[Adele - Skyfall]
The front row of the Sela Grand Opera House was a world unto itself, a gilded cage for the galaxy's most powerful vultures. They did not enter with the common ticket holders; they arrived through private, secured VVIP doors, their presence a silent, suffocating weight on the theater's otherwise jubilant atmosphere.
Fleet Admiral Crix Halcard sat stiffly in his plush velvet seat, his face a mask of cold, professional boredom. He hated these events. Just as he was settling in, a man with a sharp, pointy face and an even sharper suit slid into the seat beside him.
"That is my plus-one seat," Crix said, his voice flat.
The pointy man smiled, a predatory, insincere expression. He held out a hand adorned with several large, golden rings. "We all know you are married to the job, Fleet Admiral. You were not bringing anyone." He laughed, a dry, rustling sound.
Crix did not take the offered hand and was not amused.
"Though I must say," the pointy man continued, undeterred, "you have done a fine job. On behalf of the Ministry of Educational Alignment, I want to thank you personally for... cleaning up that little mess on Nexus Prime."
"Just drill it into your brain that I am not your personal assassin," Crix growled, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. "I will not be doing that again."
"We will see where fate takes us," the Vizier replied smoothly.
Just then, a portly, rotund Vizier wheezed as he lowered himself into the seat on the other side of the pointy man. His eyes immediately fixed on the stage. "Is that it?" he asked, pointing a fat finger. "The Stradus and the Savarius?"
"You did not know?" the pointy Vizier said, his attention shifting easily. "The Ice Queen, Rita, will not play the Savarius without the Stradus beside her."
The rotund Vizier let out a crude laugh. "Haha, what a bitch. So what, the violin just stays in its glass case without anyone playing it?"
"That is her thing," the pointy Vizier said with a dismissive shrug. "I do not mind, as long as my ears are being stimulated by her melody."
"I would bet her fingers are so delicate," the rotund Vizier leered. "Can you imagine one night with her?"
Crix's jaw tightened in disgust. The pointy Vizier just chuckled at his colleague's boorishness.
Behind them, in the second row, a different kind of conversation was taking place among the media moguls and Stellarcast celebrities.
"So, who is this 'Percival'?" a famous actress whispered to a silver-haired channel owner. "Is he a Gunnossian? A new prodigy Gil has been hiding away?"
"No one knows," the channel owner replied, his eyes scanning the crowd. "My sources say the name does not exist in any records. It is a complete ghost. This is either the debut of a generation-defining talent or the most elaborate marketing stunt in history."
And in the third row, among the industrialists, the conversation was even more direct.
"Gil Nothos coming out of retirement changes the market," Grokk Stonebeard, the Neman industrialist, rumbled to Cassian Rhee's father. "The value of his brand is astronomical. If this 'Percival' is the real deal, if he is the one who brought Gil back..."
"Then he is not a composer," the elder Rhee finished, a cold, calculating look in his eyes. "He is an asset. One that must be acquired."
The house lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the magnificent hall. The musicians began to take the stage, a slow, dignified procession of the galaxy's finest instrumentalists. They entered not to thunderous applause, but to a quiet, reverent awe from the audience, who had paid astronomical sums for their tickets and were now settling into their seats.
A low murmur of whispers began to ripple through the crowd. In the second row, the holo-actress leaned over to the media mogul.
"Is that... Myra Vex on the cello?" she whispered, her voice filled with admiration. "I thought she retired after the Corot-7 incident."
"It is," the mogul replied, equally impressed. "And look, the first chair violin... wait."
His voice trailed off. A wave of confused murmurs began to spread through the front rows as others noticed it too. The man sitting in the concertmaster's chair, the leader of the entire orchestra, was not the legendary Ben Cleesno. In fact, Ben Cleesno, Gil Nothos's right hand for over fifty years, was sitting in the second seat, a look of quiet, professional focus on his face.
The wave of hushed confusion stopped abruptly as Rita Bralare walked onto the stage. She was an vision of cold, regal elegance, her white hair shimmering under the stage lights. She did not acknowledge the audience. She simply walked to the Savarius and took her seat, her presence silencing the entire hall.
Then, another figure emerged from the wings. A man in an immaculate black suit, his movements fluid and confident. His face was hidden behind a simple, polished metal mask, its surface a featureless mirror save for two dark eye slits and a delicate, stylized carving of a sword piercing the right eye. A single, stark streak of white was visible in his jet-black hair.
"Who is he?" the pointy Vizier whispered. "Part Gunnossian, maybe, with that hair?"
The audience expected him to take a seat in the front row. Instead, breaking every expectation, the masked man walked directly to the glass case holding the Stradus. The audience let out a collective, soft gasp. To touch that instrument without Rita's permission was to invite her legendary wrath.
But as he opened the case and took out the priceless violin, Rita, the Ice Queen, did something no one expected. She smiled. A small, genuine, almost warm smile.
The masked man tucked the Stradus under his chin. He looked out at the audience, his gaze unreadable behind the dark slits of the mask, and gave a deep, formal bow. And in that moment, the audience finally understood. This mysterious man was the concertmaster, the first seat violinist.
A wave of shocked, then confused applause swept through the hall. Dorian, hidden behind the mask of Percival, bowed again. He then turned to the orchestra, raised his bow, and signaled them to tune.
The principal oboist played a single, pure "A" note. The sound, clear and perfect, filled the now-silent hall. The rest of the orchestra joined in, a beautiful, chaotic cacophony of strings, woodwinds, and brass as each musician adjusted their tuning to match. The audience waited, the silence as profound and empty as the void of space.
The orchestra finished tuning. A final, perfect silence descended. The masked man gave a sharp, single nod to the side stage.
And from that side, Gil Nothos, the White Beast, the conductor, walked onto the stage, with Juno, a vision in her dark blue gown, following just behind him.
The audience erupted in applause once more. Gil gave a deep, formal bow. Juno took her place at the singer's podium and followed suit, her own bow graceful and elegant. Gil then turned, his back to the audience, his silver eyes locking with every single member of his re-formed orchestra. The official start of the performance had arrived.
Gil's baton rose, a silent command that held a hundred master musicians in a state of suspended animation. Then, it came down.
A single, jarring, dissonant chord exploded from the bass and low strings, a sound so out of place with the expected classical elegance that a ripple of shock went through the audience. In the front row, the rotund Vizier flinched. Crix Halcard's stoic expression remained, but his eyes narrowed. Dorian, behind his mask, was the only one who smiled. The "Bond note." A ghost of a memory, a declaration of a story about to begin.
Before the dissonance could even settle, Rita's hands descended on the Savarius. The piano began with its two-chord motif, E-flat minor to C-flat major. It was a simple, heavy statement, a foundation of stone laid in the sudden silence.
Then, Juno began to sing.
Her voice entered not with a whisper, but with a full, controlled, and immense power. She utilized a powerful forward placement, the sound projected not just out of her mouth, but up into the "mask" of her face, the sinuses, the hard palate. This technique gave her voice a room-filling, almost architectural quality. It was not loud; it was present.
"This is the end... Hold your breath and count to ten."
The feeling was one of cold, calm finality. In the second row, the media mogul leaned forward, his analytical mind instantly recognizing the sheer technical skill on display. This was no amateur.
"Feel the Earth move, and then... Hear my heart burst again."
The feeling was one of visceral, recurring destruction. The cataclysm was physical, world-shattering. Gil's baton gave a sharp, precise cue, and the violins entered, holding a single, high, tense B-flat, while the violas and cellos filled in the dark harmony below, a bed of thorns for the vocal to rest upon.
"For this is the end... I've drowned and dreamt this moment."
Fatalistic acceptance. In his seat, Alexei Park's proud smile faltered slightly. He had heard his daughter sing, but he had never heard this. This was the voice of a soldier, not a student.
"So overdue, I owe them... Swept away, I'm stolen."
The feeling was a surrender to a long-owed debt, a price that had to be paid. The speaker was not just a victim of circumstance; they were settling a cosmic account.
The music held for a beat, a final, breathless moment of quiet tension.
Then the chorus came.
Gil's entire body seemed to expand as he cued the orchestra, and it exploded on a powerful C-flat major chord. The brass section, the trombones and horns, became the core, roaring to life with the iconic, descending line that contained the minor-major seventh harmony, the ghost of all the spy music that had come before. The timpani provided a powerful, rhythmic pulse, a heartbeat for the end of the world.
And above it all, Juno's voice ascended, not with a shriek, but with a full-throated, magnificent belt.
"Let the sky fall... When it crumbles..."
The entire emotional axis of the song shifted. This was not a plea for mercy. It was an unflinching, almost joyful defiance.
"We will stand tall... Face it all together."
This was the heart of the song. The "I" of the verse had become "we." In his seat, Dorian felt a shiver run down his spine. This was not just his song anymore. It was theirs. It was the sound of fierce, unbreakable solidarity.
"At Skyfall."
The solemn naming of the battlefield. The final note of the chorus hung in the air, a declaration of war.
The second verse began, but this time, the orchestra did not retreat. Gil, a fierce, predatory grin on his face, kept them at full power, a controlled, cathartic storm. This was the sky falling, not as chaos, but as a magnificent, terrifying, and orderly cataclysm. And Juno's voice, no longer a solitary confession, now soared above it, a defiant beacon in the heart of the tempest.
The post-chorus began. The choir, which had been a silent, spectral presence on the stage, finally entered. Their elegant, powerful voices added a new, epic layer to the harmony, a texture of human souls joining the defiance of the song.
Gil's beat became more urgent, his movements sharper, pushing the tempo ever so slightly forward. They were no longer just playing music; they were in the heart of the battle. His left hand was a sculptor, shaping the rising tide of the choir from a ghostly whisper into an operatic force.
And Juno's voice, now supported by this legion of singers, shifted from defiance to a raw, vulnerable vow.
"Where you go, I go... What you see, I see..."
It was a promise of unconditional empathy and unity. The two had become one in purpose and perception. In his seat, Alexei Park's hands, which had been resting calmly on his lap, clenched into tight fists. He was not listening as a Guild Master anymore; he was listening as a father.
"I know I'd never be me... without the security... Of your loving arms keeping me from harm."
The source of the chorus's immense power was revealed. The defiance was not born of arrogance, but from the profound strength that comes from being truly seen and protected by another. The Viziers in the front row stirred. The rotund one looked bored by the sentimentality, but the pointy one, the Vizier of Educational Alignment, leaned forward, a sharp, analytical glint in his eyes. He saw the power in this. Loyalty, sacrifice, the strength of the collective... this was a message the Accord could use.
"Put your hand in my hand, and we'll stand."
The epic scale was reduced to a simple, human gesture. It was a reaffirmation of a physical, tangible pact. In the third row, the elder Rhee looked at Grokk Stonebeard. They both saw it. Not a declaration of love, but a contract. An alliance.
The music began to build again, creeping in for the final, colossal choruses. Gil demanded everything. His baton was no longer a tool; it was a spear, a conduit for the music's immense, mythic energy. The feeling in the hall was one of a sublime, almost overwhelming struggle. It was the sound of gods and mortals fighting side-by-side.
The orchestra and the choir built to their absolute peak, a thunderous, soul-shaking fortissimo, and Juno sang, her voice a clarion call of pure, unadulterated power, a defiant star in the heart of the storm.
"Let the sky fall (Choir: Let the sky fall)... When it crumbles (C: When it crumbles)... We will stand tall (C: We will stand tall)... Face it all together..."
The sound was a physical force, washing over the audience, pinning them to their seats.
"Let the sky fall (C: Let the sky fall)... When it crumbles (C: When it crumbles)... We will stand tall (C: We will stand tall)... Face it all together at Skyfall!"
The final word, a shared, unified declaration, hung in the air, a banner planted on a conquered battlefield.
And then, the outro came. The storm broke. The orchestra resolved back to the simple, haunting E-flat minor vamp.
"Let the sky fall..."
Gil's grand, expansive gestures began to shrink, bar by bar. He was calming the tempest, putting the beast back into its cage.
"We will stand tall..."
The decrescendo was slow, deliberate, each section of the orchestra fading back into the shadows.
"At Skyfall..."
The final notes from Rita's piano were the sound of dust settling on a silent, changed world. The last note faded. Gil's baton remained suspended in the heavy, profound silence. The story was not over until the last echo had died. The feeling was one of a weary but dignified finality. The battle was won. The world was changed. And the survivor stood alone in the quiet of the aftermath.
For a long, single beat, the entire opera house was as silent as a tomb.
Then, a single person, a woman in the upper balconies, let out a choked, heartbroken sob. And that one sound broke the dam.
The applause was not a clap; it was a roar. A physical, visceral explosion of sound as the entire audience leaped to their feet. It was a standing ovation born not of politeness, but of a shared, cathartic release. There were whistles of praise, shouts of "Bravo!", and the open, unashamed sounds of people weeping. The Vultures in the front row, the media moguls, the industrialists, the hardened Solars, they were all on their feet, their polite, cynical masks shattered, united for one brief, shining moment in the raw, undeniable power of what they had just witnessed.
⋘ 𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒂.. .⋙
🎮: Stardwey Valley: Completed.
🎬: -
♬:
- Your Name – Elton John (ch.9)
- A Lovely Night – La La Land (ch.20)
- Merry Go Round of Life – Howl's Moving Castle (ch.25)
- Small Fragile Hearts – Victor Lundberg (ch. 27)
- Skyfall – Adele (ch. 29)
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**