Robin ruminates on it on their way back—names, and how she could have possibly remembered Chrom’s name before her own, why she suddenly remembered hers, what it all means. She remembers stabbing lightning into him and hearing his name like her own heartbeat—Chrom, Chrom, Chrom—but, no, it’s impossible, because he stands healthy and hale before her and claims they are strangers. That doesn’t feel true, but it doesn’t feel like a lie either, and Robin wonders if her thoughts are always this flighty and fickle. Perhaps she was named for a bird for a reason.