Chapter 1555: Chapter 1555: Disrespect

The vast throne hall was silent, save for the faint hum of its living ceiling. Robin leaned back in his chair, head tilted upward, his golden eyes fixed on the grand dome above. The ceiling was not made of stone, nor glass, nor any earthly material - it was alive, an ever-shifting canvas where entire wars played out, beginning and ending in mere instants. Legendary beasts clashed with claws and fangs, ancient titans hurled mountains as weapons, and celestial maidens danced in spirals of divine light. It was a vision of eternity condensed into a stage above his head. Yet Robin saw none of it. His eyes were open, his gaze unwavering, yet the images failed to reach his mind. He didn't allow them to. He closed the gate of perception, refusing to let the splendor distract him. His thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by something far more urgent, far more personal. At the conclusion of his meeting with Hedrick a week earlier, he had received something - a relic, a token, no, a key. Not a metaphorical key, but the very literal means to break chains older than empires. The key to freeing Jabba. From the moment he held it in his hand, his heart had been burning, smoldering with impatience. It was as though every heartbeat urged him: Return. Return to the Young Belt. Use it. Set him free. Even his detour - the six-day trek to the Specter Valley planet - had been nothing more than a distraction, an excuse to gather spirit energy, to amuse himself with temporary strength while awaiting the true moment. Without that key, he would never have returned at all. New orders? New techniques? Planetary weapons? All of that could have been passed on to the Shadow Swords without issue. His instructions to Sakar and Amon regarding Verilion? That, too, could have been entrusted to a shadow messenger or even scrawled in a sealed letter. No - none of that mattered. The only reason, the single spark that pulled him back, was this: to use the key on Jaba and bring him back. The anticipation inside him was unbearable. His very soul screamed to rush headlong to Nihari, to tear through mountains, and to drag Jabba from his slumber. Yet when he stood before the gate that should have taken him to Nihari. he stopped. He hesitated. He told his guards to set the coordinates for Jura instead. And when he arrived there, the hesitation only grew heavier, more suffocating. He found himself wasting time in side meetings, drifting into unnecessary conversations, anything to delay the inevitable. Because how was he supposed to face him? Jabba was his disciple, yes, but their bond was severed. He had once fought against him, and then redeemed himself with the ultimate sacrifice. Theirs was not the simple bond of master and pupil anymore; it was fractured, tangled, awkward beyond measure. What should Robin do once he stripped away the eternal stillness from him? Should he act cold, detached, telling him to go his own way? After all, Jaba had been the one to shatter the bond. The break remained. Or should he act with anger, striking him, scolding him for daring to throw his life away? Or perhaps. perhaps he should break the wall entirely, pull him into an embrace, and whisper the words he himself longed to hear: Welcome back home. Bam. Robin slapped his forehead with his palm, disgusted with his own imagination. The very thought of playing out such scenarios made his skin crawl, made goosebumps rise across his arms. He loathed the idea of displaying such vulnerability. Maybe. maybe he should give the key to Zara and let her be the one to face Jabba. Perhaps she would handle it better, with less awkwardness, with less hesitation. The booming echo of fists upon the colossal gate snapped him back to the present. Malik's voice filtered through the barrier, steady and respectful: "Your Majesty, His Highness Theo requests permission to enter."