[Joshua's Workshop—Afternoon]
The receipt crinkled in Joshua's fist.
"Denied," he whispered, staring at the rejection letter from the Columbian Science Grant Committee.
Reason for Rejection: The proposal 'Miniature Arc-Fusion Core' deemed theoretical impossibility. Applicant lacks Originium Arts capability to stabilize the reaction. Funding denied.
Joshua slammed the paper onto his desk, burying his face in his hands.
"They don't get it," he groaned to the empty room. "It's not about Arts. It's about physics! If I can build this, we don't need Originium engines. We don't need to infect miners just to power a toaster!"
He looked at his workbench. The prototype for the Arc Reactor—a donut-shaped device made of copper wire and magnets—sat lifeless. It needed Palladium. It needed high-grade conductive gel. It needed parts that cost more than his mother's workshop made in a year.
He was broke.
"I need money," Joshua muttered, leaning back in his chair. "Fast money. Clean money."
He looked around the room, his eyes landing on an old acoustic guitar and a dusted keyboard leaning against the wall—a relic he had bought from a pawn shop years ago to destress.
A memory from Earth surfaced. The massive music industry. The idols. The streaming wars. In Terra, music existed, but it was mostly classical, tribal, or heavy metal . There was a gap in the market.
"Pop music," Joshua whispered, a desperate, crazy grin spreading across his face. "I'm going to sell pop music."
[One Month Later]
The internet of Columbia was buzzing.
It started on a small, anonymous video sharing forum. A user named "The Echo" had uploaded a video. No face, just a silhouette sitting in a dimly lit room, playing an acoustic guitar.
The song wasn't like the heavy industrial beats of Columbia or the symphonies of Leithanien. It was soft. Melodic. Emotional.
"Fly me to the moon... Let me play among the stars..."
The lyrics resonated with the dreamers of Columbia. Then came the second upload—a rhythmic, foot-tapping song about "Believers." Then a ballad about "Yellow" stars.
Within weeks, The Echo was a viral sensation.
[The Obsidian Residence]
"Joshua! Dinner!"
"Coming!"
Joshua stumbled out of his room, looking like a zombie. He had dark circles under his eyes, but his pocket felt heavy. The ad revenue checks had started clearing. The Palladium had been ordered. The Arc Reactor was back on track.
He sat down at the table. Saria was already there, eating stew with the precision of a military operation.
"You look terrible," Saria noted, passing him a bread roll.
"Just... studying," Joshua lied, shoving bread into his mouth. "University prep is brutal."
Latina hummed, tuning the small radio on the kitchen counter. "Have you two heard this new singer? Everyone at the market is talking about him. 'The Echo.' Such a lovely voice."
Joshua choked on his bread.
Saria paused, her spoon hovering halfway to her mouth. "I have heard it. It is... acceptable. Though the lyrics are a bit sentimental."
"It's romantic!" Latina argued, turning the volume up. The familiar chords of Joshua's latest cover—"Just the Way You Are"—filled the kitchen.
Joshua sweated bullets. He stared at his stew, praying for the ground to swallow him whole.
Saria chewed slowly. She tilted her head. Her ears twitched.
She looked at the radio. Then she looked at Joshua.
She narrowed her eyes.
Joshua avoided eye contact aggressively.
"Mother," Saria said calmly. "Turn it up a little."
"Saria, we don't need to—" Joshua started.
"Hush," Saria silenced him with a look.
She listened to the singer take a breath between the chorus and the bridge. It was a slight, hitching intake of air—a habit Joshua had when he was nervous or concentrating.
Saria's gaze shifted to Joshua's hand resting on the table. He was unconsciously tapping his finger to the rhythm. Perfectly in time.
A slow, terrifying smirk spread across Saria's face.
"I'm full," Joshua announced, standing up abruptly. "Back to study!"
He fled.
[The Workshop—That Late Night]
Joshua was setting up the microphone for his next track. He had the headphones on, eyes closed, strumming the opening chord.
"When your legs don't work like they used to before..." he sang softly.
Click.
The music stopped. The cable had been yanked out of the amplifier.
Joshua's eyes snapped open.
Saria was standing there, leaning against the doorframe, holding the plug in her hand. She was wearing her pajamas and the orange sweatband he had given her years ago.
"Saria!" Joshua yelped, nearly dropping the guitar. "Knock first!"
"I did," she said, walking into the room. "You couldn't hear me over the sound of your... stardom."
She walked up to the desk, picking up the notebook where he had scribbled the lyrics from Earth.
"The Echo," she read aloud. "Mysterious. emotional. Rich?"
Joshua sighed, slumping in his chair. "I needed the money, okay? The Arc Reactor parts are expensive. I couldn't ask your dad, and I didn't want to worry Mom."
Saria looked at him. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes, but also the burning determination. He was humiliating himself (in his eyes) to build something that could change the world.
She put the notebook down.
"Is it enough?" she asked softly.
"What?"
"The money. Is it enough for the reactor?"
"...Yeah," Joshua nodded. "With this week's payout, I can buy the core stabilizer. I can finally build it."
Saria nodded. She walked over to the amplifier and plugged the cable back in.
"Good," she said. She pulled up a chair and sat down, crossing her legs. "Then continue."
"What?" Joshua blinked.
"Continue," Saria commanded, resting her chin on her hand, looking at him with an unreadable expression. "I want a private concert. Consider it... payment for keeping your secret."
"You're evil," Joshua groaned, flushing red.
"I am a Defender," Saria corrected, a playful glint in her golden eyes. "I defend secrets. Now, sing. The one about the stars. I like that one."
Joshua hesitated. He looked at Saria—his childhood friend, his partner, his first fan.
He took a deep breath, adjusted his grip on the guitar, and began to play.
"Fly me to the moon..."
As he sang, he watched Saria. She wasn't laughing. She wasn't teasing. She was watching him with a soft, gentle smile, her tail swaying slowly in the dim light of the workshop.
For that moment, the threat of the future, the Arc Reactor, and the world outside didn't matter. It was just a boy, a girl, and a song from a distant world.
The next morning, the bank transfer cleared.
Balance: Sufficient.
Joshua stood before his workbench, the new parts spread out before him. Palladium. High-grade polymer. The pieces of the puzzle.
"Alright," Joshua whispered, his eyes hardening. "Playtime is over."
He picked up his wrench.
"Let's build the future."