In the quiet sanctuary of the Friton studio, the only sound was the soft hum of cooling fans and the distant, rhythmic chirping of Friton's native insects. Dorian sat in his chair, his expression unreadable, his eyes locked on the holographic projection of Ratik.
"Is there something going on since this morning?" Dorian asked, his voice low and devoid of its usual playful warmth.
Ratik didn't flinch. She sat in her office, surrounded by multiple screens flashing with data streams and communication logs. She looked tired, but her posture was impeccable.
"You have got to trust me, Dorian," she said, her voice steady. "I am handling it."
"Oh yeah?" Dorian shot back, a flicker of anger breaking through his calm. "Is hiding it from me part of 'handling it' too? My family acting weird, my heliopad disappearing... was that all your instruction?"
Ratik sighed, rubbing her temples. "Look. I have seen you work on this album. I have seen the hours you pull, the obsession. I saw this moment as a time for you to take care of yourself and rest. I didn't want the noise of the galaxy to pollute that."
She leaned forward, her eyes softening just a fraction. "So trust me. Let me clean this up. That is what a manager does."
"No," Dorian said instantly. "No. It is my career. It is my name on the line. And you are my one and only manager, Ratik. We are a team. So I will come with you, and I will help whenever I can."
Ratik stared at him. She saw the seriousness in his eyes, not the stubbornness of a child, but the resolve of a partner. She realized, perhaps for the first time, that he wasn't just the talent she needed to protect. He was the architect of this entire enterprise.
She let out a long, resigned exhale. "Fine."
She tapped a few keys on her console, bringing up a new display for him to see. "Here is the situation report."
"First," Ratik began, pointing to a logo on the screen. "We have the help of Eterna Music Group. Mar Raila owes me a favor, and she is intrigued by you. She has deployed their PR division to run interference on the search algorithms. It won't stop the news, but it will slow the spread."
"Second," she continued, swiping to a list of names. "Your 'friends' are rallying. Briane Taleini, Gil Nothos, Rita Bralare, and several members of the Sela Orchestra have all sent me private messages. They are willing to go on record to vouch for your character. I have told them to hold off for now, a premature defense can look like panic, but the cavalry is ready."
Dorian nodded, a wave of gratitude washing over him.
"And finally," Ratik said, her expression darkening. "We have a strong suspicion about the real target of this smear campaign. It isn't you, Dorian. Not really."
She pulled up a side-by-side comparison of the leaked photos.
"Look at the composition. The lighting. The narrative," Ratik explained, circling areas with her finger. "The photos of you are ambiguous at best, masked figure entering a building. But the photos of Nazir? They are framed to make him look erratic, disheveled. They paint a vivid picture of a drug addict spiraling out of control. Your involvement is just the hook to get people to look at him."
Dorian stared at the images. He saw it now. The angle of the shot made Nazir's tiredness look like intoxication. The shadows under his eyes were exaggerated.
"They want to bury him," Dorian whispered. "They want to make sure he never comes back."
He exhaled slowly, the panic in his chest replaced by a cold, strategic clarity.
"So," Dorian said, looking up at Ratik. "We thin out the news. We starve the fire of oxygen."
"This could be a double-edged sword, Dorian," Ratik warned, her holographic image flickering slightly as data streams processed around her. "In this industry, silence is often perceived as confirmation in the public eye. If we don't issue a statement, they will fill the void with more lies."
"Well, we are not doing 'nothing'," Dorian countered, leaning back in his chair. "You track down where the photos and the narrative came from. Pinpoint the source."
"Consider it done," Ratik replied instantly. "I have got some strings I can pull around these news outlets. Though, information like that doesn't come cheap."
Dorian smiled, a confident glint returning to his eyes. "Aren't the rights to do a one-time interview with the composer of The Sun-Drenched Soul enough of a chip to trade?"
Ratik paused, then a slow, sharp smile spread across her face. "You make it seem so easy. I love a challenge. Done."
"Call Nazir," Dorian instructed, his tone turning serious. "Make sure he is okay. Reassure him not to be rash and move on his own. He needs to wait. We let our music tell the story."
"That is not enough," Ratik said, shaking her head. "He has some evidence, old recordings of himself making the guide tracks for countless artists under GoldClick. But... no. No, we can't release those."
"Why not?" Dorian asked. He pulled up Nazir's Stellarcast channel on his side monitor, watching the comments section fill with hate.
"It makes us look desperate," Ratik explained. "And besides, we will make enemies with every artist who used those songs. If we expose them as frauds, their fanbases will turn on us."
"We can make it natural," Dorian argued.
"No, Dorian," Ratik sighed, her managerial instincts kicking in. "It's not just the artists under GoldClick. Other artists from other labels will feel attacked. The industry protects its own. Funny as it sounds, if we expose the machinery behind the curtain, they will feel we attacked them too. We would be declaring war on the entire system."
Dorian looked at her, his expression calm. "Ratik... are we under any label?"
Ratik paused. She blinked, then let out a small, breathless chuckle. "No."
"Then let's commit fully to it," Dorian said firmly. "We don't answer to the system."
Ratik tapped her chin, thinking rapidly. "If we are going to burn the bridge, we need to make it look like art, not an attack. What would make it look natural?"
Dorian smiled. "A simple music video. A cover. Let's go back to the beginning. My first song, Your Song."
He gestured with his hands, framing an invisible shot. "Show, don't tell. We let the audience see the history without saying a word."
Ratik's eyes widened as she grasped the concept. "I'll coordinate with him immediately."
"Let's do these first," Dorian said, reaching for the disconnect button. "Stay safe, Ratik."
"As always, Composer."
The hologram vanished. Dorian took a deep breath, steeling himself for the hardest part of the day.
He walked out of the studio and down the hallway to the living room.
"Brother!" Lyra called out the moment she saw him. She had just returned from the academy, her bag still slung over her shoulder.
John and Marcus immediately jumped up from the couch.
"Dorian!" John boomed, a little too loudly. "Come check out this level! Marcus just found a hidden–"
"I've seen the news," Dorian said quietly.
The room went silent as a mouse. The forced cheerfulness evaporated instantly. Marcus lowered the controller. Leo stopped hovering and landed softly on the bookshelf.
John's shoulders slumped. He walked toward his son, his face filled with pain. "We are so sorry, Dorian. We just... we want to protect you."
"All of it is not true," Dorian blurted out, the words tumbling over each other. "I know I've been going out a lot, sometimes for days on end lately, but I swear, Dad, I just made songs! I explored small planets to refresh my mind! I haven't touched anything illegal, I promise–"
He was about to begin his usual spiraling ramble, his mind racing to defend himself against accusations his family didn't even believe, when he was cut off by a wall of warmth.
Lyra, Marcus, and John rushed him, wrapping him in a crushing, three-way hug.
"We know, son," John whispered into his hair. "We know."
The Keplers held the hug for a long while, letting the physical pressure ground Dorian's erratic thoughts.
Eventually, they pulled back. Dorian wiped a stray tear from his eye.
"You should call Sister Ratik," Lyra sniffled.
"Already done," Dorian said, offering a weak smile.
"So what should we do?" Marcus asked, clenching his fists. "Do we fight them?"
"For now... nothing," Dorian said. "A counter-attack needs time. Right now, we have nothing but suspicions."
"Tell me if you need something," John said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "I've got some friends. Some ex-miners from the deep sectors. They can help with... muscle work. If someone needs a visit."
Dorian chuckled, the tension in his chest easing. "Alright, Dad. I'll keep your miner friends on standby."
Lyra suddenly dug into her bag and pulled out a pristine white shirt and a permanent marker. She shoved them toward Dorian.
"Sign this."
Dorian blinked, looking at the shirt. "What? All of a sudden?"
"Just do it," Lyra insisted, her eyes fierce. "You'll thank me later."
Dorian smiled, shaking his head. "Fine."
He uncapped the marker and signed Percival across the fabric. Whatever Lyra was planning, he knew better than to argue with a future lawyer.
…
We shift our gaze to an unknown planet drifting in the Outer Rims, far from the polished chaos of Sela or the neon glow of Nexus Prime. Inside a battered freighter undergoing repairs, the air smelled of ozone and hot metal.
Jess sat cross-legged on a worn pilot's seat, her eyes closed as she listened to the raw, unpolished demo of Percival's "Your Song" playing from a small, crackling speaker.
Gale Amanar, wiping grease from his hands with a rag, walked over and sat beside her. He listened for a moment to the melancholic piano chords.
"Still love this sad song, huh?" Gale asked, a gentle tease in his voice.
Jess shook her head, her dark curls bouncing. "It's not sad," she said simply. "Their voices... it's clear they loved the song. To me, it sounds like... warm rain."
Gale leaned in, trying to hear what she heard. The sound of a mechanic hammer banging against the hull outside provided a rhythmic, industrial background noise. He listened to the lyrics, the longing in the singer's voice.
"Hmm," Gale grunted. "Still sounds sad to me. Like someone missing something they can't get back."
Jess stood up on the seat, bringing her face level with his. "That's because you don't hear it with your heart, Gale."
She reached out and placed her small hand directly over his heart. The fabric of his shirt was rough, but the beat beneath it was strong, if a little irregular.
"Listen to it," she commanded softly. "And follow my words."
Gale decided to humor her. "Alright, kid. Whatever you say."
He closed his eyes. But instinct made him peek through one lid, just to keep an eye on her.
Tap.
Jess's little finger poked his open eye. "Close it," she admonished.
Gale laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "Fine, fine." He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Breathe," Jess whispered. "In... hold... out."
She began to guide him through a strange, rhythmic breathing exercise. As he followed her count, a warmth began to spread from her hand into his chest. It wasn't just body heat. It was a vibration, a resonance that synced perfectly with the beat of the song playing in the background.
Suddenly, Gale felt a jolt.
FOOM.
A burst of golden Solar energy erupted from his chest, creating a small, harmless shockwave that ruffled Jess's hair and knocked a wrench off a nearby table.
Gale's eyes snapped open. He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. The dull, constant ache that had plagued him for months, the symptom of his Solar deficiency was gone. His pulse felt strong, steady, and revitalized.
'My energy...' he thought, looking at his hands. 'It's refreshed. It's been so hard to get my usual Solar medicine out here... but what Jess just did... somehow fixed it.'
He looked at Jess. She just smiled, wide and innocent. "See? Not sad."
…
Trillions of miles away, in the lavish, marble-floored bedroom of the Brimen mansion, the atmosphere was far less peaceful.
Mala and Maree were currently engaged in a heated, high-stakes battle on the galactic net. Their heliopads were propped up on silk pillows, and their fingers were flying across holographic keyboards.
"This guy keeps calling Percival a one-hit wonder!" Maree shrieked, typing furiously. "I am going to dox him! I will find his network address and send a drone to glitter-bomb his house!"
"Focus, Maree!" Mala snapped, her eyes scanning a different thread. "We need to counter the narrative on the main Stellarcast board. Look at this comment: 'I always felt off about that masked guy. What do you expect? He used a mask to deceive us all.'"
Mala typed a response with venomous precision: 'Or maybe he used a mask because people like YOU judge artists by their face instead of their talent. Ever thought of that, genius?'
The internet was a warzone.
: "Honestly? The photos look damning. You don't hang out in sketchy studios with blacklisted addicts unless you're buying."
: "FAKE NEWS! Look at the shadows in the second pic! The light source is completely different! It's edited!"
: "It is disappointing. I expected better judgment from someone who wrote 'Skyfall.' Talent does not excuse bad company."
And then, there were the normies. The vast majority of the galaxy who read the headline, shrugged, and moved on.
On the agri-world of Obelia II, Ewron sat on his porch, scrolling through his feed. He saw the article about Percival.
"Hmm," he grunted. "Scandal. Busy life."
He looked down at the fluffy, four-legged creature yipping at his feet. A neighbor had gifted him a new hound puppy.
"Look, Lulu," Ewron said, showing the dog a comment on his own video. "User 'FarmBoy88' says you look like a toasted marshmallow."
Lulu barked obliviously, wagging her tail.
"Wanna play outside?" Ewron asked, pocketing his device. "Alright, let's go."
He picked up his recording orb and headed into the sunlight, leaving the digital firestorm behind.
This was the state of the galaxy on the first day of the news break. The haters were loud, the fans were desperate, and the rest of the universe just kept spinning. But the seeds of doubt had been planted, and without a response, they were growing fast.
…
A couple of days later, the digital meeting room of Round Table Studios was unusually quiet. The intense coding sessions and asset reviews had given way to a quieter hum of productivity. Arthur sat at his virtual desk, his avatar's hands moving in sync with his own as he polished the hitbox detection for the Twin Fists of Malphon.
As usual, the team lingered in the call, their individual workspaces visible in the shared periphery. It had become a comfortable ritual, a way to simulate the camaraderie of a physical office despite being scattered across the galaxy.
"You seem worried, Lin," Kasavin's voice broke the silence. He was reviewing his script notes, but his avatar was looking toward Lin Liseli's feed.
Lin sighed, running a hand through her brightly dyed hair. "It's just... the rumor about Percival keeps growing. There is no clear statement from his camp. Isn't an artist usually afraid of scandal? Right, Dalle?"
Ross Dalle, who was tuning a digital lyre for a new ambient track, looked up. "Well, Percival is in a bit of a different situation. His song streams are still growing, in fact, they've grown by a lot since the news broke. And he isn't tied to any label, so there is no pressure from executives to release a panicked statement. I think if he is smart, he will ride the trend before making any move."
Bem Lendu looked up from his code, adjusting his glasses. "Why are you so worried, Lin? Are you a fan?"
"Well, I am," Lin admitted, a bit sheepishly. "But I'm more worried about our game. The rumor has spread to the Stardew Valley forums. About Percival doing the soundtrack of Stardew all these times. So far, Arthur has never confirmed nor denied it, but now both the fans and the haters are starting to ask about our stance. Will it affect our studio, Arthur?"
Dorian stopped coding. His fingers froze over the keyboard.
"Nonsense," Arthur said, keeping his voice steady and dismissive. "It was all me. I made the soundtrack."
In his mind, Dorian thought, 'It feels so weird gossiping about myself.'
"I think our boss is better anyway," Kasavin chuckled. "Percival is too... polished. Arthur has grit."
"Alright, there is no bonus pay for sucking up to me," Arthur deadpanned.
The team laughed easily, the tension breaking for a moment.
"I think you should release an album and crush Percival while he is down, Arthur!" Lin said cheerfully, pumping a fist.
'You're talking shit about me right in front of me,' Dorian thought, fighting the urge to facepalm.
"Let's focus on our end, shall we?" Arthur said, steering the conversation back to safety. "I think our game will have more impact than a silly piece of entertainment gossip."
A comfortable silence settled over the room for a while. Then, Kasavin cleared his throat.
"Umm, Arthur? Can I show you something?"
"What is it?"
Kasavin shared his screen. A folder titled PROJECT: TROJAN WAR appeared, alongside a mod file for Stardew Valley.
"I've been racking my brain on how to give the player a familiar feeling to the Hades story before they even start it," Kasavin explained, his voice gaining excitement. "I think we should reward our loyal fans while we're at it. So, I was thinking... we do a simple patch for Stardew Valley. We create a mysterious questline, an easter egg hunt that slowly reveals the lore of our next game."
Dorian's eyes widened behind his monitor. "Logan?" he asked. "What's with the mod pack?"
Logan Kim unmuted his mic. "We will make a twist first. Make the players think we just made another expansion for Stardew. Maybe a new cave or a historical event. But by the time players finish the mod pack story... we give them the reward. Not an item, but a trailer. The reveal trailer for Hades."
The entire team stared at the screen in awe.
"It's... it's like a bridge," Bem whispered. "From the peaceful valley to the underworld."
"It was genius," Arthur said, genuinely impressed. "Kasavin, Logan... let's do it."
**A/N**
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