Mother of Midnight

Chapter 146 – Restlessness

Goblins loved to make things. They were created specifically to do so, as though the very act of creation was etched into their bones. For Kivvy, crafting wasn’t just a skill; it was a purpose, a reason to get up every day. And now, without a workshop or tools, she felt untethered, like a clock missing its gears.

Restlessness gnawed at her. It wasn’t the kind of restless energy that begged for a fight—Kivvy was no warrior—but something more nagging and insidious. She’d felt this way throughout the entire trip. Truth be told, she didn’t even know why they’d brought her along. Sure, she’d thrown a few boom sticks here and there, which was fun while it lasted, but beyond that, what use was she? She wasn’t strong like Rava, nor monstrous like Vivienne. While they fought aetherbeasts and carved their way through enemies, she had stayed behind in camp, hiding, waiting, feeling out of place. She told herself she’d helped by being there—watching supplies, tending to camp, and throwing in a little goblin ingenuity when needed—but deep down, it didn’t feel like enough.

She was happy to have survived, of course. Scary aetherbeasts weren’t her thing. Still, despite the freedom she had now, she felt... lost. Before, life might have sucked—endlessly making things for thankless superiors who barely allowed her to eat or sleep—but at least she had a purpose. She was needed back then, even if it was by those she despised. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Kivvy’s fingers twitched, itching to work. She needed a workshop again, a space where she could tinker and bring her ideas to life. She had plenty of them—new designs, wild contraptions, things that could go boom or maybe even help in combat—but without a place to build, they were just useless thoughts floating in her mind. She could ask someone, right? Surely there was an empty room or corner where she could set up shop. It wasn’t like she needed much. Just some basic tools, a workbench, and some raw materials.

And yet, even as she considered it, she missed Elira. Kivvy sighed, slumping deeper into her seat. Elira—well, not really Elira, but close enough—had been the one person who didn’t seem bored when Kivvy rambled on about her craft. She’d listened without glazing over or yawning, offering a kind of quiet encouragement Kivvy rarely found. Except now, Kivvy didn’t even know if that Elira had ever truly existed. They said there was a real Elira somewhere, along with an Ivor. Maybe they would be as nice as the copies had been.

The thought brought little comfort. Kivvy’s restlessness remained. She sat alone in Vivienne’s assigned room, her legs swinging idly off the edge of the chair while her thoughts churned. Renzia stood motionless by the door, silent as ever. The mannequin unnerved her at first—hell, still did—but after spending so much time with her back at the camp, Kivvy had at least gotten used to her peculiar presence. She’d even started to get a sense of what went on in that strange, artificial mind, though she wasn’t sure how accurate her guesses were.

Maybe she could ask Rava or Vivienne for a place to set up a workshop. The thought made her feel both excited and hesitant. Excited, because she already had ideas swirling around in her head—new weapons, clever gadgets, maybe even a few traps that could help on the next trip. But hesitant, because she wasn’t sure if they even wanted her along for future expeditions. Sure, she’d survived the last one, but surviving wasn’t the same as contributing. Rava and Vivienne were powerhouses; they didn’t need her clumsy hands and jittery nerves slowing them down.

Still, if she had a proper space to work and enough time, she could make herself useful. Maybe she could design something they didn’t have yet—something small, lightweight, and practical. A crossbow came to mind, but the standard ones were far too heavy for her to wield comfortably. She needed something smaller, more compact. Maybe a hand-held repeating crossbow with a custom tension mechanism? Something that could fire multiple bolts quickly without requiring too much strength to reload.

Her mind whirred with possibilities. She could tweak the design to make it goblin-friendly: lightweight metal frame, reinforced gears, maybe an aether-powered trigger for extra punch. If she got it right, she wouldn’t just be dead weight anymore—she could defend the camp when needed, maybe even hold her own in a fight.

She was about to leave when the door swung open, revealing Vivienne herself. Kivvy flinched, just a little, instinctively, before schooling her expression into something more neutral. She still wasn’t sure where she stood with the woman. Vivienne was, in equal parts, endearing and terrifying—larger than life in ways Kivvy struggled to understand. Standing two heads taller than her, with forms that could shift into creatures towering over everything else, Vivienne’s very presence felt like a storm that could either sweep you off your feet or crush you beneath it.

Was she just entertainment for the strange woman? Or something more? That uncertainty gnawed at her. Despite Vivienne’s often playful demeanor, Kivvy couldn’t forget the moment she’d seen the woman… go wrong—those pitch-black eyes flickering with something ancient, something primal. Then, afterward, Vivienne had spoken to her like she was a child, all softness and condescension. It had been fifteen years since Kivvy had felt like that, since before she’d learned the truth about how goblins were treated in Sovereignty lands. She missed that simpler time, when she hadn’t known better, when she could just… be.

“Hello, sweetheart, how are you doing?” Vivienne’s voice was warm, even affectionate, but paired with that smile, the effect was unnerving. Her sharp, needle-like teeth glinted as her lips curled upward in what was, Kivvy knew by now, not meant to be a malicious grin—but it was hard to ignore the way her eyes always seemed to look at you like you were something she wanted to devour.

“I’m fine,” Kivvy replied with a shrug, feigning nonchalance.

Vivienne crossed the room with a languid grace, taking a seat on the worn couch and adjusting herself so her long, obsidian-scaled tail draped neatly across the floor. She leaned back, propping her elbow on the armrest, her claws tapping idly against the fabric. “Hmm, ‘I’m fine’ very often translates directly into ‘I’m not fine,’” she mused, her tone light, but with a sharp undertone that suggested she wasn’t merely making conversation.

Kivvy stiffened slightly but forced herself to hold Vivienne’s gaze. "I mean it. I’m fine."

Vivienne arched a brow, her smirk deepening with something between amusement and understanding. "Sweetheart, you don’t have to pretend with me. I don’t bite. Well—" she flashed those needle-like teeth again, "—not unless asked."

Kivvy snorted despite herself, shaking her head. "Uh huh."

"And yet, here you are, talking to me instead of running off to tinker with whatever little invention has captured your mind today." Vivienne tilted her head slightly, her black eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "So tell me, Kivvy. What’s on your mind?"

For a moment, Kivvy hesitated. Then, with a small sigh, she relented. "I just… I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. What use I am to anyone."

Vivienne’s smirk faded, replaced by something more thoughtful, her black eyes shimmering faintly as if reflecting distant stars. Her claws tapped idly against her armrest, as if she were carefully weighing her next words. "I see something in you, Kivvy. Something you don’t see in yourself yet."

Kivvy blinked, feeling a jolt of confusion—and maybe a hint of hope—at Vivienne’s response. "Something in me? Like what? I’m not a fighter. I’m not brave, not like you or Rava. I just… I hide. I make things. That’s all."

Vivienne chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, yet carrying an edge of mischief as always. "And that’s exactly why. You’re a maker. You build things, Kivvy, and not just machines or gadgets. You bring something into the world that didn’t exist before. People like me? We destroy. We tear things apart. But you… you create. That’s a kind of power all its own."

Kivvy looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her tunic. The words were kind, but they didn’t quite sit right with her. She had never thought of herself as powerful—not in any way that mattered. "Creating isn’t the same as protecting, though. When we were out there, you didn’t need me. I didn’t help."

Vivienne leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her gaze intent. "Sweetheart, everyone has their place. You’re not here to be a warrior. You’re here because one day, when we’re backed into a corner, you’ll make something that tips the balance in our favor. Maybe it’ll be a weapon. Maybe it’ll be a shield. Maybe it’ll be something none of us can even imagine yet. But I brought you because I trust that you’ll find your way."

Kivvy’s ears drooped slightly, uncertainty still gnawing at her. "But what if I don’t? What if I can’t… figure it out?"

Vivienne tapped her chin thoughtfully, her claws gently clicking against her jaw as an idea crystallized in her mind. She wasn’t much for machinery—usually leaving such things to more meticulous hands—but some concepts, even half-formed, stuck with her. That bookstore owner with the old printing press had caught her attention earlier, and perhaps there was an opportunity to turn that encounter into something more profitable. Coin was always useful. But right now, she had something else in mind—something Kivvy might find more exciting.

“I have an idea for a weapon you could create,” Vivienne said, her voice carrying an air of casual intrigue, as though she wasn’t entirely sure it would be possible but thought it worth mentioning. “I only know the basic principles, but perhaps you could do something with it.”

Kivvy perked up immediately, her previously subdued demeanor vanishing as curiosity lit her eyes. Vivienne never struck her as someone who cared much for weapons beyond her claws and sheer brute strength. She fought like something primal, a force of nature rather than a tactician or warrior with finely crafted tools. For Vivienne to have a suggestion for a weapon? That was unexpected.

“What is it?” Kivvy asked, her tone betraying a mix of skepticism and genuine interest.

“A rifle,” Vivienne replied after a brief pause, savoring the unfamiliar word on her tongue. “It’s like a crossbow, but instead of using tension and bolts, it uses explosions to fire a bit of metal at high speed.”

Kivvy blinked, her mind instantly whirring with questions. She leaned forward, fingers drumming excitedly against her knees. “Explosives? You mean like a boom stick, but directed and... smaller?”

“More or less,” Vivienne said with a slight shrug. “Picture a tube—like a barrel—with a chamber at the back. You put some sort of powder or substance in it that ignites, causing a controlled explosion. The force from that explosion propels a small piece of metal forward at ridiculous speeds. Rather than lobbing something like a boom stick, it’s direct. Fast. Precise.”

Kivvy cackled, the sound sharp and sudden, cutting through the air. “It’s called a string,” she said, grinning broadly. “On a crossbow. You overcomplicated that part.”

Vivienne gave an exaggerated shrug, feigning ignorance. “Fine. String. I was more concerned with the principle than the proper name.” She arched a brow, her lips curling into a playful smirk. “So? Does it sound like something you’d want to try making?”

Leaning even closer, Kivvy’s grin only widened. “Oh, I’m definitely interested. But how does the explosion work? What’s the ignition mechanism? And what kind of metal would be best for something like that?” Her questions came rapid-fire, her mind racing through potential designs before Vivienne could even answer the first.

Vivienne chuckled softly, her sharp eyes glinting with amusement. “Like I said, I don’t know all the specifics. But I’ve seen enough to get the gist. They used something called ‘smokeless powder,’ a type of explosive that keeps the weapon from getting filthy with every shot.” She leaned forward slightly, as though the next part required more focus. “If I could get something to write on, I could probably give you a rough idea of how it works, but you’d need to refine it yourself. It’s a bit beyond my expertise.”

She paused, her gaze faraway for a moment as she considered the weapon’s potential. “The real advantage is the range. A crossbow can only get you so far, but a rifle can hit targets from much farther away. And the power... It can pierce through even plate armor with ease. As for how it would fare against aetherbeasts, I’m not sure, but it’s something to work with. Something to build on.”

“That’s… brilliant,” Kivvy murmured, already sketching mental blueprints in her head. “If I can get the right materials, I could make something small enough to carry around. I might even be able to work out a repeating mechanism for faster shots.”

Vivienne grinned, pleased by Kivvy’s enthusiasm. “See? That’s why I brought you along. You think about these things in ways that never occur to me. While I’m out tearing things apart, you’re the one who can figure out how to make better tools for the job.”

Kivvy blushed slightly at the praise, though she quickly covered it by clearing her throat. “I’ll need a proper workshop to even begin trying. And the right kind of metals. Something strong, but light enough that I can carry it without breaking my back.”

“We’ll sort that out,” Vivienne said with a confident nod. “I’ll talk to Rava, see if we can set you up somewhere. I’m sure there’s a smith or an artificer around who can help with materials.”

Kivvy’s ears twitched as she considered the possibilities. “You think I could make other things too? Like smaller boom sticks? Something I can carry and throw, but more stable than what I used before.”

“I don’t see why not. Go wild, Kivvy,” Vivienne said with a playful shrug. “I trust you to come up with something clever.”

For the first time in a while, Kivvy felt a spark of excitement—real excitement—at the thought of building something new. It wasn’t just about surviving anymore; it was about creating, about making something with her own hands that could change things.

Vivienne watched the goblin thoughtfully. Kivvy still had that nervous edge, like she wasn’t entirely sure of her place here, but moments like this gave her hope. Maybe, with time, Kivvy would come to see what Vivienne already saw—that she was far more valuable than she believed.

“Well then, I guess I better start planning,” Kivvy said, grinning. “Thanks, Vivienne.”

“Glad I could help, sweetheart,” Vivienne replied, standing and stretching lazily. Her tail swayed as she headed toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bookstore owner to pester about some machinery.”

Kivvy chuckled softly as she watched Vivienne leave. For once, the knot of uncertainty in her chest felt a little looser. Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to find her purpose again.