Nivara’s breath felt cold.

The pounding in her head became a thunderous roar of a dragon, her heartbeat far louder than she had ever thought possible. The chill night air of Caldor felt strange, unfamiliar even as Aidari’s wrinkled hands against her armchair became rigid and numb. Kirai’s Tarragon's green eyes still burned in her mind.

“Nivara!”

Fiora’s scream sounded warbled, lost underwater in a bubble of sound she couldn’t break through. Nivara couldn't turn her head, her eyes unfocused, still swimming with all the information Aidari had tried to force feed her in a matter of minutes.

“Tempest! Can you hear me?”

The silver glow of Fiora’s Air Trait became sharper, angular with a row of teeth more akin to a demon than her mother. Nivara shrieked, still pinned in place even as she tried to flee, her chair pitching backwards in surprise. Her body slammed on the ground mid seizure, caught in the Surge’s grip until the entire weight of the ceiling began to crack. Nivara had never been afraid of sand until the Silt Pillars.

“Nessra!”

The sand that had once surrounded her evaporated into a flash freeze of her own making. Like being shunted out of a bad dream, Nivara awoke into cold sweats, desperate to breathe despite the sand clogging her throat but there was nothing to be found. Nothing except frost.

"What…what was that? What…"

Nivara’s hand immediately clamped over her mouth in an attempt to stop herself from retching, desperate to clear herself of every granule that had covered her skin. The sand was cold against her clothes, melting instantly into unfamiliar snowflakes until the fear of being buried slowly subsided.

"It’s alright, it’s alright. It was just a Memory Weave. I showed you the night you were forced to forget your Trait.”

Quilla’s soothing voice didn’t do anything to comfort her. Nivara’s chair was coated in ice, an immovable throne of her own making that refused to move no matter how much her Trait carved into it. The frost that encased her brittle hands began to thaw, the wraps around her arms now soaked but the strange Everchange cloak she had stolen, inherited, remained bone dry.

“But I wasn’t there. I wasn’t a kid in the memory…I-I was Aidari.”

Nivara felt like she had been punched in the face.

The kind, grandmotherly face of a dragon became stern, hiding the fear and horror between a mask of control. Nivara knew that mask. It only meant one thing. Quilla hadn't been the one to send her into that memory.

“What did you see?”

Quilla's demanding tone hid her desperation from the others, Nivara craning her neck to try and gauge other people's reactions but the Sentinel's ice blue eyes refused to let her look away. Nivara shivered, not used to feeling the cold.

"The Timekeeper….he arrived into Aidari's home unexpectedly. Alone. No Agar, no apprentice. Nothing." She said, her voice shuddering against the sudden cold and nerves.

Anirii’s set of intricate cave systems were now dusted in a fine layer of snow, Nivara attempting to shrink away apologetically from her erratic Storm Traits outburst. She shuffled awkwardly in her chair, ignoring the snuffles and sneezes from some of the Dunefur Tinker Mole’s, their pale blonde fur still too short for travel beyond Caldor.

“I was…I mean, my younger self was asleep throughout the entire thing. I wasn’t ushered away or protected by my mother like I initially thought. We were all asleep. My family died in their sleep and he…”

Nivara couldn’t finish her sentence, her mind conjuring all manner of vague nightmarish scenarios her grandmother’s last moments had led to. She didn’t need to be a detective to figure out why the memory had ended as abruptly as it did.

The sound of scraping wood caught her attention.

A small tug on Nivara’s sleeve awoke her from her ramblings, a pristine glass now sat in front of her with the clearest water she had ever seen. The cloaked Sunspell elf from earlier, Sybil she corrected herself, gave her a short nod towards the strange object before giving the intimidating dragon a pointed glare to halt the interrogation until Nivara had calmed down.

Quilla looked away bashfully, wordlessly complying and halving her size until her head was around the same height as the table. Nivara didn’t know what to make of the offering, staring at it until finally, risking the tiniest sip just to placate her host. The sigh of relief she let out made her blush.

The cool, fresh water felt like a long bath after a long night hiking through the dunes, the strange counterpoint of cold weather and a cold drink was strangely addicting to her. Sybil smiled at her response, the Sunspell elf responding with an expression so genuine it almost made Nivara speechless.

With a twist of her hand, the icy interior returned to its warm and inviting setting, the nippy temperature rising to a nice tepid heat that gave enough reprieve to allow Nivara to collect her thoughts. The fear of triggering an ancient curse clawed at her throat but with every surge of anxiety, the small gesture Sybil had given her was enough to steel her nerves and answer the awaiting Sentinel’s concerns.

“Go on.”

Nivara swallowed and took a deep breath.

“They spoke of the Green Seas war. Of their role as Keeper’s. Kirai still wanted to search for more Keeper’s of Trait for some reason but Aidari told him not to. I don’t know why but Kirai…went behind her back and Aidari got mad but he refused to listen but…then he just left. He said he had an apprentice to look after. Aria, I think her name was.”

Sybil stumbled on her way to collect Nivara’s empty glass, knocking it over accidentally with her elbow as if shocked by the discussion and tried to hide it by rubbing her arm and giving an awkward grin. Turning her back on the curious Stormkeeper the once vacant stare of the elf became white hot with fury before flickering back to the uninterested mask of another unwilling participant in the meeting of greats.

Nivara took the time to process each member’s expressions before her. Rayner. Hack. Anirri. They each shared a knowing glance with the Sentinel that seemed to stretch on for mere minutes, or at least until Sybil let go of the Ironwood table, the indents of her fingerprints burned permanently within it.

The confused expressions of Calvaros, Sashio and Kalaris mirrored her own dragon’s perfectly until a loud clatter of nondescript furniture alluded to the elven’s true feelings. The smell of burned wood overwhelmed her senses and Nivara didn’t have the heart to ask any more questions. It was clear who held the answers in this court.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

The Stormkeeper flinched, half expecting to find herself being yelled at but the Raven Lord leaned forwards as if deciphering some particularly interesting gossip. Kaldra coiled against the back of her chair, her tail curling close to her just to let Nivara know she was there and hissed at the overeager elf.

The guilt stricken look in Rayner’s eyes vanished under his silver hooked mask, his attention no longer towards the absent Sunspell elf but listening fully and completely to her instead. Nivara fought the urge to bite her lip, knowing full well that every dragon present would let their voice be known if she even dared to lie.

“But the memory felt…false. When he left. It was rushed and didn’t feel like a real conversation. I think he did something to the memory-“

“That’s impossible.”

The sheer certainty in Kalaris’ voice made Nivara’s stomach hurt, the lackadaisical nature of her stance contradicting the steely glare in her eyes. Her peaked hat obscured the majority of her expression but not even hiding the shadows could hide her fury. The strangely dressed woman took a micro step forwards as if the practised movement had come from Kirai’s instruction himself. After all, she had been his apprentice.

“I know what I saw.” Nivara snapped, trying to sound like a well practised leader and less like a petulant child.

Kalaris didn’t give her the luxury of a response.

Her raised chin was more like a spit in the face, her vehement denial infuriating Nivara far more than any poxy debate between clan leaders. She couldn’t help but be reminded of how Kirai talked about his own Master. Revered, respected but the moment Aidari mentioned anything slightly questionable he’d shut down any talk of her being anything but selfless. No one was that good. Not even Lady Nemera.

“I didn’t just sit on the sidelines. I felt Aidari's pain, her anguish, her guilt for everything that happened. She never wanted this. I was never supposed to be the Stormkeeper. I was supposed to have a loving, caring family but he took that away from me!”

Nivara’s insistence fell on deaf ears, the tears falling quicker than she even realised it. The sting of her burn reminded her of the so-called Timekeeper who had enslaved her as a child, Aidari’s confession of ‘False Prophets’ burning a path in her mind. The image of Kirai in her mind wasn’t the man she had thought was the Timekeeper. Whether or not he used to be or ever was would probably remain lost. But his red hair and blood streaked face would never leave her nightmares.

“We don’t know that for sure, dear.” Quilla said, in a flimsy attempt to help her feel better.

Nivara didn’t have to see her Oathed to know the expression on her face. Nivara wasn’t lying. No dragon had confirmed it. She angrily wiped away tears, turning her head to hide the lifting of her mask and the sound of Kaldra’s quiet bickering towards her once absent mother. Her beady eyes softened as she looked up at Nivara, still resolutely stationed around the crook of her neck despite her hatred towards the cold.

“Besides, if Aidari says this ‘Aria’ was his next apprentice…” Rayner mused, trailing off as if trying to figure out a complex puzzle.

Kalaris remained furiously silent, leaning against the back wall despite the exit being long merged into the sand. Her expression was tight but controlled, matching the rest of her body language despite her folded arms hiding the majority of her fury. No one noticed her.

“It cannot be a coincidence, Rayner.” Anirii spoke up, her voice barely a whisper despite the hushed quiet of the room.

Everyone else was far more preoccupied with rapidly writing every word Nivara had spoken like some sort of prophetic being only here to be studied and recorded. She was finally being listened to but all they could do was remove every shred of emotion from her story. They didn’t care about her family. They only cared about the Stormkeeper and the Timekeeper. Just like Kirai had done.

“She could've been lying….”

"Weren't you listening? He murdered my family! He led the Mist Maiden's right to them! We were supposed to be hiding from the Taishin but he…”

Nivara’s heart cried out but no one cared.

They only cared about what information they could glean from her tiny mind until the book her grandmother gave her, the grimoire was never meant to be hers was passed on to someone else. Someone like Reina. Someone like Kirai. Someone like Creed. Until the single page of her life was only history.

"Do you even have proof? Or are we supposed to believe the speculation of a child?"

Kalaris hand remained on the brim of her hat. The threat was far clearer than any weapon. It was the signature of every necromancer, every Shadecaller that agreed to assist whether it was lighting lamps…or something far worse. Gentle flakes of ash started to burn off her leather shoes but the Charger Crafted sands sucked them in before any could find purchase in her throat. Speculation, not proof.

“Retribution is continuing its namesake, I see.” Sashio giggled, nudging her Agar as if sharing an inside joke.

Kalaris remained silent.

Nivara winced as if visibly shot, the sheer audacity of the Goldclaw dragon’s self centred nature. Something emerged from her memory like a long forgotten mantra she used to tell Creed over the campfire as a warning. It seemed to be a lesson she had to continue to learn despite how many times she attempted to teach it.

A dragon always lied but never without intention.

In other words, Sashio could lie freely but no Traited could ever lie to her.

Nivara shut her eyes, wanting nothing more but to crawl into her bed and cry, tucking herself closer towards her Oathed despite Kaldra’s miniscule salamander form. In front of all these questions with no clearer answers she couldn’t help but realise how little control she truly had.

Just like in Wayward, the sheer number of people present was too much. For a moment, Nivara had hoped she was no longer the child but clearly, her Tempest act was no longer working.

“Shut up, Sashio.”

Kaldra bared her teeth at the tittering golden turd of a dragon, the Talonslash’s once velvet scales turning deadly sharp even as it accidentally cut into Nivara’s cheek. Sashio’s sarcastic comment had turned ominous the moment her Oathed had made it a standoff, the dragon’s ‘not giving a shit’ attitude doing more to affect her than Nivara had realised.

"What about the Storm Trait? You said you could help Nessy-“ Kaldra demanded, stopping in her tracks to hide her nickname, turning towards her mother and away from Sashio in abject disgust.

"I can’t restore her lightning. You've…you've both lost too much…Your memories will return gradually but…it will take time. The Divide…it’s too powerful." Quilla admitted hesitantly, her tone mournful as if wanting nothing more than to fix everything.

Quilla reminded her so much of Aidari.

Broken down by so many decisions that had shaped the world she now lived in when all she wanted was to be together with her family. The exhaustion on her face was masked with sternness but Nivara recognised the familiar laugh lines on her own dragon's face. Nivara had Kaldra. Kalaris had Sashio. Heck, even Anirri had Hack her compass. Quilla was the Sentinel, the all powerful leader that everyone listened to. But Quilla had no one.

"If this is affecting more than just us we need to at least warn Creed-"

Kaldra’s insistence was immediately shut down once more by the stubborn Goldclaw dragon with a lot more presence.

"You mustn't! Kirai didn't want…"

Quilla’s roar shook the room, sending sand leaking from the ceiling enough to make Nivara panic, her grimoire emerging from the depths of her Storm Trait until a flash of blue obscured her vision. She hadn’t seen the Singfall siren move.

"Who are we to decide what Kirai didn't want? What Nivara would have wanted when she was just a child?"

"But…”

Reina’s wiry frame was inches away from her grimoire, webbed arms outstretched until the gritted, fierce expression of the Singfall siren became nothing more than a watery image that slammed back into her seat without a sound.

"When it comes to those who cannot speak for themselves we don't just assume and decide for them. I see that now."

Nivara tried to remain calm and hide her shaking hands under the table but no matter what she did she couldn’t settle herself down and focus on the conversation. Her eyes darted around furiously, desperately looking for some kind of reaction from anyone who might’ve seen within the chaos.

A quiet, solemn pair of golden, oval eyes stared back at her and pressed a gentle claw against their lips.

Blinking, the violet hue surrounding the strange cat kin assassin disapperated, melding into the shadows far more naturally than any attempts Kalaris’ could make. Such a self taught imitation could never compare to the innate skill of a Perisher: the elusive Caithsee assassins of the Hive.

Nivara’s eyes widened, the contours of her mask obscuring her vision. Her eyes watery over such a simple act of kindness, a simple promise kept from the most unlikely of sources. Nodding shakily at Rizelle, Nivara pursed her lips at the Singfall siren and silently thanked the young Caithsee before forcing herself to listen to the dragon’s debate unfold.

"Like you did with Rider?" Sashio snapped, the long lasting feud between the two reaching a boiling point.

Nivara blinked. Whatever history the two dragons had was shoved to the forefront of her mind. A title. A name. The mere mention of the phrase was a missing piece to everything that held the Lockbind together...unlocked. The spots of memory that were missing in Nivara's mind sparked forth like a wildfire, the unclear resolution becoming crystal clear for just a fraction of time.

Four Keeper's of Trait.

Not three.

Kirai had distinctively mentioned four known Keeper's of Trait.

The fractured memory from before began to slot in place. Being woken up by an unfamiliar woman in an eerily familiar hat. Rushing down the hallway despite her mother’s futile attempts to protect them. Clinging on to Fenn’s hand until it hurt.

Her father’s discarded pile of logs set to the back of the wall underneath a small pile of ashes that were undoubtedly his. Lakerton shoving off the sheer number of people in his drunken state in an attempt to protect his younger siblings. Mercurial falling to the sheer weight of the collapsing dunes and copious burns too numerous to mention. But no matter how hard she tried Nivara could not remember how her mother died.

Barely a whisper, Nivara repeated the names of her family within her head over and over again just to stop herself from screaming. She couldn’t. Not here, not now. Not when everything she had worked towards had only been a lie. The sound of dripping, wet sand made her cringe, her mouth upturned in a sneer at the thought of more of it filtering through the cracks in the wall.

A bead of blood dripped onto her palm.

She had never seen her own blood before. It was a rarity for Traited cursed by the ashen promise of Eternal Death. Nivara had seen severed limbs fall away into the wind only to completely restore the moment a contract between Grimoire and Agar was made.

She had seen Traited rush into the fire and come out completely unscathed, forged anew in the fire and clutching a dust-ridden book only to falter moments later into ash without the promise of a dragon beside them. For a moment, Nivara wondered how her father had died so close to his home and immediately didn’t want to know the answer.

"No more, Sashio. No more lies."

Quilla’s words felt hollow beside a golden dragon that only lied to save herself.

"You've done plenty of that yourself, Quilladire." Sashio sneered, turning her back on the once infamous Sentinel now reduced to a squabbling salamander.

Kaldra’s eyes never left her mother’s.

Nivara licked her lips and brushed the blood aside with her Storm Trait, tucking her grimoire back into the void of her chest, her inky black indigo mist swept her hair back and made sure to erase any trace of a wound. She wouldn’t ruin this for her.

Exhaling a frustrated, shaky breath she looked to her Oathed and steeled her resolve, analysing every scale on her head and determined…the Laia wouldn’t take her yet. She had gotten far too close to the fire and much like her older brother once had, almost gotten very badly burned. She couldn’t leave here without answers. All the answers.

"We can argue this for as long as the tide changes. What's done is done. It is the next Timekeeper who decides what is to come. Defiance hasn't decided yet and won't for some time. We need to be ready." Reina interrupted the feuding dragons, calmly reassessing the situation despite her earlier assassination attempt.

The two dragons recoiled as if visibly struck, their sizes shrinking by fractions in an attempt to reclaim some kind of etiquette but there was no mistaking the tense atmosphere in the room. Tuskarr kept one hand on his warhammer handle still stowed beneath the table, Calvaros did the same with his tomahawks hidden beneath his chair. No one underestimated the power of a dragon, let alone a pair of angry one’s.

Reina rolled her eyes at the petty feud, busying herself by adding more humidity to the already warm room. Nivara didn’t know whether it was out of sheer willpower or spite but her ice kept things at a nice cool temperature despite her choice of attire. Nivara fought the urge to stick her tongue out at the far older wannabe Keeper but that would be stooping to her level and she had already ignored the others' less than subtle prompts to pitch in on the storytelling.

Reina’s silent act was more telling than staying quiet.

It was actively confirming Aidari’s Memory Weave as true despite a certain biassed necromancer saying otherwise. Reina had been Aidari’s chosen candidate and here she was spitting mud on her grandmother’s good name all because of one Fire Traited with a big mouth and no self control. No wonder she had refused to help her flee the Sea Vixens. Petty bitch.

But at least they had one thing in common.

They were both really fucking angry.

Nivara had no idea why Reina was so caught up in her chosen fantasy and after everything she had been through in her life Nivara would give her the damn thing if she could. Heck, at one point she would’ve willingly ripped her own grimoire out of her own chest to rid herself of the Stomkeeper’s curse. But now, she had a dragon to consider and she’d let Hellgrind freeze over if Reina let her hurt Kaldra.

And as much as she hated to admit it, this group of self important powerhouses clearly knew more than they were letting on, especially when it came to Reina’s choice of words. Defiance. Not a word normally used to describe someone with a moniker like hers but she never actually chose the name Tempest in the first place.

Not to mention the old cities that existed before the Divide tended to be a lot more self explanatory than a vague ‘defiant’ people that could or would want to leave their legacy being described in that way. Which meant only one other option. If Defiant wasn’t a place or a person with the sense to choose anything other than this farce of a meeting then, it had to be an object. An object far greater and far more mysterious than even a necromancer could influence. Once again, feigning idiocy was the only way to go.

"I don't understand…”

Sounding completely and utterly innocent the Storm Traited watched the envious Singfall siren give her a wide, stretching smile as if finally being allowed to be her true self. Her long fingers slotted together perfectly, resting her chin on her hands as if preparing to devour a particularly good meal. Nivara was almost grateful she didn’t eat meat.

“Creederton has the potential but his grimoire hasn’t been summoned yet, has it?”

Nivara blinked.

Of course it was a grimoire.

Thankfully her mask hid the majority of her shock; she took a leaf from Kalaris’ book and gave the Singfall siren the most blank expression she could muster. Nivara recalled how she had first found Creed. Curled up underneath a broken cabinet in an attempt to defend himself from a wounded, angry dragon. His grimoire had never recovered from being tethered to his attacker. But Reina already knew that. This entire Council of Nonsense already knew that.

“No, but what’s that got to do with-“

"Your family. Odi. The Mist Maidens. Becoming Tempest. All of it has been muddled up in your head because you cannot remember everything in any kind of order. It's been reset by passing through the Divide too many times. Much like the Eternal Death itself, the outcome is...dire to those who do not recall it properly. Especially, a Keeper of Trait.” Reina said, her voice still venomous towards her no matter how well she hid it.

Kaldra fell into her lap.

Nivara closed her eyes in thought, hugging her Oathed tight in an attempt to soothe her pain and her own in some small way. Ever since childhood, since before Odi, before all of it…Nivara had no clear recollection as to why her Storm Trait was this way. Yet now she did and it all seemed so simple.

The Divide had taken her memories.

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. It was no wonder she kept learning the same lessons over and over until she broke. This realm, this division of countries through giant barriers was meant to break her and every Traited who dared to venture through it. Even if Odi hadn’t brought her to her home in the Undercity, even if she had gone underground through the Labyrinth, Nivara knew in her heart the inevitability of losing her memories was as clear as the auroras in the sky. The auroras that damn barrier brought every time.

Nivara couldn’t even look at Anirii.

The Tinker Mole’s eyes were unfocused through no fault of her own but the sting of her expression was more than enough to confirm it. They knew. They knew all along and didn’t tell her. Through gritted teeth, Nivara glared at every single person in turn the same pitying look Creed had given her to let him stay.

Only Hack met her watery gaze, a slight gesture of his head telling her it was true but he flicked his claw left much like a compass would when looking for direction. Nivara met a stone faced Kalaris head on, lifting her chin exactly the same way she had done and waited for the response she knew would come. After all, it didn’t take a genius to realise they had planned to corner her so abruptly. And here she was hoping to make friends.

“Which means we cannot rely on your account of the Memory Weave. Regardless of your prior connection to Lady Aidari and your insistence on the previous Timekeeper's…misjudgements.” Kalaris added dryly, a hint of a smile on her face.

A loud snort from Gizmo erased the smile off the necromancer's face.

"That's ironic, considering…"

Kalaris’ glare silenced the Tinker Mole immediately.

Oh fuck her.

Fuck her and her stupid hat.

Nivara wanted nothing more than to shove it up the overly pretentious necromancers arse. And not in a good way. This pair of egotistical, self centred, complete and utter arseholes were so attached to the fantastical idea of a Keeper of Trait they wanted nothing more than to stomp on everyone else who would dare say they weren’t. Kirai had trained his apprentices well. No wonder Aidari didn’t trust him. It hurt to know that trusting people like Anirri had gotten her family killed.

Nivara kept her hands at her side, gently stroking her distraught dragon with all the support she could muster. Instead she bore a hole in the side of Kalaris’ head imagining her mist choking the life out of her just like it did to her mother. She’d never forget that hat…well, willingly.

As much as Nivara hated to admit it, attempting to assassinate two of these ‘prominent members’ would go just as well as Reina’s attempt to steal her grimoire in broad fucking daylight. The idea of Kaldra in the middle of a dragon fight frightened her far more than anything Kalaris could do to her.

Rizelle was far more intimidating than any kind of emo Ash Traited with an inferiority complex but she couldn’t help but be annoyed they had gotten away with such an infuriatingly stupid risk. But anger and assassinations wouldn’t get her answers. Playing along was boring but it would have to do.

"It's because I'm Storm Traited, isn't it? Or maybe because you are all Crafters or…” Nivara asked, trying to piece together some kind of theory to explain all of these lapses in memory.

"Not true. I am considered a Traited. As is my sister and her son too. There are some of us who willingly share the same curse as you. The Eternal Death affects us all, Nivara." Hack admitted, speaking up for the first time without the Fatekeeper.

Nivara had to admit if his fellow kin had been as eloquent with their words instead of pillaging campsites then she would’ve followed him without a word. Perhaps that is why Anirii had put so much stock in teaching him. Either way, there was no denying the Sand Wraith’s sheer dedication to the cause despite it being slightly misaligned.

Nivara attempted to recall the others' conversations after Aidari’s mind meld of emotions and distinctly remembered the Missing Decade: a time when not even the long lived elves and Sand Wraiths knew what happened. Regardless of whether it was long before she was born it still meant innocent people like Hack and Reina woke up one day with their lives completely changed.

"Those of us who have chosen to be Traited are the Guardians of Trait itself."

The Goldclaw’s dragon disgruntled tone set the tension high for any follow up questions Nivara could ask, Sashio’s bias of wanting to keep things the way they ‘used to be’ clear even without all the other races around her. Keeping it between Traited would’ve guaranteed this Council would’ve died out a long time ago.

“Why?”

In the most timid voice Nivara had ever heard her, Kaldra asked the simplest and most obvious question anyone could ask. She smiled at her Oathed, grateful that she wasn’t dealing with all of this overwhelming information alone.

The sound of a scraping door interrupted Nivara’s thoughts, Sybil re-emerged from the sand and the familiar Sunspell elf quietly re-entered the war room and handed a note to the Raven Lord. Sybil’s eyes never left the two sitting opposite her, dragging her once vacated seat to the large Ironwood table in an attempt to intimidate the once confident Singfall siren with her presence alone.

"Because I failed to become Gamekeeper. All of us, at one point failed to become Keepers of Trait.”

The lurch of Nivara’s stomach did nothing to settle her already fraying nerves, the lump in her throat growing larger with every statement made so casually. Failure hadn’t been a concept within her mind until now. The sheer notion of not succeeding at something Nivara was never supposed to be filled her with enough dread to make her feel sick. At least she had the good conscience to sit right by the two people she hated the most.

“How?” Kaldra asked, the horror in her voice almost making her cry.

The only reason Nivara kept things together was because of two things. Kaldra and the Lockbind. Which meant as much as she hated to admit it, all of what Hack was telling her was the undeniable truth. Not only that but it was the truth that could be said without consequence. Which meant it either wasn’t part of the Lockbind itself or the cursed contract contained some…liberties for those who had already undergone its memory erasure. Fate truly was a fickle bitch.

Nivara’s eyes trailed over Hack’s scars. She couldn’t imagine the heartbreak the Sand Wraith must’ve gone through. She had heard the stories of the first Traited, heck she knew the constant fear of not knowing why or when you might die no matter how much you tried not to think about it. The horrible reminder of not even remembering when it even happened, those core memories every Traited relied on vanished on the wind. The core memories Nivara herself had failed to grow up with.

Something Odi said once seemed to tug at the back of her mind.

Anything that can happen, will happen. Anything that can’t is down to your own self mentality.

In other words, Nivara had a mental block she couldn’t shift without knowing what it was. Whether it was her fear of small spaces, being buried alive or simply not being good enough to be Stormkeeper all of it added up into a Storm Trait she had no control over. All of those little doubts and insecurities would add up into a storm. A storm Kirai had wanted to stop the Eternal Death. Somehow.

"In my attempt to become Deathkeeper I chose vengeance. I could not forgive. The Divide allowed me to forget but…you cannot forget the sting of betrayal. Especially from those who were considered family."

The Caithsee’s words were brief but impactful, refusing to elaborate further despite Nivara’s confusion with everything going on. Rizelle folded her arms in defiance, one eye on the deceitful Sand Wraith and the other squarely on Nivara herself.

“How? How did you…”

Kaldra couldn’t even respond, her incredulous expression enough of a reaction for both of them combined. Nivara didn’t know much about the Perisher clan except by reputation only. They were an all female assassin tribe that had once coincided with the male Caithsee until infighting split the two into the life preserving Archanaughts and death promising Perishers. Rizelle potentially witnessing the turn of her tribe must’ve been…horrific.

"I betrayed the Tinker Moles who took me in from being exiled. I wanted so badly to live up to my Sand Wraith ancestors that I failed to show compassion when I had done nothing to deserve it."

Calvaros’ expression went hard, his claws lengthening over his weapon despite Hack’s earnest admission of guilt. Nivara bit her lip, the fuzzy reminder of why a certain infamous prison was called Hacksin. But as if the Fatekeeper could feel the waves of nervousness off her treasured compass her claw gently rested against his own. For any Tinker Mole, that was sign enough he had Lady Anirri’s support during his recovery. And perhaps even more so, considering Hack’s reddish hue.

The sound of a chair scraping forwards alerted her attention back towards the Sunspell elf, awkwardly attempting to sign for the group in Neridian above the table. Where her usual sign was rapid and angry, now it was almost slow, methodical and almost melancholic. Sybil struggled to flow things together before stopping, pausing and starting again in an attempt to explain herself only to opt for the bluntest approach.

Two palms collided together with the force of a wave that could only have one meaning. War.

Sybil locked eyes with Nivara, giving her a small, sad smile as if sharing a secret only they shared. She couldn’t help but feel a glimpse of connection after witnessing her earlier outburst away from the Council, Nivara’s sympathetic smile doing nothing to settle the elf who much like her, no one listened to. Not anymore.

"I started the Green Seas war between Neridia and Tarragon.”

Kaldra’s sharp hiss of a breath rang in Nivara’s ears even as Tuskarr’s kin began to cry out in reply, their stamps and shouts of indignation falling on deaf ears as Sybil continued on with her own macabre rendition of a Keeper’s, no…a Guardian’s guilt. Removing her grey scaled cloak, Sybil met their furious gaze head on, Nivara stifling a whimper before clutching her mouth in horror.

She had been a Mist Maiden for a very long time and had seen all manner of injuries. But this…this was…she didn’t know where to start. The elven's signature ears had been cut and shaped like hot glass, turned forcibly inwards as if to tear the ear canal through sheer force alone. All manner of pinprick like scars ran across her neck and wrists as if attempting to carve out sunlight, the dark patches of oozing magic that only reminded Nivara of…her storm.

A dark thought crossed her mind, her hand rubbing her temples in an attempt to erase such a ghastly reminder but the sheer similarities of her Trait to Sybil’s wounds could not go unrecognised. Could Aidari have done this to her? Her own grandmother torture someone in such a way?

“I was supposed to unite the Forecasters and the Traited together as Sunstress but I was too angry at what the Timekeeper, my father, had left me for. I was supposed to unite them but instead I lost my mother, my daughters to that same promise. The same lie that lost you your family. That I could help change this realm for the good.”

Like pouring cold water onto hot stones the emotion in Sybil’s expression died out the moment her hands fell to her sides, exhausted from the sheer effort of explanation. Nivara could see it now. The way she fidgeted in her seat. The way she picked at her nails when she was nervous. Even the way she set her tongue against her teeth when frustrated. She hated being the child of the Timekeeper. The child of Kirai Underwood. And for some reason, Nivara couldn’t blame her.

"Even I was tricked into believing I served a higher purpose when all I did was ignite the flames of rebellion in a race that simply wanted to remain peaceful." Rayner added, attempting to tack on his own sympathies to his fellow elven.

Nivara resisted the urge to sneer at the Raven Lord.

The well meaning act of the devoted leader was beginning to grate on her nerves, somehow finding him almost as frustrating as tweedle dum and tweedle dumber to the side of her. Nivara was used to elves being overconfident, cunning and downright brutal when needed. But the Raven Lord was the complete opposite.

His half bumbling attempts to simultaneously hold court and interrogate her by making her angry was shoddy at best but the final straw was him using Sybil’s suffering as a crutch to make himself feel better. Not only that, but here he was using it to bolster the morale of his people like some sort of paragon and no one noticed. Not even the Captain of the Guard.

It left Nivara with a bad taste in her mouth.

His guilt and time weary face mirrored Sybil’s a little too well, a false mask of regret and grief despite Sybil’s bravery in retelling her story. Nivara knew what expectations could do to a person but the Raven Lord’s perturbed expression didn’t match the hungry look in his eyes. A look that reminded her of a certain Timekeeper. Green eyed envy.

"No, my Lord. We chose to follow you. We wouldn't have survived this long if I hadn't. I am grateful to you and the Fatekeeper." Calvados insisted, standing up despite his smaller stature but incredibly large presence.

Nivara was grateful she hadn’t eaten much or she would’ve thrown up from the sheer saccharine devotion in his words.

Calvaros had been decent company on long desert nights but much like her stance on elves, his bias towards the master he served refused to be ridiculed and it was ...a lot. Far more so with his position and Nivara’s annoyingly close proximity she was very tempted to chuck something at him.

Instead, she busied her mind with Anirri’s visions and the thought of different races having varying degrees of short or long term memory curses and tried to grasp where everyone fit in the grand spectrum of things. But every time Nivara thought she had the piece of the puzzle it slipped away. Whatever delusions of grandeur these…Guardians had, that every Keeper had before her wasn’t helping.

All they were….was stuck.

Nivara gave the Fatekeeper a wary look as the Tinker Mole gracefully inclined her head towards the praise, quietly listening despite her aura lit up with a strange Craft Nivara couldn’t quite place. The Tinker Mole leader closed her eyes, gripping her staff tightly as if lost in thought and attempting to choose her words carefully. A flicker of sorrow crossed her face as if the sombre mood didn’t deter her from what needed to be said.

"It was my fault, Rayner. I did not see the truth until it was too late. I couldn't admit to myself that things needed to change. That I needed to change regardless of what I saw or did not see. I'm sorry. I was never a Keeper. I simply chose my own title.”

Despite her quiet tone the weight of Anirri’s words sent ripples throughout the room, the quiet tremors of a nervous Sand Wraith matching tempo with the rapid fire conversations. Nivara didn’t react, attempting to keep her expression subdued despite Anirri’s upending of her own people’s structure. The Fatekeeper had been there since the very beginning and now Anirri wanted to break her own position.

Nivara could feel a tweak of a smile on her face.

Compared to the Anirri she had first met at the edge of the Dominion this was a completely different person. The Fatekeeper who had monitored the Caldorian border opposite to so many refugees attempting to make the plunge was indifferent to the plight of Traited, remaining effortlessly calm even as Calvaros struggled to pierce through this massive barrier. A few months ago she would have never admitted to anything she had done as being a mistake. It seemed that crotchety Sand Wraith had changed her more than she thought.

"We are all at fault, Lady Anirri. I took it upon myself to slay the Trollians after my brother lost his daughter to them. I almost lost my own daughter to the very same bias." Tuskarr said, gripping his weapon in an attempt to make his point louder.

The morose mood that hung over the room like a bad smell seemed to worsen, the harsh judgement over the Fatekeeper’s decision surged in waves of distrust and indignation. Anirii’s already small frame seemed to shrink under the sheer pressure of her role, the choice to admit her faults freely only to bite her.

With the growing insistence over choosing a successor, Nivara didn’t envy the Tinker Mole leader but she couldn’t help but feel relieved that the attention was off her for a change. Until the brief reminder of who exactly had been chosen to fill Rayner’s shoes made her chuckle. No matter who Anirri chose, no one would be worse than Noirr.

"Not everyone has that kind of story, unfortunately. I'm fully aware of the consequences as both a Traited and a necromancer. If we know what happened to us during the Missing Decade, the Divide, Hellgrind, anything about the Abnormal grimoires at all..." Kalaris intervened, faltering in how to explain and removed her signature hat for the first time. Her stern, brown eyes sent a chill down Nivara’s spine.

"You either turn Truant or you pass through the Divide to forget in an attempt to save yourself."

Tuskarr lost his grip on his hammer, the resounding slam of the weapon a far better reaction than anything Nivara would have provided. The gold dragon yelped, the sound loud enough to send her flying from one perch to another in an attempt to escape attention. Nivara resisted the urge to roll her eyes, the vain dragon finally providing the last piece of the endless puzzle of how all of this connected together.

All of Nivara’s forgotten childhood dreams began to resurface, the idea of travelling beyond Nocturus to where her mother was born or past the Brink surrounding Neridia or even the untamed lands of Shuriken could have already been realised without her even remembering it. She could have lived an entirely different life, been an entirely different person, loved, lived and fallen out of love all before this Divide came into her life. It had stolen everything from her.

In an attempt to focus on something, Nivara tried to think of how long it would take for this Truancy curse to take hold. Even if she had been flown all the way there by the fastest Silverwing dragon alive the likelihood of her survival was slim to none. The likelihood of her grimoire surviving it was far more likely. Once again, all anyone cared about was that she was the carrier of Retribution. Her grandmother would’ve been more useful.

"A stopgap measure, then. You're taking on the Traited and their problems so they don't have to." Nivara added bluntly, staring squarely at the Raven Lord at the head of the table.

It was like wounding an animal and still expecting it to be loyal. But Nivara knew in her heart that if anyone would fall for that idealism it would be Creed. But if she had to be a pawn to let Creed go free then she would be the biggest scapegoat they’d ever seen.

"You are correct about how we work, Nivara. We are all Guardians because whether we remember this secret or not, enough of us can survive to pass it onto the next generation of Keepers." Rayner said, chuckling as if it were all one big joke.

That uncertain feeling that Nivara had throughout the entire meeting reared its ugly head, the dark thought that her role as Keeper was only there to keep what miniscule information they could glean safe…well, safe for them without succumbing to the Eternal Death.

"Even if I died…you would still have enough information to go on to keep the rest of the Keepers of Trait alive and the cycle going. The Council of Names would still be active and eventually, you'd use my successor in the same way. Is that right?”

All of this heart to heart meant nothing to her.

Nivara had always hated posturing and despite her best efforts she could only see all this retelling as an attempt to sympathise with their cause and join their ranks. The false sense of security at finally having like minded individuals that felt like comrades broke under the piercing reminder of what they had done to her family. What being a Keeper of Trait had done to them all.

"I won't let that happen, Nessie. I won't let anyone manipulate you."

Kaldra’s protective growl normally put Nivara at ease but it rang hollow with the knowledge that not even a Talonslash dragon could stop the full force of the Divide. Not even the combined forces of everyone present could save her. Nivara didn’t have to imagine herself desperately crawling towards the dreaded barrier, she had probably already done that once before. After all, not even the powers of the Sentinel could restore what she had lost.

"Don't you see? This is all to stop whatever is causing this memory inconsistency. The Truancy. The Lockbind. Heck, even the Eternal Death or Hellgrind itself. Without it your Traits would still be-“

“Broken? Don’t make me laugh, Raven Lord. You’re starting to sound like the Timekeeper and we all know that’s not a good thing.” Nivara said, her tone sounding less and less humourous with every second.

Kalaris’ chair slammed backwards, whacking into the wall as sand fell from the packed walls. She blinked rapidly, attempting to mask her own surprise and embarrassment while Nivara had to strain her ears to hear the hiss of frustration but it was undoubtedly there no matter how Sashio tried to cover for her.

They truly were the complete opposite to her.

She’d never use Kaldra as a crutch to make her look any less competent than what she was. Kalaris was so desperate to be a Keeper of Trait while she wanted to drop it quicker than a cursed scroll in an abandoned tomb. The infamous Ash Traited was a contradicting bitch with a dragon who towered over her own self importance and took another kin’s lie detection ability as sheer hostility instead.

Compared to someone like Sybil who never once hid her involvement with the Timekeeper even after so much risk to her own life.

"But what we cannot do is change what is to come. You can. The storm can guide you to Opalis even without your memories of us. We will guide you. Just as Anirri has done for us." Quilla said, her quiet insistence and support for the Fatekeeper continuing.

The harsh murmurs from the Sandfur Tinker Mole’s became a quiet reverence the moment the Silverwing leader reminded them of why Anirii had been revered as the Fatekeeper in the first place, regardless of the Laia’s alleged intervention.

Nivara vaguely recalled a story she had heard milling around the caves while attempting to research her Stormkeeper history in Anirri’s extensive library. The original lore of the Fatekeeper had foretold that Anirri’s sight had been taken away after her predecessor tricked her into an Oathed contract with a demon.

In truth, she had given up her sight freely to save her compass, an unwilling Hackerby caught in the clutches of his latent necromancy. The mystery behind what exactly had triggered it along with Anirri’s prophetic visions remained unresolved. But with all this talk of the Timekeeper Nivara couldn’t help but connect the dots to Anirri’s draining Forger Craft and her current state as Guardian. The first Guardian of Traited. And perhaps, she would be the last.

“The Deathkeeper. Memoriam has finally been summoned.”

The soft amber glow of a warm, inviting forge of heat emanating from Anirri became a fierce, angry red and yellow of a molten glory hole that seemed to bore through the ground without scorching the packed earth beneath it.

Like a portal searing through a dark void of a world, a shimmering glass like being burst through the gap and erupted into flame. A bright orange phoenix emerged in a swathe of feathers alight with fury only to blacken and burn the moment its wings descended solemnly, no longer able to summon the strength to remain corporeal.

“But…something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong.”

Anirri’s glassy eyes seemed to burn with the heat of a thousand eyes, her vision returning like mist being cleared from a bridge. Her eyes were a bright, beautiful green that put any Tarragon to shame but her pupils were dilated and Nivara could swear there was the same ring of orange that Kirai had sported back when she had seen him Drift.

"Only the Keepers of Trait, the Laia's chosen, can end her broken cycle. It must be done. Together or alone."