Gopph's office was understated in style, yet every piece of furniture concealed astronomical value. Sunday had once calculated that redecorating this space could fund the interstellar development of an entire fledgling planet.
Leaning back in his chair, Gopph studied Anming through cigar smoke. As both the Child of Order and heir to the Oak Bloodline, Anming had exceeded all expectations - his talent, power, and detachment from mortal concerns making him the perfect candidate.
Only one flaw remained - that missing wing. Yet paradoxically, it was Anming who gave him the sense of a caged bird straining against its bars.
Some birds weren't meant to be caged. Their feathers were too bright, their calls too wild.
Anming was such a creature. Even wingless, he never stopped yearning for the skies of his lost homeland, where memories and music now lay buried.
"The position of Oak Family Head - your thoughts?"
"Sunday would be more suitable," Anming declined with a polite smile. It seemed the old patriarch would soon ascend as Penacony's new Dreammaster.
"To change the world, you need power at its pinnacle."
"The world can stay as it is. I only want everyone's happiness."
Anming gazed up at the crystal chandelier's intricate patterns, but his mind was elsewhere - on Robin's upcoming debut performance. Next year she'd come of age and enter the idol competition. If she made it from the 120 contestants to the finals, she'd become Penacony's newest star before conquering the galaxy.
What had begun as her dream was now theirs.
Gopph found Anming inscrutable precisely because he never lied. How does one find cracks in a man who speaks only truth?
"You're back."
"Yes. Where's Robin?"
Sunday's grip tightened around his glass. "Days away, and your first words are for my sister?"
Anming chuckled, taking a seat. "Been busy. Is she asleep?"
"Practicing her debut song." Sunday exhaled slowly. "Don't forget the lyrics you promised."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Anming raised an eyebrow. "Already playing manager, I see?"
"...Haven't you seen enough darkness trailing after the Family Head?"
Sunday's fist clenched. "Keep Robin away from the Family's shadows." That pure smile must never touch their filth.
"I'll clear whatever obstacles stand in her path."
"You doubt Robin's abilities?"
"No. Precisely because I believe in her..." Sunday's eyes burned with quiet intensity. "I'll create absolute fairness for her."
Robin's stage would know no interference, no behind-the-scenes manipulation. This unfair world - especially its entertainment industry - would never taint her.
"Then let's witness Robin's ascension together." Anming patted Sunday's shoulder. "We both know she'll become a star, don't we?"
Sunday sighed. Penacony's "dream" weighed heavier than he'd imagined.
"Don't overwork yourself. Get some rest."
As Anming left, Sunday shook his head at the irony. Who really needed rest here?
Robin sat waiting on the edge of her bed, bathed in lamplight. At seventeen, her beauty could topple nations - azure hair like a mountain lake, legs tracing pale curves beneath silk pajamas.
"You didn't scream. How boring." She smiled as the light caught her features.
Anming froze in the doorway.
"Can't sleep?"
"Missed you." Robin pouted. "You and Brother are never home. Just me in this big empty house."
It wasn't darkness she feared, but loneliness. Why did growing up mean growing apart?
"Sorry, Robin." Anming closed the door - not for impropriety, but from fear of a certain overprotective brother storming in with kitchen knives.
"My debut's next year... We've come so far." Robin collapsed backward onto the bed, eyes shining with anticipation. Soon she'd share their song with the world.
Tugging Anming's sleeve, she asked, "Any progress on the lyrics?"
"Some."
Fragments had begun taking shape, though not yet a complete song. Anming hadn't written lyrics since childhood - why Robin trusted him with something this important baffled him.
"I'll wait then." Robin's words slurred as sleep took her.
Anming watched her peaceful expression, tucking the blanket around her shoulders before turning to his notebook.
How to capture this moment in words?
The lyrics came like scattered puzzle pieces, slowly finding their place.