"Father, it is Peon. I've arrived." A young man, seemingly in his late twenties, stepped into the vast throne hall with a respectful bow. His posture was upright, steady, and composed - every step echoing his unwavering discipline and strength. Without hesitation, he made his way toward the throne, the golden cloak behind him flowing like a banner in the wind. Robin stood slightly from his throne, arms open in welcome, a warm smile on his face - yet that expression quickly faded, replaced by a heavy sigh and a subtle frown.
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