"Slaughtered?"

The word hung in the air like a bad odour, noxious and suffocating but Nivara had no reaction to such a foul term. She knew what she was and had no intention of shying away from the facts of her upbringing. She had made peace with her decision long before she had reached the age Charmer was now. After all, in this world taking a life was no different to ending a contract.

"Indeed. Slaughter. Murder. Assassinate. Either way, all lead to the same result." Nivara said nonchalantly as if casually commenting on the weather.

Flitter looked visibly sick, her pale silvery scales shuddering at the thought of such a thing. Nivara didn't blame her. Thousands of dragons had been lost to the binding fate of an Oathed contract and with the Mist Maiden's vile beliefs warping the minds of innocent civilians, they had no choice but to comply with their teachings. Whether you liked it or not, everyone in Caldor was an Oathed.

"But why? Those people...they were innocent-"

Nivara's temper spiked at the reminder, her reply slicing through the calm facade as her Trait flared angrily around them, covering them in a haze of royal blue tinged with lightning. She knew deep down that her anger was not towards the young dragonling but the thought of those people being kind or considerate spoiled any sense of calm she had felt.

"Innocent? My family was innocent! My friends who lived and died by their selfish hands were innocent! Those self proclaimed prophets didn't know the damn meaning of the word! Those who would dare call themselves Mist Maidens would never preach anything else. Innocence doesn't wash the blood off their hands. It never will."

Charmer stood in front of her Agar, defending her from the tirade only to provide a far different one of her own. There was no arrogance in her voice, only a poignant statement.

"Doesn't that include you as well, Nivara?"

Flitter quivered at Charmer's feet, wary of the looming mist constricting their movement. But Nivara's mind was preoccupied and the mist parted back into sections once again before it created a corporeal pair of blocky seats to sit on just as the Mist Maiden sat on it with ease, just to think a little while.

Her gaze peered over to the makeshift seat she had conjured for Charmer, her wariness over such an object. Her mouth tweaked upwards in amusement, reminiscing on how she had reacted when her mist had followed her instructions to create a similar block to rest on in the middle of the desert. She was once just as cautious and unsure as the pair in front of her. But that was before the Mist Maidens took her and bound her to their false ideals.

Ever since they were banished from Shuriken, the Mist Maidens had grown callous and cruel towards Traited and their own water kindred kind. They saw themselves as higher beings and any attempt to protest had meant execution or slavery against the law of the Laia. The Seven Scripts were replaced with just one: The First Law and Caldor became a cesspool of crime and deception in under a month.

They renounced their humble beginnings under the guidance of their ancestors and chose a new path in alchemy and alliances with those all over the realm. Neridia, Tarragon and Opalis all became prosperous countries because they each once had a Mist Maiden lurking in the shadows and ready to poison their minds. They became Regents: spies, confidantes to the highest of secrets, the most heinous of crimes and by the time Nivara had seeked them all out to destroy them they were already long gone from this world.

She hunted the stragglers and apprentices to extinction long ago, even going as far to slay natives living away from the fighting. But her revenge was short lived when she stole the cloak of her predecessor and found a new path to Opalis. Her grimoire. Her cloak. Her Storm Trait. All of it had once belonged to the original founder of the Mist Maidens: Stormkeeper Telari.

It was she who led the way for the next generation that Nivara now carried on her shoulders alongside her sins. As the next Stormkeeper she had always known the depth of her responsibilities but until Nivara had unlocked Telari's memories for herself did she truly understand how much had changed in the past four hundred years.

Much like her own family, Telari's dream for the Mist Maidens had been tarnished with a single choice and had broken any hopes at rekindling that spark once more. It was like Nivara was following in her predecessors footsteps and making the same mistakes in a different order with the same kind of people only to be led to her new home. The place that Telari herself had gone to only to seek refuge and find something more.

Shuriken.

Everything led back to the place that was no longer there. Telari herself had documented every painstaking memory for her to find using the techniques she had uncovered there. It was the birthplace of necromancy, the start of the demon war and now it had been destroyed long before anything had begun. Finding out why? This was far bigger than any revenge plot. It was the only thing that mattered anymore.

Nivara's bloodlust had died down but in its place was a constant memory whirring away, morose and tainted with a flicker of regret and a countless number of sins to work through. Not once had she thought herself as innocent. Even now as Charmer had harshly compared her with her victims did she shy away from the accusation.

"Yes. There is blood on my hands." Nivara admitted, her hands folded in her lap.

Charmer merely raised an eyebrow, sitting awkwardly on the dust ridden floor despite the chair Nivara had conjured for her. Flitter however was enjoying the floating seat immensely, bouncing on it a little to test how comfortable it was before lying down abruptly at Nivara's sudden confession.

"It is not from the innocent however. It is redder than the sands of time, the dunes that once bled the rivers dry and stained the Cerucian sea with droves of forgotten slaves and motherless children. At least when my hands are as red as my enemies it means my job is done without any more suffering. I will never regret that at least."

Nivara kept her expression impassive despite the passion in her voice when it came to quoting Telari's words. It had comforted her in the harshest of times despite the context of such a speech. The very memory she treasured most and had recounted for the duo was the last words Telari spoke before her execution.

With that single mindset alone Nivara had vowed to infiltrate the Mist Maidens, to become the Stormkeeper and uphold Telari's legacy. It was her goal to bring back the people of Caldor from the brink of corruption. But not until Opalis had been given the same cure.

"What if you're caught? What if I say you murdered people?" Charmer asked, far bolder than before.

"You won't." Nivara said simply, shrugging her shoulders.

Charmer was outraged but fought back the fury in her eyes, slowly learning how to understand the game Nivara was playing. She bit down a retort and was silent despite the urge to challenge such a notion but Nivara knew the truth. No matter how much she admitted, cursed, swore or hinted at: they wouldn't do anything against her. They had no proof.

Even with Charmer's threat still hanging in the air, Nivara knew that it wouldn't matter in the end. No amount of Trait could combat the Stormkeeper. With the allied might of the Timekeeper however, not even Ethros could go against it.

"After all, it is why I chose my name the way I did. All Mist Maidens do as a Rite of Summoning. I chose the name Nivara after the old capital city that was abandoned by their negligence. So no one ever forgets what they did to us."

Flitter's eyes went wide, confirming Nivara's hunch on her Svalbardian upbringing. Just as the name suggested the Mist Maidens were shrouded in mystery, their teachings and techniques all unknown even to Caldor natives who once housed such deities. All Mist Maidens were female and only the best Water Traited would receive the right to join their ranks with the arrival of a Bluetipped Raven: the Watcher of the Wastes.

"So, Nivara is a name you chose and not your given name?"

Flitter fidgeted in her seat, desperate to ask more about her Mist Maiden past but Nivara had nothing more she was willing to share. The Timekeeper had warned her once before about the promise of saying too much. She would do better to make sure that never happened again.

"You really think I'd tell you if it wasn't? That name is dead. It was buried alongside my family." Nivara said sadly, purposefully goading the two despite the lack of Silvertongue present.

She hated the pitiful act of brazenly placed pity but to combat the two Traited and their conflicting personalities she had to appeal to them both. Charmer was simple minded, seeing only strength as a guide to trust whereas her far more timid partner flocked to those who were educated and liked to regale her of tales from far away regardless of how it ended. Both had their virtues and vices but dealing with them as a unit was more trouble than it was worth. But as Flitter bashfully lowered her head Nivara finally knew she was getting somewhere.

"I know a little about your culture and...as a dragon I am quite ashamed at how much has been lost to time and secrecy. With all you've told us so far about the Traited and The Mist Maidens there is one thing many of my kind have never been able to visit. The Tombs of Meekenee."

Nivara masked her shock as well as she could, struggling to understand why a dragon with a noble background would suddenly reveal their intentions. Information couldn't exactly be freely given in this day and age yet here she was giving them a recount of her motivations like it was a recount of a tall tale. The intrigue of hidden knowledge was too great for Flitter to ignore.

It was well known to Nivara why the Fleetfoot dragons wanted to know about such a place. Much like Shuriken, the Tombs of Meekenee were once home to untold artifacts from decades past and they held a tremendous amount of history about the world they live in. But they had been destroyed by war and the ruins were now home to the most unsavoury bunch.

"I see. The Morrosai have been very...protective lately over Queen Renora's decision to live there. I take it you haven't been able to get past their defenses?" Nivara inquired, knowing full well the outcome of Svalbard's most recent excursion.

Morrosai were white mink meerkat-like creatures with long hooked tails and claws used to dig beneath the sands. They were twice the size of their Tinker Mole cousins and were known for their vanity and savagery when allowing only female offspring into their ranks. The male Morrosai however were hidden away from the world either to be used as live bait for more cunning predators or sent to the secluded Emerald Islands that sat between the ever-shifting waves of the Cerucian Sea. Had any Svalbardian known of this however they would surely exploit that hidden route to their advantage.

"No. Ever since the entrance collapsed the Tombs have been unavailable to anyone but the Morrosai. We can run across sand dunes in the sweltering heat but as soon as they figure out what we're doing there's no sneaking past them." Flitter replied grumpily, sulking on top of her mist block with not an ounce of trepidation.

Every few months the Fleetfoot travel to the land nearest the Golden Plains which hid the entrance to the underground catacombs to try and rescue what they could. But the untrustworthy Morrosai saw it as a betrayal and any chances of them returning would be met with a War Frenzy. Now the Tombs of Meekenee were used as an unlikely prison for those who dared to cross the ravagers path and although a new site had been made for those who had called it home nothing could compare to the majesty of the Mist Maidens true heritage.

I see. You're after the Seven Scripts, then." Nivara said, recalling the murals and written texts still lost to the sand.

"How did you-" Flitter began but Nivara cut her off with a laugh, much warmer than she had been beforehand.

"Flitter I'm a Regent, not an idiot. I know the noble clans tactics to overthrow my position as Regent. Chimera wants power, Svalbard wants knowledge, Willowridge wants social standing and Thundreign secretly wants more land for Tarragon along with my head, of course."

Her casual tone was no different than before but still they weren't used to her making light of gravely serious topics. Flitter looked as if she had swallowed a fish too quickly while Charmer's undeterred expression was strangely comforting considering how hostile she had been before.

"I really hate to say it but she's not wrong, Flit. It's pretty obvious what you're after. You may as well tell her." Charmer said absentmindedly, folding her arms for good measure.

Nivara chuckled despite herself, relaxing into the conversation and crossed her ankles, eying the flame filled gaze of the shrouded Firestorm phoenix. Only four minutes had gone yet it felt like four hours. But that was the nature of the Timekeepers Trait.

Flitter however looked as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders, her eyes clenched in fear and concentration. She didn't want to betray her clan, her kind but the thought of such a prize in front of her was simply too great to avoid. With a sigh and a heavy heart, Flitter revealed what Nivara had already known.

"I'm...I'm part of a secret research facility in Svalbard known as the Relic Runners. Every three months we save up for a temporary visa lasting two weeks in Caldor to try and best those ruffian Morrosai and research the lore behind the Tombs of Meekeknee."

Nivara raised an eyebrow, feigning shock despite her mask concealing her features.

She honestly didn't think Flitter would actually admit it. Svalbard's reason for not challenging Chimera for land was to try and learn more about their Trait. Instead of combating their overwhelming strength with a lesser version of their own power they wanted to study their opponents origins and find a weakness through the past.

The Labyrinth underneath the Undercity was there for a reason and so was the Divide. But as much as she wanted to help Flitter, Nivara couldn't risk the existence of such a thing to someone closely related to Chimera. They were too loyal to the Throneholder to worth risking something as simple as an archeological dig that could happen.

However it wasn't a bad tactic but the limited resources within the city, lack of time given after somehow managing to receive the go ahead and the sheer cost of shipping all that equipment, dragons and Traited was hardly worth the effort. The only way the nobles knew of to get to the other side of the Divide was for Lady Aria to grant them permission to pass through the other side.

Since she created the barrier it meant she knew how to bypass the restrictions placed on travel and immigration but to do so was a high price to pay. It was known as the Dispersal and it caused a very small section of the Divide and Caldor's barrier to merge into one to prevent the demons from entering freely.

Nivara had only seen it once before when she had just become an apprentice to her own Master. Lady Aria would block off a small section of the barrier and condense it into pure light to allow people to walk through. If you had permission to enter one country from another it would allow you to pass unharmed but if anyone uninvited tried to escape, lie or make a run for it, the light would burn that person to ash.

The risk versus the slim chance of reward was utterly ludicrous and rigged toward those who could pay for ten minutes of frantic running towards a minimal chance of freedom. Most got left behind, families segregated, some injured or utterly trampled but most of all the nobles with the most money could bypass any other Traited and block them off entirely. That day Nivara had seen the cruelty of both lands and the wickedness of the 'fair trial' they called the Demon's Gambit.

"So, do you want to hear the revised version or the original scriptures?" Nivara asked somewhat reluctantly, dipping her head away in awkward embarrassment.

It was an act but it needed to look like she was admitting to a deadly secret she dare not tell anyone else. Nivara knew how gluttonous dragons could be when it came to getting what they wanted and although quite mild compared to a Talonslash dragon, Flitter was still susceptible to giving into her greed. She wanted to know. She needed to at any cost.

"You- you actually have them committed to memory?"

Nivara nodded, not wanting to break the facade until she was sure of the Fleetfoot dragon's commitment. But her tell tale twitching tail was more than enough to confirm her jittery excitement of being the first person to hear the history of the Traited and the Seven Scripts.

"I may have despised everything they stood for and vowed to overthrow their reign over my country but I still did my tasks diligently to enter their ranks." Nivara said casually, shrugging her shoulders as if it weren't the most important part of the lost history.

"By the Laia's light..."

Nivara winced at the high praise from the dragon, feigning it to pick a splinter off her cloak. The ground was still covered in sawdust but the mist only did so much to protect itself from the arkalite stone below.

"They used the original scriptures as examples of necromancy but still required us to learn them. It was only after I betrayed them did they strike any record of them existing."

Opalis wasn't aware of the fate of Caldor thanks to the Divide. It was too easy for gang leaders and fake monarchs to send a yearly update like nothing was wrong. Communication only mattered to those burdened by the borders and even then only the Throneholder could do anything about it. Even letters and dragon mail were scarce between countries but the strong and the battle worn were able to communicate through Trait or even grimoires themselves. Other less forgiving devices were available if the Gadgeteer Guild allowed it but no Traited noble would dare be seen caught with a Tinker Mole object made by their blasphemous Craft. All information was limited and everyone was affected. That goal was what linked both Nivara and Flitter together.

So it was you who...can you recite them for me? I'd like to know everything I can if that's OK. Svalbard. The other dragon scholars...they have been guessing for years what secrets it might have held." Flitter asked, barely able to keep herself from vaulting into the air from excitement.

"Flit..." Charmer warned her, still wary of Nivara and her potential schemes to hook her Agar in.

The dragon gave a fleeting but reassuring look to her partner, aware of her suspicions but determined to press on despite that.

"The original scriptures are very long but I can try and summarise them for you. The old Mist Maidens used to guard them constantly so although I have them memorised I've never had an audience listen in before. Apologies if it's still a bit long." Nivara said, a tad more meek and bashful to try and give reasons for her reluctance to share right away.

Immediately the calm, no nonsense negotiator of the Fleetfoot's persona melted away in place of unbridled sympathy. In that moment, Nivara knew Flitter would hang on to her every word.

"No, no! Not at all! I understand completely." Flitter said, settling down immediately. "Please, whenever you're ready."

Seeing no other option, Charmer gave a warning glare towards Nivara before agreeing with a wordless nod. The Mist Maiden smiled gratefully and summoned her mist once more, allowing Charmer to sit on her own mist block before regaling them with the Seven Scripts: the seven types of Abnormal grimoire, their alluded holders and what the future might hold for those who agreed to possess one.

"The scarlet grimoire of Fire: Defiance.

Trusting someone to a fault is more than just mere stubbornness. It is an unrelenting truth that those you put your faith in depend entirely on you. Those who choose to betray that trust have nought to blame but their own weaknesses. To trust is to allow yourself to be seen for who you are. Nothing more, nothing less. The Timekeeper will change what is perceived as truth unwritten."

The mist wall before them shimmered like glass before it became translucent and began depicting various images depending on what had been spoken. Nivara had collected images, brief rumours and snippets of who each Traited could wield such power in the past, present and future. But the mist knew far more than she did.

The mist wall flickered, showing a young noble-woman wield a newly forged sword, her gloved blacksmith hands slamming it into another before a stream of flames burst forth from her grip. The image changed to a young Morrosai attempting to wrestle with the heat of a sandstorm tearing through his home, his eyes alight with fury and hope only for it to dim over time. The last was a much older man, far older than the rest who had the same dimmed light in his eyes and stood up to the demons when no one else would, fighting until the end.

"The haze grimoire of Air: Judgement.

Knowledge is key until it is not. Until it is a burden wrapped around your very soul, your ideals twisted into unrecognisable feats of power, deciding when and where to let go of that one word, one breath to change a future or ruin it. The price is always a costly one but will always lead back to what you know, instead of what you believe is true. The Bookkeeper will write a new future for all as one."

The image of the old man faded and in its place was a female gunslinger atop an earth dragon, firing at the Traited below while Tinker Moles set traps before rallying behind her. The scene melded into another lit only by candlelight, an elven scholar scribbling rapidly while all manner of objects floated about aimlessly. Nivara fought the urge to look away, the memory of the next events too harsh for even her to repeat.

A young soldier reassured his dragon before she was trapped in a maze of shadows, completely outmatched in the end until it was the dragon who reassured the soldier as they gave their last breath. A blitz of air erupted as a woman fought with her younger teacher while the others jeered at her from above and caused her to snap, her Trait causing pain to those nearest her only to be blinded by the very leader she looked up to.

"The cobalt grimoire of Storm: Retribution.

Versatility is vengeance in disguise. To be both is an undoing and a blessing but neither can exist without the other. The righteous storm can heal the wrongdoing of others but not all who claim revenge can be set free from the path laid out before them. Time your choices wisely and your aim strong until lightning strikes twice and brings about a new age. The Stormkeeper will cleanse the world of doubt and impurities."

Nivara's voice was hesitant, knowing full well that this was what she had aspired to become. It seemed the burden of her grimoire had been passed down for generations. Yes, she had killed and would kill again but no one was innocent in Caldor. No one had ever been. Not even a Stormkeeper. Not even her ancestors.

The mist complied despite her hesitance, showing the images Nivara herself had once poured night by night in the deep loneliness of the desert. A Singfall siren, surrounded by swarms of nymphs drove back the scaly intruders, her thorn whip lashing against the lightning tinged seas. The whip became a noose around a woman's neck, betrayed by the people who stood around her calling for her death. Her staff lowered in surrender until she spoke the very words Nivara had only moments ago before her staff was shattered and her life was taken too soon.

Nivara swept her hand across the mist, expelling the last two from view. She didn't want anyone to see her family's failures. Least of all her. Nivara pressed on to the next scripture, struggling to look past the fact this was the current Mist Maiden's First Law decree. The Law of Light.

"The white grimoire of Light: Oblivion.

Strength comes in many forms but ignorance is not one of them. Although fatal it may seem, there is more beyond the light if you are willing to break the cycle. Unite with more than just the traits shown by your hand, accept both the light of rebirth and the darkness of refuge. Succumb to more than the brilliance of dawn and shine a new light on division until thoughts change into a new era to bring forth. The Soulkeeper will reap the earth to heal those unseen."

It was an ominous text, far more foreboding if you knew the consequences behind those words. Instead of seeing it as a description of the Soulkeeper themselves and the path they had to take, they used it to describe all Traited. That they were ignorant to the ways of the world, that they needed to accept the light and banish the darkness of the foul necromancers for good. That consequences would be fatal if they didn't accept the Divide and the need for a new era without Traited like them.

The mist followed suit with its pattern: A vengeful Caithsee struck down her daughter, the war on both sides coming to a close as they understood the deception caused by their sisterhood. The cat-faced woman changed into a Traited battling her own dragon, conflicted over the same betrayal that had befallen her predecessor before striking her down all the same. As she lay dying it changed to a much paler woman lying sick and refusing help while others begged to save her with their gifts only for the image to flicker out. It faded as the fleeting memory of another Soulkeeper using their grimoire on an unsuspecting child to relieve her of the pain of her memories.

Nivara recognised the last two faces, mother and daughter just like the first two Caithsee. They were the Throneholders of Opalis befallen by the same illness that had ripped their family apart far too soon. She was surprised the mist had chosen that one but then again all grimoires were connected in some way. These Seven Scriptures were just the origins.

"The black grimoire of Shade: Memoriam.

Understanding is never in the absence of sacrifice. It is in the gratitude of loss and beginning, the grace of strength seen only in our darkest moments and greatest fears. It will lead to death and ruin but not only by the hands of yours. By the guidance of trust and the reversal of roles when time seems endless for those who mourn what they cannot know. Life is short but never meaningless when you grasp what is yours and yours alone in a last painless breath of freedom. The Deathkeeper will lead all who are broken to rise up once more."

The mist turned darker as the Havalog spoke with ease, only seeing diplomacy as his calling until the Spiritwalkers guided him to a much bigger threat. The mist changed to shadow as a young woman clung to her deformed child, begging her apprentice to take her while she drove back the demons with a single swing of her scythe. The last was once again the most difficult to watch: the shadows parting at the command of a scarred, woman long without hope as she sent her grimoire down into the depths of the skies, remaining trapped and alone.

Struggling to find the words, Nivara continued on with the promise of only two scriptures left to recite.

"The dust grimoire of Earth: Virtue.

Realism can shape the world or undo it with its intentions. Hewn from stone or moulded minds bring forth wreckage or beauty beneath unseen eyes. Only they know the false truth of the lives unwillingly given, the game played by those in power but they too will seed wrongs of right and rights of wrong. Their foul beast of fury is unbridled in hatred for unjust operatives alike in only where they stand their ground. Family is where you cast the iron grip of unleavened soil and traded secrets akin to that of those who fear you and those you fear most. The trick of the trade is only how far you are willing to go. The Gamekeeper will betray their past to wield what is the future."

The mist billowed out as a Sand Wraith slyly tricked the Havalogs away from his lands only to heal the travellers with his own blood despite the rumours of his untrustworthy kind. Blood stained the talons of his once trusted allies as his brethren fought with steel and flames to uphold the proud Vulcanoir way of life. A sniper's pride let them hide safely in the shade of the trees, shot aimed at a group of passer byers not before they succumbed to the effects of the dwindling Trait.

"The gold grimoire of lightning: Fortitude.

Capability always comes with a little bit of chaos. Brisk and true with aim and baseless virtue, power among power holds deeper when allied with more than blood alone. Forged by the bonds but not tied to them and their future to blaze alone in endless battle or choose where and when to make their last bolt count. One shot between death and the living, one stream of light leads to unknown possibilities only uncovered by those who dive headfirst and outweigh their options for their opinions.

The Gatekeeper will bridge the gap between worlds and more."

Exhausted, Nivara could barely pay attention to the last holders as the mist did all it could to keep going. The Tinker Mole sent bolt after bolt towards the earth, moulding it into pathways and living streets while the Traited tried to breach the everchanging walls of her home. A Griffinette swept along the shifting winds, avoiding the magma geysers from the island below and attempted to find a safe spot to land. A young woman sporting a yellow and black mohawk sat beneath a treasure trove of junk and trinkets. A variety of creatures sat in cages while Tinker Moles attended to the items below, wary of her unstable Trait and how she chose to wield it.

Nivara's eyes went wide at the sight of the last Traited and her power, knowing full well who had accepted the new mantle of Gatekeeper and what that meant for her plans. These scriptures weren't just fancy rules and sayings to live by. They predicted what kind of person could hold the grimoire and provide a potential candidate along with the future trapped within the pages of old.

These were the Seven Keepers of Trait.