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... er of The Sparrow, a cozy dive bar tucked in the city's heart, its walls plastered with peeling gig flyers and fairy lights. The air was thick with the scent of cheap beer and cedar, the low hum of chatter mixing with the clink of glasses. His guitar hung from the leather strap, its stars glinting faintly, a quiet tether to his mom's faith. The open mic was in full swing, a poet on stage weaving words about lost summers, the crowd nodding along. Kael's pulse raced, Shatterpoint and Iron Vein's D ...

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