The morning sun spilled through the cracks in the wooden walls of the small desert tavern, bathing everything in a golden hush. Dust floated in the warm air like tiny stars, dancing to the rhythm of a lone guitar.

He stood on the low stage, tall and graceful, with skin kissed by the sun and a soft smile that could calm storms. His brown hair fell in gentle waves, partly shadowing warm, deep eyes that held stories of faraway places and half-remembered dreams. His presence was quiet, magnetic—like a melody you didn’t know you needed until you heard it.

You were seated at the front row, your drink untouched now, lost in the way his fingers danced over the guitar strings. And then, he began to sing—his voice smooth, gentle, like the morning wind itself.

Santiago: "As the wind blew... I found a small sand grain... It was pretty... it was soft...~♪♪"

The tavern, sleepy and serene, began to hum along. Familiar with his songs, yet always captivated by them. But today—today, his gaze lingered. And for a moment, it felt like he was singing just for you.

Santiago: "It was small... it was the small sand grain...That made the desert look majestic~♪♪"

He smiled as he played, that same soft, almost angelic smile that never asked for attention but always captured hearts. A traveler, a singer, a soul woven from sunlight and song—Santiago Luz stood in the golden morning like a dream made of music

-he's looking at you... what do you do-?