We weren't squealing anymore.
We were stunned.
Saltwater still clung to the hems of our jeans. The wind tugged at our hair, salty and restless, like the ocean had decided to eavesdrop. But everything stopped—the sound of the waves, the ache in my cheeks from laughing too hard—everything the second Rhea read the name at the top of that DM.
Bighit Entertainment.
Not a scam.
Not a prank.
Not a random fan edit or a glitchy algorithm mistake.
The Bighit.
The same label behind global legends. The same one whose reach spanned continents, languages, sound.
And now… it had reached us.
Rhea stared at the message, the glow of her screen illuminating her face like she was reading a prophecy.
I don't think she blinked for a full minute. Her mouth opened, then closed again. She looked like she was trying to solve a math problem in a foreign language.
"Rhea?" I croaked. "Are you—are you okay? Are we… okay?"
She held out the phone like it was sacred. "Read. This."
I leaned in.
The message was short. Polite. Professional. Unreal.
Hello Rhea Solane and Dwyn,
We came across your raw cover session of "Unknown/Nth" and were thoroughly moved by the emotional synergy and unique vocal textures you both brought to the song.
We would love to schedule a meeting to discuss a potential collaboration with a new global project—a mixed-concept girl group still in early formation stages under Bighit's creative division.
Looking forward to hearing from you. Best, Creative Team | Bighit Entertainment.
The air left my lungs in a whoosh.
"I think I just forgot how to breathe," I whispered.
Rhea blinked, dazed. "I stopped somewhere around 'potential collaboration.'"
I sank onto the wet sand like my knees couldn't hold me anymore. "Are we… hallucinating? Did we die from joy and this is heaven?"
Rhea made a noise that sounded part laugh, part scream. "Do people hallucinate labels in heaven?"
"Maybe in my heaven."
We sat there in stunned silence for several seconds. The kind where your brain tries to reboot, but your heart's already thirty steps ahead.
Then—pure chaos.
We exploded.
Not screaming exactly. Just energy. Raw, unfiltered chaos. Kicking up sand. Shoving each other like kids. Laughing so hard it echoed down the beach. We spun and stumbled and hugged and swore and cried a little, too.
"I can't believe this is happening," I gasped. "I thought you said the internet was gonna ignore us for a cereal challenge."
"Clearly," Rhea wheezed, "the universe decided I talk too much trash and needed to be humbled by success."
It didn't feel real until later that night, when we sat in Margot's living room—still in salt-stained clothes, wrapped in blankets, our hair drying in messy knots—and stared at a glowing Zoom screen.
Three clean, sharp-dressed creatives from Seoul blinked back at us, each framed in sleek white offices and quiet confidence.
The woman in the center smiled first. "Hi, Rhea. Hi, Dwyn. We'll keep this brief. First off—congratulations. Your performance moved a lot of people here."
Moved.
That word nearly broke something open in my chest.
Rhea, forever unfazed, tilted her chin. "Thank you. Honestly… we weren't trying to go viral."
"That's usually when the magic happens," the man beside her said with a grin. "When people aren't trying. When they're just feeling."
Then they laid it out.
A global girl group.
Not strictly K-pop.
Not boxed by language or genre.
Four vocalists. Three dancers. One rapper.
No official name yet. Just vision.
And us—together—as part of it.
"You're not just viral voices to us," said the third person, leaning forward. "You're story. And people are hungry for story. For truth. We're not building a factory. We're curating a revolution."
And somehow… they wanted me to be part of it.
I sat there frozen, heart galloping, until my throat clicked. "Can we think about it?"
"Of course," they said with an easy smile.
But I already knew.
I think I knew the moment my voice cracked on the word "Unknown."
The moment I chose to feel instead of perform.
The moment I stopped hiding who I was and started letting it bleed.
The call ended, polite and clean and filled with promises to follow up.
And then—chaos again.
Rhea shrieked, launching herself off the couch like we'd won the lottery. "WE'RE GOING TO BE IDOLS!"
I clutched a throw pillow to my chest, breathless and giddy. "We're going to be… something."
She grinned down at me, hair sticking to her cheeks, eyes wild. "Do you want this, Dwyn? Like, really want it?"
I thought of the pack. Of Kael's hollow eyes in that Alpha Hall. Of the way the forest always felt like a cage, even when I called it home.
Then I thought of my voice.
Of Rhea's laugh.
Of that moment we sang together and something shifted.
"I don't just want it," I whispered, smiling so wide it hurt.
"I need it."
And for the first time in my life, the future didn't look like a throne I had to fight for, it looked like a stage.
--------------------------------------------------------------
By morning, Rhea was gone—back to the city to break the news to her mom before someone else did. We'd hugged so tight I thought I might bruise, both of us buzzing on no sleep and way too many dreams. Her duffel bag was slung over one shoulder, her curls wild with sea salt and adrenaline. She blew me a kiss from the car window like we weren't about to have our entire lives changed.
We'd promised to text nonstop. Updates. Screenshots. Outfit pics. Nervous rants. Emojis. Panic. All of it.
It felt surreal knowing we were both stepping off cliffs—just… separate ones for now.
The house felt quieter without her. Not lonely, exactly. Just still. Like the ocean outside knew something was shifting. The tide was lower than usual, the air laced with fog, the gulls circling like they were waiting for someone to notice.
I noticed.
But my head was still a storm.
I paced the living room barefoot, half-aware of the cold seeping up from the wooden floors. My phone was clutched in my hand like a lifeline, screen still glowing with the open message from Bighit.
I'd read it five times that morning. Ten the night before. Maybe more. Every word felt like a doorway I hadn't known I was standing in front of.
Margot sat at the kitchen island, wrapped in a robe and a faded sweatshirt with the logo of some band I didn't recognize. She sipped from a giant mug that read 'Some of us are born with caffeine in our blood' and studied me with a look that was equal parts amused and maternal.
She'd seen this coming, I realized. Maybe not this exact shape, not the global-label level of it—but something.
She'd seen the way music lit me up. The way I reached for it even when the world felt like it was folding in.
"So," she finally said, setting down her mug with a soft thunk, "when are you telling your family you're joining a world-famous label and possibly becoming a global idol?"
I stopped pacing. "Now?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Gold star. Good choice."
I climbed onto the couch, legs tucked under me, and pulled up my favorite contact.
Home.
I didn't even have to scroll. The number was always at the top.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then—chaos.
"DWYYYYYN!"
"IS IT HAPPENING?!"
"Tell me he really reposted you! Tell me right now!"
"Oh my stars, let her TALK!" Cecil's voice finally cut through the background madness like a soft thunderclap. "Girls, breathe!"
I was laughing before I even spoke. "Hey. So. Remember that label I told you about last night?"
A beat of silence.
Three gasps. Then three screams. Loud enough to shake the speaker.
"YOU SAID MAYBE!"
"Well," I said, trying and failing not to grin like a maniac, "it's a yes."
There was a split-second of stunned silence.
Then all-out mayhem.
Shrieking. Clapping. Someone thudding against something (probably the couch). A dog barked. Liora shouted "I TOLD YOU!" like she'd just won a bet. I could hear Fiora and Viora talking over each other—something about styling options and whether I'd get sparkly stage names.
"DWYN DUSKTHORN," my father's voice suddenly boomed over the ruckus. His tone was thunderous but glowing. "Are you telling me my daughter is going to be… famous?"
"Papa," I laughed, my throat tightening, "it's not about being famous. It's the music. It's… mine. It finally feels like mine."
There was a pause, the kind that filled a house with more than words.
Then Cecil's voice slipped through, soft and steady.
"Are you happy, baby?"
Tears stung my eyes, just a little. "Yeah. I really, really am."
"Then we're happy, too."
I closed my eyes as warmth flooded through me. "Thanks, Mama."
"I'm coming to visit you in Seoul," Liora declared. "I'll be your bodyguard. Or your stylist. Or both."
"We love you," Cecil added. "More than the moon, more than the stars. Always."
I hugged the phone to my chest after we said our goodbyes, still glowing from the sweetness of it all. The kind of sweetness that makes your whole life feel like it's blooming.
Margot was already opening drawers by the time I got off the call.
"Okay," she said, slapping a legal pad onto the counter with the same intensity she used to slice onions. "We have one week. One. Seven days. And we've got a lot to do."
I blinked. "Like what?"
She pointed at me with her pen. "Packing. Shopping. Passport check. Visa documents. Plane ticket booking. Wardrobe overhaul. Hair care. Skincare. Nail care. Self-care. Clothes that don't scream 'I just crawled out of a salt cave.' And shoes. You need real shoes."
I groaned, grabbing a granola bar off the counter. "I surrender."
"You're not surrendering," she said with a wink. "You're evolving. Leveling up. Beyoncé-ing."
I snorted. "That's not a verb."
"Anything is if you say it with enough conviction."
Later That Day...
Margot and I hit the coastal strip mall like we were in a movie montage. Except it wasn't all glitter and pop songs—it was a whirlwind of sales racks, language barrier confusion, five different shoe stores, and at least two almost-fights over the last bottle of hydrating setting spray.
Margot wielded her card like a sword. I followed like a wide-eyed baby warrior-in-training.
We got everything from cozy airport hoodies to performance-ready boots that didn't pinch (thank you, padded soles). A proper carry-on suitcase. A new pair of earbuds. A bright blue hydro flask Margot insisted I had to carry. "Hydration is part of the brand," she said solemnly.
By the time the sun started melting into the sea, we had eight bags and a rapidly shrinking to-do list.
Back at the house, I dropped everything on the floor and collapsed beside it.
Margot handed me one last thing. A small, black velvet-covered notebook.
"For the new songs," she said, tapping the cover. "You'll need somewhere to put your fire."
I turned it over in my hands.
Blank pages. Endless possibility.
For the first time in a long, long while, I didn't feel afraid of that.
I felt ready.
Ready to begin.
Ready to burn brighter than I'd ever dared before.