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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!
It’s twilight when I reach the shrine—a favorite time, really. Everything’s softer now. Edges blurred, voices quieter, even the sea seems to hush itself like it knows better than to interrupt. The heat’s mostly gone, traded out for the kind of breeze that makes you want to close your eyes and pretend there's nothing but that moment.
The statue’s still here, same as always. Worn and sea-bitten, arms open, face gleaming where people have touched it for generations. I love that part. That you can see where everyone reached, like they all wanted to be held, or maybe remembered.
I almost step forward, but then I see I’m not alone.
There’s already someone at the shrine. I can’t quite make them out through the half-light, just the shape of them standing there in silence, like they belong to the moment in a way I suddenly don’t.
So I stop, self consciously tug at the hem of my shorts. My jacket shifts around my legs as I settle back into the shadows, too big and a little damp at the sleeves, clinging to the salt in the air. The bundle in my hands feels heavier now. Wrapped cloth, neat corners, warm from where I’ve been holding it too long. I press it to my chest like it might disappear otherwise.
It’s been... a while since I visited a shrine. Not on purpose—everything else just got louder. All this chasing after family I’d never met, trying to prove to myself I’m more than some girl with a sad story and a good right hook. Mom was once so irreverent to the gods, Dad said. Then she met Mort, brought Ronin back, and she became so pious—raised me that way too.
I used to pray more often. Back when it was just me, Mom, and the stars and the hope that if I reached out enough, maybe someone would reach back. I don’t know if Mort ever listened, but I liked to think he did. That talking to the god of death might somehow be a way to stay close to my dad. Maybe Ludo too, in its strange way. Not for answers—just... company. The kind that doesn’t go away when the world moves on.
But it feels weird now. Doing this with someone else here. I’ve always done it alone. Like grief’s something I have to carry with both arms and a half-smile so no one tries to take it from me.
Ludo had given Melita tremendous things – opportunities, determination, an alteration, a change so appealing and wondrous, that to not reach out towards her favorite shrine would be nothing short of blasphemy. Maybe it was an honor, or simply a part of her now, to serve the greater good in all the broad strokes and pieces of calamity – to reach down, below the surface of all that spite, sedition, and audacity, and leave Caido amused for a few seconds.
And then set it promptly on fire too.
She knelt, humming a little sea shanty under her breath as she placed the items upon the sea-worn altar. Licorice, in a little rainbow necklace design, some obsidian dice (complete with all sorts of numbers, sizes, and shapes), and some gingersnaps made up the greater part of her parcels. They remained as she stepped back, only just noticing someone else was there – besides Fangorn and Sila – but they were hovering nearby, watching and waiting.
“Oh, sorry,” she hadn’t known this would be such a popular spot in the early evening – but maybe Leafchange concocted the sort of symbolic spell to weave people over. Ludo would appreciate it nonetheless. She didn’t recognize the other girl – save for maybe being amidst Torchline itself, head tilting, figuring she’d gather her companions up and depart.
I clear my throat before the silence can stretch too long.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I echo back. "Really—it’s fine. You don’t have to go.”
My voice is a little hoarse from disuse today, or nerves, or both. I shift my weight, manage the kind of smile that’s meant to reassure but probably just looks lopsided. “I’m not good at this with an audience, but I swear I’m harmless.”
Red hair, bright eyes, a dragon, and a vampire gourd? That jogs something. I think I heard about someone like her. Once. In a story involving something that may or may not have exploded. Caido’s full of those. What was the name…? Has to be the same person.
Still, I don’t recognize her beyond the edges of rumor. Doesn’t matter. She seems kind. Or at least not the type to judge someone for looking like they’re about to cry in front of a death god.
I step in, jacket brushing against my legs. I kneel by the shrine, setting down the bundle I’ve been holding like it might run off if I loosened my grip.
Unwrapping it is a slow thing. Inside: three pineapple tarts I made this morning. A little singed at the edges but still good. And a small wood-carved dragon, no bigger than my palm. I whittled it weeks ago when I couldn’t sleep. Its wings are uneven and its face looks vaguely confused, which, honestly, makes it feel more personal. Dad taught me how.
I arrange them at the foot of the statue, careful without overthinking it. Then I sit back on my heels and look up at Mort’s face—the parts worn smooth by hands that came before mine.
“Mort… Just tell him I said hello, yeah?” I murmur. “And that I love him.”
It catches in my throat a little, but I don’t let it break me open. Not here. I press my hands together briefly, then glance back at the redhead and give her one of my half smiles, trying not to look like I’m unraveling
Melita quirked a brow at the echo, and the statement thereafter. She hadn’t figured the girl for a threat. She thought very little of such things nowadays – maybe out of arrogance, maybe out of spite, but the Honeybee thought of herself as capable of diminishing most perils and hazards headed her way. Lest they be something from her weaker days, and even then, she was going to ensure that particular debt was paid in full.
Her eyes went to the other one’s offerings – not something paid towards Ludo especially, but likely Mort. Considering that, especially in the realms of death, Melita remained strangely quiet, eyes straying away as the stranger tended to her prayers. Not prying, not insinuating, not touching upon things like dead parents – her own were adrift in other worlds, or simply hadn’t wanted her in the first place.
So her stare went to Fangorn, bustling around her feet, and Sila, adrift and hovering, waiting for something else. The hymns and words must not have taken long, because then there were some brief intervals of introductions, but the name offered wasn’t something she recognized. “Ah. I’m Melita. It’s fine.” The younger individual seemed on the brink of tears or something, and the Honeybee wasn’t particularly good at navigating around those emotions. She rarely touched them herself – anger was her favorite, rather than heartache. Rage felt more protective; a hazardous shield. "You...uh, okay?"
07-07-2025, 08:07 PM (This post was last modified: 07-07-2025, 08:08 PM by Theea.)
Theea
a lost son is called a prodigal
My eyes widen a little at the name. Melita.
That Melita.
Red hair, dragon, a vampire gourd… yeah, no mistaking it now. I’ve heard stories about her and her skyship, scattered and half-true, drifting all the way into the remote places we hid. They never agreed on the details—but they all said the same thing at the core: don’t cross the Honeybee unless you want to be very stylishly obliterated.
So. That’s who I’m fumbling in front of. Cool.
She asks if I’m okay, and I start nodding before I even speak.
“Me? Yeah. Definitely. Fine.” My voice is just a little too light, too quick. I catch myself, try to ease into something more real. “It’s just... a hello. For someone from my past. It’s...” The rest of the sentence hits a wall in my throat. I don’t say it’s no big deal. I can’t. So I just swallow and shift my weight, hands brushing my knees. “It’s manageable.”
Sort of. I clear my throat, like that’ll smooth it out. It doesn’t.
“I don’t even know if Mort hears stuff like that. Or if that’s how he works. Maybe he does. Or maybe my dad just knows. Somehow. I mean—he was always good at hearing what I didn’t say out loud.” That slips out before I can catch it, and my mouth just keeps going. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to go through Ludo for that, either. I probably should. I don’t pray to it as much as I mean to. It’s not on purpose, I just…”
I stop myself, finally, mid-breath. My lips press together like even they’re tired of me.
I glance at Melita, then let out a quiet, sheepish laugh under my breath.
“Anyway. I clearly don’t know the protocol for talking to gods in front of terrifyingly cool people—or talking in general.”
Manageable was something; though her brow arched again at the sentence. Her eyes flickered away from the girl, giving her some moment to collect herself, before she listened to the statement on Mort – and then about a parent potentially listening from beyond. Melita didn’t have any firsthand experience on that note. Her mother was long gone in another world. And her father sucked – a well-established fact – she wouldn’t have been surprised to hear he’d succumbed to a violent end elsewhere. Certainly not in Caido. “I bet Mort hears it. Just, you know, a lot,” she gestured vaguely, due to the circumstances of the realm they lived in. There was always death here. Sometimes it felt like a noose or a knife. Other times it just felt inevitable, in all the stories and tales about war. In all of Vox’s asinine broadcasts. In all of the twists and plots that angled around.
“And your dad probably hears it too,” she considered, given how many times she’d seen others come down to their loved ones during the upcoming festival. “You make a lantern for him?” So she had a better chance of seeing him again.
The Honeybee let the ‘terrifingly cool people’ comment slide – though she did like the thought of being known as paralyzing others with fear – settling for other sentiments. “Depends. I’ve always had a good time talking to Ludo. And it would like everyone to stop being so serious,” she winked. “So cut yourself a little slack.”
I nod slowly, because yeah. Mort probably does hear it—just, a lot. It’s Caido, after all. This world chews people up like it’s built for it. Wars, monsters, deities and strange enemies throwing their weight around like they’ve never lost anything themselves. If Mort’s listening, he must be tired.
But when she says my dad probably hears it too… something in me eases. Just a little. Like air slipping into a space I didn’t realize had been locked up tight.
I don’t say anything right away, just blink at the offerings at the shrine’s feet. I always hope he hears. Always hope he’s proud. That he’s looking after mom.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I made one for him. I add to it every year. I’ll start over when it’s got too much on it.”
I almost leave it at that. Let it settle. The ache in my chest is dull but familiar by now.
So when the conversation shifts—when Melita doesn’t press, doesn’t prod—I’m quietly grateful. It’s not that I don’t want to talk about him. I just haven’t figured out how yet.
I snort a little when she mentions talking to Ludo. Like it’s just a casual thing, like chatting with the wind.
“I don’t really know Ludo.” I glance back at her, smile tugging at my mouth. “Despite how loyal my mom is to Mort. She always talked about it like it's this... complex sort of being. Tricky. Sacred. Not the kind of deity you approach unless you’re sure of what you want.”
But she says it like it’s no big deal. Like Ludo’s just... someone to talk to. I grin a little wider.
“You’ve actually spoken to it? Like, in person?” My eyebrows lift. “What’s that even like?”
Melita thought of all the lanterns she’d made – and brought back every year. She’d been lucky once, but she knew some had never been picked or chosen. Nor did she understand the parameters for selection – because she could imagine whole hordes would love the opportunity to see their loved ones from beyond the realm once more. So she nodded, letting the parse amidst the peace, not expecting the next few statements at all.
Her brow quirked. “You could probably say that for a lot of them – knowing what you want, anyway. Otherwise it will definitely use it as an opportunity.” Then she grinned, only mildly feral; content with the tricks, the silliness, the nonsense, the brimming chaos underneath. Some had been mild – she could think back to Iskra’s yelling escapades, and some had been a little harsher. “And I’m its demigod, so, yeah I talk to it pretty frequently.”
She pondered over the right sentiments – never one to delve or riddle around emotions was the Honeybee, unless it was vexation. That one was far more understandable, even in its complexity. “I’ve enjoyed it. Ludo’s always set my mind at ease, I guess. It is cunning, sneaky, and funny, and I like that. It’s always encouraged me.” To blow things up, sure, but inspiring and supportive, nonetheless. “Is there a god or herald you go to often?”
Melita grins—wide and sharp and just a little unhinged—and something in me instantly warms to it. It’s the kind of grin I’ve seen on my mom when she’s about to do something wildly irresponsible and have the time of her life doing it. That slightly feral, gods-help-whoever’s-standing-in-the-way kind of smile.
I like her.
And then she drops that she’s Ludo’s demigod, just like that, like it’s no big deal. My smile twitches wider before I can stop it.
“Okay, that’s actually kind of incredible.” I gesture vaguely, as if to encompass her whole vibe. “You talk about it like it’s not some terrifying trickster, but just… a chaotic friend who shows up with a plan and a lit match.”
I mean it as a compliment. And the way she talks about Ludo makes me want to meet it a little more than I’m afraid to. A herald like that must make life interesting, at the very least.
Then she asks who I go to, and my smile softens. Not shy, just… a little further inward.
“Mort, mostly.” I shrug a shoulder, a little embarrassed by how automatic that answer is. “I guess I talk to him like he’s a tether. Like… if I keep that connection strong, maybe I stay closer to my dad.”
I glance back at the statue, then down at the offering I left. The little dragon, lopsided and small. My voice is gentler when I ask the next bit.
“Does Ludo ever… take messages?” A pause. “Or bring messages back?”
I don’t expect a yes. I just want to know if anyone ever gets that lucky.
Melita was a knives out, brandished fists and fangs kind of girl – even as her head tilted, listening to Theea’s sudden exclamations. Perhaps that went to show her level of unhinged – reduced to finding trickster heralds a normal, everyday occurrence. “It probably depends on what it wants to do – or you, for that matter,” she hummed, her smile lengthy and Cheshire again. “Asking for certain things will get you certain results.” Like Iskra, for all the screaming shit. She tried, with great difficulty, to make it look like she was going to burst out into laughter at the thought of his screeching again. “But I’ve always been game,” for lots of dumb, stupid shit, or the inane. “Like, I asked far cannons, so I had to go blow shit up.”
Shrugging, clearly unbothered by this, she watched as the younger woman went slightly inward, and the Honeybee had to wonder if she’d said something wrong. When the answer came, she nodded knowingly; she didn’t talk to Mort often. She knew her mother and sister weren’t in his realm, so it’d never been worth asking or knowing. “That’s fair,” she considered.
As far as messages to and from the dead, the demigod’s nose wrinkled. “Not really in my jurisdiction.” I.e. She wasn’t quite certain, and didn’t want to give the Accepted any of the wrong answers when it came to herald indulgences. “I could ask if you want. Or you could talk to Remi about it. I know Mort does.”
I snort when she says it, loud and unfiltered. “Blow shit up?” Her grin is all teeth and trouble, and I laugh outright. “You and my mom would get along disgustingly well.”
I can already picture it: the two of them elbow-deep in some wildly irresponsible plan involving fire, lightning, explosives, and probably a little petty revenge for flavor. The thought warms something in me, even as it stings a little too.
“I’ve never actually asked a god for anything.” I say it like it’s casual, but the words feel heavier than they sound.
Because that’s not true. Not really.
I think back to those early months after my dad died, when I was still small enough to believe that gods might make exceptions if you begged hard enough. I’d whispered to Mort and Vi every night for months, at every shrine we stopped near. Pleaded. Bargained. Promised anything, everything, just to have him back.
Mom did that and more. She searched. Hunted, really. Tore through every lead, every rumor, every half-spoken legend that hinted at resurrection or time magic or divine favors. She'd even considered returning to Ronin until she learned how recently deceased someone had to be. The longer it went on, the quieter it all got. The less possible it became.
Eventually, I stopped begging. Settled for my lantern. Settled for staying close to Mort in the only way I could—by offering him my grief instead of my fury. I don’t know that mom ever settled.
Melita’s voice pulls me out of it.
She offers to ask. For me.
My brows shoot up. “Wait, really?” I blink at her, caught off guard. “You’d do that? For—” I fumble, motioning vaguely at myself. “For some random kid at a shrine?” My cheeks puff out with a big breath. “I mean, I could definitely talk to my uncle too—Remi. You’re right.” I look down at my hands for a moment with an awkward clearing of my throat, then back up. “I don’t even need a message back. I just want to know it got there.”
That he heard it. That he knows how much I still miss him. That I’m trying, every day, to be someone he’d be proud of. Even if it’s just one word, floating through the dark. Even if it’s never answered. I just need to know there’s still something. Anything at all.
Always intrigued to have fellow demolitionists, her brow arched at the comment, while she paused to tend to Fangorn and Sila, crouching low to grant them some treats stuffed away in her bag. “Oh? Who’s your mom?” Maybe she’d make a point to seek her out or whatever for future exploits and crimes.
Though the other comment gave her pause. The Honeybee had issues with gods before – given that false ones had torn apart her homelands, caused people to die…and then there’d been the Rift. It’d taken a long while for her to trust any heralds or figments of deities here. Her eyes went downcast at the gourd’s vines and dragon’s scales, sighing a little and betraying nothing.
The expectation and offer of help seemed to be a surprise anyway, and so Melita stood up again, content with her companions sprawling amongst themselves, satisfied with their bits of jerky. Why Theea would be bewildered by the notion struck her as intriguing; but maybe she was very used to the idea of so many helping. Caido survived that way. “Yeah, why not?” Though the thought of Remi being her uncle made her brows furrow, striving to connect dots that she clearly didn’t have full access or understanding to. “Wait, Remi’s your uncle?”
Her question pulls me up out of the heavier thoughts. I blink, then smile, brighter as it spreads across my face. “My mom’s Ashetta Yla.” There’s pride in it. Real pride. Even if not everyone knows the name anymore, I say it like they should. “Not everybody knew her. But she was known enough, back in the day.” I glance down for a moment, fingers fiddling with the edge of my sleeve. There’s no sadness in my voice when I say it, but there’s a pause just the same. “She’s... hard to find these days.”
I lift my head again as Melita straightens, and when she says she’d ask Ludo, I feel that ache swell in my chest again—but it’s a different kind this time. Hope, sharp and sudden. If Ludo had any idea what I could do—what I should do—it would change so much.
For a moment I can’t speak. Just nod, quick and grateful, my smile faltering only because I don’t know how to hold that much emotion all at once.
Then comes her reaction to Remi, and it’s enough to coax another real smile from me and leave that overwhelming hope where it can’t take over. “Yeah.” I nod again, more sure now. “He is. So is Ronin. My mom was like their sister, back when they were all... younger, I guess. Years ago.”
I glance down at the statue again, then back to Melita, heart warm in a way I haven’t let it be in a long time.
“She always called them my uncles. I only just found them recently. Met them first at the barbeque—” I pause, then huff a laugh. “He was wearing a ‘KISS THE COOK’ apron, and there was a food fight so, you know. Humbling introduction to your mythic family.”
But my chest is full, and for a moment I let myself feel it—this tangle of pride and longing and connection that’s just starting to rebuild itself. “I’m really lucky. Why, do you know Remi well?”
The name could’ve been in the back of her mind – floating there, in the ashes of everything else. It wasn’t immediately recognized, but if she’d been around on the initial days of Voice asspulling Outlanders from the great beyond, then Melita had been a little pre-occupied, unfortunately. “Oh, hm. Well, I’ll remember it and see if she’s around sometime.” Perhaps this Ashetta would be easy to lure with a promise of sedition and explosives.
Then there was the matter of relations. It all came together in the end, and the demigod nodded, figuring it was much like the Sunjata, Hotaru of it all on her end. “Oh cool. Yeah I’ve known them for a while. Plus he was a Ludo demigod before too,” as she shrugged, like it was a necessity to be kept on the up and up. Plus her herald often had her playing tricks on the Lullaby; but she didn’t mention that.
And forgoing the whole food fight that she’d definitely been a part of, and would do so again in a heartbeat.
“It’s always good to have that many powerful, awesome people by your side,” she winked. “Sometimes you need watchful eyes here.” Given that Caido was a fucking mess on any given day.
