I shake my head. “Nah, I’m fine.”
And I am.
Better than fine, if I’m being honest. The energy here isn’t as draining as I expected; it is raw, humming through the floor into my bones, invigorating me. It’s been a long time since I stood inside an arena that wasn’t a training facility or recovery center.
Something in me hums at the familiarity. The movement of the fans, the logistics that the band had to work through to put on such a massive event.
I didn’t really listen to Orion when he told me about the openers; I was more stuck on the fact I’d finally get to see Umbra. I strain my ears trying to hear the opening band through the noise of thousands of fans trying to get their merch and find their seats.
Then everything fades into background static, and all I can focus on is the fact that I’m finally here.
Seeing Umbra.
In person
The band I’ve only ever watched through screens and grainy videos when insomnia wouldn’t let me sleep. The bass bleeds through steel and concrete, muffled and insistent. My pulse falls into step with it.
Orion bumps my shoulder again. “You look like a kid on Christmas.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say as I try to smother the grin that appeared without my consent.
He huffs something close to a laugh and guides us toward the tunnel that leads to our section.
The corridor opens into the arena bowl, as the noise doubles. The opener crashes toward their final chorus, the crowd vibrating with anticipation.
Lights sweep overhead in beams that catch dust motes like sparks.
Every hair on my arms stands up; the energy is unreal.
We weave past a group of Ara lookalikes in veils and oil-slick wigs, their faces painted in sweeping metallic blues and greens.
Their voices rise as they chant the band’s name.
The opener leaves the stage in a blast of distortion and applause.
Darkness rolls across the arena, like a held breath.
“Hydrate,” Orion says, handing me water I don’t remember asking for.
“Yes, mother,” I mutter as I take the bottle from him.
Then the lights shift. Blue, then indigo, creating an atmosphere like we’re somehow in outer space.
A low vibration crawls through the floor, the earth-shaking synth Umbra fans recognize instantly—the prelude track they open with.
The crowd screams as a spotlight cuts through the dark.
A silhouette rises behind a kit with their sticks lifted, and mask catching the blue light.
Two more shadows ascend from under the stage before the arena suddenly drops into darkness.
A single vertical light splits the center stage in white flame.
The crowd goes feral.
I lean forward without meaning to.
Because everyone knows who steps through that light. A hand appears first—gloved, ringed, fingers curled in a beckoning motion.
