Northern slowly closed his eyes and took a step closer. Then he touched the Paragon's forehead.
Paragon Raizel wasn't dying. He was already dead. Yet his will burned so fiercely that his soul refused to perish, his True Name neither wavered nor dissolved despite death's cold grip.
His will stood indomitable, terrifying in its resolve.
As Northern's fingers met the cold skin, a world unfolded before him. A world that defied logic and reason.
Beyond that chaotic vision came a fundamental understanding of what Burning Storm truly was—not merely the True Name, but the very depths of his soul, the tapestry of his memories, every hardship and triumph that had forged him into being.
Though Veiled Light had revealed himself as a greedy man who bore no shame for his weaknesses and limitations, Burning Storm loved him still. Everything he was had sprouted from a single seed: the yearning to make his father proud.
He never buckled under those expectations; instead, they warmed his heart with gladness and gratitude.
That his father expected greatness of him, that his father yearned for him to become the strongest man in the Central Plains—Burning Storm felt these expectations like a guiding star, his father his most steadfast supporter.
Despite the man's atrocities, Burning Storm could never bring himself to punish him, to hate him. This conflict drove him ultimately to abandon the government and pursue, relentlessly, true strength.
And his friend—Burning Storm's chest tightened whenever he thought of Dante. Regret haunted his every step for how he had abandoned him, for poisoning that innocent boy's heart with hatred for the world.
But he was a coward. He fled from his greatest mistake. He wandered from place to place seeking knowledge, but deep in his heart, he knew he was merely running from the monster he had created.
When Dante ascended to Paragon status and running became impossible, instead of standing firm, he retreated again—his final answer nothing more than a whispered "No."
A hundred paths existed that might have prevented this disaster, but Burning Storm turned away from them all.
Just as in his final moment, he shrank from making the difficult decision, instead placing that burden on someone who had no stake in the matter at all.
Burning Storm's self-loathing ran like poison through his veins.
He despised himself for stubbornly choosing to love Lirae. That young, beautiful, and ambitious woman deserved better. She shouldn't have had to bear the child of such a coward.
She had illuminated his world, helped him perceive life through a different lens, and yet he?
...he had given nothing in return.
He couldn't even claim to be a proper father.
All these emotions twisted and coiled inside Burning Storm's soul—the very essence Northern now inhabited.
These feelings resonated within Northern like distant thunder, as if they were his own buried sorrows. For one breathless moment, he became Burning Storm—hating himself, nearly losing his sense of identity in the overwhelming tide.
But then, something pulled at his attention.
A world began to unfold before him, drawing his consciousness away from the abyss of painful memories.
Northern found himself suspended in a boundless sky, carved into infinite dimensions where clouds drifted and spiraled around invisible axes. Tempestuous winds howled across the expanse while pulsating auroras shimmered with golden brilliance, bathing the realm in a mesmerizing dance of gold and cantaloupe light.
Below stretched a landscape of volcanic glass, frozen at the very peak of cataclysm—a terrain no living being could traverse without being consumed by its fury.
Heat assaulted him from all directions, so oppressive that even Northern, with his remarkable endurance to extreme conditions, felt sweat beading across his skin.
At the heart of this world towered a colossal obsidian spire. Beyond being the nexus of this destructive realm, nothing about it made sense to Northern's mind. Yet a foreboding chill traced his spine as his gaze lingered upon it.
Undoubtedly, it represented a crown of power that defied all he had ever witnessed. But its true nature remained elusive—it felt... sealed, dormant yet threatening.
A revelation settled into Northern's consciousness in that moment.
This was the Soul of a Luminary, not merely evolved... but realized and birthed into being. It had always existed—this essence interwoven into the fabric of their beings—waiting only for the moment of its realization.
And realization was the key that unlocked the door to Luminary.
But how? Northern's mind reeled. How could something so fundamental remain hidden? A solution within everyone's grasp, yet no one had grasped it. Each Drifter clung to their own perceived path to Luminary, following different stars in the same sky. Why?
The weight of this revelation pressed against Northern's soul like a mountain. To a Sage like him, the knowledge was tantalizingly useless—a treasure map with half the journey still shrouded in mist.
He still needed to ascend to Ascendant, then climb to Paragon, before his will could reach such palpable strength.
Northern remained an anomaly—despite not having attained Paragon status, his will stood uncommonly powerful. Yet these were merely the influences of Chaos and Void coursing through him. Though something more stirred within his True Name Unwritten and his attribute Omniform, it was but an infant compared to what he witnessed here.
This revelation, however, would help him cradle that infant with greater understanding.
Finally, words shimmered before Northern's eyes like liquid starlight:
[You can absorb True Name]
Burning Storm was dead—had been dead for some time—yet his indomitable will had preserved the essence of his True Name. And if his True Name endured, then surely his talent remained intact, waiting to be claimed.
Northern hesitated, a flicker of reluctance crossing his features. Then he steeled himself, casting doubt aside.
Burning Storm had carried his indomitable will to this moment, ensuring Northern received this revelation. A gift of immeasurable value.
The Paragon—no, the Luminary—could not have known the full extent of Northern's abilities.
Now, with Burning Storm's will adrift like a masterless vessel, Northern could claim his True Name as his own.
Drawing a deep breath, Northern pressed his consciousness against the soul of Burning Storm, reaching for the essence of the True Name, drawing it forth from its anchoring.
To his surprise, he met no resistance. The world, however, proved so vast that it threatened to crush Northern beneath its weight. It was like a raging waterfall crashing into a tiny bottle.
Northern felt his very being fracturing under the pressure, every fiber of his existence straining against the torrent. But he was no ordinary bottle—he was bottomless and unfathomable.