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Character of the Season
Frail in body but dangerously quick of mind, Nikandr is the sort of character who proves that curiosity can be just as perilous as any weapon. A necromancer, inventor, and problem-solver with more ambition than self-preservation, Niki approaches the world like a puzzle box begging to be opened, even when what’s inside has teeth. Blunt, dry-witted, fiercely independent, and carrying a history best left partially buried, he has a knack for making even failure feel fascinating. Whether he’s raising the dead, moving across Caido to King's End, or experiencing a hangover for the first time, Nikandr brings a wonderfully strange spark to Caido, and we can’t wait to see what trouble his brilliant mind wanders into next.
Congratulations, Niki!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
Zuriel was content in accepting compliments, her piercing eyes softening minutely as Theea extended accolades. Her horn pulsed, but she was gentle in her ministrations – having committed to the same mending acts over and over again for the Sword, and multitudes of others in their travels.
When it was done, she sniffed the air with a massive snort, then meandered lightly back over to Deimos, and they were both astute in hearing the incoming of more. He’d like to think there’d be some ending to the debacle instead of the constant surplus, because where would they all be constantly coming from…
Unbeknownst to him, and likely to his benefit, he didn’t see the calculations conspiring through the newly-fledged hunter’s head. Never enjoying being perceived in the first place, Deimos was eternally content to keep to himself and his tight circle of family and friends, without the bits of reverence or fame sent his way. His preference was remaining out of the limelight entirely, but in his line of work, that had never gone quite to plan. So when she started, his brow arched again, features glancing back over to her. “Yes…?” waiting for something else to follow. Maybe something incredulous. Where he’d erred along the wayward way of Caido.
Which was, inevitably, a rush of void luxere.
Pitching another flurry of air enchantments, and watching as Zuriel kicked out at one that went entirely too close, he heard one more fall into the snow, then watched as huffs of breath curled from behind a cluster of trees.
I blink at him, still flexing my freshly-healed arm and half-grinning at the sheer absurdity of standing here in a snowy battlefield with the Deimos. "I’ve heard some wild stories about you," I admit, still catching my breath. "Bit of a legend."
My mouth is already ahead of me. "I actually met someone recently who said they knew you—Elizabeth. She helped me out when I first arrived, and we found a rose together. She said she was bringing it to you, to…" I trail off as a rumble shakes the snow beneath our feet. Another group of luxere barrels into view through the trees, and my thoughts scatter like dry leaves.
I grit my teeth. My limbs are aching, and my fingers have started to go numb from a mix of cold and exhaustion. This is more than I thought it’d be—more than any training or story could’ve prepared me for. But I don’t back down.
Daggers ready again, I plant my feet in the snow and try to shake off the fatigue. "Later," I say under my breath, both to myself and the conversation. We can talk legends and roses when I’m not about to get skewered again.
The luxere breaks from the trees fast—too fast. I try to dodge, but the snow slows me down, and I hit the ground hard, rolling just out of its path. As it charges over me, I lash upward with my remaining dagger, slicing deep into its belly.
Blood sprays—hot and sudden—across my arms, face, even my tongue. The creature stumbles and crashes nearby, legs kicking once before going still.
I push myself up, sputtering a little and breathless. "Well," I huff, wiping my mouth on my sleeve before I grin, "if I wasn’t intimidating before, maybe being this covered in blood’ll help."
Then I square my shoulders, eyes scanning for the next one. Still standing. Still useful.
“Wild” stories about him ensued another vague laugh – for he had multiple adventures across Caido, and not all of them wholly pleasant. “I see. I have somehow garnered a reputation,” he rumbled in response, though with the lightest touch of a juvenile grin in the corner of his mouth; perhaps ascertaining he knew and understood it, as much as he strived to avoid the attention of many others. Sometimes it couldn’t be helped.
His eyes widened at the notions of Elizabeth and the rose, unaware she’d had assistance in finding it. “She did, thank you. It will likely be heading towards certain areas in need of gardening.” To which his head tilted, in the direction of Starfall, through mountains and fields and ocean.
Not that it mattered much presently – not when more void luxere were bombarding through.
Though while Deimos was almost nonchalant with the interactions (another blast of air billowing, another felled corpse further down the lane), Theea seemed to be adjusting in confidence. Slices and blood, stains and slashes, seemed to be making up the order of movements, and as another three or four came thundering down the lane, he snorted, persisting in the onslaught of his own.
"Stories are all I had for a while," I huff, breath fogging the air as I reposition my grip on my daggers, the second freshly retrieved. "You grow up listening to them, and you think they’re just that—stories. Legends. Not men with the elements in their hands fighting next to you in the snow." I don’t mean to sound winded (or so dramatic), but I am (and I do). My lungs burn, my limbs are aching, and my poor jacket’s barely holding together where the antler tore it.
Another luxere breaks through the trees—its gaze is dreadful, its gait violent. I charge before I have the chance to think better of it. The first strike misses. The second nicks it shallow. I get a hoof to the hip that knocks me sideways into a snowbank, but I roll, push up, and slam my blade into its side just under the ribs. It lets out a wet, broken noise and topples hard. I strike it again below the jaw before it can even thrash.
I stand slowly, pulling my dagger free. I can already feel the bruise throbbing where the hoof connected. My body is trembling. Not from fear or pain or even the adrenaline—just from sheer exertion. My eyes still sting as the cold gnaws at every part of me.
I glance toward Deimos, just to make sure he saw that I’m still upright, still in this. Gods forbid he ever tell Remi or Ronin about this and it’s a story of how much of a liability I was.
I watch the line of trees where the last of the herd stomps—at least I hope it’s the last of the herd. Then I glance west, toward the mountains, toward Starfall. "Not exactly the easiest soil," I murmur. "But I guess rose gardening these days takes more than shears and a trowel."
Deimos could understand some portion of that. Childhood had been a collection of stories about those carved seemingly out of mythos. Champions, heroes, villains, and those lodged somewhere in between tragedy and might. He’d never had opportunities to see all of it come to life – for those had been sculpted from frameworks and not reality – but here, in Caido, where monsters breathed and loomed and dastardly vengeance cut its own niche, there was room for titles to be born and distinctions to be passed along. He’d just never considered himself a piece of it; simply committing to what had to be done. No need for reverence.
But he listened just the same, gaze following tracks in the snow and launching strides to be caught outright by air; brow arching out of his own curiosity. “Who are your parents?”
Expecting Zuriel would be healing Theea yet again, he waited until the last seemed to simmer into nothing – listening all the while to the rush of hunters gathering and tossing more gauntlets of fire at corpses, before taking another step towards another felled nearby. “That should be the last of them.” What they’d expected anyway. “Do you need more furs?” He likely had some lodged away in his bag.
The murmuring about Starfall made him snort as he worked, casting flames alight in the darker thickets of the forest. “Quite a bit more. Though we have found what can be most effective against those associated with it,” the barest hint – if she was interested – though she might’ve seen it firsthand with the way the air elements had been slicing through them.
I shake my head at the offer of furs, though it’s tempting now that the adrenaline is wearing off and sweat is cooling fast against my back. "I’ll be fine. Might regret it in ten minutes, but I’ll survive, I say, breath curling visibly in the air. I roll my shoulder once, testing the limits of exhaustion. My whole body aches like I’ve been through a dozen sparring matches back-to-back—but I’m upright. Breathing.
I didn’t die. I didn’t get anyone else hurt. I didn’t even get in the way. Maybe they didn’t need me—but I was still here, and I held my own. There’s a deep, quiet pride in that.
My gaze tracks the last traces of smoke and bodies as he moves toward the remains. When he mentions something that works better against the void, my brow furrows, thoughtful. "So—air magic?" I glance toward the nearest corpse. "That’s what you’ve been using, right? It worked better than anything I saw." I tuck the thought away, filing it beside my running list of things I need to learn yesterday.
Then he asks the question, and I straighten instinctively.
"My parents are Kalt Ravenshire and Ashetta Yla," I say, proud without hesitation, even if only one of those names might ring any bells, and perhaps not for him at all. "Most people wouldn't remember my dad, Kalt—he preferred it that way. But my mom…she was on her way to becoming a legend, once upon a time. She used to call Ronin and Remi Taliesin her brothers.
I glance down at my bloodied leather gloves, then wipe them absently on my already-filthy pants. "She gave it up to keep me safe. The fight. Her family. Left everything behind." I shrug, trying to sound casual and light. "I don’t know if I’ll ever measure up to her, let alone any of you, but I’m working on it."
There was an inclination of ‘will you’ in the arch of his brow, but he didn’t say it aloud. Sometimes others needed the reasoning of the world around them before they sunk into something as simple as furs or warmth within a realm known for its cold. Halovians had always found ways around it – as far he knew – with everlasting fires and torches to light the way, animal skins from the creatures forged and found amidst the area. To have it lightly refused was an anomaly, but he merely quirked into half a smile again and then tread further into the pathways of cloven hooves and fallen beasts.
Igniting another, as so many others did around them, he listened, stone and fortifications again as he thought, and then lost traces of the stoicism once more as he turned his head back. “Yes. Though gravity magic is also very effective.” Given that she hadn’t used any magic, he could ascertain, unless she’d yet to apply or learn any, that she wasn’t Abandoned. But those incantations could be hardwired into items, as some had elected to do nowadays.
He watched her straighten at the inquiry. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked it, unaware it had deeper ties and meanings. It had only been meant as an anchor to those stories shared – about himself, about those who’d carved their wake into Caido since their arrival – though he found he recognized the titles. Not in well met fixtures, but in surroundings nonetheless. When there’d been hostilities in the Grounds. When they’d been locked behind barriers. When LongNights stretched and called and pierced. “I do recall them, briefly. I do not think we ever actually met.” But they’d all been there. And that accounted for something. “Your mother helped to bring Ronin back.” That much he knew.
As far as measurements coincided, with safety and leavings and shelters, he sighed, flickering more flames into corpses and bones, turning them to ash. “I think you will find most of us are fairly normal,” and he wrinkled his nose; seemingly nothing about legends in the juvenile turn of his features, if one ignored all the scars surrounding it. “But willing to go great lengths to protect these places.” Their people. Their families. Their loved ones. Their friends.
"I might take you up on that fur in a bit," I admit, brushing snow off my arm. "Once all this sweat cools into regret."
I follow as he moves forward, crunching quietly through the snow behind him. My muscles are starting to ache in earnest now, a delayed reaction to adrenaline wearing off—but it’s nothing compared to the way my chest swells when he says he remembers them.
"You really heard of them?" I glance over, surprised, then caught up in something that feels almost too big to speak on. "Most people don’t. Not anymore. But yeah—my mom brought Ronin back all that time ago. I was little, but I know the story.”
I smile, proud and a little awed still, warmed from the inside despite the cold. For so long, those stories were everything—campfire myths turned into the only map I had for who I might become.
Then he wrinkles his nose, an overburdened war hero pretending he’s just a guy. It makes me laugh—quiet and quick, carried on the cold air. "Right, sure. And today is just a regular day. Air magic, stabbing and being stabbed by void-beasts, fighting next to a legend, a unicorn with perfect hair. Super normal."
But the laugh fades, replaced by something more honest. I nod. "Even if it feels normal to you… what you all do, what you’ve kept safe—that kind of effort isn’t average. It’s not supposed to be."
My breath curls visibly in front of me as I scan the trees, still half expecting more hooves. "I hope I get there." Maybe I’m still ignorant to the sort of sacrifice it takes, sheltered from the horror of loss and hard decisions, but something had to change.
The Sword snorted again, crouching low to unleash another length of infernal canvases; the tapestry of corpses soon littered into more ash than ink. From there, he shook his head but searched through his bag of holding, and then grabbed a set of furs to toss in her direction, should she feel the need and inclination soon. Zuriel bounded and leapt beside him, watching Theea closely, before twisting her haughty demeanor away from several of the beasts and looking upward, watching as Belial began to saunter downward in a slow spiral.
She appeared surprised by his answer, but maybe it had been the passing of so many years and seasons. “We were all locked behind the barrier together for a while. Fellow Outlanders.” He made no mention of the hostilities between the Naturals; who’d bristled no matter what any of them did – never brought or seized by their own inclinations, striving to do something in the cosmic delusions of forging onward. He hadn’t been strong enough for the first beast guarding the Spire – but he could remember the arguing, the bickering as so many of them watched and waited. As Ronin fell. As the monster died. As bit by bit, more things alternated, until they were all back in the thick of it.
But she’d been told, so he quirked half a grin, and didn’t relay any more of the mythos. “Had she not helped, I think Caido would have turned out very differently,” he gave instead, because it was true. Maybe Remi, with all his love, would’ve found a way regardless. Maybe Safrin would’ve turned her eyes to another. Maybe hordes more would’ve never been revived and given second chances. Difficult to know, and impossible to turn back. But Ashetta had carved a significant different in the landscape of the world, and her daughter out to have known the impact. That actions shaped and rippled; alternated history.
Even for that though, Deimos wouldn’t believe any of his distinctions the same. He laughed in spite of it all, trying to relay all of those things off his shoulders. Had he not stepped in time after time, someone else would have. “To be honest, we do end up fighting void beasts often.” And he utilized whatever incantations and shifts and mayhem that collided into his ichor, day after day. One more luxere caught flame and he watched it for a few moments, a long breath coating his lungs. “I like to believe many would do the same.” Then he shrugged, taking more strides forward, listening to the sounds of hunters proclaiming about their skills against the deer.
As for her own admission, his features dropped to the snow, and then back to her. “You could. You start small, like today, and work your way up.” There would always be monsters – Caido had seen to that.
I catch the furs and drape them over one arm with a nod of thanks. I’m still too hot from the fight to bundle up yet, but the cold’s creeping closer—I’ll cave soon. Zuriel watches me like she’s not quite convinced I’m worth her time yet, and I flash her a dry little smile. Fair enough.
As Deimos talks, something in me tightens and eases at the same time. Hearing him speak so casually about things I grew up with as legends is like stars being plucked out of the sky, held out in his palm to me. Close enough to touch. Real. Burning. Fellow Outlanders is a term he uses, and I smile fondly.
I glance his way. “Sometimes I feel like all I do is tell people about them. My parents. Like I’m dragging a banner I haven’t earned yet. I’m proud to be theirs. But I’m trying to become someone too. Not just the kid of two people who made… big decisions.”
I don’t name them, but the thoughts press in anyway. The choice they made to run, to hide. For me. I carry it with me every day.
But then Deimos says I started the right way. That today counts, even if it's starting small.
I straighten a little without meaning to, exhaustion pushed aside by something brighter. “I can do that.” I grin, still breathless but not from the fight anymore. “And if I keep not dying, I’d like to do more. Be actually helpful.”
I glance his way again, this time with a spark of mischief behind the sincerity. “Would you ever consider teaching me for a day? Combat, strategy, whatever else.” My grin tugs wider. “I can cook a really great meal out of just about anything.” Then I glance at one of the ashen piles that used to be a void-luxere. “Unless it’s that.”
The peryton gave a loud, trumpeting hoot, potentially announcing he hadn’t seen any other tainted luxere in the vicinity, or just a level of obnoxiousness. Deimos figured it could be both, and snorted, watching the beast coast down to a branch and grant a crafty, fanged grin in their direction. Zuriel daintily tread forward again, giving Theea another haughty look, before her ears twitched back and forth in several directions, catching nothing of note.
Burning carcasses and corpses every few steps gave him ample time to process and think, glancing back as she proclaimed about banners and heritage, things not yet earned. Of living beneath shadows, perhaps, inclined to stretch her wings but not quite certain how to do so. Would he have been the same, had his parents lived? Instead, his return home from war had been immersed in vengeance – and then thereafter, heartache after heartache, loss after loss, only to eventually be taken to Caido by the Voice, where everything started all over again.
Then he thought of Erebos – of Amhran and Kiada too. Of those who had their own carvings to forge, to create, under the promise of his protection and lifelines. “I can only relate to my family – but I would never want my son to believe he must follow the same pathways as Evie and I. He will have his own trails to cross.” So he offered another smile, a quirk of a grin, intending to be somewhat helpful amidst all those overbearing motions. “Their abilities and stories should not damper yours. We all make names for ourselves, in multiple capacities.” Some for their foolishness, for their bravery, for their daring, for their cunning, for their wickedness – it all depended on circumstances and the acts surrounding it. “You will have your own encounters and experiences, and grow from there.”
He laughed a little at the dry semblances thereafter – the not dying, the doing more. “I do have a Monster Hunter’s Guild, if that is of interest to you.”
But then there was another offer, or at least an inquiry, he’d heard very often – though rarely with a food reward. Inclining another grin over his shoulder as he set another luxere ablaze, he tilted his head, gave her a candid response. “I could probably set aside some time.” And another perfect excuse to avoid the office. “Is there a certain weapon or ability you had in mind?”
I blink. He has a son? For some reason, that surprises me more than it should. Maybe it’s the battlefield setting, or the way everyone speaks about Deimos like he’s carved from old stone—timeless, unreachable. But of course he’s a father. Of course he’s human. My lips part, but I don’t ask. Instead, I hold on to the quiet gift of his words.
“I’m still figuring out how to be… more than just their daughter. Feels like I’ve always been walking in someone else’s wake.” I don’t mean it bitterly—it’s just the truth. But hearing him say it, hearing someone like Deimos speak of forging your own path, that settles something deep in my chest. Like the ground’s a little more solid under me.
And then…
Monster Hunter’s Guild?
My head lifts fast, eyes snapping wide. “My mom told me about it, back when it was in the Hallowed Grounds. But now it’s…” I trail off, blinking at him like I’m seeing the full picture for the first time. Right. “Yours!” My voice pitches lower, more sheepish. “Obviously I knew that.”
I shift my weight. “I don’t even live in Halo. I’m still figuring out how not to die in a fight, clearly.” My laugh is dry and breathless, gesturing to the mess I am. “Wouldn’t I just be in the way?”
But the idea of it—being part of something—it stirs something bright and wild in me. The way fire stirs in a hearth after a long night.
When he says he’d be willing to set aside time to teach me, I brighten immediately, practically standing straighter. “Really?” The grin that spreads across my face is probably ridiculous, but I don’t bother trying to tame it. “I’ve been trying to get better with daggers—they’re the only thing I’ve ever used, really. But I’ve always liked the feel of a shortsword. Just don’t own one.”
My voice softens, just a little as I follow him to the next set of corpses to be burned. “I didn’t inherit any magic, even though both my parents were Abandoned. It’s just me. Just Theea.” I try to say it with a shrug, with my usual dry charm—but there’s something raw under the words. A quiet longing I haven’t quite put down yet. Still, I lift my chin, resolve threading back through my voice. “But I figure if I train hard enough, maybe that’ll be enough.”
Unattainable and unreachable was his accustomed and habitual routine. It only seemed to last for those he kept at an arm’s, or region’s length, when they’d maimed and hurt and bludgeoned him in some capacity. Eventually, the stoicism riddled away for most others, and then more so for those he cherished. Those had been long, hard-fought lessons, and some still bared repeating. And as much as he’d been forged like steel and stone and resolve, he was unflinchingly flawed and fallible; no better than anyone else. Powerful, maybe, but never complacent and still.
His brow arched at her admission though, eyes going down to the snow and flames again, mind chiseling away as he worked through the infernos. “I think most feel that way,” he murmured initially. “But our paths do not have to be the same as theirs. They diverge with interests, experiences, and time.” What intrigued one may not do the same for the other – and though his mother had been a scholar and his father a leader and a soldier, Deimos wouldn’t dare believe they were all one and the same. The Sword’s road had been long and unwinding, and still going onward – his parents’ had been influential, but then they were gone, and he’d had nothing than his own trails to blaze.
They’d been of hatred and vengeance and blinding abhorrence, but everyone had to start somewhere.
He didn’t expect the Monster Hunter’s Guild to elicit her reaction, but then again, that too had been around for some time. He’d only taken it on after Kiada had died, to honor her, and she hadn’t snagged any interest in having it back upon her resurrection and renewal. He snorted, shaking his head as he maneuvered on, swift and keen in the snowdrifts as if born to the winter habitat, instead of finding solace in it. “You would not have to live in Halo to join. And I have new people coming in all the time.” Like Colt – whom he figured would probably be about the same level of experience. “No. I would not offer it to you if I thought you would be in the way.” He just knew he’d have to be patient, a little more enduring, when it came to those who willingly flung themselves around when it wasn’t necessary.
Zuriel gave another snort, and for her appeasement, he unfurled a treat from his pockets. While she snagged and ate, his brow arched at her intentions and intrigue over armaments. “I have plenty in the armory you can try.” As for the lack of inheriting magic, and just Theea, he still granted her half a grin. “Just means you have other talents.” Magic and spirits and shifts could only do much in the end, regardless - it was about trying, and having enough courage and resolve to strive at all.
”That’s—” I start, then stop myself, blinking like the words caught on the edge of my teeth. It takes me a second to gather them again, and when I do, I let out a soft laugh that clouds the cold air. ”That’s probably the coolest thing anyone’s offered me. Ever.” I glance sideways at him, grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. ”Maybe second only to the time a kid tried to trade me a dead seagull for a dagger when I was ten. That was a pretty compelling deal.”
I can feel the excitement catch fire in my chest—real, bright, not just something I’m pretending to feel to survive a conversation. I bounce once on the balls of my feet—not enough to bother the bruise on my hip, which still aches, but enough to release some of the energy building in me. It’s not nerves. Not really. Just a rare moment of possibility. I just settled in Torchline. Got family, a place to stay, odd jobs. But if I could still be part of something from there, why not?
I glance toward Zuriel, watching her finish the treat like she’s only half-listening to us, then back to Deimos with a slanted smirk. ”So—what does being part of the Guild actually mean? I assume there's some kind of recruitment trial where I have to slay a beast no one else has seen, make a dramatic speech about vengeance, and stare into the middle distance until the wind picks up my cloak?”
A beat. I tilt my head, voice softening but not losing the humor. ”Or is it more… real than that? Training? Assignments? Watching each other’s backs out in the wilds? I can do real. Just trying to get the right amount of foolishness in my expectations.”
