“You didn’t have to follow me out here y’know.”

Nivara could barely see the back of the gruffly spoken dragon against the storm. His scales were caked in mud, a slick film of rain still covered him yet the glow of his scales managed to cut through the night like a blitz of white flame. His tail began to twitch as if eager to use it against an unsuspecting Regent. But Nivara knew an act when she saw one.

Ethros, the Throneholder of Opalis was sulking.

Nivara ran round the last corner towards him before stopping to take in large gulps of air, her hands leaned against her legs as her back keeled forwards in exhaustion. She didn’t care about her demeanour, her Everchange cloak flapping in the wind alongside her soaked hair and rain streaked mask, sticky from the dirt and grime conjured up by the squall. It took every effort not to turn the corner towards her quarters away from the barely visible Watchtower and leave her search for another time but Ethros’ grief stricken features did more to her frozen heart than her own dragon ever could.

“I wanted to.” she said, after several minutes of weary silence.

The dragon let out a harrumph, not believing any of it. He sat closest to the horizon, overlooking the stormy skies without so much as a wince. Opalis was his home. Nivara knew why he was here. This was the best view of the city. Adorned by pillars of sleek arkalite marble, signifying the start of the Divide, the greatest Trait achievement since...since...well, Trait itself. No ounce of demonic or necromantic energy could exist beyond its walls and soon, every nation in Para Dormus had one. All because of his Oathed. His partner. His Throneholder.

“Ethros, please. Come inside out of the rain.” Nivara insisted, desperate to reach him after running so far.

“No.”

She sighed at his dismissal, giving her nothing to work with as always. She hated using the Oathed card but it was the only way to get some kind of response from the stubborn, old Novawraith. Running in a storm like this one was easy with enough practice but alongside the added bonus of a Lockbind curse? Near impossible.

“Aria wouldn’t want you to-”

“You have no idea what Aria would want! You threatened to kill people with their own Trait!” he roared, his head whipping around to meet Nivara face to face.

The cold embrace of the chill reminded him of exactly what he had lost and exactly who he had been left with instead. Nivara wasn’t his Regent. She was expendable. The Mist Maiden could see every emotion etched on his face like the thousands of scales adorning his pale body. The rainstorm swirled around her, attempting to force her down, away from her goal but she wasn’t having any of it. She fought against the storm as best she could, gripping the sleeves of her cloak ever tighter, sinking her feet into the mud despite its attempts to veer her off course.

“I had no choice! They were looking for you. I SAW how powerful those two were on their own, with the state you were in they could have killed you, Ethros!” she yelled back just as loud, barely being heard across the roar of the wind.

Ethros snorted with derision, barely acknowledging her argument, despite only seeing sections of it through memories and visions. He wasn’t there. He hadn’t seen the look in their eyes. He hadn’t been controlled because he could never be controlled. He only saw what he wanted to see. He wasn’t there when she needed him.

“So you used your life as sacrifice, is that it? You are our Regent, Nivara! Risking your life like that-”

Nivara scoffed in response, not letting him finish. She knew the contradictory words were cutting through her much more than any Lockbind ever could. She clutched her side, desperately trying to keep her balance despite the ache of her vow, amidst the anger running through her veins.

“Oh, so suddenly I’m your Regent now, am I?” she sneered, the albino dragon suddenly taken aback by her words, stunned into silence.

How dare he call her his Regent after everything he had said to denounce her of that title? How dare he think that she was so reckless, so foolhardy that she would do that for a dragon she just met. She had lied, yes but it most certainly wasn't for him or Opalis. It was for herself.

“Regent Nivara the half drenched Mist Maiden! What happened to having me as a ‘midnight snack, hmm? Do you not like your Water Traited frozen, is that it?”

“No, I-” Ethros began but she quickly cut him off just like he had done to her moments before.

“Or is it the fact you ordered me to send every ounce of our defences away all because you were in a mood about Aria. Guess what you big sulking, sack of scales? We were infiltrated by a ruddy Tarragon of all people with a Lightning Traited in the middle of the biggest storm I’ve ever seen and I had to fight BOTH OF THEM ON MY OWN!”

“Enough!” he snarled, the force of his roar breaking through the buffeting winds with ease.

The storm rumbled in response to her fury, the rain changing to sleet in an instant, a small section of hailstones raining down on the Light Dragon. Nivara’s conviction for her goal would not waver, no matter what happened, she had to keep going. No matter what the cost.

“Enough of this, Nivara.” the regal dragon repeated, eyes cold and hard.

Nivara took a wary step backwards, her hands slick with sweat, her breathing laboured by the outburst she hadn’t meant to make but the pain and anguish she felt up to now burst past her breaking point with a vengeance. The mud had dried considerably, thanks to the power of their Throneholder, the morning sun giving way to the shimmering rainbow of glassy scales before it disappeared against the sunrise.

“I understand you’re upset, truly I do and I can only apologise for my foolish actions. But I assure you, it was not my intention to hurt you in any way.” Ethros said, his voice lowering in magnitude and strength.

Nivara took a deep breath, allowing the lingering moisture in the air to cool her head somewhat, trying to make sense of the dragons words and the turmoil within her heart.

She had made a promise herself and a Mist Maiden never turned her back on a promise like that. She would do what needed to be done. She would say what needed to be said no matter if no one listened.

“Then what, was your intention?” she said, glaring stonily at him despite her uncertainty about his possible reaction.

She let the sky carry her silent plea right up to the heavens where the remnants of Hellgrind still clung to the endless expanse of darkness.

No one knew what lurked above the Divide, those who dwelled past Opalis only entered another's borders, another Trait barrier protecting each individual capital. United in fear yet divided by choice.

“I..” he began, unable to deny or confirm her accusation.

Nivara could hear his hesitation quicker than the sun glinting against his rain dappled scales, shivering against the sudden warmth seeping through his veins. Dragons may have been able to detect lies but that didn’t stop them from telling them. Those who knew where to look knew exactly how to interpret them. A jerk of the head. A flicker of uncertainty. Nivara knew he was hiding something. She just didn’t know what.

Ethros took a wheezy breath, filling his large lungs with the newly emerging light he adored so much. It left him empty and hollow without his Traited beside him. His Oathed. Nivara knew the look in his eyes would never be the same again unless she recovered. Nivara knew little of Lady Aria’s fate but she knew that Ethros would not be standing here talking if she was dead. Ethros took one last, long look at the beautiful horizon before him, finally deciding to confess.

“I knew that someone from Tarragon would infiltrate the Opalace one way or another. I just didn’t know when.”

It was if time itself had stopped. Nivara’s breath hitched, her heart hammering as her jaw tensed, half in shock half in irritation at not only her own foolishness but her Throneholders biased intentions to keep damning secrets which could have prevented so much pain and suffering. She hid her emotions beneath her mask, forcing herself to react calm and neutral, her mouth drawn together in a neat line.

“So, why didn’t you tell me?” she said, her voice venomously cold, enunciating every word like a dagger in his heart.

Nivara watched as Ethros dared to look away, not wanting her to see the fear in his eyes as she felt her cloak began to change. Anyone who was anyone knew the stories of the Mist Maidens, the Cobalt Cloaks of Caldor. That if they were smart, they would avoid ever angering them. Because if they did, their cloaks would shorten on command for they would have no need of them once they were finished with those who had dared to disrespect their clan.

“I...I couldn’t. Not yet.” he hesitated, trailing off as Nivara stood her ground, folding her now bare arms, abrasively. “Lady Aria was told of the circumstances the vision thanks to my Predictor Trait and we chose the best course of action before the demons broke through. Together.”

Nivara let out a quiet growl of annoyance not dissimilar to a dragons’ disapproval.

“Dismissing all of the Excelliars was the best course of action?” Nivara said, bluntly not giving a damn about hiding her true nature.

Ethros said nothing, merely noting her change in mood as she quickly settled herself behind the mask she had been forced to wear. Getting annoyed was not a good way to avoid suspicion, good intentions or not. She had to act both loyal and submissive, even if she didn’t feel like doing so at the time.

“Yes. If a Tarragon could control even one Traited, who knows what chaos could occur if they managed to influence the entire Excelliar clan. Especially you.”

Nivara paused for a moment, considering the intentions of his words as she scuffed her shoes against the now sun dried soil, tiny seedlings beginning to sprout due to the rapidness of the interchanging Trait. Their exposure to a sudden storm alongside an extremely powerful light had caused them to thrive rapidly, light and storm working in harmony to create something from nothing in the blink of an eye.

What would happen if both of those Traited were under the influence of a Tarragon? What if Ethros knew what her Trait was really capable of? Then he’d know what she was and then...

Nivara’s face went pale at the thought, still mostly hidden by the contours of her mask. She looked around at the damage and devastation they both had wrought on the land, all because of one argument. Trees of pink and purple leaves had been uprooted from their placeholders, the natural border giving way to the scattering of arkalite stone which had been wrenched from its supporting pillars, turning all manner of creatures and objects hurtling in every direction all because of her inability to hide the truth. And here she was, ridiculing her very own Throneholder for doing exactly the same thing.

“Why me?” she said at last, staring up at him with eyes full of confusion. “Why not tell me this sooner? I could have prepared better, I could have...”

She trailed off, unable to process what could have been without thinking of what she had done to ensure her own survival.

“Trust me, I didn’t want to keep you in the dark either.” Ethros said, his mournful tone echoing off the top of the cliffside. “Before Lady Aria was...fatally injured, she ordered me that no matter what happened, the Opalace was to be kept empty with you still in it regardless of any suspicions I may have had.”

Nivara jolted back in shock, as if being struck by lightning all over again.

“So...the meeting with you. The obsession over the black grimoire. Even proclaiming my disloyalty to my face was all an act?” she said, incredulously.

“Mostly, yes.”

Nivara was hardly able to believe it. She had fought long and hard to get him to listen, only for him to admit his opinions had been all a lie. Nivara stayed silent unable to respond as Ethros’ morose features continued to sully the nature of the conversation. After all, it was her who was supposed to be the liar, wasn’t it? That was the Silvertongue potions purpose after all.

“I know it was cruel for our first official meeting but we needed to lure them out with enough information to sound believable. Aria wasn’t here. It needed to come from me.” Ethros continued, still trying to justify his actions despite the fact she was not of higher ranking than him.

Nivara stayed eerily silent, unsure of how to comprehend his unending explanations. It was like the Throne Room Incident all over again except this time instead of being bombarded with accusations it was a stream of continuous thoughts and genuine feelings pouring out from the opalescent dragon. It was like whiplash, the contrast in conversation to the point where Nivara could barely look at him, deciding instead to concentrate on the seedlings just as before.

“I had intended to apprehend the intruders myself but since we didn’t know whether you were acting under Tarragon influence or not, we had to be extra careful.”

Still he continued on, regardless of what she could say in her defense, Nivara felt that even if she did she’d have no right to interrupt until he was finished. Was that the obedient side of her blocking her desire for answers or was she so distraught by all that had happened? No. No she had experienced much worse in Caldor than any Traited could ever imagined. This was all words, conjecture to lead her astray but it wouldn’t work. Not anymore.

“I see.” she said coldly, remembering how he still said we despite his Oathed still being injured.

Ethros took a step back, his claws slipping against the loose earth, trampling the plants below. He had been completely unaware of how hurt Nivara had been hurt by this, even with her no nonsense stare, arms folded in disgust. It had taken just two words to show how she truly felt and a single gesture from her now shortened cloak to shock him into silence. Now it was her turn to speak.

“So, you used this to test my loyalty as Regent while obtaining the identity of the intruders through no risk of your own. How convenient.” she said, eyebrow raised.

Ethros hesitated, attempting to close the gap by lowering his head in sorrow but Nivara would not budge. Not until she saw the proof of his words. She had been comforted by them once before, even feared them but right now he could barely conjure a drake to water than use his heritage to lure her to his side. He had to earn it.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I wouldn’t either. I just need you to understand how important this is, Regent or not.” Ethros said, sighing as he prepared to head off again.

“That’s the problem. I don’t understand.”

Nivara’s blunt tone was soft but firm and laced with frustration, fingers gripping at the sleeves of her threadbare shirt as she fought against her own trustworthy nature. She always tried to see the best in people, regardless of how the world she grew up in denied her of that. Even when the Mist Maidens were banished to Caldor to burn under the blazing sun she had found a way to adapt and survive, surpassing her ancestors by triumphing where they had failed.

But now? She had no choice to be as cautious and callous as they were, treading over every word like it was her last. Frustrated or not, the Silvertongue potion was still in effect regardless of how her emotions had dictated the situation. She didn’t know how long she had left but she knew this would need to finish sooner or later.

“I’m done listening to your theories, Ethros. Speculation doesn’t get results. Proof does.”

Nivara let out a huff, turning on her heel and heading back out towards the broken Opalace, ignoring the pristine scenery behind her lit by the morning sun. She was tired of digging for answers. She had told him all she knew. It was up to her Throneholder to figure out which side of the Divide he was on.

“Then, let me show it to you.” he said at last, deciding to put one foot in front of the other and face her head on.

Ethros had cut off her path with one swift movement, his head held not in shame or intimidation but understanding. Understanding that she wanted to be treated as an equal, as a true Regent should. Nivara raised an eyebrow, not out of derision or amusement but out of a stunned silence of uneven respect she had yet to decide what exactly to do about it.

“Please.”

Nivara flinched at the sincerity in such a word, closing her eyes to the world as she listened to the quiet rumblings of the earth, recognising the distinct clumsiness of a dragon attempting to back up like a truck. Her mouth pinched as she fought against the urge to smile and watch such a majestic feat take place. Taking in a deep breath of the crisp, cool morning air she opened her eyes and arms as her Everchange cloak flowed gracefully down into its rightful place, clinging it tightly just to make sure.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

………….

The Watchtower was a long, narrow column of arkalite stone, used long before the Divide when defenses were sparse and demons were frequent. Now it was used only for storage. Or at least that’s what Nivara had thought. The winding steps leading up to the observatory had been smashed away in a rush, bits of brick and stone slammed away in an instant for a clear space. The imprints of desperate, cleaving claw marks had sheared through the tower as if it had been attacked from above and had opened up the large, narrow ceiling as if no longer being fit for purpose. Except one.

Nivara stayed deathly quiet, only daring to put one foot in front of the other ever so slowly as not to disturb the unbroken peace in the dimming gloom. There, in the centre of the hastily cleared Watchtower, illuminated in her own dull glow of light was the reason for all this secrecy.

Lady Aria. The Throneholder of Opalis.

She seemed to be in a deep sleep, hovering a few metres above the dusty floor as if it was too unclean to allow her to touch it. Her armour was blemished by streaks of blood, both red and black, chipped and shredded from arm to arm like pages ripped out of her very own grimoire. This very grimoire which was now tucked between her clasped hands like a mother dragon to her precious egg. But this grimoire was marred by thick, rusted chains which forced the vessel closed.

“This...is what I’ve been keeping from you, from everyone.”

Nivara couldn’t respond, her gaze transfixed on the white grimoire and the translucent wisps of light emanating all around it. She shivered despite herself, the eeriness of the light reminding her of the constantly looming demons hovering above the Divide, presumably waiting to feed on whatever grimoires they could find. Some preferred devouring flesh or Trait itself but most were Bookeaters, aiming straight for the source with their unyielding grasp to pull a grimoire straight from a Traited without needing to have it summoned. A grimoire was the essence of a Traited and they could pluck it right out of existence, ripping through reality and Trait itself.

But these things? They were different.

They reminded Nivara of a sunken balloon normally kept afloat by an Air Traited during festivals and celebrations. But these...souls, these wisps of light were alive and hundreds of them were leering around the very person keeping them there. The white grimoire was a powerful one indeed if it could produce so many of these things.

“What ARE they?” Nivara finally blurted out, louder than she expected.

The Watchtower echoed her voice upwards, making her wince at the magnitude of the sound. Ethros paid no mind, scuffing his claws against the stone guiltily as he send clouds of dust billowing into the air.

“I...I don’t know for sure but I’ve named them...the Soulless.”

Nivara’s heart dropped at the sight of them. No wonder Ethros had kept all this a secret. He barely knew what it was himself, had he kept this hidden within the confines of the Opalace, Lady Aria would have been found by the intruders he had seen within his vision. He was torn between protecting his home and his Oathed and she had been stuck right in the middle of it.

“Aria told me before that...they are people without Trait or grimoires but still clinging to life outside the Laia. I’ve tried cleansing them with a light blast but they just...float there.” Ethros admitted, his nervousness settling just enough to explain.

Nivara placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, his size had decreased a little to allow him entrance. He gave her a small smile before shuffling closer to his Oathed, suspended by ethereal strings of light. He looked on mournfully, the Soulless allowing him to rest his head on her sleeping form.

“My Oathed...” he said quietly, growling at the sight of her grimoire bound closed by chains. “Aria. My Aria. Is cursed.”

Nivara’s hands moved to her mouth without thinking, her shock no longer being able to be contained as her Trait trickled out from beneath her cloak to help steady her emotions. Ethros nuzzled Aria’s hand softly, a solemn cry threatening to overwhelm him but he fought it back, raising his head once again to turn towards Nivara.

“She had been cursed since we were young but, neither of us know why or how it came to be. What was described...the Caldorians know it as a Surazal curse.”

Nivara shook her head in disbelief, letting her hands fall to her sides, rigid but determined. Caldorian or not, she knew nothing of it or her history with Mist Maidens or the nature of curses. But she knew what he meant by Surazal. It meant a broken mind. Not only was Lady Aria in a coma, but her memory was being fractured every moment. Surazal was a Severing curse created to torture in the worst way possible, forcing those afflicted to stay silent until it was too late.

“I’ve never heard of it. It could be in the Halls of Mediation archives or the Caldorian tomes but the only other person I know who-”

“Don’t. Please. Don’t say her name.”

Nivara stopped instantly, fearing her Throneholders wrath but instead seeing nothing but shame and loss. He knew who she was going to mention, who anyone in Opalis would mention when it came to the topic of curses, be it Trait, necromantic or anything else. The rarity of it was both a blessing and a burden and no one else knew it better than the terror of Hellgrind.

“We knew and ignored it, thinking it would go away with time but each time I saw the truth it made her mind scream in pain. I knew but I still needed to see that we would be safe. That her creation of the Divide would be a success for all. I couldn’t deny her of that when...when that was all she lived for!”

The Novawraith dragon roared in anguish, collapsing to the ground as the Soulless scattered up higher towards the roof, not daring to go any further away from their target.

Nivara felt a burst of sorrow for the dragon, his partnership mirroring her own as her mist swept around him, comforting him in a blanket of indigo.

“I’m so sorry, Ethros.” Nivara said, her words feeling like sand against her throat. “If I knew, maybe…”

“No.” Ethros said, his voice booming against the stone, sending the arkalite flaring brightly in response. “No. There’s nothing you could have done. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

The dragon rested his head on his claws, now no bigger than a large dog. He was grieving, grieving for the partner he no longer could be with without hurting her. His eyes no longer full of hope, he stared up at the slowly descending Soulless, letting out a wail.

“How...how did it happen?” Nivara asked softly, hands shaking beneath her sleeves.

Ethros stared at her, eyes glazed over as if he hadn’t quite understood the question. His tail once jittery and full of life was now limp and still, his scales now devoid of light as a morose grey washed over him. The rising sun did nothing to brighten his mood as it peaked through the slits in the Watchtower. He let out a sigh, Nivara’s patience wearing him out as he conjured up the courage to speak of the night he dreaded most.

“I take it you know the difference between an Oathed and an Agar?” he muttered, not unlike his sulking mood before.

Nivara nodded beneath her hood, suddenly unnerved by the dragon's gaze was more than enough of a hint to prove what she knew. Dragons were normally the one’s thirsting for knowledge, after all.

“An Agar is a temporary contract between creature and Traited and an Oathed is permanent one. Agars are more likely to turn Truant as they do not crumble alongside their partner but still experience the pain of losing them.” Nivara said, reciting the explanation as easy as breathing.

Ethros scoffed, startling Nivara with his cold response. “Straight out of a textbook.”

“Not entirely wrong though. Agars are like minded individuals, the contract is normally made through a common goal or reason. Be it a dream or the need to survive or in some cases, the need to destroy everything that had wronged them.”

Nivara wrung her hands together, attempting to cast out the memories of Truants plaguing her mind as Ethros continued on, his tone changing to one more suited to a blunt lecturer than a heartbroken dragon.

“It’s the equivalent of making a childish promise but normally has the capabilities to at least level a town or two.”

Nivara’s jaw dropped, her hands balled into fists at his callousness. She took a deep breath and told herself that this was how he dealt with grief. Many dragons used their superiority to hide their intentions and as she had seen in the throne room, Ethros liked using this technique a lot.

“But the Oathed? he said, trailing off as he shut his eyes in pain. “We are more than just a simple promise. We do not share a soul like some would believe but we are attuned to each other like no one else could. I know Aria like I know myself and it is more than just being bound by Trait.”

Nivara stood awkwardly beside him, unsure of how to comfort him in a time of great sadness and confusion. But, she knew somewhere deep down there had to be a cause for all this. Ethros knew it but continued to deny it, wallowing in his own self guilt as you would expect from a dragon so devoted to his Oathed.

“What good is a Predictor Trait if your Oathed can see it coming but you can’t? What good is it if it becomes the reason for her pain, her suffering? What good is it if I can’t prevent the vision I despise most from coming to pass?”

The white dragon slumped on the ground, whining quietly much like a dog without an owner as he tried to rest his weary mind. Nivara watched helplessly, before kneeling down beside him and embraced him tightly.

“You can’t stop the worst from happening. You can only try. Aria tried to protect you just the way you protected her from those demons. She gave you enough time to escape. Surely, that’s all you need? To believe in her choices?”

Ethros sniffed, his head weaving back around to face her once more, his scales still damp from the storm. Nivara didn’t care, gently stroking the ridges on his back as he rumbled in response. Her mist wound its way round him, pawing his midsection like a friendly cat as he yawned in response.

“Perhaps.”

Nivara gave him a small smile, continuing to stay by his side just as Ethros had done for her. Regent or not, Throneholder or not she still had a right to be there for him. Her Trait still clung beside him, showing flashes of his own memories as easy as ever, strand by strand, inch by inch his eyes began to droop closed.

Nivara breathed a sigh of relief and slowly picked herself up off the floor, making sure not to wake such a tempermental dragon as his tail nudged the beams of light haphazardly, almost singing the edge of her cloak. She stared back at him, mildly annoyed but continued on long enough to reach the lowering platform as she caught a sound in the distance, forcing her to freeze. Nivara heard Ethros murmur his last thought aloud which made even her deceiving heart ache.

“Perhaps I shouldn't have been her Oathed in the first place.”