Chapter 855 - Moths to the Flame

"Eight hundred and twenty moths to the flame."

"Welcome back, viewers, to the 'Today Show.' I'm your host, reporting from Madison Square Garden in New York, where, despite the temperature plummeting 35 degrees Fahrenheit and a storm blanketing the city in snow, nothing has stopped what's quickly become the biggest event of 2012."

The crowd's energy is palpable. As the camera pans over, you can hear the deafening roar of excitement that has taken over the scene. The host's voice is drowned out by a wave of cheers and screams, lasting for several seconds before they regain control.

"Despite the harsh conditions, this party has become the brightest spectacle of the winter!" The host's voice finally cuts through the noise.

Since its debut in 1987, NBC's Today Show has been the top morning program in the United States, showcasing a wide range of stories that capture the essence of American life. The show's live broadcasts from Rockefeller Plaza have become iconic, with the transparent studio allowing passersby to become part of the live audience.

Returning to the studio, Matt Lauer picked up from Diane White's live report, seamlessly transitioning into the studio's conversation. "Just two days ago, no one knew about this concert. But now, in less than forty-eight hours, it's the most talked-about event in New York City. Ann, what's your take on this?"

Ann Curry, Matt's co-host, smiled in disbelief, "It's truly unbelievable. A concert at Madison Square Garden—and just two days ago, no one knew it was happening? I thought this was a joke!"

"Exactly!" Matt replied, nodding. "To clarify, just two nights ago, Renly Hall announced, through studio 10, that he'd be holding a concert here at the Garden today, February 16th. The concert, titled 'One Person's Concert,' won't be sold through typical ticketing systems. All the tickets will be available onsite, sold in the simplest way possible."

Ann grinned, "Sounds like a pop-up concert. But it's rare for one to draw a crowd this big. Renly chose the Garden as the venue, which begs the question: Is this a show about personal fame, or is there deeper significance here?"

With a smile, Ann turned the conversation to Matt. "There's been a lot of debate about this concert. Matt, what's your opinion?"

Matt took a moment before answering, his expression thoughtful. "Look, everyone has an opinion—whether positive or negative. But the key question remains: Are you willing to watch this concert? Can we fill the 20,000 seats here at the Garden?"

Ann nodded approvingly. "That's the answer we're about to find out, with only eleven hours left before the concert kicks off. But before we continue, let's check in with Diane again."

Standing in the snowstorm, Diane White struggled with her headset, adjusting it to catch the transmission. "Yes, Matt, Ann. As you can see, the weather's only worsened. But it hasn't stopped people from coming. The attention on this concert has only grown."

Diane moved the camera forward, showing the large crowd gathered under the eaves near the ticket window. The cold was less intense here, and her voice became clearer.

"As you can see, there are long lines in front of the ticket windows. The scene is more chaotic than on game days for basketball or hockey. People have set up tents along the way, turning this into a makeshift campsite."

"We've done a full lap around the Garden," Diane continued. "Though it's hard to count, there are at least 3,000 people here—possibly more. Now, let's speak to some of the fans."

Diane walked up to a man at the front of the line, holding the microphone. "Good morning, what's your name?"

"Timsy Leslie."

"Nice to meet you, Timsy. You're the first person in line, can you tell us when you arrived?"

"Yesterday at five p.m. I brought my tent, sleeping bag, warm clothes, and food. The line starts here," Timsy explained, his voice carrying through the microphone. The fans behind him cheered, showing their support.

"So, you've been here for nearly sixteen hours and you're still waiting another eleven?" Diane asked.

Timsy crouched down, causing the cameraman to quickly adjust the shot. He pulled out a well-worn album from his sleeping bag and held it up. It was a copy of Don Quixote.

"Because of Renly Hall," Timsy said with unwavering determination. "I want to tell the reporters and skeptics that this concert wasn't planned for publicity. It's a personal promise between Renly and his loyal fans."

He stepped forward, addressing the camera, "If you think this is all just a stunt, that's fine. Stay home, don't come to the Garden, and don't show any support. It's better for you and for us."

As Diane prepared to respond, the crowd began to cheer. The sound started small but grew louder, echoing through the cold streets. Shouts filled the air—"Don Quixote"—a chant that reverberated through Madison Square Garden, shaking the entire venue, even reaching the live studio.

The energy was electric, the crowd's passion undeniable. Perhaps the popularity of Don Quixote was fleeting, a product of the fast-paced pop culture, but Renly Hall and his fans proved that there was a deeper, more enduring connection.

Like moths drawn to a flame, despite the storm and snow, fans had gathered from all over North America and the world. It was a movement, a deep, heartfelt connection that echoed the loneliness of Liss, the whale who sang at fifty-two hertz—once thought to be unheard but now resonating on the frequency of Renly Hall.

Ellie Cross watched the scene unfold on her TV, tears welling in her eyes. Among the faces of the fans, she recognized Heather, her beloved daughter.

Turning to look at her daughter, who lay motionless in the hospital bed, Ellie gently rubbed her hand. "Heather, do you see this? Renly kept his promise. It's your turn now. Why don't you wake up and go to the concert you've always dreamed of?"

She spoke with love, but her heart ached with despair. No response came, and Ellie fought back the tears, her voice faltering. What else can I do? she thought. I'd trade anything to make her wake up.

But then…

"Mom, are you serious?"

Ellie froze. The voice was weak but unmistakable. She turned to find Heather's eyes fluttering open, a faint glimmer of recognition in her gaze. Ellie gasped, covering her mouth in disbelief. She nodded, her tears flowing freely.

"Then… can I go?" Heather whispered, her voice barely audible.