"…Most likely at myself," Robin replied with a calm seriousness that carried the weight of centuries of guilt.
This was the deepest stain of shame in his long and storied life—
that something so vile and cruel could have happened to his family while he himself still breathed.
Even if he one day possessed all the power that lay between heaven and earth, not even that would erase this memory. It lingered, etched into reality, impossible to undo.
Robin tilted his head slightly and cracked his neck with a deliberate, precise motion. He forced a faint, measured smile onto his face and slowly lowered his hand to rest once again on the polished armrest of his chair, the weight of his presence filling the room.
"A moment ago… you said you are not a disease, and not some intruder. I know that well enough," he said quietly but firmly. "That's why I told you to bring your brother out when I first got here. That's why, despite everything, I haven't erased you. Not yet."
