That soft call, hoarse from a long journey, pierced through the babbling of the stream and the sound of the wind in the woods, landing heavily in her ears like an invisible thunderclap.
The figure squatting by the stream instantly froze. The object in her hand—a half-washed wild fruit—dropped into the water with a 'plop,' creating a small circle of ripples before being swept away by the stream, drifting far downstream.
She maintained that bent posture, as if even her breathing had stopped, the entire world solidifying at that moment.
Only her slender shoulders, which were noticeably sturdier than two years ago, trembled slightly in the twilight, revealing the raging storm within her heart.
A few seconds of absolute silence followed, broken only by the gurgling stream and the rustling leaves.
Robin's heart hammered violently in her chest, so fast it felt like it would burst through her ribs.
She couldn't believe, and refused to believe, that the voice... was real?
She feared that if she turned around, all the illusions would dissipate like foam. Yet, the familiar warmth carried by that voice made it impossible for her to stop herself from confirming.
Finally, she turned her head extremely slowly, bit by bit.
Her long black hair slid to her shoulders as she moved, still somewhat messy, carrying the saltiness of the sea breeze and the scent of the forest herbs.
The overly long bangs almost completely covered her eyes, but through the gaps in her hair, those familiar pale blue eyes suddenly contracted, her pupils instantly dilating.
First came disbelief and astonishment, immediately followed by a layer of instinctive vigilance rising rapidly in those eyes—a self-protection mechanism etched into the bones of a long-time fugitive.
But beneath that thin layer of defense, deeper down, surging forth and threatening to drown her, was pure longing and inexpressible fragility that had been suppressed for two years.
Her hands unconsciously clenched into tight fists in the damp mud by the stream.
Robin's lips parted slightly, but no sound emerged.
Her gaze was locked onto the silver-haired figure a few steps away, draped in a dark gray cloak with a strange white cloud resting on his shoulder.
The silver hair emitted a faint glow in the twilight, and those ice-blue eyes were as clear and firm as they were in her memory.
Seraphilia also stood motionless, looking at her.
Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest, her throat constricted as if something was blocking it.
Three months under Vice Admiral Garp's Iron Fist and Teacher Tsuru's profound lessons had felt incredibly long, filled with constant worry. Seeing the person now, she realized time hadn't left too many cruel marks on Robin—she had grown a little taller, and her cheeks seemed slightly fuller than when they last parted in Black Iron Town, no longer bearing that sickly pallor.
But the solitude permeating her calmness, and the look of extreme fragility caused by shock at this moment, instantly struck the softest part of Seraphilia's heart, making it almost impossible for her to breathe.
She took a small step forward, her movement light, imbued with a cautious tenderness, as if afraid of startling a frightened bird that might fly away at any moment.
As she approached, Robin's body instinctively leaned back slightly—a conditioned reflex formed by years of evasion, muscle memory developed from countless encounters with danger. But her eyes remained fixed on Seraphilia's face, as if trying to deeply engrave this face into her memory once more, confirming that this was not an illusion, but a genuine reunion.
"It's me, Robin," Seraphilia's voice softened even further, hoarse from the long flight and struggling to suppress her excitement. A reassuring smile bloomed on her lips. "I... I'm on vacation. I came to celebrate your birthday."
She slightly pulled open her cloak, revealing the more casual attire underneath, allowing herself to be seen more clearly in the twilight.
Although the clothes were simple, they were clean and neat, contrasting with the dust and travel stains on her own body, as if declaring the state of her life over the past three months.
Robin's gaze quickly swept over Seraphilia's entire body. When she saw the white bandages slightly exposed on her arm due to the recent movement, and the faint bruises and small scratches faintly visible on her cheek and neck, her pale blue eyes trembled violently.
Her breath hitched sharply. These wounds silently told the story of everything Seraphilia had endured during these three months.
The string that had been taut for two years, and tightened again in these brief few minutes, seemed to snap with a 'crack' at that moment.
Robin suddenly stood up from the stream bank, her movement unsteady, her body swaying slightly.
She didn't rush forward, just stood there, gripping the wet corners of her own clothes tightly, her knuckles turning white.
She bit down hard on her lower lip, trying to suppress the surging emotion back into the depths of her heart, but her eyes quickly reddened, tears welling up but stubbornly refusing to fall.
Just like the night they parted, she suppressed all emotion beneath a calm surface, but her trembling body and the sudden watery film over her eyes betrayed everything.
"...Seraphilia?" She finally found her voice, extremely soft, thick with nasal sound and a trace of uncertain tremor, as if confirming a dream.
"Mm," Seraphilia nodded firmly, her ice-blue eyes also misting over.
She knew Robin's emotional dam was on the verge of collapse.
She hesitated no longer, stepping forward quickly. Before Robin could instinctively retreat again, she reached out her hand—not for a direct hug, but to gently and carefully grasp Robin's cold, slightly trembling hand.
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