Mother of Midnight

Chapter 124 – Untitled Chapter Name

Being called an "it" could sometimes be amusing, Vivienne supposed. When people mistook her for some dumb, voiceless beast, their reactions carried a kind of comedic charm. Watching their faces twist with shock when she spoke was a small delight she often indulged. But when they knew she could think, reason, and articulate her thoughts—when they chose to reduce her to a thing despite that—it stopped being funny. It wasn’t ignorance anymore. It was dismissal. And that dismissal cut deeper than she wanted to admit, leaving an ache she couldn’t quite shake.

Her mood had soured as they entered the inn, and she made no effort to hide it. The barkeep's fearful glances might have normally sparked her predatory instincts or at least tempted her to make some teasing remark. Today, they didn’t even register. She barely noticed the delicious, fear-laced aether that rolled off him in waves, ripe for the taking. Instead, she leaned against the counter with her arms crossed, her claws drumming a slow, restless rhythm against her forearm, and let Rava handle everything.

Rava, as always, was composed and direct. She paid for a modest room, large enough for the three of them, and arranged for Renzia to stay with the wagon. The silent mannequin had been more than willing, her slate untouched as she nodded in understanding. Elira and Ivor, standing a little too close to the door, didn’t even attempt to argue when Rava told them to find their own lodgings. They simply exchanged glances before slipping away, their presence fading as quickly as their relevance to Vivienne’s thoughts.

The barkeep, for his part, did his best to maintain a veneer of professionalism despite the tremor in his hands and the way his eyes flicked to Vivienne like a cornered animal watching a predator. When he handed over the room key, his gaze darted to Rava as though seeking reassurance, but she gave none beyond a polite nod. Vivienne didn’t acknowledge him at all, her mind elsewhere as the group climbed the narrow stairs to their room.

Once inside, Vivienne hovered near the window, her tail flicking listlessly against the wooden floor. She didn’t offer any remarks or sarcastic quips as Rava checked the room or as Kivvy bounded to the small table in the corner, her tiny claws clicking against the surface. The goblin tore into the bread and stew provided with an enthusiasm that bordered on feral, crumbs flying as she devoured her meal.

“Vivienne. Viv!”

Rava’s sharp tone cut through the fog in her mind, snapping her attention to the taller woman. Vivienne turned her head sharply, her black eyes narrowing before her expression smoothed into something more neutral. “Yes, sweetheart?” she replied, her voice carrying its usual melodic quality but lacking its usual warmth.

Rava’s brow furrowed slightly, her arms crossing as she studied Vivienne. "You’ve been quiet," she said, her voice low but edged with concern.

“I’m fine,” Vivienne lied, the corners of her mouth tugging upward in a faint, practiced smile. She turned her gaze to Kivvy, whose ravenous chewing provided a convenient distraction. “Seems someone’s enjoying herself,” she added, her tone light but distant.

Rava frowned but chose to let the matter drop for now, her eyes lingering on Vivienne for a moment longer than necessary. The flicker of concern in her gaze didn’t go unnoticed, but she tucked it away, focusing instead on the task at hand. The room felt heavier than it should have, and the last thing either of them needed was to let unspoken tension fester.

“So, what now?” Vivienne asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was steady, but the sharp undertone betrayed her lingering frustration.

Rava reached into her belt pouch, pulling out the token they had recovered. The faint gleam of etched metal caught the dim light, its intricate design more familiar now after having studied it so often. She held it up between her fingers, turning it slowly as though the answers might reveal themselves under scrutiny. “He isn’t a metalsmith,” Rava said thoughtfully, her tone measured. “So, we need to see if we can find whoever made this. I’m certain there’ll be a clue there—something that points us in the right direction.”

Vivienne crossed her arms, her tail curling idly behind her as her lips tugged into a sardonic grin. “Ah, yes, another thrilling leg of this goose chase. The geese have never been wilder. Perhaps at some stage, we could catch some red fish too,” she quipped, her voice laced with dry amusement.

Rava sighed, the sound carrying more patience than annoyance. “I know it’s frustrating,” she admitted, slipping the token back into her pouch. Her fingers lingered there for a moment before she looked up at Vivienne, her expression softening. “But Tarric left this for a reason. He wanted it to be found. That means it’s important.”

“Important to what, though?” Vivienne asked, her voice losing some of its bite. “He didn’t exactly leave a map, just... breadcrumbs. Cryptic ones at that.” Her eyes flicked to the window, where the faint glow of the city lights filtered through the wooden slats.

Rava let out a low chuckle, her tone wry. "Yeah, he'd do something like that. This isn't the first time I've been tasked with tracking him down. Seems I’m the only one who can actually find him."

Vivienne tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. "At least we’ve got something to do tomorrow. But what about Elira and Ivor? Do you trust them?"

Rava gave a small shake of her head, then pressed a finger to her lips, signaling caution. "They seem fine, and they proved themselves when we fought together. But trust? That’s a different matter."

Vivienne nodded, considering her words carefully. "I agree. We’ll have to keep an eye on them, but for now, I think they’re okay."

Kivvy, who had been quiet up until that point, glanced between them before shrugging nonchalantly, her small arms crossed. "Meh, they're fine," she muttered, clearly indifferent.

Rava and Kivvy eventually drifted off to sleep, their steady breathing the only sound that filled the otherwise quiet room. The other two beds, left untouched, seemed to loom silently as Vivienne’s gaze flicked between them. Neither she nor Renzia needed sleep; their nature demanded no rest, and the night was still young. Vivienne, restless and filled with thoughts of the coin and its mysterious origins, decided to take a walk in the moonlit streets.

The city had a haunting beauty under the quiet light of the moon. The streets were nearly deserted, the usual bustle of daily life silenced in the dead of night. The only sounds were the soft rustling of the wind through the trees and the distant echo of someone’s footsteps far ahead. Vivienne had little interest in engaging with the few stragglers still about; her focus was elsewhere. She kept herself to the shadows, blending seamlessly with the darkness, the evening air cool against her skin as she moved with purpose, undisturbed by the sparsely lit streets.

The moonlight pooled in small patches across the cobblestone streets, casting eerie reflections on the buildings. The city’s architecture was nothing like the crumbling ruins of their travels—it was well-kept, old yet strong, with intricate carvings and ironwork that spoke of a long history. As Vivienne walked, her sharp senses took in the various scents of the city—the faint scent of fresh bread, the sharp tang of iron from a nearby forge, and the deep, earthy aroma of the surrounding fields. It was calm, serene even, but there was something in the air that gnawed at the edges of her mind—something she couldn’t quite place.

She continued her silent trek, her footsteps muted on the cobblestones as she made her way back toward the inn. The shadows seemed to cling to her with every step, but Vivienne welcomed them. There was something comforting in the dark of the night—something that made her feel more in tune with the world around her. She slipped past the few remaining figures out on the streets, their forms little more than silhouettes in the distance, and made her way to the inn without incident.

The door creaked softly as she entered, her presence unnoticed by the two sleeping figures in the room. She took a moment to listen, the sound of steady breathing reassuring her that Rava and Kivvy were still lost in their rest. Vivienne didn’t need sleep, not like them. So, as her thoughts swirled around the mystery of the coin, she sat by the window for a while, staring out into the night.

The first rays of dawn stretched across the sky, slowly warming the chill of the early morning air. The soft golden light filtered through the cracks of the inn’s shutters, casting long shadows across the room. Rava was the first to stir, her muscles stretching as she awoke, eyes blinking into the dim light.

"Morning," Rava muttered, running a hand through her hair. She looked over at Vivienne, who was already sitting by the window, lost in her thoughts.

"Ready to go?" Vivienne asked, her voice steady and determined.

Rava nodded, already pulling on her gear, the rhythm of her movements practiced and quick. Kivvy, who had slept soundly through the night, grumbled but followed suit, rubbing her eyes and stretching her arms. Despite her complaints, the goblin’s energy quickly returned as she laced up her boots and slung her small pack over one shoulder.

The three stepped out into the cool morning air, the streets just beginning to stir with life. Vendors arranged their wares with practiced efficiency, the faint scent of baked goods mingling with the crisp breeze. Vivienne walked slightly behind the others, her steps unhurried, her gaze sweeping lazily over the city.

“So, how do we find this smith?” Kivvy asked, voice sharp with impatience. She adjusted her belt, her dagger glinting faintly in the morning light.

Rava turned to a passing merchant, gesturing for his attention. “Excuse me, we’re looking for a forge. Preferably one that handles custom work—rare metals, intricate pieces. Know of anyone like that?”

The merchant paused, his arms laden with a bundle of textiles, and looked them over. “You’re probably looking for Kellen. Runs the forge south of the square. Can’t miss it—biggest chimney you’ll see, and the sound of hammering starts before the sun’s up.”

Vivienne leaned casually against a nearby post, her tail curling idly at her feet. She raised a brow at Rava. “Biggest chimney in town, eh? Sounds promising. Let’s hope he’s worth the walk.”

Rava gave a sharp nod of thanks to the merchant before turning back toward their path. “Let’s get moving before he gets too busy to talk.”

They wove through the streets, the city slowly coming alive around them. Vivienne didn’t bother to rush, her expression calm but her black eyes darting to every corner. While Rava and Kivvy seemed focused on their immediate goal, Vivienne allowed herself to enjoy the subtle beauty of the waking city. The quiet hum of life here felt different from the chaos of the wilds. After clearing her head the night before, she was in a better mood, even enjoying the uneasy looks and wisps of fear and apprehension she was tasting in the air everywhere they walked.

They did eventually find what they were looking for—a large forge on the southern edge of the market square. The building was impossible to miss, with its towering chimney belching smoke into the clear morning sky. The clang of metal striking metal echoed from within, a rhythmic sound that spoke of tireless precision and effort.

The entrance was open, revealing a cavernous workshop filled with the glow of a roaring forge. Tools hung neatly on the walls, their edges gleaming, and half-finished projects were scattered across workbenches. The air was heavy with the scent of burning coal and molten metal, a testament to the craft unfolding within.

Rava stepped forward first, her eyes scanning the interior for any sign of the smith. A muscular man stood near the forge, his back to them, hammering away at a glowing piece of metal on an anvil. His movements were fluid and purposeful, the cadence of his strikes uninterrupted as they approached.

“Excuse me!” Rava called, her voice carrying over the clang of his work.

The smith paused, lowering his hammer and turning toward them. His face was weathered, marked by soot and years of toil. He gave them a cursory glance before speaking, his tone gruff. “If you’re looking for a quick shoeing or repair, you’ll need to wait. I’ve enough of a backlog right now.”

“We’re not here for that,” Rava said, holding out the token. “We’re looking for the smith who made this.”

The man wiped his hands on his leather apron and stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he examined the token. After a moment, he shook his head and handed it back. “Not my work. Too delicate for my style. But I’ve seen this kind of engraving before.”

“Where?” Rava asked, her tone clipped.

“Belongs to Kellen. He’s got a workshop just outside the market, near the old mill,” the smith said, pointing toward the outskirts of the square. “Look for the green shutters. Can’t miss it.”

The group followed the smith’s directions, weaving through the quieter streets as they moved further from the bustling square. The hum of the city softened around them, replaced by the sound of birdsong and the rustle of the morning breeze.

Finally, they came upon the building the smith had described. The green shutters stood out against the weathered wood of the small workshop. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, a sign of activity within.

Rava stepped up to the door and hesitated, her hand hovering near the frame. “Ready?” she asked, glancing back at the others.

Vivienne tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Always.”

Kivvy crossed her arms. “Let’s get this over with.”

Rava rapped on the sturdy wooden door, her knock firm and deliberate. The sound echoed faintly down the quiet street, a reminder of how the early morning still clung to a sleepy silence. After a moment, the door cracked open, revealing a pair of sharp, amber eyes set in a wolfish face. The man’s fur-lined ears twitched atop his head, betraying his heightened sense of caution. His tail swayed slightly behind him, though the movement was tight and controlled.

“Yes?” he asked, his voice low and clipped, carrying an edge of suspicion. His gaze darted to each of them, lingering on Vivienne for a moment longer than he likely intended.

Rava wasted no time, holding up the token with a steady hand. Its etched surface glinted in the faint light filtering through the doorway. “We’re looking for the one who made this,” she said. “Are you Kellen?”

The man’s amber eyes flicked to the token, his brows knitting together as his tail stilled. His body language stiffened, though he kept most of his features schooled into a mask of disinterest. “Depends,” he replied, his voice measured. “Who’s asking?”

Rava’s expression didn’t waver. She tilted the token slightly, the engraved name catching his eye again. “The person whose name is etched into this,” she replied evenly, her tone a blend of authority and calm.

The lekine man’s ears twitched once more as he processed her words. He exhaled sharply through his nose and opened the door wider, stepping into full view. His frame was lean but solid, the kind of build that came from years of precision work rather than brute labor. He was dressed simply, his hands bearing the telltale calluses of a craftsman, though they were free of soot or grime—a sharp contrast to what one might expect from a metalsmith.

“I’m Kellen,” he admitted at last, his tone begrudging but resigned. His tail flicked once, a sign of irritation—or perhaps unease. “Where did you get that?”

Vivienne’s black eyes glimmered with intrigue, a flicker of amusement dancing in their depths as she tilted her head, but she kept silent, allowing Rava to handle the conversation. Rava met Kellen’s sharp gaze with the confidence of someone who had done this countless times. “In some fallen ruins,” she said firmly. “I’m trying to follow the trail to find my brother.”

Kellen’s ears twitched, his brow furrowing for a brief moment before his face softened with recognition. “Ah,” he said, his voice tinged with familiarity. “You’ll be Rara then?”

Vivienne’s reaction was immediate. Her head snapped toward Rava, a wide, gleeful grin spreading across her face. “Rara?” she echoed, her tone dripping with delighted mischief. Her tail swayed lazily, the perfect counterpoint to the teasing lilt in her voice.

Rava’s response was far less enthusiastic. The tips of her ears dipped, and a visible flush crept up her neck, spreading to her cheeks. Though her face remained stoic, her embarrassment betrayed her, the telltale flick of her tail giving away her discomfort. “Yes,” she said evenly, her voice tight with restraint. “That would be me.”

Vivienne leaned slightly closer, her grin only widening. “Why,” she purred, “you’ve been holding out on me, Rara?”

Kellen smirked faintly, his sharp eyes flicking between them before deciding it was wise not to comment further. Instead, he gestured toward the open door behind him. “Then yes,” he said, stepping aside with a casual wave. “Come in. Don’t touch anything.”

Rava exhaled softly, the tension easing from her shoulders as she stepped past Kellen into the workshop, resolutely ignoring Vivienne’s continued grin. If there was one thing she could count on, it was that Vivienne wouldn’t let this go easily—or at all.

Kellen’s workshop was a chaotic labyrinth of delicate ingenuity. The smell of heated metal and oiled tools filled the air, mingling with the faint acrid tang of flux. Shelves lined the walls, sagging under the weight of jars filled with tiny screws, bolts, and gears of varying sizes. Small, intricate devices—half-finished clocks, delicate automatons, and arcane trinkets—were strewn across the cluttered tables. Tools were scattered in what looked like a haphazard manner, but the deliberate placement suggested a system known only to the craftsman.

Vivienne paused just inside the door, her black eyes sweeping the room with undisguised curiosity. She leaned slightly closer to examine a tiny brass bird perched on the edge of a workbench, its wings frozen mid-flap. The detail was exquisite, every feather painstakingly etched, but the faint hum of latent aether gave it away as more than ornamental.

“Don’t even think about it,” Kellen said sharply, not bothering to look back as he moved further into the room.

Vivienne’s tail flicked, and she straightened with a pout. “I wasn’t going to touch,” she murmured, but her eyes lingered on the bird a moment longer before turning to follow him.

Rava, meanwhile, had stepped carefully into the center of the room, her gaze flitting over the chaos with practiced disinterest. “It looks like you’ve been busy,” she commented, her voice neutral but tinged with faint approval.

Kellen snorted, the sound rough and tinged with weariness. “Always am. Don’t have the luxury of taking it easy, not when every odd request or repair job finds its way to my door.” He waved a hand at a cluttered table piled high with scrap metal, half-finished projects, and precision tools. “Now, about that token—what exactly do you want to know?”

Rava withdrew the token from her pouch, holding it between her claws. Its dark surface gleamed faintly, the unmistakable hue of shadowsteel catching the light. “This token was designed by my brother. I have another one, nearly identical, but it’s silver. I recognized the metal as shadowsteel, so I followed the trail here.”

Kellen’s ears twitched, his sharp eyes narrowing at the sight of the token. A smirk played at the corners of his mouth. “Recognized it, did you? Well, you should—it’s my handiwork. Your brother came to me for the shadowsteel and the craftsmanship. Seemed to know exactly what he wanted.”

He moved toward a desk that stood apart from the cluttered chaos of the workshop. Unlike the other surfaces, this desk was oddly pristine, its dark wood polished and clear save for a single, locked drawer. With a deft motion, Kellen retrieved a key from around his neck, unlocking the drawer and pulling out a tightly rolled scroll.

Turning back to Rava, he extended the scroll toward her. “Your brother was particular about this. Said if anyone named Rara showed up, I was to give it to her.”

Rava’s expression shifted, her usual stoicism betraying a trace of exasperation as her golden eyes scanned the scroll’s text. Her claws gripped the edges delicately, the faint sound of parchment crinkling under her touch. Vivienne tilted her head, her black eyes gleaming with interest, while Kivvy hopped slightly to catch a better view.

When Rava finished, she let out a long sigh and folded the scroll back up, slipping it into her pouch. “Viv, as you would put it—the geese have indeed been wild.”

Vivienne’s smirk widened, her sharp teeth briefly flashing. “Oh? Just how wild are we talking?”

“He’s in the ruins east of Serkoth,” Rava replied, her tone edged with equal parts relief and irritation. “Only two days out.”

“Well, the journey is more important than the destination after all.”Said Vivienne

Rava sent her a glare.