A genuine, warm smile spread across Gil's face. He looked at the boy, who was standing breathless, staring down at the Stradus in his hands as if he could not believe he was the one who had just made the world with it.
Then, a single, sharp sound broke the silence. Lyra had started clapping. Her applause, hesitant at first, was quickly joined by John and Marcus, and then by the butlers and the mansion servants who had been listening from the hallways, their professional composure broken by the raw beauty of the music.
Gil gave a subtle nod to Ratik, who immediately understood. She glided over to the Kepler family, her voice a soft, respectful murmur as she began to lead them towards their prepared rooms.
Dorian was left alone in the vast room with the old maestro.
"How?" Dorian asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. "You have never heard this before. I can assure you of that."
Gil chuckled, a low, rumbling sound of pure satisfaction. "Did I perfectly play what you imagined, or not?"
Dorian was taken aback. The truth was, it was almost perfect. Maestro Gil had given the violin the stage, the space to cry out its lament, but the chords he had used, the harmony... it was slightly different from the "Merry Go Round of Life" in his head. Deeper. Sadder. More complete.
"To be honest," Gil began, his voice taking on the tone of a storyteller, "it is not my piano. Nor is that your violin. These two were created for two rivals, by the same master maker."
"Someone made two different instruments... as rivals?" Dorian asked, his curiosity piqued.
"It has been a while since I have told this story," Gil said, a nostalgic glint in his silver eyes. "But yes. He was not just a maker; he was a legend. My colleagues say he was from a long-lost race on a distant rim. But one thing was known about him: he only made one of each. He would meticulously craft each piece. On his journey to create the Stradus, he burned, split, and crushed hundreds of flawed violins, just to make that one perfect instrument. The same with the Savarius."
Dorian looked down at the Stradus, a new understanding dawning on him. So that was why he had felt that strange, powerful connection the moment he touched it.
"Fate," Gil continued, "brought these two instruments to my friends. The Savarius ended up in the hands of the Ice Queen, Rita Bralare. The one who will be playing your arrangement on the 'Skyfall' piece."
Dorian's eyes widened in shock. "So I get to see the person who tamed the Savarius play my arrangement..." He let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "I guess it is too much to ask to see her rival play on the Stradus, too."
Gil's smile faded, replaced by a profound, ancient sadness. "The Stradus's partner... was Rita's late husband. The rivalry of the instruments, their fate... it became intertwined with the moment those two touched them."
"Oh," Dorian said, the single word a small, inadequate sound in the vast, sudden silence that filled the room.
He carefully, reverently, placed the Stradus back on its pedestal. He bowed his head slightly. "Thank you," he said, to Gil. "For giving me the honor to play." He then looked at the two instruments, standing silent and magnificent. "And thank you to both of you, too."
He then turned and followed the butler who had been waiting patiently for him, leaving Gil alone in the grand room.
Gil sat at the Savarius, his chrome fingers resting gently on the silent keys. He looked at the empty space where Dorian had stood, then at the Stradus across from him.
"Aedrin..." he whispered to the empty air. "I can see you in that boy."
He then dropped his head, the sudden, crushing weight of longing and yearning for his lost friend closer and more painful than it had been in a very long time.
…
In one of the lavish guest rooms, Marcus was jumping up and down on a bed that was bigger than his entire room back home. Lyra, on the other hand, was already fast asleep on an equally large bed, the day's excitement and the planet's subtle time lag having completely exhausted her.
John stood in the doorway, a soft, tired smile on his face as he watched them. "Oh, Dorian, look," he chuckled. "The space lag affects them differently."
Dorian came and stood beside him, his own heart full. "Dad," he began, the words he had wanted to say for a long time finally coming to the surface. "I am sorry for not telling you, I-"
John cut him off, not with anger, but by placing a gentle, calloused hand on his son's shoulder. "I am proud of you," he said, his voice thick with an emotion Dorian rarely heard from him. "You remind me of your mother when you play like that." He then patted his own chest, a small, self-deprecating but genuinely proud gesture. "I guess I am not so bad at this 'raising kids on my own' thing after all."
Dorian could only let out a small, heartfelt smile, the last of the old walls between them finally crumbling.
Just then, Ratik appeared silently behind them. "Everything is ready, Composer," she said, her voice a respectful murmur. "All of you will have your own rooms. Your clothes have already been unpacked by the staff. You can rest now to catch up with Sela's rotation."
"Thank you, Ratik," Dorian and John said in unison.
As Ratik left, John turned to Dorian, a curious, gentle glint in his eyes. "So... you want to explain this 'composer' gig you have got going on?"
"Oh, yeah," Dorian said, a real, easy grin spreading across his face.
He spent the next hour with his father, showing him everything. He pulled up his heliopad and showed him the "Percival" channel on Stellarcast, the video with its millions of views, and the comments section filled with praise. He showed him his Echoflow account, the rising stream counts, the small but steady income. It was a wholesome, long-overdue catch-up, a father finally getting to see the secret, brilliant world his son had built for himself.
…
Meanwhile, in the sterile heart of the BSO branch office on Nexus Prime...
Verza Zal stood before a holographic map of the city's mid-level, a web of data points and surveillance tracks glowing in the dark room.
"Lieutenant," one of her officers reported, his voice crisp and efficient. "We have a lead on the source of the minerals. We tracked a significant number of untraceable credit chit transactions back to a single buyer. We suspect this Kalamoran mineral seller was the one who interacted directly with the primary source."
A thin, predatory smile touched Verza's lips. "Good." She began walking towards the interrogation wing. "It is highly likely the source is selling exclusively with untraceable credits. Ready the Interrogation Division. Full psych-profile and data-rip protocols on standby."
"Yes, ma'am," her subordinate replied, hurrying to keep up.
She arrived at the interrogation block. The corridor was dark, the air cold. They stopped before a single, reinforced door. Inside was a small, cube-shaped room, its walls made entirely of one-way mirrors, giving the impression of being suspended in an infinite, dark void. In the center of that cube, looking terrified and small, sat the Kalamoran mineral seller, Mr. Triabdi.
Verza watched him for a long moment, circling the outer room like a shark, observing his nervous tics, the way his iridescent skin paled under the harsh, single light. Then, she entered.
"Hello, Mister..." she began, her voice a calm, disarming purr. She glanced at her datapad. "Mister Triabdi."
The Kalamoran jumped, startled by her sudden appearance. "Please," he stammered, his large, dark eyes wide with fear. "I do not know why I am here. I am not a native of Nexon, but please, I have not done anything wrong."
Verza's smile was a chilling, razor-thin line. "Careful, Mr. Triabdi," she said, her voice dropping to a silken whisper. "Saying you have not done anything implies you have thought about doing something. And that," she said, taking a slow step closer, "is why we are here right now."
…
Several hours later, the grand dining room of the mansion was filled with a warm, inviting light. Dorian, Lyra, and Marcus sat at a table laden with a magnificent feast prepared by Gil's private chefs. For them, however, whose tastebuds had been recently re-calibrated by the impossible, perfect quality of Stardew Valley's "purple star" ingredients, the meal was merely... very good. They were grateful, and they ate every bite, but the sense of awe was missing. John, on the other hand, was still adjusting, each bite of the real, expertly cooked food a revelation.
They heard the front door of the mansion hiss open, followed by the sound of light, hurried footsteps. A moment later, Juno appeared in the dining room doorway, her face flushed from rushing.
"Dorian!" she called out, a bright, relieved smile on her face.
He stood up, and she jogged the rest of the way, meeting him in a warm hug. "Come on," he said as they separated. "Eat dinner with us."
The meal was a comfortable, easy affair. Juno, settled in as if she were part of the family. The conversation flowed naturally. Marcus, of course, just focused on eating the delicious food. John, however, watched the two teenagers with a quiet, knowing smile, noticing the way their hands would almost brush when they reached for a serving dish, the quick, private glances they would share when they thought no one was looking. Lyra noticed it too, a small, smug grin playing on her lips as she silently observed the unspoken tension.
"So, how is the practical training?" Dorian asked, steering the conversation. "You said you started last week."
Juno hesitated for a moment, glancing at him, as if unsure if she should talk about the Solar life he had been denied. Dorian just gave her a genuine, encouraging smile, a silent permission. Her whole demeanor brightened.
"Oh, it is amazing!" she said, her enthusiasm infectious. "We are finally getting out of the simulators. Yesterday, we did energy-shaping drills. My instructor said my control over the Nullbreaker frequencies is... surprisingly precise." She beamed with pride. "It is so much better than just sitting in a lecture hall. I feel like I am finally doing what I was meant to do."
When they were done, and the dessert plates had been cleared away, Juno turned to Dorian, a new excitement in her eyes. "Oh, by the way," she said. "I wanted to take you to the concert hall. Do you want to see the preparations for the orchestra?"
"Sure," Dorian said instantly, his own curiosity piqued.
John smiled warmly. "Do not mind us. We will go around the mansion. Lyra and Marcus said they want to dip in the swimming pool."
Lyra, who had been quietly listening, caught Juno's eye. She gave her a subtle, conspiratorial wink and a quick thumbs-up. Juno winked back, a silent 'thank you for the assist' passing between them.
Dorian, oblivious to the secret exchange, stood up. "Okay then," he said, a real, easy smile on his face. "Let's go."
…
The door to the interrogation room hissed open, and the Kalamoran, Mr. Triabdi, stumbled out, his iridescent skin pale and clammy with a nervous sweat.
"Escort Mr. Triabdi out," Verza said to one of the Legion troopers without even looking at the terrified alien. The trooper nodded and guided the trembling merchant away.
Verza turned to her subordinate, holding out her datapad. "Issue a BOLO to both the local Nexon patrols and our own Legion units."
The subordinate took the datapad. A holographic sketch shimmered into existence above it, a composite image built from the Kalamoran's frantic description. It showed a young man with warm brown hair, clear blue eyes, a healthy, sun-kissed tan, and a lean but toned muscle build.
The subordinate frowned. "A tan? In the lower levels?"
"There is a possibility the 'tan' is a radiation burn from the mines he works in," Verza said, her mind already several steps ahead. "The solar energy readings from the minerals he is selling are high enough to be equivalent to several standard power cells. It is unlikely, but it is a possibility we cannot brush off." She began to walk, her subordinate hurrying to keep pace. "Tighten the surveillance grid on the sector around Mr. Triabdi's store. He says the source usually makes a sale once every week. I want to know every time a new face so much as breathes in that area."
"Yes, ma'am," the subordinate said, then peeled off to carry out her orders.
Verza walked into an empty, secure meeting room. She sat down at the head of the long, dark table, the room silent and empty. A few moments later, a life-sized hologram of Major Kalzor Darvek materialized in the chair opposite her. His pale, silver Gunnossian eyes were cold and impatient.
"Supervisor Zal," his synthetic voice began. "I believe I said you were to call me only when you had a definitive lead."
"Supervisor Valdi had been doing the bare minimum on the Nexus belt, sir," Verza reported, her tone crisp and professional. "It slowed my investigation when the standards of the BSO were not being upheld in such an important sector. But now, we have a lead."
She sent the file, and the holographic sketch of the "farmer" appeared between them.
Major Darvek studied the image for a long, silent moment. "A bit young, don't you think?"
"I also think so," Verza agreed. "Which leads me to suspect there is a much bigger community or organization behind him."
"Is there a possibility the seller is acting alone, selling these minerals behind the back of his organization?" Kalzor mused.
"There could be," Verza conceded. "It would explain his young age, a desperate kid trying to make a quick credit. But it could also be a sophisticated, single-person operation, which would make sense of the 'tan' being a radiation burn from direct handling of the raw, high-energy minerals."
"The amount and quality of the minerals are too great to be a personal operation," Kalzor concluded, his voice leaving no room for debate. He looked from the sketch to Verza, his silver eyes locking onto hers. His final order was a sharp, cold command.
"Identify and follow. Do not engage when in contact with the suspect."
"Yes, sir," Verza said, as the hologram of her superior winked out of existence.
**A/N**
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**A/N**