The Night Rider

Chapter 42 - Remembrance

Nivara's Transference sent her flying into the closed off building, her mist coiling around her feet as she tripped on the overly smooth stone. Cursing at the stark differences in terrain she hoped nothing was broken. More so what was in her pockets rather than any of her bones.

She swore, her hands skinned by her clumsiness with using Trait while inebriated. Groaning, she clutched her head and forced herself to stand and gingerly checked her pockets for any signs of breakage.

Sighing in relief, the bottles rattled in confirmation as she stumbled safe inside the Watchtower, half thanking Odi for teaching her how to bypass the Axis' entrance. Provided you use Transference for a long enough time it registers Trait automatically and opens. No bribes or formal speeches needed.

She had weaved through the large crowd of Traited celebrating around the main area despite the blockade around the Opalace and slipped away into the cordoned off Watchtower. All they saw was a flash of indigo fog as part of the festival around them.

For once Nivara was grateful for the small space, the crumbling building still marked as needing repairs. It provided just enough space for her mist form to enter and reconverge as her normal self without detection. Only issue was navigating while under influence. Drunken Transference. Not something she wanted to experience again anytime soon.

Chuckling dryly, her Trait illusion began tearing away from her cloak and settling between the cracks in the door and walls. Nivara had learnt from her prior attempts to find a private place to think. If she wanted complete privacy then an abandoned lookout post covered in her mist was the only way to go.

It blocked anyone from entering and helped with the noise from outside after a few tweaks to figure out how to locate and clog up all the nooks and crannies in such an old building. After all, they had made their decision to party and she needed a quiet place to mourn.

Nivara pulled down her hood, shaking out her damp hair before reaching into her pockets to produce three shot glasses and a small, black bottle before setting them on the newly replaced table. She lowered her head before kneeling on the ground and bowing once.

"I'm not one for semantics but you'd both be better off havin' these than me right now."

Her Trait uncorked the bottle and she poured out three glasses: one for Cricket, one for Mesmer and one for Colossus. It was now a rarely enforced tradition to honour the dead in Opalis but each country had their own traditions. The Ashes of the Fallen.

Opalis had once provided a ceremony of their own but now they just used parts of other countries traditions to celebrate instead of remembering why they grieved. The Laia festival. A mockery of jovial gifts and pretences much like its Throneholder.

"I know it's not exactly noble, stealing from a Havalog but you get what you can get."

All three had once been from the Undercity so despite not having their own traditions in place Nivara decided to use a simpler one of her own design. Setting a Flickerwick candle away from the alcohol the wick rose sleepily from its wax cocoon and lit itself on its own.

It was a small reminder of her Caldorian roots but a fitting gesture nonetheless. It was her country's tradition to light candles, incense and gather items that meant most to those who had died. Despite not having any of their personal effects it was still important to remember them and tell the stories they could not.

"I've been thinking about what happened long after it did. About how it could've been different had I..."

Nivara faltered, shivering at the sudden chill inside the Watchtower as the flash of flickering candlelight against the gloomy walls conjured memories of the storm. Cricket's small frame nestled into her cloak as she struggled to stand against the rain, wind and unrelenting lightning not even she could control right now.