Friton's night air carried a distinct chill, the crisp precursor to the planet's version of autumn. The rolling hills were cloaked in silver shadows under the moons, and the chirping of insects had slowed to a lethargic hum.
Dorian sat on the wooden steps of the back porch, a thin blanket draped over his shoulders. He was just watching the garden. Under the moonlight, the Junimos glowed faintly, tiny, bioluminescent spirits tending to the final harvest of the season. A blue one was currently trying to drag a massive pumpkin twice its size, slipping comically in the dew-slicked grass.
"Hot cocoa?"
Dorian looked up. Lyra stood next to him, holding two steaming mugs. Her face was illuminated by the rising steam, her expression unusually somber.
"Thanks," Dorian said, reaching for a cup. "Come here."
"I got more studying," Lyra mumbled, clutching her own mug tight. "Constitutional Law of the Rim Worlds isn't going to memorize itself."
Dorian patted the empty spot on the step beside him. "You already have a hot cocoa in your hand. Come and sit with me. The Accord's law won't suddenly change just because you don't read it for twenty minutes."
Lyra sighed, the tension in her shoulders dropping an inch. She sat down, pulling her knees up to her chest.
They drank in peace for a while. The silence was comfortable, filled only by the soft slurp of cocoa and the occasional squeak from the garden as a Junimo tripped over a vine. It was the kind of silence that usually preceded a storm or a revelation.
"What happened?" Dorian asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the cool air.
Lyra flinched. "What? What are you talking about suddenly?"
Dorian turned to look at her, his eyes serious in the dim light. "Lyra, I've been raising you and Marcus since I was seven. I know when you're hiding something. You've got something on your mind, and it seems yesterday's shocking news was the breaking point. So, what is it?"
Lyra stared into her cup, swirling the dark liquid. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
Dorian took a sip of his cocoa. "Are you trying to conjure up big words to get out of this situation?"
Lyra's eyes darted to the side, her classic 'guilty' tell.
"Hah! You did!" Dorian pointed a finger at her. "Lyra used Obfuscation to avoid being truthful to her brother! It's not very effective!"
Lyra chuckled, a weak, watery sound. "You started your nonsensical references again. What is 'effective' supposed to mean in this context?"
They both laughed, the ease returning for a fleeting second before Lyra's smile faded. She looked out at the garden, her gaze unfocused.
"Remember the story you told us?" she asked quietly. "The one about the boy who lived? The one with the lightning scar?"
Dorian nodded. "Harry Potter. Yeah."
"I always felt like... in a way, it was your story," Lyra said, her voice barely a whisper. "Like an alternate version of yourself. A boy left with a burden he didn't ask for."
Dorian frowned, confused. "Lyra, that's just a story. I'm not a wizard."
"As silly as it sounds," she interrupted, turning to face him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I've always believed it was my fault Mom left us."
Dorian froze. He set his mug down on the step with a sharp clink. He looked at his little sister, really looked at her, and saw a fifteen-year-old girl carrying a mountain of guilt she had no business holding.
"What?" he asked, his voice low and intense. "How can you say that?"
Lyra took a shaky breath. "Remember the day she left? You were at school. Dad was supposedly coming back from his monthly shift that day. I was watching cartoons with baby Marcus."
She gripped her mug so hard her knuckles turned white.
"I was the last person who saw her, Brother. She was standing at the door with her bag. She looked at me. She smiled. And then she walked out."
Lyra's head dropped, her hair falling forward to hide her face. "If only I hadn't let her go that day... if I had cried, or grabbed her leg, or called you... maybe you could have convinced her to stay. Maybe she wouldn't have just... vanished."
Dorian stared at her, his heart breaking. He had spent years resenting his mother, years blaming his father, years fighting the world to keep them afloat. But he had never, not once, realized that his brilliant sister had been blaming herself the entire time.
Lyra took a ragged breath, but her voice grew stronger as she spoke. "But you were strong, Brother. You didn't cry. You rolled up your sleeves and started taking care of us. I've woken up in the middle of the night so many times and seen you studying in your room, exhausted but never stopping. And you never once blamed us. You were never mad at us for making your life harder. I believe you would soar so high if you didn't have us as your responsibility."
"Don't say that," Dorian said, his voice thick. "I did get the scholarship with you guys, didn't I? You were my motivation, not my burden."
"You're kind, Brother," Lyra insisted, shaking her head. "Others would use that money for themselves, to buy their way into the upper tiers. But you used it on us... The day of your Awakening, I was so hurt seeing your light become dark. But as always, you never blamed us. You kept blaming yourself. I knew you would soar higher from that day... and you are. Look at you."
Dorian managed a small, wobbly smile.
Lyra looked around the garden, at the glowing Junimos and the thriving crops. "You gave us a roof. A real home. You paid for my academy. You gave our father his light back. You have given your all to us."
She looked up at the twin moons of Friton, as if confessing her sins to the sky. "I was ashamed of it," she whispered, "but the first thing I felt the moment I saw that news headline was: We are going to lose everything. That's it. I didn't even think about your wellbeing at first. I worried about the house, the school, the food. I couldn't even do the simple thing of being a good sister."
A single tear escaped, tracking a shining path down her cheek. She turned to him and smiled, a fragile, heartbreaking expression. "I've had the feeling that without us, you would soar even higher at this point. So... I feel like Harry Potter is your alternate self. The one without us, but soaring higher in his own universe."
Silence descended on the porch, filled only by the ambience of the night winds and the distant chirping of insects.
"You're right," Dorian said softly. "It is his own universe."
He looked at his hands, calloused from gardening and stained with ink from his music sheets. "Maybe in another universe, I was a Solar. Battling through the galaxy, making a name for myself with power and light."
He looked back at Lyra, his eyes clear and warm. "But for the life of me... I couldn't envy that guy."
Dorian put down his cocoa on the wooden step. He reached out and gently took Lyra's hand.
"Lyra," he said, his voice steady. "I will steal something Dad told me once. It's the thing that brought me light to where I am today."
He squeezed her hand.
"Be successful... not be successful... Lyra, I have never cared about any of that. What I care about is for my sister to be happy."
Lyra stared at him for a second, her lip trembling. Then she launched herself at him, burying her face in his shoulder as the dam finally broke. Dorian held her tight, letting her cry out the years of guilt and fear, rocking her gently under the light of the moons.
…
We shift our gaze to Sela, to a cramped apartment that smelled of stale air and old dreams. Nazir Kal sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.
It had been days, and he was struggling. He had the demo for Your Song playing on a loop, but every time he tried to sing it, the words felt like ash in his mouth.
"It's a little bit funny... this feeling inside..."
He stopped. It felt foreign. It felt wrong. It was like wearing a skin shed by a Kalamoran; dry, dead, and not his own.
He slammed his hand onto the mattress. "Why?" he muttered to the empty room. "Why did Composer Percival tell me to cover this song specifically? I'm trying to show the world they stole my work. Why would I sing a song about giving a song away? It contradicts everything!"
He grabbed his wristband and tried to call Percival directly.
Beep... beep... beep... No answer.
"Maybe it's night time on his system," Nazir sighed, trying to calm the rising panic in his chest.
He dialed Ratik instead.
"Nazir," Ratik's voice answered, sharp and professional. "Is this all the video evidence? I just received the transfer."
"Is it not enough?" Nazir asked, anxiety spiking.
"No, it is sufficient," Ratik replied. "So why did you call me?"
"Can you ask Composer Percival why he wants me to cover this song specifically?" Nazir pleaded. "I mean, we are trying to show they stole my song, right? Why would I sing: 'I don't have much money, but boy if I did... I'd buy a big house where we both could live...'? It feels like surrender."
There was a pause on the other end. Then Ratik hummed thoughtfully. "Hmm. I just realized that. Do you need this question answered?"
"Yes," Nazir said, his voice cracking. "My cover feels wrong. I feel like I need to know what the Composer intends me to say. I can't act the part if I don't understand the motivation."
"I'll pass the message," Ratik said, checking her chrono. "He is still asleep at his residence at this hour. I won't wake him."
"Okay," Nazir said, a wave of disappointment washing over him. "Goodbye."
He hung up. There was nothing he could do but wait.
Restless, he opened his Stellarcast feed and started to watch Percival's very first upload. The original "Your Song." He watched it once. Twice. He studied Percival's fingers on the keys.
Suddenly, a notification pinged. It wasn't a call. It was a file sent by Ratik.
From: Ratik
Subject: Context.
Message: This is the raw audio from the very first time Percival sat at his new desk. Before the fame. Before the mask.
Nazir pressed play.
The audio was crisp, intimate. The sound of a chair squeaking.
Percival's Voice: "Hey, what is that for?"
Woman's Voice: "For me. It is my song, so I get to record it and play the recording whenever I like."
Nazir frowned.
Percival: "At least do not show my face."
Woman (smiling in her voice): "Why? You are not that ugly."
Percival: "Oh, wow, a vote of confidence from over here."
The sound of shared, easy laughter filled the room. It was warm. It was genuine.
Nazir whispered, "What is this?"
Woman: "Do not worry. If it is not good, I will just come back every day until you give me a good song. Hehe."
Then, the music started.
It was Your Song. The same chords Nazir had been struggling with. But this version... it felt different. It felt filled. The recording on the Stellarcast channel was polished, perfect. But this raw demo? It evoked a feeling of pure, uncomplicated giving. It wasn't about the transaction of a song. It was about the joy of creating something for someone else.
"My gift is my song... and this one's for you..."
As the song played, Nazir looked away from the screen. His eyes landed on his own datapad, scrolling back through his timeline to years ago. He found a small node in his life, a time before GoldClick, before the contracts.
He clicked on a video recording.
It was him, sitting in a small café, singing his heart out. And holding the camera, laughing and cheering him on, was his ex-girlfriend. She was smiling. He was smiling.
He wasn't singing for a label. He wasn't singing for fame. He was singing for her.
Tears welled up in Nazir's eyes.
"I get it," he whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "It's not about giving it away to them. It's about remembering why I do this in the first place."
…
Several hours later, the sun over Friton had climbed high, bathing the planet in its signature golden light. In Sela, Ratik sat in her office, her hand hovering over her communicator. It was time to wake Dorian with the update.
Just as she was about to initiate the call, a notification pinged on her main screen. A priority transfer.
Sender: Nazir Kal.
It wasn't a question or a plea for help. It was a massive data packet containing high-quality audio files and a folder of raw video footage. Attached was a simple, text-only message:
"Let's add more context. These are videos I had before I was "famous." Well, I've never been famous in the first place. Anyway... whatever happens, thank you."
Ratik opened the first video file. It was handheld, shaky, filmed in a vertical format like a personal vlog. It showed a younger Nazir, his face unlined by years of disappointment, laughing as a woman tried to teach him a dance move in a cramped apartment. He looked happy. He looked alive.
Ratik watched another clip. Nazir humming a melody while cooking instant noodles, smiling at the camera.
A rare, genuine warmth spread through her chest. She closed the file, a soft smile touching her lips.
"Composer..." she whispered to the empty room. "You keep bringing the best out of people."
…
Several hours later, a notification sent shockwaves through the already turbulent network.
NEW UPLOAD: Nazir Kal.
The internet braced itself. People expected a clarification video, a tearful apology, or perhaps a rage-filled drama dump blaming GoldClick for his downfall. The haters had their comments pre-written. The fans held their breath.
Instead, the video was titled simply: "Your Song (Cover)."
Confusion rippled through the comment sections.
: "A cover? Now?"
: "Is he surrendering? Is this a white flag to Percival?"
: "Why choose Percival's first song? Is he mocking him?"
But as soon as people clicked the video, the questions vanished.
The screen didn't show a polished studio or a staged set. It was a montage. It began with the shaky, handheld footage of a younger Nazir writing lyrics in a notebook, the camera held by someone who clearly loved him.
Then, the music started.
It wasn't Percival's bright, optimistic version. It wasn't the polished, hopeful track that had launched a career. Nazir's version was slower. The tempo dragged slightly, like a heartbeat that was tired of beating. The piano chords were heavy, sustained for a fraction of a second too long.
"It's a little bit funny... this feeling inside..."
Nazir's voice entered. It was raw. It was the sound of a man looking back at a memory that hurt to touch. It felt somber, as if the person he was singing to, the "you" in the song was no longer there to hear it. It was the sound of unreciprocated love, of a singer who knew the gift would be rejected but gave it anyway because it was all he had left.
The montage played on. We saw clips of Nazir playing in empty bars, smiling at an empty room. We saw him writing songs that would eventually be stolen, his face full of hope. And then, juxtaposed against it, we saw the current Nazir, sitting in his small apartment, the light dim, singing into a simple microphone with a sorrow that felt ancient.
The contrast was brutal. The poor, younger, happy Nazir vs. The more well-off, older, but deeply unhappy Nazir.
"I hope you don't mind... I hope you don't mind... that I put down in words..."
The internet reacted instantly.
: "I clicked this ready to hate him. I'm crying. Why am I crying? This isn't a cover. This is a eulogy for himself."
: "The tempo shift... it changes the entire meaning. Percival's version is 'I'm giving you this because I love you.' Nazir's version is 'I gave you everything, and now I have nothing left.' WTF!"
: "Okay, I wanted to say he's leeching off Percival, but... you can't fake that pain. That video of him cooking? He looked so innocent."
: "SEE?! I told you! Percival doesn't hang out with bad people! He hangs out with broken people! There's a difference!"
: "Wait... look at the timestamp on the old clips. That was ten years ago. He was writing songs like this ten years ago? Why have we never heard of him?"
The narrative didn't just shift; it shattered. The "drug addict" story couldn't hold water against the visual evidence of a man who had clearly just lost his spark, not his mind. The cover didn't defend him; it humanized him. And in the court of public opinion, being genuine was the ultimate defense.
Hours ticked by. The "Nazir Kal Incident" had morphed from a celebrity scandal into a full-blown internet phenomenon. The cover video was trending at #1 across multiple sectors, but Ratik wasn't done. She had more card to play, the "second nudge."
She sat in her office on Sela, her eyes locked on the encrypted channel she had set up with the Eterna Music Group PR team.
"Send it," she whispered, tapping a key.
She didn't upload anything herself. Instead, she released a carefully curated "leak" to a network of music forum moderators and deep-dive analysts. It was a breadcrumb trail, subtle enough to be missed by the casual eye, but glaringly obvious to anyone looking for patterns.
…
Van Balen, a small-time Stellarcaster known for covering everything from glitchy game releases to celebrity fashion fails, was scrolling through his feed, desperate for content. His viewer count had been stagnant for months. He needed a wave to ride.
"Trash... trash... repost..." he muttered, swiping past generic reaction videos.
Then, he saw it. The Nazir drama was still the hottest topic, but the conversation was shifting. He clicked on a link to a deep-dive music forum, a place where audiophiles and industry conspiracy theorists congregated.
A post titled "The GoldClick Echo Chamber" caught his eye.
User AudioPhile_X wrote: "Guys, look closer at the music videos. Specifically, the ones where he was writing alone in his house. Look at the lyrics sheets at 2:14."
Van Balen clicked the timestamp. Nazir, lifeless and tired, wrote a specific, catchy lyric. As he zoomed in: "Baby, you're my starlight, burning in the cold..."
Then, the user posted a reply: "Now listen to THIS song released by rising star Nico Tealeaf several months ago."
Van Balen played the second clip. A polished, heavily produced pop track blared out. The lyrics were identical.
"Baby, you're my starlight, burning in the cold..."
"Whoa," Van Balen breathed, leaning closer to his screen.
The thread continued. Another user posted a clip of a GoldClick girl group's debut hit from three years ago. Then, they posted a grainy audio file of Nazir humming the exact same hook into a recorder, dated five years prior.
"Wait..." one comment read. "Don't you think it's weird that ALL those songs belong to rising stars under GoldClick? And Nazir was a trainee under GoldClick for ten years?"
Van Balen stood up so fast his chair flipped backward with a loud crash.
"This is it," he whispered, his heart pounding. "This is the smoking gun."
He hurriedly set up his recording equipment, his hands shaking slightly. As he adjusted the ring light, a pang of guilt hit him. 'Is it bad that I want to make profit out of the controversy of someone else? These are real people's lives.'
He looked at his subscriber count. Stagnant. He looked at his rent notice. Overdue.
"Haaa, who cares?" he muttered, forcing a cynical grin. "Their life is more comfortable anyway. Little channels like me can only eat the crumbs."
He hit record.
"WHAT IS UP, GUYS! Van Balen here, and today... We need to talk about the THEFT of the century. You think you know the Nazir drama? You have no idea."
…
The net was hungry. It devoured the drama like a starving beast. The algorithm, detecting the surge in engagement, pushed Van Balen's video to the top of the recommended feeds.
His title screamed in bold letters:
A SHOCKING REVEAL! THE REAL MESSAGE BEHIND NAZIR'S COVER FINALLY UNCOVERED!!
The video dissected the timelines, the identical melodies, the stolen lyrics. It painted a picture not of a drug addict, but of a man who had been cannibalized by the very industry that now sought to destroy him.
The comments section exploded.
: "THEY STOLE HIS SONGS?! That Nico track was my favorite! I feel sick."
: "This is standard practice for trainees, sadly. But usually, they get a debut. Keeping him in the dungeon for 10 years while harvesting his organs? That's evil."
: "So Percival wasn't funding a drug habit. He was funding a rescue mission. KING BEHAVIOR."
The tide hadn't just turned. It had become a tsunami, and it was heading straight for the gleaming glass tower of GoldClick Records.
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**