Mother of Midnight

Chapter 139 – Shades, Shadows, and Smiles

Good Dolls always waited.

Renzia stared at the crumbling ruins, her blank face fixed on nothing and everything, waiting in still silence. She always waited. That was her purpose, wasn't it? She didn’t mind waiting—waiting was what good dolls did. Good dolls stayed where they were put, moved when they were taken, obeyed when they were called upon. And Renzia was a very good doll.

A faint wind whispered through the broken stones, carrying with it the scent of dust and decay. It swept through her hair, tugging at her ragged, delicate form, but she didn’t react. She only waited. Her joints, stiff from lack of movement, creaked slightly as she shifted her weight, the sound blending into the wind's mournful song. Somewhere deep in her chest, something faintly hummed—a remnant of aether, an echo of what gave her form purpose. It wasn’t her purpose to understand it. Mistress understood it, and that was all that mattered.

Mistress would return. Mistress always returned. Mistress needed her. And Renzia needed to be needed, because without that need, what was she? Nothing but a hollow thing, a discarded doll without a home, without meaning.

I am a good doll, she reminded herself. Mistress said so. One of them did.

Her fingers twitched, curling inward like claws before relaxing once more. She loved her mistress, adored her with the devotion of something that had been made for love and nothing else. Mistress had taken her from the dark, fixed her broken parts, made her whole again. Even if pieces of her didn’t quite fit, even if her mind didn’t always work the way it should, it didn’t matter. Mistress looked after her. Mistress kept her safe. And so Renzia waited, still and silent, a sentinel forgotten by the world, but never by her purpose.

The ruins around her whispered secrets she couldn’t understand. They had once been something grand, something important, but now they were just broken stone and shattered memory, much like herself. Did they feel abandoned too? Did they long to be useful again, to serve as they once had? She tilted her head, listening to the silence as if waiting for the ruins to answer. They didn’t, of course. They never did.

Her slate hung at her side, cold and heavy, the only voice she had. Renzia didn’t remember what her voice had sounded like before, if she’d ever had one at all. Maybe she had been made voiceless. Maybe her voice had been lost when she was broken. She didn’t remember. It was so hard to remember. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need a voice. She only needed her slate, her purpose, her waiting.

Time passed, though she didn’t know how much. Time was strange when you were waiting, stretching and folding in on itself until it became meaningless. Waiting as moons and suns and snow and heat passed. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. 

She stared at the horizon, unblinking, unthinking, until a flicker of movement in the distance caught her eye.

Her heart—not a physical one, but the one in her mind—lurched, and something like excitement flickered through her mind. Was it Mistress? Was it finally time to move, to serve, to be useful again?

She loved being useful.

She loved Mistress.

Good dolls wait until they are called. Good dolls do not move unless needed. But her fingers twitched again, and her body seemed to hum with barely contained energy. She wanted to move, to act, to do something—anything—to prove she was good. She had to prove it, again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again, because what if Mistress forgot? What if she forgot how good Renzia was?

But she wouldn’t forget. Mistress never forgot. Mistress needed her. Always watching the rest place. Looking after the green one when the mistress needed to go out with the tall one.

Renzia didn’t know what it was to be afraid, not really, but something gnawed at the edge of her thoughts—something dark, something hollow. What if Mistress didn’t need her anymore? What if Mistress found a better doll, a stronger doll, a doll that didn’t need fixing?

Her fingers twitched faster, digging into the cracked stone beneath her. No. She couldn’t think like that. She was a good doll, a perfect tool. Mistress liked her. And Mistress never lied. She would wait, and when Mistress called for her, she would serve. She would be useful. She would be loved.

The movement on the horizon grew closer, and Renzia’s thoughts quieted. Whatever it was, it would bring her purpose. Her slate would speak for her. Her hands would act for her. Her heart—or what remained of it—would beat for her mistress, and only for her.

Because Renzia was a good doll.

And good dolls always waited.

With Tarric stabilized and Rava hopefully on the mend, Vivienne found her focus drifting to something that had gnawed at the edges of her mind since they entered this ancient place: the song.

It had been there all along, a faint yet persistent hum, threading through the tension and chaos of the battle, woven into the very air around her. Now, in the aftermath of violence, the song’s presence felt more distinct, resonating in her senses like an echo bouncing through her thoughts. She hadn’t had the luxury of paying it any attention before—not with enemies to fight and companions to save—but now it pulled at her curiosity with an almost magnetic force.

It wasn’t like the overwhelming power she’d felt when she conquered the last song. This one wasn’t pressing down on her like a crushing tide—it was subtler, more refined. There was strength in it, certainly, but it felt… controlled. Contained. Almost as if it were waiting to be claimed.

Vivienne took a slow, deliberate step forward, her black eyes narrowing as she carefully scanned the chamber’s walls. The intricate carvings adorning the stone caught her attention—patterns she hadn’t noticed before, now illuminated by the faint glow of residual aether from the battle. They twisted and coiled like veins, forming strange, cryptic symbols. She tilted her head slightly, listening with more than just her ears. The song wasn’t coming from the air around her—it was resonating from somewhere deeper, somewhere hidden.

She ran her claws lightly over the stone, the tips leaving faint scratches behind as she moved along the wall, following the intensity of the sound. As she advanced, the song seemed to shift, growing clearer—not in volume, but in meaning, as though the closer she got, the more it aligned with her own aether. It was like a distant voice whispering just beyond comprehension, urging her forward.

Vivienne moved along the wall with a growing sense of urgency, her senses now fully attuned to the song. Each step she took, each small adjustment in her path, seemed to pull her deeper into the song’s pull, as if the stone itself was guiding her. The wall’s surface became colder the further she went, and the faintest tremor of energy began to vibrate beneath her fingers. It felt like the pulse of something ancient, something that had been waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

Finally, her claws scraped against something hard, something… different. The wall in front of her hummed with a low resonance, one that matched the rhythm of the song. She stopped and took a step back, her brow furrowing. There was no obvious seam, no sign of a door or passage, just a section of stone that felt more like an obstruction than part of the natural design of the chamber.

Vivienne’s eyes gleamed with a familiar, dangerous excitement as she straightened, her gaze narrowing. The wall wasn’t just stone—it was hiding something. Something important.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising with anticipation. With a sharp motion, she allowed her molten titan form to take over. The familiar rush of heat and power surged through her, the molten core of her being igniting as the transformation took hold. Her skin cracked like obsidian beneath the force of the change, revealing a blazing, molten form, her body now radiating a palpable heat. Her claws elongated into obsidian spikes, glowing with fiery energy as she shifted fully into the monstrous shape.

Vivienne wasted no time. Her fist, now enormous and radiating with molten light, slammed into the wall in front of her with a deafening crash. The stone cracked, but not enough to break through. She gritted her teeth, pain flickering across her features, but it was nothing compared to the burning drive to discover what lay hidden.

Again, she struck, her punch sending tremors through the air, the force rattling the chamber around them. The stone cracked further, but the wall refused to give way. It was as if it were resisting her, something almost sentient in the way it held itself together.

Her molten fist pulled back once more, and with a roar of frustration, she struck again, her whole body coiled with strength. This time, the wall shattered with a final, resounding crack. Stone splintered and fell away in chunks, revealing a hollow space behind it.

Vivienne stood still for a moment, her molten form flickering and sizzling as the heat in the room began to subside. The intense warmth of her body ebbed away, leaving only a slight residual glow in her obsidian skin. Her limbs trembled as the molten energy slowly retreated beneath her scales, the heat fading until it was just a faint hum within her. She allowed her body to shift back into her humanoid shape, no longer radiant with molten fury but the same dark, obsidian skin as before, devoid of any excess glow.

With careful, measured steps, she approached the hole she had made, the fractured stone scattered across the floor like shattered bones. She stepped through the opening, the space beyond revealed to her as she carefully navigated the rubble. Her black eyes scanned the room, the intensity of the energy still humming in the air, thick with that strange power. The orb on its pedestal beckoned to her, glowing softly in the shadowy room.

As she moved closer to the pedestal, the song grew louder, but it didn’t overwhelm her. It was steady, constant, like an old friend whispering to her from the shadows. It seemed to tug at her soul, the melody an invitation, a calling. Her gaze never left the orb, its light flickering in time with the resonance in the air, creating flickering shadows that danced around the stone walls.

Vivienne circled the pedestal cautiously, feeling the pulse of the song intensify with each step. She reached out with one clawed hand, her fingers brushing lightly over the surface of the orb. The moment she touched it, an electric shock of energy coursed through her, but she didn’t flinch. The orb hummed, almost alive, and she could feel its power, ancient and deep, like a weight that threatened to crush her if she didn’t handle it carefully.

A gasp of air escaped her lips as the orb's magic connected with her own, sending a surge of energy rippling through her body. For a split second, she saw flashes of visions—broken, fragmented pieces of ancient history, songs of a time long past, long-forgotten voices and whispers. The energy flowed into her, feeding her aether, amplifying it in ways she had never experienced before.

Her black eyes narrowed as the power settled inside her chest, her body vibrating with the sheer intensity of it. She could feel the orb’s connection to her soul, and for a moment, it was as though she could hear its thoughts, feel its desires, its hunger. She clenched her fists, steadying herself against the overwhelming wave of power, and took another deep breath.

"Fascinating," she murmured to herself. Her voice, always light and airy, now had an edge to it—calm and yet alive with the power she had just absorbed. The orb’s pulse echoed inside her, but now it was no longer intrusive. It was a part of her, a new layer added to her being.

Vivienne’s lips curled into a faint smile. Whatever this orb was, it had chosen her, and now, it was hers. She could feel her strength growing, her aether now enriched, expanded. The power flowed through her veins, filling the emptiness inside her with something much more potent. The orb had connected to her in a way that she knew she could never undo.

A surge of new energy pulsed through Vivienne, as if an invisible door within her had been flung open. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just an instinctive response to the power she now commanded. Without a second thought, her hand moved in an elegant flourish, drawing on the very darkness around her. The shadows that pooled at the edges of the room seemed to ripple in response, drawn to her like moths to a flame.

With a focused yet effortless movement, she summoned them—the shades. Unlike the heavy, imposing crystal beasts she had summoned in the past, these shadows were light, fluid, and enigmatic. They emerged from the depths of the darkened corners of the chamber, twisting and coiling into ethereal shapes. Their forms were not quite solid, not entirely physical, but they were real—alive in their own way, linked to her will.

As they materialized around her, her aether settled comfortably into its new rhythm. There was no strain, no overwhelming weight pressing on her power. These creatures, born from the shadows, required less energy to maintain. It was almost as if they existed in a space between worlds, neither fully tangible nor entirely ethereal. A quick flick of her claws and they appeared, materializing from the void with an eerie grace.

Vivienne stood still for a moment, watching as the shades twisted and undulated in the air around her, each one a swirling silhouette, hazy and shifting. She could feel them, like a second skin. Their presence brushed against her mind, an unspoken connection that vibrated with intent. Unlike the solid creatures she was accustomed to, these beings were more like whispers, more like thoughts given form. She felt their desires, their needs, all as fleeting and changing as the shadows they were born from.

Her lips curled into a slow, thoughtful smile. This was something new. Something different. She hadn’t realized how deeply she craved this kind of power—this subtle, quick control over something so mutable. With the crystal beasts, there had always been a weight, a heft, a burden to their strength. But these shades were light. Elusive. They responded to her touch, to her thoughts, without effort.

Her mind whirred with possibilities, already considering ways to manipulate and stretch the limits of what these shades could do. They were not bound by the laws of the physical world, not as the crystal creatures had been. These shadows could slip through cracks, seep into small spaces, and move with unparalleled speed. They could be eyes and ears, gathering intelligence from places unseen. They could be spies, messengers, scouts.

Vivienne extended her arm, and with a fluid motion, the shades obeyed. One of them elongated, stretching into a thin tendril of darkness that curled around her wrist like a silken bracelet. Another shifted into a more defined form, a tall, humanoid figure with no distinct features except for the faint glow of her own aura reflected in its transparent body. The third shade swirled and coiled, its edges vibrating with barely contained energy, as if it were ready to explode into action at her command.

She flexed her fingers, the shapes shifting with her slightest movement. The shades adjusted themselves, each one adapting to her intentions like obedient servants. They were responsive, not stubborn like the crystal beasts. She didn't have to force them into submission. They followed her thoughts without question, moved as one with her desires.

An idea bloomed in her mind—a testing ground for their limits. She could command them to infiltrate places that her other creations could not. Narrow corridors, hidden passageways, small rooms where the larger, more cumbersome beasts would be useless. With a slight tilt of her head, she directed the shades to gather information from the farthest reaches of the room, to slip through cracks in the walls, to listen in on sounds too soft for her ears.

The shades obeyed without hesitation, dissolving into the shadows, disappearing completely. They moved faster than the eye could follow, vanishing like wisps of smoke.

Vivienne stood alone in the chamber for a moment, waiting, her breath steady. She could feel their presence all around her, in the corners of her mind. The connection was not invasive, but rather a soft, insistent hum. It was as if they were extensions of herself—her thoughts, her commands, her power now spread out and dispersed.

Vivienne’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. This was only the beginning. The shades were more than just tools; they were part of her, reflections of her power, an extension of her will. She could make them do anything—spy, gather, infiltrate, observe. And if she wished, they could be something more: weapons, instruments of destruction, or even simply distractions. All for almost no cost.

Her fingers flexed once more, and the shades faded back into the shadows, dissolving as quietly as they had appeared. She stood still for a moment, feeling the weight of the possibilities settle over her, the cool hum of power flowing through her veins.

With a hum of satisfaction resonating in her chest, Vivienne allowed the echo of the new song she had absorbed to settle in her mind. It felt like an awakening, a new rhythm of power threading through her veins. The residual magic from the orb had settled into her, and her connection to the shadows, the shades, was now as natural as her heartbeat. The potential they offered sang within her like a sweet, untapped melody, and she couldn’t help but savor it.

Turning away from the pedestal where the orb had once pulsed, she cast a glance at Tarric and Rava. They were still lying where she had left them, resting after the battle's toll. The two of them were still, their forms a reminder of the chaos they had just weathered. Rava lay curled slightly, still recovering, her breathing slow but steady. Tarric, however, was stirring, his eyes blinking open with effort as he slowly tried to sit up.

Vivienne moved toward them, her boots silent against the stone floor. As she approached Tarric, her gaze softened, though there was a faint but noticeable edge to her presence. His condition was far better than it had been before, but the weariness in his features spoke volumes. The touch of her power had certainly helped, but she could tell it hadn't been enough to fully rid him of the strain.

Her voice, a soft trill of amusement, cut through the air. “Can you walk, darling? Or do I need to carry you too?”

Tarric’s lips twitched into the faintest of grins, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and then, with some effort, brought his legs under him. “I... I can walk. Probably,” he said, his voice strained but trying to be light. The weakness in his words was undeniable, but there was an attempt at humor that flickered briefly in his eyes.

Vivienne raised an eyebrow, her expression both playful and slightly skeptical. "Probably?" She tilted her head, her gaze scanning him more critically, as if she were considering the possibility of testing his claim by picking him up again. A small, knowing smile curled at the corners of her lips.

Tarric caught her look, his grin widening ever so slightly. “Okay, okay, definitely. But…” He hesitated, his eyes briefly shifting toward Rava. “I’ll be fine, but I think we should help her first. She’s still in worse shape.”

“Oh, I’ll be carrying her too,” Vivienne continued, a sly grin curling at the corners of her lips. “This was more of a deliberation on whether I was carrying her like a sack of grain or like the princess she is.”

Tarric blinked, taken aback by her words, his brow furrowing in mild confusion. Then, without warning, he burst into laughter, the sound deep and hearty. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone refer to her as a princess before!” He managed between chuckles, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and disbelief. With a grunt, he reached over and picked up his staff from the stone floor, shifting his weight onto it as he steadied himself.

Vivienne’s smile softened, but her gaze remained playful as she watched him struggle to regain his composure. “Well, she is of high pedigree, is she not?” she replied with an arch of her brow, her voice taking on a mock seriousness. “Not to mention, she is absolutely ravishing.”

The words were a low, tender hum as Vivienne’s hands slid under Rava’s form. The unconscious warrior was light in her arms, her breathing slow but steady, her long limbs limp and unresponsive. As she lifted Rava carefully, she marveled for a brief moment at the graceful curve of the warrior’s body, her muscles still defined even in the relaxed state of unconsciousness. The tenderness in Vivienne’s voice was palpable as she cradled Rava against her chest, the weight of the warrior a mere fraction of what Vivienne was capable of bearing.

Tarric’s laughter trailed off, a grin tugging at the edges of his lips despite the exhaustion that still lingered in his eyes. “I’ll give you that,” he said with a mock sigh. “She certainly has a presence about her. But a princess...?” His voice was teasing, a spark of mischief in his tone.

Vivienne chuckled softly, shifting Rava’s form so she could better carry her. She let out a contented sigh as she adjusted the unconscious warrior’s weight against her chest, settling into the task. “Oh, you know,” Vivienne replied lightly, her fingers brushing a few stray strands of Rava’s hair away from her face. “Fourth child of the Serkoth clan. Only Daughter to Korriva. Very high qualifications” She gave a teasing wink toward Tarric as she carefully cradled Rava, her eyes softening as they lingered on her companion.

Her strength wasn’t in question, of course. Vivienne had always been strong—her aether alone made her formidable, and she carried Rava as if she were as light as a feather. But beyond that, there was something about the softness of the moment. It wasn’t just the physical task of holding Rava—it was the familiarity, the care. Rava, despite her warrior nature, had always been the one to take the hardest hits, always the one to stand at the front of battle. Seeing her so vulnerable now, carried with such tenderness, softened Vivienne's usual sharp edges.

Tarric glanced between them, his grin still lingering. “I think she’d have a few choice words for you if she heard that,” he commented, his voice good-natured but with a hint of jest. “Especially about the ‘princess’ part.”

Vivienne’s lips curled up into an amused smile as she adjusted her grip. “Oh, she’d hate it. But she’s also too proud to admit how much she likes it when I dote on her like this,” she said with a playful wink, her tone light but full of affection.

Tarric’s voice held a touch of disbelief, mixed with a tinge of amusement, as he tilted his head in Vivienne’s direction. “Soooo, did you all come in through the labyrinth?”

Vivienne gave him an exaggerated, dry look. “Yeah, we were stuck in it for hours.” Her voice was casual, almost as though the ordeal hadn’t been worth the effort. But the edge in her tone hinted at a little frustration—after all, navigating a labyrinth was never easy, no matter how many clues you left behind.

Tarric’s expression morphed into one of exaggerated indignation as he planted his hands on his hips. “But I left so many clues!” He threw his arms out dramatically, as though the puzzle of the labyrinth was some great art he'd crafted for their entertainment. “And there was the secret map on the letter I left behind!” He emphasized his point with a grand flourish, as though expecting Vivienne to appreciate the effort.

Vivienne let out a long, heavy sigh, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back slightly. “Oh yes, the map,” she said flatly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Very helpful. Really streamlined our process of trying to decipher it while stumbling through a maze.” Her eyes narrowed playfully, though the corners of her lips curled up in the smallest hint of amusement. “I’m sure you were just sitting there, chuckling to yourself about how clever you were.”

Tarric was undeterred by the teasing. His smirk only deepened as he raised an eyebrow, his posture confident despite Vivienne’s playful criticism. “I spent days on that map! It was supposed to guide you straight to the heart of the maze—no detours, no unnecessary dead ends.” His voice carried the kind of pride only someone who believed wholeheartedly in their own brilliance could muster.

Vivienne crossed her arms and shot him a dry look. “It was just your note, and that was it.” She couldn’t resist adding a smirk of her own, enjoying how it seemed like Tarric’s plans were falling apart with every word she spoke.

Tarric blinked, his smirk faltering for a moment as he processed the words. Then, in true Tarric fashion, he shrugged dramatically, not one to let his schemes crumble without a fight. “But I—oh, I must have written the note on the wrong parchment,” he said, his voice deflating with exaggerated defeat. “Well, you have me now, let me show you the super secret entrance!” He threw his hands up, as if to reveal something grand and mysterious, but his tone was playful, like someone who had just admitted to a small, amusing blunder.

Vivienne couldn’t help but laugh. Her previous frustration with the labyrinth melted away under his ridiculous confidence, and she good-naturedly rolled her eyes. “Super secret entrance? Should I be expecting another map, or are we going full-on treasure hunt here?” Her voice was light, filled with teasing amusement as she followed him, noticing how the hobbling man still managed to carry himself with an air of exaggerated dignity despite his injured state.

Tarric gave a soft, almost sheepish chuckle as he hobbled forward, leaning slightly on his staff. “Maybe not a map, but I can promise you this: it’s a shortcut that definitely won’t lead to a dead end. I mean, there might be a few traps along the way, but they’re more... decorative than anything.” He flashed her a wolfish grin, but his eyes sparkled with mischief, clearly enjoying the banter. “It’s all part of the experience.”

“I didn’t actually get your name, with all the getting shot in the gut and the fighting and everything,” Tarric continued, his voice taking on a casual tone now, as though the previous chaos had barely fazed him.

Vivienne raised an eyebrow, watching him as he hobbled ahead, his pace slow but steady. “Vivienne. But my friends call me Vivienne.” She didn’t offer more—there was no need to explain her introduction further, her name carried weight in itself.

Tarric glanced back at her, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before he tilted his head slightly. “You just said your name twice.”

Vivienne gave him a mock-serious look, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “It’s a very good name.” Her tone was playful, but there was a glint of confidence in her eyes that made it clear she took no offense in repeating her name. If anything, it was a matter of pride.

Tarric blinked and then burst into laughter, shaking his head at her. “Well, can’t argue with that,” he said with a grin, clearly finding her bluntness amusing. “Alright, alright, Vivienne, let’s get going. This shortcut’s only a few steps away, and I’m sure we’ll make it there without any more dead ends. I’ll have you know, I’ve learned my lesson.”

Vivienne shot him a teasing glance. “I’m sure you have. Just don’t expect me to be too impressed if there are more traps.”

“Not this time,” he replied with mock solemnity, raising a hand as if swearing an oath. “This one’s trap-free… mostly.”

They made their way out of the ruin in surprising time. Turns out if you know exactly where to go it wasn’t actually the long of a trek. Vivienne, still carrying an unconscious Rava, navigated Tarric back to their camp, the twilight skies settling on the horizon.

“We’re back! Lost a couple of friends, but picked up a new one!” Vivienne called out, her tone light but edged with just enough weariness to hint at the trials they’d faced.

Renzia was already standing at attention, as if she’d been waiting for them this entire time, her ever-watchful gaze silently assessing the situation. From the nearby tent, Kivvy poked her head out, cheeks bulging with some of the best cuts of meat they’d managed to save. She mumbled something indecipherable through her mouthful, sounding vaguely like, “‘Oor bah.”

Vivienne raised an eyebrow, amused. “Chew, swallow, then talk, sweetheart,” she said with a smirk.

Kivvy rolled her eyes but did as instructed, gulping down the mouthful before wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “You’re back. Where are the other two? And—” her gaze flicked to Tarric, a sly grin forming as she eyed him up and down, “—who’s the hot guy?”