155 years had passed since Robin first entered the Mid-Sector 100— on the forsaken planet of Zerph.
Clatter… Clatter…
Upon one of the tallest peaks, where snow never fell but the wind howled like ancient beasts, a lone figure stood against the sky. He was clad in a full suit of obsidian-black armor, its surface adorned with mesmerizing golden filigree that shimmered like stardust. Draped behind him, a long golden cloak billowed violently in the cold winds—emblazoned at its center was the unmistakable insignia of a black flame, burning not with heat, but with meaning.
With measured grace, the armored figure accepted a small scroll, its paper bound by an arcane seal still faintly glowing. Without hesitation, he crushed the seal in his palm with a crack, and unrolled the parchment between both gauntleted hands.
Silence. His eyes scanned the message—cold, calculating.
