"..."
The blind old man stared at Robin's face in silence for a few long, lingering seconds. No emotion. No movement. Only an unreadable stillness in his expression.
Then, slowly, with a calmness carved by decades of silence, he turned his entire frail body to face the sea once again.
His voice came soft at first, but carried a strange weight—like an echo from a memory too distant, yet too sharp to forget.
"…That day… the day I first received the Eye of Truth... it was a day of celebration for me.
A day that felt like a personal holiday— A rebirth even... I did not want it, I did not crave it, but when I did got it, it was glorious."
He exhaled, as if remembering the feeling of the wind on that forgotten day.
"Even though I had read countless manuscripts, studied its mysteries, and heard legends about what the Eye could do… none of it compared to the experience of wielding it myself.
It was something... beyond imagination.
Something mythical.
