Mother of Midnight

Chapter 162 – Slumbering Mountain

As dawn broke over the snowy plains of the wastes, the camp was already alive with motion. Refugees moved with a tired determination, packing up what little they had left. The icy air carried the sounds of whispered conversations and the rustle of scavenged belongings being tucked away. Despite their initial despair, there was a tangible sense of relief—perhaps even hope—among the group. Their supplies were not as depleted as they had feared. Upon taking stock, they discovered more usable equipment and provisions than expected, a small blessing in their grim situation.

Adding to their newfound fortune, Vivienne had taken it upon herself to venture out before sunrise. In the pale blue glow of early morning, she had scoured the surrounding area, following faint traces of scent and scattered tracks left in the snow. It wasn’t long before she stumbled upon the remnants of the camp belonging to those she had slain the day before. The site was hastily abandoned, their belongings left behind as if their owners had known they wouldn’t be returning. Vivienne sifted through the remains, sorting out what was useful—blankets, tools, preserved food, even a few spare weapons.

When she returned to their own camp with her findings, her approach was met with quiet awe and a ripple of unease. Though no one dared voice it, many clearly remembered where these supplies had come from. Vivienne ignored their wary looks, distributing the goods evenly without a word. As the refugees accepted her offerings, their gratitude mingled with the weight of fear, a strange tension that hung heavy in the frigid air.

Meanwhile, the promise made the night before had also been fulfilled. The man who volunteered himself to Liora had remained true to his word, even as uncertainty clouded his face when night fell. Liora, wrapped in her blanket and shuffling nervously, had approached him with wide, uncertain eyes. At first, she hesitated, her small hands trembling as they reached toward him.

Tentative at first, Liora touched his hand, and as the connection deepened, she closed her eyes, her fear giving way to instinct. The man’s breathing slowed as she began to draw from him—not his blood, but the thick, tangible fear locked in his subconscious. His dreams twisted into nightmares under her influence, and she eagerly drank from the dark well of emotions they produced.

Though the process left him pale and visibly drained, there was no lasting harm. Others had to help carry him when it was time to move, but he still managed a faint smile, muttering his thanks to Liora before they departed. The others in the group, while apprehensive, offered no protests. They had all benefited from the trade, and as unsettling as the act may have seemed, it had spared them from further hunger.

By mid-morning, the refugees were ready to leave. Their ragged procession moved slowly across the snow-covered plains, toward what they hoped would be warmer and safer pastures. Before they departed, many of them turned to Rava and Vivienne, their expressions a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. A few offered heartfelt thanks, bowing their heads or murmuring words of appreciation. Others avoided Vivienne’s gaze altogether, their fear of her still raw and unshakable.

Rava watched them go, her arms crossed as she stood beside Vivienne. “They’ll make it,” she said, her voice low and thoughtful.

Vivienne didn’t respond immediately, her black eyes following the line of refugees until they disappeared over the horizon. When she finally spoke, her tone was calm, almost disinterested. “We’ll see. The wastes aren’t forgiving.”

With that, Vivienne turned and began to pack up their supplies, her movements deliberate and unhurried. Whatever thoughts she harbored about the refugees or their fate remained locked behind her inscrutable expression. Rava watched her for a moment longer, then turned to assist Kivvy with tightening the straps on the wagon.

The days that followed were marked by a growing sense of foreboding. The storm they’d set their course toward loomed larger with every league crossed, its swirling clouds stretching endlessly across the horizon. At first, it had seemed a distant, ominous smudge in the sky. Now, as they approached, its sheer scale became undeniable. Jagged bolts of lightning cracked through the darkened heavens, illuminating the churning storm for brief, haunting moments. The wind carried with it a faint hum, a distant, resonant song that vibrated in their bones.

Vivienne spent much of the journey in her wolf form, drawing their carriage without complaint, her powerful limbs cutting effortlessly through the snow. Liora often rode on her back during these stretches, her small hands clutching tightly to Vivienne’s obsidian fur. At first, the girl had seemed tentative, her movements stiff with uncertainty, but over time, she relaxed, nestling herself into the curve of Vivienne’s spine as if she belonged there.

Despite the bleakness of their surroundings and the weight of the storm ahead, there was an odd serenity in these moments. Liora would hum softly to herself, her voice barely audible over the crunch of snow and the groaning of the wagon wheels. Rava occasionally glanced back at the pair, her expression softening in rare moments of quiet reflection. Even Kivvy, ever preoccupied with her tools and devices, would sometimes pause to watch them, a faint, almost wistful smile tugging at her lips.

By the third day, the storm had grown so vast that it seemed to dominate the entire horizon. Its thunderous growl was no longer distant but a constant, rumbling presence, a reminder of the colossal force waiting at its heart. Rava had spoken of the titan that lay within, a being so immense and powerful that even she seemed uneasy at the prospect of facing it.

Vivienne, however, appeared unfazed. She trudged forward with the same steady determination, her breaths visible in the frigid air, her sharp eyes fixed on the path ahead. Liora, sensing no fear from her, remained calm as well, her tiny frame swaying gently with Vivienne’s movements.

The monotony of their journey was interrupted only by the occasional wildlife, most of which gave their group a wide berth. Aether-tainted creatures prowled at the edges of their vision, their glowing eyes visible in the gloom, but none dared approach too closely. Whether it was Vivienne’s imposing presence or the faint aura of the storm that deterred them was unclear.

As they crested a hill, the full might of the storm became visible once again. Its swirling clouds seemed to stretch endlessly upward, a vortex of darkness and light that twisted the very air around it. Lightning danced across its surface, and the faint hum from earlier had grown into a low, rhythmic pulse that resonated in their chests.

Rava pulled her hood tighter against the rising wind, her voice cutting through the sound. “We’re getting close. Another day, maybe less.”

Vivienne huffed in acknowledgment, her massive form rippling as she adjusted her pace. Liora leaned forward slightly, resting her head against Vivienne’s neck. The girl’s small, soft breaths were warm against her fur, a strange yet comforting sensation amidst the chill of the wastes.

On the fourth day, the storm finally reached them, roaring across the frozen plains with a ferocity that seemed alive. The wind hit first, a relentless gale that howled and shrieked as it tore through the landscape. Snow churned violently in the air, reducing visibility to mere feet and painting the world in a swirling haze of white. Thunder cracked overhead, loud and sharp enough to rattle the wagon’s frame, and lightning flared intermittently, casting fleeting, jagged shadows across the storm-battered terrain.

Vivienne stood at the front, hunched low as she pulled the wagon through the deepening snow. Her claws dug into the icy ground with each step, carving grooves into the frost as she fought against the unrelenting wind. The storm was a physical force, slamming into her like a wall with every gust, but she pressed forward, her muscles straining under the effort. Snow clung to her scales, forming frozen patches that cracked and splintered with each movement, and her tail lashed behind her, cutting through the air as she kept the wagon steady.

Behind her, the wagon rocked and creaked with every step, its sturdy frame groaning under the weight of the supplies and the passengers within. Inside, Kivvy worked frantically to secure their belongings, her nimble hands tying down loose items and adjusting straps that had loosened under the strain. The goblin muttered curses under her breath, her frustration growing with each new jolt of the wagon.

Renzia sat cross-legged in the corner, her wooden and canvas form a picture of eerie calm amidst the chaos. The storm seemed to have little effect on her; even when the wagon lurched violently, she remained unmoved, her blank gaze fixed on the shifting shadows outside. Occasionally, she leaned forward to brace the frame with her hands, her strength helping to steady the vehicle during the worst of the gusts.

Rava sat near the back, her large frame hunched as she shielded Liora with her body. One arm wrapped protectively around the small girl, while the other gripped a weapon that rested across her knees. Her ears twitched in irritation, trying to ignore the constant howling of the wind and the clatter of the wagon. Despite her stoic exterior, her eyes remained sharp, scanning the snow-filled air for any signs of movement beyond the storm.

Liora was a small bundle wrapped in layers of blankets, huddled against Rava’s side. Her wide eyes darted nervously between the wagon’s creaking walls and the flashes of lightning outside. Every crack of thunder made her flinch, and she clung tightly to the fabric around her, as though it could shield her from the storm’s fury. Yet, despite her fear, she stayed silent, her small fingers gripping the edge of Rava’s sleeve for comfort.

The storm was unrelenting. Each gust of wind threatened to tip the wagon, forcing Vivienne to adjust her footing constantly. The snow beneath her claws was loose and treacherous, making every step an effort of sheer will. Her breaths came in short, visible bursts, instantly whipped away by the gale. Ice clung to her hair and horns, and her scales sparkled faintly under the intermittent flashes of lightning. Her black eyes narrowed against the stinging snow, her focus unbroken as she kept moving forward, one step at a time.

Inside the wagon, the air was heavy with tension. The creaking of the wooden frame, the muffled roar of the storm, and the occasional sharp crack of thunder created an oppressive atmosphere. Kivvy grumbled as she finished tying down the last of the supplies, wiping a layer of frost from her goggles. “It’s holding,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else, though her voice was lost in the cacophony.

Renzia tilted her head slightly, as if listening to something beyond the storm. Her fingers tapped against her knees in a slow, deliberate rhythm, the motion oddly synchronized with the rocking of the wagon. When the vehicle tilted sharply to one side, she reached out instinctively, her wooden hands pressing against the wall to stabilize it. The others barely noticed, too focused on their own struggles within the confined space.

Rava’s grip tightened around Liora as the wagon jolted again. “We’ll get through this,” she murmured, her voice low but steady, meant more for the girl than anyone else. Liora nodded silently, her small face half-hidden beneath the blanket. Her gaze drifted to the faint outline of Vivienne outside, her silhouette barely visible through the storm. Despite the chaos, the sight of Vivienne's unwavering determination seemed to bring her some measure of comfort.

The hours stretched on as the storm battered them, but they pressed forward. Each step Vivienne took was a triumph against the elements, her defiance an anchor for the rest of the group. Inside the wagon, the others did what they could to endure, their combined strength and resilience a testament to their shared will to survive. Together, they moved onward, inch by inch, through the heart of the storm.

The storm’s fury stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The howling winds fell silent, the biting snow that had lashed them for hours now falling softly to the ground. The sudden stillness felt surreal, like stepping into another world. The towering walls of the storm encircled them, a swirling, ominous boundary of dark clouds. Above them, a patch of pale-blue sky was visible, sunlight faintly filtering through.

Vivienne halted in her tracks, her breath rising in frosty plumes as she gazed ahead. Her entire body was rimed with frost, from the tips of her horns to the spines along her arms. Despite the cold, she stood steady, unshaken.

Behind her, the wagon creaked as Rava pushed the flap aside and poked her head out. Her ears twitched as she took in the stillness and the break in the storm. “What the hell…?” she muttered. Her gaze flicked to Vivienne, her eyes narrowing. “Viv, you’re covered in ice. Are you—”

“Look ahead,” Vivienne cut her off, her voice low and sharp.

Rava followed Vivienne’s gaze, squinting through the frost-bitten air. At first, the horizon seemed empty—a blank expanse of snow and ice. Then she saw it, and her breath caught in her throat.

It wasn’t a mountain. Not entirely.

The titan of the tempest lay sprawled across the frozen expanse as though the land itself was her resting place. Her immense form seemed to stretch on forever, her legs vanishing into the distance like the ridges of a mountain range. Her chest rose and fell with each thunderous breath, the rhythm steady and unrelenting.

Clouds swirled around her head, drawn in and expelled with each exhale. Her immense torso was encrusted with frost and ice, the contours of her body indistinct but unmistakably alive. Her head rested against a cluster of peaks, and even at a distance, her features were otherworldly—massive, regal, and covered in a layer of crystalline frost.

The faint rumble of the Tempest Titan’s snore vibrated through the ground, a sound so deep and resonant it felt like the very bones of the earth were quaking beneath their feet. It wasn’t just sound—it was a force, something primal and immense, carrying the weight of centuries in its cadence.

“That’s her,” Rava whispered, her voice barely audible over the lingering echoes of the snore. Her sharp eyes never left the titan, her normally fearless demeanor clouded by an edge of hesitation.

Behind her, Kivvy peeked out from the wagon, her oversized goggles slipping down her nose as she craned her neck to get a better look. The diminutive goblin froze at the sight, her jaw slack as she took in the impossible scale of the being before them. “Gods…” Kivvy’s voice cracked as she spoke. “We’re… we’re going to wake that

thing?” Her hands gripped the edge of the wagon tightly, her knuckles going pale.Rava turned slightly, her expression as resolute as the storm raging around them had been moments before. “Yes,” she said simply. Her voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the gravity in her tone. “There should be a fortress somewhere around here. I visited it as a child. It has a bell—an old thing, massive and loud. It’s what we used to wake her up before.”

Vivienne glanced back at them, a smirk tugging at her lips. “A bell? That’s your plan? Just ring her awake like she’s late for breakfast?”

Rava’s lips twitched in annoyance. “It worked last time.”

“Last time,” Vivienne drawled, her tail swaying lazily, “she wasn’t the size of a mountain range. You’re sure this bell will still work?”

Rava shrugged, her expression dark. “It’s the only way I know.”

Kivvy’s trembling fingers adjusted her goggles, the faint squeak of the leather strap barely audible over the crunch of snow beneath the wagon’s wheels. Her voice wavered as she muttered, “What if she wakes up angry? What if she… what if she steps on us?”

The words hung in the air like a challenge to the colossal figure in the distance. Even from this far, the tempest titan was a force of nature, her outline dark against the swirling, snow-laden sky.

Rava, seated near the wagon’s edge, leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees. “She probably will be annoyed,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

Kivvy’s head snapped around, her wide eyes magnified behind thick goggles. “Probably?” she hissed. “That’s the best you’ve got? Probably?”

“She’s lazy,” Rava said, her voice steady, as if this were just another day in the wastes. “I doubt we’ll be harmed intentionally.”

Kivvy snorted, crossing her arms and shrinking further into her coat. “You know, it’s that last word that really doesn’t reassure me.”

Before Rava could respond, the wagon jostled slightly, and a small head poked out from beneath the canvas flap. Liora’s bright eyes darted past the others and fixed on the massive figure in the distance. Her mouth fell open in awe. “She’s so big!”

Vivienne, in her sleek obsidian-furred wolf form, turned her head slightly at the sound of Liora’s voice. The harness strapped around her body creaked as she slowed her pace, claws digging into the frozen ground to keep the wagon steady. A plume of steam rose from her snout as she exhaled, the frost clinging to her black fur shimmering faintly in the dim light.

“Big enough to blot out the sky,” Rava murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Liora tugged at the canvas, her face still half-hidden. “Is the bell loud enough to wake her from here?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“It should be,” Rava said, glancing at the girl. “It’s enchanted. It was built for this purpose.”

Vivienne, still hitched to the wagon, let out a low rumble that sounded almost like a chuckle. She turned her head slightly, her molten black eyes meeting Liora’s. “If the bell doesn’t work,” she said, her voice smooth and layered with an unnatural resonance, “I’ll make sure she wakes up.”

Liora blinked, her wide-eyed worry giving way to cautious curiosity. “How?”

Vivienne didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she tilted her head toward the titan, her sharp ears flicking back as she considered. “Maybe a bad dream would do it.” She said finally, her tone laced with amusement.