The song was so gentle.
Harmony's melody disarmed hearts, compelling soldiers to ponder the meaning of their violence.
"Please, stop fighting."
"This slaughter leads nowhere."
"Blood and tears shouldn't scar this land. Look at the children's faces—for Caspelinat's future, cease this madness!"
Robin never spoke these words aloud. Yet her voice carried them, an invisible wave pacifying the battlefield.
People froze, staring as the girl with wings like an angel walked toward the frontlines.
She embodied healing itself.
A new world. Without pain. Without sorrow.
Believe in me.
Robin didn't close her eyes. She burned this blood-soaked earth into her memory.
One person couldn't change the world.
But she could change herself.
She was here because she was Robin.
And Robin would always stand here—living her ideals.
How could a peaceful future exist if she couldn't stop the killing?
She refused token gestures. Yes, staying safe in the Family's zone would've spared her. A superstar's life outweighed Caspelinat's entire population.
She often said lives couldn't be measured. That every soul had intrinsic worth.
But reality disagreed. The gap between people was vaster than heaven and earth.
One—no, a hundred Caspelinats couldn't equal Robin's value.
A single photo of her grieving safely behind barriers would've galaxy-trended within hours. "How noble! How tragic!"
She understood. And she refused.
The Family or the IPC could save this planet with a snap—or crush it just as easily.
Anming had explained the stakes. The IPC didn't care who died, so long as the crystal veins kept flowing.
Those "lost" mining skiffs? Pocket change. The rebels' "victories" were just corporate indifference.
Like ants on a shoe—amusing to watch, then crushed without thought.
When the power gap stretched this wide, contempt ran bone-deep.
People could never truly understand each other.
Step by step, Robin advanced. Weapons clattered as fighters gaped at her ethereal beauty.
Harmony's song mended hearts—and this land's festering wounds.
Such a small dream. Why was it so hard?
She didn't care if they called her naive or sanctimonious. She'd build the paradise she'd dreamed of.
Seeing Sunday's furrowed brow had taught her: the world wasn't kind. Her family had just shielded her from its storms.
But she'd had love. A brother. A soulmate.
Their wings kept her pristine.
Now, facing reality, she knew: even as a galactic icon, she couldn't change the world.
Only herself.
"Big sister… did your dream come true?"
For a moment, she imagined her younger self tugging her skirt, eyes wide with hope.
The world never bent to one person's will.
Then she saw Anming beside her—and smiled.
"Yes. It has."
Paradise might not exist. But her desired future was now—every second with him.
He never mocked her ideals, no matter how absurd. Only pondered how to make them real.
"Robin, everything you do has meaning."
Those words had propelled her onto her first stage.
Observation Deck
"Harmony's song lives up to its fame," Pearl mused. "I'm half a fan myself."
"You?"
The crimson-haired woman groaned. "You dragged me here for this? Star-gazing?"
"Dragonsteel, eyes are vital. But vision matters more."
"That 'Child of Order'? Since he took the Oak Family, Penacony's been sealed tighter than a tomb."
Dragonsteel yawned. She'd hoped that dissonant note in Harmony would ignite chaos. Instead, he'd become… dull. A bureaucrat in a suit.
She lived for combat—especially against the strong. Corporate agendas ranked second to a good fight.
Blood was joy. Winners took all. Losers joined the graveyard.
"Harmony's stink of fakeness never changes," she spat. "But this song… it's pure. Rare."
"High praise from you."
"The world should be pure. In battle. In song." She rarely complimented, but Robin's voice held no deceit—like Xipe's own blessing.
"Watch. The seeds of hatred have sprouted. No song can quench that fire."
Pearl's eyes reflected time and fate. Dragonsteel was her insurance. She couldn't predict what monster would emerge.
The true Child of Order is awakening.
The wind reeked of blood.
Rage. Grief. An incurable malady.
Robin had underestimated human darkness.
Amid Harmony's tune, a gun rose—fueled by hate.
"What can your song change?"
A legless boy in a blood pool aimed his pistol at Robin.
Die.
The land itself roared.
Delayed mercy is more vile than cruelty.
The gun flashed—but the boy fell.
Anming holstered his weapon, wiping Robin's halo with a cloth as if nothing happened.