"...So you're not a wielder of the Master Law of Truth, like you told me."
Robin's voice trembled slightly, not from fear—no, he was long past that—but from the overwhelming weight of revelation pressing down upon his chest like an avalanche.
"Think of whatever answer would satisfy you most," the All-Seeing god replied with a dismissive flick of the wrist, as if brushing away cosmic dust. "Whichever version your mind clings to... let it be true. In a world as fluid as this, truth is often the most flexible element."
Robin slowly lowered himself to the ground, legs folding beneath him until he sat in a crouched position. His gaze was distant, pupils unfocused, as if searching the void itself for something to anchor his spinning thoughts. It was too much—too many truths, too many secrets, all crashing down at once like waves against a brittle shore.
This All-Seeing god—this strange, enigmatic, timeless being—was far more than he had ever let on.
