The next few weeks were a blur of late-night rehearsals, lyric scribbling sessions, and coffee-fueled jam sessions. War in the Hell was pushing harder than ever, riding the wave of inspiration sparked by the last festival and their subsequent studio grind. Between the echoes of guitar riffs and Edward's relentless drumbeats, the small, cluttered room was a mess of wires, amps, and empty takeaway containers.

Josh set his bass down, wiping sweat from his brow. "That's it, guys. I'm officially 80% sweat and 20% bass player."

Jeremy smirked, pushing his damp hair back from his face. "Don't worry, you've still got the 'broody, mysterious musician' thing going for you."

"More like 'broody, sweaty bass player,'" Edward shot back, twirling a drumstick between his fingers.

It was during one of these intense rehearsal sessions that Mark, their manager, burst into the studio, his grin wide and his eyes brighter than usual.

"You guys are not going to believe this!" he said, waving a piece of paper like a flag. The band, drenched in sweat and panting after just finishing a new run-through of one of their upcoming tracks, turned to him, curiosity piqued.

"What is it, Mark?" Jeremy asked, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt. "If it's another bill, you can leave it at the door."

Mark laughed, shaking his head. "No, no. Alright, don't freak out," he said, barely suppressing his grin.

"That's a terrible way to start a sentence," Josh muttered, but his eyes were locked on Mark, anticipation creeping into his posture.

"This is way better than a bill. You're invited to be the opening act at the Ironstorm Festival next month!"

The room went silent for a moment, the name sinking in. Ironstorm was legendary—a festival known for hosting some of the biggest names in metal and rock. Just getting a chance to play there was career-changing.

Nalani's eyes widened, disbelief and excitement mingling in her expression. "Ironstorm? Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," Mark confirmed, his grin unwavering. "I pulled some strings and sent them a demo of 'Fight with Blood.' They loved it. They said you guys bring a fresh sound, and they want you to kick off day one."

Nalani felt a surge of pride swell in her chest. All the hours spent practicing until her voice was raw, all the sacrifices and sleepless nights—they were finally paying off. She glanced at her bandmates, who were looking equally stunned and ecstatic.

Jeremy leaned back against the amp with a sigh of disbelief. "Ironstorm. That's insane. Like, real musicians play there."

"And now we do too, genius," Josh said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Edward's eyes lit up as he dropped his drumsticks, one rolling under the couch, but he didn't even flinch. "This is it, guys! This is the break we've been waiting for! Does this mean I get to do my 10-minute drum solo?"

"Only if you want tomatoes thrown at you," Josh retorted, making everyone laugh.

Jeremy stepped forward and fist-bumped Mark. "You're a miracle worker, man."

Mark chuckled, taking a mock bow. "Thank you, thank you. Now, you've got a month to tighten up your set, add any new songs, and get ready to make a hell of an impression. The organizers are expecting a solid 30-minute set. This is huge, guys. There will be people there who can change your entire career with a single meeting. Play it right, and you're not just a band playing festivals—you're the band everyone's talking about."

Nalani nodded, her mind already racing with ideas. "We've got this. We'll make it unforgettable."

"Just one thing," Mark added, his grin taking on a teasing edge. "Don't mess it up. Or I'll be the one writing those bills Jeremy was talking about."

Jeremy laughed, slinging an arm around Edward. "No pressure, right?"

Mark left soon after, but the studio was abuzz with excitement. Edward, always the comic relief, jumped up on the old, sagging couch and struck a triumphant pose. "Ironstorm, here we come! I hope they're ready for a drummer who breaks more sticks than records."

Josh snorted, setting down his bass. "Or a drummer who loses his sticks every five seconds."

"Hey, it's part of my signature move," Edward shot back, wagging a finger at Josh. "It keeps the audience on their toes."

"Yeah, because they're dodging flying drumsticks," Jeremy added, and the room erupted into laughter.

Nalani leaned against the mic stand, watching her friends with a smile. This was why she'd left Brussels, why she'd stood her ground against her parents' disapproval. Moments like this made all the sacrifices worth it. She cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention.

"Alright, boys," she said, her voice steady but full of energy. "If we're going to open Ironstorm, we need to be at our absolute best. That means new songs, tight rehearsals, and no slacking."

Jeremy smirked. "Look at you, captain of the ship. What's next, a whistle and a clipboard?"

"Only if you start falling behind," Nalani shot back, a playful glint in her eyes.

Josh raised an eyebrow. "Wait, does that mean Edward's getting a whistle in the mail?"

Edward put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. "Excuse me, I am the backbone of this band. You don't see anyone complaining when I'm in charge of drum solos."

"Because we can't hear anything over your chaotic banging," Jeremy quipped, earning a light shove from Edward.

"Enough clowning around," Nalani said, trying to suppress her laughter. "We need to plan our setlist. We've got a month, and I want at least two new songs ready to go."

Nalani glanced at her phone, the screen lighting up with a new message. She'd been texting Nick more frequently ever since they met at the last festival. Their conversations had shifted from casual music banter to longer, late-night chats that delved into life on the road, creative struggles, and everything in between.

Nick: Hey, just heard from Jolly that you guys got invited to Ironfest. That's amazing. Congrats!

Nalani felt a smile tug at her lips. She typed back quickly.

Nalani: Thanks! It's surreal. We're gearing up to make this set unforgettable.

Nick: You'll kill it, I'm sure. If you need any tips, I've been through the Thronefest madness a couple of times.

Nalani: I might take you up on that. How's the tour?

Nick: Exhausting, but you know how it goes. Late nights, crazy crowds. Miss the quieter moments sometimes.

Nalani: I get that. Balance is everything.

Nick: Speaking of balance, make sure you don't let the hype stress you out. You're there because you're good. Remember that.

She read his message twice, warmth spreading through her chest. Their connection had grown beyond friendly texts; it felt like she'd found an unexpected mentor and ally. It was strange and comforting all at once.

"Is that Nick?" Jeremy asked, leaning over to glance at her phone.

Nalani rolled her eyes but didn't bother hiding the screen. "Yes, Dad."

Josh raised an eyebrow. "What's he saying? 'Good luck, don't trip on stage'?"

"More like 'don't let the hype get to you,'" Nalani said with a grin.

Edward's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Is he going to be there? Maybe he'll give us pointers on how to brood like a rock god."

Jeremy snickered. "Or how to make the perfect 'too-cool-to-care' face."

"You definitely should ask Noah for it," Josh laughed.

"Very funny," Nalani said, shaking her head but laughing all the same. "He's just being supportive, okay? It's nice to have someone in the industry who gets it."

Josh smirked. "Sounds like someone's got a friend-crush."

"Enough!" Nalani said, laughing. "Come on, we've got a lot to plan."

They gathered around the small table in the corner, their battered notebooks and scribbled sheet music spread out like a battle plan. Jeremy tapped his fingers against the table, thinking. "We need an opener that sets the tone. Something loud, fast, and with a riff that hooks everyone in the first ten seconds."

Josh nodded, flipping through one of his notebooks. "I've got a couple of ideas. One of them has this heavy, dark riff. It could be a killer start."

Edward pointed at Josh. "If you're playing that riff, I'm going to need to go full throttle on the drums. I'm talking double bass, cymbals crashing, the whole deal."

"Great," Nalani said, excitement threading through her words. "And for the second song, I was thinking something with more of a build-up, where we can show off some harmonies. Maybe 'Unbreakable,' but with a twist."

"Like adding an acoustic intro?" Jeremy suggested, and Nalani's eyes lit up.

"Exactly. We'll bring the crowd in slowly, then hit them hard."

Edward grinned. "By then, the crowd will be eating out of our hands. I'll toss a drumstick into the crowd. Maybe two."

Josh rolled his eyes. "As long as you don't aim for someone's eye."

The studio filled with laughter again, the kind that only comes from people who have shared late nights, cheap takeout, and endless hours of practice. They knew each other's habits, quirks, and weaknesses, but they also knew their strengths—and right now, they needed every ounce of that to make their Ironstorm debut unforgettable.

The next few weeks were intense. Mornings started with warm-ups, afternoons were spent fine-tuning their songs, and nights ended with grueling full-set run-throughs. Mark popped in a few times, bringing with him more pep talks and cups of coffee strong enough to raise the dead.

"Remember," he said one night, leaning against the doorframe, "Ironstorm is your chance to be seen by everyone. Record labels, other bands, media—they'll all be there. You make a splash, and this could open so many doors."

"Great, no pressure again," Edward said, sipping his fourth can of energy drink.

"Don't worry, Eddie," Jeremy said with a grin. "If you start losing it, I'll jump in with a solo. The crowd can just enjoy five minutes of random strumming while we fetch you from backstage."

Edward rolled his eyes but couldn't help grinning. "And if I do pass out, at least let me collapse dramatically. I want to go viral for something epic."

Josh patted Edward's shoulder. "We'll make sure to add a slow-mo filter when it happens."

Nalani observed her bandmates with laughter when her phone buzzed with another message.

Nick: You surviving the prep madness?

Nalani: Barely. We're debating whether Edward should be allowed near a cowbell.

Nick: Oh god, save yourselves. No cowbell.

Nalani: Too late. It's his new obsession.

Nick: I'll pray for you.

She stifled a laugh, earning curious glances from the band.

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. "What now?"

"Nick says no cowbell," Nalani said, unable to hide her grin.

Edward gasped dramatically. "Traitor!"

They laughed until their sides hurt, the tension of the day melting away in that moment. And as they ran through their set one last time, the anticipation of what was to come settled into a quiet determination. Ironstorm was their chance, and they were ready to take it.

Before they left the studio that night, Nalani sent one last message.

Nalani: Thanks for the reminder today. And for the cowbell prayers.

Nick: Anytime. Go show them what War in the Hell is made of.

When the night of Ironstorm finally arrived, the festival grounds buzzed with energy. Massive speakers towered over the stage, and the crowd, a sea of metalheads and rock enthusiasts, waited eagerly for the music to begin. The lights flashed, a roar of anticipation rolling over the crowd.

Backstage, the band huddled in a circle, their pre-show ritual.

"Alright, War in the Hell," Nalani said, her voice strong and steady, "we've worked for this. This is our night. Let's go out there and show them who we are."

Jeremy fist-bumped everyone, a tradition they never skipped. "Let's do this. For the music. And for the free food at the after-party."

Josh chuckled, shaking his head. "Typical. But yes, let's do this."

Edward clapped his hands together, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Ironstorm, meet your new favorite band."

As they walked onto the stage, the noise of the crowd washed over them, electric and invigorating. Josh took his place, Edward twirled his drumsticks before settling in, Jeremy adjusted his guitar strap, and Nalani stepped up to the mic, her heart pounding in time with the roar of the crowd.

The stage lights bathed them in color, and with one last shared glance, Josh hit the opening riff, powerful and dark, reverberating through the air like a war cry. The crowd cheered, and War in the Hell was ready to take them on a ride they'd never forget.