light Dawn Stellar Academy - Inside One of the Academy Buildings As usual, Robin sat in his private quarters, a sanctum entirely his own, layered upon layered with protective enchantments and wards, each designed to block intrusion, observation, or any interference from the outside world. Decades had quietly passed since this self-imposed isolation began, and without a doubt, this was one of the longest stretches he had ever spent in solitude-no excursions beyond these walls, no conversation, no physical contact with anyone outside his immediate space. Since the day Shaddad, Jabba, and Morgana departed to carry out their assigned missions, Robin had lost the faintest connection to anyone in the academy who might check on him or insist he step outside to feel the air. He had given explicit, unwavering orders to the academy's staff: no food was to be delivered, for he had stocked his quarters with provisions meant to last for decades. Every item, every ration was carefully preserved, untouched. The Shadow Sword, Harper? Robin had maintained a ritualistic meeting once per year to exchange information and pass along updates, developments, or messages meant for others. Yet this had ceased fifteen years ago, when Harper was instructed not to come under any circumstance unless "the sky itself fell to the ground." Fifteen long years without that door opening, not even for a single, fleeting second. Fifteen years had also elapsed since his last visit to the Soul Society. a simple statement that alone was enough to cast a shadow of melancholy across any mind, a reminder of relentless isolation. At this moment, Robin did not appear weighed down by sadness or despair. Ksh Kshhh Ksh With agile, deliberate, and highly precise movements, Robin began using the Seraphim quill pen on the small wooden board before him. The board itself was modest in size, scarcely larger than a standard sheet of writing paper. Yet its surface was anything but ordinary. Instead of the common concentric age circles typically found on ritualistic wooden boards, intricate, irregular patterns were etched deep into the grain, patterns that seemed almost as if time itself had traced them. Despite its small dimensions, the board emanated an aura of antiquity and enigma. It radiated a sense of strangeness, of deep, unfathomable mystery. there could be no doubt-it was far from being an ordinary Tyrant bark board. Robin, for his part, treated it with the utmost reverence. With furrowed brows, absolute concentration, and golden eyes ablaze with intensity, he engaged with the task before him as if every stroke might alter the course of the cosmos itself. His body mirrored his focus, tense yet controlled, while the energy coursing through him was not chaotic in a reckless sense-it was perfectly disciplined chaos, a torrent of raw power channeled through each gesture. This surge of energy should not have been possible from mere quill strokes, regardless of the complexity of the lines drawn. Robin's essence poured into the work with overwhelming force; his entire body radiated heat and light akin to a miniature sun, yet none of this energy accumulated in the Seraphim pen, nor did it touch the surface of the small wooden board. not yet. Then, after several intense minutes of meticulous drawing, a transformation began to manifest- Robin completed the final curve. Instantly, the pattern flared golden, glowing brilliantly for a fraction of a second, before beginning to carve itself into the wood. Slowly, it became an additional engraved layer, blending seamlessly with the patterns beneath it. At that instant, all patterns-old and new-synchronized in a single luminous surge, shining with a radiance that lasted only a heartbeat. The designs began to move snake-like across the board, twisting, merging, and evolving in a mesmerizing, serpentine dance. They coiled around each other with visible fluidity, shifting, interweaving, and adapting. Over moments that felt like hours, these swirling patterns coalesced into an entirely new configuration, a shape that had never existed before, pulsing with a life and purpose all its own. Robin's expression remained focused, his golden eyes reflecting the subtle glow of the carvings. Every micro-motion of his hands, every nuance of pressure applied to the quill, resonated with energy that reached far beyond the physical board, hinting at the immense power held within the solitary figure, a power capable of shaping the very essence of creation itself. It had taken the shape of a cube, densely filled with intersecting longitudinal and latitudinal lines. Yet those intersecting threads failed to form perfect, evenly spaced squares across the cube's surface. Instead, it looked as though an unseen force lurked within the invisible portion of the cube, pulling violently on those lines from behind. As they neared that hidden side, the threads bent and warped, curving unnaturally, as if straining under unbearable tension- almost suffering-as though they were being dragged against their will toward an unknown, inescapable fate. Robin calmly placed the quill pen to his right, then picked up the wooden board and set it to his left, carefully stacking it atop two other identical boards, each engraved with the same bizarre symbol. Only then did he rub the space between his brows, exhaustion clearly seeping into his posture.
Chapter Comments (0)
Login to comment.