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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!
He'd been planning to visit the shrine for some time, but it hadn't felt right until the Tower was done, until his role as Commander was solidified and until enough time had passed that he could walk the Celestine without seeing Lena in every flickering shadow. Even now, he isn't sure he's done enough to make Stormbreak proud to have him as a leader, and the soft tremble of leaves continues to draw his eyes, his heart stuttering at every turn. Yet he can't wait.
Months have been spent hoping and planning and dreaming of how he might ask Safrin to help him improve Stormbreak; and now it feels like it's literally falling out from under him. The tremors and earthquakes have left him shaken, worried of what new threat might be rising for the citizens, burying any aspirations he'd had for improvements. Now, all he cares about it keeping them safe, protecting them from another catastrophic event.
His breaths come fast but smooth, trying to contain the fear into something manageable as he gets closer to the shrine, convincing himself to be calm when he gets there. After all, Safrin will know what to do - she'll know what's going on and how to save them. It's why he places the offering with steady hands, the hourglass shimmering like it's filled with a million diamonds, falling through the glass etched with stars.
Kneeling, Zavien looks to Safrin's visage, dipping his head. "Goddess Safrin, please, the ground is quaking, and it only seems to be getting worse. What is happening? How do we stop it?"
Zavien is requesting a Regional Quest to protect Stormbreak!
Starlight answers him before sound does; it spills through the open air in a slow, deliberate bloom, violet and silver threading between the statues, pooling across the water gardens until the twilight deepens into something unmistakably hers. The air cools, heavy with night-flowers and ozone, and then Safrin is there, coalescing as if she has stepped down from the constellations themselves.
Her gaze goes first to the hourglass, the corners of her mouth lifting, faintly pleased as she studies the diamonds of light slipping through the etched stars. Only then does she look to Zavien, and this time her attention sharpens, not unkind but keen, as if she is weighing the shape of his fear against the steadiness of his offering. "My brave Commander," she murmurs, her voice a velvet hush that carries effortlessly through the shrine. "You come with hope still intact, even as the ground betrays you."
She steps closer, close enough that the glow of her skin turns his shadow soft and indistinct. Two fingers lift, brushing along his cheek with a touch that is cool and intimate, tilting his face upward whether he wills it or not so that he must meet her eyes, vast, star-deep, and sorrowed. "You feel it because it is real," Safrin says quietly. "Stormbreak is not merely shaking. It is remembering." Her hand falls, and with it her gaze drifts outward, beyond stone and garden, beyond distance itself. Her expression tightens, a rare crease of displeasure marring celestial perfection. [psay]["The Family ruled here for too long. They pressed themselves into the bones of the city, into its foundations and its sky. Power like that does not vanish simply because the cause does. Rot lingers. It seeps. And now the city is sick with it."
With a languid motion of her wrist, starlight gathers between them, unfurling into a hovering vision of Stormbreak suspended in the air. At first it is whole—beautiful, gleaming—but then thin violet lines begin to etch themselves across it, spreading like fractures in glass. They cut through towers and platforms alike, branching, deepening, inevitable. "This is what I see," Safrin says softly. "These breaks will widen. Sections will shear away. The sky will not hold it forever." Her eyes return to Zavien then, and the sympathy there is unmistakable, tempered by the terrible calm of a goddess who has already looked beyond the ending. "I will not lie to you, Zavien. Repairing Stormbreak may not be possible in the time you have."
The image lingers between them, trembling with slow catastrophe, before she lets it fade.
"The choice, however," she continues, meeting his gaze steadily, "is yours." One brow lifts, elegant and grave. "You may pour everything you are into saving the city itself and trust that your people will rally, that belief and labour might yet defy what is breaking." Her voice lowers, gentler but no less firm. "Or you may turn your strength toward saving them. Organize an evacuation. Preserve lives and everything else that has been built here, even if it means letting Stormbreak fall."
Starlight hums around them. "It is no easy choice," Safrin says at last, her tone both blessing and burden, "but it is yours to make."
The choice is Zavien's! (He does not need to make it now)
1. OPTIMISTIC ROUTE: if you can complete this RQ against the clock, Stormbreak can be saved but it will take all hands on deck. If you pick this route and fail more lives will be lost.
2. PROTECTIVE ROUTE: with the remaining time Zavien and co. can ensure that basically everyone makes it out of SB and preserve things like books, artefacts, etc, by getting them out of the city before everything falls, but it means making no effort to save the city.
Safrin's appearance is always a welcome sight, but Zavien's desperation gives her arrival a heavier weight. Fear, hope, and anticipation send his heart racing as he looks upon her, a plea evident in his eyes. He doesn't shy from her touch, barely thinking beyond the city and its people - his people - that are in danger. Instead, he meets her gaze - and nearly falls apart.
There's a deep sorrow there, a truth that she reveals before putting it to words. It takes every bit of faith and determination to focus on what she says, to not shut down in that moment. Because he knows that people will have questions for him, questions he can only answer if he listens and understands the reality Safrin lays out before him.
He can't appreciate the power she displays or the gentle nature with which she shares the world-shattering news. No matter how kind or sensitive her approach, the reality of Stormbreak's future pressing against his head with too much force to bear, a single word breaking through when she finishes.
"Shit."
The uncharacteristic curse falls from his lips, panic and devastation gripping his chest with such force that his shoulders threaten to collapse in. He braces his hands on his knees, heaving a breath that rattles his body, thoughts passing in such a blur of white nothingness that it has no coherent thoughts or structure beyond overwhelming catastrophe.
Remembering that he's still in the presence of a goddess, he raises a distracted hand of apology. "Sorry. I just - " The hand falls limp against his leg, heavy with the weight of a single questio:. "How do I tell them?" His head shakes, not expecting her to give him an answer, knowing full well that it's his responsibility. But the questions stands. How is he supposed to break the news to them? That the city they love is literally falling apart? That the home he'd promised to restore might have been too broken to save? That he'd failed them?
He's seen the fear, seen the doubt, the urge to run. Already, fewer people had come back after the Void - after Dahlia. It'd taken everything just to convince them to return and rebuild, to trust that it could be what it once was. If Zavien could give everything he has and is to save the city, he would do it in a heartbeat, ripping the beating muscle from his chest with his bare hands and putting it on a silver platter for the gods. But that wouldn't be enough. And now... How is he supposed to ask the citizens to risk their lives for a chance at saving something that's not even whole? A home that they've already abandoned once before?
Lowering his head, Zavien wrestles with the choice, fighting with what he wishes could be and what's best for the people who have put their trust in him. He takes a deep breath, eyes closing like it might hide the truth of the decision he faces, the one he's already made in his fracturing heart.
Safrin only tilts her head at his apology, a single, elegant shake of it dismissing the notion entirely. There is no offence here, no slight to be forgiven; she has never expected reverence to look like composure in moments such as this. Her gaze lingers on him then—truly lingers—and for all the immensity of her presence, there is something achingly focused about it, as though Zavien alone occupies the centre of her awareness. When his question breaks loose from him, raw and unguarded, the faint curve of her mouth falters.
She steps closer, her fingers rising to brush against his cheek, light as falling stardust, warm enough to steady without overwhelming. The contact is brief but deliberate; ancient and intentional. "You will find a way." For a moment longer she holds his gaze, letting the truth of that settle where it needs to, before her attention drifts away; not from him, but through the space beyond him. Safrin turns, eyes lifting across the Celestine gardens as though stone and distance and sky are little more than veils to be parted. Starlight brightens faintly in her irises, constellations shifting, aligning, searching.
She sees them—the fractures, the strain, the slow, inevitable unravelling at the heart of the floating city—and her expression tightens. "I would be surprised," Safrin says at last, voice quieter now, if Stormbreak endures to the end of the season." She turns back to him, the weight of her words settling with measured gravity rather than panic, meeting Zavien’s fear without amplifying it. "More likely," she continues, gently, "you have weeks. Perhaps a month."
The air seems to still around them, the stars overhead burning on in indifferent brilliance. Safrin’s hand lowers from his cheek, but her presence does not yet recede. "What you do with that time," she adds, eyes luminous and intent, "will matter far more than how much of it you have."
Her complete focus and trust strengthen him, hoping her own belief might fill the gaps where he doubts himself. The feeling she imbues in him is like starlight filling his veins, an expanding of who he is and what his task requires. The sensation moves him beyond himself into something he needs to be for the people, because if a goddess can see him like this and proclaim his competence with such certainty, his only choice is to push through.
Zavien steels his heart, intent on Safrin's gaze as she sees into the heart of their city, peers into the future they can't escape. Tightening his resolve, he sets aside his own wishes and desires, sets aside the biases screaming at him to save the place he calls home - because he can't.
The timeline is too short, the risk too high. Stormbreak is not a floating city or a collection of buildings. It's the community of Breakers who have strived with everything in them to make the world a better place. They're a resilient people, relying on each other and the gods to do what they believe right. They have not always been correct, but they've adapted, growing to accept change and find the next thing to place their faith in. They are his people, and they will survive - but only if he gets them out.
Clenching his jaw, Zavien lowers his head, glimpses the tight clench of his fists against his thighs. With far more confidence and composure than he feels, he says to the goddes, "I understand. I'll prepare the people for evacuation." They'd done it once before, and they could do it again. Once they knew of the threat, it would just be a matter of organizing transportation and assisting in the mass migration of people. He'd ensure that every citizen escaped, every building emptied, and every moment used to its fullest potential.
Zavien looks up to Safrin again, a final concern taking priority in his mind. "Do you know if," he pauses, searching for a word that doesn't make his heart feel like it's imploding. After what feels like an eternity but is no more than a heartbeat, he continues, "the fall will affect the surrounding regions? How far it will reach?" Who else does he need to warn of devastation? Or are his people the only ones having their world crumble beneath them?
Safrin inclines her head, a small, approving motion that acknowledges both his understanding and the resolve beneath it. When Zavien looks up again and asks his question, her head tilts slightly to one side, starlight shifting across her features as she considers. For a heartbeat she does not answer, gaze lifting as though she is once more tracing fault lines and futures beyond mortal sight. "Waves will reach Torchline, yes, but nothing like the calamity that followed Starfall’s descent." She pauses, then adds, almost idly, as though speaking of weather rather than catastrophe, "Stormbreak will not vanish entirely, though. Even when it falls."
Her gaze drifts around the Celestine, and something resolute settles into her expression. "Frey and I will see to it that the Celestine is protected in its descent," Safrin says simply, as though this much is already decided. "It will not be lost." A faint shrug lifts one elegant shoulder, the motion easy and deceptively casual. "As for the rest..." Her eyes flick back to Zavien. "That will depend on how the city breaks. Some structures may endure, others will not. Fate, momentum, and chance will all have their say."
Relief breaks across his features, but he can't help the pang of selfish jealousy in his chest. Why Stormbreak? Why did his people have to suffer so much after all they've been through?
Guilt slices fresh across his thoughts, shame blossoming. He wouldn't wish this on anyone, and their being spared from the catastrophes of his city is a blessing. It should be only joy that he feels, to know that others won't share in the same fate; but he can't help the tinge of pain at the unfairness of the world.
Lowering his head again, Zavien nods his head to clear the burden of self-centered emotions. At least the Celestine would stand. Lena's pride and joy and purpose will continue to live on along with her memory. It provides a kernel of comfort that he'll cling to later, a small shimmer of light in the smoke of their suffering.
Having heard all he needs to know for the people of Stormbreak and the other leaders, Zavien is already cataloguing the necessary actions for evacuation, thinking of shyships and notices and meetings and broken hearts that will need him to be strong. He rolls his shoulders back, pressing desperately against his emotions to keep them in check as he acknowledges the goddess, "Thank you, Safrin."
His eyes take in her celestial beauty. This time he doesn't shrink from it when he admires the starlit compassion and gracious elegance with which she carries the knowledge of collapsing worlds, all the more grateful for being deemed worthy of her consideration and affection despite his many flaws. Determined to be worthy of the faith she has in him, Zavien vows, "I don't know what the coming weeks will bring - and if time gets tight, I may ask for your help again - but everyone will know of the role you played in warning us and allowing us to evacuate before it's too late." He dips his head in reverent appreciation, thankful of the warning even if it's not the news he'd wished for.
His hand reaches up to rest on his chest, keeping the pieces of his heart from tumbling out. "Thank you for giving us this chance."
Safrin nods, slow and deliberate, accepting Zavien's gratitude without false modesty or embellishment. It is the kind of thanks she is accustomed to, earned, heavy, and offered with clear-eyed understanding of what it cost. She steps closer, the starlight around her brightening as the distance closes, and lifts her hands to cup the Commander's cheeks. Her touch is gentle but sure, thumbs resting along his jaw as though steadying him for what lies ahead. For a heartbeat she studies him, seeing not just the man before her but the weight he has chosen to carry for others.
Then she leans forward and her lips brush his forehead in a brief, luminous kiss, and the effect is immediate. Warmth floods through him, not burning or blinding, but invigorating; a surge of clarity and strength that cuts through the exhaustion and grief, leaving him steadier, sharper, able to move forward rather than collapse beneath the news. When she pulls back, her hands linger a moment longer before falling away. "I am only ever a call away," Safrin says softly, certainty woven into every word. "Do not hesitate, Zavien."
Her expression remains composed, compassionate without indulgence, as she gives him a final nod before starlight surges around her. Safrin dissolves into a shimmering bloom of light, her form breaking apart into drifting constellations that scatter and fade into the night air, leaving the shrine quiet once more.
