Copenhagen
It was a short hop from Paris to Copenhagen, but the mood shifted sharply somewhere along the way. Paris is drama. Copenhagen is surveillance.
This concert isn’t part of the main Darklight tour. It’s a bonus event. So here we are, scrambling through rehearsals, logistics, and another security sweep, because while Paris is unpredictable, Copenhagen is deliberate. And nothing happens here without being recorded, evaluated, and archived in triplicate.
The reception was held in the old royal palace, a building steeped in history but wired to the teeth with sensors, AI moderators, and whatever the Alignment Division uses to make people feel like they’re being flayed with polite interest. Everyone wore grey—sober, austere, regulation. Everyone but Astrid.
Astrid Nygård arrived in radiant white.
A statement, of course. Purity, contrast, command.
Halo was magnificent, as always. The local dignitaries tried to act unimpressed, but more than one of them was caught watching her with that distance, wide-eyed stare we've come to know and love.
President Evans’ husband came over from the UCAS, on my invitation. He’s a Halo fan. Genuinely. The kind of fan who knows the tracklist from her second album and shed a few tears during the private DC concert.
After the reception, I slipped away for quieter talks. Astrid first, naturally. She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. There was that long, searching look across a silent room—the kind of moment that feels historic. And maybe it was.
Then a call with Berlin. Herr Krieg, guarded as ever, but cautiously optimistic. We spoke in veiled terms—trade corridors, shared infrastructure, cultural exchange programs—but what we meant was power. Is this the moment? When dragons and technocrats, unions and megacorps, stop pretending to be enemies and start building something functional? Or at least mutually profitable?
I wouldn’t bet on peace. But I would bet on profit. For them. For me.
—Philip Harrowfield
VP of Operations, Starway Elite Productions
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