Though no opponent stood before him, every watcher could see Lanling fighting. Every twist of his body, every snap of his robe's hem, every measured step across the wooden stage whispered of a battle unseen.
They didn't know how.
They couldn't say why.
It wasn't just the movement. It was something deeper—woven into the air, into the floorboards, into the pounding of their own hearts.
When a single tear glistened under the stage lights, sliding down Lanling's cheek like a fallen star, a heavy weight gripped the audience.
Their chests tightened, a silent ache blooming from nowhere.
For in that tear was something real. Not a show. Not an act.
It was grief. Freedom. Loneliness. Hope.
All tangled into one ephemeral moment they could never fully name, but would never, ever forget.
The music moved in tandem, caught in Lanling's world and orchestration.
