The morning after the extravagant Gucci Launch Party in Paris, the four members of Aether were up before dawn. Their jobs demanded perfect looks and tireless energy, fueled by discipline and professional obligation. A sleek, black Gucci sedan had transported them in silence to the Gucci headquarters for a high-concept photoshoot—a multimillion dollar commitment that demanded flawless execution.
They ate a quick, protein-heavy breakfast of eggs and fresh fruit, discussing the party and the long flight back to New York planned for that afternoon. The stylists and makeup artists descended on their hotel suites, ensuring their flawless public image.
The photoshoot was a whirlwind of precision. The lighting was dramatic, the poses were sharp, and the clothing was magnificent. They changed outfits six times in three hours, their professionalism unwavering.
By noon, the final shots were taken, and the Aether team were already headed back to the airport.
On the private jet, Silas Trent, the Artist Manager, approached Jax Ryland as Jax was reviewing his notes for the negotiation with Aria Vance.
"The Gucci CEO was very impressed, Jax," Silas said, sitting across from him. He even mentioned setting up a long-term Global Ambassador deal—not just for the band, but for you specifically. That's massive leverage. But I saw you talking to Saskia Volkov last night. She doesn't usually attend these kinds of events. What did the daughter of the Volkov Global Conglomerate want?
Jax looked out the window at the receding French countryside. He was still wearing the serious, ambitious CEO of Zenith Publishing mindset.
"She wants a piece of us, Silas," Jax stated plainly. She's worried about instability after the Thorne Company takeover by Vance Global. She offered a massive, strategic investment from her family to 'stabilize' Zenith Records and provide financial leverage against any future moves by Vance Global.
Silas's eyes widened slightly. That kind of money... it could make us untouchable, Jax. It proves we're not just a band, but an institution.
"It would," Jax agreed, folding his hands. But it comes with a price. The Volkovs don't just invest; they control. I need stability for the company's future. I need to prove my career path is rock solid, but I will not give away the control that Rhys, Kellan, Nick, and I fought for years to build with Damian.
Speaking of the CEO, what was his takeaway on the shoot? The difference between a simple endorsement and a Brand Ambassadorship is creative control. We need to be more than just a face," Silas pressed.
Jax smiled, a genuine flicker of satisfaction. The CEO was clear. The 'Aether' aesthetic is now officially a key component of their next campaign. We won't just be modeling; we'll have input on the creative direction, a rare level of partnership. That level of long-term commitment means millions and, more importantly, it makes Zenith appear more formidable to someone like Aria. It shows we can attract more than just short-term deals.
Jax thought Talia's proposal was immediate revenue and perfect marketing. Saskia's offer is deep, controlling finance. I need to bring every weapon to the table against Aria Vance—I need to show her I have options—but I am not selling our control to anyone, especially not Saskia.
Silas was quiet for a moment, his mind working through the implications. Silas thought: Jax is refusing the ultimate security for the sake of creative independence. That's dangerous, but it's why he's a superstar.
"So, no deal with Volkov yet," Silas confirmed.
"No deal," Jax affirmed. Now, talk to me about the Ascend Communications proposal. That's the clean revenue we need to show our financial strength before facing Aria Vance tomorrow.
At that exact time, in the early afternoon in New York City, Talia Hayes was walking into the towering glass headquarters of Ascend Communications. She wore a suit that fit her for precision, projecting absolute confidence.
She was meeting with the company's Board of Executives, a daunting panel of older, traditional financial leaders who were skeptical of celebrity endorsement.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Hayes," said Mr. Peterson, the Chairman, his voice stern. We are currently losing face because your digital challenge has backfired. Explain why we should spend a massive portion of our budget which you are proposing—to partner with these… musicians.
Talia stood at the head of the table, not intimidated.
"Gentlemen, we are not buying a celebrity endorsement; we are acquiring a marketing engine," Talia stated, displaying a screen showing the massive, mobilized engagement of the Aether Army.
This is pure passion. Aether's fanbase is not a passive audience; they are an active, mobilized force. They trust the band absolutely. By partnering with Zenith Records—by creating a 'Powered by Aether' campaign—we give the Army what they crave: exclusive access to their idols, but only through the Aura Model X phone.
She displayed the projected sales data. This partnership is not a cost; it is a sales mechanism. We will not just meet our sales goal; we will shatter it. We turn the chaos into commitment, the enemy into our best sales team.
The board exchanged glances. The financial projections were too compelling to ignore. They might not understand the Aether Army, but they understood profit.
"Very well, Ms. Hayes," the Chairman conceded. Draft the formal proposal. Set a meeting with Zenith Records' management immediately.
Talia left the boardroom feeling triumphant. She had won the corporate fight. Now, she just had to set up the meeting with Silas Trent and her superstar Jax Ryland.
In her high-rise apartment in New York City, Aria Vance spent her early evening completing her final preparations.
She finished her intense workout session in her private gym. Her workout was not about fitness; it was about endurance and pain management. The disciplined exertion—the sweat, the burning muscles—was the only thing that kept the deeper memories at bay.
After training, she ate a light, protein-heavy dinner, a meal for survival, not enjoyment. Then, she reviewed the legal documents for the tenth time.
As the evening turned into night, Aria prepared for the hardest part of her day: sleep.
She took a long, hot shower, trying to use the steam and the heat to soothe the tight, hard knot of fear that resided perpetually in her chest. She put on a simple cotton shirt, but she couldn't relax.
When she finally lay down in her bed, her mind, deprived of the focus of training or work, inevitably drifted back to the one memory she could never truly escape.
She was sixteen, a girl in a crisp school uniform, traveling to a remote area for a humanitarian trip. She had been naive, believing in the inherent good of the world. Then, the car was stopped. Rough hands pulled her out. She was seized by a local mercenary group, kidnapped as a high value asset, and thrown into the dense, suffocating jungle.
The memory was always the same: The forest was dark and thick, smelling of wet earth and decay. Days turned into weeks of starvation that gnawed through her stomach, pain that was less a sharp cut and more a constant, low thrum of terror. She remembered the rough hands, the constant, sickening fear that turned her stomach into a cold stone. She was forced to walk for hours, barefoot, the stones cutting into her skin, her throat raw from silent sobbing. She cried for her mother until her voice was a defeated whisper, but tears did nothing. She learned quickly that showing weakness meant more pain. She wasn't human to them; she was currency, and the utter, complete helplessness of that realization had been the most terrifying thing of all. Aria Vance, the formidable commander, was born from a terrified, starving girl who learned silence was her only shield.
She was eventually saved, not by police or traditional forces, but by a highly skilled private military unit. She remembered the sudden, shocking efficiency of their movement in the forest, the silence, the speed, the lethal competence of the man who found her. He was a high ranking soldier, mercenary, a ghost of a man named Kael. He carried her out of the jungle, his uniform a fortress, his eyes cold but steady. In those eyes, she saw not pity, but the perfect, controlled absence of fear, and she realized that was what she needed to survive.
She hadn't returned to normal life. The trauma had permanently shattered the possibility of innocence. She sought out the soldiers who had saved her, begging them for training. She needed to become what she had feared, but stronger. She needed to be the weapon, not the victim.
The soldier mercenary training was hell. It was years of crying from exhaustion, pain that went beyond physical limits, and intentional starvation drills to test her breaking point. Kael's doctrine was simple: If you break in training, you die in the field. He pushed her beyond physical agony, focusing on her mental collapse.
One of his rituals was ice water immersion. Every Sunday, regardless of the weather, she was forced to strip down and sit in a repurposed livestock trough filled with water and massive chunks of ice.
"Thirty minutes, Aria," Kael would say, his voice flat, watching from a distance. Don't move. Control your breath. If you lose the rhythm of your heart, you lose the battle for your mind.
The first time, she screamed. The cold was a physical thing, a thousand needles driving into her flesh, stealing her breath. Her body revolted, muscles seizing, jaw clamping shut. The pain was absolute, forcing tears of pure physical shock down her cheeks. But she didn't get out. She stayed. She learned to focus on a single point in the distance, to count, to force the image of the dark forest and her captors away with the sheer, agonizing reality of the cold. It was an exercise in self-inflicted torture designed to prove her will was stronger than her body. It taught her that she could endure, that she could will the pain away if the stakes were high enough.
She learned to fight dirty, to endure interrogation, and to kill with cold, precise efficiency. Every tear she had cried as a kidnapped girl was replaced by a rigid, unbreakable will. She became Aria, the Commander.
And still, the nightmare came.
In the depths of her sleep, she was sixteen again. The air was cold, the sound of rough boots crunching leaves was deafening. She was alone, small, and utterly defenseless. She would wake up gasping, her heart hammering against her ribs, the residual fear of that helpless girl overwhelming the competence of the soldier.
She reached for the one distraction that offered total, controlled focus.
She logged into the game. She needed the structured reality of the digital fight to drown out the uncontrolled, terrifying memory of the forest.
Gamer Tag: MoodMaker
MoodMaker: Commander, I'm back in New York! I'm exhausted, but I need to clear my head. Ready for our final boss run?
Aria, using her character name Valkyrie, smiled faintly.
Valkyrie: Welcome back. Clear your head on the field. Less talking, more aiming. I'll take the high ground.
For the next few hours, Aria Vance was simply Valkyrie, executing complex maneuvers alongside Nick Aliyev. She was in control, she was strong, and she was safe at least until the negotiation in the morning.