Mother of Midnight

Chapter 223 – Echo of the Life Before

After making their final preparations, Storm and Tarric set out across the steppes. The journey was swift—faster than she’d expected, thanks to Tarric’s ridiculous speed. For someone so tiny, he moved like he had springs in his legs. It was almost unnatural. Storm, built for endurance rather than bursts of speed, had to push herself to keep up. She hated that.

They traveled mostly in silence, the crisp air filled with nothing but the crunch of boots against frozen ground and the occasional whistle of the wind sweeping across the plains. The winter had begun to wane, but it still held its grip on the land, reluctant to fully surrender to spring. Every few days, fresh snow blanketed the steppes, covering the remnants of previous storms, as if the land itself wanted to forget the past.

A day and a half later, the village came into sight.

It was small, huddled against the landscape like it was trying to escape notice. Snow piled on rooftops and drifts leaned against the wooden structures, their edges softened by ice. From a distance, it could have passed for peaceful. But even without stepping foot inside, Storm could tell something was wrong.

Tarric broke the silence first. “Well, let’s go have a poke around and see if we can find any traces of Aegis still around, Rara.” His tone was light, but Storm didn’t miss the sharp glint in his eyes. He was already thinking, analyzing.

Storm gave him a look but didn’t bother correcting him. At this point, she doubted Tarric would ever call her by her actual name, and frankly, it wasn’t worth the effort. She wasn’t entirely attached to ‘Storm’ either, but.. No, she would focus on other things that didn’t make her head hurt. Instead, she turned her gaze back to the village, her sharp eyes scanning the landscape for any signs of movement.

The place was quiet. Snow lay thick over the rooftops, untouched by recent passage, and no smoke curled from the chimneys. It felt dead.

She adjusted the strap of her pack and stepped forward. “No one here.” She muttered. “Can’t smell anyone.”

Tarric hummed in agreement, though his attention seemed split. His little legs carried him forward with ease, but his eyes darted around, taking in every detail. Storm was becoming rapidly familiar with that look—he was already running through possibilities in his head.

They moved carefully, boots crunching against the frost-laced ground. As they entered the village proper, Storm’s ears twitched at the soft creak of wood shifting under the cold. She sniffed the air, trying to pick up anything unusual, but all she got was the scent of old ash, stale blood, and the lingering chill of a place long abandoned.

Tarric broke the silence first, his sharp eyes scanning the empty village. He crouched briefly, running his fingers through the snow-covered dirt road before standing again with a thoughtful hum.

“No bodies,” he murmured, more to himself than to Storm. “Good. Hopefully, that means they evacuated successfully.”

He turned to face her fully, his expression unreadable but intent. “I’m going to check the general condition of the village—see what’s been left behind, if there’s any sign of a struggle. We’ll stay in one of the buildings for the night.” He hesitated for a beat, then added, “Might be bodies inside, though. Keep poking around, just in case.”

Storm grunted in response, shifting her weight as she took in their surroundings again. The absence of people wasn’t comforting—it was unnatural. A village this size should have had lingering signs of life, even if the people were long gone. And yet, it was too still.

“Fine,” she muttered, already turning to begin her search.

Tarric nodded and split off, his movements quiet but purposeful as he strode toward the nearest structure. Storm watched him for a moment before exhaling and trudging forward, her boots crunching against the snow.

Storm searched until the sun threatened to plunge below the horizon, casting long shadows over the empty village. The silence gnawed at her. No signs of struggle, no splintered doors or burned-out homes—just hollow buildings, abandoned but untouched. Even the food stores were mostly cleared out, with only a few scraps and spoiled remnants left behind. It was as if the entire population had simply vanished overnight.

With nothing better to do, she sniffed at the air, sorting through the mingled scents of wood smoke, old dust, and cold stone. Tarric’s scent stood out easily—a mix of metal, ink, and something sharp, like ozone before a storm. She followed the trail through the village, her clawed feet crunching softly in the snow, until she reached one of the larger central homes.

Inside, a fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering light against the wooden walls. Tarric sat cross-legged near it, scribbling notes into a small journal. He barely looked up when she stepped in.

“Find anyone?” he asked.

“No.”

“Good!” He closed the book with a snap, setting it aside as he stretched. “From what I could tell, the army just marched past this village. Didn’t even take anything. And all the villagers appear to have evacuated ahead of time. Probably successfully.” He smirked. “So we can report that it should be safe to move back once the ice thaws.”

Storm crossed her arms, shifting her weight. “What now?”

She was starting to feel antsy again. The stillness of the village put her on edge—she wanted something to fight, to hunt, to tear apart. Sitting around talking about logistics wasn’t what she was built for.

Tarric grinned at her, eyes gleaming with mischief. “We rest for the night. Then, come sunrise, we head for the border. Last time you—past you—reported in, they had watchtowers set up along it. I want to see them for myself.” He leaned forward, his grin turning sharp. “Wanna take down a tower or two?”

Storm felt a wicked smile spread across her face.

"I thought that might make you happy! Fetch your pack, I’ll cook us something for dinner.” Tarric stretched, rolling his shoulders before tossing another log into the fire. The flames crackled, sending a wave of warmth through the room, pushing back the creeping chill of nightfall.

Storm paused, eyeing him skeptically. “You can cook?”

Tarric burst into laughter, the sound light and amused. “Rara, your bestest big brother can do many things.” He placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “I may not be a chef, but I’ve spent enough time on the road to know that if you want something decent to eat in the wilds, you learn to do it yourself.”

Storm folded her arms. “So what you’re saying is, it’s probably edible.”

Tarric grinned. “That’s the spirit! Now go on, grab your pack before I decide you’re on the menu.” He waggled his fingers at her in mock menace.

The meal was a simple affair—root vegetables roasted over the fire, their skins crisping and blackening as the heat coaxed out their natural sweetness. Tarric chopped them up with practiced ease and tossed them into a simmering broth, the rich scent of herbs and roasted marrow filling the small house. It wasn’t anything fancy, but after a day of trudging through snow and searching through empty homes, the warmth of the meal was welcome.

Storm ate in silence, savoring each bite. Cooked food was amazing. No matter how many times she had it, she never got over just how much better it was than raw meat. The warmth spread from her belly outward, settling a deep contentment into her bones. Tarric, smug as ever, grinned when he noticed her actually enjoying it, but wisely chose not to comment.

As soon as dawn broke the next day, they packed up and headed out, moving toward the mountain pass. The snow had hardened overnight, crunching under their boots as they walked. The wind bit at exposed skin, seeping through armor and layers of clothing, but Storm barely felt it. Her body had long since adapted to the cold; it barely registered as anything more than a distant sensation.

Tarric, for all his smaller frame and thinner build, didn’t show any signs of discomfort either. If he felt the cold, he gave no indication of it, moving with the same light-footed ease as before. The pass loomed ahead, framed by jagged cliffs and towering pines, the wind howling between them like a distant wail.

Storm rolled her shoulders, already itching for a fight. Hopefully, she’d get one soon.

The day crawled by at an agonizing pace, each step a weight on Storm’s patience. She was being allowed to hunt again—a hound loosed from its leash, free to sink her claws and fangs into her enemies, to carve through flesh and bone without restraint. The thought made something deep inside her stir, a hunger rising like fire in her blood.

She would rend the enemies of Serkoth with abandon.

Serkoth.

The name echoed in her mind, ringing hollow and heavy at the same time. She cared about Serkoth, didn’t she? That was why she fought. That was why she wanted to kill. But… why did she care? They were weak, passive fools who bent their knee and talked of restraint. That should disgust her. It did disgust her.

So why did the thought of turning against them feel like betrayal?

Why did that insult hurt?

Storm’s pace slowed. She clenched her jaw, her claws twitching at her sides. The thoughts churned, thick and unwelcome. She had no answers. Every time she reached for one, it slipped away, buried under layers of something she couldn’t quite grasp.

Who was she?

She knew her name. She knew how to fight. She knew the sensation of blood running down her claws, the way a body crumpled under her strength. She knew she was strong. She knew she was meant to hunt.

So why did everything feel so familiar yet so distant?

Storm shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts. She was a warrior. A predator. A killer. That was all that mattered.

Wasn’t it?

Tarric’s voice cut through Storm’s thoughts like a blade.

“Hold up, Rara. I want to cast a divination spell before we continue. Don’t want to go in unprepared, after all!”

Storm exhaled sharply through her nose, her lip curling. She hated waiting. The hunt called to her, and every delay gnawed at her patience like a dull, rusted blade. But patience was necessary. She had to be patient.

“Fine,” she muttered, folding her arms.

Tarric grinned at her, unfazed by her irritation. “Thank you muchly!”

With a practiced motion, he held his staff in front of him and began tracing symbols in the air, his fingers weaving shimmering threads of aether into a glowing heptagon. Light crackled faintly along the edges, and as he worked, more intricate patterns formed within the geometric shape, spirals and runes interlocking with an almost hypnotic precision. The radiance of the spell cast strange reflections on the snow, turning the frost into a kaleidoscope of shifting color.

Storm watched with faint interest, but mostly, she just wanted him to hurry up.

Tarric muttered a chant under his breath, his voice a soft hum beneath the crackling magic, and then, with a confident step, he walked through the floating sigil. The glowing construct pulsed once before vanishing into nothing.

Tarric frowned. “Huh. That’s weird.”

Storm raised a brow. “What’s weird?”

“There’s a void of something along the border wall.” He tapped his staff against his palm, eyes narrowed in thought. “Did they figure out how to block divination or something?”

Storm scowled. “What?”

“Never mind, not important right now. Also, looks like we’re about to have company.” He turned and pointed toward the southwest. “If I’m correct, there are about eighteen people headed this way.”

Storm perked up, her claws flexing. “Wanna go check it out?” Tarric asked.

She nodded, already feeling the heat of anticipation building in her chest. Finally. Hopefully, this would turn into a fight. Her claws ached for something to tear into.

Tarric and Storm moved swiftly across the snow-covered ground, their pace steady but cautious. The scent of a large group grew stronger as they approached, carried on the wind along with the faint sounds of conversation. Storm narrowed her eyes as figures came into view—fifteen small forms, clustered together, and three taller ones among them.

Goblins. And… others.

Her gaze snapped to one of the taller figures. A man clad in armor, the sigil emblazoned on his chest unmistakable even from this distance.

Aegis.

A deep growl rumbled in her throat before she even registered it, her vision tunneling to the hated emblem. She didn’t hesitate. She lunged.

“Rara! Wait!” Called out Tarric, but she did not hear him.

The world blurred as she leapt, claws extending, body coiling like a spring. She barely registered the sharp cries of the goblins, the shifting of the others in the group—nothing mattered except the target before her. The hated mark of Aegis burned in her sight, fueling her fury.

She was on him in an instant.

Storm closed the distance in the blink of an eye, her claws outstretched and gleaming in the dim light. She leapt through the air with the force of a rampaging quocha, aiming straight for the paladin of Aegis. Her claws slammed into his breastplate, metal grinding against metal with a shower of sparks as she raked downwards, but the plate held firm. The dull, metallic thud of her strike vibrated up her arms, but she didn’t hesitate.

The panicked cries from the rest of the group barely registered. They were no threat. Not now. Not with him standing in front of her. This one was different. She could feel the power radiating off him, a raw, divine energy that made her blood simmer with anticipation. She would end him before he could even think about striking back.

The impact of her assault sent both of them tumbling to the ground in a heap of writhing bodies, claws scraping at armor and flesh alike. Storm’s teeth gritted as she tried to pin him, but before she could gain the upper hand, his armored fist struck her in the ribs. The blow was sharp and forceful, but her leather armor softened the impact enough to spare her from too much damage. Still, it knocked the wind out of her, and the force of it sent her sprawling backward.

She scrambled to regain her balance, but he was faster. In one fluid motion, he rolled to his feet, his heavy boots crunching against the snow as he sprang up. He shook his head, flinging strands of damp hair out of his face, his eyes locked on hers with determination.

“Run!” he shouted, his voice commanding. “I’ll buy you time!”

Storm’s gaze flicked to the rest of the group, who were already starting to retreat, fear spreading through their ranks like wildfire. She could see them scattering, their legs moving quickly, hearts pounding in their chests.

But she didn’t take her eyes off him. She didn’t stop to chase the others.

The paladin’s grip tightened around his weapon, his stance solidifying as he prepared for the inevitable next strike. His eyes were unwavering, focused entirely on her, and there was something in the way he held himself, something that told her he wasn’t just some weakling she could overpower easily.

Storm’s lips curled into a feral smile. “You think you can stop me?” she growled, her claws flexing in eager anticipation. She wasn’t going to let him buy anyone time. She was going to make sure he couldn’t fight again.

Her body tensed, ready to strike once more, but the brief hesitation in her movement was enough to give him a chance. With a swift motion, he raised his shield to block the next incoming attack, and Storm slammed into it with all the force she could muster. The shock of the impact rattled her bones, but she wasn’t about to stop.

She snarled and stepped back, watching the paladin carefully. There was something about him—his strength, his resolve—that made her hesitate. That made her want to crush him all the more.

“Come on then,” she sneered, her claws gleaming in the pale light, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

He didn’t answer right away, but his gaze never wavered. There was a flicker of something behind his eyes, something sharp, but he wasn’t about to back down. Neither was she.

Storm’s body coiled, her instincts guiding her every movement as she launched herself at the paladin once again. This time, she didn’t swipe with her claws—no, she was faster than that. Her foot slid across the snow, slick and quick, aiming to trip him and send him crashing to the ground. The move was quick, a fluid motion that should’ve sent him tumbling—but Caelum was too fast for that.

He shifted to the side with a surprising grace, sidestepping her attack, and before Storm could adjust, he sheathed his blade with a swift motion, his hands now empty and open.

“Please listen!” His voice was calm, but there was a tinge of desperation in it. “I do not want to fight!”

Storm’s lip curled in a snarl, but she didn’t hesitate. She sprang back to her feet, fists raised, fists that glinted with deadly intent. He was trying to disarm the situation, but that wasn’t going to work on her. Nothing disarms me. Nothing disarms this fight.

Ignoring his plea, she dashed forward, her body moving with the intent of taking him down. A left hook flew through the air with ferocity, aimed at his side—but again, Caelum reacted, faster than expected. His forearm locked with her punch, the impact reverberating through her knuckles.

Before Storm could react, his other hand shot out, and a punch slammed into her midsection, knocking the breath from her lungs. She staggered back, barely managing to keep her balance, her body still vibrating with the shock of the blow. The pain was there, but it was fleeting. The breath—that was more of an issue.

Storm gritted her teeth, glaring at him through the haze of breathlessness. He was strong, no doubt about it. A paladin, well-trained, a worthy opponent. For a moment, the thought that he might be more than just an obstacle flashed through her mind. He wasn’t just some soldier—this one had power.

And he’s the enemy, she reminded herself fiercely. The enemy must die.

Her chest burned with frustration as she stood her ground, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She could feel the heat of battle surge through her again, pushing back the breathlessness. This wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

He was a paladin of Aegis, part of the very thing that had caused her so much pain. That alone made him a target in her mind. She would not stop. Would not falter.

With a growl, she launched herself back into the fray, faster this time, determined to overwhelm him. His hesitation earlier? That momentary slip? She wouldn’t let it happen again. She wouldn’t give him the chance.

Storm’s body moved like a blur, each strike calculated, each blow aimed at weakening him. This man must fall.

Storm’s leg struck the shorter man’s side, the impact forcing a sharp grunt from him as he slid back, boots scraping against the dirt. But instead of stumbling, he seized her ankle in a vice grip, his fingers digging in as he braced himself. His golden eyes flashed with determination as he yanked her off balance.

The world tilted. The ground rushed up to meet her.

Storm hit the dirt hard, the impact jarring, but she moved on instinct. Coiling her legs beneath her like a spring, she launched both feet into his chest with brutal force.

Caelum’s breath left him in a strangled gasp as he was hurled backward, tumbling across the ground in a chaotic blur of limbs and dust. He barely had time to register the pain before Storm was upon him again, crossing the distance in an instant.

She crashed down like a beast unchained, her claws flashing as she raked at his armor, her fangs bared in a snarl. Sparks flew as her strikes met metal, her relentless assault threatening to tear through his defenses.

He must die. The enemy must die. He is the en—

“Rava?”

The name cut through the frenzy like a blade to the gut.

Storm froze, her breath ragged, her body coiled and ready to tear into the man beneath her—but something in that voice stopped her.

Slowly, she turned her head toward the speaker.

There, standing a short distance away, was a woman unlike any she had ever seen, so so familiar in a way she could not place

Her skin was dark—not just dark, but utterly devoid of color, a void given form. Her figure was soft yet striking, with proportions so exaggerated they almost seemed surreal on someone of her diminutive height. A crown of crystalline horns framed her head, gleaming like jagged obsidian, and behind her, a thick, sinuous tail, armored in the same blackened scales, flicked tensely.

But it was her eyes that held Storm in place.

Five black eyes, unblinking and wide, fixed onto her with a weight that made her stomach twist. They brimmed with something raw—something deep.

A thick, inky liquid welled up in those endless eyes and spilled down her cheeks, trailing dark streaks across her rounded face.

The woman did not move. Did not breathe a word more.

She simply watched.

Storm felt something claw at her insides, a sensation she could not name, something distant yet suffocating.

Her hands remained poised to kill, her claws still slick with the heat of battle.

But her body refused to move.