Ashes of the Fallen

Chapter 5: Best Served Cold

“Siara…what’s all these pipes for?”

Nemera’s hesitant breath burst out in plumes of hot, stagnant air, wisps that made the earlier aptly named the Whisperwalk Tunnels look timid in comparison. Tapping the pipes almost absent mindedly, they rumbled uncomfortably as her Shadow Trait grazed against the rusty metal. 

Huh. It reacted to Trait.

These tunnels were used since before the Brink and it was mostly maintained by historians looking to preserve the ancient prison of Forecaster’s past. Throughout the trek, Siara had briefly answered her questions less and less often until Nemera was left to her own devices. It was a shame. She kinda liked Neridian history.

“The Pressurehold changes the environment to suit whichever Forecaster is present in these cells. The pipes pump hot air for Stormspell mages and cold for Sunspell. The artificial caves create daylight for Nightspell and rainstorms for Earthspell. But she already knows that. The problem is…our current prisoner seems to be unaffected by all of it. But it’s necessary.”

Nemera hadn’t noticed the flare of Siara’s Sunspell elf until it was too late.

Flinching away from the light Nemera instinctively brought up her hand to block Siara’s Sunspell but was met with the cold, hard stone of…arkalite. The Whisperwalk tunnels seemed to vanish beneath her feet, stretching out into a basin like structure filled with opalescent light and a series of long, thin bars that never ended. 

The atmosphere was no longer thick with clogging, warm air but chilling cold frost. 

The dank, hollowed out cave was covered with strange, greyish black stone hidden by snow that reflected the Blacksail River above. Bathed in a ghoulish hue of blues and purples, the shadows lengthened in the room on mere instinct the moment Nemera set eyes on the prisoner.

A child.

Of all the things she had seen in the past few nights, this was not on her list. 

The duck egg grey skin of a Stormspell elf was far paler than any of the Rainfall Brigade from before, pallid and sickly Nemera had to force herself to stare and not wretch at the sight of her. Her eyes closed beneath a hood hiding a mishmash of dark hair half shorn by what could only be a jagged razor, covered in frozen mud, dust and all manner of grime. Her lips were blue but Nemera didn’t think that was a Stormspell elf thing.

“What in the Laia’s light, Siara!” Nemera protested, her voice echoing despite trying to keep quiet.

Siara shushed her angrily.

“It must have been adjusted since you arrived. Looks like it only took a second. Good.” Siara muttered, ignoring her and stormed ahead, the tips of her hair now brittle from the cold.

Nemera wasn’t sure how to respond but the steely glare she received was colder than the room itself. The message was quite clear. This was what she was here for. Don’t question it.

The bundle of cloth the prisoner was wrapped in reminded her of the coloured cloaks the young apprentices wore but far more dirty and patched together. It hid a lot of her malnourishment, the young boy Nemera had seen patching up the Arches earlier was a far cry from the barely moving elf in front of her. Had she not been trained as a necromancer, Nemera would not have been able to tell if she was alive.

“As you are fully aware, Prisoner SE17 we are conducting an investigation into your involvement of the decimation of the cliffs of Forewarn and residing outer areas not including or limited to the Caldurosa Mines, the Outcrop districts of Sunrisen, Daybreak and the heart of Floodbound itself. The Dropspire Arches.”