Northern stepped through the entrance, his gait unhurried as he joined her. The moment his footsteps reached her ears, she turned. Seeing him, she moved without thinking—instinct taking over as she threw her arms around his shoulders.
"Rian! Oh, thank the stars, I've been so worried about you."
Northern frowned slightly, disentangling himself from her hold.
"You…" He started, voice edged with something sharp, but then exhaled, reigning it in. His tone evened out.
"Who should be worried about who? You're in no position to be worrying about me."
Roma chuckled lightly.
"I'm sorry. I've been awake for a while, and Lady Rita told me things here were far worse than what we went through coming here. She also mentioned that you've been really helpful."
Northern tilted his head, arms folding.
"Lady Rita?"
"Oh! That's right, you don't know her name. The spearwoman who defended us at the bridge before you arrived."
He nodded.
"Oh. I see…"
He didn't fully remember, but there was no point dragging it.
'People really go around naming themselves with that special letter, huh?'
The Reimgard Empire couldn't possibly hunt down every person who bore the letter—it wasn't a crime, not unless the bearer held status. A commoner carrying it meant nothing. But if it was a king… or a renowned duke… that was a different matter.
That was the exact path Northern was on. He wasn't hiding the name—he was throwing it out there. Right now, it meant little. But would that be the same when he became a Paragon?
Only one way to find out.
Become a Paragon.
Northern sighed and shifted his focus to the resplendent woman before him. She was looking up slightly, her gaze scanning his face.
"Have you been eating at all? You look starved."
He frowned again.
"You're seriously a pain in my ass. Why are you like this?"
Roma scowled.
"Hey! That's not something nice to say to someone who just recovered!"
"Well, then maybe that someone should remember that the one who just recovered should be the one being asked questions."
She shrugged.
"And since you didn't ask? I was worried about you. And not just you, I checked on everyone. Oh! And the baby's doing great, by the way. His mother even said she's naming him after both of us. Bonus information, since you don't care."
Northern shook his head.
"It's not that I don't. I've just been busy with other, more important things."
"Of course you have… that's why I'm giving it to you as a bonus."
Northern fell silent, staring at her, his anger simmering. In the past few days, nothing had truly gotten under his skin. But somehow, in the last few seconds, she had managed it effortlessly.
'What hole did this excuse for an existence crawl out of exactly?!'
Northern inhaled deeply. Then exhaled.
'Patience… patience…'
He looked at her, his gaze steady, his tangled emotions smoothing out. When he spoke, his voice was calm.
"How do you feel?"
Roma studied his face for a moment before leaning against the railing, her eyes drifting downward, shadowed by something somber.
"Strangely… I feel fine. Lady Rita told me how you saved me. I'm grateful… and sorry."
Northern's lips curled slightly.
"That's not going to be enough, though."
Her expression sharpened into a frown.
"What? What do you mean?"
"Your recklessness knows no bounds. At the very least, I thought you had some semblance of sense. Turns out I was wrong." His voice was even, but the weight behind it pressed down like an iron hand. "What did you think? That you could protect anyone? That you could survive with how weak you are?"
Roma's delicate frown twisted into a fierce, almost vicious grimace—yet even with anger lighting her features, she remained ethereal, a celestial sight.
"You really don't have to throw it in my face every damn time that I'm weak, Rian!" Her voice shook with frustration. "I know I'm weak! I know I'm so starshitty weak it drives me insane! And it frustrates the lightless hell out of me! So no! You don't get to cruelly shove it in my face every chance you get!"
Her outburst sent a ripple through the air.
Nearby, Hao instinctively took a step back, yanking Braham with him—though the latter resisted, unable to tear his fascinated gaze away.
Roma, oblivious to them, pressed on, her voice rising.
"Does it really matter?! It doesn't, Rian! It's a new life—someone had to do something! Anything would've helped, no matter how small or insignificant! And I did! I bought everyone a second or two, and I was glad to do it! If I had died, Rian—" Her breath cracked, but she pushed through. "—I wouldn't have had any regrets.
"So save me some space with all your you're weak this, you can't protect anyone that! You don't get to lecture me just because you're strong!"
The words hung between them, electric, raw.
"The ability to protect doesn't start with power—it starts with the heart." Roma's voice cut through the air, sharp yet trembling. "You could have all the power in the world and still be hollow. Empty. Unempathetic.
"You would watch everyone die before your eyes—because to you, defeating the enemy is more important than saving the one civilian about to be crushed under the weight of its attack. Because they're insignificant, and the enemy is more important."
Her voice dipped lower, tangled in something bitter, something wounded.
"But you know, Rian… what if you're so busy taking care of this 'more important' thing—so obsessed with winning—that by the time you defeat it, there's no world left to return to?"
Her breath shook. Then her voice cracked, raw with frustration.
"When exactly will you stop fighting just to feel good about yourself? Just to feel powerful? Just for confirmation?
"When will you start fighting to preserve? To protect?
"When exactly will you grow up?!"
Northern stood in silence, frowning.
Her words had cut deep—bitter and hard to swallow.
'Is this what people mean when they say the truth is bitter?'
Did that mean what she was saying was the truth?
He refused to accept that.
He wasn't fighting to feel good. He was fighting because it was the only way forward. He wasn't looking for some hollow confirmation of his strength—he knew he was strong. And more than that, he had no interest in proving anything to anyone.
So she was wrong.
His frown darkened, his gaze sharpening with something colder.
"How many days have you actually known me?"
Roma frowned at the abrupt question.
"What? I don't need to—"
"It hasn't even been a damn week!"
His voice rang out, contempt laced into every syllable.
Some of what she said was bitter truth—he could admit that. Learning the importance of every insignificant life? Maybe he did need to understand that more.
But everything else? The accusations? The audacity?
She had no idea what she was talking about.
He stepped forward, lowering his head slightly, his voice razor-edged.
"I don't know what gives you the confidence to open your rotten mouth and talk to me however you want. To berate me. To act as if I'm the most selfish person to ever exist."
His gaze bored into hers, radiating rigid, unshaken coldness.
"Look here, Roma. You are far more selfish than I am.
"All that running around, saving people—it's nothing but self-conceit. A desperate excuse to convince yourself that your weakness doesn't matter. A pathetic justification for your own insignificance.
"In the grand scheme of things, your boldness, your courage—" he spat the words, scorn dripping from them, "—will be the end of you. It's reckless. It's pointless. And in the end?" He leaned in, voice dropping to something chilling.
"No one will even remember it."
Roma's face twisted, but Northern didn't let her speak.
"All that talk about passion? It was never about protecting people. It was about you—your twisted definition of strength. Your need to feel good about yourself. To delude yourself into thinking you matter."
He stepped back, his frown deepening.
"I need to grow up? Sure. Thanks for the advice."
His voice was razor-sharp now, slicing through the air with brutal finality.
"But you need to accept reality.
"You are not a Drifter. And you never will be.
"So take a backseat and act like every other mundane, useless human like you should."
Northern held her gaze for a beat longer, his fury simmering. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there—frozen, silent, and alone.