Chapter 1

Two children played on the playground, their laughter ringing out as they played on the swings. The chains creaked rhythmically, blending with their carefree giggles, until, slowly, the sound faded into a quiet atmosphere. After a few moments of silence, one of them spoke.

"Hey, Ray... would you support me in becoming an idol?" she asked softly, her voice barely louder than the breeze.

The boy pushing her didn't hesitate. "Of course! I'd support you in anything you want to do!" he shouted, a proud smile lighting up his face.

The moment hung in the air, until it was ruined by a sharp, persistent buzzing. Ray's eyes fluttered open. The sound didn't stop. Groaning, he turned toward the source, his damn alarm clock. With a sluggish swipe, he smacked the off button, silencing it. For a second, he just sat there, staring at nothing, letting the remnants of the dream slip away like mist. Then he let out a deep yawn and stretched, arms raised.

After stretching, he immediately flopped back onto the bed with a soft thud. Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed his phone and unplugged it from the charger. The screen lit up, dozens of notifications, all from the commission site.

He let out a quiet sigh. Scrolling through them, he began reviewing each request, accepting a few and mentally listing which ones to prioritize. The familiar rhythm of checking deadlines and reading briefs slowly pulled him in, until a knock on the door broke his focus.

"Ray, are you awake? We have to go to church soon," his mother called from the hallway.

"I'm up, Mom. Just checking some stuff," he called back, sitting up straighter, fully awake now.

He heard her footsteps fade as she moved away, and he finally stood. Slipping out of bed, he grabbed his laptops and carefully packed it into its case. He went to the bathroom

After stepping out of the bathroom, Ray slung his laptop bag over his shoulder and headed downstairs. The scent of breakfast greeted him, eggs, and something toasty. He saw his mom moved around the kitchen in her usual Sunday rhythm. He gently set his laptops on one of the dining chairs before sliding into his seat at the table.

Breakfast passed quickly, filled with light chatter and the clinking of cutlery. Once the plates were cleared, the family headed out. The car ride was filled mostly with conversation between his parents, their voices soft and steady.

Ray, meanwhile, slipped on his headphones and opened the mixing app on his phone. He liked doing this, listening to songs he already loved, adjusting EQ settings, experimenting with how they could sound better. It was a fun way, at least for him, to understand how to become better at his job as a sound engineer. By the time they arrived at the church, the worship team was already running sound check. Ray made his way quickly to his booth, moving through the rows of chairs and cables on the floor.

Once at his station, he set his laptop down and started connecting everything with practiced care- interface, headphones, cables, familiar motions that required no thought. He launched the mixing software, slipped on his headset, and started listening to the instruments as they played. Levels, clarity, live feed. Everything needed to be fixed before the service began.

***

"What a powerful Name it is."

As the final chorus swelled, Ray nudged the fader up for the lead vocalist, just a few decibels—along with the backing singers, right on cue. He had mixed this song enough times to know its dynamics by heart. His fingers moved instinctively, his ears finely tuned to every detail, the instruments, the harmonies, and the breath between phrases.

As the final line echoed through the sanctuary, he began to bring the volume down, vocals, instruments, ambient mic. Smooth transitions mattered, even in worship.

The team began stepping off the stage, and Ray turned his attention to the monitor. One glance at the screen, another at the lapel mic the pastor was using. He tapped the PAFL button, Pre/After Fader Listen, and listened in.

"Hello," the speaker's voice came through his headphones.

He clicked the "Unmute" button, then quickly checked the livestream on his phone. The voice came through clean.

Satisfied, Ray slipped off his headphones just as his partner leaned back in her chair.

"Good job again today. We survived." She laughed, pulling out her ear-phones.

Ray smiled and gently placed the headphones on the console. "They were off-tempo in the second song."

"Yeah, it was really noticeable," she replied, slipping her earphones back into their case.

She glanced at Ray and noticed the dark circles under his eyes. "You know, I was rushing earlier so I didn't see it, but your eye bags are getting worse."

"Well, that's what happens when you have too many commissions," he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"You've been getting famous lately. What's your online name again?" she asked, curious after hearing the word commissions.

Ray looked at her and replied, "Reverbious Maximus." He already knew what was coming next and face palmed.

She burst out laughing. "I still can't believe you won't change that name."

"I made it when I was a kid. It has sentimental value," he grumbled, clearly embarrassed.

Ray and his partner chatted casually in the booth, their voices low and relaxed as they waited for the next cue. The monitors in front of them flickered with the live feed, displaying the congregation in real time. Just then, Ray noticed a subtle shift, people were beginning to rise from their seats, heading toward the stage for worship. That could only mean one thing.

"The preaching's almost over," he muttered, reaching for his headphones.

He slipped them on and leaned forward, tuning back into the pastor's words.

"So as we end today," the pastor's voice echoed through the feed, "I would like to take a moment to acknowledge the guests we have with us this evening."

Ray glanced up as the camera panned toward the projection screen behind the pulpit, where a list of names was being displayed. The pastor squinted slightly, then read aloud.

"Amaya Chiyoko."

A ripple passed through the congregation. Heads turned. Whispers stirred like a sudden breeze. Then, from one of the corner chairs, a tall figure rose.

She stood with slow, composed grace, easily over six feet tall. Her posture was effortlessly regal, like someone used to being watched. A cascade of snow-white hair shimmered beneath the overhead lights, smooth and straight as it spilled over her shoulders. She wore a crisp white blouse with wide, flowing bishop sleeves that swayed slightly as she moved, paired with tailored black dress pants that added to her sharp, composed silhouette.