He had known, from the moment that Naga spoke to him upon the slopes of the mountain, that he would die here.
He had... not welcomed it, perhaps, but he had accepted it.
Chrom had not. Chrom had pleaded with him, begged him to reconsider.
"What is one life, when weighed against million?" Robin said, his tone bleak.
"Stop it! You're one of us." Something in Robin's face must have betrayed his doubts, because Chrom came forward to grip his shoulder; a reassuring, almost tantalizing human connection. "You'll always be one of us." The prince continued on, almost fumbling over his words in his haste to get them out. "There has to be another way. We just have to find it." There were tears in his eyes now, tears that he steadfastly refused to shed.
Robin remained silent. There was nothing for him to say. He began to turn away, but Chrom's iron grip on his shoulder did not slacken. "Promise me, Robin. Promise me you won't do this."
Robin, still turned away, let his shoulders slump in defeat. "...You're right, Chrom." He turned back to his prince, a wan smile on his lips. "I'm sorry."
Chrom returned his smile, his face gently relieved. "We swore to stand by each other, remember? We're two halves of a whole—not even a dragon can sever us!"
Robin, knowing his treacherous tongue would betray him if he spoke aloud, had merely nodded in reply, holding out a hand. Chrom's fingers closed over his, reassuring and warm. He wished he could let this moment last longer, to let himself be selfish, just for a time.
Selfishness was a weakness.
He could not afford weakness.
In its own way, what he'd said was the truth. He was sorry.
Everything that he had done had led to this moment.
There had been a dark moment when he doubted himself, when he believed it was over—he had no more strategies, no more cards to play. He was trapped in the void, cut off from his friends, from everyone that he loved, from all he was trying to protect. It was over. The dragon had won.
But like a light breaking through the darkness, the voice of his prince had cut through the void, reaching to him despite the Fell Dragon's might. "Fight back, Robin! You swore to do so, remember? Now keep your damn word!"
So he had fought. He had struggled against Grima, wresting himself from the dragon's grip by his own will, and by the love of his companions. That love had seen him through, shattering the Fell Dragon's grip on him, bringing him back into the light.
It was the last promise he would keep.
And so, standing on the back of the Fell Dragon, he had poured everything he had—his strength, his intellect, his courage—into one final strategy. One final card to play. He took one last look at Chrom, exchanged one last smile before giving his final orders to the army.
I pray you will find it in your heart to forgive me.
The other Shepherds were spread out across Grima's vast back, locked in combat with the Fell Dragon's servants. Robin didn't know how many of them would survive the onslaught: there were too many of the enemy, their strength bolstered by the seemingly limitless wellspring of Grima's might.
He banished worry from his mind. Worry would only distract him. He could not hesitate, even for a moment.
Hesitation was a weakness.
He could not afford weakness.
He raised his tome before him, pages fluttering in the wind of Grima's passage, and began clearing a path.
"RETURN TO ME... COME... WE ARE ONE... AND THE SAME..."
Grima's voice grated like stone and rolled like thunder, a deep sound that seemed harsh enough to shatter the mountains and whip the seas into a frenzy.
Robin's response was silence. Silence, and a raised hand.
He let his hand fall, and a storm of lightning blazed forth.
Everything that he had done had led to this moment.
Every sleepless night, plagued by terrifying visions of what he would do—what he had done.
Every false smile, to comfort those he would leave behind.
Every broken promise.
One final bolt of lightning seared through the chest of Grima's vessel, leaving a charred and blackened hole. The Fell Dragon's avatar staggered, choking, black blood bubbling from his lips. Chrom began to rush forward, raising his exalted blade above his head. "Now, Robin! This is our chance! I'm going to finish it!"
Robin's eyes stung. He let himself believe that it was only the wind whipping at his eyes, that he did not regret what he was about to do.
Regret was a weakness.
He could not afford weakness.
He did not hesitate.
Chrom fell to his knees, disbelief etched on his face. "Robin, no!"
Robin turned back. He could feel his body coming undone, unraveling as if his connection to Grima had been a loose thread. He turned to his prince, every movement in defiance of the excruciating pain of unmaking. "Thank you, Chrom. For... everything." It was becoming difficult to speak, but he forced the words out nonetheless. "Tell the others... my last thoughts were of them."
Chrom was crying now, openly, one hand vainly outstretched to his friend as though that gesture alone could save him. Robin, tears flowing down his cheeks, let himself smile: serenely, peacefully.
"May we meet again, in a better life."
Chrom, voice cracking, rushed forward. "Robin, no... ah, gods, no!"
Robin raised a hand in farewell.
Chrom grabbed at his hand, a vain gesture, as if he could keep Robin in the world by that alone.
Chrom's fingers closed over his, but only for a moment.
The last thing Robin heard was a raw scream of grief and loss.
Once again, he floated in a void. This time, however, he was surrounded by light, and the voice that spoke to him was as a soft breeze and the gentle blush of dawn. The voice of Naga herself.
"So you have chosen, Fellblood."
"Yes."
"You wonder if the choice you made was the right one."
Robin considered his answer for an eternity.
"I do, but..." He shook his head. "I do not regret my choice. I would not change it."
The Divine Dragon nodded. "You never have."
"What do you mean?"
Naga gestured with one hand, to images flowing like water before them.
In the images, Robin saw himself—a thousand different selves. Armored and unarmored, wielding tome, sword, axe, bow, or lance, moving without hesitation, striking the final blow in Chrom's place again and again.
Fading away, uncounted times.
"What is this?" demanded Robin. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because another choice lies before you, Fellblood." Naga's voice was serious. "Your bonds to your friends are strong indeed, but they are not enough to keep you in this world—not enough for you carry on in the absence of Grima. You and the Fell Dragon are as one, even until the end."
"Then how am I—"
Naga motioned again to the images. "There is more than one world, Fellblood. Your journeys thus far are enough to prove that to be so. As long as the Fell Dragon exists in one world, you will continue to exist."
"I..." Robin stared, overwhelmed. "So this is... me?"
"It is."
"All of those times, I..."
"Yes."
Robin couldn't help it. He laughed. He laughed to keep himself from crying. "I am a fool. I have always been a fool. Telling myself to be strong, to put aside my weaknesses... I've trapped myself here, haven't I?"
The Divine Dragon smiled sadly. "There is always a choice. You could choose to leave, to break the cycle, to be at peace..."
"...at the cost of all the worlds to come." Robin closed his eyes, feeling as though images were flashing on the inside of his eyelids. Chrom's face, smiling at him, his outstretched hand, the throne room of Ylisstol, the Dragon's Table—images from past, present, and future moved past him in an instant, and were gone.
"This must seem a hollow reward. To go through such struggle, and to be hurled into it once more. Were you to tire of this curse, I would understand."
"No." Robin smiled. "It is a blessing. I chose this. I will choose this."
"Then, Fellblood, you will go back?"
"I will."
Naga folded her hands in front of her, a gesture of benediction. Robin felt, once again, the feeling of slow unraveling, but this time there was no pain.
He turned back. "Naga... will I remember?"
The Divine Dragon shook her head. "You never have."
Robin considered her words. "In a way, that's a relief. I get to experience it again, for the first time... to do so, all over again..."
If it means that I can see him again, it will be worth the loss.
Light enveloped him, and he was gone.
There were voices above him, talking indistinctly: one male, one female.
"Chrom, we have to do something."
"Well, what do you propose we do?"
"I... I dunno..."
His eyelids flickered. He felt as if he had been gone for a long time, as if there was something lurking on the edge of his consciousness: an awareness that quickly disappeared, retreating into fog. He opened his eyes.
There were two people bending over him: a blue-haired man, and a blonde girl. Both started at his sudden wakefulness.
"I see you're finally awake," the man said.
The girl smiled shyly. "Hey there."
"There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know. Give me your hand."
He considered the hand being held out to him, raised his own to take it, noting foggily a mark on the back of his hand: the livid red of a molten brand.
He felt the warmth of the man's fingers close around his, felt the strength of his arms as he was pulled to his feet and steadied.
"Are you all right?"
He put a hand to his head. "Y-yes. Thank you, Chrom."
For some reason, he felt that he'd said those words before.