Northern's gaze drifted forward to the man standing alone in the barren expanse.
Lieutenant Dante's black hair whipped in the cold wind sweeping across the ruins. Night had long since fallen, and the winds had grown biting as always. No one had noticed their chill before, masked by Burning Storm's overwhelming presence.
Now that the ferocious storm-bull had perished, the winds spiraled back like ghostly fingers reclaiming their territory.
Neither of them felt their touch. Northern possessed a body that defied nature itself, granting him uncanny resistance to weather and even stranger phenomena. Lieutenant Dante was a Paragon.
Dante stood frozen, his mind struggling to make sense of the figure in the distance.
Slowly, the color drained from Dante's face. His eyes widened as recognition dawned—the identity of the person standing before him becoming terrifyingly clear.
