Ashes of the Fallen

Chapter 7: Under Pressure

It was the first time the darkness had felt comforting in a long time.

Despite the name, the Pressurehold was far less claustrophobic than Nemera expected and being a Shadow Traited meant the lack of sunlight was almost homey but she couldn’t help but feel like it needed more decor. A chair would’ve been nice.

She leaned against the cool, damp stone, the aquamarine light of the Blacksail River above ominously reminding her of how long this tomb of a prison would drown her. In reality, it was the hyperthermia and starvation that would take her first.

The water was still knee height, the slick, stone walls not even worth climbing after the water and lack of sleep had sapped most of her strength. Nemera guessed her Pulse might give her another ten minutes but it wouldn’t help with offsetting the ache in her bones. Necromancers always had the most counterproductive strategy for conserving their breathing.

“That Trollian…is a menace.”

Nemera almost laughed out loud, imagining the weak, gravelly, disgruntled tone of an old man being pissed off by the youth. The young, gaunt face of the Stormspell elf still obscured by the strips of cloth was now hidden by a steady stream of rain that slowly returned to a downpour. It seemed someone was getting pissy.

“Isn’t he? The perfect ice breaker. Or a rain breaker in your case. I have to admit I’m impressed. I can’t seem to figure out how his trick works.” Nemera said, praising her Agar awkwardly while he spun happily in circles.

Comet had opted to perform figure eights around the Pressurehold, attempting to find an exit or another fancy button to push but in his haste the prisoner had gotten annoyed by his antics. Good. She could work with that.

“Had Comet not been his naturally curious self, you could’ve gotten Siara to freak out and cause a cave in. Then we’d both be dead.” Nemera said absentmindedly, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest.

Breathing slowly, the urge to use her Spirit Bar to contact Basra ached in the back of her head. Even if the entire Tarragon army had the strength to break through the Brink, the stubborn Sand Traited would probably be too late...if she even arrived at all.

“Am I right about the Wildspell thing or…I have a friend who’s good with this type of Neridian magic but not to this level of detail. It’s fascinating.” Nemera rambled, the buzzing high from the earlier surge of energy being the only thing keeping her talking.

She took a tentative step forwards, her fingers still clinging to the walls but every time Nemera moved the water rose a little quicker and the prisoner remained out of reach.
The prisoner. She needed a nickname or something.

Rainfall…no. Cloaky. Hell’s teeth she was bad at nicknames. Comet was easy, the bundle of joy practically named himself…huh, Bundle, for that ridiculous choice of shredded Stormspell cloak. That would do.

“You’re wasting your time. I’ll flood this place.”

Nemera raised an eyebrow at the feeble threat, her slightly damp hat hiding her worried expression. She couldn’t forget that Bundle was a child. A scared child who sounded…defeated. Like she had already given up.

“No you won’t.”

“Yes I-“

“Look, I am running on what feels like ten minutes sleep for the past three days to get here and these fuckin’ tunnels have not made my mind or my mood any less irritable. I got rid of Siara for you. The least you can do is tell me your name.” Nemera said, surprised by how calm her voice sounded.

Ever since the Sunstress had escaped, the water levels had tempered from a furious maelstrom to a strangely calm trickle. At least it proved one of her theories right. Siara was the object of the prisoner's ire and getting her out was the best case scenario. At least that was what she kept telling herself.

“That’s a no, then.” Nemera muttered, more to herself than anything else.

Frustratedly, she took off her hat and searched in her pockets for something to occupy her mind. Her final pocket hidden within the seams rewarded her with Basra’s secret stash of cigarettes, lovingly checking the slightly sodden packet for anything usable within this hellhole.

“Want one?” Nemera offered to no one in particular, humouring herself by twiddling the cigarette between her fingers.

Her Agar’s knack for making friends was not something Nemera possessed or at least, struggled to find patience for anymore. With Moonshear’s standoffish nature it had been easy to make her look more approachable but now Nemera couldn’t help but feel like she was the sullen Shadow Traited everyone in Hazehollow made her out to be. It had been easier that way. It seemed Comet had noticed and in his own way, shouldered that burden for her.

Luring the Inferno Trollian down with the promise of a familiar object, Nemera gently passed her cigarette through Comet’s endlessly burning form and took a drag. Relief flooded her lungs that could only be compared with reuniting with her Agar, the strange, opposing ability to breathe properly plaguing every necromancer that came before her. Her Pulse settled and the urge to provide a voice for the dead…quietened. Nemera was free for the first time in days. The first time since Willowstone.

“Oh, you’re probably too young for these aren’t you? Well don’t worry, they don’t produce smoke thanks to Comet’s flame. I’m just using them to keep calm until our untimely demise or rescue. It’s OK though. It means I get to chat with you some more.” Nemera continued, far more cheerful than her current predicament.

Not wanting to ruin Comet’s fun with a tearful reunion, his smokeless flame glowed with a contented ember before he settled onto her shoulder with a droop. Nemera gently covered Comet’s exposed side awkwardly with her hat to stop her ears from burning and whispered a quiet apology, curiously noting the extra, fluttering tail he had gained. A curious piece of paper with an eeriely familiar symbol on it.

“My name is Aidari. Aidari Rainheart.”