The Night Rider

Chapter 50 - Everchanged

"Just as Nivara is more than just a simple Traited, Hackerby." Anirri said, seamlessly diverting the attention away from her.

Nivara gave her a wan smile, unsurprised by the Tinker Moles decision to move away from herself and only focusing on others. Be it the reconstruction of her clan or a stranded Traited with nowhere to go to heal their injuries. The Sand Wraith still stood to attention, blocking the door diligently as the mood changed like the tides.

"The Council wishes to speak to you. They know who you really are, young one."

Anirri's calm tone did nothing to stop her stomach from shifting into sheer dread. The anxiety came at her like a hailstorm, the breathless feeling of sheer cold overwhelming her to breaking point before she finally stuttered out her response.

"Then tell them to change it. Tell them to call me something else. Anything else."

Nivara hugged her knees close to her chest, brushing against her wrapped up injury with a wince. Her shoulders felt bare without the security of her cloak, the strands of fabric reminding her of the Shifting Sands sliding against her skin.

Not even her mask remained beside her, damaged by the blast that sent her sprawling in the harsh sandstorms alone and abandoned. She shuddered, the plain clothes the Tinker Moles had offered her a little out of sorts with how it was sewn together. They didn't get many Traited visitors for a reason.

She was grateful to Anirri, who reassured her that her items would be replaced or repaired in due time. But in her heart she knew the cloak of Tempest with every name taken was lost to the flames of Wayward's failed rebellion. A rebellion she never wanted to be involved in.

"You are Tempest no more, I see."

Nivara didn't have the heart to respond, staring at the newly blooming flame sprouting from the lantern on the floor. She knew the Tinker Mole wasn't being rude or jeering but not even Anirii's kindness could soften the heartbreak of her words.

"The name Nessra is not truly buried despite your attempts to honour your homeland, Nivara. Stormkeeper is the only one that does not change. Unlike your grimoire, that is."

Nivara flinched, despising how cryptid the Fatekeeper had to be as she felt the weight of her grimoire settling in the crook of her arm. Sighing at its arrival she didn't even glance down at it, her anger almost as tumultuous as its cover.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The Mist Maiden snapped halfheartedly, her eyes desperate to look anywhere except Anirri's wayward gaze. The broken lamp lay discarded on the ground, the smouldering embers still providing enough light to see within the tunnelled room.

"Look at yourself. Your Trait is still conflicted between two halves of Nivara Cross the Tempest and Nessra Caldor: the last heir to the Caldorian monarchy."

A mirthful laugh bubbled up without warning, the reminder still a slap in the face that Nivara hadn't let sink in yet.

"I've never been royalty material, Anirri. You of all people should know that. Wayward should've been more than enough proof that I'm not fit to lead." Nivara reminded her, scoffing bitterly at the Fatekeeper's flimsy argument.

Anirri smiled warmly, ignoring all of Nivara's visceral frustration towards her. The Tinker Mole simply turned to her awaiting Sand Wraith guard and nodded, watching as he closed the door to the hewn out room and stepped within the cavernous space.

The room seemed to spring to life, activating a series of hidden stone Sunspell runes in the ceiling that bathed the library in a dull glow of amber light. Nivara couldn't help but be drawn to the light source, blinking as the room shifted to the dull ember of flame broiling across the ramshackle desert town of Wayward.