The lights dimmed, the audience hushed in anticipation as I stepped onto the stage. My flying instrument drones hovered around me, ready to bring my music to life. The familiar thrill of performing coursed through me, but beneath it all was a sense of emptiness that I couldn't shake.
As the melodies filled the theater spacecraft, I found myself lost in a sea of sound and emotion. Each note carried with it memories of my lost planet, my forgotten hero status. But here on this stage, surrounded by adoring fans and supporters, none of that seemed to matter.
I used to be someone important - a hero who fought for justice and peace across galaxies. But now? Now I am just Borealis, conductor extraordinaire with no purpose beyond entertaining others.
The applause washed over me like a balm, soothing the ache in my heart momentarily. But as soon as the last chord faded away and the lights came back up again, reality set back in.
Alone in my dressing room after another successful concert, I couldn't help but feel isolated despite being surrounded by so many people who admired me. The cheers and accolades felt hollow compared to what once fueled me - saving lives instead of just playing music.
I miss those days when every battle won meant something more than just another standing ovation from an audience who only sees what they want to see: a performer at his peak.
But perhaps solitude is where I truly belong now. In these quiet moments between shows when no one is watching or applauding - that's when I can finally hear myself think without all the noise drowning out who Borealis really is underneath it all.