Ashes of the Fallen

Chapter 3: Skimming the Surface

Floodbound was everything her Spirit Bar was not. Clean, for one thing.

The elusive city of elves had more canals than she had experimental bottles of mead, counting at least three waterfalls cascading into each other only to evaporate the moment they reached its peak. The long thin jets of water hid meticulously built structures that merged into a strange, mystical barrier which rarely parted for people like her. Nemera suspected she could be one of the only Traited to ever see the Brink on the other side of Neridia.

“Hell’s teeth, if that view ain’t worth the trip then I don’t know what is.”

Despite her late night and earlier reluctance for travel Nemera couldn’t help but admire the beauty and most importantly, the architecture of Neridia’s greatest stronghold. Surrounded by the life-giving water of the Brink it extended its reflections to every building and person around, coating it in a strange gossamer, dream-like hue. Nemera almost regretted the hangover with every bright light and celebratory banner that passed her way.

Distinctly dressed in cloaks of green it was easy to spot the fabled grey skinned Stormspell mages of the Rainfall Brigade. What was less easy to come to terms with was the pale grey, corpse-like skin of Stormspell elves, the vibrant gold of Sunspell elves and what could only be described as a deep lilac colour of…Nightspell elves? Gah, Traited were confusing enough.

The white arkalite arches on the way to the palace glittered with droplets of every weather magic imaginable, the mages here allowing the weather to remain as fluid and carefree as the people around them. All Basra had talked about was the fabled Dropspire Arches that led to the heart of Floodbound but instead of the majestic arrival it tried to keep up instead it had been clouded in an array of Stormspell illusions. Cloudswell, to be more precise.

Nemera had been nervous about crossing through the weather-absorbing stonework, unsure of whether her Shadow Trait was considered among the Forecaster elite. The elves' ancestry had long been intertwined with that of the Traited but not even the permission of two leaders of Opalis and Tarragon could cause them to budge. All because they were a tad concerned about getting ash on their clothes. Or perhaps, The Four Peaks war had made them jittery once the Brink had been parted to let outsiders in.

Hidden by the barrier and the descending blueish grey sky dotted with a little too much cloud cover for sun that bright, Nemera understood the reason for keeping the status quo but with the rumours that it had even withstood dragonflame crumbled under what looked like…a lightning storm.

The cloud she could peer through despite her hazy vision hid most of the blackened stone, some slagged into glass despite the lack of mineral within the stone. Midari’s own Master had allegedly discovered the very rock that gave arkalite its name but despite her Light Trait once helping to imbue it with energy, the strong yet malleable resource had somehow bent to nature's will. 

Nemera tried to piece together the recoil blast from such an effort, the skid marks slipping away in a fraction of a second but instead of pointing towards the arches, they pointed away from it. Towards the horizon. Towards the Brink. No Forecaster elf could do such damage. Which is why they had no choice but to call upon a Traited. A Traited that was now dead and Nemera was left to pick up the pieces.

“Forgive me, but I believe I sent for the Night Rider. Lady Midari, I presume?”

If the elven woman showed any hesitancy towards her Shadow Trait she didn’t show it on her face. The pale, golden skin of the regal Sunspell elf before her almost took her breath away, her tall, willowy figure hid a spine of gold straighter than the Ironwood trees themselves. Her disdain towards the overzealous sprays of water didn’t surprise Nemera in the slightest but the usual white and gold attire of a traditional Sunspell elf was swapped with a deep purple one instead.