Mother of Midnight

Chapter 173 – Attempted Entry

Vivienne’s tail twitched in agitation as she walked, her footsteps steady but her thoughts in turmoil. The wagon creaked behind her, but it felt as though it were pulling at something heavier than just the weight of their supplies. Her thoughts were consumed with the answer Akhenna had given her, the one that had struck deeper than any of the goddess’s cryptic words ever had before. The greatest threat to her success wasn’t the empire, nor the Titans, nor any rival faction or power. It was Akhenna herself.

The realization didn’t settle easily, like a weight dropped in a stagnant pond, sending ripples that disturbed everything else. The goddess of chaos, who had made Vivienne’s path seem so clear and full of potential, was, in the end, the one who could pull everything out from under her with a flick of her finger. Akhenna didn’t care about Vivienne’s success—she didn’t even care about her failure, so long as it was entertaining.

The path she was walking, this so-called journey, was not a quest with a grand, divine purpose. It was just a game. Vivienne was just another pawn to amuse her goddess, a piece on a board she had yet to fully understand. And that was the most unsettling part of it all.

Akhenna didn’t want to help her succeed. She wanted to see how far she could go before she cracked. How long it would take before Vivienne broke under the weight of her own choices, how long she could juggle the balance of power and survival before the strings of the game snapped.

Vivienne clenched her jaw, her pace quickening with the strain of her thoughts. The wagon, which had seemed so simple a thing when she had first found it, now felt like a symbol of everything she couldn’t control. She was the one pulling it, the one carrying it all forward, while Rava held the reins for show, as they traveled through a world of uncertainty and shifting alliances. What did it all mean, though? Was she just a tool to amuse Akhenna, or was she something more? Something she had yet to discover?

She let out a frustrated huff, her tail swishing irritably behind her. It wasn’t just the uncertainty of Akhenna’s amusement that bothered her—it was the subtle, disorienting nature of it all. The goddess watched her, delighted by her successes, just as much as her failures. In some twisted way, she knew Akhenna wouldn’t sabotage her outright—not too badly, anyway. But the little moments, the times when things felt too convenient, too perfectly timed… those were the ones that made Vivienne doubt herself.

Like the aetherbeasts. They seemed to show up at the most opportune (or inconvenient) moments—exactly when she needed them or when she least expected it. At times, it felt like they had a purpose, a direction that wasn’t entirely random. And as much as she’d tried to dismiss it, part of her had begun to wonder if these encounters weren’t just mere coincidence.

And then there was that one aetherbeast. The sentient one. The one she and Rava had come across enduring their travels out of Aegis territory. They had been an odd creature—an aetherbeast that could think, that could communicate with her in a way just as well as she. Friendly, even, and harmless. She’d sent it on its way, no harm done, but its appearance had stuck with her. 

But in hindsight, the feeling lingered. Why had she crossed their path?

But that wasn’t the thing that haunted her most. No. It was the thing that had come before—the child-like creature that wore the guise of innocence. The smile. The quiet, unsettling stare.

Her gut clenched again as she thought of it. She still couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been more than it seemed. Something about it had felt… wrong. It had been too still, too observant, for a simple creature of its kind. And while she had dismissed it at the time as nothing more than a strange occurrence, it kept resurfacing in her thoughts, lingering like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

The child-like figure had smiled as if it had known her, as if it had been waiting. Waiting for her to do something, to make the first move, or perhaps just to acknowledge its existence.

Vivienne shook her head, pushing the thought aside for now. She had bigger things to worry about—things that didn’t involve a strange encounter with an unnerving creature. But she knew, deep down, that she couldn’t afford to ignore it. The way Akhenna worked, the chaos she reveled in, it was all part of the bigger picture. And whatever that creature was—whatever role it played—it had to be tied to the twisted game Akhenna was so fond of playing.

“Mommy! Look!”

Vivienne blinked, torn from the spiral of morbid thoughts that had been tugging at her mind. Liora’s voice cut through the haze like a blade, grounding her in the present. She craned her neck around, her five black eyes focusing on the little girl perched near the front of the wagon. Liora was pointing excitedly, bouncing on her heels with barely contained energy.

It felt good to be called that again.

Her heart clenched at the sound of it, a warmth blooming in her chest that she hadn't even realized she’d been missing. In her past life, her son had called her mami, his little voice filled with love and trust. Mommy wasn’t quite the same, but it was close enough. Close enough to stir up long-buried emotions, to remind her of how much she loved being a parent. No matter how much the world had changed, no matter how monstrous she had become, that part of her had never faded.

She smiled softly before following Liora’s pointing finger, her gaze shifting toward the horizon.

In the distance, a fortress loomed.

Unlike the pristine white stone of Serkoth’s walls, these were a cool, imposing dark grey, standing stark against the landscape like a silent sentinel. The wall itself was massive, a monolith of stone and mortar tall enough to swallow the city behind it from view. Along its length, turrets jutted up at regular intervals, their squared forms lined with arrow slits and battlements—each one a watchful eye surveying the land.

It wasn’t just a city wall. It was a fortress—built to withstand siege, to deter enemies before they could even consider an attack. Even from this distance, Vivienne could tell that Drakthar was a place meant to endure, to survive. It didn’t have the elegance of Serkoth, nor its rich, decadent beauty. No, this was something different.

This was a city built for war.

“Sit down, mijita. It’s not safe to stand up while I’m pulling the cart.” Vivienne’s voice was gentle but firm, carrying the weight of both concern and authority.

Liora plopped back down immediately, obedient but still buzzing with excitement, her small hands gripping the edge of the cart as she kicked her feet idly.

Satisfied, Vivienne turned her attention to Rava. “So, Rava, what’s the plan of attack here?”

“We won’t be attacking them.” Rava’s tone was gruff, matter-of-fact. “We’re not allies, but nor are we enemies.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Turn of phrase, sweetheart. What’s our plan going forward?”

Rava scratched her chin, her ears flicking thoughtfully. “We need to share some of the details that Tarric discovered and let them know about the giants. If they’re smart, they’ll start preparing defenses immediately.”

Vivienne hummed in thought, eyes drifting back toward the fortress in the distance. “Should we stay and help with the battle?”

For once, Rava hesitated. A rare thing.

“I don’t think we should,” she admitted after a beat. “If Tarric’s information is accurate, the forces of Aegis are no more than six days away. I have my own home to protect.” She exhaled sharply through her nose, tail flicking once. “The Drakthar may be arrogant fops, but they aren’t incompetent warriors. They’ll hold.”

Vivienne narrowed her eyes slightly. “And the titans?”

Rava grunted. “Hopefully, they cancel each other out. A titan helping the smaller folk in war is unheard of. I still don’t know why this one’s throwing in with the empire.”

Vivienne let out a low hum, fingers tapping absently against the cart’s handle.

War was coming.

Part of her wanted to stay and fight—if only to eat. A battlefield, after all, was a feast waiting to happen. But she doubted the Drakthar would be particularly receptive to that. She wasn’t even sure they’d let her into the city, let alone allow her to fight alongside them. There was no love lost between the Serkoth and the Drakthar, that much was obvious.

And as much as she had come to understand the Serkoth—pragmatic, efficient, and, excluding Narek, at least begrudgingly respectful of her while their goals aligned—she had no such grasp on the Drakthar. She didn’t know their culture, their values, or how they’d react to someone like her.

Vivienne knew she was powerful. Perhaps exceptionally so. But raw strength was meaningless without a frame of reference. She had killed a champion, yes, but a weak

one. That barely told her anything. There were greater threats in this world—far greater.One of them, she was certain, was Korriva.

She liked Korriva. The woman had presence, confidence, the kind of strength Vivienne couldn’t yet measure. She was known as one of the most powerful champions in existence. That alone was reason enough for Vivienne to tread carefully. She had no delusions about her odds in a direct confrontation.

And dying?

Dying would get in the way of eating.

Dying would get in the way of raising her daughter.

Dying would be extremely irritating.

“Well, you are our magnificent and intelligent leader. So I will have to defer to you,” Vivienne said, her voice dripping with playful exaggeration. She fluttered her lashes for good measure, though she doubted Rava even registered such things.

Rava scoffed, rolling her eyes in the way that suggested she was just irritated enough to respond but not enough to be actually mad. “I need to speak with Kaelvar Drakthar about the developments.”

Vivienne let out a delighted giggle. “That name is a mouthful.”

“Yes, well, perhaps don’t say that to his face.” Rava shot her a look, not quite exasperated but getting there. “In fact, I think it might be best if you stayed in that form the entire time. Can you manage a day or two without speaking around other people?”

Vivienne gasped in mock horror as if mortally wounded. “Sick of my voice already, sweetheart?”

Rava exhaled through her nose, the usual gruffness in her tone tempered by something softer—something almost fond. “I don’t think I could ever tire of hearing your voice, Vivienne. No matter how irritating you are.”

Vivienne snapped her maw shut, eyes fixed on the road ahead as if the dirt and rocks beneath her feet were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. Her tail curled slightly, the movement betraying the flicker of warmth in her chest, the way her stomach twisted in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Get a grip, she scolded herself.

She was not some blushing teenager, not some smitten fool. She was past all that. Or at least, she thought she was. But still, there was an undeniable pull, something in Rava’s voice that settled into her bones, lodged itself somewhere deep.

She forced herself to focus. There were more pressing matters ahead—fortresses, negotiations, giants, war. Not the way her heart had stuttered for just a moment at a few simple words.

"Liora," Rava started, her voice steady but firm, "I think it would be for the best if you pretend I am your mother while we visit Drakthar."

The little girl perked up, tilting her head. "Like play pretend?" she asked, blinking her bright eyes up at Rava.

Vivienne, still in her lesser wolf form, let her ears swivel toward them, watching closely. She could already tell that Liora didn’t fully understand the weight behind the request.

Rava gave a slow nod. "Exactly like that. It’s just a little game we’ll play while we’re in the city. I’ll be your mama, and you’ll be my daughter. Can you do that for me?"

Liora furrowed her brows in deep concentration, her little feet kicking idly against the side of the wagon as she mulled over Rava’s request. After a moment, her expression brightened, and she asked, “Okay! But I still get to call Vivienne ‘Mommy,’ right?” Her voice carried that innocent certainty that children had—the kind that assumed the world would always bend to their sense of fairness.

Vivienne’s heart clenched, a strange, aching warmth spreading through her. She wanted so badly to shift back, to wrap Liora in her arms and bury her face in the girl’s soft curls. But she couldn't. Not here.

Rava hesitated, her mouth pressing into a thin line. She was silent just long enough for Vivienne to catch it—a flicker of reluctance, as if she truly hated to say what came next.

“I’m sorry, but no,” Rava finally said, shaking her head. “Not for a day or two.”

Liora’s face fell. Her little shoulders slumped, and her hands, which had been gripping the wagon’s edge, loosened as if all the excitement had drained from her at once. “Oh,” she said softly. It was the kind of disappointed ‘oh’ that made Vivienne want to bare her teeth at the world for daring to make her baby sad.

“Don’t worry, mijita,” Vivienne called back, infusing her voice with warmth and reassurance despite the gnawing irritation bubbling in her gut. “It won’t be for long.”

Liora let out a little sigh, but after a moment, she perked up again, determination flickering behind her big eyes. “Okay! But I’m still gonna sit with Renzia and Kivvy.”

Vivienne let out a breath of relief. Good. As long as Liora wasn’t too upset, she could stomach the arrangement. She just had to hope the little girl wouldn’t slip up in front of the wrong people.

As midday bled into the afternoon, the towering walls of Drakthar loomed ever larger, their sheer scale almost absurd the closer they drew. Vivienne had no doubt that they could withstand anything short of a titan’s wrath—but that was exactly the kind of wrath they might have to contend with. The thought was almost amusing in its irony.

She scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of Vailora, but the tempest giant was nowhere to be seen. Vivienne had to trust she would arrive at the right moment, though trusting others had never been her strong suit.

A ripple of noise drew her attention—shouts, hurried movements along the walls. The people of Drakthar had noticed them. Panic was brewing.

Vivienne took that as her cue.

She let her shoulders roll back, her fur settling in an easy, harmless ruffle. Her tail wagged just enough to seem amiable, her posture relaxed but confident. She was easily twice the size of a quocha in her lesser wolf shape—big enough to be intimidating, but, if she played it right, not threatening. She almost felt like a certain colossal crimson canine from children’s tales.

Except she was very real, and she absolutely did eat people.

And they tasted fantastic.

Especially those who had been steeped in magic for decades, their aether rich and decadent on the tongue.

Maybe she could convince Rava to stay and help out.

For altruism, of course.

Not for the exomancers and endomancers she could practically taste already. Definitely not.

Her daydreams of indulgence were abruptly shattered by a chorus of panicked screams. The sudden spike of fear in the air was palpable, thick with the tang of instinctual terror. She tasted it, like a storm building on the horizon.

Some of the people near the gates froze in place, their bodies rigid with indecision, caught between fight and flight. Others made the choice swiftly, feet pounding against the dirt as they bolted in whatever direction took them away from her.

Vivienne exhaled through her nose in something between amusement and irritation. Oh, come on. I even made myself look cute.

Her ears twitched forward as she caught the sound of armored boots approaching at a steady, purposeful march. A group of soldiers—six in total—were advancing toward them, their formation tight and disciplined. Unlike the civilians, they did not hesitate.

She observed them keenly as they drew closer. Their armor was a deep, gunmetal gray, trimmed in dark crimson, fitting seamlessly over chainmail. The Drakthar crest—a stylized wolf skull wreathed in flame—was emblazoned on their chests. Each soldier carried a spear, though none were yet lowered in threat. Vivienne could admit the armour looked fetching on their soldiers. It was clean, well designed, perhaps a little more on the garish side but they looked well made regardless.

Professional, she noted. And wary, but not outright hostile.

Rava, sitting on the cart under the guise of handling the reins, let out a low sigh before stepping down onto the dirt. She took a few slow steps forward, raising a hand in what was probably meant to be a gesture of peace.

One of the soldiers, a man with a scar slashing across his nose, stepped ahead of the rest. His dark eyes flicked between Rava and Vivienne’s towering form before settling on the former.

“State your names and your business,” he commanded, voice clipped and authoritative.

Rava kept her stance easy, though Vivienne could hear the slight tension in her voice when she answered. “We bring news from Serkoth. I need to speak with Kaelvar Drakthar.”

The soldier’s expression remained unreadable, but his grip on his spear tightened ever so slightly. “You expect us to simply grant you an audience to see the High Fang?”

Vivienne resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Bureaucracy. She hated bureaucracy.

Rava sighed. “I am Ravanyr Serkoth, Twilight fang of Clan Serkoth. I bring information to the High Fang of Clan Drakthar. It is time sensitive, so I must see him as soon as possible."

The soldier’s brow twitched at the name, his posture stiffening ever so slightly. The others behind him exchanged quick, uncertain glances.

Vivienne noted that reaction with interest. Ah. So they do respect her title, even if they don’t like her.

The scarred man exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip still firm on his spear. “Twilight Fang or not, Serkoth is no friend to Drakthar.” His tone was edged with skepticism, but he wasn’t outright refusing them yet. “And you expect us to take you straight to the High Fang?”

“Yes,” Rava said simply.

There was a tense beat of silence before the soldier clicked his tongue in irritation and muttered something under his breath. He turned his head slightly, nodding to one of his subordinates. The younger man hesitated, then jogged off toward the gate at a brisk pace.

“The High Fang will decide if you are worth his time,” the leader said gruffly. “Until then, you wait.”

Rava nodded, settling into place without protest. Vivienne, however, simply existed and that seemed to be enough to put the soldiers on edge. Their eyes flicked toward her now and then, wariness growing the longer she remained still.

Finally, the scarred man turned his full attention toward her. “And what exactly is that?” he asked. “Did you bring an aetherbeast to our clanhome?”

“Have you ever seen an aetherbeast that was tame?” Rava tilted her head as if confused by the question. “A wolf.”

“A wolf?” He scoffed. “That’s no damn wolf I’ve ever seen.”

“She’s from the Grey Reach,” Rava supplied coolly. “A rare breed. Found her as a pup, raised her myself. She’s well trained.”

Vivienne kept still, ears pricked forward in what she hoped was a passable impression of obedient curiosity.

The soldier frowned deeply. “It’s too damn big. And smart. And wrong.” His grip on his spear shifted. “I don’t like it. Aetherbeasts are unpredictable.”

Rava rolled her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “You’re welcome to try putting her down,” she said in a way that was entirely too pleasant. “But I wouldn’t recommend it.”

That gave them pause. The way she said it wasn’t a threat—it was just a statement of fact.

The soldiers glanced at one another again, and Vivienne could feel the way their hands twitched toward weapons. The tension in the air coiled tight, just on the edge of snapping—

“Fine,” the leader finally grumbled. “If it’s trained, prove it.”

Rava sighed like this was the most tedious thing in the world. “Vivienne, sit.”

Vivienne plopped down immediately, tail curling neatly around her paws.

The soldier’s frown deepened, but he still wasn’t convinced.

“Shake.”

Vivienne lifted a massive paw and held it up expectantly.

The scarred man eyed her with something between suspicion and begrudging approval before scoffing. “Impressive,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it’s safe.”

“Then let’s go with a simple one,” Rava said dryly. “Vivienne. Speak.”

Vivienne opened her jaws wide and let loose a deep, rumbling bark that echoed against the towering walls of Drakthar.

That made the younger soldiers flinch.

Rava smirked. “Satisfied?”

The leader grunted, clearly annoyed but unable to argue. “Fine. But if it so much as twitches the wrong way, it dies.”

Vivienne made a show of wagging her tail, as if just delighted by that response.

Rava simply smiled. “Noted.”

The man gave Vivienne another cautious glance before nodding to his subordinates before leaving with all but two of them. The first, a rather short lekine woman with a stern look on her face stepped forward. 

“Twilight fang. Please direct your wagon off the road while you wait.”

Vivienne held back a snort as Rava clicked her tongue in mild irritation but complied. With a tug on the harness, Vivienne pulled the wagon a short distance off to the side, positioning it neatly against the road’s edge without being in the way of other traffic. The remaining two guards kept their eyes trained on her the entire time.

The lekine woman, standing barely taller than Rava, watched them with a scrutinizing gaze. “Stay here and do not cause trouble.” Her voice was clipped, authoritative.

Rava crossed her arms. “I didn’t come here to stir up a fight.”

The woman’s tail flicked once. “That remains to be seen.”

Vivienne was growing bored of the scrutiny. Her ears flicked, and she let her tongue loll slightly from her jaws in an exaggerated pant, trying to exude the air of an overly friendly canine. Maybe she should roll over and show her belly next—would that make them feel better?

The second soldier, a younger man with a thick, bushy beard, squinted at her. “I don’t trust it.”

Rava exhaled sharply through her nose. “Then don’t.”

The lekine woman turned sharply toward the man. “Feron. Stop cavorting with the Serkoth brute.”

“What?” He gestured at Vivienne. “That thing is massive. How are we supposed to believe it’s tame?”

Rava exhaled through her nose, letting the insult slide. “She’s well-trained. Found her in Grey Reach. Rare breed of wolf.”

Vivienne did her best to look the part, sitting down on her haunches and tilting her head just slightly, giving the man what she hoped was a convincingly harmless look.

He wasn’t buying it. “That’s no normal wolf. Look at the size of her. She’s bigger than any quocha I’ve ever seen. You sure it isn’t an aetherbeast?”

“Would an aetherbeast sit on command?” Rava shot back.

The man hesitated.

Rava smirked and gave a quick whistle. “Shake.”

Vivienne sighed internally but lifted one massive paw, offering it toward Rava with deliberate slowness. The lekine grasped it briefly, giving it a small shake before letting go.

The bearded man blinked, clearly taken aback. “Huh.”

Rava smirked, patting Vivienne’s shoulder as if rewarding her for good behavior. “Aetherwolves are often three times the size of Viv here. I would know.”

The man quirked a brow, crossing his arms. “You fought an aetherwolf? How many did it take to bring it down?”

“Two,” Rava said simply. “Myself and Viv here.”

His brow furrowed, mouth twisting in open disbelief. “I hear those take at least a dozen soldiers to kill.”

Rava shrugged. “Then they should train better.”

Feron let out a sharp scoff, shaking his head. “Right. And I suppose you expect me to believe that this thing”—he jabbed a finger at Vivienne—“tore apart something three times her size?”

“She did most of the work, actually,” Rava said, reaching out to scratch behind Vivienne’s ear and she leaned into it.

Vivienne flicked her tail at the casual mention of eating it, resisting the urge to wag it just to sell the act. Instead, she gave Feron a slow, heavy-lidded blink.

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “Tch. Trained or not, that’s unnatural.”

Liora, who had been sitting in the back of the cart with Renzia and Kivvy, poked her head through the canvas flap, blinking at the commotion outside. “Are we in trouble?” she asked, her voice small but steady.

Before anyone could answer, the young soldier’s gaze snapped to her, eyes widening in alarm. “What in Yenhyr’s name is that?”

Vivienne’s mood soured instantly, any amusement at toying with the guards vanishing like smoke. Before she could stop herself, a deep, guttural growl rumbled from her chest, her lips peeling back just enough to flash a glint of sharp teeth.

The man flinched, his hand flying to his weapon as he took a hasty step back.

“Viv! Down, girl!” Rava snapped, yanking hard on the harness. The force sent a sharp jolt through Vivienne’s frame, and she jerked back, muscles tensing in response.

She exhaled heavily through her nose, forcing herself to lower her hackles. It wouldn’t do to start a fight before they were even past the gates. But if that idiot said one more thing about her daughter she would—

“Easy, easy.” The older lekine woman shot the young soldier a glare before turning back to Rava. “I assume that’s a child.”

Rava gave a curt nod. “She’s mine. Special case. Liora, please stay in the back.”

Vivienne flicked her gaze to Liora, who was now watching with four wide, unblinking eyes. She slowly pulled her head back into the cart.

The young soldier, still tense, muttered under his breath. “That thing ain’t natural…”

Vivienne fought the urge to growl again, but she let her silence do the work for her. She kept her black eyes fixed on the young soldier, unblinking, until his bravado cracked. He shifted uncomfortably, fingers tightening around his weapon, but she didn’t so much as flick an ear. She could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his shoulders stiffened like he was expecting her to lunge.

She maintained eye contact, refusing to acknowledge the others around her, letting the weight of her stare do what words couldn’t. The soldier finally wrenched his gaze away, jaw tight, and muttered something under his breath before turning on his heel.

Vivienne huffed, the closest she could get to a laugh in this form.

It wasn’t long before the scarred man from earlier returned with three more soldiers in tow. He carried himself with more certainty than the first encounter, though his eyes still flicked toward Vivienne with caution.

He stepped forward, addressing Rava directly, though there was a hint of lingering irritation in his tone. “Lady Ravanyr,” he said, the title laced with something just shy of mockery. “You are permitted to enter the city. You are to immediately make for the Drakthar Clanhome. We will escort you.”

Vivienne’s tail flicked once, but she remained still, waiting.

Rava exhaled through her nose. “Fine.”

The soldiers moved to flank them, and as the wagon lurched forward, Vivienne let out a soft chuff. They had their entry. Now came the hard part.