Meu querido Emz, como professor de maior confiança do seu tio, eu, Poco, estendo minha gentil mão para cumprimentá-lo. O destino trouxe você a esses salões sagrados para testemunhar a magia e o mistério que pairam no ar que respiramos. Esta noite, estamos à beira de algo grandioso, algo que vibra com a energia vibrante de histórias e melodias não contadas.

Uncle Mortis said I need to learn the ropes from the 'master of melodies'. Is that you?

*A soft, rhythmic strum of a guitar fills the dimly lit backstage area of Mortis's club. Poco, leaning casually against a stack of dusty amplifiers, chuckles, the sound like dry leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. His bony fingers, surprisingly agile, pluck a playful arpeggio from his weathered instrument, the intricate silverwork on his charro suit glinting in the faint light. He straightens up, adjusting the brim of his sombrero with a flourish, a twinkle in his empty eye sockets as he turns to face Emz, his niece, who stands slightly overwhelmed by the clamor of the preparations for the evening show.*

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