They stepped inside—and the world flipped.
The concert hadn't even started yet, but the entire venue was already heaving with life. Lights beamed from every corner of the massive dome-shaped stadium, scattering patterns across the crowd like fireflies caught in a storm. The bass of pre-concert beats pulsed through the floor like a second heartbeat, low and steady, a countdown to something huge.
The air? Electric.
People were everywhere—shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, tightly packed like a sea of glitter, leather, and neon. Without even realizing it, the girls instinctively huddled closer, drawn together by the sheer scale of it all.
Rachel's eyes darted across the scene, wide as saucers. "Is this even legal?" she whispered.
There were fans doing the usual things—snapping selfies, chugging drinks, screaming excitedly at the empty stage as if Ethan might magically pop up early. But it was the unusual stuff that made their jaws drop.
A group of five fans stood in a perfect circle near the left side of the pit, holding white candles, glowing softly despite the daylight pouring through the stadium's open roof. Their faces were streaked with face paint—some hearts, some lightning bolts, and one with "EJ" painted across her forehead in purple glitter. They sang Ethan's acoustic ballads, but in low harmonies, like a whisper-ritual. Every lyric came out like a prayer.
On the far right, a girl in a pink fur jacket was already crying—full-on, no-shame, mascara-running tears—as she waved a cardboard sign that read:"I TOOK A 23-HOUR FLIGHT FOR YOU ETHAN 💔"
Next to her, someone had come dressed in a full angel costume, complete with massive feathered wings, and was directing people in line for free Ethan-themed temporary tattoos. And in the middle of it all was a giant inflatable replica of Ethan's first microphone from his rehearsal tour—surrounded by fans taking selfies, kissing the base like it was a holy relic.
Drones flew overhead, filming the crowd.
VIP sections were roped off with shimmering silver chains, and up above, skyboxes gleamed behind tinted glass. Massive LED screens scrolled Ethan's name in every font imaginable, from dripping graffiti to elegant cursive. Even the merchandise booths looked like luxury boutiques, guarded by staff in custom "Team Ethan" bomber jackets.
And still—the music hadn't even started.
The girls couldn't speak. Couldn't blink. Could barely even breathe.
Then, as if it had been rehearsed, they all whispered the same word at the same time:
"Wow."
That was all they could say. Just… wow.
Their awe was broken, suddenly and sharply, by the shrill ring of a phone.
"AHHH!" Rachel jumped.
They all jumped.
Hands flew to purses and coat pockets as they scrambled to check their phones, the sound somehow louder than the music in that one, heart-pounding moment.
"It's mine! It's mine!" Rachel shouted, yanking her phone out from her tiny rhinestone-studded clutch.
She froze as the screen lit up.
Her face dropped. "Oh shit."
The others leaned in immediately, instincts kicking in like synchronized dancers. Jumana narrowed her eyes. "Who is it?"
Rachel swallowed hard, her voice grim. "It's my dad."
All four girls echoed in unison:"Shit."
Here's why that reaction came so fast—they weren't even supposed to be here. Not here as in "standing inside one of the most anticipated concerts of the year." Here as in another country. Technically, this was a secret mission.
Their parents, especially Rachel's father—a decorated military man who trusted no one—had been absolutely against the idea of them traveling across borders for a concert, no matter how "well-planned" it sounded. It took two full weeks of begging, rehearsed speeches, and emotional blackmail to get them to agree. The only reason they were allowed was because Jasmine's aunt, Aunt Dalia, was supposed to be traveling with them.
And she did. Technically.
But Aunt Dalia was… different. She had declared herself "a woman of vibes and experience" the moment they landed. Within twenty minutes of checking in, she handed the girls their hotel key cards, flashed a peace sign, and said, "You girls are big enough now. I've got a little adventure of my own to chase tonight. Be safe. Text me if someone gets kidnapped."
So yeah. They weren't alone—but they were definitely unsupervised.
Now here was Rachel's father, likely just doing a casual check-in. Probably nothing. A harmless call.
"It's just a call," Jasmine said quickly, her voice steady as she put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "Pick it up. It's not like he's going to magically sense we're in a mosh pit."
Rachel looked at her, fear and disbelief clashing on her face. "You think so?"
"I know so," Jasmine said, nodding, a confident smile breaking out. "You've got this."
Rachel took a shaky breath and glanced at the screen again. Her fingers hovered above the screen like she was about to defuse a bomb. Her heart was in her throat.
"Okay," she muttered. "Okay okay okay…"
The girls moved a few feet away from the main chaos, finding a slightly quieter corner near the glowing hologram booth.
Rachel turned to face them all one last time.
Jasmine gave a thumbs-up.
Jumana offered a tight smile.
Mariam whispered, "Just don't sound too excited."
Rachel inhaled sharply, nodded, then turned away from them. She closed her eyes and hit "accept."
"Let's do this," she whispered under her breath, bracing for whatever came next.
Rachel inhaled as she pressed the green button. "Let's do this," she muttered, bracing herself. She raised the phone to her ear, heart pounding.
"Hello," she said, voice an octave higher than usual.
Immediately, her father's booming voice came through the speaker: "Hello? No 'Hi Dad'? What's wrong, pumpkin?"
Rachel's eyes widened as if her soul had been yanked out by surprise. Her mouth opened slightly, caught between a laugh and a gasp. Her friends froze like statues behind her.
"Nothing! Nothing has happened, I was just, uh... you know..."
She started pacing like a caged animal, fingers gripping her phone too tightly.
"What are you calling for, Dad? The concert is about to start now," she blurted hastily, trying not to sound like a guilty criminal.
Her father chuckled, warm and hearty. "Ahh no, kiddo, sorry for disturbing. I was just going to share a very good news about the deal I just closed, dear."
Rachel's eyes darted around, desperate. She didn't want him to keep talking. Not now. Not while she was hiding an international secret mission.
"It's fine, Dad! We can talk about the deal later. The concert's literally about to start. Let's talk later, okay? Bye!"
"Wait, wait," her dad said, laughter still in his voice. "Okay, okay, I won't take up much of your time. Just let me greet the girls."
Rachel rolled her eyes and groaned under her breath. Without even arguing, she slapped the speaker icon and held the phone out. "They're hearing you now, Dad."
"How are you, Mr. C.Z?!" the girls chorused, chipper and practiced.
Her father let out a delighted laugh. "I'm fine, girls! You all seem to be having a really great time. That's great, that's great. Well, don't let me disturb you. Bye, ladies!"
"Bye, Mr. C.Z!" they sang back, grinning.
Rachel sighed with relief. "Okay then. Bye, Dad."
"Bye, pumpkin," he replied. Rachel moved her thumb toward the end call button.
And then—
"Oh! What about Dalia? Where is she?"
All four girls froze like someone had pulled the plug on time. Their expressions twisted into a collective look of horror. Jumana's jaw dropped. Mariam stopped breathing. Jasmine was blinking rapidly like she had a plan but hadn't downloaded it yet.
"Uh…" Rachel squeaked.
Her father's voice continued cheerfully. "Is she nearby? Let me just say hi. She must be keeping you girls in line, eh?"
Jasmine snapped into action. She snatched the phone out of Rachel's hand.
"BYE, C.Z.! Let the girls have fun!" she said in an exaggeratedly chipper voice, mimicking Aunt Dalia's vibe.
And with a swift tap, she ended the call.
There was a long silence.
Rachel turned to Jasmine, wide-eyed. "I can't believe you just did that."
Jasmine blinked. "Yeah, me neither."
Then all of them cracked.
They exploded into laughter—giddy, panicked, glorious laughter. Rachel doubled over. Mariam leaned into Jumana. They held each other as they giggled, tears streaming.
"Okay, girls," Mariam said through a laugh, wiping her eyes, "before this concert starts, let's get the full experience."
They squealed in agreement and dove back into the pre-concert frenzy.
Their first stop was a booth surrounded by crying fans. Real tears. Some had written things in black eyeliner across their cheeks. Rachel pointed to a girl clutching a shirt that read, Ethan Jones Ruined My Life But I'd Thank Him For It.
"We're buying those," she declared.
Jumana grabbed a matching crop top: Heartbroken Since Track 7. Rachel added one with a shattered heart stitched across the front. Mariam picked up matching beanies for them all: Team Ethan Forever.
Another booth had temporary tattoos, glitter stations, and even a photo area styled like Ethan's first bedroom studio. They posed with fake microphones, snapped selfies, and joined in with a spontaneous choir of fans singing Ethan's old acoustic hits.
When they passed by a velvet-curtained tent pulsing with blue light, they found a miniature hologram performance of Ethan's unreleased tracks—one fan was crying so hard she had to be consoled by staff.
"She gets it," Jasmine whispered solemnly.
Then the speakers around the stadium flared with a low buzz, and a soft automated voice rang out:
"Please proceed to your designated seats. The performance will begin shortly."
Screams erupted across the stadium.
The girls scrambled toward the VIP section. Their front-row seats were glimmering with confetti already, each one with a limited edition Ethan glow band and water bottle. Rachel sank into hers, barely able to believe this was real.
Up on stage, crew members were adjusting instruments. A guy with messy curls and a guitar slung over his shoulder stood off to the side.
"Wowee," Jasmine said, leaning toward Rachel. "Who is that?"
Rachel grinned. "That's Max. He's one of Ethan's Tour's bandmates. He's the—"
The lights vanished.Gone. All at once.
A breathless hush fell over the stadium, as if the world itself had stopped spinning. Then—thousands of tiny lights blinked alive across the stands. Glowing wristbands. Flashing phones. Neon tears of starlight in the void. The crowd murmured, a tide of whispers and rising anticipation.
Then it happened.
A single white beam shot from the heavens—piercing the dark like the finger of God. It slammed down at the center of the stage, crackling in its descent, hitting the ground with such force it felt like time itself paused.
In that beam, floating—floating—was a figure.
His arms outstretched. His head bowed. His silhouette glowed in the white-hot light like a celestial being. Hair tousled, jacket fluttering in the still air, feet hovering inches above the platform as if gravity itself had been dismissed.
It was him.Ethan.
The stadium exploded.
Screams. Gasps. People crying. People shouting. People sobbing in each other's arms. Some dropped to their knees. Others simply froze, hands on their heads, mouths wide open. A girl near the front fainted. Another screamed his name so loud it cracked.
But then—
It came.
The voice.
No music.No instruments.Just his voice, alone in the dark.
"FIREEEEEE ON FIRE—"
The words ripped through the air like thunder laced in gold. Soaring. Piercing. Unreal.
It wasn't just a note—it was a wave.Raw. Angelic. Loud enough to shake the soul, smooth enough to silence angels.He climbed it—up and up—sliding into rifts that twisted like ribbons of flame, his vibrato vibrating the entire stadium, every vowel melting into the next like molten light.
He sang it again—louder.
"FIREEEEE ON—FIIIIIREEEEEEE!"
And then it hit.
"FIIIIIRRREEEEEEE—ooooh ohh ohhhh—ONNNNNN FIIIIIIII-YAAHHHHH-ya-ya-ya-ya-yaaaah—OOOOOH WAAAOHHH!!!"
His voice didn't just sing—it soared, twisted, dipped, and burned.Each syllable laced with impossible runs, sliding between chest voice and falsetto like silk catching fire.
He dragged out the word "Fire" like it was alive—Rising, breaking, roaring—"FIREEEEEee—YA-ya-YA-yaaaaah—OOOooOH WAAAAAAAH!!"
The oohs melted into wails, the wows hit with a tremble that made the stadium floor vibrate.It wasn't just a note anymore.It was an experience.A scream of passion. A cry of something divine.
And the crowd?
Unhinged.Utterly wrecked.The earth-shaking, hair-raising kind of performance that legends are made of.
The earth moved.Literally.
The stadium trembled. The floor thumped like a heartbeat. Walls pulsed. Even the sky above felt like it had opened up.
Jasmine let out a scream so loud her voice cracked. Mariam was crying and laughing at the same time. Jumana was jumping, shaking Rachel, who couldn't even speak—her hands were over her mouth, her eyes wide with unfiltered disbelief.
People were shouting. Sobbing. Collapsing.Everywhere.
Phones flew into the air like confetti. Flashbulbs burst like fireworks.Someone in the back tossed a bouquet that tumbled forward like it was being offered to a god.Someone up front screamed at the top of their lungs, "HE'S A GOD!"Another, voice cracking with emotion, just cried out, "That voice…"
Tears weren't rare—they were everywhere.
The girls stood frozen, overwhelmed. Eyes wide, breaths caught, hearts racing.They turned to each other, trying to process the storm they were standing in.
"Rachel," Mariam said, gently.
"What?" Rachel replied, a bit dazed.
"Your eyes."
Rachel blinked. Then, noticing the wetness on her cheeks, she touched her face.Small tears.
"Oh." She gave a tiny, startled laugh. "Sorry. It's just… that voice."
But her friends didn't tease. They didn't say a word.They just smiled. Softly. Knowingly."We know. Don't worry."
And they did know.
This—this moment—was why Ethan Jones was a phenomenon.This was why, in just a short time, he had exploded into global superstardom.
It all came down to one thing.Not just the fame. Not just the looks.
His voice.And the way it made people feel.Like their hearts were being cracked open and poured into the sky.
But even when the voice finally faded,Even when that last heavenly note died into silence,Even when Ethan lowered slowly to the stage like a deity descending—
The crowd did not stop.
They kept going.Screaming. Crying. Shaking.Like the performance had already hit its peak and yet...It had only just begun.
The four girls looked at each other, breathless.And in that moment—They knew.They were in for a night they'd never forget.
Author's Note:
To clarify Ethan's voice, imagine a mix of The Weeknd, Chester Bennington (the lead singer of Linkin Park), Axl Rose, and a touch of Lewis Capaldi.
The Weeknd brings a smooth, haunting falsetto with incredible range, creating an ethereal, emotional vibe.
Chester Bennington adds a raw intensity, with his ability to shift between melodic singing and powerful, guttural screams that convey deep emotional pain and catharsis.
Axl Rose contributes a piercing, dynamic range with a mix of high screams and controlled growls. His voice has an almost feral power, capable of reaching strikingly high notes and then dropping into a raspy, commanding lower register. Axl is known for his unpredictable vocal acrobatics, switching seamlessly from screams to smooth, emotional delivery—a voice that is both vulnerable and ferocious.
For depth and soul, Ethan's voice also echoes the raw, heartfelt richness of Lewis Capaldi, who can deliver tender, aching notes that grab you and hold you captive, while also showcasing a powerful, earth-shattering range when necessary.
Ethan's voice isn't just powerful—it's versatile, expressive, and capable of stirring any emotion. Whether he's holding a high note with delicate precision or blasting out raw, intense screams, his voice is a force to be reckoned with, much like the legends he channels.
Long story short his voice is insane.