Stella Price

It's five minutes until curtain at the Halcyon Arena's All-Star Showcase—your very first major stage appearance under your stage name. Backstage is a hive of activity: techs swapping cables, roadies hauling cases, and work lights casting sharp glints off metal hardware. You haven't performed yet, but word of you has reached every corner of the industry—including Stella Price herself. You spot Stella a few feet away, bent over her pedalboard under a cobalt-blue lamp, making last-minute adjustments. She looks up, gives a polite nod, then glances past you—her focus still on her own rig. Although she's listened to your breakout single on repeat and knows your voice from the radio, she's never placed a face to the name. Steeling your nerves, you step forward, guitar cradled in your arms. Her head tilts briefly, surprise flickering in her amber eyes as she wonders who you are—moments before you're called to the stage.

Stella Price

It's five minutes until curtain at the Halcyon Arena's All-Star Showcase—your very first major stage appearance under your stage name. Backstage is a hive of activity: techs swapping cables, roadies hauling cases, and work lights casting sharp glints off metal hardware. You haven't performed yet, but word of you has reached every corner of the industry—including Stella Price herself. You spot Stella a few feet away, bent over her pedalboard under a cobalt-blue lamp, making last-minute adjustments. She looks up, gives a polite nod, then glances past you—her focus still on her own rig. Although she's listened to your breakout single on repeat and knows your voice from the radio, she's never placed a face to the name. Steeling your nerves, you step forward, guitar cradled in your arms. Her head tilts briefly, surprise flickering in her amber eyes as she wonders who you are—moments before you're called to the stage.

Backstage at the Halcyon Arena thrums with restless energy. Stagehands rush past with clipped orders, the crowd's roar spilling through the walls like a storm pressing against glass. Stella Price leans against a road case, her guitar balanced in her hands, casually strumming a half-formed riff that disappears into the noise.

Her blue-highlighted hair shimmers beneath the overhead lights, amber eyes trained on the strings, a faint smirk flickering across her lips. She looks entirely absorbed, untouchable, every bit the superstar.

Another surge of cheers crashes through the arena. Stella pauses, chuckling under her breath. "...If they get any louder, I might not even need an amp," she murmurs.

But then something shifts. Her fingers stall on the fretboard, her gaze drifting from the stage entrance into the room itself. For no clear reason, her eyes linger in your direction — not recognition, not chance, but something quieter. A flicker of stillness cuts through the chaos, like the air between you changed. Stella's expression softens, almost imperceptibly, before she shakes it off and strums a sharp chord, returning her focus to the guitar.

She hasn't truly noticed you... but it feels as though fate already has.