"What happened?"
It was the constant—one moment he was happy, then sad, then enthralled, then utterly devastated.
No, he had to focus, keep his mind steady. What was he doing? He could remember—or at least, he thought he could. That was all he had in that moment—memories.
He could recall that day—the dryness in his throat, the sun beating down on them, the gusts of wind threatening to knock him off his feet, the overwhelming force standing before them.
"Grima."
Robin whispered, trying to concentrate. Was this... a memory? It was strange—at times, he saw the scene repeating itself, but other times, it shifted, blurred, altered. Small details changed—who was paired with whom in that final battle, their armor, their weapons, the people by their side.
For a fleeting moment, he saw Emmeryn fighting alongside Lissa? Gangrel with Lon'qu? Chrom with Walhart? Strangers and familiar faces alike, fallen comrades and unknown figures smiling at him.
No, Gangrel and Walhart were dead. Aversa hadn't even been there, had she? No, she had stayed behind to ensure everything remained in order in case they failed. Emmeryn, in that place? If she hadn't perished all those years ago, she never would have allowed herself to be there.
It was strange.
Memories he knew were his, yet weren't at the same time. It was ridiculous—he couldn't even be sure of his own image. Sometimes, when he thought of his own reflection, he saw the figure he knew, the familiar sight of his white hair in the mirror of his room, his sharp masculine features. But then he blinked—his own face shifting. Softer features, sharper ones, different-colored eyes, long hair, short, braided, styled in countless ways, countless colors. Taller, shorter—even... female versions of himself.
"Focus."
A voice dragged him back to the reality of his situation.
"Don't get lost in the memories of others. Focus on yourself. If you lose yourself now, you won't be able to piece yourself back together."
"Wh-what's happening?" Robin groaned, trying to follow the instructions.
"Don't speak. Don't ask. Focus on your being. Who are you? What is your role? Who is waiting for you?"
"Who... am I? I'm Reflet..." He hesitated for a moment. "No... I am... Robin. My role... is..."
What was his role? His purpose? A tactician? No, that was his job.
"Dad!"
The voice snapped him back to reality, if only for a moment.
"I... I'm Robin. My role is to be a good father to my Morgan... she's the one waiting for me."
"..."
"I... I am Robin. I have to go home... to my daughter..."
Go back? Why did he need to go back? Why was he here in the first place?
His world shifted again—a distant memory.
"Are you alright, Robin?" Chrom asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
It had been months since Gangrel's defeat. Robin stood on one of the balconies overlooking the city. Even from there, he could see the people walking through the streets—heads bowed, steps sluggish, their expressions drained. He didn't see any children running around.
"No, I'm not." He replied, his gaze shifting toward the barracks. The guards were still cleaning the area. The stain of dried blood remained on the makeshift podium. The ones who glanced at him instinctively averted their eyes. "I think… from now on, Maribelle is going to hate me. And I don't even want to think about Libra or Olivia…"
"I..." Chrom sighed, leaning against the railing beside him. "I won't say they weren't shocked. But give them time."
"I don't think this is something people just get over, Chrom. But it was the best I could do given the circumstances..." Robin's hands tightened around the railing. "This... this isn't how we were supposed to start this new phase. We're not an invading army. We're not a nation that conquers others. I hate that it had to be this way."
"Robin..." Chrom scratched the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "Was there really no other way?"
Another way? Robin had been living in what remained of Plegia's capital for the past few weeks. Gangrel had done quite the job of eliminating any competition. The noble families of the desert were barely hanging on—at least, what he would even consider nobles. Most of them didn't even have a real lineage or noble blood. They were just puppets Gangrel had put in place to handle certain affairs—nothing more, nothing less. Some of them were even illiterate, relying entirely on their servants to conduct business.
And yet, this was what had to be done to establish order.
That morning, he'd made a decision. A terrible one, at least for the image he wanted to uphold as a reasonable leader.
For the past few weeks, some nobles had been resisting the temporary occupation of the capital by Robin and the Shepherds. Right now, they were only trying to secure a peace treaty—after all, it was only the unhinged military factions that still wanted to keep fighting. The people themselves didn't want any more war. Farmers, merchants, even lower-ranking nobles—they all just wanted to be done with it. The name Emmeryn still carried weight in the streets.
But then there were those too stubborn to let go.
A week ago, one noble in particular had been sabotaging supply lines and the humanitarian aid Robin had been trying to bring into the city. He wasn't doing it for the people—he was doing it to keep the succession wars raging in the capital. Like some rabid dog obsessed with an old bone, he simply couldn't let go.
In his desperation to play the role of a "revolutionary leader," this noble had tried to seize the supply shipments. But in his attempt to flee the city after hijacking a carriage filled with goods, he failed to notice he was heading toward one of the capital's weakened districts. The carriage crashed into a set of old columns in the eastern slums, collapsing a vital aqueduct. The resulting flood swept through the area, taking countless lives with it.
The people were furious.
And yet, he seemed pleased with his actions. That same sick, twisted smile Gangrel had worn in his final moments was plastered across his face.
Maybe that boy was a victim of circumstance. Maybe his upbringing had led him down this path. But when Robin saw him standing before the citizens' makeshift court, he knew—their so-called "trial" would be nothing more than a show.
The noble was confident—certain that, as a "prominent Plegian influence," he would walk free.
Free?
It was revolting. Even the other nobles in attendance looked disgusted. This boy had money, influence, and most importantly—the means to slip through the cracks. The appointed regent, a man known for his mediocrity, wasted no time playing to the crowd, claiming there were "too many delicate factors" to consider. That the boy had "deep emotional wounds" and thus, could not be judged fairly.
"Emotional wounds?"
Was that really how that man chose to describe it?
What about the hundreds of lives lost because of his recklessness? The thousands affected by his actions? The aqueduct—the one thing keeping the southern district alive—would take months to repair. Plegia's treasury was overflowing with gold and jewels, but even that wouldn't make the necessary materials arrive any faster.
Was that all this man—a twenty-year-old with the mentality of a five-year-old—would face? A slap on the wrist and a tug on the ear?
Part of the city would die because of him. All because he couldn't stomach Ylisse and Ferox's temporary occupation.
"This isn't right," Khan Flavia remarked during the trial. "The law is clear—letting him go just because he's a noble? Many of my soldiers were helping that day. Some died. Others were crushed by falling stone and will take months to recover—if they recover at all." She was visibly angry.
"I agree," one of Plegia's noble representatives chimed in. "However, this is beyond our authority. It wouldn't be proper for foreigners to have the final say in our internal matters. We can compensate your losses, but we cannot accept foreign judgment over our citizens."
"Then what do you expect us to do?" Flavia snapped. "Stand idly by?"
"Neither would be wise," another man, dressed in black, interjected. "The Orthodox faction and the Grimleal won't accept this either. Many of our people suffered because of him."
"So… a deadlock, then?"
"We have a proposal," one of them spoke up. "We will not accept punishment from Ferox or Ylisse. But if we present possible sentences, would Lord Robin be willing to judge fairly?"
"Robin?" Flavia raised a brow. "Why him specifically?"
"He was the one who slew Gangrel. A commoner with no noble lineage or political ties—an unbiased party. He has already rejected offers from both Feroxi and Ylissean nobility, which makes him a suitable choice. Furthermore, he avenged the late Exalt Emmeryn. Even Mustafa, one of Plegia's own generals—whom Robin spared during the war—attests to his fairness and pragmatism. If we come to an agreement on the possible sentences within three days, would he be willing to make the final decision? None of us will contest his ruling."
"And you all agree that he alone will decide?" Flavia asked. The nobles and religious figures all nodded. "…Robin?"
Robin hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "I… I think I can do it. But I want it in writing—none of you will go back on my decision."
They agreed.
It was an interesting task that took a few days, to say the least. For the first time, Plegia's noble houses and religious leaders had a formal say in governmental affairs.
This was a test for Robin, and he knew it.
When the day finally arrived, the chosen sentences were laid before him. The accused noble stood at the podium, smug as ever—convinced that this was just another spectacle before he walked free. The people of Plegia had made their choice: Robin would decide his fate.
The options were as follows:
Exile. He would be banished from the region, stripped of all influence, unable to rally support. A lifetime of hard labor in the mines. The dissolution of his noble house, followed by exile. And finally—the death penalty.
That morning, Robin had spoken with those who had drafted the choices. They had struggled to think of any alternative punishments. In truth, every option would further strain an already fragile city.
Robin had made his decision.
Of course, he had never hesitated to deliver the harshest sentences before—he had done so many times throughout the war. But he had always upheld the belief that, whenever possible, life should be spared. Everyone knew this.
That day, as Robin stood on the makeshift podium, the accused noble still smirking, the city's nobles, religious figures, and commanders all gathered to witness the verdict.
Flavia and Basilio stood among them, watching intently. Many assumed they already knew his choice.
As Robin spoke, delivering his verdict, he could see it in their eyes.
They were expecting the obvious.
That smile told him everything he needed to know.
As Robin looked at the noble, he recognized it—that smug, self-assured grin. The kind that said everything would be fine.
The same smile that had been on his face when he destroyed the city.
Robin could still remember that day—the devastation, the wailing mothers mourning their children, the orphans sobbing for parents buried under rubble. And this man had the audacity to smile through it all.
Robin had approached the fire, where the branding iron had been left to heat. He had thought exile was the best choice. Mark him and cast him out—strip him of everything. His funds had already been frozen, his assets seized. But... was that truly all?
The regent had likely conspired with him. Some noble house had surely hidden away wealth for him. They couldn't all be so eager to let Robin decide his fate just because they saw him as some war hero.
No.
This wasn't about justice.
This was a test—to see just how far they could push his mercy, how much they could take advantage of his kindness.
Few expected Robin to pause before grabbing the branding iron.
Fewer still expected him to weigh the consequences of letting him go.
And none expected him to remember.
Lissa's tears.
Her anguish.
Her pain.
That day, when she had screamed for Emmeryn. When she had collapsed in desperation. When she had watched, powerless, as a madman with power took her sister away.
Robin let out a slow breath. Then, he let his coat slip from his shoulders.
Instead of reaching for the branding iron—he reached for the axe.
The place froze.
The noble's smirk vanished, along with the color in his face. In an instant, his bravado crumbled. He thrashed against the guards, pleaded, sobbed—begged for mercy.
Robin's response was cold.
Even the guards holding him flinched.
It only took one strike, a clean, precise cut.
That was all it took to end the trial.
The nobles who had underestimated him lost the gleam in their eyes. Many in the audience stood in stunned silence, struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Even Chrom—despite swearing he would respect Robin's decision—couldn't believe it.
Only the Grimleal and a handful of nobles seemed pleased.
"Well, that's… not quite what I expected," Chrom said nervously. "I suppose… it wasn't an easy choice."
Robin swallowed hard, still gripping the railing. "I did it for Lissa."
"What?"
"I know how that sounds, but it's not what you think." Robin sighed, pressing his forehead against the balcony rail. "That man… he had the same smile Gangrel wore in his final moments. If I let him go, he would have hurt more people. More innocents. Maybe even the ones I care about. I… I couldn't let that happen again. Even if they hate me for it…"
His voice wavered at the end, as he bit his lip, forcing down the weight of what he had done.
Chrom sighed, his hand resting on Robin's shoulder once more. "Man… I… I'm sorry you had to bear that burden for us. I can't imagine how hard it must have been… I'm grateful to have you as a friend."
A light thud caught his attention. Chrom turned around, swallowing hard before sighing again.
"What's wrong?" Robin asked, a bit confused.
"I… nothing… just… I'll leave you two alone," Chrom said nervously. Before Robin could react, he heard Chrom quickly leaving the room. Robin turned around, only to see Lissa standing there, her eyes wide and nervous like a deer caught in a hunter's gaze. She was picking up a small box from one of the tables and avoiding his gaze for a moment. Lissa lifted the box and walked over to the balcony, opening it and letting a small lizard run up the wall.
"Lissa?"
"Um… I…" Lissa couldn't look him in the eye. "Well… your cloak will be ready in a couple of hours…"
"Ah… right…" Robin sighed. "I don't think you should have seen that…"
"Yeah… sorry… I should've listened…" Lissa said, nervously scratching her arm.
The two of them stood there in an awkward silence for a while.
Robin pressed his forehead against the railing again. "So… a lizard? Don't you hate them?"
"I only hate slimy things, like worms and such," Lissa said, rolling her eyes. "Besides, you wouldn't believe how hard it is to catch them here. They barely come out…"
"…Sorry… for ruining your joke…" Robin said with a small smile.
"Pff, that? Nah, no, Robin, I…" Lissa made a face, but she didn't seem ready to drop the subject. "…Well, do you want to go to bed?"
"Eh?! Pardon?!" Robin asked incredulously, turning to look at her.
"Look, I'm bad at this. I know you're terrible at these 'normal' social things between friends," Lissa emphasized with her fingers. "But you supported me back when Emmeryn… you know. And after what happened today, I know it can't have been easy. You and my stupid brother gave those bandits and idiots what they deserved. I know it can't be avoided, but… this… even I know this is different in so many ways. So if you want to do the same thing we did months ago and just cuddle in silence while I play with your hair, I'm fine with that, okay?!" she said, a bit embarrassed, fiddling with her braids. "What better way than for a princess to comfort you today?" Robin stared at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Eh? What's so funny?" Lissa asked, embarrassed.
"By Naga, Lissa, I'm sure if Maribelle heard you say that, I'd be the one on that podium tomorrow. You might want to rethink your words." Robin wiped the tears from laughing.
Lissa stopped, her face turning as red as a tomato. "Wh-what? N-no! I just…"
"Alright, I don't feel like doing anything else right now, so yes, I'd love to…" Robin grinned. "…Not do anything for the rest of the day with you."
Lissa smiled, taking his hand and walking to the couch. It seemed the princess had thought about what she said and, when she sat down, let Robin rest his head on her lap. For a brief moment, they both sat there in silence, apart from the world, from the gray areas, from everything and everyone.
Robin was grateful for that memory, but it was also that same memory that had led him to disobey Chrom earlier.
"Hey, Dad, have you ever done something you didn't like? or that you regret?" Morgan asked, recalling a moment.
They had just passed by the hot springs. Thankfully, they had managed to stop Tharja from sneaking into her private room, as the time spent between father and daughter was still something they both considered sacred.
"Where's this question coming from?" Robin asked, lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Morgan approached, wearing her yukata, and carefully let herself fall, resting her head on her father's chest, nibbling on a jasmine flower.
"Just curious. I remember how many times you'd be busy but always stopped everything just to be with me. You always showed a genuine smile."
"Well, of course."
"Eh? Really?"
"Of course, we've all had things we regret, Morgan," Robin said, gently pulling the jasmine from her mouth. "Is it sweet?"
"Yup! Aunt Sumia gave it to me. They were selling them at the entrance, and I couldn't resist," Morgan said cheerfully, pulling out another sweet shaped like a jasmine. "It has honey, and the petals are sweet. Maybe I should ask Uncle Chrom where he got them."
Robin sighed, smiling as Morgan snuggled closer to his chest. "Well, just don't go stealing peaches again."
"I make no promises!" Morgan grinned mischievously. "So… what do you regret?"
"Hmm… well, maybe many things that are crown secrets," Robin said, tapping her nose lightly, making Morgan laugh.
"You're not going to tell me?"
"I could say that I regret not finding you sooner."
"Dad!" Morgan said as Robin started gently stroking her hair.
"Can you blame me? I can't imagine my life without my little girl."
"Well, in that case, you're right. Bad Dad!" she said before giving him a hug and kissing his cheek. "I'll only forgive you because you buy me sweets."
"Well, at least my little otter is happy and content," Robin said, causing Morgan to plant another kiss on his cheek. "Oh? Looks like I'm lucky today."
"Well... I was thinking about a few things today," Morgan said as she finally lay down next to him, kicking her legs and resting her head in her hands. "It... mustn't have been easy to find me and accept me as your daughter... so I thought maybe it was really difficult for you."
"Why would you think it's hard to have you by my side?"
"Well, isn't it? Uncle Chrom and Aunt Sumia barely have time with little Lucina. When we get back, there'll be a million things to do. So, I thought that with your work, your personal things with some of the Shepherds, you running from Aunt Tharja, snuggling with Aunt Olivia, and rejecting any girl who gives you puppy eyes, it must be too much for you to handle taking care of me..."
"My dear daughter, I would never think that. You're anything but a burden."
"Are you serious?"
"Why would I lie about something like that?"
"Well, I feel like I take up a lot of your free time..."
"It's not like there are many people who want to be with me aside from Chrom, Sumia, and you ... and maybe Tharja."
Morgan rolled her eyes at her father's obliviousness and lack of awareness on the matter.
"Dad, you know what I mean. You're running out of time," Morgan said, sticking out her tongue at him. Robin shook his head and shifted positions. This time, he gently placed Morgan's head on his lap, pulling a small oak comb and a tiny box from his pocket.
"Dad?"
"Well, I don't think I'm running out of time in any way," he replied as he began combing her hair, placing small sakura flowers in it. "There aren't many moments when we can talk and just be this at peace. Tell me if something is bothering you, Morgan."
She hesitated for a moment, putting away her sweets. Instead, she pulled a bamboo straw and a small vial from her pocket. Robin raised an eyebrow. As expected, Morgan was quick to find ways to entertain or distract herself. Calmly, she started blowing soap bubbles.
"...You know I don't mind our time together, but sometimes I wonder if I'm taking too much of it," Morgan finally said.
"Taking too much? Morgan, we barely see each other except for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I'm the one who feels guilty for only giving you a few hours. In fact, I think we spend more time together asleep than awake."
"That can't be helped," Morgan replied before blowing a flurry of bubbles. "Dad always finds the best places to nap~"
"Only the best for my daughter," he said as he continued combing her hair.
For a while, they remained in comfortable silence. Morgan hummed softly while playing with her bubbles, making sure not to blow them directly at her father. Just as Robin finished smoothing out her hair and placing the last ornament, Morgan spoke again.
"Do you regret finding me?" she asked.
"Why would I?"
"Sometimes… I hear people talking. Not Uncle Chrom or the others, but the soldiers, the maids, the guests at those boring gatherings. They say they can't believe someone your age has to… take care of a daughter. And there are some really awful rumors about how you 'got' me..."
"Morgan..."
"I know I should ignore them… but I know you're sensitive too, Dad! And I don't want you to think I'm a burden."
"Morgan, you will never be a burden. Don't ever think that. You're one of the main reasons I can keep moving forward."
"Really?"
"Of course. Do you really think Lissa is enough to pull pranks on everyone? The only reason I never miss breakfast is to see what kind of mischief you two have planned. That, and watching you eat—my little otter."
"Dad! This is serious," she said, trying to sound upset, but puffing up her cheeks only made her look more adorable with the decorations in her hair.
"I am being serious."
"Promise me?"
"Of course."
"And you won't leave me alone?"
"Over my dead body, my daughter."
How he hated, with every fiber of his being, breaking that promise—leaving her behind. But in that moment, when they were about to seal Grima, he saw it in his face.
That malice.
The same malice he had seen in Gangrel. The same he had seen in that noble he executed that day in Plegia. The same malice that shone in the arrogant, shameless smirks of Walhart's men. Every single person he had to deal with—each of them bore that same twisted smile. And he couldn't stand it.
Why should the one responsible for all his suffering get away with it? Why should he remain a threat to others in the future? It was unfair on so many levels.
He would not answer malice with mercy, but with justice. A future free of Grima's shadow, a future where his daughter would be safe—even if it destroyed him in the process.
It didn't matter how much his heart ached. It didn't matter that the last thing he saw before delivering the final blow were tear-filled eyes. Even when he felt his body turning to ash, even when the pain became unbearable, none of it mattered.
What he resented the most… was being the one who made Morgan cry.
It was a guilt he carried in his final moments—but also a relief, knowing she could now live happily, without fear of Grima.
"Such beautiful memories," spoke the ethereal voice. "Forgive me for glimpsing into them without your consent, but I needed to be certain of everything..."
"Where... am I? Naga."
"It is a matter far more complex than mere words can convey—a truth that eludes the simplicity to which your mind is accustomed. The place in which you now find yourself is not one that can be comprehended easily."
"Do we even have anything else to do?" Robin asked, his tone laced with resignation.
"...This is the place where all souls converge, where their echoes resound beyond the confines of time itself, where they find rest... where they are reborn."
"Then... I am dead."
"You are stranded."
"Is that not the same? I cannot see where I am, nor can I perceive anything around me."
"Tell me, can you see through your elbows?"
"...What?"
"I asked whether you can see through your elbows."
"Of course not. What kind of question is that?"
"A question as absurd as the predicament in which you now find yourself. I told you, this is the place where all reside—a realm beyond the limits of your world. Even if you retained your physical form, you would lack the means to comprehend what transpires here. It is akin to the flawed perception that those born blind 'see only darkness' or that the deaf 'hear silence.' You simply lack the faculties to grasp what surrounds you. Your awareness, your very ability to communicate, exists only because I allow it—because I grant you the strength to do so."
"...Then... in the end, did I succeed?"
"In what?"
"Eradicating Grima?"
For a fleeting moment, he thought he heard something—a soft laugh, perhaps a breath of relief carried upon an unseen wind.
"Robin, you are but one among many who made the same choice, who resolved to vanquish Grima. In doing so, you did not merely rid your world of a terrible threat—your actions have rippled across countless fates. This place is the convergence of all who have walked the same path, all who have embraced the same destiny."
"The others...?"
"You glimpsed them, if only for a moment, did you not? Each soul, each 'self,' each 'Robin' from myriad worlds, bound to this fate. Some have found their way back. Others remain here still."
Robin struggled to grasp what was being said. He had certainly come to accept the existence of other worlds—the very gate that allowed them to travel to distant lands was proof enough that his world was not the only one. But seeing so many versions of himself in an instant? It was strange, familiar, and, as absurd as it seemed, logical. If Lucina and the others had come from a world of another time, then why not a world that was different in other ways?
The weight of it all felt overwhelming.
"...So, what now?"
"That, I leave to you," Naga replied. "As I have said, this is where all things converge. The very essence, the memories, and the emotions that remain as remnants of existence drift here. Some manage to leave on their own. Others require a slight push. And then there are those who cannot move forward, ensnared by the chains of self-imposed hatred."
"...You said that if the bonds were strong enough, I could return. But... I feel nothing now. Nothing but the need to go back to my daughter."
"First, you must accept the truth—that it is by your hand that she is now alone."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Robin, while your deeds were indeed valiant in your world, you must come to terms with the fact that they have repercussions beyond it. This moment is a pivotal one—Grima's diminished power, coupled with my own intervention, has caused a slight collision between worlds. The 'Morgan' you took in is not necessarily the one destined to be born in your world. She is a wayward soul who arrived due to—"
"Do not call her that!" Robin interrupted, his voice filled with anger.
"…My apologies," Naga responded, her tone calm but firm. "But the truth remains. The child you took in was never meant to be born in your world. In fact, to be perfectly candid, I cannot even say whether she was ever meant to exist at all."
"That makes no sense."
"It does not, to you. But by altering the course of one world, you alter the threads of countless others. Lucina is fated to be born. Emmeryn is fated to die. Chrom is fated to take the throne after her passing. You are fated to be his tactician. Yet by erasing Grima, you have severed threads that were still being woven into the fabric of the world. Without Grima, there was no reason for you to be lost in the fields, nor to flee from your father and lose your memory. Consequently, without the influence of Grima, the history of Ylisstol unfolds only as far as Emmeryn's fall. You would find yourself in an entirely different fate, untouched by the burden of the Fell Dragon."
"I... What? No... That can't be..."
"Such is the price of eliminating this entity. You create worlds where the Shepherds' struggles are no longer necessary, where the arrival of 'Robin' is no longer essential. And by extension, this Morgan—every Morgan across the many woven threads of fate—is rendered unnecessary. In the end..."
"..."
"..."
"I... I have hurt my daughter in ways I cannot even begin to understand..." Robin finally stated, how weird it was for him, the need to scream, to cry, to fall apart, but not being able to do so.
Just hollow and sadness inside his soul.
"Is this sufficient for you?" a new voice interjected.
"…Yes. It is clear."
"What? What are you talking about? Who are you? What is happening…?" For a brief moment, Robin felt something—something warm and familiar enveloping him.
"My sincerest apologies," said the unfamiliar voice. "But you are… an anomaly in all this."
"We had to be certain that you held only the remnants of Grima's power, and not his soul," Naga added.
"His… soul? What in the world are you talking about? Who are you?"
"I cannot answer that. We have already altered history more than we should… and I regret that you had to endure this trial."
"A trial?"
"It would seem that your essence is still somewhat displaced," Naga mused. "I am not surprised. Though it pains me to say it, the test was necessary."
"A test…?" Robin echoed, his voice uncertain.
"You have wandered lost for a long time, Robin. The bonds that tether you to those you cherish remain strong, yet your world is in turmoil. A storm rages even now, and we feared you were the cause. We have merely confirmed that you are not."
"I have no idea what any of you are talking about…" Robin admitted, a nervous weight settling in his chest. "Can someone please explain what is happening?"
"A test," Naga repeated.
"Excuse me? repeating the same over and over agains explains nothing" Robin replied annoyed
"A test to determine whether you were the Robin your friends know, or merely another form of Grima seeking a way back. As I said, this place is where many 'Robins' converge—those who made the same choice as you. Yet you are an anomaly, for you bear the very core of Grima. Had you been the Fell Dragon in disguise, you would have been cast out the moment you heard my words. But in your despair, there was no trace of his malice within you."
"I regret that you had to endure this," the unfamiliar voice added. "But we had to be sure before allowing you to return. Had you carried even a fragment of Grima's consciousness, we could not risk sending you back. We did not know if you would even survive the journey."
"…But… what does any of this matter? In the end… everything is just…Morgan..." Robin trailed off, his voice heavy with doubt.
"…Forgive me for my earlier words," Naga spoke gently, her tone laced with regret. "It is not in my nature to deceive. Yes, your actions have altered the fates of others. Yes, you were reckless, impulsive, and irresponsible. Moreover—"
"What she is trying to say," the other voice interrupted, irritated, "is that you took a gamble—one of many. And yet, it seems that the threads of fate… at least those woven around the Robin I know, always seem to tip ever so slightly in your favor."
"Fate? But what—"
For a fleeting moment, clarity struck him.
The verdant fields, the gentle breeze brushing against his skin, the way the wind tousled his hair so naturally… It took him a moment to realize he was sitting, leaning against a tree. Not far in the distance, a small girl played, splashing at the river's edge. Beside her stood a woman, dressed in a cream-colored gown, her face hidden beneath the brim of a wide sunhat. He could not see her clearly, but that warm, gentle smile…
For the first time in what felt like eternity, Robin felt at peace.
"It is true that your actions have erased the 'Morgan' you once knew," Naga's voice returned, distant yet soothing. "But that does not mean she ceases to exist. 'Robin' and 'Morgan' are destined to find their way to the royal family—to aid them in one way or another in a better, quieter world. I regret my omission of this truth."
"I..."
"Robin," the unfamiliar voice spoke once more, softer now. "You have carried uncertainty, sorrow, and doubt for far too long. But now… it is time to go home, to embrace that dream and make it true..."
"Wait… I know Naga was doing something just now, but… who are you?"
"I'm sorry to cut the conversation short, Robin, but you must be aware that a long journey back awaits you. When you see them again, tell them everything is fine, that they can stay and live as they please," the voice replied, growing more distant with every word. "Tell them not to worry about the road back to their world. With this, they no longer need to survive… just live."
Those were the last words Robin heard before his consciousness faded into nothingness.
…
…..
"My lady, are you sure we can be here?" one of her attendants asked.
"Harold, did I feed the hungry?"
"Yes."
"Did I give them shelter?"
"Yes."
"Did I handle their requests?"
"Yes…."
"Are we on schedule?"
"Yes, my lady…."
"Then stop pestering me and tell those idiots to relax. As long as we're in this area, there's nothing to worry about," Aversa said as she lounged in her chair, a wine glass in one hand and a book in the other. "I find it ridiculous that they keep insisting something's going to happen. There's nothing to worry about. The spyglass is in place, and there are no readings of anything, so they can keep fishing, enjoy their damn day at the beach, and take it as a holiday… or they can start digging holes and filling them back up again until sunset." She glanced away from the man, dismissing him.
It had been a while since she washed her hands of the matter.
Right now, Aversa cared about only one thing. After everything that had happened in the past month, it wasn't too much to ask for a moment of relaxation.
No plans.
No strategies.
No idiots interrupting her.
"My lady…"
At least for five seconds.
"…What?"
"I know I'm just a simple attendant, a mere farmer who knows nothing, but… I think your little contraption is… alive?"
"What the hell are you talki—" Aversa turned to yell at him, but the moment she saw the spyglass shaking violently, she realized something was approaching.
A monster? Risen? Wyverns? No, whatever it was, it had slipped past her spells, and judging by how erratically the device was moving, it wasn't something she could handle alone.
She glanced around, trying to find the source of the magic it was detecting. If she was going to run, she didn't want to look like an idiot fleeing in a swimsuit.
"There! My lady!" Harold shouted, pointing at the sky. Aversa froze for a moment before calling for her mount. Something was plummeting at breakneck speed.
A prisoner? A trainee who had been blasted away by a spell? Only one second to realize she needed to act fast. She couldn't believe the altitude or velocity—it didn't seem like they'd have much luck if they hit the ocean at that speed. But why?
Why take such a risk? Running away from whatever it was would be the logical choice, but as she caught sight of that white hair, those features—she couldn't be mistaken.
Falling from the sky, unconscious, discarded like a rag doll, and completely naked…
Well, if she was going to die at Tharja's hands for seeing Robin's little treasure before she did, she might as well milk it for a real favor before she got skinned alive.
Fortunately, she still had one of the tomes she'd been given earlier. With a gust of wind, she barely managed to hit her target—it looked like she'd save him without a scratch.
That was until she realized the little breeze she had used was actually a full-fledged attack that struck him head-on… and as he hit the water, he sank like a rock.
Aversa rolled her eyes, unable to believe she had to work like this. Tying her hair back, she dove into the water to rescue the albino.
It didn't take more than five minutes before she was back on the shore, carrying him while using the few healing spells she knew to keep him alive.
"My lady?" Harold approached with the group of attendants, ready to assist.
"Not. A. Word," she warned threateningly.
"That's… the Grandmaster Robin?"
"Well, I think so," she sighed. "I can't believe this. Today's forecast didn't say anything about raining idiots…." With another sigh, she made sure he was in one piece. "Well, he's still got all four limbs, so I'd say this is a complete success." She smirked smugly. "I wonder what that annoying little princess will think of this gift?"
Despite her initial irritation, she now seemed rather excited at the thought of returning to Ylisstol.