Mother of Midnight

Chapter 143 – Debriefing

Serkoth stood as a monument of stone and stubborn resilience, a city forged by necessity and hardened by generations of conflict.  Whether from aegis or rival clans. Watchtowers rose at regular intervals, their silhouettes sharp against the crimson hue of the setting sun. Banners fluttered lazily in the breeze, bearing the emblem of the Serkoth clan—a coiled serpent entwined around a sword, symbolizing both vigilance and strength.

The closer they drew, the more the surrounding landscape transformed. What had been open plains gave way to cultivated fields and scattered outposts. Farmers worked tirelessly, their heads barely lifting as the wagon rumbled past. Even here, far from the city’s heart, life was marked by a quiet determination, the people hardened by the same harsh world that had shaped Serkoth’s towering walls.

Vivienne pulled the wagon with a steady, even pace, each of her steps landing with a soft thud that resonated faintly against the packed earth of the road. Though the wagon creaked under its heavy load, her posture remained effortlessly upright, muscles working in quiet synchronization beneath her dark skin and scales. The sway of her long, shadow-furred tail added a touch of elegance to her otherwise utilitarian task, and it moved with a rhythmic grace, the occasional flick catching the sunlight and sending brief flashes of reflected light across the ground. Despite the weight of the supplies and the rigors of days spent on the road, there was no sign of fatigue in her movements—if anything, she seemed to welcome the task as a chance to stretch her legs.

Behind her, Rava sat atop the wagon’s edge, her sharp eyes flicking from side to side, ever-vigilant despite the growing sense of safety as they neared their destination. The looming stone walls of Serkoth were now clearly visible in the distance, their towering heights casting long shadows that stretched across the surrounding fields. Rava’s fingers rested lightly on the hilt of one of her weapons, her posture relaxed but ready, a natural stance born from years of constant readiness. Every now and then, her gaze would drift to Vivienne, who maintained her steady pace without a word.

Tarric, on the other hand, was anything but silent. His excitement was palpable, the energy in his voice cutting through the steady hum of wagon wheels and distant sounds of farm life. He leaned forward eagerly, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke, unable to keep still.

“Feels strange coming back after so long,” Tarric said, his tone bright and animated. His eyes sparkled with anticipation, taking in the familiar landscape with a mix of nostalgia and eagerness. “I have so many hugs to give everyone!” He grinned widely, his enthusiasm radiating from him like warmth from a fire.

Rava shot him a sidelong glance, her expression somewhere between amusement and mild exasperation. “You’d better be careful who you hug. Some people might not be so willing, especially if you catch them off guard.”

Tarric, unfazed, leaned in closer to her, his grin widening mischievously. “Oh, don’t think you’ve escaped them either, little sister,” he said, giving her a teasing nudge with his elbow.

Rava snorted, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the slight upward twitch of her lips. “Try it, and see what happens. I dare you.”

Despite her words, there was no real bite to her tone. If anything, it was laced with a rare fondness, a glimpse of the bond that still tied them together despite years spent apart. Their banter carried an easy familiarity, a rhythm that came naturally after years of shared experiences, both good and bad.

Vivienne, listening quietly to their exchange, couldn’t help but feel a flicker of amusement herself. The dynamic between Rava and Tarric reminded her of simpler times, moments of levity and lighthearted teasing that had once been part of her own past—before things had become... complicated. Though she said nothing, her pace seemed to quicken slightly, as though eager to reach the city and witness more of this strange yet comforting interaction firsthand.

Due to the presence of two Serkoth Children in their party, they bypassed the line at the gates without issue. The guards didn’t ask many questions, though their eyes lingered uneasily on Vivienne. Even in a city accustomed to strange sights, seeing a large, armored, wolf-like creature pulling a wagon was enough to draw attention. Whispers followed them as they entered, but none dared speak too loudly with Rava and Tarric in clear view.

Vivienne continued forward, ignoring the stares and hushed comments. Her powerful gait remained steady as her claws clicked against the cobblestones. The air smelled of stone, iron, and wood smoke, mingling with the faint scent of roasted meat from nearby food stalls. Though her face remained neutral, Vivienne’s senses stretched outward. She could taste the faint aether of countless residents and smell the lingering aura of old magic woven into the city’s walls. This place had history, and she could practically taste it in the air.

The streets grew narrower as they wound deeper into the city, past stone buildings that leaned slightly inward from centuries of settling. It didn’t take long for them to reach the clan hall at the heart of Serkoth. The grand structure loomed ahead, a fortress of black stone reinforced by iron beams and adorned with carved wolf heads along the battlements. Dark banners bearing the clan’s sigil fluttered in the wind, their deep blue and silver hues stark against the grey sky.

Vivienne halted smoothly in front of the stables beside the hall. As soon as the wagon was in place, she exhaled slowly, her scales shimmering faintly before rippling across her body. In moments, the wolf form she had maintained melted away, replaced by her preferred shape. Obsidian scales lined her limbs, and the long blade at the tip of her tail gleamed faintly in the dim light.

“I am so ready for a proper bed,” Kivvy groaned, hopping down from the wagon and stretching. “Can I keep using yours?”

Vivienne’s lips curled into a grin, sharp teeth glinting as she flicked her tail lazily. “Feel free,” she said, flexing her claws. “I don’t need it. Maybe if I feel the need to warm a bed…” She let her voice trail off suggestively, casting a teasing glance toward Rava.

Rava cleared her throat loudly, refusing to rise to the bait. “I need to report to the High Fang first thing. Rest will come later.”

“Oh, still so stiff!” Tarric exclaimed dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. “I don’t know why the rest of you don’t just call her mum!”

“She is High Fang,” Rava replied curtly, standing straighter. “It is a matter of respect.”

Tarric gave her an unimpressed look. “You used to call her mum all the time when we were younger. I remember it vividly.”

“I sometimes refer to her as mother,” Rava said quietly, though there was a defensive edge to her voice. “But not in public or formal situations. She earned her title, and it’s proper to address her that way.”

“It’s still not the same,” Tarric muttered, shaking his head in exaggerated disapproval. “Formality doesn’t mean you have to forget she’s family.”

Vivienne watched the exchange with amusement, her tail swaying lazily behind her. She enjoyed the banter between the siblings, the tension and teasing offering a glimpse into a different side of Rava—one she rarely showed in serious moments. Rava’s stiff, formal demeanor had always been part of who she was, but around her family, cracks in that façade sometimes showed.

Kivvy, meanwhile, leaned against the side of the wagon, smirking as she observed the argument. “You know, Renzia,” she said casually, “you might want to take notes. This is pretty much how family arguments work.”

Renzia, who had been silently watching the entire time, tilted her head slightly, considering Kivvy’s words. She carefully tapped something onto her slate before holding it up for Kivvy to see.

Does this serve a purpose beyond irritating the other? the message read.

Kivvy snorted and gave Renzia’s leg a light pat. “Mostly just that—it’s tradition, and it’s kind of fun,” she said with a smirk. Her grin faltered slightly as her eyes drifted toward the distant mountains. “Back on the other side, it was about the only real fun we were allowed to have.” Her voice softened as the words came out, carrying a hint of melancholy that lingered in the air.

The group filtered into the imposing stone hall of the Serkoth Clan, the air inside rich with the scent of oiled wood and burning torches. Servants moved with practiced precision, tending to the wagon and unloading the supplies, including the weapons and armor confiscated from the defeated mercenaries. The soft clinking of steel echoed faintly, a reminder of their recent encounter on the road. Vivienne let her gaze wander across the hall, noting the intricate carvings that adorned the stone walls, each depicting moments of Serkoth history—battles won, alliances forged, and legacies preserved.

Rava stepped aside to question a passing servant, her tone measured and calm. The servant, a young lekine woman with nervous eyes, gestured toward the strategy room further down the hall. Without missing a beat, Rava turned to lead the way, her pace steady and confident. They reached the heavy oak doors at the end of the corridor, reinforced with dark iron bands that seemed almost as old as the fortress itself. Rava knocked four times, each sound reverberating through the hall like a distant drumbeat. They waited in silence until a low voice from within granted permission to enter.

Inside the strategy room, a long table dominated the center of the space, maps and documents spread across its surface. At the head of the table stood Korriva, her bearing regal and commanding, flanked by two figures Vivienne recognized—Narek, tall and composed, exuding an air of quiet dignity, and Kavren, broad-shouldered and imposing, his presence nearly filling the space around him. The three of them, Serkoth through and through, seemed to loom like giants over the other family heads seated around the table.

Vivienne watched the scene unfold with interest as Tarric rushed forward without hesitation, breaking the tension in the room with his characteristic exuberance. He reached Korriva in mere moments, throwing his arms around her waist in a tight embrace. “Hello, Mum! I missed you dearly,” he declared with a bright grin, as though the weight of their journey and the seriousness of their current task didn’t exist.

Korriva’s expression remained as composed as ever, though her hand moved to pat Tarric’s back in a somewhat awkward gesture. “Yes. Hello, Tarric,” she replied, her voice even. “I trust you bring news?”

Tarric leaned back, beaming. “Oh, yes! Plenty! But I think you should listen to what Rara has to say first!” He turned quickly, his attention now on Narek, who stood stiffly as if preparing for what was to come. Tarric didn’t disappoint—he wrapped his arms around the refined man in a firm hug, causing Narek to stand even straighter, if that were possible, as though sheer willpower could prevent him from reacting.

Vivienne noted that no one batted an eye at Tarric’s antics. Clearly, this was routine behavior from him, and the stoic family heads seemed unfazed. That didn’t stop her from finding it amusing.

Tarric wasn’t done yet. Turning on his heel, he made a beeline for Kavren, whose sheer size would have made anyone else think twice about such a bold move. Kavren didn’t so much as flinch when Tarric wrapped his arms around him, the hulking man standing as immovable as a mountain. Unlike Narek, however, he made no attempt to resist, simply waiting with a resigned expression until Tarric released him.

Rava, who had remained near the doorway, gave an exasperated sigh. “Tarric, could you contain yourself for once? We’re here to report, not disrupt.”

Tarric shrugged, unfazed. “What can I say? It’s been too long. Can’t a man be happy to see his family?” He stepped back into line, grinning broadly at everyone in the room.

Vivienne watched silently, a faint smirk playing at the edges of her lips. Despite the formality of the setting and the gravity of the situation, there was something refreshing about the way Tarric interacted with his family—warmth, familiarity, and a complete disregard for the cold stoicism they seemed to carry like armor. 

Korriva’s gaze shifted to Rava, her expression hardening once more. “Very well.” Her eyes briefly flicked to Vivienne, who remained motionless, her expression as unreadable as polished obsidian. Yet Korriva’s focus returned to Rava, her eyes narrowing in a silent command. “Let’s hear your report.”

Rava straightened her posture, her stance rigid and professional, though there was a faint tension in her shoulders. “As you can see, we tracked Tarric, but we also killed a champion.” She paused for effect, letting her words settle in the air like a sudden frost. “Or more specifically, Vivienne killed Alisaria, whereas I just held off Darius.”

The room, which had already been quiet, seemed to sink into an even deeper stillness. A stunned silence stretched, thick with disbelief and unspoken thoughts. Every gaze locked onto the two of them, eyes widening, jaws tightening as the weight of what Rava had just revealed hit them like a hammer against stone.

A champion. Not just a skilled fighter or a notorious mercenary, but a true champion—one of the elite, whose presence on the battlefield could turn the tide of war. Alisaria’s name was known well beyond Serkoth, whispered in both fear and grudging respect by those who had faced her. That Vivienne had managed to kill her, and Rava had fended off Darius long enough for them to survive, was nothing short of extraordinary.

Narek, always the first to speak when silence lingered too long, leaned forward slightly, his expression carefully composed though his voice betrayed a note of disbelief. “You... killed Alisaria?” He paused, searching their faces for any hint of exaggeration. When none came, he added, “And Darius fled?”

“Yes,” Rava confirmed, her tone steady but laced with something hard. “I held him off long enough for Vivienne to deal with Alisaria. After that, we didn’t have the time or means to pursue him properly.”

Murmurs rippled through the gathered family heads. Kavren’s brow furrowed in thought, his large arms crossed over his broad chest as he processed the implications. Champions didn’t fall easily, and when they did, it was often after massive losses or careful planning. This had been neither—just a clash in the wilderness, and yet here they were, reporting an impossible victory. His gaze flicked toward Vivienne, his sharp eyes appraising her in silence.

Vivienne, for her part, remained unmoved by the scrutiny. She stood with her weight balanced evenly on both feet, her arms crossed loosely, and a slight, unreadable smile playing at the edges of her lips. If the attention from the room bothered her, she gave no indication. Instead, her five black eyes gleamed faintly in the low light, quietly absorbing every flicker of reaction around her.

Kavren finally broke the murmuring with an impressed expression and a short question. “How?”

Rava glanced at Vivienne, giving her a slight nod as though to grant her the floor. Vivienne’s expression didn’t change, but there was a subtle shift in her posture as she prepared to answer, each movement measured and deliberate.

“She was quick,” Vivienne began, her voice soft but carrying easily in the hushed chamber. “Precise. Stronger than most I’ve faced, I’ll admit. But she fought like she expected to win the moment she drew her weapon.” She shrugged, her smile growing just a fraction wider. “She underestimated me, and by the time she realized her mistake, it was too late. I overwhelmed her before she could adapt.”

Another ripple of murmurs spread through the gathered leaders. Some exchanged glances, while others remained focused entirely on Vivienne. Korriva, however, remained silent, her sharp gaze flicking between Vivienne and Rava, weighing their words carefully.

“And Darius?” Korriva asked, her tone devoid of emotion, though her eyes held a glint of interest.

“Predictable,” Rava answered without hesitation. Her voice was steady, calm, as though she were recounting a mundane encounter rather than a deadly duel. “Fast, yes, but too reliant on brute force and intimidation. Once you recognize his rhythm, he becomes manageable. I destroyed his shield, and once that was taken care of, he was easier to handle. Still, he’ll be a problem if we encounter him again. He won’t make the same mistakes twice.”

Korriva gave a slow nod, her sharp eyes reflecting the weight of the situation. “I see. Why were they there?”

Before Rava could respond, Tarric perked up with the energy of someone who had been waiting eagerly for his turn to speak. “Actually, I think I can answer that!” His grin widened, and he launched into his explanation with barely contained excitement. “I made some friends on my travels! They delved into fallen ruins regularly, studying and learning from them. Fascinating duo, really. They’d been to even more ruins than I have—which, you know, is saying something!” He gestured animatedly, as if painting a grand picture. “There was this one ruin we explored together, and it had—”

“Tarric.” Korriva’s voice cut through his rambling like a knife. She raised a hand, palm outward. “Focus.”

Tarric blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then he grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Right, yes, of course. Well, they weren’t exactly... welcomed by the Sovereignty. Not surprising, really. So we ended up teaming up. We were attacked several times by their forces, but during the last assault, we got separated. They knew where I was headed, though, so I left a trail. About that time, I figured someone would send for me—almost always Rara—so I left a few clues she would recognize.”

There was a brief pause as he caught his breath, though his excitement hardly waned. “Then, wouldn’t you know it, they crossed paths with Rara and her friends! Now, Alisaria—that’s the champion, or was, rather—was using a powerful glamour. Very skilled exomancer, that one. Didn’t fool me, of course!” He puffed his chest out slightly, clearly pleased with himself. “Anyway, during one of the skirmishes, I got shot in the gut. Nasty business. Poisoned bolt, and it completely wrecked my aether pool. I’d be very dead right now if Vivienne here hadn’t saved my life! Honestly, never thought I’d owe my life to someone with five eyes and so many teeth.”

He paused for effect, flashing a thankful grin toward Vivienne, who remained as unreadable as ever. “So yeah, long story short, they followed these fine folks here, things got tense, there was a bit of a scuffle, and, well... it ended with Alisaria dead and Darius fleeing. Still, I do hope Ivor and Elira are okay. Such lovely people, those two.” Finally, he took a proper breath, looking immensely pleased with himself for recounting the tale so thoroughly.

Vivienne flicked her tail lazily, watching Tarric’s performance with faint amusement. Meanwhile, the gathered leaders exchanged glances, processing the flood of information. Even Korriva seemed momentarily at a loss for words, her expression caught between exasperation and contemplation as Tarric’s rapid-fire explanation lingered in the room like a whirlwind that had yet to settle.

Kavren’s eyes gleamed with a predatory intensity, the kind that only a hardened warrior could possess. His grin stretched wide, baring his sharp teeth, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might erupt into laughter. Instead, he leaned forward, his massive hands braced on the table as he fixed his gaze on Rava. “Is that true, Rava? You fought a champion and won?”

His voice carried a mixture of disbelief and admiration, booming through the room like a drumbeat. A hush fell over the other clan members, all eyes shifting toward Rava.

“I wouldn’t have won without Viv,” Rava answered evenly, her tone betraying neither pride nor false modesty. “But yes. I layered Strength, Speed, and Body empowerment on top of each other.”

Kavren’s grin only widened at her response, his eyes lighting up with something between approval and exhilaration. “That’s risky. I’m surprised you could handle that, let alone fight with it. You’ve grown bolder!” His booming voice filled the hall once more, his laughter following soon after, a deep, rumbling sound that made a few of the other heads glance nervously at one another.

Korriva’s sharp gaze flicked between them. “Enough, Kavren. This isn’t a tavern.” Her voice was cold and commanding, instantly restoring order to the room. But even she couldn’t entirely hide the faint curve of her lips, the closest thing to a smile most would ever see from her.

Still leaning over the table, Kavren gave Rava an approving nod. “Bolder and stronger. Good. You do the clan proud.”

Rava’s expression remained stoic, though Vivienne noticed the faintest flicker of pride in her friend’s eyes. “I did what was necessary. His radiant blade was also a problem.” She lifted her shirt, revealing a burned line running up her side. “This was from a miss.”

A low murmur rippled through the gathered leaders before Narek’s steady voice cut through the tension. “According to my scouts, Darius is currently within Sovereignty territory, near the Greyreach Mountains, embedded with the army stationed there.” His calm tone carried an edge of certainty, though the implication of his words left a heavy weight in the air.

Korriva’s brow furrowed as she crossed her arms, her sharp eyes fixed on Narek. “Conflicting reports… concerning.” Though her tone remained calm, there was a distinct tension in her stance. “How reliable are these scouts?”

“Very reliable,” Narek replied without hesitation. “They’ve never given us false information before. The reports state that Darius was seen actively commanding troops and overseeing drills at their forward camp. If he was truly there just a few days ago, it raises questions about how he could have fought Rava and Vivienne in the field.”

Kavren snorted, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Maybe he’s faster than we thought. Endomancers have a way of ignoring the usual limitations of the body. If he pushed himself hard enough, he could have traveled back in time to be seen by your scouts.”

“Possible,” Narek admitted with a slow nod. “But not likely. Even for an endomancer of Darius’s caliber, sustaining that level of speed without rest is dangerous. He wouldn’t risk weakening himself before battle. The timing is too close.” He hesitated briefly before adding, “It’s possible… we’re dealing with two.”

A murmur passed through the room, the gathered clan heads exchanging wary glances. Multiple champions of Darius’s strength? It was a troubling thought.

“Two Dariuses?” Kavren’s tone was skeptical, but there was a spark of intrigue in his eyes. “What, you think he has a twin no one’s ever heard of?”

“Twins? No,” Narek said carefully, choosing his words with precision. “But it’s not unheard of for the Sovereignty to employ illusion or shape-shifting magic. They could have created a double, perhaps even a perfected glamour to mirror his abilities and appearance.”

“That would require a skilled team of exomancers working together,” Korriva said, her eyes narrowing. “Difficult, but not impossible. It would explain how they could be in two places at once without stretching an endomancer’s limits too far.”

Rava’s voice cut through the quiet speculation. “Or it could be simpler. Maybe it’s someone pretending to be him. A body double trained to mimic his fighting style.”

Korriva’s sharp gaze shifted to Rava. “And how would you rate Darius in battle? Assuming it really was him you fought?”

Rava straightened further, her posture stiff but poised as she replied with a measured tone, “Predictable, in a sense. His fighting style relies heavily on overwhelming defense and raw power, but his movements were slower than expected. Once I caught onto his pattern, it was easier to keep him off balance. Breaking his shield was a turning point—it gave me the opening I needed. Even so, he was still dangerous.”

The gathered leaders exchanged thoughtful glances, some nodding in quiet acknowledgment of her skill. The tension in the room shifted slightly, curiosity mingling with skepticism.

“May I speak?” one of the family heads asked, stepping forward with a deliberate air. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with streaks of silver in his dark hair, marking him as a seasoned warrior. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of experience.

Korriva inclined her head toward him, her expression neutral. “Dunthir Tannis. You may.”

“Not to diminish Lady Ravanyr’s prowess,” Dunthir began, his tone respectful but cautious, “it sounds as though this encounter may have been with a double. While it’s clear this double possessed considerable skill, a champion is an unparalleled force. For one to be dispatched in such a manner raises questions.” He folded his arms, his gaze sharp as he continued. “It is also possible that Alisandra was also a double. Perhaps they layed multiple glamorous on top of each other?”

Vivienne’s grin widened, a gleam of mischief flickering in her many black eyes. “No, she was definitely a champion.”

Dunthir raised a brow, skeptical but intrigued. “How can you be so certain?”

“Because,” Vivienne began, her voice smooth and dripping with amusement, “the difference between the taste of a common person and a champion is... distinct. Much richer. Much stronger.” Her words carried a dark undertone, one that sent a faint ripple of unease through the gathered heads.

“Taste?” another family head echoed, unable to hide their confusion.

Vivienne nodded slowly, her grin turning downright predatory. “Very aether-rich,” she elaborated, her tongue flicking over her lips in a deliberate motion. “It was an entirely different experience.” There was a glint in her eye now, something wild and untamed. “If I could taste another champion, then I’d be able to confirm beyond any doubt.” She practically purred the last words, her gaze lingering just long enough to make a few in the room shift uncomfortably.

The tension thickened, the air heavy with the unspoken realization of exactly what Vivienne was—and what she was capable of. Few could meet her gaze now, wary of what lay behind those unsettling black eyes and that sharp, amused grin.

“Pity that Darius—if it really was him—got away,” Vivienne said with a wistful sigh, her voice carrying a hint of disappointment laced with something far more unsettling. Her claws flexed absentmindedly at her sides, as though recalling the sensation of a fight unfinished. “I would have liked the chance to be sure.”

Her words hung in the air, cool and casual, but they carried the weight of a predator lamenting prey that had slipped its grasp. Several of the gathered heads exchanged uneasy glances, while Korriva’s sharp eyes remained fixed on Vivienne, as if trying to gauge just how serious her statement had been.

Kavren’s booming laughter broke the tension. “I like this one!” he declared with a grin. “Rarely do you hear someone so eager to hunt down a champion. I think I’d like another spar with you.”

Vivienne turned her grin on Kavren, sharp and amused. “Oh, darling,  Not in front of the others.”

“Enough,” Korriva interjected, her tone brooking no argument. “We have more pressing matters than indulging in battle lust. Dunthir, what do your sources say about Greyreach’s current status?”

Dunthir straightened, pulling his attention back to the matter at hand. “Our scouts have confirmed increased troop movements along the Sovereignty’s borders near the mountains. It’s possible they’re preparing for another push.”

“I’ll ensure we’re ready if they are,” Kavren added confidently. “But we should still consider what this Darius sighting means. If he’s involved in their plans, it complicates things.”

“I agree,” Narek said calmly, his analytical tone cutting through the conversation. “Whether it was truly Darius or a double, we can’t afford to ignore the possibility that the Sovereignty intends to escalate.” His gaze flicked to Tarric. “Do you believe they were specifically after you, or was his presence coincidental?”

Tarric blinked at his brother as if only just remembering. “Oh, right! Nearly slipped my mind. They tried to kill me because of what I found out—things they really didn’t want anyone to know. The Sovereignty is turning their serfs into aetherbeasts, they’re planning an invasion this winter, and... they’re sending the Dawn Titan to Drakthar.”

Silence blanketed the room, the weight of his words sinking in as every gaze locked on the short, striking lekine man.

It was Korriva who finally broke the tense stillness, her tone cold and precise.

“Pardon?”