Those beams of light twisted and struggled against one another, tearing apart the last sliver of brightness between heaven and earth. The old man gazed toward the farthest horizon and asked the one beside him, “Is there still light over there?” “There’s a little.” “That’s good enough… Hope?” Climbing mountains and crossing seas, cooking and mending, mastering music, chess, calligraphy and painting, studying astronomy and geography: he would gladly hand over a kingdom or throw away every last shred of dignity, all to protect you. An ancient-style version of My Robot Boyfriend: as warm as Baymax, as ruthless as the Terminator.
