The day had finally come for Nocturna to leave the Dravern and Dwarf town. She stood beside the dark wagon, watching as Vael, Eirik, Taron and a dwarf man loaded it with goods. The steady rhythm of their work filled the quiet morning air. Elira stood next to Nuri, pressing a satchel into her hands. "It's got extra clothes, some food, and a water pouch," she said with a small smile. Nuri blinked, momentarily stunned by the unexpected generosity. She tightened her grip on the satchel, meeting Elira's gaze. "I.. Thank you. Truly." Elira waved off her gratitude with a chuckle. "Just take care of yourself out there and if you ever need a place to come back, alright?" Nuri nodded, her chest tightening at the kindness she had been shown in this town. It was a feeling she wasn't used to-but one she would not forget. Elira then turns striding back to open her shop for the day.
Vael approached, his expression unreadable as he glanced at Nuri. "You ready?" She gave a small nod, adjusting the satchel on her shoulder. Without a word, he held out a black and blue cloak. The fabric was thick and sturdy, though slightly worn at the edges, the colors faded in places from years of use. A subtle floral embroidered traced along the hem, delicate despite its age. "Looks like it'll rain soon. Put this on," he said gruffly. Nuri hesitated, fingers brushing over the intricate stitching. It wasn't just any cloak-there was history woven into it. She looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation but he simply waited. Swallowing the lump in her throat she carefully draped it over her shoulders, its weight both comforting and heavy in a way she couldn't quite explain. As Nuri fastened the cloak around her shoulders Vael stepped back crossing his arms. "Since the beast is still out there, Eirik, Taron and I will be guarding the wagon to the next town and back," he informed her. "We're not taking any chances." Nuri nodded, gripping the edges of the cloak. She hadn't expected them to go to such lengths but understood the danger well enough. "Thank you," she said quietly. Vael gave a short nod before turning back to the wagon, checking the last of the supplies.
As the wagon creaked forward, Nuri settled into her seat beside the red-haired dwarf man at the front. He pulled a necklace from beneath his tunic, revealing a dark, circular pendent resembling an eclipse. Holding it between his calloused fingers, he murmured a quiet prayer: "Divine Guardians of Balance, watch over us. Let your light guide our path and keep harm at bay as we journey forward." Nocturna's fingers tightened around the strap of her satchel as her stomach become nauseous. The words spoken with such devotion, felt like a blade twisting in an open wound.
The trek to the next town took half the day, and just as Vael had predicted, a light drizzle followed soon after their departure. Nuri didn't mind the rain—in fact, she welcomed it. The rhythmic patter against the wagon's canopy, the crisp, earthy scent that filled the air, the way each drop seemed to cleanse the world, washing away both dirt and the weight of yesterday. The journey remained quiet, uneventful, with no unexpected dangers lurking in the shadows.
As the wagon crested the final ridge, the city of Grimholt unfolded before them—a fortress of stone and untamed wilderness carved directly into the mountainside. Towering spires of rock thrust into the sky, their surfaces etched with massive totems of beasts, each marking the domain of a different clan. Bridges of woven roots and thick rope spanned the cliffs, linking multi-leveled dwellings that seemed to emerge from the very rock itself. Fires burned in iron sconces, casting flickering shadows over the rugged pathways winding through the city like ancient hunting trails. The air thrummed with distant howls, the beat of great wings, and the steady rhythm of war drums echoing from deep within the mountain's caverns.
As Nuri took in the bustling heart of Grimholt, her breath caught in her throat. Veyrkin of all kinds filled the streets—far more than she had ever seen in one place. When she was a child, the tribes had kept to their own territories, each fiercely guarding their lands. But here, in this wild and untamed city, they mingled freely, trading, talking, and even laughing together. A towering man with the head and striped fur of a tiger strode past, his heavy tail flicking behind him. Nearby, a pair of fox-eared women bartered with a black-scaled Veyrkin, his reptilian eyes gleaming in the dim light. Winged figures perched on rooftops, their feathered arms folded as they observed the market below, while a group of wolf-blooded warriors gathered around a fire pit, sharpening their blades. A few feet away warriors sparred in an open colosseum, their movements swift and brutal, while market stalls bustled with merchants offering pelts, weapons, and talismans carved from bone and stone. The scent of damp earth, smoldering incense, and freshly skinned hides filled the air.
Grimholt was not beautiful in the traditional sense. It was raw, untamed, and unbreakable—a city forged by predators, carved not through delicate artistry, but through sheer will and unyielding survival. Nuri's fingers tightened around the strap of her satchel. It was overwhelming—so much movement, so many different clans side by side. It went against everything she had been taught about the Veyrkin, how they had lived apart, wary of each other, bound only by their own tribe's laws. As Nuri stood amid the sea of Veyrkin, memories of her childhood resurfaced. Her own clan had been the peacemakers, the ones who traveled between the fiercely independent tribes to settle disputes before they erupted into full-scale war. She remembered how her elders would return from these tense negotiations, weary but resolute, speaking of near-bloodshed averted by careful words and delicate maneuvering. Back then, the clans had been proud, unwilling to share territory or resources unless forced by necessity. Seeing them now—living, trading, and even laughing together—felt almost impossible. Had they truly changed, or had something greater forced them into unity? Her gaze flickered to Vael, who watched her carefully, his expression unreadable.
As they pulled up to the merchant's trading tree, Nuri climbed down, running a gentle hand along the horse's neck in silent gratitude before offering it an apple. She reached up to remove her cloak's hood, eager to take in the city without the fabric shielding her view, when Vael's hand caught her wrist. His expression was hard, his eyes dark with worry as he gave a slow shake of his head. "Not here," he said quietly, his fingers brushing once against the curve of her pointed ears. "While you're here, don't let anyone see them. And leave as soon as possible." Veal then holds out peace of rolled up paper with a string tied around it. She takes it the parchment paper felt dry and rough against her palm. "A map," he answers her unspoken question. His gaze goes to Eirik as he approached them.
Eirik nods to Vael who does the same before going back to the wagon to help unload. "Before we got here, I sent word to an old friend—Striga. She's an owl Veyrkin, sharp as they come, and she's agreed to put you up for a few days." She searches his face trying to find any hint of knowledge that he knows. But that be impossible no one knows what Nocturna truly is anymore. They must think she's something else who the Veyrkin would take one look at her pointed ears and see as some type of a threat. "You trust her?' Nuri finally asks knowing either way she is risk here. Eirik chuckles brushing his dark hair from his face. "As much as you can trust someone in Grimholt." Though that told her nothing she knew nothing of the people here. Eirik continues, "Striga doesn't take in just anyone but she owes me a favor. Besides, she keeps to herself-doesn't her caught up in the cities power struggles. She lives in the upper district, carved right into the cliffs. Look for a dark wooden door with an owl sigil burned into it. If she's not there wait. She's usually out at night but she'll know you're coming."
When Nocturna knocks on Striga's door, she's met with silence at first-only the distance howl of the wind through the cliffside dwellings. Then, just as she's contemplating knocking again, the door creaks open soundlessly, revealing a pair of sharp, amber eyes peering from the dim interior. Striga stands tall and poised, her presence exuding a quiet authority. Her feathered form blends seamlessly with her long, flowing robes of ash and ivory, patterned much like a snowy owl's plumage. Dark speckles mark the edges of her sleeves, and her clawed hands, wrapped in leather bindings, rest lightly against the doorframe. A subtle, shifting movement behind her reveals the faint outline of tucked wings, barely visible beneath the layers of her garments.
She studies Nocturna for a long moment before speaking, her voice a smooth, measured hush—like a whisper carried on the wind. "You're quieter than I expected." Nuri tilts her head slightly. "Eirik sent me." Striga blinks once, slow and deliberate. "I know." She steps aside letting her in with a small gesture. After letting Nocturna inside, Striga closes the door behind her with a quite click and moves towards a small table with where half-burned candles flicker, casting g shadows along the stone walls. Running a claws hand through her feathers Striga voice is low and even. "The couch is yours. Make yourself at home-just don't touch anything on the shelves." She gestures vaguely toward the couch, a sturdy well-worn piece covered in thick furs. The scent of jasmine and cold stone lingers in the air.
Inside, the home is carved into the rock itself, illuminated by soft candlelight and the glow of a lantern powered by crystal. Shelves filled with books and trinkets line the walls, and a small fire crackles in a stone hearth. Despite the warmth, there's an undeniable stillness to the space—like a place meant for observation rather than comfort. Striga watches Nocturna settle in, her gaze unblinking. "You don't ask many questions." Shrugging, glancing around the roomNocturina replies. "I've learned that most answers come without asking." A ghost is a smirk flickers across Strigas face. "Good. You'll do fine here. I work nights so I'll be heading back to bed, my shift starts in a few hours." With that she disappears behind a heavy curtain leading to what Nocturna assumes is her sleeping quarters.
Nocturna pulled out the small map Vael had given her, unfolding it carefully. Her eyes traced the worn parchment, noting the largest settlement far behind the Dravern and dwarf town where she had first arrived. Looming above that city was something unmistakable—the floating island she knew all too well. Now, she finally had a name for the place that had held her captive. Celvestra. Her gaze drifted further across the map, following the winding paths and scattered markings of smaller towns. The place she resided now was even farther from that floating island, a fact that brought her a faint sense of relief. But she wasn't searching for what was known—she was searching for something long erased.
She scanned each corner of the map, searching for any trace of what she knew would no longer be marked. Towns and villages dotted the landscape, yet the one place she sought remained absent. Still, she kept looking.She sucked in a small breath, her eyes locking onto a spot on the complete opposite side of where she was now. Beyond Celvestra, past the widest river, a faint scribble marred the map—scratched out, as if someone had tried to erase it from existence. But Nocturia knew better. She knew that place.
It was home.