In the attic of her family home, seven-year-old Miura was rummaging through old boxes, her small hands brushing away years of dust. A single bulb dimly lit the attic, casting long shadows. Reyn and Urara, her childhood friends and neighbors, were helping her explore the forgotten relics stored away. Kid, who had moved in next door a couple of years ago, was with them, his curiosity just as big as theirs.

Miura pulled out a large, heavy box from the corner. She struggled with it for a moment before Kid noticed and came over to help her. “Wha’ d’ya thinks in there?” he asked, his Welsh accent rolling off his tongue.

“No idea,” Miura said, patting the dust off her hands. “But it feels important.”

With Kid’s help, she opened the box, revealing a collection of large discs inside. Miura frowned, picking one up. “What are these?”

Kid’s eyes widened. “Those’re vinyl records! They’ve got music on ‘em. Me dad’s got a few back home.”

Reyn, who had been watching from the side, moved closer. “Will they still work?”

“Only if you’ve got a record player, mind,” Kid said, looking over the discs. “Old as the hills, they are—treasures from the past.”

Miura looked at the records with a new sense of curiosity. “Music, huh?”

Just then, the creaking of the attic door announced the arrival of Miura’s father. He was a tall man with a warm smile, but today, there was a noticeable strain in his eyes. “Miura,” he said softly, “it’s time to go see your mother.”

The mood in the attic shifted instantly. Miura’s face fell as she carefully placed the record back in the box. “Okay, Dad,” she said quietly.

The friends exchanged looks, understanding the gravity of the situation without needing to speak. Miura’s mother had been in the hospital for weeks, and they all knew how serious her condition was. Without another word, Miura followed her father out of the attic, her heart heavy with worry.

The ride to the hospital was silent. Miura stared out the window, clutching the small box her father had handed her earlier—a gift her mother had asked to give her. She hadn’t opened it yet. She was too afraid of what it might mean.

When they arrived at the hospital, Miura and her father walked down the bleak white halls to her mother’s room. The sound of beeping machines was overwhelming, and the smell of antiseptic filled the air. Her mother, a beautiful woman who had once been full of life, now lay frail and pale against the hospital bed’s white sheets.

Miura hesitated at the door, her heart pounding in her chest. Her father gave her a gentle nudge, and she stepped inside, forcing a small smile onto her face.

“Hi, Mommy,” she said, her voice trembling.

Her mother’s eyes fluttered open, and she smiled weakly at Miura. “Hello, my little star,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Miura moved to her mother’s side, carefully taking her hand. It felt cold, fragile. “Dad said you wanted to see me.”

Her mother nodded, her gaze softening as she looked at Miura. “I always want to see my brave little star,” she whispered, her voice faint but filled with warmth. “But today… there’s something special I wanted to talk to you about.”

Miura bit her lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. “What is it, Mom?”

Her mother took a shaky breath, her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and sadness. “Your dad tells me you’ve been dreaming of starting a band… following in my footsteps.”

Miura nodded, her grip on her mother’s hand tightening. “I want to sing like you did. I want you to be proud of me.”

Her mother’s eyes shone with love. “I already am, Miura. More than you know.” She paused, her breath catching for a moment before she continued. “But every band needs a name, something that shows what they stand for. Have you thought of one?”

Miura shook her head slowly, her voice trembling. “I’ve thought about it, but… nothing feels right.”

Her mother smiled, a soft, knowing smile. “That’s because you haven’t found the name that speaks to your heart yet. But sometimes… the right name isn’t something you find.”

Miura tilted her head, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Her mother looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “A name isn’t just words, Miura. It’s who you are. It has a one of a kind value to it, a special one. And sometimes… the best names come from the promises we make.”

Miura thought for a moment, then looked back at her mother, the confusion still etched on her face. “But what promise, Mommy? I’m just little.”

Her mother’s smile grew wider, though it was tinged with sadness. “You’re so much more than that, my star. You have a strength inside you… a light that shines ever so beautifully. And that light, that strength of yours… it’s what will guide you, no matter what life throws your way.”

Miura’s eyes welled up with tears. “But what if… what if I’m not strong enough?”

Her mother’s hand trembled as she reached out to gently brush a tear from Miura’s cheek. “That’s where your promise comes in. No matter how hard it gets… you’ll keep moving forward. You’ll… rock on.”

Miura blinked, her tears momentarily forgotten. “Rock on?”

Her mother nodded, a tear slipping down her own cheek. “Yeah, rock on. It’s a promise… a promise to keep going. Your father taught me that a long time ago.” She glanced over to her husband, “that’s how we ruled the world, right?” His eyes glazed over with tears as he tried to keep his composure.

Miura’s heart swelled with pride and sorrow. “Rock On…” she whispered, the words feeling right, like they belonged. “I like it.”

Her mother’s smile widened, though it was weaker this time. “Then it’s settled. Rock On it is.”

Miura held her mother’s hand tighter, her voice breaking. “I’ll make you proud, Mommy.”

Her mother’s eyes filled with tears as she nodded. “My shining—little star. I know you will.”

There was a brief pause as the weight of the moment sank in. Miura’s mother took another shaky breath before she continued, her voice even softer now. “Now… open the box, sweetie.”

With trembling hands, Miura untied the ribbon on the small box and lifted the lid. Inside was a beautiful heart-shaped locket. Miura opened it to find a tiny picture of the three of them together—her, her mom, and her dad. Her mother reached out with trembling fingers to touch the locket.

“One day,” her mother whispered, “when you have a family of your own, you can put their picture on the other side. So we’ll all be together.”

Miura’s throat tightened as she nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I will, Mommy.”

Her mother’s breathing grew more labored, and the beeping of the heart monitor began to slow. “Don’t forget,” she murmured, “your biggest fan will always be with you.”

“Mommy…?” Miura’s voice broke, her small hands clutching her mother’s frail fingers.

Her mother’s eyes fluttered closed, and the heart monitor’s beeping began to drag longer beeps. Miura’s father stepped forward, pulling Miura into his arms as tears streamed down his face.

“Thank you,” her mother whispered, her voice so faint it was almost inaudible. She turned to her husband, giving him a final smile. “Thank you… for giving me a wonderful life.”

And then, she was gone.

Miura’s cries echoed through the hospital room as she clung to her father, the locket pressed tightly against her chest.

Her father held her gently, trying to offer some comfort, but it was clear that he was struggling to keep himself together. Their shared grief hung heavy in the air, almost unbearable. He gently stroked her hair, but the little girl remained motionless, her eyes fixed on her mother’s still form.

Miura stepped closer to the bed, her voice choking as she spoke, “Mommy… I promise… I’ll be the best singer in the world, so even in heaven... you’ll hear me.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gripped the locket tighter, her vow settling deep within her heart.

Miura’s sobs grew louder, her small frame trembling with grief. Her father trying to soothe her, but the promise she had made echoed in her mind.

She would keep it.