In youth, Robin’s nyama had leapt and crackled against hers, painful but joyful at the same time. Somewhere on his path, Robin had encountered suffering he couldn’t turn to energy, something that had broken him. That something sat deep inside him, heavy, like molten metal, hotter than fire but lacking the jubilant brilliance of flame. The Robin Thundyil she had known was gone. Of course, Misaki had changed too. Her power, which used to dance along the surface of the world, shallow and free, now sank deep into Robin’s molten veins, matching its intensity.
