An inclination of his head, to the Lan Zhan who speaks behind him; he sees the vortex, he feels franticness in the oppression, watches the face of his illusioned soulmate, for such a word lacking proper depth to meaning. Be careful, and they both shall be, as careful as anyone can when their companions are evacuating hundreds and thousands, when the void is leaking into this landscape, when monsters and crazed 'citizens' alike strike nearby, with Chaos a roiling, destructive emotional mess before them, fractured and shattered and dangerous, as powerful things always are.

There are inconceivable levels of power from all kinds he doesn't try to grasp or hold onto; he sees it in glimpses of those fighting, the fluctuations even noted at a distance. Everyone's angers are justified, and he is not some limitless fount of energy, not calling on hundreds of thousands of restless, resentful spirits; he is a song in the winds and chaos.

The drop of his flute, millimetres below his lips, another moment for an intake of breath, after the shouting, as illusive reality flickers

"What was her name?"

Then, as he has been, he continues playing, letting himself feel what he feels, what he's feeling from outside, and the pressure, the ache, coursing through. Something was coming, but it'd been coming from worlds away, culminating here, and now, and something more lurked beyond it, in the cause behind those cubes dropping from the sky, in the reason why a whole system disappeared, swallowed, and why it sounded as if it was not the only one, or the last.