A year passed like lightning.
What had begun as a small, ambitious project backed by the Terania Group had evolved into a cultural storm that swept through every corner of the entertainment industry. EON was no longer just a boyband—they were a phenomenon.
From the moment their debut single, "Hearts in Retrograde," was released, the world seemed to stop and listen. The song's haunting harmonies and sleek choreography captured exactly the balance Noah had envisioned—emotional precision framed by polish and control. Their follow-up track, "Eclipse Theory," shattered streaming records within a week. Each subsequent release rose faster than the last. Every music video garnered millions of views in hours, flooding social media feeds, billboards, and city skylines alike.
Their faces were everywhere: magazine covers, subway advertisements, digital projections across skyscrapers. EON had become the new emblem of perfection in pop culture—five young men with striking looks, magnetic personalities, and music that blended sincerity with precision.
The industry adored them. Critics praised their artistry and direction, while fans built entire communities around decoding their lyrics and collecting their merchandise. Their concerts sold out in minutes, and their first major award ceremony crowned them with the Harmonia Rising Star—the most coveted honor for new artists, often compared to a rookie Grammy.
Everywhere they went, people screamed their names. Airports required additional security. Streets became rivers of flashing cameras. The penthouse they now called home—a five-story marvel of glass and steel perched atop one of the tallest towers in the city—was less a residence and more a monument to their success. Each floor served a different purpose: studios, lounges, recording rooms, and private quarters. When they opened the balcony doors, the skyline stretched endlessly before them, glowing beneath like a living constellation.
For Noah Rolston, success had a taste both exhilarating and hollow. The machinery of fame never stopped turning, but he preferred it that way. Constant movement left no room for weakness, no time for reflection. When he looked at his group—Cassian, Luca, Theo, and Jace—he saw everything he had built from the ground up. They were disciplined, focused, and loyal. Exactly as he had trained them to be.
On one rare afternoon, EON gathered inside one of their soundproofed recording studios. The air smelled faintly of coffee and the metallic tang of equipment. Cassian adjusted a microphone stand while Luca stretched in front of a mirrored wall. Theo sat by the console, tinkering with a new keyboard riff, and Jace lounged on the couch, grinning as he scrolled through fan comments on his phone.
"Guys," Jace said suddenly, his voice laced with mischief. "You realize we're huge now, right? Like—stupidly huge. We could sneeze into a microphone and it'd probably chart."
Theo snorted, but Noah only raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
"I mean, we should do something with it," Jace went on. "Like small collabs—with indie or street performers. That's trending right now. Makes big artists look grounded and cool. People love the whole 'back to our roots' vibe."
Cassian looked up, intrigued. "He's right. It's good publicity. Helps us look approachable instead of untouchable idols."
Luca leaned against the wall, thoughtful. "It could also introduce us to new sounds—a fresh dynamic. It keeps people guessing."
Noah tapped his pen against his notepad, considering. He had heard of this movement—established artists collaborating with local musicians to create emotional, viral moments. It was excellent branding and strategically sound.
"Not a bad idea," he said finally. "If we do it, we'll do it properly. Find performers who are genuinely talented, not just convenient. We can pick one or two and film the sessions for a special release."
Cassian grinned. "Perfect. I know you'll make it look like we invented the concept."
The group laughed.
Noah turned toward his personal assistant, a young man named Nigel Grant, who had been standing quietly in the corner taking notes. "Nigel," he said, his tone calm but authoritative, "start researching up-and-coming performers in the city. Buskers, café singers, small-stage musicians. Anyone with raw talent and a unique sound. I want a list by the end of the week."
"Yes, sir," Nigel replied immediately, already typing on his tablet.
Cassian clapped his hands together. "This could actually be fun. Imagine the headlines when we show up at some random street corner to perform with a local artist. People will lose their minds."
"They already have," Jace added with a wink. "This'll just make them love us even more."
Laughter filled the studio again, echoing against the padded walls. Theo began testing a melody, Luca joined in with a rhythm, and the room came alive with creative energy.
Noah stood slightly apart, watching them. The glow of the console lights reflected across his sharp features. He felt the quiet pride of a commander surrounded by his finest soldiers—each one a part of the empire he had built.
Everything was in motion. Everything was precise. Everything was his.