Mother of Midnight

Chapter 217 – Like Old Times

Tarric scribbled furiously, his quill scratching against the parchment in erratic strokes. The frustration gnawed at him—two days. Rava had been home for two days, and it was heartbreaking to see how... changed she was. The way she carried herself, the strange way she spoke at times, the absence of something in her eyes—it was undeniable.

He had his suspicions the moment he saw her, but after scanning her body, those suspicions had crystallized into something far more unsettling. She had died. And somehow, she had come back.

The sheer amount of aether composing her body was staggering. She was almost entirely made of it now. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he might have missed the last slivers of what was once purely flesh and blood. In a way, it reminded him of someone else.

Vivienne.

That thought sent a shiver through him. The sentient nightmare was the only other entity he had encountered who was this saturated with aether, and he still wasn’t entirely sure what she was. He had never had the opportunity—or rather, the audacity—to scan Vivienne. That would have been reckless. And, frankly, dangerous. He doubted he’d get a second chance if she took offense to the intrusion.

Still, this wasn’t about Vivienne. This was about Rava. And despite everything, his sister was still in there. Some part of her, at least.

Tarric leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the mess of notes sprawled across his desk. He had been wracking his brain, trying to think of something that could help jog her memory. A method to ground her. Bring her back.

Maybe Mother would know.

The thought soured his mood even further. Their mother had been too busy as of late to address anything outside the war effort. Elrin would likely be called back soon—he had spent too much time in Thalrynn as it was. And Kavren would need to be mobilized to the north before long.

The family was already stretched thin.

He sighed, setting his quill down with a sharp clatter. "Well, time to involve the whole family," he muttered to the empty room.

Pushing himself to his feet, he smoothed the wrinkles from his robes and strode to the far wall, where a sleek array of magitech devices lay embedded in the surface. He pressed his palm against the smooth panel of the one at the end, feeling the slight hum of energy beneath his fingertips.

“I’m calling for a family meeting. Now.”

He hesitated, jaw tightening. They were all busy. They all had responsibilities.

But this was Rava.

“This is important,” he murmured. Then, after another moment of thought, he exhaled sharply and added, “Medium priority.”

There was a delay—a long enough pause that Tarric felt the faintest twinge of doubt. Maybe she wouldn’t answer. Maybe she’d dismiss him. Maybe she wouldn’t care.

Then, finally, Korriva’s voice crackled through the magitech relay, firm but not unkind. “Understood. Family meeting room on the seventh bell.”

Tarric let out a slow breath. That was good. That was something.

The seventh bell rang through the estate, its deep chime reverberating through stone corridors. The family meeting room was a place of quiet authority—simple but dignified, with a heavy circular table at its center and walls lined with maps, reports, and records of past campaigns. Magitech lanterns cast their steady glow, their hum barely audible beneath the weight of expectation in the air.

Tarric stood near the table, hands braced against its polished surface, going over how he’d say it. Rava is back—but not as she was.

The door opened. Kavren was the first to arrive, his heavy footfalls betraying a slight stiffness in his movements. He looked like he hadn’t rested properly in days, but there was nothing sluggish about the way his sharp blue eyes settled on Tarric. “This better not be a waste of time,” he muttered, though not unkindly. He pulled a chair back and dropped into it with a sigh.

Narek came in next, his scholar’s robes immaculate despite the rush. He adjusted his spectacles, gaze flicking across the room as if already cataloging everyone’s reactions before they happened. His expression remained carefully neutral as he took his seat.

Torin followed close behind, his presence quieter, more reserved. He carried himself with his head down and his gaze unfocused—though there was always that unspoken weight behind his eyes. He gave a small nod to Tarric before settling into place.

The last to arrive was Daran, the youngest among them. He walked with his usual measured pace, his hands stained with oil and the edges of his clothing frayed with so much work in front of the forge. “Mother,” he greeted Korriva as he passed, then glanced toward Tarric. “You called this meeting. Start talking.”

Korriva, seated at the head of the table, folded her hands before her. “Yes, Tarric. I assume this is important.” Her tone was calm, measured. Pragmatic as always, but not dismissive.

Tarric took a breath. This was it.

“It’s Rava,” he said. “She’s here.”

Kavren exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Yeah, I heard. Is that all? I need to get back to planning for the north.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, irritation plain on his face.

Tarric’s fingers drummed once against the table before he spoke again. “I should say she’s mostly here.” He let the words hang for a moment, watching their expressions shift. “I think she died… and somehow came back.”

A heavy pause.

Korriva studied him, her expression unreadable, then slowly leaned back in her seat. “Elaborate.”

“I was already wondering why she hadn’t reported in,” she continued. “I assumed she was injured, or stubbornly delaying her debrief. But I’ve heard some strange things.”

That caught Narek’s attention. He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, eyes narrowing. “Strange things?”

Korriva nodded. “Rumors. Whispers. A few scattered reports from people at Drakthar.” Her gaze flickered toward Tarric. “And now you’re saying she died?”

Tarric sighed and straightened. “She’s… not the same. She came home two days ago, but it’s like something fundamental has changed. I scanned her. What’s left of her body is almost entirely aether.” He met Korriva’s gaze. “She isn’t just altered. She’s something else now.”

Silence stretched across the room.

Kavren sat up slightly, his irritation fading into something colder. “Are you saying she’s not Rava?”

“No.” Tarric shook his head. “I think she’s still Rava. But she doesn’t remember much. It’s fractured—hazy. She’s different, but there are pieces of her left.” His fingers clenched. “I just don’t know how to bring them back.”

Daran, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke. “How sure are you that she isn’t a threat?”

Oh, Tarric did not like that. His ears flicked back, and a sharp retort rose to his tongue before he could stop it.

“Am I a threat?” he snapped.

A beat of tense silence followed before he exhaled hard, running his paws through his scalp, gripping at the fur as he forced himself to calm down. “Sorry,” he muttered, his tone softer but no less tense. “Just… stressed.”

Kavren leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. “That wasn’t much of an answer.”

Tarric groaned, rubbing at his temples before straightening. “She is easily provoked, I won’t pretend otherwise. But as long as you don’t surprise her or act like a threat, you’ll be fine. She’s not lashing out randomly, not some mindless beast.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m fairly certain she recognizes me. At least, to an extent.”

Korriva tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair, expression unreadable. “Then it’s a question of how much of her is still her.”

Tarric nodded. “That’s the part I don’t have an answer to.”

Narek hummed, tilting his head. “You sound uncertain. If she’s reacting to you but isn’t acting fully like herself, what exactly is different?”

Tarric let out a bitter chuckle and leaned back in his chair. “Honestly? I’m surprised none of you have seen her yet. She looks… different.”

Torin finally spoke, his voice quiet. “How different?”

Tarric exhaled, staring down at his hands for a moment before lifting his gaze. “Her fur’s black now. Not just darkened—black, with streaks of blue running through it. Not like dye, more like… veins of aether under the surface.” He paused, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the unease creeping up his spine. “Her eyes aren’t gold anymore either. They’re blue—bright, saturated, almost glowing.”

He hesitated before continuing. “She’s taller. Not by much, but enough that she’s almost the tallest in the family now.” He swallowed. “Her scars are gone.”

That part hit the hardest. Rava had earned those scars. Each one had been proof of what she had fought through, what she had endured. Now, it was as if her past had been scrubbed away, like she was something new. Something made.

“She’s… bulked up,” he added after a beat. “Not in an unnatural way, but it’s noticeable. More muscle, more presence.” He exhaled through his nose, fingers drumming against his arm. “She still looks like Rava. But everything about her has been… altered.”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t know if she even realizes it.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Asked Narek. “We are all busy… but Rava is important. There are things we need her for that we cannot assign to other operatives.”

Tarric resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How’d he come from a family of pragmatists?

“I don’t know,” he repeated, his voice softening. “That’s why I called this meeting. I’ve been trying small things to jog her memory. I’ve fed her her favorite foods, shown her her room, asked her some leading questions... There’s been some success, sure, but it’s not enough. Every time I get close, she seems to get more agitated. She’s... confused, and frustrated. Something is blocking her.”

Kavren, who had been leaning back in his chair with a bored expression, raised an eyebrow. “What kind of agitated?”

“Restlessness. Like she’s trying to fight something inside her. She’s sharp—Rava’s always been sharp—but it’s like she’s lost a part of herself. I think she needs something concrete to focus on, something that will give her a sense of purpose.” Tarric leaned forward, hands clasped together. “Something physical. Something that reminds her of who she was.”

Korriva’s expression shifted as she considered this. “So, you’re suggesting we put her back into action? With a task?”

“Not just any task,” Tarric said quickly. “Something that she can connect with, something that demands her full attention, where she doesn’t have the time or energy to wrestle with whatever's left of her memories. Maybe even something to show her she’s needed again. Something that reinforces the fact that she’s part of the family, part of the team.”

arek’s brow furrowed deeper as he listened to Tarric’s suggestion. “We can’t just throw her into something dangerous because she’s restless, Tarric. That might push her further away from us.”

Tarric gave a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair. “I know,” he said, his voice strained with the weight of his frustration. “It just needs to be something small to start. Nothing too overwhelming. She seems obsessed with fighting Aegis for whatever reason, but any large battles are still a ways off. I’ve been trying to think of something related, something that could ease her back into it without putting too much pressure on her.”

The others in the room were silent for a moment, considering his words. Finally, it was Narek who spoke up again, his tone a little more reasonable. “I’d like to double-check Greyreach Pass. The village there was abandoned when the army marched through, so we have some displaced citizens. Perhaps she could go there, help with the resettlement efforts? Maybe it would give her something to focus on—something grounded and purposeful.”

Tarric’s eyes flicked up with a spark of interest. “You think that would work?”

Narek nodded, his gaze steady. “It’s not too far from the border, and it could give her a sense of direction. Plus, it’s not a high-risk mission. You could have her look into the welfare of the people there, see what supplies are needed, and help the citizens settle in again.”

Tarric rubbed his chin, clearly considering the idea. “It could work. With someone to go with her, of course. She’s not ready to do something like that alone.”

“Would you go with her?” Korriva asked, her voice cutting through the silence with that unmistakable authority.

“Well, I am not exactly needed right now, am I?” Tarric’s smile was small, but it carried a hint of humor, despite the situation. “I’ve mostly been developing more spellwork lately. Plus, it might be worth having a peek over the border to see what the Sovereignty is up to. If I’m going to send her there, it’s better if I’m nearby.”

Korriva stroked her chin thoughtfully, clearly weighing the proposal. “That would work. It would provide useful intelligence, and if it helps Rava come to her senses, then I agree with the idea. It’s a manageable task, and it might be just what she needs to feel connected again.”

Tarric glanced toward Torin as his younger brother shifted in his seat, ears flicking back in hesitation. He wasn’t used to speaking up in these meetings, that much was clear, but when he finally did, his voice, though quiet, carried a tentative certainty.

“I also think she should spend time with each of us,” Torin said, his gaze flickering toward Tarric before shifting back down to the table. “Not all at once, of course… but maybe if we each tried to connect with her, in our own way, it could help? If that makes sense.”

Tarric felt a rush of warmth toward him. Torin rarely contributed, often content to listen and follow along with whatever decisions were made, but here he was, offering something thoughtful. And, more importantly, something useful.

“I think that is an excellent idea,” Tarric said, smiling. “We can all spare at least half a bell or two for her. She’s family, after all.”

Torin gave a small nod, looking almost relieved that his idea wasn’t dismissed outright. Tarric noted the way his shoulders loosened slightly, the tension bleeding away now that he’d spoken his piece.

Korriva hummed thoughtfully before giving a slight nod. “Perhaps,” she said. Her gaze slid toward Narek. “You will organize their incursion. Tarric, since you are overseeing her for now, you will handle scheduling time with the rest of us.” She lifted her chin, eyes sweeping the room. “Any objections?”

None came. Even Kavren, who had seemed the most disinterested at the start, remained silent, arms crossed but offering no protest.

Good. This was progress.

The conversation drifted to other matters, touching on the latest reports from the north and logistical concerns that had nothing to do with Rava. As usual, Daran was the first to excuse himself, eager to return to his workshop, where his projects awaited him. He had never been one for drawn-out meetings unless they directly involved his work. Torin, on the other hand, remained quiet throughout, offering nothing further. Tarric wasn’t surprised—his youngest brother preferred the company of his paintings over political discussions.

Tarric, however, found himself barely listening. His mind was elsewhere, circling back to Rava, to her agitation, to the uncertainty of what was to come. By the time Korriva officially concluded the meeting, he was already pushing back from his seat, eager to leave.

He moved swiftly through the clanhall, pausing only to ask the nearest servant where Rava had gone. He didn’t need much direction. The servants—typically composed, well-trained—seemed uneasy, their eyes darting toward the exit when he mentioned her name. That told him all he needed to know.

Stepping outside, he found her in the training yard, striking away at a reinforced dummy. Several others lay in ruin around her, shattered despite their loam-aether enchantments. Her fists connected with relentless force, sending cracks spiderwebbing through the one she was currently pummeling. Her breath came steady but heavy, her fur damp with sweat.

Tarric took a breath, then called out, “Rara!” as he strode toward her.

Rava didn’t stop. If she heard him, she gave no indication, her focus locked on the battered training dummy before her. Another strike—her knuckles slammed into the enchanted wood, and a deep fissure split down its center. Then another, and the dummy finally gave way, crumbling in two as its internal enchantments failed.

Tarric frowned. Even for her, this was excessive. The dummies weren’t supposed to break so easily, but she was treating them like enemies in the field, not training tools.

“Rara,” he called again, stepping closer. “That’s the fifth one, at least. Do I need to start counting?”

This time, she paused, chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths. Her ears flicked in his direction, though she didn’t turn to face him. “Too soft,” she muttered. Her voice was lower than before, rougher. “Nothing stays standing long enough.”

Tarric crossed his arms, tilting his head. “Sounds like you need a better training partner.”

That finally got her to turn. Her bright blue eyes, still so strange to see, fixed on him. There was recognition there, but also something else—something guarded. He could see the tension in her frame, in the way her claws flexed and unflexed at her sides.

She studied him for a long moment, then huffed. “You volunteering?”

He grinned. “Who else?”

“Fine,” she grunted.

That was as much enthusiasm as he was going to get.

He cracked his knuckles, giving her a lopsided grin. “Let me cast a few enchantments on myself first, or you’ll squash me like a spoiled gadan.”

She didn’t argue, which meant she wanted something durable to hit. That was fine by him—he could at least provide that much. It had been too long since they sparred, and even longer since she looked like she wanted to.

He took a steadying breath and began layering his spells. Loam, for durability—he’d need it if she was as strong as she seemed. Tidal, for agility—he had no intention of standing still while she swung at him. Tempest, for speed—to keep up. Dawn, for healing—just in case. Dusk, for evasiveness—he had a feeling he’d need it. And finally, celestial—just to give her a proper challenge.

The magic settled over him in waves, humming through his limbs as he stepped back, rolling his shoulders. Exomantic augments weren’t as potent as an endomancer’s, but he could stack them far more safely. They would have to be enough.

He stopped several paces away and grinned. “Okay, Rara, I’m going to show you why I’m the big brother.”

She tilted her head slightly. “But you are tiny.”

Tarric scoffed. “I am a perfectly average height for a Lekine male.” He smirked. “Well, maybe a bit below average. But you’re just a giant!”

She grunted, saying no more, but her claws came up, ready.

Good. That was what he wanted to see.

Tarric bounced on the balls of his feet, shaking out his limbs as the enchantments settled fully into his body. He hadn’t sparred like this in some time, not seriously—not with someone who could actually push him. But Rava was stronger now, and while he wasn’t about to admit it aloud, he was curious.

He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. “Alright, Rara.” He planted his feet, hands loose at his sides, tail swaying lazily behind him. “You can start whenever you’re ready.”

Rava huffed, but she understood the unspoken challenge. The moment he finished speaking, she lunged.

She was fast. Faster than she had any right to be, even for someone of her size. But Tarric had prepared for that.

His footwork carried him just out of reach as her claws slashed through the air where his head had been a breath before. He countered immediately, a feint with one fist followed by a sharp kick to her side, testing her balance. She barely flinched, twisting to bring her arm up in a brutal backhand aimed at his head.

He ducked under it, shifting with the grace of the tides, slipping past her guard and striking the inside of her knee with the flat of his palm. Not a heavy hit—just enough to knock her slightly off-center. It worked. She staggered.

“You’re holding too much weight in your front leg,” he noted with a grin. “Makes you easy to tip over.”

Rava growled and drove forward again, this time going low, aiming to sweep his legs out from under him. It was a good idea—against anyone else, it might have worked. But Tarric was already moving.

He vaulted over her sweeping leg with an easy, almost lazy hop, pivoting in midair to come down right behind her. Before she could fully recover, he pressed forward, shifting his weight into his palm and planting it against her shoulder.

Then he pushed.

It wasn’t a hard shove. Just enough force, combined with her forward momentum, to send her sprawling onto the ground.

Rava hit the dirt with a heavy thud.

Silence stretched between them for a moment.

Tarric folded his arms, tilting his head. “Well, that was disappointing.”

Rava snarled, already rolling to push herself up. But he was faster—he lashed out with his foot, catching her square in the chest and shoving her back down before she could fully rise.

“Stay down,” he said lightly. “Or at least, think before you get back up.”

She glared at him, breathing heavy, claws digging into the dirt. There was frustration in her eyes, but also something else—something that flickered behind the surface, a deeper frustration, maybe even doubt.

Rava’s ears flicked back, her growl rumbling deep in her chest. But she didn’t stay down.

She moved in an instant, twisting to the side and springing up, lashing out with her arm in a wild, clawed strike aimed at his head.

Tarric sighed. She wasn’t thinking.

He caught her wrist before her claws could so much as brush him, guiding the momentum of her strike past him with an effortless twist of his body. Then, before she could react, he shifted his grip, pivoted on his heel, and pulled.

Her own strength worked against her. The sudden yank sent her off balance, her feet leaving the ground for a split second before gravity took hold. Tarric turned with her, adding just enough force to the motion to ensure she hit the ground hard.

Rava landed flat on her back with a sharp thud, a gust of dust kicking up around them.

Tarric crouched beside her, still holding her wrist, pinning it to the ground just enough to keep her from immediately launching herself back up.

“See?” he said, tilting his head. “No strength needed. Just technique.”

Her chest heaved with heavy breaths, but she didn’t immediately retaliate. She just stared at him, ears still pinned back, lips slightly curled—but the raw frustration had dimmed, replaced with something warier.

Tarric loosened his grip and tapped her forehead lightly with two fingers. “You can be stronger than me all you want, Rara, but until you start thinking, I’ll still win.”

Her nose wrinkled, but she didn’t argue. That was at least some progress.

For a moment, Rava remained still, staring up at him. Then, without warning, she moved.

Her free hand shot up, not in a wild swing but in a precise, controlled strike aimed straight for his ribs. Tarric barely had time to twist away, but even as he did, she followed through.

Her legs snapped up next, hooking around his waist in a sudden, vice-like grip. Before he could fully react, she yanked with her legs while pushing off the ground with her arms, twisting with brute strength and momentum combined.

Tarric felt the shift a heartbeat too late.

His balance broke. His feet left the ground.

And then he was the one hitting the dirt, back-first, with enough force to make his breath whoosh from his lungs.

Rava was on him instantly, flipping her position to straddle him, her claws pressing lightly against his chest. Not deep enough to wound—just enough to prove her point.

She bared her fangs in a victorious grin. “I am thinking.”

Tarric blinked up at her, momentarily stunned. Then, despite himself, he laughed. “Alright, alright, that was better. Where was that a moment ago?”

“Learning.”

“Well good, but you clearly still have some of mothers training in you. I am glad to see it. Now do you want to get off me so we can continue or are you just gonna stay there and bask in the glory of only losing to me twice out of three times?”