Mother of Midnight

Chapter 209 – Hazed

Storm left the tent with a feeling of quiet resignation. She adjusted the tightness of her pants, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to her skin, and pulled them up, though the discomfort barely registered. Her mind was elsewhere, tangled in a web of thoughts and emotions she didn’t quite understand.

The scarred woman had been insistent. No, not just insistent. Desperate even. But Storm didn’t mind that. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. Hara had strength, she had skill, and she had a mind as sharp as any blade. All the right qualities, as far as Storm was concerned.

Hara had pushed her, and Storm had let herself be pushed. It had been… fine. A transaction, more than anything. She couldn’t call it anything more than that. She had responded in kind, following her instincts, doing what was necessary to fulfill her own needs. Hara had been loud, and had made sure everyone in the camp knew that Storm was an excellent partner. That was fine too, Storm was of a fine breed..

And yet, Storm couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

Her skin still tingled with the aftermath, the mark of Hara’s touch still lingering, but it wasn’t right. Something had felt… off. Storm couldn’t quite place it. The familiar urges that had awoken in her during the act had been there, yes, but they hadn’t been as satisfying as they should have been. It was like trying to hold onto something you couldn’t quite grasp. The energy had been there, yes, but it slipped away too easily, like water through her fingers.

She kept trying to grab for something that wasn’t there—something that should have been there. Her fingers had reached out in vain for horns, a sensation that should have been familiar, but Hara didn’t have horns. She kept bracing herself for claw marks, anticipating the sharpness of claws that never came, because Hara didn’t have claws either. The lack of those things—those touches, those primal instincts that she had come to associate with passion—left her feeling empty in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

Still, the deed had done its job for now. The urges had been quieted, and that had been the point, hadn’t it? That was all she needed, wasn’t it?

Storm let out an annoyed huff, arms crossing tightly over her chest. Hara had been unsatisfying, and if the woman lacked what she needed, then Storm would simply have to look elsewhere. There were other warriors, other potential mates. Someone had to have what she was looking for. Someone had to be right.

Still, the thought only frustrated her further.

She strode past the edge of the fire’s warmth, the flickering orange glow giving way to the cold blue hush of the night. A crisp layer of snow crunched beneath her boots as she settled herself down a good two dozen paces from the camp. She didn’t bother brushing the frost away before sitting; the cold didn’t concern her.

The camp was mostly silent, save for the occasional murmur of conversation from the two on watch—Bethiel and Jurren. They sat near each other, talking in hushed tones, but neither spared her a glance. That was fine. She didn’t need their attention.

Apparently, they’d be arriving in Serkoth within the week. She had half-listened earlier when the topic had come up. There was talk of inviting her to join their mercenary company—a casual offer, not quite an invitation, but one extended with the expectation that she might say yes.

She wouldn’t.

Storm had no interest in playing at mercenary work. She wasn’t looking for coin or camaraderie, only battle. She wanted to fight, to carve a path through her enemies, to do what she was meant to do. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And yet… something was missing.

Her brow furrowed as the thought struck her again.

Her battles had never felt lonely before, had they? She couldn’t recall. Her memory was fractured—flashes of blood and steel, of the thrill of combat, of satisfaction in victory—but there had always been something there, something she could not name. A presence beside her. A force that matched her stride for stride. It was like hearing the echo of a voice she had long since forgotten, a whisper at the back of her mind that refused to be ignored.

Had she fought alongside someone before?

She tensed, her breath curling in the frozen air, and her eyes darted toward the sound of approaching footsteps.

Jurren.

The old mercenary’s heavy boots crunched over the snow as he made his way toward her. Storm didn’t move, watching as he stopped just a few paces away, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

“You alright?”

His voice was gruff but not unkind. He was an older warrior, past his prime but still sharp, still dangerous. She had respected him from the moment they met—not because of his strength, but because he had survived. Forty years of mercenary work, forty years of battle, and he still stood. He carried his scars with neither pride nor shame, simply as facts of his existence. That was something she could understand.

He had been wary of her at first, just as most of them had been. That wasn’t unusual. Few people were comfortable around her at first meeting. But as the days passed and they fought side by side, he had softened. Just a little.

Storm grunted in response.

Jurren let out a quiet sigh, then lowered himself to the ground beside her, shifting slightly as he adjusted to the cold.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted, resting his arms on his knees. “But if you have something on your mind, I’ll listen.”

Storm said nothing at first. She sat still, staring out into the dark expanse beyond the camp, the vastness of the world stretching endlessly before her.

The wind howled low through the trees, rustling the branches. The night was cold, quiet, expectant.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” she finally muttered.

Jurren glanced at her but didn’t push. He simply waited.

Storm shifted, her tail twitching slightly behind her, the irritation in her chest still stubbornly refusing to fade. “Something’s missing,” she admitted. “Something that should be there. But I don’t know what it is.”

Jurren was silent for a long moment, considering her words.

“Memories?” he asked eventually.

Storm exhaled sharply through her nose. “Maybe.”

She wasn’t sure.

The flashes that came to her weren’t clear enough to piece together. Feelings, impressions, instincts—they clung to her like the lingering scent of a storm long passed. She remembered the exhilaration of battle, the rightness of it, the way her blood had always sung with purpose. But now? Now something had shifted.

It was like trying to walk with an unseen weight on her back, like a song missing its final note.

Jurren tilted his head slightly. “You’ve been quiet since we left the last town. Even more than usual.”

Storm frowned. Had she? She hadn’t noticed.

He gave her a pointed look. “And I don’t mean just because of Hara.”

Her frown deepened. “That has nothing to do with it.”

Jurren let out a short chuckle. “If you say so.” He rubbed at his scarred knuckles, his tone turning thoughtful. “But you’re chasing something. That much is clear.”

Storm didn’t argue.

Chasing.

Yes. That was the word for it, wasn’t it? She was chasing something. Something that had been with her before but was now just beyond her grasp.

Jurren sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve seen it before. Fighters who’ve lost something important but don’t realize it. It’s like a piece of their soul’s gone missing, and nothing else quite fits right after.”

Storm clenched her jaw, the words hitting harder than she expected.

A piece of her soul.

Her claws curled into the snow beside her, the cold biting against her fingertips. She wanted to reject the idea outright, to dismiss it as nonsense, but the truth of it settled deep in her gut.

She had lost something.

Someone.

The thought sent a strange shiver down her spine.

Someone had fought beside her. She was sure of it. Someone with horns, with claws, with—

She shook her head sharply, hissing in irritation. The image wouldn’t come. The name wouldn’t come. But she could feel the absence of it as keenly as an open wound.

Jurren watched her, patient but unrelenting.

Storm exhaled slowly, forcing herself to push the frustration down. “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “I’ll figure it out.”

Jurren gave a noncommittal grunt. “Maybe. Or maybe you already know what it is but don’t want to say it out loud.”

Storm shot him a sharp look, but he just smirked slightly, shaking his head.

“Doesn’t matter either way,” he said, pushing himself up with a grunt. “It’ll catch up to you eventually.”

She watched as he dusted the snow from his pants and started back toward the camp.

Storm stayed where she was, staring out into the night.

The gnawing emptiness was still there, coiling deep in her chest.

A name refused to come to her lips.

But she knew, somehow, that she had already found what she was looking for.

And she had let it slip away.

The road stretched ahead, lined with bare-branched trees and patches of old snow clinging stubbornly to the earth. The mercenary band moved at a steady pace, their breath misting in the cold air, but the quiet of the morning was quickly shattered.

“Hey, Hara! Thanks for making us all late to sleep last night!” Gunter called out, grinning like a wolf.

Hara nearly tripped over her own boots. “Oh, shut up! I wasn’t that loud!” she snapped, though the red creeping up her face did her no favors.

“Oh no, you were,” Jurren said, barely holding back a chuckle. “I’m pretty sure the town two leagues ahead already heard you. Hope you weren’t planning on keeping it a secret.”

The others chuckled, and Hara groaned, rubbing a hand down her face. “Gods, you’re all insufferable.”

“It’s not our fault you decided to take the new girl for a spin while on the job,” Gunter teased, nudging her elbow. “You couldn’t wait until we were off duty?”

Hara huffed but still refused to meet his gaze. “I didn’t hear any complaints last night.”

Jurren let out a wheezy laugh. “No, but I do think we heard a couple of prayers.”

That got a round of snickers from the group, but Hara just shook her head. “Listen, I wasn’t expecting her to be—” She gestured vaguely, lips pressing into a thin line before she sighed. “That equipped.”

A brief pause. Then Gunter whistled low. “That bad, huh?”

“That shocking,” Hara corrected, still looking slightly dazed. “I mean, you hear stories, right? About some women being like that, but I always figured it was one of those ‘friend-of-a-friend’ tall tales.” She exhaled through her nose. “Nope. Very real.”

That set the others off laughing again, and even Hara let out a sheepish chuckle.

“Oh no,” Gunter grinned, “not only was it real, it broke you, didn’t it?”

Hara’s ears flicked back slightly, the memory flashing through her mind far too vividly. She ran a hand through her short hair, sighing. “Listen. I’ve been with plenty of people. But I was not prepared for that.”

Jurren smirked. “Didn’t think you could be caught off guard so easily.”

“It wasn’t just the… logistics,” Hara muttered, crossing her arms. “She knew what she was doing. Like, I went in thinking I was gonna be in charge of things. Next thing I know, my legs don’t work, I’ve forgotten how to breathe, and I’m making noises I didn’t even know I could make.”

That was the final straw. The group howled with laughter, with Gunter actually having to wipe at his eyes.

“Oh, shut up!” Hara groaned, but she couldn’t fight the heat creeping up her ears.

“I just—I just can’t believe we’re finally seeing you speechless,” Jurren wheezed.

“I am not speechless!”

“You are completely speechless.”

Hara huffed, speeding up her pace. “You’re all just jealous.”

“Damn right we are,” Gunter admitted. “Sounded like we were missing out!”

“Shut. Up.”

“Storm doesn’t seem to mind!” Betheil called out, their grin full of mischief. “Hey, Storm! How was tangling with Hara in the furs?”

Storm barely glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “Sufficient,” she grunted, then turned back to the road as if the conversation was already beneath her notice.

Silence hung for just a beat before Gunter let out a booming laugh. “Hear that, Hara? Sufficient!” He practically wheezed between chuckles. “Damn, I think I’d rather be insulted.”

Jurren snorted. “Nothing like a glowing review to make a girl feel special.”

Hara groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, dragging her fingers through her short-cropped hair as if sheer frustration alone would cleanse her of this humiliation.

“I’m never going to live this down, am I?” she asked, though the answer was obvious.

Gunter slapped a hand on her shoulder, grinning ear to ear. “Not a chance.”

Betheil flashed her a toothy smirk. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

Hara shot them a flat look. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t just publicly rated as sufficient.”

Betheil shrugged. “Storm’s a woman of few words. Sufficient might be the highest praise you’ll ever get.”

Jurren tilted his head, eyeing her with amusement. “Was it worth it?”

For a moment, Hara said nothing, crossing her arms with a slow, thoughtful hum. She let them stew, enjoying the anticipation. Then, a mischievous glint sparked in her eyes, and her lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“Oh, damn right it was worth it,” she said, voice dripping with satisfaction. She tilted her head slightly, as if recalling something particularly delicious. “I’ve never seen a man that well-equipped, let alone a woman.” She let the statement hang in the air for effect, grinning when Gunter nearly choked on his own breath.

“Shit,” he coughed. “Are you serious?”

Hara just chuckled, clearly enjoying herself now. “Let’s just say I had to rethink a few things.” She rolled her shoulders, a smug little gleam still dancing in her eyes. “And she knew how to use it, too.”

Betheil whistled low, shaking their head. “Storm out here setting new standards.”

Jurren barked a laugh. “Hope you weren’t planning on going back to ordinary men after that.”

Hara snorted. “After that? Ordinary men might as well not exist.”

That sent them all into a fit of laughter, even as Hara kept her smirk firmly in place. If they were going to tease her about it, she might as well own it.

The teasing lasted well through the day, stretching into the evening as they set up camp. No matter how many times Hara tried to shift the conversation, someone found a way to loop it right back to that topic. Gunter was the worst offender, throwing in an offhand comment every chance he got. Betheil wasn’t much better, nudging her with sly grins and innocent questions that were anything but. Even Jurren, usually the more composed one, couldn’t resist the occasional chuckle at her expense.

By the time the fire was crackling and bedrolls were being laid out, Hara had resigned herself to her fate. They’d milk this for at least another few days—maybe longer if they were feeling particularly obnoxious. She would just have to endure it.

Still, if nothing else, she had one thing to look forward to when they reached the city: a proper bath.

Hara let out a sigh, rolling her shoulders as she crouched near the fire, rubbing her hands together for warmth. She was desperate for a trip to the bathhouse the moment they set foot in Serkoth. There was only so much wiping yourself down with a cloth and some ice water could do, and frankly, she was getting rank.

Not that anyone in their company could complain. They all smelled of sweat, leather, and campfire smoke, and that was before factoring in the distinct stench of the road. They were mercenaries, not nobles, but even Hara had her limits. A real bath—hot water, soap, maybe even a good scrub down—would be a welcome relief.

Winter was finally starting to wane, and within a few weeks, the ice would begin to thaw for good. That meant no more breaking through frost just to splash herself down with freezing water, no more shivering as she scrubbed herself off in the dim light of dawn. Soon, it’d be back to regular cold water—which was still cold, but at least it wouldn’t be like dunking herself into a frozen lake every time she wanted to feel vaguely clean.

She should’ve felt better about that. It was an improvement, after all.

But somehow, the thought didn’t pep her up as much as she’d hoped.

She frowned slightly, staring into the flames, trying to pin down the feeling. It was stupid, really. She should be looking forward to something as simple as warm water, but instead, there was this… odd, nagging sense of absence. Like something was missing, but she couldn’t put her finger on what.

Hara exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe she was just sick of the teasing and wanted a damn break.

Or maybe she just wanted to feel way too damn full again. Walking was overrated.

Either way, Serkoth couldn’t come fast enough.