"…Tell me, Robin… what is the role of Truth—the law you've wrapped your soul around, the one you guard like a sacred flame?"
Robin's brows pulled together in a sharp crease. His mind, once a storm of certainty, had become a heavy fog. Slowly, almost unconsciously, he lowered himself to the sand, settling on the edge of the shore as the waves whispered beside him.
What role… could Truth possibly play in the construction process?
It didn't build anything.
It didn't shape anything.
At least, not in any direct way.
Until now, he had only used Truth as a tool for perception—a way to see through things, to pierce illusions, to unveil what was hidden. But how could vision build a house?
How could mere awareness raise a structure?
"To see...?" Robin muttered under his breath. His brow tensed further as thoughts collided like stars behind his eyes.
He slowly raised his gaze toward the old man.
