Fallblayze was her favourite season.

It was the only sentence Nivara could cling to even as the anxiety of what she had just done echoed like the thoughts in her mind. She could die. Right now. Without a word. Because of a word. She could lose it all with just a Russian roulette of a choice. A shuddering breath that ended quicker than falling asleep. Painted as a kindness even though it was never a choice and always came with regret. Not from her but from those she left behind. Those she dragged down with her.

She brushed her fingertips against the grooves of Kaldra’s scales, asymmetrical and closed her eyes. She never gave her mask a second thought. The little noises built up a picture of her mind, the smell of the lunch she just had with people she never met morphed into her mother’s home cooking just outside the Snake Huts. The smell of burning plants ate away at the smoke and concealed what treasures of smoked meat and vegetables, sending sand and chilling air through the home she loved. That desert wind was why the season was her favourite.

That desert wind reminded her of her mother: Fiora. She was more than a graceful squall of wind but the quiet fury of someone who could outwit a thief and out charm a proprietress in the space of an evening. Without so much as a drop of alcohol and several round sessions of Wyms and Wards she had successfully gotten the thief wrapped around her finger and enough coin to set up her own herbalist shop. After all, that very thief was once her father.

The memory of her mother’s steadfast nature made her thoughts a little sharper on the prospect at hand. She could move. Something that was a rarity in those who experienced it firsthand. Her senses were active, her thoughts racing but still present even as her anxiety threatened to overtake her. She had seen what the Eternal Death took from her family first hand long before any Mist Maiden had taken her in and shown her the cost of a healer. This was not it.

"Is that an accurate breakdown for you, Raven Lord?"

Nivara’s voice didn’t waver, still hoarse from all the explanation she had done prior but who could blame her after throwing her hat into the ring. She suppressed a wry smile, thinking of how her surrogate mother Odi would’ve appreciated her response despite her adoration for puns. Especially if she had seen how close she had been to a mental breakdown.

But she could at least relate to the amount of stress over just a single vision and how cautious every member faced whether they were included or not. Nivara had every right to still be pissed but she was involved now and this web was hers to weave whether she liked it or not and she'd be damned if she didn't earn her place. Regardless of how much of an orator she was.

“I cannot say either way, Stormkeeper. You know that. But I appreciate your candour in our cause. But you’re right about one thing. I did judge you too quickly and for that I am sorry.” Rayner dipped his head a little, his silver mask pinching at his nose even as the light glinted off it from the Sunspell globes above him.

But Nivara couldn’t focus on his apology, her hands still shaking at the reminder of the threshold she had just broken. The smell of incense ached at Nivara’s heart, the thought of a lone Tinker Mole praying just outside these four Charger Craft contained walls, her mind drifting to her days as an apprentice Mist Maiden and caring for so many patients.

The smokestack that used to be the main area to help the wounded was surrounded by riots and ransacked homes, the hot dust being masked with the overpowering clean, fresh smells to hide the sour smell of the Eternal Death. Nivara rubbed at her arms for comfort, rushing through the signs of the ashen disease as best she could with her time assisting matrons and fellow healers.

One moment a Traited could be coherent and the next they had begun to turn to ash in seconds before anyone could reach them. Nivara couldn’t forget the wails from the families returning only to see a pile of ash where the person they loved. The sudden, unexplainable events would send people flocking to the closest healer even as the rules were recited over and over that only a senior matron can perform the ceremony.

She was only a teenager, barely out of escaping her enslavers' grasp and desperate to cling to something familial and to partially atone for what she had done to so many Traited in Neridia. The first time she had seen the Mist Maiden’s was during the Ashes of the Fallen and had been asked to hold the urn while they transferred the ashes through their Trait alone. She had sat with grieving family members while they underwent the difficult process that was now shunned due to Trait's alleged contamination with the path to the afterlife.

Nivara was there when the very ceremony that captured the essence of the Mist Maiden’s dignity soured as Opalis deemed the Ashes of the Fallen absolute
and so many people donated their urns to their cause. Even after the insistence of so many acolytes that the ashes remain with their families they resorted to trinkets and celebrations instead of scattering their ashes into the Shifting Sands. Not even her fellow apprentices were allowed to be put to rest the same way so many had been before.

The reminder of that fact cut like ice piercing her throat. She remembered the night everything changed and she made her vow to become the Tempest of Caldor. The name of the woman who had shown her the path of a healer. The very first revenge she took against the once High Priestess Aphia who had become her last victim. It was the night she had found out what the Mist Maiden’s had become and how the Taishin had infected them all with their doctrine. Somehow, some way they had used the remains of the Traited to strengthen their Oathed or Agar to devastating effects. This had been the basis for the first Truants. This is what solidified her to turn away from being a healer ever again.

“Thank you, for your honesty Rayner. If you’ll give me a moment.” Nivara asked as sweetly as she could muster, giving them ample time to quieten down.

She took a deep breath to try and settle her nerves only to let out a string of Caldorian swears that could put her older brother Lake to shame. Hack and Tuskarr laughed, filling the awkward silence with crude chuckling at the only ones who recognised Caldorian. The others smiled politely, Kaldra making sure to give them the pointed glare and not berate her Oathed for anything.

Nivara smiled at the last time she had seen him, he came home from a secret stint at the Salty Drake tavern and his mother had reamed him across the coals. He had gone to a strictly dragon-only gathering with his Copperback dragon Mercurial and had ended up being kicked out of the Debate and relocated to drinking alone instead. He had arrived home still sloshed singing a bardy tune from the Bolthole’s recesses and Fiora had left him to sleep it off in the spare room. He never woke up. Neither did his Oathed.

“Apologies. Needed to let off some steam. Anyways, back to the task at hand. The vision you made a note of the night my memory of my Trait was erased. I take it, you still have it? Or at least had the good sense to make copies of it?”

The two boys were sniggering after her rude outburst, ignoring them but giving them a sly smile all the same. It strangely set herself at ease like taking a hot bath or a slice of greevy pie, noting how the tension in the group had lessened a lot. Maybe it was her show of humanity to the group but it felt like she had commented with them a little more, like a wall between them had lifted. For better or worse, it seemed she was now part of the Council of Names.

“I did. I had the initial vision Anirri provided scribed and distributed copies of each variation to every leader present. But that was before the Divide came into play.”

Rayner hid his surprise well, recollecting his thoughts like shuffling papers together during a long meeting and answering despite admitting to his own faults. Nivara blinked, processing how long it had been since the Divide had blocked off each country in a dome of their own Trait. It made sense.

“So what happened?” Nivara’s voice was a little kinder here, making use of Odi’s carrot and stick method as Rizelle and Kalaris took a seat despite wanting to keep an eye on Gizmo and Reina.

“Unfortunately, we never heard any word from the other countries again. The multiple Battle Couriers I sent were either killed by our enemies or by the Lockbind itself. We never found their ashes or the precious scrolls they carried. They could’ve distributed them as planned but…”

Rayner’s voice faltered, trying to make sense of what could’ve happened to so many of his members but Nivara couldn’t dwell on that for very long. She could admit to being blindsided by the Divide when it arrived completely out of the blue. Opalis barely gave an announcement for their giant secret project and expected everyone to accept it willingly.

Even if the Raven Lord managed to send them off successfully the likelihood of getting any word back at all or even a non falsified report without knowing so was incredibly likely. Nivara couldn’t help but compare it to the Throneholder’s negligence towards Caldor when the Taishin first set up control and ignored their reports for aid and now took their current reports at face value.

"If they were any of my men I would've dragged them back." Tuskarr interrupted rudely, scoffing at their flaws in leadership as if he was any better with his current group of unruly Havalogs.

Nivara didn’t respond, the tiredness on his face clear even with his mask on while the concrete mention of the elusive Battle Couriers from as far back as the demon wars. They were more than just glorified postmen but were once dedicated to travelling to every remote corner of the realm while battling whatever obstacles along the way. Be it weather, insurgents or even demons themselves they were even given the privilege of riding dragons back long before any Traited could claim to do so. But Tuskarr didn’t believe those stories and neither did anyone else.

"It's not that simple anymore. Even if we wanted to, with the limited access to each country and even without their leader’s approval to pass through the Divide it is…difficult. Especially when past events are…brought to light.” Rayner said evenly, reminding the Havalog of his position and his history with just a few words.

The Tinker Mole’s reputation had never been truly favourable or formidable when up against the brute like badger tusks of the Havalogs or the sneaky shape shifting dragons who could change their size on a dime. But they had exceptional minds and teamwork to put even the armies of Opalis to shame. None would dispute their prowess with technology. But they would certainly exploit it.

Even without the Divide’s interruptions, Tinker Mole’s weren’t exactly accepted and with how far they had to travel it was no wonder Rayner felt responsible. He was a Wildspell elf but despite being exiled from his own kin in Neridia he could not change that just as Nivara herself could not change her Trait. No matter what he called himself or how he hid under the mask of the Raven Lord the war between Nocturus and Neridia had changed the outlook on the Forecaster’s forever.

“What about Caldor's copy? It's probably close by.” Nivara suggested, still clinging to the hope that she could still do something about a war that had fractured so many.

The destruction of Shuriken. Opalis reaping every reward they can. Neridia segregating themselves. The Divide segregating themselves further. The fear of retaliation. No one wanted to end up like Shuriken. Why should they change to suit one man and a handful of disgraced ex slaves compared to the great Throneholder who had brought them everything they could ever want? Who could blame them? She could. But naturally, a part of her blamed himself.

“What about it?”

Nivara caught the Fatekeeper’s wince in the corner of her eye, the Raven Lord’s harsh tone sounded defeated before he’d even begun to explain.

“Even without the Taishin the main Silt Pillar archives were taken over by the Morrosai and Queen Renora is in no mood to cater any of us to recover it. Especially any Tinker Mole’s I dare send on my behalf. We don’t even know if they’re intact. But we know…why they took them.”

“Why?”

The sharp intake of breath was all she needed to know, her brain conjuring the same coiling chains she had seen on Quilla not moments ago around the Raven Lord’s neck. Making a mental note to temper her slight annoyance at being blocked by a stupid books secrets, she focused on what little she knew on the Morrosai’s leader. The elusive Queen of the Wastes didn’t dare involve herself with the Mist Maiden’s or any Traited for that matter especially if races like Tinker Mole’s involved themselves with them. If that didn’t already make themselves be seen as traitors and weak then nothing else would.

“Even I can’t break through the Golden Plains. The damn ferrets won’t give anyone an inch and the Relic Runners-“

“Hack…”

The Sentinel of the Silverwings gave the Sand Wraith a pointed look, the hush over a single look from a sole dragon was enough to mesmerise and momentarily forget their troubles. But Nivara couldn’t help but wonder that whatever Anirii’s vision entailed that even the Morrosai herself at least knew how valuable it was and how much the territory needed to be defended.

Nivara didn’t know much about Queen Renora or the plights of the Morrosai since the Mist Maiden’s mainly stayed around the capital and since their main base was around the surrounding area there was no reason for Tempest to head any further. They liked to keep burrows within the Golden Plains since it was a stable, flat desert with little interference from Traited or any other remote towns nearby. It was the Snake Pits’ original location before it was wiped out by toxic mist.

“What if I went?”

Nivara tried to keep the venom out of her voice, clearly having history without needing the context but at least she was making herself actively involved. Not to mention her haywire Trait and her missing memories but at least she was learning something and hopefully she could help people affected just like her.

“What’s the point of all this, Stormkeeper?”

Nivara blinked, suppressing the urge to argue but her puzzled expression couldn’t help but make her interruption look more like a petulant schoolgirl than a threatening Singfall siren. Half expecting someone else to butt in and respond but they all sat expectantly waiting until Nivara couldn’t help but laugh by the lack of social interaction. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who found her difficult to talk to.

“Not really a point to it, but I thought you understood the rules of the Lockbind, Reina? I am willing to risk what I know. Are you?”

The polite chuckling had the Caithsee assassin playfully elbowing her charge in the ribs, Reina lowering her head bashfully until she smiled at the Mist Maiden genuinely for the first time. Her eyes weren’t as stern as before but Nivara still hadn’t forgiven her for the comments against her Oathed.

“You got some guts, Mist Maiden. Looks like you're keeping to your grimoires namesake.” Tuskarr said, sounding like he was at an after party drinking game rather than a meeting with the strongest members here.

Nivara hid her surprise well, focusing on Kaldra instead of how exactly the Havalog chieftain knew about Retribution but despite the dig to the siren's ego her mood did not falter. She merely rolled her eyes at Tuskarr’s outdatedness while his men began amicably chatting with the other Ravenback Tinker Mole’s and rested their weapons aside for now.

“I’m choosing to risk my life. The same as you all. At least I’m trying to give myself that opportunity. Hopefully the next Timekeeper won’t be changing that any time soon.”

Her dry humour kept the group on their toes and the mood relatively positive but she could tell how uneasy Kaldra was even with her resting comfortably on her lap. Kirai had made their lives a misery once before and even though Nivara didn’t remember it she had no doubt her Oathed was wary of it too and considering how protective she was of her now who knew how much of that was accredited to what happened to her as a child. The only problem was his successor.

Creed was the next Timekeeper. There was no denying it. The Council of Names had failed to stop her own memory modification. But now they wanted her to help them stop the same thing from happening to the next Keepers of Trait. In exchange for all these answers that not even Odi or Anirri could provide, Creed would be hunted down even if his memories had been locked away by Kirai, his predecessor and Nivara would have to do what she always did. Protect him.

“I’m not used to being subjected to my own tactics, Mist Maiden. It seems I need to come up with something other than silence to beat you.” He said, smiling evenly despite clearly being perturbed.

His expression reminded Nivara of her little brother Fenn when he lost a game of Wyrms and Wards and secretly vowed to beat her next time they had a rematch. They never did. She smiled sadly, Kaldra noting her change in mood as she curled up a little closer to get a scale scritch and distract her from the Mist Maiden’s.

"Calling me by my chosen name would be a start."

"Of course, my apologies. Nivara Cross."

Nivara barely registered the apology, still lost in thought despite all the answers she still had to discuss and theories she had to clarify. But she couldn’t get that niggling fear out of her head. She could leave right now. She could walk out of this stupid cave and no one would blame her. No one could stop her.

Not even Kirai could erase her time here or erase what she had learned. She could live in seclusion in the desert just like before, away from society and no one would care. But Creed. He would be hunted for his Trait. Kaldra. She’d be denying her a future on her own. Quilla. She’d be taking her daughter away for good. She had to stay. She had to know.

Her leadership role was important, just like everyone else’s and even if she ran away like a coward there was no doubt the Taishin would find her eventually. Just like Quilla guided her people to avoid them from finding out too much and putting them in danger she had to do the same.

But Nivara didn’t know if she was the right person to decide that for the entirety of Caldor. Was anyone? Was it right to choose what to do over another person’s right to know what was harming them? Did they deserve to know about the Lockbind despite the risk of triggering their own demise?

Would she even want to be a Keeper of Trait after knowing it was closer to harming her every day? Could she live with being the Stormkeeper after what happened to Reina? Would she even want to after seeing how much Creed suffered? Should they remain ignorant just as Kirai wanted or shackled by the burden of knowing one slip of the tongue could be the last thing they ever said?

She didn’t even know why the previous Timekeeper did what he did. He locked away her memories and perhaps even plenty more than just a single Storm Traited. Kaldra too. Creed, his successor. Heck, even Quilla could’ve had missing parts in her memory without even realising it. No wonder her grandmother Aidari had gotten so mad if he had done that to so many unsuspecting civilians.

Nivara couldn’t help but think back to that night. Her grandmother furious at the intruder with that girl, nudging her forwards like some prized cow ready to be sold. The Storm Traited blinked, forcing the horrid thought out of her mind and simply hoped that what happened to her was a simple mistake. Part of her knew it wasn’t but she still hoped for things to be OK. At the end of the day, that was all that mattered.

She had what no one else did at that time. She could decide for herself. Creed couldn’t do that. The efforts Kirai went to cover up the history was now slowly unravelling and clearly it couldn’t be stopped anymore. Like a rolling boulder her own decision rammed into her even as the council continued to debate on what to do. Nivara wanted everyone to be given the right to know. Traited or not. Lockbind or not.

It didn’t matter that she didn’t know the contents whether it was simplistic, in plain sight or layered in so much complexity you needed to decipher each part. She would help them regardless of whether she was Tempest or herself. She would help them even when situations like Wayward beat her down and forced her Trait to break through. She would achieve her goal.

“I'm sorry I had to do that to your grimoire, Nivara. But unlike you, Creed is still out there and although we Guardians have managed to keep him safe…"

Nivara didn’t know if Quilla had the ability to read minds but with how pinpoint accurate her questioning was she couldn’t help but shiver, attempting to give the guilt stricken dragon a smile which probably looked more like a grimace. The Bindsmith still couldn’t get comfortable despite how long they’d been there, shifting every so often even as she looked around the room.

"You still need my help, right?"

Nivara’s simple response made the normally chatty Sand Wraith quiet down for a few seconds, the Silverwing shyly beaming even as Kaldra remained beside her Oathed. She noted Hack’s expression, a mix of confusion and respect for recognising how important it was to them. She could help but be reminded at how easily the Sand Wraith had deflected her attack towards Reina, immediately putting himself in harm's way even as that strange Ash Traited Kalaris joined in on the fight.

"Indeed. This phenomenon of Traited no longer retaining their memories to help understand their Trait hasn’t only just begun recently. And it's not just Traited." Anirri added, looking incredibly tired even after resting for a while beside her unconventional bodyguard.

Nivara couldn’t help but be concerned for the Fatekeeper the complications and limitations to the Lockbind and the variety of Traits and Crafts present making Nivara ponder whether or not Kirai had the same problems. Kalaris still stood with the same stubbornness the Caithsee next to her contained within her despite her laidback demeanour. Anirri rubbed at her eyes, her claws pointed outwards still tipped with amber Forger Craft as Nivara tried to recall the last time she had seen her friend.

"What do you mean?" She asked, half distracted but considering how linked everything is she was able to keep track and follow along despite her incessant theories.

Anirri had still had some sight the first time they met, analysing the Divide together despite her set of intricate lenses to assist with her deteriorating vision. That was only a few months ago and even though Nivara knew her Craft had a cost the vague explanation of how her Drifting into the future had taken her sight for good was still unclear. The idea of such a power having a cost and having some experience in being a healer she scanned through the options of all the different people in her mind and tried to sort out what she knew. But not before the Sand Wraith put a wrench in her plans and pushed it back to the present.

"We Guardians call it the Missing Decade. The time where no one, not even the Sand Wraiths or Forecasters can remember when and how the Divide came to be."

If Nivara had a drink her expression would probably be compared to a spit take, completely dumbfounded despite everything that had been discussed so far. Missing memories, future telling, time wielding and mysterious grimoires that could trigger a genocide full of untapped and unexplainable power was nothing compared to the thought of an entire decade of undocumented history.

This unseen decade full of forgotten people, events, friends, family and so much unfathomable information leading from one year into the next was…she didn’t have the words. No one did. Some of the oldest races who could outlive the Traited tenfold didn’t have a single memory of the past ten years. Wherever they slotted into the equation of madness that was the history of the Raven Lord and those currently in the room with her. Forecasters included.

"All we know is as soon as anyone steps into or out of another country, we only remember our time within a single place. The moment we pass through the Dominion from Caldor to Neridia for example, it's all gone." Kalaris said as if attempting to temper the salt she had added into the open wound.

How the Ash Traited had remained so impassive throughout everything continued to churn in Nivara’s stomach in a mix of awe and horror, this entire conversation seeming entirely irrelevant compared to the company she kept and the hat she hid her gaze under. But despite all of those revelations a small thought burned in her mind like a beacon as she sat under the very caves that protected her with the only sense of protection that only her cloak had provided up until now. This was why the Labyrinth existed. To protect their minds from the control of the Divide.

Nivara let a shaky breath out, meeting the stern woman’s gaze before making a blatant look towards the Charger Craft covered walls still humming with untapped power and looked back at her with her head raised. She nodded wordlessly, a whisper towards the Fatekeeper who could only hide her shame by staring aimlessly at the Mist Maiden. Nivara couldn’t even comprehend it.

"That's insane. Surely I remember…"

She couldn’t even finish her sentence, attempting to look back at her time in the Undercity but her mind couldn’t focus on anything. Not the street she grew up in, not the building, not her mother’s features or the neighbour's kid who she used to play with. Normally the little details wouldn’t matter for a childhood like hers but the fact she couldn’t even remember what Odi even looked like with her sister being right there was…heartbreaking.

She couldn’t picture her own surrogate mother’s face. She couldn’t remember all the kids she was locked up with from the Taishin despite spending years with them. All she could remember was the moment after she passed through the Divide, dazed and confused somehow on the other side of Caldor despite the Demon’s Gabit commanding all the other Caldorians back from the edge. They never gave the trading nobles a second glance.

Nivara didn’t remember what age she was back then but she did remember a brief conversation with Kaldra when she was young about her already missing memories. Which meant not only had she forgotten her time in the Undercity but even before the Divide made its mark on her, at that point she couldn’t remember her parents. Her siblings. Her grandmother. None of them. Not until the man who kidnapped her, the man claiming to be the Timekeeper was killed.

"What…what did you do? What did you do to me?"

Nivara didn’t feel human. She didn’t feel anything. Her mind was a mess of calm, her breath nonexistent and her thoughts blank but consumed by only one thought. She caused all of this. It was her fault. The man who imprisoned so many Traited and forced her as a child to forget her own Storm Trait could have been one in the same. He had been killed by her hand. Long before she knew who he was. Before she knew who she truly was.

To lose herself, not once, not twice but three times so unsuspectingly and unwillingly without so much as a warning only to be the one to set everything in motion. She could almost feel the coiling strands of chains that had once adorned a Silverwing dragon's scales, the tattoo inked against her skin burning and coiling like the mist that had seeped through the cracks in her family's sand hut. The Lockbind had taken a hold of her grimoire.

"It's alright, little one. It's alright."

Quilla’s voice tried to soothe her much like Odi used to when she was upset but despite her voice feeling nostalgic, the reminder that she didn’t even know what her beloved dragon mother looked like despite her hazy form still fresh in her mind. It was like someone wiping away frost on a window but it was still frosted over.

It was so cold that she could feel how much the clouded memory stung her chest. Nivara blinked, her eyes wet with tears even as she clenched the dirt strewn floor with her back against an unfamiliar surface. She was on the floor, chair abandoned and empty other than her discarded cloak that felt like her identity. Especially when her identity had been erased multiple times.

Her eyes burned back into hazy focus, her breathing a touch easier despite all the emotions flooding through her system as she forced her brain into focusing on something, anything but the feeling of being constantly choked. Anirii’s vision was the only thing that came to mind, the thought that Traited could only recall flashes of memories but not have the same cognitive abilities long term but it made sense as to why they partnered with dragons.

"Let me help you."

Nivara’s gaze latched onto Quilla with all her might, helpless and afraid it brought her back to the first time she saw a dragon for the first time. Steadying her breath, she tried to focus on the Silverwing in front of her instead of the faint silhouette that was her mother. Quilla was the only one who ever admitted to having the answers she was searching for years.

How she had sealed her grimoire, hidden part of her Storm Trait along with the core learning and memories she had associated with it. Nivara’s grimoire had summoned long before she had even noticed it, floating ominously beside the very Bindsmith that had so callously ripped out so much that made it whole. Retribution had come to avenge its namesake.

Unlike all the other mentions to Quilla’s guilt ridden profession she seemed completely unbothered by the grimoire’s posturing and instead of backing away from the inky storm of its cover she smiled gratefully at its interruption. There was only one reason for a grimoire to arrive at this moment. Her life was in danger.

"Let me show you."