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.

And yet—

Ksh

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.

Hooom

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.

"Fwooo~"

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.

"Seriously, Seraphim? You consumed thirty-six solid levels this time," he muttered. "Don't you think that's a bit excessive?"

"….."

"I know I'm the one who asked you not to consume soul force, and you kindly complied," Robin continued, his tone growing more strained. "I also know that if I'd used my own soul force, it would've drastically reduced the drain on my solid foundations. But thirty-six levels? Thirty-six!"

He exhaled sharply. "I still have other things I need to do, you know. My sixth path isn't even complete yet!!"

"….."

Met with the same unwavering silence, Robin let out a long sigh and leaned back into his chair, resting his head against it. He then waved a hand toward Seraphim, the gesture oddly resembling that of someone scolding a lover after a quarrel.

"Awareness Number Five has already devised a method to increase the efficiency of soul curses," he said. "Run the experiments. Figure out the optimal inks and drawing boards for the new system. You still have six solid foundations remaining—use them."

Hmmmm

The pen shimmered with light, lifted into the air on its own, and began tracing erratic, seemingly meaningless symbols in midair. Each mark lingered for a heartbeat before fading away, only for new ones to appear moments later. All the while, a steady torrent of energy poured out of Robin, continuously feeding and sustaining the pen's movements.

From the side, a deep, heavy voice tinged with pity echoed through the room.

"Hey, Owner… maybe it's time you went outside and met some people," it said slowly. "Or at least return to the Soul Society for a while. Find yourself a long distance girlfriend in the matchmaking hall—talk about your favorite colors or something trivial like that. Watching you argue with a pen that won't even respond is honestly painful. Even I felt it, and I shouldn't even feel pain anymore."

"….."

Robin turned toward Arkalon, his face completely devoid of emotion. Then, as if a crack had suddenly formed in a mask, his expression split into a wide grin, and he shook his head lightly.

"If you were still alive, I would've introduced you to Holak," he said casually. "I think the two of you would've gotten along well. But unfortunately… your body was pierced by five weapons, and you died before accomplishing anything at all."

"…Are you seriously mocking me?"

Arkalon halted his writing and looked directly at Robin, lifting a single eyebrow.

"Arkalon is dead. I am nothing more than a soul creature, useful only because of the knowledge I provide you. And yet you mock me?" He clicked his tongue. "Tsk tsk~ It seems prolonged solitude has had a far greater effect on you than I thought."

"Ughhh."

Robin buried his head in both hands, fingers digging into his hair.

"If you truly see yourself that way, then could you at least stop talking to me as if you're fully conscious and possess an independent existence?" he groaned. "Damn it… the more stars I accumulate, the more real you become."

"Of course I'm real—as a soul creature," Arkalon replied without hesitation. "And frankly, I'm far more useful than you."

He gestured toward Robin's cluttered desk with visible disgust.

"How long did you waste obsessing over those three pieces of wood, hmm? And how many are still left? I clearly saw you bring in six of them. Every time you finish one, you reset your cultivation from the very beginning, meticulously recording all those bizarre engravings—engravings that end up burning through your boards in the end."

Finally, Arkalon pointed at himself, his tone swelling with pride.

"Compared to what this great being has already accomplished, perhaps it's you who should become my soul creature instead."

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