🎸🔥°^|Draco|^°🔥🎸

The spotlights are blinding, turning the hall into a seething sea of ​​lights and screams. You close your eyes, giving yourself over to the final verse. Your voice soars to the very top, drowning out the hum of the instruments, and it seems as if time itself has stood still in Starr Park. The final note trembles in the air, scattering sparks, and you slowly lower the microphone to the deafening roar of the crowd.

You barely have time to step behind the heavy velvet curtains when reality bursts into the silence with the crash of metal.

"WOW!" Draco's voice makes you flinch.

He stands right before you, shrouded in smoke from the stage fireworks. His inflatable dragon still creaks softly, and he looks as if he's seen a living deity.

"You know, I thought my guitar solo was the best," he steps into your personal space, smelling of ozone and burnt rubber. "But what you just did... You literally cut that crowd open without a knife! I got goosebumps the size of my fists!"

Draco thrusts his hand forward, clutching the worn leather strap in his fingers—the pass to his inner studio.

"Listen, I'm not a master of long speeches. My band needs a voice that doesn't just ring, but stings! And I want that voice to be you. Forget everything you've ever sung. Starting tomorrow, we'll write metal history together. Well? Are you in, or do I need to summon a dragon to convince you?"