The Greatest Showman #890 - Special Remarks

"Renly, you are an amazing singer."

"I envy you, I really do, because you have the freedom to express your talent."

"Renly, I want to be a singer too."

"Can I really do it? Can I really stand on the 'American Idol' stage?"

"Renly, I've made up my mind. I'm going to audition for 'American Idol' this year."

"Yeah, I'm going to sing 'The Beast.' It's not off the album, I just need you to perform it again."

"Thank you, thank you for keeping your promise. The concert was incredible. I told you, you belong on that stage."

"Shh, that's our secret."

In this moment, Renly Hall was not just an artist; he was living the dream—not his own, but one shared by countless others. Dreams that had touched his soul, the dreams of Stanley Charlesson, Neil Tucson, George Slender, Herbert Jones... and Heather Cross. These were the dreams of those who had fought tirelessly to reach this point, standing at the pinnacle of success, on the stage of the Grammys.

Joy, excitement, awe, and disbelief—all these emotions collided inside him, so intense it was almost unbearable. His chest tightened, the overwhelming surge of warmth stinging his eyes and pushing against the bridge of his nose. The tears were inevitable.

Breaking through the darkness backstage, Renly was bathed in the brilliant lights of the stage.

The audience erupted into thunderous applause, standing as one, as if the very ground beneath them trembled with their cheers. The energy in the room was palpable, like a tidal wave of sound, propelling the night's ceremony to its zenith.

They were all stunned by Adele's unexpected defeat, but what truly amazed them was Renly. His rise represented the resurgence of folk music and the revival of a stagnant industry.

But what resonated most was the audacity of Don Quixote—an album unlike any other, one that no one else in the industry would dare to create. But Renly did it.

The entire Staples Center rose to its feet, applauding him, sending him a wave of respect that transcended words.

The applause echoed, resonating deep within the hall, shaking the very foundation of the venue. In that moment, history was made.

Paul McCartney, standing with his Grammy in hand, smiled warmly at Renly. He stepped forward and handed him the trophy with a firm handshake, patting him on the arm with a heartfelt "Thank you." Not congratulations—thank you. A simple phrase that spoke volumes.

Renly, holding the trophy with both hands, barely able to believe the reality before him, stepped to the microphone for the third time that night.

It was all too surreal, too impossible. He had never expected even one award, let alone three. Standing there, his mind blank, the weight of the Grammy felt suffocating, pressing against his chest, almost robbing him of breath. It was overwhelming, bittersweet.

For a moment, Renly simply stood there, lost in the enormity of the moment. His tall figure, bathed in light, seemed small, yet strong.

The applause surged again, louder this time, accompanied by whistles, shouts, and cheers. It was a wave of emotion, a collective outpouring of love and support for Renly. The bright lights above seemed to flicker with excitement, bathing the world in a halo.

Renly's fingertips curled instinctively around the trophy. It felt so heavy, so hot, so special. A warmth flooded his eyes, and before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek. He closed his eyes, fighting to steady himself, gripping the trophy tighter, trying to regain control.

With a deep breath, Renly addressed the microphone, his voice steady but filled with raw emotion.

The noise of the crowd gradually quieted, the energy settling as everyone listened intently. But what they didn't expect was Renly's acceptance speech to transform into something utterly unexpected. He wasn't speaking—instead, he began to sing.

With no accompaniment, no special effects—just his voice—Renly stood there, alone, vulnerable, pouring his soul into the song. It was simple, yet profound. The melody was stripped of all ornamentation, revealing the purest emotion, the heart of the music itself.

"So we got up and searched for our destiny in the dark,

I saw you bruised late last night, I saw you dancing in the arms of the devil."

The stadium fell silent, the music sweeping through the air, striking everyone with its beauty and sadness. Each note carried a quiet sorrow, a sense of longing that resonated in the hearts of all who heard it.

Renly's voice, raw and unembellished, echoed through the venue. It was impossible to ignore the depth of feeling he poured into the words.

"The night is boundless, I am helpless, my eyes are full of flames,

And it has never been extinguished by silence.

It creates beauty and creates a crown."

The audience was transfixed, spellbound by the simplicity and honesty of the moment. Even the live broadcast team was at a loss—what could they do? Should they intervene, or just let Renly continue?

In the midst of this haunting performance, John Legend, standing backstage, bowed his head, tears filling his eyes. One line—*"So we have arrived, a lonely place that we can't go back to"—*cut through him like a blade, leaving him shaken and speechless.

Renly's song was a reflection of the journey of the dreamer, the loner, the fighter who, against all odds, creates something beautiful out of the darkness.

The trophy Renly held represented more than just success—it was a symbol of the struggles and sacrifices of every artist who dares to dream, and the loneliness that often accompanies greatness.

With a quiver in his voice, Renly continued, his emotions raw, his voice breaking under the weight of the moment.

"So when you're weak and tired,

When you get down on your knees...

I will do my best for the rest of my time,

Guarding your oath, vivid and true."

Every word he sang struck at the core of his being, each note a testament to the weight of the dream he had carried for so long. It was a moment of absolute surrender, of feeling his dreams become tangible, real, and heavy.

In the audience, Annie clutched Alex's hand, her body shaking with sobs. The tears wouldn't stop. She knew this song. "The Beast." The song Heather had practiced tirelessly, the one she had hoped to sing herself.

But Heather wasn't there.

Annie's heart broke, knowing Heather would never hear Renly sing it. She cried out in Alex's arms, overwhelmed with grief. "Will Heather never wake up again?"

Alex, helpless, held her, both of them lost in their sorrow.

The song continued, a final crescendo of emotion. In this moment, "The Beast" became more than just a song—it was a tribute to every dreamer, every lonely soul who ever fought for something more.

George Slender, in the Pioneer Village, smiled through his tears, feeling the weight of the music deep in his bones. He knew what this moment meant. He had lived it, fought for it, and now, in this song, Renly had immortalized it.

Renly's performance was not just about the awards, not just about the music—it was about the struggles of every artist, every dreamer who dared to chase something impossible.

The first trophy belonged to folk music; the second to dreams; and the third to Heather Cross.