"I see you're busy enjoying my collection, Stormkeeper?"
Anirii's light and airy tone broke through the dimly lit cavern, catching Nivara off guard. The large tome she had precariously tried to read by resting it against a small wobbly table collapsed under the sheer weight of the book.
The flimsy, wooden legs gave out as the small, flaming lamp toppled onto the ground and began to travel across sheets of slowly, shrivelling paper trail. The blind Tinker Mole simply watched with an empty gaze, the Mist Maiden panicking and clutching her injury.
"Ahh, shit."
Nivara tried to reach for the nearby stream of water funnelling into the dugout basin nearby but her Trait uselessly flopped back into the basin. Cursing her sprained wrist, she tried to stamp out the flames herself but it neatly coiled itself into a thin rope and puffed out of existence.
Nivara stared at the Fatekeeper for a few moments, folding her arms for good measure. Anirri stared back innocently, neither one apologising until a burly, oversized Sand Wraith burst into the room and whacked his head off the low ceiling.
"Don't call me that. Tempest. My name is Tempest." Nivara snapped, frustrated but mostly relieved the flames were gone.
Anirri smiled gently, her claws curling with her dwindling Forger ability before it too evaporated into her staff to ground it from spreading.
"My apologies, Nessra. But it's not the only name they will know you by."
Nivara watched the Fatekeeper's stance begin to sway, immediately exhausted but managing to grip her staff and lean against the hewn, ancestral walls before readjusting her balance.
"Fatekeeper, you know you aren't supposed to use your Craft so carelessly, what if-"
Anirri raised a hand at the Sand Wraith's arrival, slowly lowering herself into the nearby camp bed Nivara had used as her sleeping quarters. The Storm Traited took her cue to huddle up on the floor next to Anirri's extensive library and sit on one of the Labyrinths winding root systems.
"If we worry about what if we lose sight of what will come to be. Besides, Hackerby. I could hear you coming and I know you Sand Wraiths are far stronger than a lil' old Tinker Mole like myself."
The Sand Wraith blushed furiously at her compliment, his scales flashing red for just a moment. Nivara was still distracted by gathering a few stray pages to try and rescue her research. But she couldn't help but notice his fondness for the Tinker Mole chieftess, his scales a mottled mix of her brownish hue highlighted by the occasional black scales.
"But you are more than just a Tinker Mole, Anirri." Hack said quietly, his bashful expression only confirming Nivara's theory.
The Sand Wraith's concern for Anirri washed over like a summer breeze, the mind boggling idea that a Sand Wraith like him could show such sympathy and compassion was almost heartbreaking. Nivara almost felt bad for him.
This poor Sand Wraith was head over claws for the Fatekeeper of Caldor.
She hadn't come across many Sand Wraiths this side of Caldor but while moonlighting as Tempest she had heard enough stories. The territorial lizard people who tore through anyone that dared to close in on Mt Aaracosta. They rarely ventured outside of their home of Helmspire but when they did it was never good.
Seeing Hack here was about as rare as a Griffinette sighting but here he was, sidling up to a Tinker Mole like they were old friends instead of longstanding enemies. Saying Anirri was completely blind to Hack's affections was an understatement. Anirri was completely blind to everything.
"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.
"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.
Her wrist freed into the open air. Burnt and broken by wounds unumberable. It was enough. She was enough to save her. She was always enough to save her Oathed. Through grit and sheer stone, chain and weighted slag, sight or no the Stormkeeper let the sky erupt.
"But it won't help, will it?"
Anirri's calm demeanour snapped the lone Mist Maiden back to reality.
"No. But you still lied to me, Anirri."
Nivara's anger was poignant even without the Tinker Moles guilty expression feeding her frustrations.
"You said you were monitoring the Divide for changes, not me. You knew Calvaros was helping me and you used him to learn about my Storm Trait. About Creed too. Why?"
The Tinker Mole leaned forwards, as if preparing to tell a bedtime story to young pups but her clasped claws alluded to something far more dire.
"Because you cannot do it alone and...I cannot do any more to assist you in your goal, Tempest. One Traited, no matter how powerful you may be, is not enough."
Anirri's glassy stare seemed to look right through her, filled with enough fear and trepidation to make even a dragon shudder. But Nivara's anger was still at the forefront of her mind, tossing her grimoire aside but it returned to her lap immediately.
"Then what do you expect me to do? I may still be Tempest in name but I just...I don't have the heart for it anymore. I don't want other people involved in this. Not again. Never again."
Nivara forced her eyes shut in an attempt to suppress the feeling of being stuck in an enclosed space. The cavern was homely and warm but her vision warped it into the sand filled crypts of the Silt Pillar cemetery. Alone. Trapped. Forgotten.
Free into the clear darkness, dug out of charred remains and dragon bones collapsed onto singed sands of her home. Hands clinging to nothing and everything as black sand sifted through her fingers. But it wasn't sand.
Choked sobs became wordless breaths of sheer panic and desperation, lighting hung in the sky awaiting her order. Ashes. All was ashes. No mob. No Taishin. Just fire and rain. Endless, biting rain. Washing the ashes, her people into the hidden cemetery below.
"Wayward was not your fault, Tempest. You made your decisions clear. You cannot blame yourself if they chose to ignore that." Anirri tried to reassure her, resting a claw against her back.
Nivara barely felt her support against her back, her posture bent forwards in pain. Dragging away silt and sand in desperation, the sheer weight of the dunes and her dragon overwhelming her aching limbs. Fires burning furiously as she dug and sank into the tomb her unconscious Oathed was encased in.
Frost and chilling rain froze her hands in place and tore at her grit filled clothes. Panic filled her throat, ash digging under her nails but none appearing on her exhausted arms. No signs of crumbling but might've well just given in to the Eternal Death without her Oathed. She was too big. Too exhausted. Too heavy. Too injured. Too much.
"Do you blame Creed for inciting his flames when he did?"
"No."
Nivara didn't even hesitate, the answer obvious long before the Tinker Mole's question.
"Then why give yourself the same punishment?"
The Mist Maiden flinched, the Tinker Mole's choice of words aggravating but knowing full well that in her heart she deserved it. She had grasped that destructive power with the intent to kill.
"Wayward was a tragedy, yes. But anyone who sees someone as a symbol before seeing them as a person has no right to pass judgement." Anirri continued, sounding very similar to Nivara's mother Odi.
Nivara buried her face in her hands, Anirii's words struggling to reach through her self doubt and loathing. All she could think of was what she didn't do. She should've helped fight the Taishin, negotiated with the mob, outright lied, fled sooner or hide Kaldra long before things turned for the worst.
But she was her Oathed. Nivara would do everything to save her dragon just as Kaldra would've done anything to save her. They had buried her alive without thinking she had such a loyal dragon to rescue her. A dragon she'd give her life for in a heartbeat. Wayward would never understand that.
Surrounded by the frozen night sky, her frost crept along Kaldra's sand swept scales until her breathing snapped back into a hacking cough. Blood, vomit and black sludge came after sheer relief and snow gathering beneath the dunes. Exhausted but alive.
"Least of all pressure you and your Oathed like they did. Laia be damned, a sand trap? May Leaffa grant them mercy because I sure wouldn't."
Nivara lifted her head at the sound of the Sand Wraith's gasp, before it descended into nervous laughter. She managed a smile that soon turned into something a little more akin to a chuckle, Anirii's sudden bout of anger startling them both.
"But, I..."
Nivara's conflicted tone caught the attention of Hackerby, listening quietly and intently as allowed.
"You can't ignore it no matter what you do?"
Nivara glared on instinct alone, before softening a little at his expression before giving him a nod.
"It's called responsibility, kid. Lack of heart, too much of it. None of that matters when the whole damn world is broken."
His bluntness contrasted with the quiet reverence he provided to Anirri, Nivara struggling to resist rolling her eyes at him.
"All you can do is decide on a path and since you've already been down the revenge route..."
Nivara couldn't help but laugh, mocking his simplistic idea that her anger could be so easily diverted into something good and just. Attempting to unravel her bandages, Anirii heard the frantic tearing of gauze and tried to grasp her hands before she could do any more damage to herself.
"You think I can make a change just like that? After what I've done? I thought Calvaros was the only dreamer here but clearly your compass needs fixing, Anirii. It's faulty."
Nivara broke free from the Tinker Mole's attempt, baring her injured wrist at him with the word 'traitor' carved into her flesh. If the Sand Wraith was perturbed by the Mist Maiden's crude point he didn't show it on his face.
His fists clenched, the root Nivara was sitting on began to shift angrily but Anirii simply patted the unruly plant as it settled immediately curled around the chieftess' leg.
"He does need some fine tuning, yes. But I believe in his instincts. After all, if anyone knows how to change my visions it's Hackerby."
The Sand Wraith spluttered incoherently, his scales turning puce as he struggled to compose himself.
"It's not...I-"
"Wow, the villain of Hacksin prison reduced to a sputtering mess." Nivara quipped, unleashing an outburst before she even realised it.
Anirri's laugh was infectious, the two girls giggling like old friends for several minutes while Hack stood awkwardly between them. Nivara sighed in relief, scratching at her scab as her thoughts drifted to her Oathed sleeping in the other room.
Kaldra still couldn't change her size, stuck in a cramped room with only her thoughts and her injuries for company. The dragon drifted in and out of consciousness the last time Nivara visited, barely able to give her anything more than an apology that wasn't necessary. For either of them.
"Fine. I'll hear them out. But just because it's you, Anirri."
Nivara glared at the Sand Wraith, her conviction returning to her in waves of mild anxiety. She didn't like how this council knew who she was but just as she fought Aphia, the Taishin, the mob and even the Shifting Sands itself she'd be damned if she would just sit quietly.
"Don't think I won't call them out on their crap just because they think they're better than me."
No daughter of the storm would run from this. Not without speaking her mind. Anirri smiled, chuckling a little while Hack kept his arms folded.
"I'll be sure to keep that in mind, Stormkeeper Nivara."
Nivara suppressed a wince, standing up to prepare for the meeting but repeating her words from earlier with far less bite.
"Don't call me that."
The Mist Maiden gave her a winning grin, knowing full well Anirri didn't have to see it to know her trust in her decision. The Fatekeeper rose to her feet without a word, her staff and Sand Wraith guard following her with every move.
"Very well. I'll give you some time to prepare. Do be sure to take a look at what I've left you underneath your bed, won't you? Hack and I will wait outside."
With a nod, she was left alone to prepare in silence, the hollow feeling of her missing Oathed startling her for a moment. Taking a deep breath, she cleared the path to her camp bed still surrounded by discarded books and burnt pages.
Hidden beneath the makeshift bedroom Nivara pulled out an old case covered in the dusty, soil packed floor. Taking a moment to undo the rusted latch, her breath was caught in her throat. The smooth, silky surface that she had only seen from afar brushed against her injury.
"Aphia..." She began, unable to finish her thought.
It was the cloak of the High Priestess. Immaculate and smoothly sewn together with barely a blemish in its velvet touched silk. Nivara struggled to remember the name Anirii had given it, the threads to craft it lost to the Shuriken disaster.
"Everchange. It's an Everchange cloak."
Nivara's heart lurched as she turned around to find her Oathed waiting for her in the small alcove of the borrowed library. The tears came long before words. Kaldra leapt into her arms, growling softly against her injuries as if to wordlessly curse whoever caused them.
"But it's not mine..."
Kaldra bounded into the old chest, wriggling against the soft material with every ounce of energy she had. Nivara couldn't help but giggle, her heart aching in relief.
"Well, she's not gonna use it. Not to mention my scent is all over it now, Nessy. May as well make peace with it. You are officially the last Mist Maiden. It's only right you inherit the High Priestess' cloak."
Nivara couldn't help but roll her eyes at the Talonslash's argument, offering her non broken wrist for Kaldra to climb on. Eagerly, she raced up her arm and nestled within the crook of her neck, soothing every ounce of anxiety she had prior to the meeting.
"Alright, Kal. I'll try it on. Just this once."
She gave her partner a wan smile, hesitantly taking the cloak out of the chest. The ream of fabric billowed out in front of her, the finery of such an item overwhelming Nivara momentarily. The Everchange cloak immediately resized to match Nivara's height, the sleeves a little longer than she'd hoped.
With each brief thought that crossed her mind the cloak changed rapidly to match her style and measurements perfectly. It was a little unnerving but incredibly comfortable to find something that was such a perfect fit. Anirri was right about how it adapted to its user but she didn't expect it to be this sensitive.
"Wow. This is insane."
Kaldra laughed, burying her head in the soft cloak and curled around her partner's neck. The periwinkle blue of Aphia's long forgotten cloak now deepened to a navy blue almost indigo sheen to indicate it being passed down to its next user.
"No kidding. See if anything else is in there." Kaldra prompted, half tempted to bound into the box again just to check.
Abiding by her stubborn dragon, the Everchange cloak seemed to soothe her aching injury, her wrist resting at her side while she rooted around for anything else with her other hand.
The bottom of the chest opened out into a second compartment to store her beloved mask. Gently taking it out of the small shelf, her hands ran across the smooth surface until it came across a small nick in the middle. She flinched, remembering how it had been crushed underfoot by the Taishin's mob.
Despite the damage, the mask barely had any indication of being destroyed thanks to the repair job disguising the faint hairline crack. Nivara gingerly hooked the mask over her ears, the bridge of the mask eerily mirroring the burn that seared across her face.
"Oh. Look, Ness. They kept some of it." Kaldra said, her tail pointing toward the lining in the shelf.
Her hand rested against the flecks of burnt material, the disintegrated Tempest cloak remained in shreds of lining as if making its last stand to protect the next stage of her journey. Her chest hurt with nostalgia for the meagre scraps of clothing, the unravelled thread erasing every name she had taken but never the life associated with it.
Breathing in the scent of the sands and warm glow of her home, the Tempest of Caldor wound the strips of her old self around her wrists. Letting them go now would be a disgrace to all of her years as an assassin. Tempest would remain with her as she moved onwards.
"Let's go."
The sweeping new cloak around her shoulders clashed with the bindings around her hands but Nivara paid it no mind. Closing the chest, she scratched Kaldra on the head and pulled up her hood that rested neatly over her mask and closed the door to her makeshift room. Just as promised, Anirri and Hack waited for her outside of the corridor to lead her to the Council meeting just a few minutes away through winding, low ceilings carved with earth but somehow infused with the static buzz of electricity.
"Enter."