Of course, it made sense. The goods they had transported were that important—so crucial that even a Paragon’s mood could be so drastically lifted by their safe arrival.
Paragon Raizel’s joy was genuine, making Northern genuinely curious about the nature of the goods themselves.
But beyond that curiosity, something gnawed at him—sharp and unrelenting, like the jagged edges of a rake scraping against his mind.
He studied the Paragon, watching as the man exchanged cheerful words with his subordinates. The air in the room turned cold. The golden lights flickered, dimming as Northern’s expression darkened.
Then his voice cut through the moment like a blade.
"You seem really happy… and not the slightest bit concerned about the lives that were lost to bring that damn thing here."
The room fell silent.
Raizel froze, his expression taking a steep nosedive. He wasn’t particularly sad, but there was a shift—a solemn string of empathy weaving across his features, settling in response to what Northern had laid bare.
And then, to Northern’s utter disbelief, the man went down on his knees.
Northern almost shot out of his chair. His muscles tensed, his body halfway rising in shock and embarrassment.
A Paragon was bowing before him.
"What are you doing?"
Raizel’s voice remained smooth, unwavering.
He lifted his head slightly, his gaze steady.
"You are the only survivor—the representative of those who lost their lives. I am giving you a humble bow, paying my respects to the dead. We are alive today because they did not give up halfway and turn back."
His voice carried neither theatrics nor obligation—only conviction.
Then, he turned to his subordinates, who remained standing. His tone darkened, laced with a sharp, trembling viciousness.
"What do you think you’re doing?"
Immediately, all of them dropped to the ground. They bowed.
Northern watched, silent for several seconds. Short of words.
A Paragon—in this era—anywhere in the world was the pinnacle of authority—the apex of power, standing above kings and queens, unless the ruler was a Paragon themselves.
They dictated the rules. Society bent to accommodate them.
Such an existence had no need to lower themselves before anyone.
Yet here Raizel was, bowing—not for Northern, not for any sense of self-righteousness, but for people he had never even met.
Northern didn’t understand.
Not even withstanding the fact that he wasn’t doing all this for himself.
He didn’t need help surviving, he could survive just fine. But he was tied down here in Lithia because he had chosen to help the people instead and was thanking Northern on behalf of the people that would be surviving.
Northern exhaled shakily and managed to settle back into his seat. His gaze lingered on Raizel for a few moments before he finally spoke.
"I’m not the only survivor."
His voice was quieter this time—measured, almost subdued.
"There’s another survivor. Someone you should all be thanking. She refused to give up, even though she was just a civilian. She was the one who pushed forward when turning back would’ve been the easier choice. And I think… I’m only here because she refused to quit."
Raizel studied him, his eyes widening slightly before a smile curved his lips.
"And where is this person now?"
"She’s severely injured. The healer here is treating her."
"Oh! That must be Braham," Raizel said with certainty.
"Then rest assured—she’s in good hands. If it’s Braham, she will survive. And I will personally thank her for her indomitable spirit."
Raizel then stood, stretching slightly before slumping back into his chair, his gaze settling on Northern with silent contemplation. Then, cautiously, he asked:
"So… where are the… goods?"
His expression was so careful—so genuinely puzzled—that Northern had to work extra hard to suppress a laugh.
Raizel looked like a man who didn’t want to be rude, but at the same time, was completely confused.
Northern cleared his throat slightly.
"Don’t worry. They’re in a safe place. But there’s something far more important I need to discuss with you."
The lighthearted confusion in Raizel’s face faded instantly. He studied Northern for a long moment, then gave a small nod.
Northern’s expression grew stern.
"First—I want to be sure. What exactly is going on in this place?"
A beat of silence followed.
Raizel’s expression remained neutral, but the weight of something unspoken settled over him. His usually composed features showed the slightest hints of strain—an intensity buried beneath his sharp, handsome face.
Then he sighed, exhaling the tension as he began to speak.
"About a month and two weeks ago… we were attacked. By monsters. A lot of them. Too many for a single assault."
His voice carried a heavy edge now, the weight of those words lingering.
"The attack came mostly from the sea. But there were others—from the sky, from the land."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"It wasn’t just an assault. It was an invasion—one we were powerless against."
Raizel’s voice was calm, but the weight behind his words was unmistakable.
"The only reason the city still stands is because of its natural defenses… and, of course, because I was there. But even then, I couldn’t save everyone. I only managed to save as many as I did because of the Wander of Lithia itself."
Northern tilted his head slightly.
"I don’t quite understand."
Raizel studied him for a moment, then his lips parted in slight realization.
"Oh. It seems you’re not too familiar with the Wanders of the world."
Northern’s brows furrowed slightly.
"Lithia is one of those?"
"Yes. Lithia is one of them."
There was a hint of pride in his tone as he continued.
"Lithia is a city nestled on a crescent-shaped island at the heart of a Y-shaped river. Its bay—a deep azure heart—beats with the rhythm of merchant ships and war galleys alike. But what truly sets Lithia apart, what elevates it to legend, is the water itself.
"If you’ve observed the waters surrounding the city, you might have noticed how they shimmer with an unnatural brilliance, a constant veil of heat rippling above its surface. That, Ral, is the Veil of Embers.
"It’s not a wall, nor a fortress, but a barrier of scalding tides. For miles, the ocean boils—not in violent eruptions, but in a steady, simmering heat, turning the sea into a basin of living steam. No creature of the deep dares approach.
"Even the Apex monsters that attack the trade routes recoil from the blistering perimeter. That’s why the sea-borne assaults were manageable."
Raizel exhaled, pausing briefly before continuing.
"But the sky was another story."
His voice lowered, carrying the weight of the disaster that had unfolded.
"Monsters rained down from above. I fought them back while the Drifters held the water line. But even with our defenses, even with the Veil of Embers, the city was nearly lost.
"There’s a point where the waters cool, where the heat dips just enough for creatures that can climb to breach the city’s edges. And they did."
His words carried the ghost of a battle long past, a conflict burned into memory.
Northern wasn’t there that day.
But even he could feel the weight of loss woven into the Paragon’s voice.