Mother of Midnight

Chapter 216 – Mind Made

Caelum had gotten everything he needed from them, so he feigned exhaustion, shifting against the rough bark of a tree as if settling in for rest. He let out a slow, measured breath, closing his eyes just enough to appear at ease while his fingers subtly traced patterns against his knee—silent repetitions of the chants for speed and reflex augmentation. Energy stirred beneath his skin, the aether responding to his call, coiling tight in his limbs, sharpening his senses.

It felt dishonorable to strike them in their sleep, but he had no choice. There was distance to cover, and he couldn’t afford to let them slow him down.

Aegis had sent hunters after them. Multiple squads. That meant this wasn’t just a mission—it was a pursuit, a concerted effort to corner Vivienne before she could slip beyond their grasp. Soldiers would have been less of an issue; they moved with structure, predictable and rigid. But hunters—hunters were adaptable. They tracked, they stalked, they specialized in bringing down the unknown and the dangerous.

Still, they were trained to fight aetherbeasts. Not champions.

He exhaled quietly, rolling his shoulders before pushing himself up with deliberate slowness. The tree creaked faintly as he shifted, but the sound was lost beneath the crackling of the fire. Around him, the others remained still, their breathing deep and steady.

His steps were silent as he crossed the camp, approaching the man on watch. He didn’t know his name and was content to keep it that way.

Knowing their names made it harder.

The man barely stirred, his attention on the darkness beyond their small circle of light. He turned his head slightly at Caelum’s approach, brows furrowing.

“Can’t sleep, paladin?” he asked, his voice coarse from disuse.

Caelum forced a weary chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Nerves are getting to me. You should have seen what it did. I’ve killed aetherbeasts before, but… this one really is different.”

The hunter’s posture stiffened with interest. “You said it could talk, right?”

“Yeah.” Caelum let out a breath, shaking his head. “She is much kinder than she gives herself credit for.”

The man frowned. “What—”

His words were cut short as Caelum’s gauntleted hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him in an instant. The cold bite of steel pierced his heart, and his body jerked in protest. For a moment, his hands scrabbled weakly at Caelum’s wrist, then the fight left him as his strength drained away.

Caelum held him there, steady, ensuring it was done cleanly. Ensuring it was quiet.

Caelum moved swiftly, his boots gliding over the dirt without a sound as he approached the nearest tent. The fabric billowed slightly with the steady rhythm of breath inside—Harlan’s.

He didn’t hesitate. In a single fluid motion, he lifted his blade, angling it for a killing thrust. The fabric parted with barely a whisper as the steel plunged downward—

But Harlan’s eyes snapped open.

Instinct, experience, or sheer luck—whatever it was, it saved him. He twisted sharply to the side, the blade carving through the bedroll where his chest had been an instant before. Caelum felt the resistance of cloth and stuffing give way beneath his strike, but no flesh.

Harlan reacted fast. His hand darted for the knife at his belt, even as his other braced against the ground to shove himself away. His breath came in a sharp, startled gasp, but there was no time to cry out. The tent was too small for wild movements, both of them tangled in a mess of fabric and shadow.

Caelum wrenched his blade free and adjusted his grip, prepared to strike again before Harlan could fully recover.

The quiet of the camp was shattered. Fabric rustled, voices stirred—footsteps thudded against the ground as the others roused. So much for doing this quietly.

Caelum barely had a moment to adjust before Harlan sucked in a breath and bellowed, “The paladin is a traitor!” His voice rang through the night, raw with urgency.

Damn it.

Caelum struck without hesitation. He pulled back, then slashed forward in a sharp, decisive arc, his blade hissing through the air. Harlan twisted, the edge missing his chest by a hair’s breadth. The wiry man’s reflexes were quick—too quick. He landed lightly, boots skidding across the dirt, and brandished his shortblade in a low, ready stance.

Harlan’s breathing was steady, his grip firm. He wasn’t panicking—he was measuring Caelum, waiting for the next move. The firelight danced across the blade in his hand, his stance balanced, ready to counter.

Then the others arrived.

Weska emerged first, boots pounding against the dirt as she stepped into the fray, her axe already in hand. Janna was just behind her, a long knife gleaming in each hand, her expression sharp with focus. Another man—broad-shouldered, carrying a longsword—came from the other side of the camp, cutting off Caelum’s options for retreat.

“Figures,” Weska growled, eyes narrowing. “Didn’t like you from the start.”

Caelum flicked his gaze between them. Four against one now, with more stirring in the camp. If he gave them time, the numbers would turn against him.

He had to be faster.

Harlan lunged, testing him, but Caelum pivoted, deflecting the strike with a sharp parry and twisting his body to deliver a brutal kick to the hunter’s ribs. Harlan grunted, stumbling back, but Weska was already moving, swinging her axe in a heavy, downward arc.

Caelum sidestepped, the weapon biting deep into the dirt where he’d stood just a moment before. He retaliated instantly, his sword flashing as he thrust toward her side—but Janna was there, knives striking out to intercept his attack.

He barely managed to twist away before the broad-shouldered man came in from the flank, swinging his longsword in a brutal, cleaving strike. Caelum ducked under it, rolling to the side to create distance, but they were pressing him hard, trying to hem him in.

Weska bared her teeth. “You’re fast, I’ll give you that. But it won’t save you.”

Caelum exhaled, his mind already racing ahead. He wasn’t going to let them dictate this fight. If they thought they could corner him, they were about to be sorely mistaken.

Caelum didn't answer. Talking wouldn't change the fact that they were all going to die.

Janna struck first, lunging with both knives aimed for his ribs. He twisted, letting one blade graze the metal of his gauntlet while knocking the other aside with the flat of his sword. She was fast, her movements fluid, but he was faster. He flicked his wrist, angling for her throat, but she dropped low at the last second, rolling away before he could capitalize.

The broad-shouldered man came next, stepping in with a brutal downward slash meant to split him in two. Caelum sidestepped, the longsword carving through the air where he had just been. Before the man could recover, Caelum struck—a quick, vicious thrust toward the gap in his leather armor. But the hunter was disciplined. He twisted, catching the blade with his own, and drove his weight forward to try and overpower him.

Caelum let him push—just for a moment—then suddenly stepped back, letting the man stumble forward. He capitalized immediately, driving his knee into his gut. The hunter coughed, staggering, and Caelum snapped his blade upward in a ruthless arc.

Blood sprayed into the firelight as the man’s throat was split open. He gasped, clutching at his ruined neck, and collapsed with a gurgling choke.

“Damn it!” Janna snarled. She darted in again, this time feinting low before striking high. Caelum barely shifted in time, her blade catching the edge of his shoulder plate. A lucky strike, but not a deep one. He retaliated with a savage elbow to her jaw, sending her reeling.

Harlan was already moving, slashing in a blur of motion, aiming for any opening he could find. Caelum met him with raw efficiency, parrying each strike, adjusting his footwork as Harlan tried to maneuver around him. The wiry man was good—he kept his movements tight, his blade never overextending—but he was used to fighting beasts, not people.

Caelum exploited it. On the next exchange, he feinted, making it seem as though he was committing to a forward strike. Harlan reacted instantly, trying to sidestep—exactly as Caelum had intended.

He spun instead, his blade carving through the space where Harlan had moved. The tip bit into his side, slicing deep. Harlan cursed, staggering back, but Caelum didn’t give him the chance to recover. He surged forward, slamming his palm into Harlan’s chest and driving his sword into his gut.

Harlan let out a breathless grunt, his eyes going wide. He tried to say something, but Caelum twisted the blade, then wrenched it free, and the hunter crumpled.

Janna, still dazed from the blow to her jaw, barely had time to process what had happened before Caelum was on her. She tried to dodge, but he caught her wrist, yanking her off balance and driving his sword through her sternum. Her breath hitched, a final, shuddering gasp before her body went limp.

That left Weska.

She hadn’t moved. She just stood there, gripping her axe tightly, her expression unreadable.

Caelum tilted his head. “Nothing to say?”

She exhaled sharply through her nose, her grip tightening on her weapon. “I knew something was off about you.”

“I really am sorry about this,” he offered, his voice calm as he stepped lightly to the side, circling her. His blade remained steady in his grasp, but he made no immediate move to strike. Not yet.

“Traitor.” She spat the word like venom.

“Indeed,” he admitted easily. “And I was made a champion for it.”

That gave her pause. He saw it in the way her brows knit together, the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

“Lies,” she bit out, but there was hesitation in her voice now.

He was stalling. He knew he was. He shouldn’t be. He needed to cut her down and move on, leave no loose ends. The longer he lingered, the more risk he took. But Yenhr save him, he hated what was needed of him.

He let out a quiet sigh. “Doesn’t matter.”

Then he moved.

Caelum lunged forward in a burst of speed, blade angled for a killing thrust. Weska reacted instantly, throwing herself to the side in a tight roll. She hit the ground hard but sprang back to her feet with startling agility for her age, her stance shifting, her weapon already raised.

Deceptively athletic. He should have expected nothing less.

She was fast, much faster than he had anticipated. As she rose to her feet, her weapon swung in a wide arc, aiming for his midsection. Caelum twisted his body, just barely avoiding the blow. The edge of her blade caught the side of his armor, scraping across the metal with a high-pitched screech.

Caelum retaliated immediately, swinging his blade downward. Weska sidestepped, her footwork fluid as she maneuvered around him, closing the distance. He had underestimated her, and now he paid the price.

She thrust forward, but he was ready this time. He parried her strike with the flat of his blade, the force of the impact pushing him back a step. Before he could regain his balance, Weska was already on him again, her attack coming from the side, aiming for his exposed ribs.

Caelum barely managed to deflect it, but the strike still grazed his side, a sharp pain flaring through him. The blood began to flow, but it wasn’t deep enough to slow him down. He was quicker now, his focus razor-sharp.

He feigned a stumble, allowing Weska to close the gap, and when she struck again, he pivoted, driving his shoulder into her chest and knocking her off balance.

She grunted, momentarily winded, but before he could capitalize, she recovered with surprising speed, dropping into a low crouch. With a growl, she lunged forward, her blade aiming for his throat.

Caelum barely had time to react. He shifted his weight, feeling the tip of her blade nick the edge of his neck. The warmth of his own blood trickled down, but he wasn’t finished yet.

With one swift motion, he spun, twisting his blade in a diagonal arc to block hers, pushing her back with the full force of his momentum. She staggered, her eyes narrowing, but there was no time for hesitation. She knew better.

“Not bad,” she snarled, breathless but far from defeated.

“You too,” he replied, his voice steady despite the heat of the moment.

But he was done stalling. With a growl of his own, he surged forward, driving his blade in a precise, lethal strike. This time, Weska didn’t dodge in time.

Her weapon caught his in a last-ditch attempt to parry, but the force of his strike overwhelmed her. His blade found its mark, cutting across her arm before she could fully block it. She hissed in pain, and Caelum pressed forward, pushing her back step by step, determined to end it.

She wasn’t the only one who could be deceptive. As her foot slid back on the slick ground, he saw an opening. With a final push, he moved in, his sword darting for her heart.

Weska’s eyes widened, but she didn’t back down. She gritted her teeth, knowing the fight was over. She was skilled, but not enough.

And with a final, swift strike, Caelum ended it.

Weska collapsed to the ground, her breath coming in short, labored gasps. Blood seeped from the wound in her chest, staining the earth beneath her.

For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the dying fire.

Caelum stood over her, his breathing steady but his heart heavy. He had won, but it felt like little victory at all.

“At least your body will be recoverable, lucky it was me.” He said humourlessly. “Good luck in the next life.”

Caelum exhaled sharply, wiping his blade clean on a fallen hunter’s cloak before sheathing it. The camp was eerily quiet now, the only sounds the crackling fire and the distant chirping of night insects. He had to move quickly—there was no telling how soon the other squads would check in.

He knelt by Weska’s body first, rifling through the pouches on her belt. A flask, some dried rations, a whetstone—nothing useful. He moved to her coat, fingers searching the inner lining until they brushed against something stiff. A folded sheet of parchment.

Caelum pulled it free and unfolded it, eyes scanning the rough scribbles. Orders. Mentions of multiple squads, scattered trails, and—there. A mark for a rendezvous point, due for a check-in at dawn. That gave him a timeframe.

He tucked the parchment into his belt and continued searching. If they had been coordinating with other groups, they must have had a way to send signals. His eyes darted around the camp, landing on a small leather case near Weska’s bedroll. He pried it open and found a flare tube nestled inside, along with two colored flares. Red and blue.

Red for danger. Blue for confirmation.

That was his guess. If the other squads were expecting updates, he could manipulate that.

Caelum took the blue flare and tucked it away before rising to his feet. He had what he needed. Now, he had to put distance between himself and this camp before the next hunters came sniffing around.