Mother of Midnight

Chapter 221 – New Fit

Storm was not happy about this arrangement. She should have gone back on her word, should have walked away after that disaster of a visit sooner with the wimpy man who was supposed to be her brother. That had been a waste of her time.

Instead, she was here, trailing after Tarric as he led her toward yet another sibling—Narek, apparently. Another stranger she was somehow supposed to care about.

Her lip curled. She doubted she would.

Yesterday and well into the night, Storm had found herself sinking into fleeting encounters with others—each one leaving her hollower than the last. Her nights were filled with restless, unsatisfying embraces, the partners in her bed more like warm bodies to fill the emptiness rather than beings who could make her feel something real. Their hands were soft, their words too kind, but there was no fire in their touch, no hunger to match her own.

She’d thought it might be the novelty of it all that kept her searching, the desire for the next distraction to pull her from the gnawing feeling inside. But with every partner she left behind, Storm only felt more alone, more disconnected from what she truly craved, her lust unsatiated.

Storm grumbled, crossing her arms as she followed Tarric through the dimly lit hall. The wooden walls creaked faintly under the weight of age, and the stone beneath her boots carried the cold of the outside. She didn’t like it here. The place smelled of old wood, burned tallow, and something else—something faintly familiar, though she shoved that thought away before it could settle.

“Why are we doing this? It’s pointless.” Her voice was flat, edged with irritation.

Tarric, ever the opposite of her in temperament, merely waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, shush, Rara.” He shot her a teasing grin, his tail swaying lazily behind him. “There are plenty of reasons for this, but the most important one? You get to meet your second-oldest brother! He’s very no-nonsense, so I think you’ll like him. You seemed to, before.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose, crossing her arms. “How can you be so certain that I’m even related to you all?”

Tarric tapped his snout knowingly, his sly grin never wavering. “Your older brother knows many things, Rara,” he said, his tone light, teasing. “And, more importantly, when I scanned you, there was a match. Not to mention…” He gestured vaguely at their surroundings. “You seem to have some familiarity with all of this. Even if you don’t realize it yet.”

Storm scowled. “That doesn’t mean anything. Maybe I just spent time around people like you. Maybe I killed one of you and took your things.”

Tarric let out a sharp bark of laughter. “That does sound like you.” He glanced at her, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “But no. You might not remember me, but I remember you, and I don’t get these things wrong.”

Storm crossed her arms tighter, frowning. “I don’t like this.”

“I figured.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I know I’m funny, Rara.” His tone was almost sing-song. “And besides, wouldn’t it be nice to have something to hold onto? Some connection to who you were before?”

Storm scoffed, looking away. The walls here were lined with banners—some bearing sigils, others depicting battles long past. There was a weight to this place. Something old, something rooted. But she didn’t belong here. She knew she didn’t.

Tarric sighed, though it wasn’t exasperated, just… patient. “So, regardless of who you may be now, I know you were my baby sister before. And that means I have a responsibility to teach you again.” He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “I basically raised you, you know? Seems like I’ll have to do it all over again.”

Storm snorted. “You assume I’ll let you.”

Tarric grinned wider. “You assume you have a choice.”

She exhaled sharply. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“Good girl.”

She punched him in the arm.

Tarric actually lurched to the side from the force of the punch, his balance thrown completely off. He staggered, tried to catch himself, and failed—crashing onto the wooden floor with a solid thud. He groaned, rolling onto his side with a wince before pushing himself up onto an elbow.

“Ouch.” He sat up fully and started patting the dust off his robes, grimacing as he inspected his sleeve. “You do know that hurts when I don’t have my enchantments in place, right?”

Storm tilted her head, watching him with the faintest hint of amusement curling at the edges of her lips. “Good.”

Tarric narrowed his eyes. “Brute.”

She smirked. “Wimp.”

He scoffed, rolling his shoulder with an exaggerated motion before standing and dusting himself off again. “Well, you got your tail handed to you… what was it, twelve times out of fifteen?”

Storm’s eyes flicked to him, a hint of irritation breaking through her amusement. “Eleven.”

Tarric’s grin widened. “Ah, so you were counting.” He cracked his knuckles, tail flicking behind him. “Want me to make it twelve?”

Storm rolled her shoulders, the smirk still tugging at her lips. "You can try."

Tarric let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, Rara, I don’t need to try. I’ll have you eating dirt before you can blink."

Storm scoffed. "Big words from someone who just got knocked on his ass."

Tarric clutched his chest like she'd stabbed him. "Wounded. Betrayed. My own baby sister, so cruel—"

"You're making it very

tempting to make that twelve."Tarric wiggled his fingers. "Please. Go on. Give me an excuse to show off in front of Narek."

Storm took a deliberate step forward, her eyes gleaming, but before she could lunge, a sharp voice cut through the air.

"You're making a scene."

Both of them turned to find a man standing in the archway ahead, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was tall—taller than Tarric, though still much shorter than Storm’s own height—with thick, dark hair pulled back from a stern, angular face. Black ears poked out from the top of his head. His golden eyes were sharp, assessing, and carried the weight of someone who had no patience for nonsense.

Tarric straightened, his grin undeterred. "Narek! Just in time! I was about to put Rara in her place."

Storm folded her arms, unimpressed. "Doubtful."

Narek exhaled, stepping fully into the hallway. "Still as childish as ever, Tarric." His gaze flicked to Storm, cool and unreadable. "And this is her?"

Tarric beamed. "Yep! Our long-lost sister, in the flesh."

Storm tensed under the scrutiny, her fingers twitching. Something about the way Narek looked at her set her teeth on edge. It wasn't like Tarric’s playful goading or even the cautious assessments of the strangers she'd met before—it was something else. Like he was measuring her against some expectation she neither knew nor cared about.

She met his stare head-on. "Storm," she said.

Narek tilted his head slightly. "That what you're calling yourself now?"

She shrugged. "It's my name."

For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then, Narek let out a quiet hum. "Fine." He turned sharply on his heel. "Come. We have things to discuss."

Storm blinked. That was it? No questions? No disbelief? Just fine?

Tarric clapped her on the back. "See? Told you you'd like him."

Storm let out a slow breath and followed, though she wasn't sure like was the word she’d use.

“We were on our way to see you for that assignment anyway,” Tarric said, easily falling into step beside Narek.

“Ah.” Narek’s tone was flat, unimpressed. “And that requires causing a ruckus in the hallway?”

“Yes, obviously. It’s part of the process,” Tarric replied without hesitation, flashing a grin.

Narek closed his eyes briefly, as if summoning the patience of a saint. Then, with a sigh so heavy it might as well have been carrying the weight of the world, he turned and strode down the hall. “Let’s get this over with.”

Storm arched a brow. “You always this dramatic?”

“You’re one to talk.”

She huffed but said nothing more, trailing after them as they moved through the clan hall’s wooden corridors. The scent of old parchment and faint traces of ink thickened the air as they reached a solid oak door. Narek pushed it open, stepping inside without preamble.

His office was as no-nonsense as the man himself. The walls were unadorned, lacking any of the banners or decorative flourishes that filled other parts of the hall. Shelves lined one side of the room, filled with books, ledgers, and scrolls, their bindings well-worn from frequent use. A few other items rested on the shelves—small, practical things, nothing sentimental. The desk was sturdy, its surface organized with ruthless efficiency.

Storm took it all in with mild curiosity. It reminded her of her own room—bare, functional, without any wasted space. No distractions, no unnecessary comforts. She could respect that.

Narek lowered himself into his chair with the ease of a man who had done so a thousand times before, then gestured toward the seats across from him. “Sit.”

Both obliged.

Storm leaned back, arms crossed, waiting. Narek didn’t seem like the type to waste time.

Narek settled into his chair, his expression as impassive as ever. He steepled his fingers and regarded them both with a measured look before he finally spoke.

“There’s a job that needs doing. Greyreach Pass—the village on the border.” His voice was steady, but there was an underlying weight to his words. “The people there evacuated during the invasion. As far as we know, it was abandoned completely. I need you two to confirm that.”

Storm raised a brow. “You think some of them stayed behind?”

“There’s been no sign of movement since the retreat, but we can’t assume anything,” Narek replied. “It’s possible stragglers refused to leave. Or worse, someone else has moved in.”

Tarric nodded, already following the train of thought. “And we need to make sure the Sovereignty isn’t using it as a foothold or staging ground.”

“Exactly.” Narek leaned back slightly. “Check the village. See if there are any signs of life—friend or foe. Confirm the conditions there, make sure no one is using it as shelter, and if you find any signs of enemy activity, return immediately and report it. Do not engage.”

Storm exhaled sharply through her nose, arms still crossed. “So, a glorified scouting mission.”

“A necessary one,” Narek corrected, his tone firm. “The border is fragile, and we need to know if any threats are creeping up on us before it’s too late.”

Tarric grinned slightly. “What, you don’t trust my divinations to tell you everything?”

“I trust them to tell me something,” Narek countered dryly. “But I’d rather have a physical assessment of the area. There are things magic can miss.”

Storm tilted her head slightly. “And after we check Greyreach?”

Narek’s gaze darkened slightly. “If everything is as it should be, you’ll push a little further—scout the border itself. The Sovereignty has been quiet, but I don’t trust them to stay that way. I want to know if they’re moving, where, and why.”

A muscle twitched in Storm’s jaw. She hated the Sovereignty. The memories weren’t sharp, but she felt it. That ingrained loathing, that deep-seated certainty that they were the enemy.

Tarric’s tail flicked. “So, check the village, check the border, and report back. If we find anything, we don’t engage, just run back and tell you.” He smirked slightly. “You sure you don’t want us to poke a little fun at any Sovereignty stragglers we find?”

Narek’s expression remained stony. “If you get caught in a fight, I expect it to be because you had no other choice. Not because you were bored.”

Tarric held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just checking.”

Storm scoffed. “If we run into trouble, I doubt I’ll be the one getting caught.”

Tarric turned to her, grinning. “We both know who’ll be watching whose back, Rara.”

Storm gave him a pointed look. “I wouldn’t bet on that.”

Narek sighed, rubbing his temple. “Just get it done. A week. I expect a full report.”

Storm and Tarric stood, the meeting clearly over.

As they turned to leave, Tarric clapped a hand on Storm’s shoulder, his grin unwavering. “Well, looks like we’ve got ourselves a little road trip. Ready to stretch your legs, sister mine?”

Storm’s jaw tightened. She didn’t want to scout. She didn’t care about empty villages or border assessments. She wanted blood. She wanted the enemy dead. The Sovereignty had taken something from her—she didn’t remember what, but she felt it. A gnawing, festering hole inside her, demanding to be filled with vengeance.

Coming to Serkoth had been a waste of time.

Mostly.

No, it was a waste of time. She lied to herself.

She had no place here. No interest in their bonds, their expectations. They could talk of family all they wanted, but she didn’t feel it. She didn’t need it.

She would go on this ‘mission’ as expected. Follow along, play her part. But when the opportunity came—when Tarric’s attention wavered—she’d disappear. Slip away and take the fight to the enemy herself.

If the Sovereignty was out there, she’d find them.

And she would burn them.

Tarric stretched as they left Narek’s office, rolling his shoulders with exaggerated ease. “Well, that went about as well as expected,” he mused, falling into step beside Storm. “Would’ve been worse if he actually got mad. Lucky us.”

Storm grunted. She wasn’t particularly interested in analyzing the conversation, nor did she care much about whatever Narek thought of her. The mission itself barely held her interest—until she could split off and hunt down the enemy herself, it was just another obstacle.

Tarric, as always, seemed to read her thoughts, or at least sense her mood. “Come on, Rara, let’s make a quick stop before we head out.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Where?”

“The armory. You might be big and scary, but that doesn’t mean you can stomp around half-dressed.” He waved a hand toward her. “Your gear’s fine, but it could be better. No point going on a scouting trip if you’re not prepared.”

Storm scoffed. “I have everything I need.”

Tarric grinned. “Oh? You planning to fight in that outfit that is clearly too small for you? I get it, you’re tough, but let’s not pretend you’re invincible.”

Storm bristled at the remark but said nothing.

Tarric clapped a hand on her back, guiding her toward a different hall branching off from the main corridor. The smell of oiled leather and cold steel met them as they approached the armory. Inside, weapons lined the walls—racks of swords, axes, and polearms, all well-maintained. The armor section was less organized, with various pieces stacked along shelves or hung on stands. A few clan members were inside, either making repairs or selecting equipment of their own.

Tarric strolled in like he owned the place, rubbing his hands together. “Alright, let’s see… we’ll start with weapons. We’ll have a poke around in your room to see if there’s a spare set of armor for you afterward. You were always prepared like that.” He shot her a sideways grin. “We’ll need to get it refitted, though—you had a bit of a growth spurt.”

Storm huffed, crossing her arms. “Did I?”

“Oh, just a little.” Tarric gestured vaguely. “You know, towering over most people now, looking like you could break someone in half with a glare—normal stuff.”

She scoffed but said nothing. If she had been smaller before, she had no memory of it. The idea of being anything but as strong as she was now felt foreign, and she had no intention of letting anyone act like it mattered.

Tarric meandered through the aisles, occasionally stopping to pick up a weapon or two before dismissing them just as quickly. Storm let her gaze wander over the racks—swords, axes, spears—none of which held any real interest for her. She fought with her fists, with her strength. That was all she needed.

Tarric finally stopped at a shelf near the back and plucked up a pair of gauntlets, their size noticeably larger than any of the others. The outer plating was made of a deep blue metal, smooth and polished, while the underside was reinforced leather, flexible yet sturdy. Each digit ended in a sharp, curved claw of the same metal, seamlessly integrated into the design. Thick studs lined the knuckles, each one heavy enough to add significant force to a punch.

“Try these on.” He held them out to her. “You used something similar before.”

Storm took one, sliding her hand inside. The fit was snug—almost too tight—but as soon as her claws settled into the metal slots, she felt something click into place. Her fingers curled, testing the movement. The weight was familiar, natural. She slipped the other on, raising both fists before throwing a few short, precise jabs into the air.

A slow nod. “These are good.”

Tarric beamed. “Glad to hear it! Now, let’s go see if past you was smart enough to have spare armor.”

Storm flexed her fingers in the gauntlets again. For the second time since she had arrived in Serkoth, something felt right.

As they left the armory, the weight of the gauntlets settled comfortably around Storm’s hands, a quiet reassurance amidst the unfamiliar. She wasn’t sure if it was memory or instinct, but for once, something about this place didn’t feel entirely wrong. Tarric led the way without hesitation, his pace brisk, his confidence unshaken, as if the past and present were seamlessly aligned in his mind. Storm wasn’t so sure.

Tarric strode into Storm’s room like he owned the place, heading straight for the nearest closet. “Alright, let’s see if past-you had the foresight to keep a spare set.”

Storm followed, her gauntlets flexing as she eyed the storage spaces. She didn’t remember leaving armor behind. She didn’t remember anything. But that nagging sense of familiarity from before hadn’t left her.

Tarric yanked open the first closet, rummaging through neatly folded clothes and a few stray belts. “Nope. Just tunics, cloaks, and—ooh, a scarf. You always hated scarves.”

Storm rolled her eyes and moved to the other closet. Inside, she found several pieces of equipment—spare boots, gloves, a thick travel cloak—but nothing resembling armor. She pushed the clothes aside, running her hand along the back panel. Something shifted under her touch.

With a sharp click, a hidden compartment slid open.

Tarric blinked. “Hah! Knew it.”

Inside, stacked neatly on a reinforced wooden shelf, was a full set of armor. Dark, layered plates with a matte finish, built for movement and flexibility. Not too heavy, not too light—just right for someone who needed to hit hard and fast.

Storm pulled out the chest plate and turned it over in her hands. It felt solid. Durable. Hers.

Tarric tapped the shoulder guards. “You’ll need a few adjustments. You, ah… filled out a bit more than before.”

Storm shot him a glare.

He waved her off. “It’s fine. I know your measurements. I’ll just cast a resizing spell and maybe put on an enchantment or two to make it more durable.”

Storm crossed her arms, watching him with a raised brow. “You know my measurements?”

Tarric didn’t even look up, already tracing patterns over the armor with glowing fingertips. “Of course. When I scanned you yesterday I got lots of interesting data.” He glanced at her with a knowing smirk. “Proportions are different now but you are still the same stubborn brute, just bigger.”

She huffed. “I’m not stubborn.”

He snorted. “You’re literally arguing with me about your own stubbornness.”

Storm narrowed her eyes. “I could just go without armor.”

Tarric tsked, shaking his head. “Oh, sure. And then the moment some idiot with a sword gets a lucky hit, you’ll be sulking about how unfair it was.” He flexed his fingers, the shimmering magic intensifying. “Nope. You’re getting properly outfitted. And if I have to, I’ll make you wear enchanted mittens just to keep you from punching your way through everything.”

Storm scoffed. “I’d still win.”

“Probably,” he admitted, grin widening. “But let’s not test that theory today.”

She rolled her shoulders, watching as the armor subtly adjusted, shifting in size and shape under Tarric’s spell. “What enchantments?”

“Basic reinforcement.” Tarric ran his hands over the plates again, his fingers glowing faintly as the magic settled. “Makes it more durable, flexible where it needs to be, resistant to spells. I’d slap on a weight-reduction enchantment, but I remember you whining about that last time.”

Storm scoffed. “That seems stupid. Lighter is better.”

Tarric didn’t even look up. “Then I guess past you was an idiot.” He shot her a smug grin. “I wonder what that makes you?”

Storm’s lips curled back in a growl, her claws flexing. She didn’t like being insulted, even if she knew he was just baiting her.

“Oh, woof. Guess you can’t take any teasing,” he drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “I better tease you more so you can finally grow some thicker skin.”

“My skin is already thick.” She bared her teeth slightly. “It can resist the blades of the enemy.”

Tarric let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “Wow. Whatever happened to you really did knock some of those brains out, Rara.” He gave her an exaggeratedly pitying look. “You used to be so sharp. Now you’re just running on pure instinct.”

Storm’s tail lashed, but she forced herself to exhale slowly, reigning in the urge to swing at him. Barely. “You’re lucky I don’t want to wreck the armor before we even leave.”

“Oh, sure, blame the armor.” Tarric smirked, clearly unbothered. “But don’t worry, we’ll get you back to being your usual, witty, charming self in no time.”

Storm rolled her eyes. “I doubt it.”

“Not with that attitude, you won’t.”

Tarric rolled his shoulders and brandished his wand with a practiced flick, muttering a string of incantations under his breath. The runes along his fingers pulsed faintly as the spellwork took hold. A shimmering glow spread over the armor, its surface rippling like liquid metal before a small gem took shape over the left breastplate. It swirled with shifting colors, a hypnotic blend of blues, purples, and golds before gradually dimming, leaving only a faint, embedded sheen.

Then, the armor itself began to shift, the plates stretching and expanding, adjusting to her size. The creaking of metal filled the room as it settled into its new dimensions, the fit now perfect for her larger frame.

Satisfied, Tarric turned and dug through the closet, pulling out a few sets of basic clothing. He laid them out and repeated the process, his wand tracing glowing lines in the air. The fabric pulsed, shimmered, and expanded, altering to accommodate her build.

He stepped back, dusting off his hands with a pleased nod. “Right, that should be everything. Some clothes that actually fit, a nice enchanted set of armor—looking good, feeling good, all that.” His smirk softened slightly as he looked at her. “You’ll need to get the enchantments recharged every so often, but you can bother me for that whenever you need.” He tapped the armor lightly. “I’m always available for you, you know.”

There was a tenderness in his tone, something sincere beneath all the teasing and bravado.

Storm ran her fingers over the newly resized armor, feeling the smooth, cold metal beneath her claws. The enchantments thrummed faintly under her touch, their energy settling into the steel like a heartbeat. It was good work. As much as Tarric irritated her, she couldn’t deny his skill.

Storm grabbed the bottom of her tunic and started to pull it off, but it was too tight around her shoulders, and the fabric refused to budge.

“Woah, hold up!” Tarric said, his eyes widening. “You could at least wait for me to step out first. Don’t you want some privacy?”

Storm didn’t even look at him as she yanked harder, struggling with the tight fit. “Why would I care?” she grumbled. The tunic didn’t cooperate, so she growled in frustration and just tore it off in one swift motion, the fabric shredding with a satisfying rip.

“Okay, well, I care, so I’m going to wait outside,” Tarric said quickly, his voice tinged with exasperation. He stepped backward toward the door, adding, “Let me know when you’re done… completely demolishing your clothes.”

Storm didn’t answer. She was already pulling on the resized tunic, the fabric sliding easily over her skin. It fit perfectly.