The lights were blinding.
The cameras flashed like lightning, the crowd screamed his name, and the giant screen behind him read:
**"Debut Stage — Lian: Echoes of the Sky."**
Months of training.
Years of dreaming.
And now, he was here — standing on the same kind of stage he'd once watched Rian rule.
The intro started — soft piano, a faint echo of wind. The melody he'd rebuilt from Rian's flash drive played through the speakers.
Every note felt like memory.
Every lyric tasted like goodbye.
But as he sang, something changed.
Halfway through the second verse, the nerves faded. The lights, the cameras, even the audience — they blurred away until there was only him and the song. The one Rian had left behind.
His voice cracked once — not from weakness, but from too much truth.
When the final note ended, the silence that followed felt sacred.
Then, the arena erupted.
