“The falls took her ashes. The river carried her story.”
Nyr Nordhavn
Season 01 — Episode 04
Written by Alan Tripp
2412
Nordal Falls — Ulfrvik
Operations Group Baston
Hell’s Gate Nebula
“She followed her path to its end. We follow ours beyond the bend.”
Chapter One
The wind carried the scent of pine, cold stone, and rushing water across the heights above Ulfrvik.
Far below, the eastern branch of the Odryn River plunged over Norðal Falls in a thunder of white water and drifting mist before continuing its journey toward the village. Beyond the gorge, the river wound through dark evergreen forests and rocky highlands until it joined its western sister at the Confluence. There, upon a rise between the two rivers, stood Ulfrvik. Beyond the village lay Harbor Bay and the deep waters of Odryn Fjord, which stretched southward beneath the mountains of Nýr Nordhavn toward the distant sea.
The day was gray and cool. Clouds drifted across the peaks, occasionally parting just enough to allow shafts of pale northern sunlight to reach the valley. Wherever the light touched the mist rising from the falls, the spray shimmered like silver.
The small gathering stood upon a weathered stone outcrop overlooking the gorge.
No one felt any need to speak.
There were only seven of them.
Alan Skysen stood nearest the edge. Age had silvered his hair and added lines to his face, but neither had diminished him. If anything, the years had only reinforced the impression of quiet strength that seemed woven into his very bones. He stood with his hands resting lightly upon the head of a walking staff, his gaze fixed upon the water below.
Beside him stood Jenni.
Commander J’nae Travanner Skysen’s expression revealed little to anyone who did not know her well. Vulcan discipline remained as much a part of her as breathing. Yet grief had a way of revealing itself in subtle forms. The slight tightening around her eyes and the unusual stillness in her posture spoke volumes to those who understood her.
Freyath stood a short distance away, arms folded against the cold wind. Her gaze never left the river. She had spent most of the morning trying very hard not to cry.
She was not succeeding.
Ross Sollace stood quietly nearby. Time and experience had carved a calm patience into the man known throughout several lifetimes as Tempest. He watched the river with the thoughtful expression of someone who had spent a great deal of his life learning that not every storm could be fought.
Alan Sollace stood beside Lyara Thorne.
Pathfinder’s gaze remained fixed upon the falls.
Lyara watched him for a moment before turning her attention back toward the river. She could see the thoughts moving behind his eyes. The ceremony was not only stirring memories of Ahlayna. It was stirring memories of Atlantis, of old friends, of years lost and years survived. There were days when grief did not arrive as a wound. It arrived as a companion quietly taking a seat beside you.
Neither of them spoke.
The silence felt appropriate.
At the center of the gathering stood Nyrra.
The urn rested upon a flat stone before her.
For several moments she simply stared at it while the roar of the falls filled the world around them.
Ahlayna.
Her sister.
Her twin.
The face she still saw every morning when she looked into a mirror.
The voice she occasionally expected to hear behind her when a room grew quiet.
The person who should have been standing beside her today.
The person who never would again.
Nyrra drew a slow breath and felt the familiar ache settle into her chest.
Loss changed over time.
People always said it became easier.
She had discovered that was not entirely true.
The sharp edges faded. The wound closed. Life moved forward.
But absence remained.
Absence had a weight all its own.
The mountains surrounding them had endured countless winters. The river had carved its way through stone long before any of them were born and would continue long after they were gone. Standing there above the falls, Nyrra found herself painfully aware of how small a single life truly was.
And yet Ahlayna had mattered.
She mattered to the people standing here.
She mattered to Nyrra.
That was enough.
At last she stepped forward and lifted the urn into her hands.
The brass fittings felt cold beneath her fingers.
She hesitated.
Not because she was uncertain.
Because letting go made everything feel final.
Jenni noticed the slight tremor in her hands.
So did Alan Skysen.
Neither said anything.
Neither needed to.
The presence of family was enough.
Nyrra opened the urn and looked down into it.
The ashes seemed impossibly ordinary.
There was something profoundly unfair about that.
A lifetime of memories, hopes, mistakes, triumphs, laughter, arguments, tears, and dreams reduced to something that could fit within the palms of her hands.
Her vision blurred.
She blinked once.
Then again.
The tears came anyway.
This time she let them.
The wind caught a loose strand of hair and swept it across her face as she looked out over the river.
“I miss you.”
The words vanished almost immediately into the roar of the falls.
No one answered.
No one needed to.
The river carried the sentiment onward just as surely as it would carry the ashes.
Nyrra stepped to the edge of the outcrop and opened her hands.
The wind caught the ashes first.
For a brief moment they hung suspended in the air, glimmering faintly in the silver mist.
Then gravity claimed them.
The current below accepted them without hesitation.
The ashes drifted downward into the white water and disappeared into the endless motion of the river.
Toward the Confluence.
Toward Ulfrvik.
Toward Odryn Fjord.
Toward the sea.
The seven figures remained where they were, watching the water long after the last visible trace had vanished.
The river continued its journey unchanged.
The mountains remained unmoved.
The falls continued their eternal descent.
Only the people upon the cliff had changed.
Eventually Alan Skysen stepped forward.
He did not offer wisdom.
He did not attempt to explain grief.
Some losses existed beyond explanation.
Instead, he simply placed a hand upon Nyrra’s shoulder.
The gesture lasted only a moment.
Yet it nearly broke her.
Because it felt familiar.
Because it felt safe.
Because it felt like home.
One by one the others gathered closer.
Jenni.
Freyath.
Ross.
Alan.
Lyara.
Family.
The wind moved through the pines above them while mist drifted upward from the gorge below. Together they stood overlooking the river as it carried Ahlayna onward toward the fjord and the sea.
Somewhere beyond the mountains and beyond the horizon, a chapter had come to its end.
None of them yet realized that before the night was over, another chapter would quietly begin.