Sometimes she would immediately let go, pretending to turn over; other times, she would hold on a little longer in the darkness, feeling the soft texture of the fabric and the steady breath and warmth of Seraphilia beneath it.
She attributed this to 'cold' and 'habit,' refusing to delve deeper into what might lie beneath.
Days slid towards the end of the year in this web of contradictions.
One morning, Seraphilia heard at the port that the Marine had posted a winter recruitment notice, the soldiers chatting about the increasingly rampant pirate activities requiring new blood.
At that moment, she looked at the military ships patrolling the nearby sea, remembering Robin's tremble the previous night when she suddenly grasped her clothes at a thunderclap.
Her internal scale, after a long spring, summer, and autumn of observation, thought, and assessment of the Navy Base in Black Iron Town, finally tipped heavily towards 'infiltration'.
The time had come.
A decision had to be made.
The decision was made one evening.
Seraphilia did not return to the small house as usual but went to the market first, using her last savings to buy some better food—a solid piece of smoked meat, some rare white rice, and even a small bottle of cheap fruit wine.
Then she returned to the small house and said to Robin, who was organizing her notes, 'Let's eat up on the cliff tonight'.
'Up on the cliff' referred to a hidden platform on a cliff behind their small house, facing the sea.
It was windy there, but the view was excellent, and few people usually went there.
Robin was somewhat puzzled but didn't ask much, silently helping Seraphilia carry some things.
Seraphilia skillfully built a small campfire on the platform, set up a small pot to cook rice, and grilled the smoked meat until it sizzled with oil.
The sea wind was biting, but the heat from the campfire and the rich aroma of the food formed a warm barrier.
In the distance, the lights of the Navy Base began to flicker on in the deepening dusk, like a neat constellation floating on the bay, cold and orderly.
The two ate this much more lavish dinner in silence.
Seraphilia let Robin have only a small sip of the fruit wine, not drinking much herself.
The atmosphere was unusually quiet, even tinged with a solemn, farewell feel.
After finishing the last bite of food, Seraphilia used the snow cloud to extinguish the campfire, leaving only a small pile of red embers for light and warmth.
She sat facing the sea and the distant lights of the Navy Base, the sea wind blowing her silver hair.
'Robin,' she said suddenly, her voice clear and calm in the wind, 'I plan to join the Marine'.
Time seemed to freeze for a second.
Only the howling sea wind carried a bone-chilling cold.
Robin sat beside her, hugging her knees, her previously relaxed posture instantly stiff as iron.
She turned her head slowly, her cerulean eyes sharp as ice-tempered scalpels in the faint light of the embers, fixed intently on Seraphilia's profile.
There was no surprise in them, only a cold 'as expected' and a rapidly gathering, sharp sarcasm, and a deeper sense of betrayal.
'To protect me?' she asked, her voice colder than the sea wind, each word forced out through gritted teeth.
'With the Marine's power? Seraphilia, are you joking, or are you really so stupid as to think I can't tell the difference between the Marine and the World Government?'
She spoke slowly, each word like an ice pick: 'The order to pursue me, to destroy Ohara, came from them! It was those wearing the cloak of 'justice' who turned their guns on the Tree of Knowledge! Their 'Buster Call' burned away everything I had! Everything!'
Her voice began to tremble slightly, not from the cold, but from suppressed anger and a sense of betrayal—even though she had always warned herself not to trust, hearing Seraphilia say she wanted to join that machine still felt like a red-hot iron needle piercing her heart.
'You said you wanted to climb to the top...' Robin's gaze shifted to the distant, glaring lights, the firelight in her eyes flickering like the flames that consumed Ohara in her memories.
'And then what? Become a new 'hyena' like them? Or do you think this is some kind of... interesting joke? Do you think playing the'savior' needs a more thrilling backdrop? Or am I, Nico Robin, just your perfect stepping stone, a perfect token of loyalty to show the World Government?'
These cutting words seemed to freeze the very air.