilot's seat, her hands moving expertly over the console, flipping switches and initializing systems. She keyed the comms. "M-Falcon, private-class, ready to take off. Requesting clearance."
After a few seconds of crackling communication with traffic control, the clearance was granted. The ship lifted off, banking away from the city lights and punching through the atmosphere into the silent black of open space.
"Going hyperdrive in 3... 2... 1..." Ratik announced.
She pushed the lever forward. The stars stretched into lines of light.
"So," Ratik asked, glancing over at him as the blue tunnel of hyperspace stabilized. "How was your first after-party?"
"Next time, we skip it," Dorian groaned, not opening his eyes. "I couldn't even drink in peace. Every time I lifted my mask a millimeter to take a sip, I felt a dozen pairs of eyes darting at me, trying to catch a glimpse of my chin."
Ratik chuckled. "Enjoy it. It is fame, Dorian. It is not often one can say the galactic elite are curious about their face."
"Yeah, no thanks," Dorian exhaled. "I feel more comfortable in my element. Coding. Gardening. Being anonymous." He paused, then added, "By the way, about my underground hangar..."
Ratik sighed. "You need to wait for it. You cannot spend that much capital right now. For now, the dirt patch is enough."
"Fine," Dorian grumbled. "I guess I should start my own album then. Gotta make that hangar money."
"You really want that underground hangar, huh?" Ratik asked, amused.
She looked over, ready for his retort, but Dorian was already fast asleep, his head lolled to the side, clutching the heavy Gilded Award to his chest like a teddy bear.
Ratik smiled, a soft, genuine expression rarely seen on her face. She tapped the console, and a soft, unreleased piano melody Dorian had recorded weeks ago began to play through the cockpit.
…
The evening light on Friton was a warm, golden haze. Inside the Kepler home, the atmosphere was buzzing with nervous excitement.
Lyra and Marcus were stationed on either side of the front door, holding small, colorful tubes. John and Leo stood a few feet back, holding a large, makeshift banner between them.
Marcus looked out the window, spotting the familiar shape descending from the sky. "Brother is coming!" he whispered loudly. "Get ready!"
Minutes later, the front door hissed. Dorian stood there, yawning, his suit rumpled and dishevelled, still holding his award. Ratik stood behind him, looking immaculate as always.
"Thanks for piloting, Ratik," Dorian said, turning to her. "Want to come in? I know we just had our night in Sela, but it's still dinner time here in Friton. Dad probably made something."
"Sure, why not," Ratik said.
Dorian turned back to the door, his hand on the panel. He paused, looking at Ratik. "Why are you smiling so much?" he asked suspiciously.
"I feel happy for your winning," she said innocently.
Dorian narrowed his eyes. "Is it only that?"
He slid the door open.
"CONGRATULATIONS!!!"
POP! POP!
Lyra and Marcus pulled the strings on their poppers, showering him in a cloud of colorful, biodegradable confetti.
Dorian jumped back, startled, blinking as the paper rained down on him. He looked up. John and Leo were holding the banner high. It was clearly hand-painted, the letters a bit uneven.
CONGRATULATION TO WIN THE GILDED AWARD(S)
The 'S' at the end of 'AWARDS' had been hastily scratched off with a black marker, a silent, loving acknowledgment of his near-misses.
Dorian stared at them. At his father's beaming face. At his siblings' joy. At the silly, corrected banner.
A bright, uncontrollable smile broke across his face. His eyes stung, and a single tear of pure joy escaped, tracking through the confetti dust on his cheek.
"You guys..."
He stepped forward and pulled Lyra and Marcus into a crushing hug, dragging John into the embrace a second later. "Thank you."
Dorian wiped the confetti from his shoulders, a wide grin plastered on his face. He looked up at the banner again, pointing an accusing finger at the hastily scratched-out letter.
"I have to say," he joked, feigning a wince, "it hurts a little bit, guys. You really had to cross out the 'S'? Reminding me I only won one award?"
"To be fair," Marcus piped up, his logic sound as ever, "Sister Juno won because of your song. So, in a way, her award is your award. By transitive property, you won like... at least two."
"Plus," Lyra added with a sly grin, nudging Dorian's ribs, "with her being your soon-to-be wife–"
Dorian's hand clamped gently but firmly over Lyra's mouth. "Okay, okay, I get it! No shipping in the house." He laughed, releasing her. "Don't you guys want to see the actual thing?"
He held out the Gilded Crescendo.
"Whoa," Marcus breathed, taking it carefully with two hands. "It's heavy."
"It's real gold," Lyra said, tapping it with a fingernail. "Or at least, a very high-grade alloy. Shiny."
"Come on," John said, clapping his hands. "Bring it to the living room. We have something else to show you."
They led Dorian into the main living area. On the far wall, a large red velvet cloth, which looked suspiciously like one of the spare curtains, was draped over a section of the wall, concealing something.
"Whoa, guys," Dorian said, genuinely surprised. "When did you make this?"
John flexed his bicep, posing dramatically. "I'm handy, after all. A miner's hands can do more than just swing a pickaxe."
"But mostly me and Sister Lyra," Marcus corrected quickly. "We designed it."
John laughed, patting both their heads. "Yes, yes. I am just the muscle. They are the brains behind the operation."
"Alright," Lyra announced, stepping forward like an MC. "For the first contribution to the Kepler Hall of Fame... drumroll please!"
Leo hovered over, synthesizing a perfect snare drum roll.
John pulled the cord. The velvet curtain fell away.
Behind it was a magnificent, hand-crafted wooden display shelf. It was made from the deep, rich mahogany of the Stardew trees Dorian had grown, polished to a mirror sheen. It was lit from within by soft, warm LEDs, with designated spots not just for this award, but for many, many more.
Ratik, who had been holding the award while they unveiled the shelf, stepped forward. She held it out to him with a small, knowing smile.
"You were involved in this too?" Dorian asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ratik just smiled. "I merely provided the dimensions for the trophy base."
Dorian chuckled, shaking his head. "You guys..."
He took the award and placed it in the center of the top shelf. It clicked perfectly into place, the light catching the gold, illuminating the name PERCIVAL etched into the base.
Dorian stepped back, admiring it. It looked... right. "Thanks, guys. Really."
"Don't be too smug, Brother," Marcus said, crossing his arms and looking at the empty shelves below. "My own shelf will be full of my creations soon. Architectural models. Drawings. Everything."
"Hmmm," Lyra mused, tapping her chin. "I suppose joining the debate club to do competitions should be easy enough. I need to fill my shelf before Marcus does."
Dorian smiled, looking at his ambitious siblings. "Competing already? Good."
GRRRRRRR.
The sound was loud, long, and unmistakable. It echoed through the quiet room.
Dorian clutched his stomach, his face turning red.
Ratik looked at him, amused. "Didn't you at least eat something at the party? They had a buffet prepared by a Molutios-star chef."
"Hehehe," Dorian laughed awkwardly. "I didn't have the chance! Too many people trying to talk to me. I couldn't lift my mask!"
He looked at his family expectantly. "So... what do you guys have cooking? I'm starving."
Silence.
John looked at Lyra. Lyra looked at Marcus. Marcus looked at the floor. They all let out an awkward, synchronized laugh.
"Guys..." Dorian said, his hope fading.
"We don't have time to cook," Leo stated bluntly, breaking the charade. "We spent the last four hours making all this happen."
Dorian stared at them for a second, then he burst out laughing. "So we're all starving then?"
"Starving," John admitted, rubbing his neck.
Dorian smiled. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. "Then let's cook. Together."
John's eyes lit up. "A feast of celebration!"
"Yeah!" Lyra and Marcus cheered, the hunger suddenly making them energetic. "Let's go!"
"Leo," Dorian commanded as they marched to the kitchen. "Music. Something upbeat."
"Playing 'Stardew Valley Overture - Upbeat Remix'," Leo chirped.
…
Several days had passed since the celebration. The routine at Round Table Studios, still virtual, but efficient, had solidified into a well-oiled machine.
Dorian sat in his studio, Leo hovering nearby acting as the interface for "Arthur." On the main screen, Lin Liseli's daily report was open.
"I approve the Zeus, Hades, and Hermes drafts, Liseli," Dorian said through the modulator, studying the high-quality character art. "The coloring on Hades is perfect. Dark, regal, but tired. Excellent work. For the rest, I have added some notes to the file."
"Yes, Arthur," Liseli replied, jotting something down on her own pad. She hesitated for a moment, then spoke up. "Though... about Zagreus. Is there a specific reason why I should stick with your character design to a tee? I had some ideas for a different silhouette, perhaps something more armored?"
"Well," Arthur said, his voice calm but firm, "there is a reason. The mismatching eyes, the burning feet, the specific laurel... it ties into the narrative DNA of the character. After we release, you will know why."
Lin smiled, trusting his vision. "Okey-doke. I'll start on the background and level illustrations then. If you can tell me the grid spacing for the isometric view, I'll start the Tartarus level assets."
"Logan, Bem, and I are still finalizing the splicing logic for the procedural generation," Arthur replied. "We'll tell you the exact specs soon."
"Okay. Thanks, Arthur."
"Thanks, Lin."
The call ended. Dorian immediately switched channels to the engineering team.
This had become his daily life. Artistic direction with Lin, soundscapes with Ross, narrative weaving with Kasavin, and then the heavy lifting, coding sessions with Logan and Bem.
With this division of labor, the complexity of the game was advancing at a frightening speed. If they were making a game as simple as Stardew Valley, they would be three-quarters done by now. But Hades was a beast of a different nature. Even with this dream team, they were only about one-sixth of the way there.
Logan Kim was a force of nature. On his video feed, Dorian could see five separate Compadres hovering around him, typing on auxiliary keyboards, helping him iron out bugs and polish the engine code in real-time. Bem Lendu, on the other hand, was a quiet architect, handling the complex, heavy algorithms of the 'Boon' logic and enemy AI. Dorian acted as the conductor, compiling their work and injecting the core mechanics.
"Arthur," Bem said during a lull in the coding session. "With the current engine stability... I could draft a VR compatibility layer. There is a bunch of games following the Stardew hype, branching from VR to handheld. We could jump that old market with this fresh game."
"No," Dorian said instantly. "We finish the base game first. VR adds a layer of motion sickness and interface complexity we don't need right now. Focus on the combat fluidity."
"Understood," Bem nodded, returning to his code.
Later that afternoon, Dorian was in his daily report with Ross Dalle. They were reviewing the heavy, guitar-driven tracks for the boss fights.
Mid-report, Ross looked to the side of his monitor, his three-jointed arms pausing on his instrument. He squinted, reading something, and completely lost focus.
"Ross?" Arthur asked. "What happened? Is the mix off?"
"Uh, uhh... no," Ross stammered. "I... I think it is better for you to see this."
A second later, a screen share popped up in the meeting. It was a capture of the Void and the Heliostore marketplace.
Dozens of thumbnails filled the screen. Galactic Farmer 3000.Moon Harvest.Crop Simulator. They were games with a suspiciously similar pixel-art style and cozy farming genre to Stardew Valley.
"There are several similar games popping up," Ross said, sounding worried. "Clones. Some of them are backed by big publishers trying to cash in on the trend."
"Hmmm," Dorian hummed, looking at the soulless knock-offs. He wasn't angry. He had expected this. In fact, he was surprised it took them this long.
He started typing furiously on his main keyboard.
"Arthur?" Ross called out, unsure of the silence.
Dorian kept typing, his eyes locked on the code he had prepared weeks ago for this exact moment. "I think we can push it now," he murmured.
He hit SEND.
Ross's feed refreshed. A new notification from the official Round Table Studios account pinged across the galactic net.
---
[ANNOUNCEMENT: The Creator's Key Update]
To our beloved community,
Stardew Valley is not just my home. It is yours.
Effective immediately, we are releasing the "Yoba Protocol." This is a full-access Modding Suite and Asset Creation Kit.
This update allows full modification of the game. You can create new items, new dialogue, new characters, and even entirely new maps and stories within the Stardew engine. If you want to build a farm on a lava planet? Do it. If you want to turn the game into a dating sim for the monsters in the mines? Do it.
However, the Creator's Key is powerful. To ensure you understand the world before you reshape it, this feature is locked.
Unlock Condition: Achieve 100% Perfection.
Once unlocked, you may upload your creations to the new "Community Workshop" section of the Forum. The best creations will be featured weekly.
Happy creating.
---
Ross read the announcement, his jaw slowly dropping. By locking the tools behind the 100% completion achievement, Arthur had just gamified game development itself. He hadn't just given them tools; he had given them a goal. And by letting the community build anything, he had just made every single clone game obsolete before they could even rake in the money. Why buy a knock-off when you can play infinite, free variations of the original?
"Arthur," Ross whispered, his eyes wide. "This... this is genius."
Dorian chuckled, closing the upload window. "Okay. Where were we? The bass line on the Megaera track?"
⋘ 𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒂.. .⋙
🎮:
- Stardwey Valley: Completed.
- Hades: 18%██▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒
🎬: -
♬:
- Your Name – 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)
*A/N*
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
*A/N*