Mother of Midnight

Chapter 169 – Raiders

His heart pounded in his chest, each thud a deafening drumbeat in his ears as though trying to escape the confines of his ribs. His hands clenched his spear so tightly that his knuckles ached beneath the rough leather of his gloves. He adjusted his grip slightly, the familiar weight of the weapon a faint reassurance against the unknown. Shield raised, he pressed forward, shoulder to shoulder with his brothers and sisters in arms, forming an unbroken wall of steel and resolve.

In the distance, figures moved against the horizon, dark shapes that didn’t quite align with his expectations. The order had come down clearly enough—raiders approaching from the northwest—but what he saw didn’t match the image he’d conjured in his mind. Raiders were supposed to be wild and chaotic, their numbers scattered, their tactics brutish and crude. These figures moved with unsettling precision, their lines orderly, their advance deliberate.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the crisp chill of the morning air. Something about this felt wrong.

The formation around him shifted slightly as murmurs rippled through the ranks. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Caelum could feel the tension rising, the unspoken unease spreading like wildfire.

"Hold the line," barked a deep, gravelly voice from somewhere behind him. The sound cut through the quiet, commanding instant silence.

Darius the Sentinel.

Caelum couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, though the massive man was impossible to miss. Darius towered above the rest of them, his armor battered but meticulously cared for, each dent and scratch a testament to battles won and foes defeated. His grey-streaked beard hung like a lion’s mane, and his eyes, sharp and unyielding, surveyed the field with the calm detachment of someone who had faced death more times than he could count.

Darius had been fighting long before Caelum had been born, maybe even before his parents had. Some said he was old enough to have seen the Empire’s borders drawn and redrawn a dozen times over. Others whispered that he had once stood against an aetherbeast and lived to tell the tale. Caelum wasn’t sure he believed that, but the man’s presence alone was enough to make him feel a little less like a terrified farm boy pretending to be a soldier.

Still, doubt gnawed at him. If these were raiders, why were they advancing like a disciplined army? And if they weren’t raiders... what were they?

The silence stretched, broken only by the rhythmic thud of boots against the earth as the figures drew closer. Caelum’s grip tightened again, his arms trembling slightly from the strain of holding his shield steady.

A horn rang out across the steppes, its mournful cry splitting the stillness with two long bursts. The sound carried across the field, a signal of parley. The shield wall remained firm, but soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, gripping their weapons tighter. The faint tension in the air grew heavier as the moments dragged on.

Two long tones answered, signaling acceptance.

Caelum exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, though it did little to settle the tightness in his chest. Parley might have been preferable to combat, but it was far from reassuring. His superiors huddled in quiet discussion, their low voices lost in the murmurs of the soldiers nearby. He could only guess at the nature of their conversation, but the sharp glances they cast toward the approaching figures spoke volumes.

Then the orders came. Two dozen soldiers were to break away from the shield wall and form an escort for the negotiations. Caelum’s name was among those called. He fell in line with the others, stepping forward to join the formation.

At the center of the group stood Darius, an unshakable figure of calm authority. The Sentinel’s massive shield hung at his side, and his sword was strapped to his back, gleaming faintly in the overcast light. Flanking him were two warpriests, their ceremonial robes fluttering in the breeze, and Caelum’s immediate commander, a woman whose scarred visage told of countless battles fought and survived.

They began their march across the steppes, boots crunching against the frost-hardened ground. The air was still save for the rhythmic tread of soldiers and the occasional creak of leather or clink of armor.

The figures on the horizon remained indistinct at first, little more than shadows against the vast expanse of the steppes. As the two groups closed the distance, their forms began to resolve.

And then, Caelum saw them.

At the front of the approaching group was a towering lekine who seemed to embody raw power. He stood impossibly tall, his broad shoulders and muscular frame making even Darius seem small by comparison. Thick, dark fur covered his body, slightly matted in places, giving him a feral, almost wild appearance.

His humanoid features were harsh and angular, his jaw heavy and mouth extended just enough to suggest the beginnings of a snout. A braided beard hung from his chin, swaying gently as he walked. There was an undeniable weight to his presence, an aura of restrained strength that seemed to hum faintly around him.

Caelum recognized the signs immediately: advanced aetheric reserves. The transformation wasn’t complete, but it was far enough along to mark him as a figure of immense power. The sheer force emanating from him was palpable, a silent warning to anyone foolish enough to challenge him.

Behind the hulking figure was another lekine, one who could not have been more different. Slender and lithe, he had a frame that almost bordered on delicate, his movements graceful and fluid. His fur was sleek and well-groomed, a soft blend of whites and greys that seemed to shimmer faintly in the muted light.

This second figure exuded a friendly, approachable energy, his amber eyes bright and expressive. His wolf-like features were sharp but softened by a constant smile that seemed to radiate warmth.

Something about him immediately set Caelum on edge—not because of any overt threat, but because of the dissonance between his demeanor and the aura of competence he carried. This was someone who wore friendliness like a cloak, but underneath was a blade honed to precision.

As they drew closer, the smaller lekine's smile widened. He waved enthusiastically, his bushy tail wagging in a display so disarming that it almost made Caelum lower his guard.

“Well, hello there!” the lekine called out cheerfully, his voice carrying across the field with an unrestrained energy. “Quite the turnout, huh? Love what you’ve done with the shield wall—very intimidating! You lot must work out together.”

The stark contrast between his bubbly tone and the tension of the situation left Caelum momentarily stunned. Even Darius glanced sideways at the lekine, his stoic expression faltering for a fraction of a second before he resumed his usual unflappable composure.

The towering lekine turned his head slightly, giving his companion a look that seemed equal parts exasperation and amusement. “Tarric,” he rumbled, his deep voice carrying the weight of authority. “Focus.”

Tarric responded with an exaggerated sigh, brushing a stray lock of fur away from his face. “I am focused, Kavren. Just breaking the ice. You know how stiff these things can get.” He flashed another dazzling smile toward the group, his eyes lingering on the warpriests as if sizing them up.

Despite his lighthearted manner, Caelum couldn’t shake the feeling that Tarric was far more dangerous than he let on. His movements were deliberate, his gaze sharp and calculating even as his tone remained jovial.

The two groups stopped three dozen paces from each other, the stillness of the moment broken only by the faint sound of the wind sweeping across the steppes. Darius stepped forward, his imposing frame radiating an aura of authority as he squared off with Kavren, the towering lekine. For a moment, neither spoke, their gazes locked in a silent exchange, each measuring the other.

The tension was suffocating, a weight pressing down on the gathered soldiers. Caelum’s fingers tightened around his spear as he watched the scene unfold.

Darius broke the silence, his voice sharp and commanding. “I am Darius Arvendal, Champion of Praxus. You will surrender, beast.”

The words rang out like a challenge, cutting through the air with all the subtlety of a blade.

Kavren’s expression didn’t waver, though a flicker of amusement crossed his golden eyes. Before he could respond, Tarric erupted into laughter. The lithe lekine doubled over, clutching his sides as if Darius had told the most hysterical joke imaginable. His laughter rang out clear and unrestrained, startling in its genuine mirth.

“Oh, Praxus really knows how to choose them, doesn’t he, Kavren?” Tarric managed between fits of laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

Even Kavren, who had thus far been the picture of stoicism, allowed himself a low chuckle. His deep, rumbling voice was like distant thunder, the sound rolling through the tense air. “He sure does,” Kavren replied, his tone heavy with dry humor. “I was looking forward to a proper fight, but they only brought…” He trailed off, glancing at Tarric for confirmation.

“Eight thousand,” Tarric supplied helpfully, his grin as sharp as ever. “Not even a tenth of what they’ll need.”

The casual dismissal of their forces sent a ripple of unease through the soldiers. Caelum felt his chest tighten, the blood pounding in his ears as he fought to keep his expression neutral. The ease with which these two spoke, as if their victory was already assured, was more unnerving than outright hostility.

"Ah, where are my manners!" the shorter lekine exclaimed, his voice bright and full of charm. He swept into a dramatic bow, his movements fluid and theatrical. "I am Tarric, second eldest of Korriva Serkoth, at your service." He flashed a disarming grin, the kind that could put someone at ease or set them on edge, depending on the context.

Beside him, the towering behemoth of a man—no, a force of nature—straightened his imposing frame. His voice was a deep rumble, steady and commanding, as he said, "And I am Kavren Serkoth, Eldest of Korriva Serkoth, and general to the Serkoth army."

Unlike Tarric's buoyant tone, Kavren's introduction carried the weight of certainty, every syllable a declaration of power.

Darius, however, was unmoved. His voice was as steady as stone. “If you will not surrender, beast, then you will fall.”

Tarric tilted his head, his grin widening. “Oh, I thought you looked familiar! You hunted me down for weeks, didn’t you? Quite the tenacious one, I’ll give you that. Got back to your army quickly, though. Impressive.”

There was a sharpness to his tone now, an edge that hadn’t been there before. His amber eyes gleamed with something predatory, despite the unwavering smile on his face.

“If that was me, you’d really be dead,” Darius replied coldly, his irritation evident.

Tarric’s ears twitched at the retort, his expression unchanging, though there was a brief flicker of something in his gaze—an emotion Caelum couldn’t quite place. “Perhaps,” Tarric said after a moment, his voice smooth and unbothered. “Someone pretending to be you then… interesting.” He tapped a clawed finger against his chin, as though turning the thought over in his mind. “Didn’t save Alisaria though, did it?”

The mention of the Celestial Champion landed with the force of a hammer, shattering the tenuous balance of the parley. The name, Alisaria, hung in the air, spectral and damning, its weight palpable in the sudden tension. Darius’s jaw clenched hard enough to crack stone, his hands curling into tight fists that trembled faintly with suppressed emotion.

Caelum stood frozen, disbelief washing over him in waves. Alisaria—dead? He searched the faces of his comrades nearby but found no answers, only shared unease. Tarric’s mocking tone suggested certainty, and Darius’s rigid posture all but confirmed it. But why wasn’t this common knowledge? The Celestial Champion wasn’t just a title; Alisaria had been a cornerstone of the Empire’s strength, a symbol of its invincibility. Her loss was more than a blow—it was a wound, bleeding morale from the Empire’s ranks.

“Surrender,” Darius commanded, his voice hard and unwavering despite the obvious strain. “Or be wiped out.”

Kavren tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “What do you think, Tarric? Should we ‘beasts’ roll over and surrender?” His voice was a low rumble, his mockery subtle but clear.

Tarric’s grin widened as he spun on his heel to face his brother, his movements theatrical, almost playful. “Well, Eldest Brother,” he began, his voice light and teasing, “maybe we should remind them why the Serkoth are known as the Shield of the East. Champion or no.”

He turned back to Darius, his grin sharp enough to cut. “Would you like to know something, Darius?” he asked, his tone shifting, adopting an edge of dangerous amusement. “Mother didn’t even bother leaving the city. She didn’t think you were worth the effort to make the trip.”

The casual jab was a slap in the face, the kind meant to humiliate and enrage. Tarric let the words linger before continuing, his grin never faltering. “Well, that, and she likes to leave things to her children when she can. Delegation, you know? But that’s neither here nor there.”

The air between the two groups grew heavier, the tension thick enough to choke. Kavren remained a towering, stoic figure, the image of an immovable mountain, while Tarric’s flippant demeanor seemed designed to poke and prod at any crack in the human soldiers’ composure. For a moment, the only sound was the distant whistle of the wind across the steppes, its icy breath a cruel reminder of the cold reality they faced.

The words "Then war it is" hung in the air like an unspoken curse. Darius’s voice, though calm on the surface, barely concealed the roiling fury beneath. His sharp, dismissive sneer when calling the Serkoth “animals” lingered in Caelum’s mind as he turned to follow his commander back toward the shield wall.

Each step felt heavier than the last. Caelum’s thoughts swirled like a tempest, crashing into one another with unrelenting force. Alisaria is dead. The revelation hit him again, the weight of it threatening to crush him. The Celestial Champion, the very figurehead of the Empire’s divine favor, was gone. And worse, it wasn’t a rumor whispered among soldiers over campfires—it was a truth, known to the higher-ups and deliberately hidden from the rank and file.

His breath came shallow and fast, his armor feeling tighter with every inhale. He tried to focus on the rhythmic crunch of boots on frozen ground, but his mind refused to still. He wanted to believe there was some mistake, that Tarric’s words were just an elaborate taunt. Yet the way Darius had clenched his jaw, the faint flinch when the name Alisaria was uttered, spoke volumes.

And then there was the way Darius spoke to the lekine. The venom in his tone when he called them “animals” sent a chill down Caelum’s spine. The disdain was palpable, and it unsettled him deeply. He’d been raised to believe in the Cogfather’s divine hierarchy, where humans stood at the top, chosen to bring order to the chaotic world. But seeing the Serkoth, hearing them speak with such sharp wit and confidence, he struggled to reconcile the teachings of the church with the reality in front of him.

Beasts, he could understand, begrudgingly. The lekine’s bestial features and their ties to aether often painted them as something less than human in the Empire’s eyes. But animals? That was something else entirely. It wasn’t just an insult—it was dehumanizing in the most complete way, stripping them of dignity and identity.

Caelum wanted to say something, to voice his unease about Darius’s choice of words. But who was he to question the Sentinel? Darius was a living legend, a man whose exploits were spoken of with reverence. You didn’t talk back to someone like that—not if you valued your life or career.

Unless you were a Serkoth, he thought grimly, the memory of Tarric’s mocking tone bringing an involuntary shiver. The smaller lekine had spoken to Darius as if he were an equal—or worse, as if he were beneath him. And Kavren… his silent, unyielding presence loomed large in Caelum’s mind. The man had said little, but his stature and the quiet confidence he exuded spoke louder than words.

And then there was the city. A city. The realization struck Caelum again, and his stomach churned with unease. All his life, he’d been told that the Serkoth were nothing more than marauding clans—nomads, raiders, and bandits who posed a nuisance but no real threat. Yet Tarric’s casual mention of a city turned that narrative on its head. They weren’t fighting disorganized tribes. They were up against a civilization, one with its own structure, leadership, and pride.

His blood boiled at the thought of the Empire’s lies, but it froze just as quickly when he considered the implications. If they have a city, then what else have we been misled about? His heart pounded in his chest as fear clawed its way into his mind. What if they were more than just organized? What if the Empire’s forces, even with their disciplined ranks and divine blessings, were walking into a war they couldn’t win?

Anger and fear twisted together in a sickening dance. Caelum hated how the Empire treated non-humans, the way they were labeled as inferior, dangerous, and undeserving of the Cogfather’s grace. But he also believed that bringing them into the fold, no matter how harshly, was necessary. The chaos of the world had to be tamed, and the Empire was the only force capable of doing it.

But Alisaria’s death… That changed everything. It wasn’t just a blow to their strength; it was a wound to their morale, a festering weakness that could spread through the ranks like wildfire. If word got out, it would be catastrophic. Soldiers wouldn’t just lose faith—they’d lose the will to fight.

His fears were confirmed barely a tenth of a bell into their march back to camp. Darius halted the group with a sharp gesture, turning to face the soldiers with a cold, steely gaze.

“Listen closely,” he commanded, his voice low but carrying the weight of absolute authority. “What you heard back there—what you think you know—it stays here. No one speaks of it. Not a word to your comrades, your family, or anyone else. Do I make myself clear?”

The soldiers, Caelum included, nodded in unison. There was no hesitation, no questioning. An order from Darius was as good as law, and to defy it was unthinkable.

But Caelum couldn’t help the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. The silence wasn’t just an order—it was a shroud, meant to cover the cracks in the Empire’s façade. And as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t sure how much longer that shroud could hold.