"Focus!"

Swift jumped at the sound of his mother's voice, her clapping that kept with the beat only made it worse. His head pounded alongside the steady heartbeat rhythm but no matter how much he tried the ringing in his ears didn't stop.

He couldn't even enjoy the music anymore.

A Trill, they had called it. A constant sound that only he could hear ringing in his head. His mother had taken to changing his training routine but his father had resorted to far more drastic measures. Trait related measures.

"Keep your balance, Swiftling! You're better than this."

Frustration burned on his tongue at the reminder as he went through each maneuver with every ounce of strength he had. His hands burned with the sting of his father's fire coiling around his skin but no wind came to soothe him. It never did.

"Alright, Swift. Stealth. That's enough. You've done well. Both of you."

He could hear his mother, Nyxia sigh even from the edge of the camp as he teetered on the top of the tightrope from practice instead of his skill over the air currents. Swift gingerly made his way down, the sight of his brother and Agar vaulting effortlessly off the same height.

The Trollian was a sentient ball of smoke named Bobble, named as such for her sleeping habits when nodding off at random intervals. She was a spirit, childlike in nature but the stories that were told were based on children who died too soon and returned as childlike souls to guide others. Not the rumours that lured children away from their families.

Stealth was everything he had once aspired to be: he had the same green eyes and dark hair as he did but instead of struggling through his routine, he soared gracefully as his Ice Trait provided a ledge for him to land on. He could almost hear his mother smile in appreciation for his twin but his Trill overwhelmed even that aknowledgement.

"Swifty?"

His head jerked over to his brother, too ashamed to answer him as Swift gave his timid twin a reluctant smile. He wasn't perfect, noting the few times he got nervous and skidded a little off course but he was improving. Swift however, had gotten worse.

"Swiftling. Your balance is good but you've got to work on your timing before we can add in the routine with your partner. I know I said this week but..."

Swift resigned himself to the inevitable decision and decided to try and voice his indifference as evenly as he could allow.

"I know. By time the Limelight arrives..."

"He'll be ready! I know he will. I'll train with him and Whisper after practice. Swifty might not be able to summon his grimoire yet, mom but I'll help him. He has the best Trait and I know...I know I'll see it again."

Swift had to suppress a cringe at his twins' overly hopeful tone, the noise souring the thought of his Trait 'returning' to the way it was. He had to look away, breathing steadily as he tried to ignore the migraine surfacing from the constant din in his ears. He needed a break.

"Alright. I'll ask grandmother to push it back by one week. That's all I can promise." Nyxia offered, shaking her head as if trying not to smile but failing.

She ruffled their hair before hugging them each in turn, Swift uncomfortably close as if his mother was too afraid to touch him for too long. Nyxia's tone immediately changed to a more carefree attitude, sensing his discomfort.

"Now go head to your next lesson before your father blows a fuse." She said jokingly as Stealth laughed alongside her and got ready to leave.

Swift froze, the thought of the explosion and the consequential fall making him retch but he forced it back. He wouldn't let such an offhand comment hurt his family's rare good mood. The Trill continued to ring in his mind relentlessly as he stepped away from the middle of the ring and further away from the performance of his dreams.

Grateful the session was over, Stealth gave him a wave before heading towards the makeshift changing rooms. Bobble followed him joyfully, swaggling her little head as they slipped away to the other side of the tent flap.

Reluctantly, Swift waited for his own Agar who was not yet bonded to his grimoire but still had a tendency to stick around. He knew what kind of mood she'd been in for his fifth practice without her. The Traited were people like his family who could use a variety of elemental abilities through a grimoire but at the cost of being contracted to a familiar.

His was only temporary but he had heard stories of those who were willing to make a contract permanent. He shuddered at the thought of letting another creature die for him, least of all a tempermental Steam Troll like his Agar.

"Whisper?" He called out, his voice warping into his own cadence that made him sound far louder than he was.

He tugged at his brightly coloured tunic, desperate to get out of the clothes that reminded him of how he used to be. The flashy whites, silvers and blues of his family's colours stained the blistering red marks embedded into his skin. He wasn't the rising star of the Silver Strings circus anymore. He was just Swift: a flightless bird with a broken wing.

"Whisper not here."

Swift heard his Agar giggle, ignoring the Trollians antics as he changed out of his performance gear and into his fireproof training gear. Apparently it was necessary to wear despite being an Air Traited but it was for his father's benefit, not his.

Pulling up the leather hood but the empty socket where his ear protectors usually sat were gone. Swift groaned, knowing full well who had taken them. It didn't completely cure his Trill but it did lessen the effects enough to help him sleep or get a break when the constant ringing noise became too much.

His grandmother had bought it for him for his last birthday: a very expensive Tinker Mole invention called Degraders. It was lined with blue and white Spiritwalker fur and used his Trait to help lessen the strain of the Trill. But his Agar didn't care about that when there was a fluffy thing just waiting to be played with.

"Whisper, give it back. I need them."

He spotted his Agar drifting through the coloured canvas like a white blur of foam wearing a large oversized pair of dangly earmuffs as if they were pigtails. Swift couldn't help but laugh, chasing after the see through cotton puffball made entirely from the steam seeping through the hot water springs.

"Noooo. Play."

Swift shook his head, trying to cut her off from escaping out the exit. Whisper was fast when she wanted to be and right now she wanted payback for him abandoning her in the changing rooms.

Despite the ringing in his ears he reluctantly remembered the upside of his Trill. Its high pitched tone helped him understand the Trollians voice by its similarities and was easier for him to distinguish. It was a sing-songy voice that was like a wind chime but far higher than any Traited could hear. But it could cause a lot of headaches listening to her on top of his Trill.

"Come on, Whispi. I know you're upset you couldn't dance with me. We'll try again tonight, promise."

The childish sprite blew a raspberry at Swift before cackling and swerving away from her pleading Agar. Clearing his eyes full of clouds, still coughing he tried to reright himself but a wave of dizziness came over him. The Trill had decided to hit him full force, his eyes streaming with pain.

"You know I can't think straight without-"

"Hey, Elf Ears!"

Swift audibly groaned, his migraine causing him to stumble and lose his footing but there was no mistaking that voice even with a Trill. He couldn't see Whisper anywhere, probably having taken her chance to flee long before the nasally, bellowing presence of Silvera Wickersmith arrived.

"Oi, retard. Can't you hear me? Oh wait..."

She sniggered, tossing a dagger up in the air as if she was a kitsune playing with a ball of string, her Agar slung over her back like a stuffed animal. Wicker was an overly fed Silverwing dragon who was lazy and was treated like a pet rather than an equal partner. He even had a collar as if the fat tub of lard would ever do any exercise to qualify being 'disciplined.'

Silvera was his mother's new apprentice, practicing fire dancing while her family allowed her to perform on a trial basis. In exchange they agreed to provide the fireworks for the next Limelight show. She had skills in knife throwing and not much else so finding someone as...incompetent as Swift was a big ego boost for her.

"What do you want, Silvera?" Swift asked, rubbing his head for some relief against his growing migraine.

Silvera snorted, raising her chin as if she were already using her family's prominence to overshadow him. She was acting as if she alone had a hand in creating the instant Flickerwick candles. Even naming her own Agar after it and the wicker trees they use in their supports.

"Oh so you can hear me. I thought your Shrill made it so your idiot brain can't keep up anymore."

Swift rolled his eyes, his horrid mood causing his lack of restraint to surface.

"When you're talking louder than a foghorn, yeah sure I can."

Wicker chuckled only to be thwacked on the snout by his partner as if he was an animal. It took Swift a few seconds to notice the chain wrapped around Silvera's hand and was attached to the collar like a slave. But that hand was still hidden behind her back.

"You talking back to me, Traitless?" Silvera's tone darkened, her dagger lighting up like a firework.

Swift flinched as the fire harmlessly ran up her hand like a snake but he tried not to show fear towards it. His hands were shaking but he forced himself to stand his ground. Until he saw Whisper clamped in her other hand.

"Let my Agar go."

Swift could feel his anger rising, the remnants of his Trait bubbling to the surface but fear clouded them all. Whisper still wore those stupid Degraders on her head, squirming in Silvera's grasp as her fire burned the very essence of his Agar.

"Or what? You'll use your Trait? Last I heard, this thing isn't even yours without a grimoire to prove it."

Swift shut the very notion of her words out of his head.

"You know damn well that ain't true. Now let her go before she goes Berserker mode on your dragon's ass."

Silvera grinned a sly grin, her Trait burning hotter with every second that passed.

"I have a better idea, Swiftwit. Why don't we watch what happens when a Trollian dies a second time?"

Swift didn't care about his Trill, his migraine or his chance at performing in the Limelight with his brother. If Silvera hurt her any more she'd be burned alive. No bit of expensive junk was worth that.

His Trait roared in response to Silvera's heartlessness as her Trait was snuffed out like a wickless match. She backed away slowly, the currents intensifying like a sheet of ice, immovable and impregnable by the even strongest wildfire.

Whisper was flung from her grasp but Swift was not done. His Trait was a torrent of emotion, the noise overwhelming the duo in a soundless scream of abject fury, trapped in a hurricane that lifted the very tent he had shined in off of the ground in a rebellious streak of anger.

His ears bled with the hollow, shrill ringing of his Agar, begging him to stop but Silvera still stood gaping at the sheer display of power. Until just like before, a flaming arrow split through the air like the tail of a kite to pin down the tarp, the usurper and his Trait in a controlled manner like no other.

"Get away from my son."