Torren, who had been leaning back, sat up straighter in her chair, a fierce yearning in her amber eyes. "After all these years... I need to know the truth."
Errin nodded, her gaze still lost in the past. " Nyx had all but won. The dead... they couldn't be cut down. How do you kill what is already gone? Our armies were falling apart, broken by the horror of fighting their own deceased kin. But then Nott stepped forward. She called out to Nyx, her voice, even then, filled with a raw power that cut through the screams and the groans of the risen dead. She told Nyx that her ancestors were proud of her, that the former queen of the fae, Lyra, would have been ashamed of Nyx."
Errin paused, a ghost of a grim smile touching her lips. "It was a risky gamble, playing on the Fae Queen's ego. But by this time, the Tidehollow Armor had taken what was left of Nyx's reason. It had twisted her, leaving only a burning delusion of divinity and an insatiable lust for power. With every blaspheme, every profane ask, the armor took more of Nyx, stripping away her very being. She was more armor than fae queen by then. Nott challenged her directly, saying, 'If you truly think yourself divine, then show me. Let these world leaders go. Let them bear witness to your power, to your victory over Lore.' And in her rage, her boundless arrogance, Nyx agreed."
Errin’s voice grew quieter, almost a murmur against the sudden silence of the bar. "The next part… it's muddy. We had evacuated everyone we could to a safe distance once the fight started, but even from a mile away, we could feel the concussive blasts from their blows." She shivered, as if the echoes of that raw power still resonated in the air.
Torren leaned forward, her elbows on the table, eyes wide and fixed on Errin. "So the rumors were true, then? About the power? About the destruction?" Her voice was barely a whisper, a stark contrast to the thundering mental image of the battle.
"Nott tried with every swing of her axes, with every punch, to drive Nyx further out of town, to spare Varashroova more destruction. But the fae woman reveled in it. She delighted in the destruction of what she called 'lesser races.' Each life the Mad Queen took seemed to make her stronger, to fuel her twisted power. It was like watching a monster feed, consuming the very essence of life to grow more terrible."
Errin’s gaze hardened, a flicker of fierce pride battling the sorrow in her eyes. "But Nott never backed down. Even as she became horribly injured, wounds ripping across her body, she kept fighting. We saw the flashes of her healing, a rapid mending that defied belief, but it wasn't fast enough. Nyx was relentless. We watched, helpless, as the queen's weapon ripped into Nott again and again, tearing flesh, breaking bone, leaving crimson trails against her fur. There were moments when we thought… when we thought she was gone."
Torren flinched, a low growl rumbling in her chest. "But she wasn't. She couldn't be."
"No," Errin affirmed, her voice gaining a desperate strength. "Nott endured it all, a single-minded focus in her eyes. She waited, she watched, she calculated every opening, every weakness in that monstrous armor. And then, finally, when we thought there was nothing left of her to give, she found it."
Errin leaned forward, her voice a hushed crescendo, every word weighted with the gravity of the memory. "With one desperate, raw surge of power, a roar that shook the very ground beneath us even from a mile away, Nott shattered the gem in the chest plate of Nyx's armor. It exploded, shards of arcane crystal scattering like deadly rain. And in that same impossible, furious move, she cut the fae's heart, ending it."
Errin’s voice grew heavy, a profound sadness settling over her features. "What happened after... isn't known fully. Nott doesn't talk about it. You can see how haunted she is by it, though. Every time the rain hits the windows, or the wind howls just right, I see it in her eyes."
Torren’s brow furrowed, a desperate need for understanding in her gaze. "But what do you know? What did you find?"
Errin took a slow, shaky breath. "When we finally reached them, the destruction was astounding. Entire sections of the forest were just gone, trees reduced to splinters, the earth churned and scarred as if a primordial beast had thrashed across it. But even amidst that chaos, it was clear: the battle had been meticulously led away from populated areas, a desperate effort by Nott to spare what little remained of Varashroova."
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She paused, remembering the grim scene. "It took us almost an hour to find them. Nyx was there, her body broken, missing her head – a mercy Nott had granted the fae queen as she was painfully drowning in her own blood. And 7Nott... Nott was face down in a puddle of blood and rainwater, her body all but shattered, bleeding everywhere. It was a wonder she didn't die from drowning right there, her breathing was too shallow to fully take in the liquid. She had won, Torren, but the cost was so much."
As Errin spoke, Torren’s eyes welled up, tears beginning to trace paths down her cheeks. The whispered rumors, the distant tales of destruction, now coalesced into a horrifying, intimate reality. The sister she barely knew, the one she had sought for so long, wasn't just a hero; she was a shattered survivor. Torren now understood, with a crushing weight, just what Nott had sacrificed for the world. It wasn't just a battle, it was a piece of Nott's very soul.
Errin’s voice cracked. "Nott was in a coma for five months. That first week... if it wasn't for a healer who had succumbed to the magic addiction, who sacrificed his empathy to heal her, Nott would have died. And honestly," Errin's gaze drifted to the closed door of the bar, a profound sorrow etched on her face, "I'm not sure Nott doesn't wish she had."
Torren stared into her glass, the amber liquid now still. The fire in the hearth seemed to dim, casting longer, more ominous shadows across the bar. Errin had just finished recounting the grim aftermath of the Battle of Varashroova – how Nott, after laying everything on the line to bring an end to that devastating conflict, was repaid with suspicion and venom.
"They… they turned on her?" Torren's voice was barely a whisper, laced with disbelief and a building sorrow. "After she saved them all? After she ended that battle?"
Errin nodded slowly, her expression heavy. "Rumors. Whispers. 'Unchecked power,' they called it. 'Loss of control in the final battle.' They twisted everything she did, every painful choice, into something monstrous. They feared what they didn't understand, and rather than gratitude for ending Varashroova, they offered her scorn."
A fresh wave of devastation washed over Torren. She had always felt a pull towards Nott, an inexplicable connection that went beyond mere curiosity. To hear that Nott had delivered such a pivotal blow against the darkness, only to be met with such cruel injustice, was a bitter, unbearable truth.
Torren clenched her fist, a deep resolve settling in her features. "This isn't right," she murmured, more to herself than to Errin. "For them to repay Nott with lies and fear… it's a betrayal."
She looked up, her eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "I have to tell her, Errin. Now more than ever. She needs to know she isn't alone in this. She needs to know there's someone who sees her for who she truly is. And perhaps, just perhaps, that knowledge can give her the strength to face this new battle, the one against the rumors."
Errin set down the mug she'd been polishing with a sharp thud, her gaze fixed on Torren. Her initial surprise had given way to a deep understanding, but now, a flicker of annoyance crossed her features.
"Not alone?" Errin's voice was tight, a low growl barely escaping her throat. "What do you think I've been doing? I've been here. Since the beginning. Before Varashroova, through it, and every damn day after." She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "You can't possibly understand what she's been through. You had a family. A mother. People who loved you and raised you."
She gestured around the empty bar, her frustration clear. "All Nott ever had was Vidar, and even he was taken from her. She clawed her way through this world, fought for every scrap of peace she ever found. Don't you dare stand there and imply she's been alone, because I've seen every scar, every sleepless night. I've been the one holding her when the nightmares come."
Errin’s shoulders slumped slightly, the anger dimming to a weary resolve. "A sister she never knew… yes, that's a lot to process. But knowing she has someone else who truly sees her, someone who understands the depth of what she did at Varashroova and what it cost her… that could be the very thing she needs right now. But don't you dare diminish what I've done for her."
She pushed off her stool, moving around the bar to stand in front of Torren. She placed a gentle hand on Torren's shoulder. "It won't be easy. Nott built walls after Varashroova, higher than you can imagine. She trusts very few, and strangers… especially those who come with news from her past… she'll be cautious."
She squeezed Torren's shoulder. "But you're right. Now more than ever. The truth, and family, have a way of breaking through even the strongest defenses. When do you want to tell her?"
"As soon as possible," Torren replied, her voice firm. "I have a room at an inn here in Varashroova, but I'd like to see where Nott lives."
Errin nodded, her expression softening. "Good. Let's go then. It's a small cottage in the woods on the outskirts of the city. She likes her quiet."
Without another word, Errin strode from behind the bar of the Nocturne's Call. Torren followed, the worn letter clutched tightly in her hand. The bustling sounds of the bar faded behind them as they stepped out into the cool evening air, heading towards the quiet, shadowed woods that skirted Varashroova.
The soft glow of twilight filtered through the dense trees as Errin and Torren followed a narrow, winding path. The scent of pine and damp earth filled the air, a stark contrast to the lively clamor of the Nocturne's Call. Soon, a small, unassuming cottage emerged from the deepening shadows, smoke curling lazily from its stone chimney.
As they approached, Torren's steps faltered. To the side of the cottage, beneath a gnarled oak, stood a simple grave marker. It wasn't a headstone, but a formidable war axe, its blade plunged deep into the earth, reflecting the last slivers of light. A pang of recognition, cold and sharp, went through Torren. This had to be him. This had to be Vidar, Nott's lost brother – her own half-brother, though she’d never met him. The weight of the world Nott had endured pressed down on Torren anew.
Errin, seemingly accustomed to the sight, led the way to the cottage door and pushed it open without knocking. "Nott? We're home!" she called out, her voice echoing softly in the quiet interior.
A moment later, a figure emerged from a back room, their movements fluid and ancient. It was Stransa, the primordial being who shared Nott and Errin's home, their close friend and confidante. Stransa's eyes, deep and knowing, settled on Torren, and a gasp, soft yet undeniably shocked, escaped her lips. Her gaze moved from Torren's face to an invisible point, as if comparing. "By the Ancestors," Stransa whispered, her voice a low, rumbling sound, "you look exactly like her."