The Night Rider

Chapter 50 - Everchanged

"I know you have chosen to ignore that side of yourself. But you cannot avoid your Storm Trait for much longer. Just as you cannot change your grimoire."

Nivara could feel Hack's eyes boring on her flickering grimoire, interchanging between blues, greens and frosty whites. She fought the urge to clutch it tight, her wrist throbbing as she caught her conflicted reflection in the nearby basin.

"Tell that to the Taishin. They were the one's who used my Storm Trait like a weapon. Now, I can't even gather enough water to help myself let alone Tarragon."

Nivara gestured to the nearby water basin being filtered from a small opening in the packed earthen cavern. It had stopped working a few days after she arrived and it had taken her three full weeks to gather that much rainfall from outside with her meager Trait.

"Tarragon is not the only one who needs help, my friend."

Nivara grimaced, the sight of her facial burn against the water blurring and freezing over with the force of her Trait. Startled, she shrank away but soon found Anirri's supporting claw on her shoulder. The Tinker Mole had sat beside her despite the risk of her storm, her grimoire everything. But the anger she felt still remained.

"You're the Fatekeeper, Anirri. You see everything wrong with Caldor despite your visions and let the Divide encroach on us all. Now Shuriken has fallen and I'm supposed to sit here and listen to your lectures? What's next, Neridia?"

Hack growled, furious at her outburst after all Anirri had done to try and support her.

"Don't you dare talk to the Fatekeeper like that you little-"

Anirri raised a shaking claw to silence him, Nivara too caught up in her rapid breathing to notice.

"It's quite alright, my compass. I was the one who foresaw all of this. She has every right to be upset."

Anirri's melancholic tone only proved the aching betrayal in her heart. She knew how important Nivara's work was to her as Tempest. Anonymity was a luxury in the slums of Caldor and with the binding debts of the Taishin she valued her name more than her life. Regardless, of which name she chose.

Creed wasn't just her last mission as Tempest. It was the last time she would let the name Nessra be heard by anyone again. But Wayward had changed that when they warped her name into a martyr. Tempest was never meant to be a hero.

"I'm not upset. I'm angry."

Nivara's voice was barely audible at this point as if clogged with the very sand she had been forcibly buried in. A broiling mist began to rise from the palms of her hands, sweating nervously as her mind was brought back to the weeks prior.

The very same storm emerged, trapped in her grasp while Kaldra struggled beneath her to escape the tomb. The villagers praised Tempest, brought their rebellion in without consent or concern and turned on her when she tried to leave and disagree.

"I want to kill the Taishin for what they did to me. To my home. I want to make them suffer the same way I did. The same way Wayward did before..."

She couldn't bring herself to finish. Nivara wanted to throw her hands up into the air and scream but the aching pain of her wrist only remained as the only reminder of how it had happened.

Her and her dragon both buried alive in sand. Desperately thrashing and struggling to break free, the mob digging and clawing their weapons from above. Strung along the same way the elves always did, the false flames of rebellion Creed had unknowingly conjured twisted to suit the Taishin's goals. A false Tempest rebellion.

A flash of silver embedded in her hand, desperately clinging to blood slicked burrs to drag her up and out but falling back into the tomb. Embedded in sand once more, soundless screams begging Kaldra to hang on. She couldn't.