A hushed silence followed the name.
Northern panicked in that brief silence, dread swirling in his chest like a gathering storm. What if he'd unknowingly inherited Shin's questionable naming sense? They weren't bound by blood, but inheritance didn't always need blood. Influence alone could carve its mark.
Then, as if sunlight had parted the gloom, Lirae's face bloomed with a radiant smile.
"Nureya. Born from ashes. I love it."
He hadn't meant to slight Burning Storm, but—stars—his heart nearly skipped. That smile... that was the first real one she'd given in the last few minutes. It wasn't polite, or forced, or weighed down by expectation. It was pure.
For that moment, she was lit from within—no titles, no burden of duty, just a woman touched by something soft. But it passed.
She slowly reached for Nureya, lifting the child from his hands with a tenderness that silenced even the walls around them. She smiled again, but this time, it carried a quiet ache as she gazed down at the infant, then looked up at Northern.
"Sir…"
"Rian…"
He interrupted, then softened.
"But you can call me Lael."
She hesitated. The name seemed to echo in her mind as she tried it out silently.
"Lael is a beautiful name. I imagine the person who gave it to you must've been beautiful too."
He offered a sheepish smile, one corner of his mouth tugging shyly.
"My mother… is indeed very beautiful."
'Both of them are,' he thought, but left it there.
She nodded slowly, her expression dimming into something more measured.
"If it doesn't bother you, Sir Lael… I'd like to keep you a little longer. There's so much to absorb. And with my position—not just as Burning Storm's wife, but the only person in government still pretending to be sensible—grief isn't a luxury. I get to entertain easily. Would you mind if I pressed you for a few things?"
Northern's face gradually settled, the muscles in his jaw quieting, his posture shifting just slightly.
Not rigid—but he understood the shift in tone. Lirae commanded presence not with force but with gravity, and he instinctively matched it.
He nodded once.
"All right, ma."
Lirae nodded.
"All right then. Please… give me a few moments."
With that, she turned and walked away—slow, deliberate steps—escorted by the elders. Veiled Light rose shakily and followed, the weight of sorrow clinging to his movement like mist.
Northern remained behind, watching Lirae retreat with a heavy gaze.
She was carrying so much. And yet, not a single word of complaint passed her lips. Her posture, her gait, the quiet restraint in her breath—every detail radiated strength. Not just strength born of will, but the kind carved from pain. Even the way she suppressed her grief… it was frightening.
He would've done anything to help her ease that burden.
Anything—short of giving himself away.
'...She hasn't even accepted he's dead yet.'
His eyes drifted toward Burning Storm's lifeless form. Throughout their entire conversation, Lirae had rarely used the past tense. She still spoke of him as if he were alive—present. It wasn't just denial. It was something deeper. Her heart had not yet caught up with the truth.
Northern exhaled, a soft breath that misted into the silence.
'It's going to be a long process for her.'
And it hadn't even begun.
The thought made his chest ache for her.
Several minutes passed. Then Lirae returned, the four government elders in tow. She stood in front of him, composed now—her features calm, but her shoulders held tight with control.
One of the elders, a tall figure with hollow, brooding eyes, held Nureya in his arms like a sacred flame.
Lirae folded her arms. A slow breath slipped from her lips then she opened her mouth and warned gently.
"What comes next… will be a barrage of questions, please bear with me, okay?"
Northern gave a firm nod.
She offered a faint smile—brief, but sincere.
"Sir Lael. Where is Dante now? You know him, right?"
Northern didn't flinch. His tone was neutral.
"He's dead?"
Her eyes widened, but he wasn't finished.
"...or alive? I don't really know."
He paused, then added with sharp calmness.
"I would say Lieutenant Dante is dead—but there are circumstances that make me want to say otherwise. The one who killed him wasn't me. Nor was it Paragon Raizel. It was… the Prophet that he had been working with. And he was killed by unconventional means."
Lirae's brow arched.
"Unconventional means…?"
Northern nodded slightly.
"Yes. If I had to put it plainly… he was eaten."
"Eaten?"
Northern met her gaze without hesitation.
"Yes. Eaten."
A deep furrow settled into Lirae's expression.
"Lieutenant Dante was… eaten? By this Prophet he worked with? That doesn't make any sense. Are you saying he was betrayed?"
Northern's voice remained even.
"Apparently so. This Prophet… he's the real threat now. I don't know what he's planning—but it feels like he's picking up where Dante left off."
Lirae's brows knit, confusion flickering across her face.
"If he's continuing Dante's path… then why kill him?"
Northern's gaze held hers for a breath, unreadable. Then he shrugged, slow and unbothered.
"What it looked like to me… he was tired of putting up with Dante."
Lirae studied him in silence for a few seconds. Then she turned, facing the elders.
"I'd like you all to excuse us for a few minutes."
The fatty officer stepped forward.
"Lady Lirae—"
"In the next few seconds."
They exchanged tired glances, but none argued. One by one, they turned and left the chamber, their footsteps echoing with reluctant obedience. Despite their age, she dismissed them with the ease of a mother sending children to bed.
As the doors closed behind them, she pivoted back toward Northern.
Her tone was steady, but there was a tremor beneath it—grief harnessed into resolve.
"You can tell me everything now, Sir Lael. I give you my word—I will not jeopardize you. If there's information that must remain hidden, I will guard it with my life. You don't have to share anything personal, nothing you're unwilling to reveal. But… if it ties to my husband's death, or to the fate of the Central Plains—I need to know."
She exhaled softly, her voice lowering.
"Despite my plea, you're not bound by any law. You owe the government nothing. If you choose silence, I will not press you. I'll let you go."