Mother of Midnight

Chapter 188 – A Quiet Homecoming

Caelum entered the Inn, the familiar scent of wood and hearth filling his senses. The soft murmur of voices from patrons and the clinking of mugs against tables were a comforting backdrop to the bustle of the evening. Briswen and Lorne had stayed at their home, which Caelum had no issue with. Tonight, he needed to speak with Grunhilda, and he wanted it to be in private.

His eyes swept the room until they landed on her—Grunhilda, sitting alone at one of the tables in the corner, a tankard of ale resting in front of her, untouched. Her expression was thoughtful, distant even, as if her mind was miles away from the lively scene around her. A stray lock of her red hair fell across her face, and she absentmindedly pushed it back behind her ear as she surveyed the room.

Caelum walked toward her, his footsteps quiet on the wooden floor. As he approached, she looked up, her green eyes catching his, and she offered a small, wry smile. "Caelum," she said, her voice warm, though it held an edge of weariness. "I didn’t expect you tonight."

He returned the smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I know. I wanted to speak with you, though. Privately." He gestured to the empty chair across from her. "Mind if I join you?"

Grunhilda shifted her tankard slightly, her fingers running over the smooth wood. She nodded, her gaze briefly flicking to the patrons around them, before settling back on Caelum. "Sure. What’s on your mind?"

Caelum settled into the chair across from her, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before speaking. "I’ve been talking with my fi— with Lorne," he began, choosing his words carefully, "We are going to cross the border into the steppes."

Grunhilda said nothing at first. Her grey eyes were unreadable as they briefly swept over the room. The quiet murmur of conversation, the clink of tankards, and the low hum of the fire seemed distant for a moment. She picked up her tankard and downed the contents in one go before setting it back down with a sharp clink, standing as she did.

“Follow,” she said simply.

Caelum blinked, then nodded, standing quickly to follow her. She led him up the creaking stairs and to a room at the far end of the hallway. Once inside, she closed the door behind them, her movements deliberate but not rushed. The room was small, sparsely furnished, with a single window letting in the faint light of the evening. A low fire crackled in the hearth.

Grunhilda gestured to one of the wooden chairs near the table, and Caelum lowered himself into it. He looked at her, wondering what her reaction would be, and noticed her sharp, unreadable gaze fixed on him from across the room.

She sat opposite him and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Her eyes studied him intently, her expression guarded. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice even but with an underlying tension. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Caelum took a deep breath, his hands tightening on the edge of his seat as he nodded. "It would be the best. I… I don’t think I can follow Praxus anymore. I think Aegis is in the wrong."

Grunhilda's expression hardened, and her stormy gaze seemed to pierce him. "That’s heresy. You know that, right?"

Caelum flinched, his heart pounding in his chest. He swallowed, knowing the gravity of what he had just said. "I know," he muttered, unable to look her in the eye. "I just don’t… I can’t ignore what’s happening. What I’ve seen."

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes unwavering, before letting out a heavy sigh. Her posture relaxed slightly, though the weight of her words still hung in the air. "Yeah. I was thinking the same. But why though? Why do you two need to cross the border? You’ve got a home here, right?"

Caelum hesitated, glancing away, feeling the sting of the question. "I don’t… but Lorne and her partner do. They don’t feel safe here. Not with the way things are going. And I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."

Grunhilda looked surprised at that, her brows furrowing. "She left you for another man? Poor taste. You’re a good lad."

Caelum’s face twisted with a weak, self-deprecating laugh. "Another person, yes. I think she’ll be happier with her than with me." His voice faltered slightly, but he steadied himself. "I want her to be happy, even if it’s not with me."

"Her?" Grunhilda repeated, her voice soft with a mixture of surprise and confusion. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Caelum hesitated, unsure if he wanted to delve into the details of his feelings for Lorne’s partner. But Grunhilda had never been one for sugarcoating things, and he knew better than to hold back now.

"Briswen," he said softly, the name almost strange on his tongue. "Her partner’s name is Briswen, and…" He trailed off, unsure of how to explain the complicated knot in his chest. "I think it’s time for me to step aside. I can’t hold onto something that’s already slipping through my fingers."

Grunhilda sat back in her chair, her expression unreadable as she absorbed this new information. She gave a small, knowing nod, as if she had suspected there was more to the story than Caelum had let on. After a few moments of silence, she spoke again, her tone softer but still filled with the weight of her experience.

"Love’s a hard thing," Grunhilda said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of experience. "I’m not gonna pretend I understand everything going on between the three of you. But I do know this—if you feel like it’s time to let go, then you have to do it. You can’t keep holding onto something just because it’s what you thought you wanted."

Caelum nodded, feeling the depth of her words. They hit him in a place he hadn’t even known was sore. A quiet ache settled in his chest, one that was hard to place. Her words felt like a tight knot he didn’t know how to untangle, but also a release, as though he had been holding his breath for too long. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but it was true—he couldn’t keep holding onto something that was already slipping away. He had to let go. He had to.

"I know," he said, his voice soft, barely a whisper. "I still want to help them get across the border. You know the church isn’t going to accept their love."

Grunhilda’s expression hardened for a moment, her eyes narrowing with the kind of understanding that only time and hardship could bring. She set her tankard down on the table, her large, calloused hands steady and deliberate. "Aye," she said, her tone taking on a sharp edge. "The church has no room for what doesn’t fit their idea of purity. But if that’s what makes them happy, then so be it." She paused, then gave a heavy sigh, as if the weight of the world pressed on her shoulders. "I can’t say I understand it all, that love thing. But... if they’re willing to risk everything for each other, then maybe there’s something to it after all."

Caelum felt a tightness in his chest as he heard the older woman’s words. She wasn’t one to speak softly about these things, but there was something in her voice now—something that softened the edges of her usual hardness. She understood, in her own way.

"So, we need to get across the border," Grunhilda said, shifting the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Do you know where you want to go? We need a plan."

Caelum shifted uncomfortably in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn’t thought much about the details. His mind had been too clouded with emotion, with the aching need to leave, to get them all to safety. "I don’t really know what other clan cities there are," he admitted. "But if we can find refuge behind the Wall of Serkoth, we’ll be safe from Tarric."

Grunhilda’s brow furrowed, the name striking a chord. "The exomancer that decimated our army?" she asked, her voice rough, edged with the pain of that memory.

"Yeah," Caelum said, his voice barely above a murmur. "Tarric. I don’t know if there’s any place safer than there."

The silence that hung between them was thick, weighted with unspoken understanding. Grunhilda studied him for a long moment, her stormy grey eyes fixed on him as if trying to measure the depth of his conviction. She knew the kind of man Caelum was—determined, willing to fight for those he cared about. And yet, there was a sadness in him now that hadn’t been there before. She could see it in the set of his shoulders, in the weariness in his eyes.

"That’s as good a plan as anything," she said, her voice gruff but approving. "Serkoth’s as safe a place as we’ll find. Not many are willing to risk crossing into those lands, what with the border patrols and the aetherbeasts. But if you’re set on it, then I’ll stand by it."

She stood up then, her movements slow and deliberate, like the weight of her words had settled on her shoulders too. "We should leave as soon as possible," she continued, her voice steady now, the fire of her resolve rekindling. "The winter’s only going to get worse. You don’t want to face the aetherbeasts that lurk in the winter evening. We’d be fools to wait any longer."

Caelum nodded, his mind racing with the implications of her words. He knew she was right—winter would bring its own dangers, and every day they delayed, the risk of being caught in the open grew higher. The threat of the aetherbeasts was always looming, and the harsh winter would only make them more dangerous, more relentless.

"We’ll need to be ready to leave within the next three days," Grunhilda added, her voice resolute. "Get your things packed, talk to Lorne, make sure everyone’s ready. I’ll take care of some things here, make sure we’ve got the supplies we need."

Caelum stood, his thoughts settling into a new kind of clarity. The path ahead wasn’t easy, but it was the only path they had. He knew that Grunhilda was right—there was no more time to waste. They had to leave. They had to go before the winter closed in on them entirely.

"Three days," Caelum said, his voice steady now, carrying a newfound determination. "We’ll be ready."

Grunhilda nodded and Caelum left. As he left the inn to meet the darkness outside, he realised he didn’t know where he should stay. Perhaps it was time for a visit with his parents. One last time. Never to see 

them again.

Caelum walked briskly through the snow-covered streets, his breath clouding in the frigid air. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the town as he made his way to his parents' cottage. He hadn’t expected to return here so soon—if at all. But after speaking with Grunhilda, and the gnawing weight of uncertainty pressing down on him, he knew he couldn’t leave without seeing his mother one last time.

As he approached the cottage, the warm glow of the lanterns in the window offered a faint, comforting welcome. He paused at the door, his hand hovering over the worn wood. The last time he had been here, it felt like a lifetime ago. He hadn’t expected the war, the changing alliances, or the strange turn his life had taken with Lorne. But now, everything was different.

He knocked, once, then waited. The door creaked open after a long moment, revealing his mother, Teyva, her face a mixture of surprise and disbelief. Her eyes widened as she saw him standing there, her calloused hand instinctively reaching up to her mouth.

She was a tall woman, where Caelum got his height from. She had a stocky build, with thick arms from working for the forges.

"Caelum?" Her voice was hoarse, as though she hadn’t expected to see him for months, let alone in the dead of night. "What are you doing here? What happened?"

He forced a smile, though it felt strained. "I—uh, We lost a battle. Badly. The army’s been disbanded. They sent us all home. I didn’t want to worry you, so I didn’t write." He could feel the lie leave his mouth as easily as the truth, though he wasn’t sure how long it would hold. The last thing he wanted was to cause her more worry.

Her face softened, though concern still flickered in her eyes. "Lost a battle? Caelum, I... I haven’t heard anything. The war’s been raging for so long, I didn’t think—" She shook her head, clearly overwhelmed by the suddenness of his arrival. She stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. "You should have written. I—I thought something happened to you. It’s been months, Caelum."

He stepped inside, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and herbs filling the room. His mother closed the door behind him and then moved to the hearth, her hands trembling slightly as she stoked the fire.

"I didn’t mean to worry you," Caelum said, his voice softer now as he took a seat by the fire. "I just... I didn’t want to trouble you with the details. It’s been... hard."

She didn’t reply immediately, her gaze fixed on the crackling fire, as if the flames were a source of comfort. After a long silence, she spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "How bad was it, Caelum? What’s really going on? I’ve heard rumors, you know. People are saying strange things are happening. They say the border's been fortified, and that things aren’t... aren’t as they should be."

He could feel the weight of her words press down on him. She was right to ask—things weren’t as they should be. But he couldn’t tell her everything, not now, not with so much at stake. He couldn’t reveal the full truth. He couldn’t burden her with the harsh reality of the his crisis of faith, of what had really happened. Instead, he kept his explanation vague.

"We... we were hit hard. The army’s in disarray, and they’ve called it quits. They told us to head home, to get out of the way." He rubbed his hands together, as if trying to dispel the cold he could feel seeping into his bones. "I didn’t want to stay in the camp any longer. It didn’t feel right."

His mother nodded slowly, her face a mixture of relief and sorrow. "I don’t understand why you went off to fight in the first place. There was never a reason for it, Caelum. You had a home here. You had... you had me."

He clenched his jaw, unable to meet her gaze. She was right. He hadn’t explained, hadn’t even tried to make her understand. And now, standing here with her in the dim glow of the hearth, the weight of his decisions felt more suffocating than ever.

"I’m sorry," he muttered, but the words didn’t feel like enough. "I... I thought it was the right thing. I thought I was doing what I had to do."

His mother sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the years, the worry, and the silence that had hung between them. "I just want you safe, Caelum. That’s all I’ve ever wanted."

"I know, Ma," he said, his voice quiet. "I know. I didn’t mean to make things harder for you."

She shook her head, brushing a hand over her face. "You can’t change the past, Caelum. But you’re here now, and that’s what matters."

He nodded, trying to steady himself. He had so much to say, so many things he hadn’t figured out, but the words felt locked inside him. He wasn’t sure what the future held. And the more he tried to look ahead, the harder it was to find the answers.

"Where is Pa?" he asked after a pause, his voice faltering slightly as he tried to keep his tone casual. 

His mother hesitated, her expression dropping further. “He’s been missing for weeks. The church came by and said there was a… a sickness in the land. Said he needed to be taken away for a few days to get cured. I haven’t seen him since and the clergy won’t tell me anything.”

Caelum’s stomach twisted as he absorbed his mother’s words. He could feel the familiar weight of worry pressing down on him, but now it was mixed with confusion. His father missing? The church involved? Something didn’t sit right with him. His mind raced, but he struggled to piece together what it could all mean.

He fought to keep his voice steady, though it cracked slightly as he spoke. “Sickness? What kind of sickness? I… I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t they tell you more?”

His mother’s eyes clouded with a mixture of frustration and helplessness. She looked down at the hearth, her hands wringing the fabric of her sleeves, and Caelum could see the tears threatening to spill over. "They wouldn’t tell me anything," she repeated, her voice strained. "They said it was something contagious, that he had to be taken away for his safety and the safety of others. But it didn’t make sense, Caelum. They said he would be back soon, that they would send word. But nothing. No letters, no visits. It’s like he just disappeared."

Caelum’s heart pounded in his chest. This wasn’t right. He had never heard of the church sending someone away for treatment and then not following through with communication, especially not for something as vague as "sickness." The feeling of unease grew stronger, gnawing at the back of his mind like a persistent shadow.

"Have you tried looking for him?" Caelum asked, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. He knew the answer already—she wouldn’t be sitting here so lost if she’d had any leads. But the question slipped out of him anyway, desperation clawing at him.

"I went to the church," she said, her voice quiet but sharp, like a knife slipping between clenched teeth. "I asked the priests and the clergy about him. I begged them to tell me where he was. But they just told me he was being 'treated'—and that I wasn’t allowed to see him. They’ve kept their doors closed to me since. No one will say anything more."

Her words echoed in Caelum’s mind, and he felt the truth settle heavily on him. This wasn’t just some misunderstanding or a sickness that had kept his father away. Something was wrong. The church had done something, hidden something, and now his father was caught in the middle of it.

"Do you think he’s still alive?" The question slipped from his lips before he could stop it, though he regretted it immediately. He didn’t want to voice the thought that had been gnawing at him since he’d walked through the door—what if his father wasn’t coming back?

His mother’s eyes darted to him, and for the first time since he’d arrived, her expression cracked. The carefully controlled composure she had worn since he’d walked in shattered, and her gaze faltered, her hands trembling. “I don’t know,” she whispered, a strangled sob catching in her throat. "I don’t know, Caelum."

Caelum felt a sickening twist in his chest, the helplessness in her voice twisting something deep inside him. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but he could only sit there in the suffocating silence that followed.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, her lips pressing together as if she were trying to hold everything together. "I’ve been trying not to think the worst, trying to tell myself he’s just somewhere, getting better. But... when the days pass like this and there’s no word—how am I supposed to keep pretending everything’s fine?"

The silence stretched between them again, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Caelum swallowed, forcing the lump in his throat down. His mind raced. The church—why would they take his father like this? And why wouldn’t they let his mother see him? There was something far more sinister at play here than just a simple illness.

“There’s been others too.” His mother’s voice was barely a breath, the words fragile, like she was afraid saying them too loud might make them more real. “Almost all the Lekine in the village were declared ‘sick,’ and they haven’t been seen in almost a month. Others too. The village is almost half gone.”

Caelum’s blood ran cold.

Half the village. Just gone.

He could hear the words, could understand them, but it was like his mind refused to let the truth of it settle in. These were people he had grown up with. Neighbors, friends, elders who had told stories by the fire, children who had played in the streets, laughing and chasing each other without a care in the world. People who had lived here for generations, their whole lives woven into this land, into this village, into him. And now, they had vanished under the church’s mercy, swept away like dead leaves in the wind.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight.

And he was going to abandon them.

The thought twisted inside him like a blade, sharp and ugly. He was leaving—fleeing across the border while the people he cared about were being stolen in the dead of night, taken to whatever cure

the church had decided they needed.But what could he do?

He was barely out of his teens, just another soldier lost in a war too big for him to change. He had no power, no rank, no standing. His training was solid enough—he knew how to hold a blade, how to fight, how to survive—but that wasn’t enough to challenge something as massive as the church. Even his tidal augments, as useful as they were, wouldn’t make a difference against an enemy that could take people without ever drawing a sword.

He could stay.

He could try to fight, try to stand against whatever was happening here.

But he would lose.

And then he’d be another name whispered in a grieving mother’s house.

His fingers dug into his palms, his nails biting deep enough to hurt.

He didn’t want to run.

But if he was going to have any chance of helping, of making something out of this mess, he needed to survive first.

And he wasn’t leaving alone.

His mind drifted, unbidden, to Lorne. The sting of it was still fresh—raw and aching, as if the wound had only just been carved into him. Because it had.

Hours ago, he had still been engaged. Hours ago, he had still believed in a future with her.

Now, that future was gone.

She had chosen someone else. Briswen.

He should have been angry. Maybe he was. But beneath the grief, beneath the hollow ache of loss, there was something stronger—something that made the bitterness taste like ash in his mouth.

He still cared.

Even after everything, he couldn’t just leave her behind. He couldn’t leave either of them behind.

Lorne and Briswen needed to get across the border, just like he did. Whatever future they had, it wasn’t here—not under the shadow of the church, not in a village being swallowed piece by piece.

Maybe on the other side of the border, he could find something new for himself too. A place where he wasn’t just another soldier, another son who had failed his father, another man left behind by the woman he loved.

Maybe he could find a new purpose. A new life. A new love.

It didn’t have to be a woman.

If Lorne could find happiness with another woman, then what was stopping him from doing the same with a man? The thought didn’t unsettle him. If anything, it was the first thing that had felt right all day.

But none of that mattered if they didn’t make it out.

He had to go.

And he had to take them with him.

He would go, cross the border. Take Lorne and Briswen to a place where they can be free to love. Free to live. All with Grunhilda by his side. 

But he needed to look into this first. Look for his father. He should talk to Grunhilda about it. He didn’t want to change plans, but he couldn’t leave as is.

He refused.