Strongbow might have seemed like a joke to some but to Swift his name embodied exactly the kind of man his father was.

He squinted at the blooming light emanating from the roof of the tent and again at the pinprick of an arrow embedded in the sawdust below. Both were only a thin strip of fire, the platform no bigger than the man who stood atop it. 

Strongbow's arm was still outstretched in the unforgiving form of an archer except in his case, one of his arms was entirely constructed from fire. His Trait surged outwards but it was completely motionless as if replicating every nerve out of pure flame took a lifetime to achieve. 

"With me, boy. We're going to the Grand Ringmistress." Strongbow told him, dropping down from the height before addressing his son.

Swift couldn't bring himself to look his father in the eyes, knowing full well who was responsible for his injuries. He didn't know whether it was to show off or to make sure only the smallest amount of flame was wasted in his movements. But either way it represented the simplicity and the strength of a Traited. Something Swift knew he would never achieve again.

"Now."

Swift winced, knowing full well what that meant and forced himself to stand up despite the crying Trollian clinging to his knee. He had no idea where Silvera had scurried off too and didn't care but the thought of Wicker being chained to such a selfish partner made his heart sink with guilt. It was his unstable Trait that had cost his father his own partner too.

"But-"

"No buts. Your Agar will be looked after elsewhere. Leave her."

Swift withered at his father's tone, recognising the well used persona of a ringmaster that didn't want to be crossed with. Whisper wailed but he stroked the poor Steam Trollians head and asked her to go to their tent to sleep. The little ball of fluff snuggled up to her Agar, blew a raspberry at Strongbow and veered off into the night. Alone.

"I will but...I need my Degraders." Swift asked, his voice barely audible as his eyes began searching for them.

His father's expression remained in a permanent scowl as he walked in step with his son, still in the colours of the Silver Strings. They paused over a smoking clump of warped metal and fur as if his father had planned the very spot just to humiliate him.

"You should've thought of that before you used your Trait on another. They are nothing but a distraction, if they are still in one piece."

"But Silvera-"

"Silvera is not family. Family?" Strongbow reitorated, prompting Swift to reply with his motto.

Swift couldn't help but flinch, his father's black and red fireproof jacket adorned with the silver emblem at the back as if reminding him of his current standing as a barely passing member. Once, he had longed to stand beside his father but now all he could do was hope not to hurt him more than he already had.

"Keeps control. I know." He sighed, desperate to make himself smaller than he actually was.

Swift watched his father tuck his bow under his arm, glancing at the patch on his shoulder sewn especially for his lost companion. His right sleeve dangled without his Trait forged arm, choosing to conserve his flames in case of another attack.

Swift could tell how much his father had loved Blue, rubbing the shoulder his Flarestorm phoenix had once perched on. He kept the talon guard on his jacket despite no longer needing it as if reminding Swift of his negligence. The loss of Bluewing always weighed on his conscience. It was a memory he could never wipe away no matter how much his Trill stung.

"If you knew that then I wouldn't be missing an arm." Strongbow said, scoffing to hide his pain and quickened his pace.

Swift could feel his Trait furiously emerge to the surface, the gusts from the surrounding islands coiling around his feet. His Trill pounded in his head, the previous exhaustion coming over him in waves as the flash of a memory made him back down, his hands shaking at the sight of a flameless bird choking to death without air. 

"Swifty. Why are you sad? Is sister OK?"

He sniffed, wiping his eyes to avert his attention away from his disgruntled father, focusing on the small voice he could hear. A ball of grey not unlike his own Agar hovered in front of him, its tail long and flickering as if attached to Strongbow's very soul. 

Swift briefly nodded, too wary to say anything more to the Smoke Trollian in case Strongbow thought he was already more dangerous than he first suspected. The Trollian accepted his answer, the smoke tail unfurling the flap in the grand tent as they gingerly followed the shy spirit. 

Whereas Whisper was loud and moody, Flicka was rarely seen away from the confines of the High Ringmistresses tent. Much like he and Stealth, siblings could be as different as they come even in souls.

Swift stumbled into the strong smelling room, incense burning his nose and heightening his Trill to almost breaking point. Eyes streaming, he barely noticed his father's demeanour change over the deafening noise as Strongbow bowed into the candlelit room.

"Grand Ringmistress. I've brought him."

The secluded tent shrouded in gloom opened out into a silvery light surrounded by murals and tapestries, candles and books littered everywhere along with a large silver rocking chair. His family had filled the canvases with drawings of rolling hills and sunlit fields, lakes dappled with moonlight as if to remind them of how far they had travelled from one country to the next. Nocturus was no exception.

Swift's grandmother sat, warmly wrapped in a blanket of starlight as her daughter in law stood resolutely by, one hand resting against the chair protectively. He had no idea why his mother was here but it made his stomach squirm to think of how much trouble he was in. The sight of Strongbow's devotion toward her didn't waver one bit until his grandmother clipped her surrogate son over the ear.

"Did you forget I'm retired? Or are you just trying to make me sound older than I look, Strongbuck?"

Swift fought the urge to laugh, his Trill matching the nervous rhythm of his heartbeat and noted the tweak of a smile from his father only for his stoic expression to return. The Grand Ringmistress was only a title to settle Strongbow's nerves but even Swift couldn't deny her health had gotten worse. The founder of the Silver Strings was dying.

Her skin was chalky grey, her long jewellery and dark clothes hid most of her illness but Swift could see her stern glare was still bright with life. She looked around the same age as his mother but the lines under her eyes and her boney limbs were proof that the worry in Nyxia's eyes was justified. There wasn't much time left for her.

"No, mother. But Swift needs to be disciplined. He cannot perform in the Limelight." Strongbow said, his no nonsense tone returning as he nudged his son forwards.

Swift's stomach plummeted, his face hot with shame at the thought of his efforts not being enough. He could barely speak, his mouth dry with anxious waiting as the ringing overwhelmed his thoughts. He felt trapped within his own Trait, helplessly trying to focus on his family and just breathe.

"It is my understanding Nyxia, that you wished to change the date of the next performance?"

Swift barely registered his father's surprise before Strongbow suppressed the emotion, his mother stepping forward tentatively to explain herself.

"Yes, Grand Ringmistress. Stealth, I mean, I believe both our sons would benefit by the extra training and since the Solstice does not arrive until Bitrfyre's end…"

Swift noted the lack of his brother's presence, the twist of betrayal in his gut that it was Stealth who had ratted him out to his father to come and save him. Strongbow was too busy to pay attention to his missing son and insisted against his wife's argument.

"But we have always performed two weeks before-"

"Then perhaps it's time we change tradition."

Swift gaped for a moment, not quite believing what he had heard but his grandmother's warm smile only confirmed his suspicions. 

"Swiftling. You will have your week with your brother to work on your Trait. Whether you summon your grimoire or not isn't part of this Limelight. I have seen many Traited make do with less."

Swift couldn't help but recall the stories of his grandmother's Trait. Although he had never seen her grimoire: she had told him how a group of travelling merchants and minstrels became a performing circus with the use of their Traits.

The Grand Ringmistress didn't have a powerful or flashy ability but her Earth Traits resourcefulness at making runes  was the basis of the now revered Limelight of the Silver Strings circus.

"Thank you grandmother, I won't-"

Swift stopped at the sight of his grandmother's raised hand, asking him to halt for just a moment until she finished.

"But...you must train without your Degraders for the entire week."

"But my Trill-"

"You will have to learn how to deal with that in your own way just as your father has learnt to deal with his own shortcomings."

Swift's Trait began to rear its ugly head, the betrayal from his brother and frustration towards his father coiled into a surge of wind strong enough to shake the earthen pegs on the tent below. 

"Miss Silvera's treatment of your Agar was absolutely deplorable but the gift I gave you was your responsibility."

His grandmother wasn't wrong but he couldn't ignore how unfair he felt, how helpless of an invilid he was being treated because of his Trill and the Trait he was born with. But Strongbow's aura alone was enough to quell the winds outrage and Swift knew he had no choice but to back down.

"It's not my fault Whisper wanted to play with them! She was just upset after I-"

"Enough. You will not disrespect the Grand Ringmistress that way." Strongbow interrupted, the candles blazing in response to his outrage.

A single wave of his mother's hand was enough to quell the hotheaded in front of her and the candles flickering in the moonlight. Swift knew his father had been taken in by the Grand Ringmistress when his mother passed away, being adopted by the circus as a whole. They had been a family ever since.

"Whisper is your partner thus her actions reflect your actions. No matter how childlike they seem she is a part of you. You just need time to see it." She said kindly, knowing full well how mischevious Trollians could be.

The Grand Ringmistress beckoned him forwards, setting her gnarled hands on top of his own as if he was still a child. Swift could tell how sickly she looked, her hands extremely cold despite the warmth of the tent. He knew there was no contesting their decision.

"Yes, Ringmaster Strongbow, Grand Ringmistress. I understand. I'll...I'll accept your condition."

He was barely able to keep his sadness from spilling over, tears welling up as he gave his ill grandmother, the pride of the Silver Strings circus the biggest hug he could muster. His Trill reverberated against his sadness, a constant looming reminder of his inability to perform.

 "I know you are more than your Trill, little bird. Someday you will soar again."