Ten Years Later—
"Sir, I've brought the paper you requested," Pitso announced, stepping into the lavish suite with a proud smile stretched across his youthful face. He was cradling a spatial travel bag in both arms as if it contained the fate of worlds.
Robin, seated near a floating desk surrounded by layers of glowing sigils and partially-finished diagrams, looked up. With a flick of his fingers, the bag shot through the air and landed neatly in his palm. "Excellent," he murmured with genuine delight, unsealing it and pulling out a massive white board.
His smile widened. "Yes… this is it. Perfect." His tone carried the satisfaction of an artist reunited with his favorite brush. "The entire supply I brought from my homeworld is already gone. All of it was consumed." Without another word, he dipped his pen into shimmering ink and resumed drawing—each stroke deliberate, flowing like the path of a falling star.
