Syren could understand. The things that one did for love. He loved Arvaelyn, and had transitioned to the place of his birth, where he had taken up a position of considerable power. Whether he realized it or not, he had also flourished there, even if there were many aspects of the place that bothered him.
"Time will tell. We shall see," the Demigoddess was amenable to that. He had hope, and for the sake of avoiding bloodshed and war on the continent to protect their home and territory from an expansionist Empire that was hungry for a return to its glory days, Syren hoped he was right. They would see what came, but prepare for it all the same. Considering Avaerys and Varvara had yet to formally announce Their return to the citizens of Solunarium, there was no knowing and no telling just what was going to happen. They might well treat in the Pantheon. They might not. There were bigger problems at play here, with the overall threat to their world. But the Commonwealth had survived a great deal.
It would survive this.
Like he had before the last time She had listened to him, he picked a song that suited himself, the audience, and the personal stage upon which he was now playing. He really was a talented musician, and the buxom Orkhan seemed to be enjoying his song if Her expression was any indication. She would let him play it out this time, rather, than interrupt, as she gave him a nod of encouragement to continue. One finger lightly tapped the side of Her instrument to the beat that Finn put forward with his lute, innately finding his rhythm. While She might have liked to have seen Her old instrument, what he did with this one was not small potatoes, and that was the hallmark of a good musician: they didn't need to rely on tricks, magical or otherwise, to wow the crowd.
And Finn the Fantastic knew well that any tricks he might have used would not pass muster against Syren - She wanted to see him, and hear him. Just his voice, his instrument, and his heart, with his soul laid bare.
