Chapter 5

The dome over Las Estrellas shimmered like a living thing, a silver-and-violet heartbeat pulsing in time with the music.

Inside, a throng of fans packed the LunaDome Arena—faces turned upward, their cheers blending with the deep resonance of lunar acoustics. Above them, the holographic light arrays rippled across the dome in sweeping waves, bending through faint dust motes and the transparent curvature of the shield.

They formed veils—iridescent, ethereal, and hypnotic. Earlier, Nigel had dubbed this stunning effect The Silver Veil.

Sophie’s guitar cut the air like firelight. Zora’s voice soared, raw and crystalline, carrying through the dome until it seemed to merge with the shimmering lights. Brax’s bass thrummed steady and deep; Brian’s keys cascaded beneath it like threads of gold. And then—Natalia hit her mark.

Her drum fills came in with precision and flair, powerful but elegant, each strike adding lift to the song instead of just volume. The crowd felt her arrival in the rhythm—the confident command, the effortless sync. It wasn’t just performance; it was chemistry.

As usual, they ran through a location-appropriate cover version of a classic tune from the twentieth century. They opened the final set with their rendition of Van Morrison’s Moondance, with Brian ably supplying the lead vocals, and demonstrating his wizardry on the keyboard.

Zora glanced back during a bridge, her mic hand lifted in rhythm. Natalia flashed her a grin, a little flushed beneath the bright spill of aurora light. Brian, beside her, leaned slightly toward the kit to cue the next transition. Their eyes met—just a moment, caught between beats—and the smallest smile passed between them.

Sophie caught it, mid-riff, and felt a tug of recognition. Zora noticed too; a flicker of amusement crossed her expression before she turned back to the roaring crowd.

The final song, an original rocker titled Take Me Back, built like a sunrise—layered harmonies, interlocking leads, all of it framed by the luminous shimmer overhead. The crowd sang back the chorus, their voices echoing up into the glowing silver canopy. For an instant, everything seemed suspended: no mysteries, no sabotage, no danger—only sound and light, breath and pulse.

When the last chord struck, it hung in the air, vibrating like starlight through glass.

The dome lights flared—silver and green and blue. The audience exploded.

Zora’s Aurora had just conquered Luna.

As they took their bows, Brian turned once more toward the drum riser. Natalia was brushing stray hair from her forehead, flushed and beaming, her eyes catching his for the briefest heartbeat. The dome lights reflected off the sheen of her cymbals, turning everything around her into molten gold.

For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Brian felt something stir quietly inside him—like a melody beginning to form.

Sophie, who didn’t miss much, nudged Zora with a knowing smirk.

Zora only sighed, her smile equal parts triumph and trouble.

At the same time, the Silver Veil shimmered above them, whispering of light, motion, and the complications yet to come.

The show’s afterglow still hung in the air—amplifiers cooling, cables coiling. Crew members, led by Nigel and Finn, moved briskly about the backstage area, laughter echoing from every corner. The band had come to the realization that they’d just blown the dome apart, and the energy hadn’t yet settled.

Leo DeMartini appeared at the side entrance, his arm in a soft sling but his grin easy.

“Best show I’ve ever seen,” he said warmly. “And no, before you ask, the shoulder’s fine. Nothing a little Luna gravity therapy won’t fix.”

Zora clasped his uninjured hand. “You sure you’re okay? We still owe you dinner after all that excitement.”

Leo laughed. “Next time. I’ve got an early engineering rotation in the Brazilian sector tomorrow. But ... thank you again—for everything. Especially you, Zora. That air horn of yours could stop a meteor.”

Zora smirked. “It nearly did.”

He winked, offered a quick farewell to the others, and disappeared into the swirl of post-show traffic.

Moments later, another figure appeared—one they’d seen before. That same pretty woman, striking in the soft-blue glow of the corridor lights. She seemed to be in her mid-twenties, with long dark hair ending in soft loose curls, olive skin that seemed to catch every color of the dome light, and eyes alive with admiration. She wore the same rose-colored jacket they’d seen on her earlier, but there was something almost too composed about her calm.

“Hola, ” she said, her voice like honey over glass. “You don’t know me, but ... I had to say how much your music means to me.”