Nivara's eyes weren't her own.

The usual stoic expressions she kept reserved within her mask had far more laugh lines and wrinkles than she expected as she caught sight of her own hands and looked up. She blinked. Nivara half expected a more visceral reaction to her grandmother’s face staring back at her.

Aidari Caldor. The previous Stormkeeper.

Her eyes that normally held the same stormy cover of her grimoire, had flecks of green and yellow you’d expect from the seabank of faraway towns of Floodbound or the highest capital of Nivaria. She clutched her head, the memories she had of those places conflicting with the uneasy knowledge she had never been there before.

She was tired. Not tired from lack of sleep or overworking but simply tired from life and all its little inconveniences. Everything ached, even things she couldn’t help like her knees and elbows jutting out at awkward angles yet no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t stand up as straight as she used to. Stretching, she heard the usual cracks of muscles moving and bones slotting into place from sitting from too long. 

Even as she moved around on her own volition it was like someone else was moving and thinking, grabbing and picking up things she had no recollection of or attachment to. Nivara tried to experiment by resisting to picking up Retribution, the very grimoire that connected the current generation with the former but despite being able to experience things from her ancestors first person perspective, it was Aidari who still had the agency. At least it seemed that way.

Her emotions seemed to tangle with her grandmother’s, the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion outweighing her own confusion over the situation but despite her slow and stately pace she seemed content with her everyday life. Aidari’s room was simple yet bright, varying shades of discoloured sand reminding Nivara of the golden sunset just off the horizon to the Golden Plains.

Aidari’s furniture was simple yet carved out of Ironwood which probably cost a lot considering how much of a rarity it was outside of Nocturus. The Snake Pits that Nivara had once called her home had been shaped by Trait and Traited alike, similar in construction to Lady Leaffa’s ingenious Labyrinth but somehow using Trait instead of Charger Craft. 

Aidari’s hands brushed against the wall to steady herself, no dirt lingering on her hands despite the coiling yet ominous static electricity contained within the walls. Part of Nivara wanted to reach for Aidari’s thoughts, still clouded as if hidden away by a wall of fog her Storm Trait had conjured but as she turned to leave part of her knew that the mysterious grimoire that wasn’t even meant to be hers would intervene. 

After all, if a Bindsmith as prominent as the Sentinel of the Silverwings could have her be mentally projected somehow into the grimoires pages then who knew what else could it do. She didn’t want to be trapped here forever. Perhaps she’d ask Anirri about it if she got back…if she remembered it. Her grimoire tucked lazily under her arm, pseudo Aidari moved towards the door as it slid open before she even gestured towards it, another surprise waiting just beyond the doorway.

“Mother? Are you alright?”

Nivara’s words failed her. Fiora. Her kind, amazing mother was standing right in front of her after so long of wanting to know her. She had been searching for answers, for the smallest reason as to why they had hurt her for so long after her death. Her bright curious eyes tinged with the same worry and love she felt reflected back at her even with a different face attached. It hurt. It hurt so much she could barely stand even with her shaky legs.

But Nivara knew that in her heart, the motherly daughter relationship was reversed and this right now was not her place or her body. Aidari had control. She did not. Fiora’s hand wavered on the door, waiting for a reply despite blocking part of her way with her leg. Her hair messily tied back with a strange collection of broken paintbrushes, shards of wood, paint and all manner of ground up herbs and spices still darted around her long faded jumper. A small smile tweaked at Aidari’s stern expression until she couldn’t help it any longer. 

“I’m fine, Fiora. Stop fretting, dear. I take it, dinner is ready?” Aidari gently teased her, half hugging her and taking the hand she offered as the door swung open.

A small boy no more than five or six giggled, clung to his mother’s leg, peeking out from the door only to hide back behind it again. Aidari’s impassive expression 

slowly stretched into a smile at the sight of her grandson only to pretend not to know he was hiding there. She darted her head towards the gap in the door, Fiora giving her the same smile as they continued the conversation as if neither of them had seen a thing even as Fenn continued to latch onto his mother.

“Almost. I was just about to have the kids turn in. It’s almost sundown and Nessy wants to go herb picking with me tomorrow.” 

The mention of her nickname warmed her heart but was soured by the lack of memories Nivara had associated with it. Nessy. It sounded…nice. Fiora’s casual tone conflicted with her clearly tired expression from looking after two young, rambunctious kids and a third unruly teenager who refused to listen to anyone but himself. But despite all of that nothing could hide the badly disguised excitement her mother had for waking up early in the morning and going to dig in the cool sands for unearthed treasures that could heal so many.

Aidari’s cloudy memory conjured up flashes of her daughter’s attempts to open an apothecary in Wayward, the nearest desert town to their cluster of Snake Pit homes. Nivara barely remembered living in the bustling city but she did know how much local trade and culture bypassed here to go as far as the Golden Plains. But the tight hold the various guilds had over new businesses was nothing compared to the slowly creeping in doctrine the Taishin had ingrained within the Traited.

“Does she? Good for her.”

The proudness in Aidari’s gravelly voice dipped slightly, leading the conversation seamlessly away from the subject of Fiora’s failed dream. She leaned against the wall slightly in an attempt to subtly relieve her fatigue a little only for the sound of something being knocked over made her look towards her room and back down the hallway. 

A pair of eyes stared at her. Aidari blinked, unfazed even as Nivara’s own reaction was far less subdued. A sparsely made dragon plushie peeked its button made eyes at her, its head bobbing around unnaturally as the scrap covered toy was paired with a much too familiar face to both her and her grandmother. Her younger self.

Her long hair hid the majority of her face, trailing over her scrap made dragon and actual dragon rubbing against her neck. Aidari didn’t know which she was wary of more, the fact her quickly ageing granddaughter still held onto such childish things or the damn ruffian of a dragon who dared to call themselves her Agar.

That unruly Talonslash dragon had perched on her doorstep and caterwauled the house down, dirty and malnourished they demanded the Stormkeeper’s attention with an age old favour from a decades old deal long forgotten and barged their way into their little family. But Nessra adored them and despite Aidari’s grievances and Nivara’s conflicting emotions the overwhelming feeling for the dragon was love. Unchanging love. 

“And what about my favourite grandson Fenn Fenn doing while his sister is up early doing all the work?”

Kaldrarion hissed at Aidari protectively, Nivara immediately took aback at her own partner but her grandmother laughed, waving at them both even as a younger version of her waved back and pointed at her mother. Fiora feigned ignorance, her lower half being jostled by an unknown object as a young boy who hid within the shadow of the door rushed past her with glee.

“Nothing!”

The young boy shrieked and ran into his grandmother’s path as she scooped up her grandchild with well practised ease, ignoring her joints cracked as he giggled delightedly at the promise of hugs. She held him tight, his stray Air Trait tickling his long hair against her chin as he wriggled helplessly but still laughing uncontrollably.

The coughing fit made Aidari put her grandson down a little sooner than she hoped the ache in her bones forcing her to stop teasing Fenral even as he clung to her hand. She knelt down to give him a final supportive hug, hoping to settle down the rambunctious boy as he waved goodnight to his sister and she traipsed back to bed. 

“That’s my boy, work when you’re a little older. Your big sister wants to learn now while she waits for her Trait to manifest. You might have your Trait now but it’s not the be all and end all of everything, y’know? If you want to try something else you just let me know, OK?” 

It wasn’t until Aidari’s voice had softened did she notice how different their voices were. Nivara was the Regent of Opalis. She had to be heard, to make people listen and to say the words they needed to hear. The Stormkeeper had to do the same at some point but somehow her kind grandmother made even the quietest whisper echo with the purpose and gravitas of an arriving storm. But right now, as she spoke to her grandchildren her words made Nivara think that nothing else was as important as this very moment.

“OK, Gran Gran. I will.” 

The half hug the little boy gave her was more than enough to keep the stinging pain in her arms at bay long enough to return the favour and gently break away from their hug. Nivara could feel the pang of her younger self, hiding within the doorway after overhearing how proud she was about Fenn’s Trait. A much smaller memory unearthed itself as the flash of first perspective she had lost drowned her thoughts in regret and sorrow for still not achieving her Trait yet. But she couldn’t interfere with that. No one could.

“You go ahead. I’ll join you in a moment, just got to tuck both of them in. Cardin will be home soon, he was out late collecting some last minute orders. Help yourself if you like. I’ve already kept the medicinal herbs to the side to help with the Surge.” Fiora suggested, her son tugging at her sleeve in an attempt to get away.

“Thank you, Fiora. Don’t be long. I’ve been looking forward to catching up all week.”

Aidari’s daughter’s sympathetic smile changed to a beaming grin, the tiredness on her face lessening just a fraction but her green eyes keenly caught her youngest son attempting to sneak into his big sister’s room. Fenn was scooped up again and tickled to stop him escaping with Nessra’s treasured dragon plushie in his greedy mitts.

“You little…”

Fiora shushed her even as his Air Trait gently buffered them with the smells of dinner making even Aidari hungry but the sudden force of such winds made her take a step back in an attempt to keep herself upright from the sudden hunger. Damn that kid was strong. The reminder of the Surge in her legs made her wince, rubbing her wrists as the poor circulation caused the ache to linger on. Nivara’s shock at her calloused skin only lasted on Aidari’s face for a moment before the sound of giggling caught her attention once again.

“Fenral. Give it here.”

Fiora’s green eyes blazed with mischief but lacked the forceful ability of a Tarragon, the plushie thrust into her palms only to begin floating gently back next to her sleeping daughter. Fiora gently scolded her dosing son, now bored from his little game and wanting to go off to sleep. Nessra’s own dragon gruffly kept an eye on the adults before curling back to sleep beside her, nudging the rescued plushie a little closer until her partner let out a sigh of content. 

“I better…” Fiora began, tilting her head toward the sleeping toddler in her arms and towards his own room.

Aidari nodded, leaning against the wall as the smell of cedar and chocolate followed the Air Traited duo as they turned the corner out of sight. She couldn’t help but shake her head at her grandson’s antics, grateful Nessra’s partner hadn’t escalated things further. Dragon’s had fought for far more petty reasons than a plushie.

The Talonslash that acted as Nessra’s companion would have a choice to make when the time came for her two grandchildren to summon their grimoires. Both were in differing conflicts with their Trait: Fenn had resonated with the currents around the desert the moment he was born but despite his early development there was no visible signs of his grimoire. 

No traumatic event. No surge of Trait. No sudden crumbling of the Eternal Death. Just a happy, curious, boisterous boy cheekily hiding in doorways and watching his father work, gathering wood shavings into little piles with stray gusts to chase his older sister to make her squeal. Nessra however had no signs of Trait affiliation to any aspect despite being around the right age for it but despite that she’d managed to ensnare a potential partner far earlier than her younger sibling. 

Aidari’s heart ached as she tried to fathom having to choose between two of her family members, the burning hot coal of her grimoire Retribution still safely tucked under her arm. Lingering for a moment to catch her breath, her eyes settled on her granddaughter's room, the urge Nivara felt to see her old room outweighed her options to not interfere with her younger self. 

Her room was a wash of muted colour, like the sands in an hourglass made of coloured glass and dyed grains of minerals Nivara couldn’t recognise. The ceiling was covered in tiny pinpricks of constellations, a giant map of what little they knew of the neighbouring countries and her parents' homelands. The endless forests of Nocturus and the surrounding hub of inventors in Tarragon.

Aidari could see it in the building blocks of Nessra’s upbringing: the wooden toys Cardin had carved by hand the dragonic anatomy including the intricacies of Tarragon’s clockwork to make it move. The sewn together cushions and plushies propped up books about different creatures, races, dragons and pop up children's books showing the different places and environments they had visited. 

The muted hues of blues, indigos and bright oranges and greens staining the walls clashed with the scarcely salvaged wooden furniture they had steadily built over the years of setting up the Sand Pits hideout a long way from the Nocturian border. They had built their lives as an apothecary and woodworker respectfully but the rarity of their professions in a brand new country and the desire to start a family forced them to sacrifice what they once knew and adapt.

Aidari could see the hidden remnants of Fiora’s workshop: the stains of the pestle and mortar, the flecks of herbs and gathering dust from being unused, the history tucked away in hidden boxes filled with empty vials and test bottles that Nessra had scuttled away and pretended to practise with by syphoning off grains of sand that fell from the Trait protected walls.

Aidari chuckled, the craftiness of the shy girl only becoming clear with the slight bulge in the woven in the snitchweed grass mat. Who knew what she had potentially been hiding the horde of spare herbs her mother had long forgotten about. She gave the room one last look, the coil of pride churning into regret that clouded her thoughts even as she headed away from her granddaughter’s room and headed towards the kitchen.

Fiora had put so much work into her business. 

The healer’s hut turned bedroom acted as a second home for Aidari’s daughter which became essential with the local towns popping up around the Golden Plains and had Fiora travelling from all over Caldor and beyond long before any other guilds had done so. But the longer she worked the worse the conflict between Traited became, the riots between Oathed and Agars reaching further and further from the old capital city until even the outsider healer was caught in the crossfire all because of the partner she chose and the contract she made with them.

But that fear and bias that had already started smouldering had reached a hellfire pitch and the Taishin capitalised this to stage assassinations specifically taking out any threats to quell the mobs. Mayors of cities. Members of the Laia priesthood: The Scarlet Order were wiped out. The more assassinations that occurred, the more fingers were pointed towards the different factions that had built between different Traited and different partners. 

Fire vs Water. Earth vs Air. Oathed vs Agar. 

The little nicks at Fiora’s heritage became hate crimes over her green eyes, the fear of being controlled by Tarragon after the war being even more prominent no matter how she explained the percentage of people who had it. The red helmed Scarlet Order who kept the peace for generations were replaced with the azure cloaks of the Mist Maidens. Once the healer’s and peacekeeper’s broke out from underground and steadily began to grow alongside the Taishin was the moment her daughter was on their radar. 

Fiora refused the offer of recruitment and moved closer to the Nocturian border in an attempt to be nearer her committed customers but it was there she met her husband. Cardin Fletcher. Now, of course he was Aidari’s son in law: Cardin Caldor. Cardin had been a very different person back then but Fiora had started a joint business with him and his focus had redirected from petty crimes to keeping their livelihood afloat. 

He might’ve done some shady deals in the past but Aidari could see how much he cared about his family and his passion for his work. Cardin had built this place for her when the Surge first took hold of her, the sands stealing away what residual Trait it could until Aidari could handle standing again. For this and for so much more she could never be truly angry for what he did back before he met Fiora. If it didn’t bother her then she had no right to complain.

Aidari blinked, stopping abruptly at the sudden wall blocking her path instead of the familiar open plan kitchen she was sure was the correct way. Startled for a moment, the sound of bickering had her move down the next corner even after she was a little frazzled over her lack of direction. The sandy coloured walls dimmed to a pale brown, leading to a much smaller room but the space was well used with the different drawers and counters tucked down and made from either wood or solid Sand Trait to match the room. 

The drawers were stuffed with jars, dried ingredients, plates, cutlery and random bottles of herbs and spices set meticulously in a row. The other half of the kitchen had scattered utensils, mishmashed pots and pans and a large degree of stains, spills and all manner of dirty dishes stacked up and tossed to the side. The corners of Aidari’s mouth tweaked upwards, the clear signs of Fiora’s chaotic cooking and Cardin’s attempts to rectify it. To no success. The woman had no sense of taste when it came to anything but sticking it in a pot and seeing what happens but somehow the potato-like vegetable would only perform magic when Fiora was the one cooking it.

Aidari quietly watched as a young Traited stumbled about haphazardly, attempting to mutilate a large pie covered in thin slices of vegetables still steaming hot. The young adult was clearly drunk, being carefully watched by his dragon from tripping over his own feet despite the constant eye rolls. He was far smaller than normal, no bigger than the stray island in the middle of the room instead of the towering mountain he had been since they first met. It always amazed her how easily dragons could change shape at will.

The air that escaped from the crust made the Water Traited hands shake as he cut the wonkiest slice imaginable, scattering the stray greevy slices and juices barely onto the plate as the beautifully made pie sank mournfully back into the dish. Frowning at her grandson’s antics, Aidari couldn’t stand by any longer, the knife he was using still teetering off the plate he was attempting to sneak away with.

“Lakerton Caldor! Put that down this instant you thievin’ beggar.”

The Surge reacted on its own, the static lightning skittering across the edge of her arms sunk into the walls as Lake flinched in surprise, the knife slipping from his hands just as her excess Storm Trait charred the knife to dust just before it hit his dragon dead centre in the forehead. The wooden handle thunked against the Copperback dragons rock hard head like a bird attempting to fly through a pane of glass.

“Ah! Gran Gran!”

Her attempts to glare at her grandson completely failed as Lake’s Agar Mercurial fell like a stone and erupted into fits of laughter, the sharp anxiety of harming a dragon fading away at the tell tale signs of too much Fairy Brew and a drunk dragon in a fit of giggles. She sighed at the two of them, half tempted to continue the lecture even as her beloved pie still lay corkscrewed in all directions over the once clean counter. Well, at least Mercury would enjoy it if he ever stopped laughing.

“Don’t you gran gran me, Lake. Sneaking out at all hours for a poxy Debate you weren’t even invited to, arriving late, half drunk and thieving our dinner in the process? You’d put your father’s old profession to shame, boy.” 

His dopey grin offset her half stern half joking tone, the gravelly mix of Caldorian brashness paired with the over practised vowels that only came from a home tutor. Nivara couldn’t help but feel ashamed she hadn’t noticed it before, her soft yet cheeky tone already causing her grandson, Nivara’s older brother to laugh a little louder than before.

His neck craned back in laughter, his sandy hair and equilibrium following with it as he leaned a little too far back and tripped over his own feet. Scrabbling for the end of the countertop his arms swept aside the crumbled greevy pie, Mercurial’s beady eyes latching onto the promise of food. 

He bounded straight for his partner, perhaps more for the pie than anything else but still he performed his duties admirably, acting as a weight bearer for Lake underneath his flailing back, jaws still snapping for what leftovers he could reach. The epitome of laziness but at least the dragon was satisfied.

“Technically, I was invited. Lake was not.” 

Aidari rolled her eyes at the greedy earth dragon as he licked his jaws, surprised he had gotten so accustomed to eating anything but minerals. At least he had thought to attempt a conversation before skulking off to his room. It was at the shadiest part of the house, the matching tan and chocolate browns mirroring the dreary nature of Mercurial’s home as best he could. After all, he was from the Undercity.

Unlike Nivara’s new dragon, Lake had initially settled for a contract with a Smoke Trollian but as his Trait and education developed he had sought out a far bigger challenge. To head to the home of the dragon’s and ask for a better fit to let his Trollian friend go free and return to the Lasting Place. 

Those who lived deep in the Aaracosta mountains refused to even consider the notion. The Cerucian Scale Screamers almost drowned him while the once thriving excavation ruins that ran along the edge of Shuriken and Opalis like a crack in the world no longer dwelled there. Until he ventured into the depths of the forgotten Traited below Opalis itself. The Undercity.

The dwindling hour of sunlight that Lake snatched from the Hanging Sun each day was barely enough to adjust to for a desert dweller like her grandson but even at the depths of the darkness his Caldorian stubbornness would not give in. Mercurial had found him, half dead by a Vipereye dragon’s poison after attempting to bargain with the Wraithwitch alchemist guild and became his Oathed over the promise of returning to Caldor for one mission. The Debate. The very event they had just been kicked out of.

“Technically, this is still my house. So grab your pie, whatever Fairy Brew you’ve smuggled in already and shove off. Before that mother of yours finds out and rams another knife up your….”

“Alright, Alright Granny Aida. We’re gone, we’re gone.”

Lake lounged back against the side of his dragon now a head over the countertop, his lazy wave towards the Stormkeeper now half slapped against his Oathed in a sloppy but grateful pat. Mercury snorted, managing to hold himself together as he flicked his tail to anchor himself and prop up Lake long enough to stand and catch his breath.

Suppressing a laugh, her grandson loitered as much as possible, steadily gathering his things and attempting to rescue the far crumblier mess of pie he’d managed to salvage on a plate. Aidari leaned against the countertop, picking at the crumbs and failing to suppress her hunger. Damn, it wasn’t anything like Cardin’s morning redderbie pancakes but Fiora definitely had a way of perfecting pies.

Out of the corner of her eye, her grandson offered her another knife-like spatula which she grabbed and plated her own slice without the added chaos and grimaced at the small container beside it. Before she could add the dreaded Surge suppressing herbs to the mix, Lake swiped her plate and attempted to pull a fast one on her by swapping his crappy attempts at a dinner instead.

Quick as a whip, Aidari planted her stance firm and grabbed a nearby switchweed towel hanging off the edge of the handles and thwacked him with it, the Surge passing through the excess static electricity and lightly shocked him enough to make him yelp in surprise, drop her plate right into her waiting hands. Aidari couldn’t help herself, goading the poor, tipsy Traited by poking him in the chest with Lake whimpering all the while.

Setting aside her plate and her makeshift weapon tucked under her arm, she hugged her grandson with all she had and cleaned him down as much as she could. The stray greevy chucks still stuck to her shawl but she brushed them off and gave him a comforting pat and slipped half her slice onto his plate with a smile.

Lake stared at her for several seconds, returning the hug a little stronger than Aidari expected.

Mercurial nudged her hand with his snout in thanks, making sure neither of them went off balance before his ears perked up at the sudden clatter of noise, the Copperback having to resort to shoving his Oathed out of the room without a word. At least the poor boy had remembered to grab the right plate. Aidari couldn’t help but chuckle, slowly heading towards the much smaller dining room.

“Who…”

Aidari turned achingly slow, plate still in hand with the help of her grimoire to see Fiora staring at an all too familiar tail peeking out from around the corner before disappearing from sight. Damnable dragon. Nivara held her breath, her chest aching from wanting to burst into the same fit of giggles that overcame her brother but she clamped it down in favour of her grandmother’s wishes.

”Sorry, dear. I know you said to take it with the herbs but I got so hungry…” 

Aidari’s bashful smile reminded Nivara of a child hiding a broken toy behind their back as she brushed herself down with crumbs, the static electricity it was generating rippled off the wool on her clothes. Fiora stared at her disbelievingly, her head lifted much like she had done when disciplining her daughter when she was young and seeing her perfect, the disappointed mom mode made her squirm a little on being on the receiving end.

“He’s never going to learn if you keep spoiling him like this.” Fiora teased disapprovingly, folding her arms disapprovingly as she shook her head.

Her ears pricked up at the warbled commotion coming from the vicinity, the door to the hallways and Lake’s room still left open haphazardly as he had tipsily charged towards his room. Fiora ignored it with a knowing grin, gently taking the small plate of greevy pie off Aidari and adding the blue leaved stormless herbs that had been ground into a paste.

Aidari hid her grimace as her head turned away from her daughter, steadily grabbing another knife and cutting her own slice out of the remnants of Lake’s attempts. Fiora silently shooed her, floating the two plates towards the small island with ease as Aidari attempted to follow suit but far slower.

Fiora took her cue to slide the high topped stools into place with her Air Trait, slowly, finally sitting down for their much deserved if slightly later than planned dinner. Aidari shivered, the cold night air aggravating her even as the packed sand helped cling to the warmth she had left. Or perhaps it really was the Surge. 

Sighing, Aidari ate in the prolonged silence her daughter created, mixing the delicious with the disdain she had for the herbs that helped her but ruined the aftertaste of the greevy pie. The muffled din of the duo chatting and swearing became louder and louder despite the Trait filled walls that soundproofed as much as possible.

Fiora stabbed her dinner with her fork, the wood close to splintering as the Air Traited listened to the carefree laughter despite fretting and worrying over the two idiots. Steam rushed out from the crumbling, crisp centre even as the greevy juices gushed onto her intricately carved plate and much like the eagerness of the liquid…Fiora couldn’t take it anymore.

The wooden fork she tried not to take her anger out snapped into three, the pieces scattering onto the floor even as Aidari gingerly offered a spare. The Air Traited ignored it, her head in her hands as she tried to process the colossal fuck up her eldest had performed with such an oblivious smile on his face. Nivara couldn’t help but count how many times she had donned the very same expression over the actions of her coworkers.

“The Debate, I ask you. Snooping in on a dragon only invitation. He knows the risks, what did he expect? That they’d welcome him with open wings? He’s lucky they didn’t skewer him for lunch!”

Fiora threw her hands up in the air, her frustration reaching breaking point but Aidari didn’t show her the slightest hint of annoyance but her eyes couldn’t help but be amused by her reactions, actively listening and nodding as Fiora struggled to put into words how she felt and how she would go about things. It was almost a relief for Aidari to see her daughter not smiling, almost worried that the daily grind of motherhood had dampened her flame and forced her to be happy throughout every day. She was too naive in her thinking. Fiora would fight even harder regardless of her family commitments and how murky their future might be.

“Besides, we’re Traited and dragons…” 

“Never forget. I know, Fiora.”

Aidari kept her voice even, never denying her of needing to justify that anger, that annoyance she felt, they all felt when someone they loved was worth worrying about. The carefully crafted role of a mother passed from Aidari to Fiora and back again, the person Nivara loved and idolised began to slip, the exhaustion overwhelming the perfect persona that came with the fatality of memory. Despite that, Nivara couldn’t help but love her mother even more.

“It wasn’t always like that, I promise you.” Aidari added, a quiet reminder of the past making her voice falter a little.

Aidari shook her head of those thoughts, taking another bite of the soured pie tinged with stormless herbs but the greevy was slightly better the more she tried it. Fiora’s eyes met hers for a moment, before they glanced down to her grimoire still perched on her lap. Most Traited kept their grimoire unsummoned unless in a dire situation to protect themselves but Aidari was different. She didn’t feel whole without it by her side.

“But I remember the days when a certain someone once tried to learn healing in exactly the same way and revolutionised Air and Fire Traited relations forever all because she wanted to join in with the adult Knuckle Burst dragons. Do you know who that was?”

Aidari’s sly comment made Fiora roll her eyes, the only action she could do while mid-stuffing her face with the largest piece of pie imaginable. She looked away embarrassed, cheeks bulging with the wedge of potatoes she had somehow managed to swallow without choking on it. Aidari didn’t bother chastising her, knowing full well how rare it was for them to get ahold of the Neridian crop segregated from the rest of the realm.

The casual response from her daughter made Aidari chuckle, Nivara witnessing a glimpse of her peripheral conjuring a memory of her mother accidentally setting a few of her tutors on fire despite her Air Trait being able to snuff out any candle in a several mile radius. Amplifying the fire and being able to feed it without overdoing it or having enough strength to equally distribute it was quite a feat for any Traited attempting to cooperate with another.

“That is not the point. Traited challenging how Trait is done would get you a slap on the wrist at most. Messing with dragon's traditions simply for the greed of knowledge. You know what happened to the last Bookkeeper. I just…don’t want him to make the same mistakes that I did.”

Aidari fought back the urge to scoff at her daughter’s casual mention of such a dire consequence, cleaning the rest of her plate with what little chunks of greevy she had savoured long after the lasting taste of the stormless paste was gone. She didn’t know whether it was the homemade food that made her feel nostalgic for the reminder of how stubborn both Fiora and Lake could be.

Both had set off from home around the same age but both in very different circumstances. Unlike her unruly son, Fiora had run away from home after her fifth tutor had pushed her too hard and the Bookkeeper’s stories had lured her towards the fire dragons that roamed the Golden Plains once a year.

Unfortunately, they liked to venture near the furthest point between the border between the Caldorian desert and the start of the Neridian border: the Emerald Isles. But the fabled Knuckle Burst dragons weren’t the only ones who patrolled beyond the borders of the Cerucian Seas. The Sea Vixen pirates.

“I wouldn’t call being sent to the Pressurehold for two weeks a slap on the wrist, Fi Fi. But someone needs to guide him…gently. Clearly his Agar isn’t up to the task if he went along with Lake’s crazy plan.” Aidari added, attempting to keep her voice light and friendly despite the topic of conversation.

Nivara didn’t know how her seething rage didn’t affect her grandmother’s mood, the flash of memories of seeing her mother captured by the dreaded Singfall sirens and callously thrown into the same prison they had threatened to throw her into. They were ruffians turned hired hands that had somehow convinced the elves to allow them free reign to enforce their rules and govern the seas they had once been exiled from.

“Lake did promise him…” Fiora admitted, still trying to sympathise with her son despite her grievances.

Aidari smiled sympathetically, gingerly resting her hand against her daughter’s despite the risk of the Surge and tried to comfort her the best way she could. Fiora had always found it hard to connect and share with her mother because of her role as the Stormkeeper.

“Perhaps, I can reach out to some of my old colleagues at the Council of Names. I’m sure Anirri….”

Fiora broke away from her grip as if stung by her Surge, Aidari’s guilt and hurt made Nivara flinch while Aidari’s hand couldn’t help but move down to protect Retribution. Fiora’s gaze followed it, far more clear than the brief glance she had previously ignored along with the misguided longing with something she didn’t expect. Fear.

“No, no. You promised me. No more Stormkeeper deals. No more last minute favours. You deserve to retire, Aidari and retire peacefully. You owe them nothing and Lake will find his feet. I know he will. Just give him time.” Fiora insisted, wringing her hands together anxiously to try and get her point across.

That little gesture warmed Aidari’s heart and she couldn’t help but be reminded of her very own Master, one of the previous Bookkeepers who had told Fiora all those stories of dragon’s wielding flame not to hurt but to heal. With the hope that Air Traited and hopefully someday, all Traited could learn what their Trait could do without restriction. 

After all, Master Basra was the one who taught her the possibility of her Storm Trait and despite Basra being a Dual Traited herself, Aidari had never seen a Sand Traited before or since. Air and Earth Traited weren’t exactly rivals or enemies but she assumed the rarity of the Traits mixing to create a Dual Traited rather than a dominant force of one over the other.

It was the reminder of her Master: one of the first wandering herbalists who discovered many of the medicines they now used today including the coveted stormless leaves she now used to combat her Surge. Basra had passed from the Eternal Death long before she got a chance to say goodbye, thankless and alone even as her Trait knew she couldn’t be with her. But Aidari was here now, with her daughter, surrounded by the sands that reminded her so much of the rare kindness of her Master who knew a rare Trait was not to be shunned aside.

“Alright, dear. I swear on my Trait I won’t.”

Resigned to her fate, it was the hopeful look in her daughter’s eyes that made the flash of her Storm Trait searing her veins for only a moment only to dull into a slow ache that would never leave her. Eyes closed her grimoire responded in kind, Retribution sealing the old promise into its pages and her bones as Nivara felt every inch of the Surge that slowly claimed her grandmother. Part of Nivara knew: a small knot of anxiety that if she survived as long as Aidari did that she too would feel the same constant, chronic pain that the Surge brought her. But whether the stormless herbs would be there to aid her remained to be seen.

“Do you regret it? Not being able to inherit Retribution?“ Aidari blurted out, immediately regretting her decision with the sheer look of pain on her daughter’s face.

Fiora didn’t answer at first, deciding to tidy things up and walk towards the island and began to place the leftover slices of greevy pie into a strange wooden box filled with intricate holes as a sort of cool box to store food and other perishables. The second box she took out of the strange desert made drawers filled the room with the smell of herbs and spices of a second greevy pie nestled away just in case.

As if to relieve the tension in the room, Fiora grabbed two cups that had been slowly warming to the side of the kitchen counters, a small billow of steam rising up from some preheated water still waiting to be added to both their favourite beverages. Fiora said nothing, barely able to meet Aidari’s gaze even after the Stormkeeper wanted to start pleading to her to forget what happened and move on. Until she looked down at the mug she had handed her.

Nivara’s regret seemed to wash away as a sip of scalding hot shadeling coffee put everything at ease even as Fiora held her own mug of fruity redderbie tea as if it were a treasured family heirloom. The rarity of the Neridian crops and the effort to not only get them but to prepare her favourite drink just the way she liked it. It reminded her of where she came from, the beautiful waterways she travelled along back home before she moved to Tarragon to raise her daughter away from her time as Stormkeeper. The exact opposite to what Fiora did.

“Try as I might, I will never be a Storm Traited. I have watched you save so many people yet hurt yourself so much to do so. Being the Stormkeeper has brought us so much but cost you even more.”

“How…”

“How has it not? Neridia is in complete disarray after that imposter tarnished your name. They created the biggest power vacuum since the Astral Three by exiling their own Sunstress and now, now they’ve made things by involving these Trait hunters who started this war in the first place!”

Fiora didn’t raise her voice or react with her Trait like she had every right to do so but gently put her cup down and allowed herself to calm down as long as she needed. Aidari half expected to see her grimoire summoned right in front of her but Fiora had far more self restraint than she did.

“Taishin, dear. They call themselves the Taishin.”

Aidari tried to soothe her rambling a little despite brushing the elven group aside a long time ago, she couldn’t deal with it now thanks to her Trait flaring up her Surge. She had decided to forgo the Keeper’s of Trait to focus on her family just as the Taishin were strengthening in notoriety but for Aidari it was her greatest regret. She had abandoned her people and then her people abandoned them.

“It doesn’t matter what they call themselves. The Taishin. The Silver Strings. They’re just the same as all the rest. They’d rather cling to the false prophet of change than actively pursue working together with others. Just like the Seven Scripts say, we’re far better off cursed.” 

“Fioranne!”

Fiora flinched, knocking into the rest of her mug as the reddish clear tea spilled over the table. The mug smashed onto the floor as the two reflexively tried to repair the damage but Fiora raised her hand, insisting to keep her mother seated even as exhausted tears fell onto the floor beside it.

“Sorry, mother. I didn’t mean…”

Aidari was already at her side, Surge be damned as her Storm Trait helped clear the mess up with her Trait turning the tea into mist and evaporating it into the air. Crumpling to the floor, the Surge took what it needed and her veins burned with the simple movements of her Trait. Fiora brushed her hand against the solid sand floor, the grains of sand separating as it swallowed up the shards of broken mug as if it never existed.

“I’m sorry-“

Aidari began, Nivara’s eyes mirroring her grandmother’s for just a moment as Fiora stared at her in shock even as she helped her back to her seat. Nivara could tell they wanted to continue the discussion, still desperate to connect but before Fiora could get another word out a loud rapping knock at the door broke the illusion forever.

Fiora drifted away from Aidari even as she desperately tried to crane her neck and gather the last bit of strength from what her Surge already took from her. Part of her only half knew the clawing anxiety that coiled at her throat, Retribution angrily reacting to whatever was waiting beyond the door.

Aidari gripped her daughter’s hand, wide eyed and desperate as Nivara took hold for the first time. The haunting scene truly became a memory that a faraway silver dragon brought her into with an ability she could never begin to understand. But Fiora held her mother close for a moment and let go.

“You know you don’t need to knock, dearest. I can-“

Fiora couldn’t finish her sentence. Her kind expression twisted into pure anger, the reined back Trait buffeting their intruder with the strongest air currents she could conjure up. With a stray hand, the torrent of Air Trait was brushed aside with a tip of a hat as the intruder strode into the light and drew all the heat from the warmth of the kitchen to relight his cigarette.