Mother of Midnight

Chapter 237 – Reuniting

Caelum anxiously bounced his leg as he waited, the wooden bench beneath him creaking with every jitter of motion. He sat just outside the hall’s long chamber, back straight but hands tightly clasped in his lap. The scent of burning sage and warm stone drifted from the torches lining the corridor walls, but none of it soothed him.

Technically, he wasn’t allowed free reign of the city—not as a former soldier of Aegis. Narek had been clear about that. Most would’ve thrown him in a cell just for showing his face within the walls, and he wouldn’t have argued. He still half-expected someone to drag him off in shackles every time a guard passed by.

But instead, he had been given a mission—a chance to prove he’d truly turned. That he wasn’t just wearing different colors now. The expedition was due to leave next week, something dangerous enough that a successful return would clear his name, or at least muddy the old one enough to move forward. He hadn’t even asked for the opportunity, but they gave it anyway. Korriva had been watching him. That much was obvious now.

Still, none of that occupied his thoughts today.

Narek—Korriva’s third eldest, and by all accounts a terrifyingly competent administrator—had found them.

Grunhilda.

Lorne.

Briswen.

They were alive. They had made it.

The news alone had been like a spear pulled from his ribs, and yet relief came with its own kind of fear. What would they say when they saw him? What could he say to them?

They were due to arrive at the clanhall by third bell. That was soon. Too soon.

He swallowed and stood up, pacing now, armorless and stripped down to simple clothing. He’d kept the old paladin attire stored away, unsure if he’d ever put it back on—even as a symbol. He wouldn’t wear the symbol of Praxus ever again if he could help it.

Please, he thought, stopping near the archway that led to the main hall, please don’t hate me.

A quiet set of footsteps broke the silence behind him.

Caelum turned just as a lekine servant, draped in the modest ochre robes of the clanhall, gave a polite bow. Her ears twitched once, and she gestured toward the broad double doors at the far end of the corridor.

“They’ve arrived, sir. The matron says you may receive them here.”

His mouth went dry.

“Thank you,” he managed, voice quieter than he intended.

The servant nodded and padded away, her tail swaying behind her as she moved to the doors. She pulled one open with a slow creak of wood and iron. For a moment, the chamber beyond was dim, shadows swallowing the entry—then shapes began to emerge.

Three of them.

Grunhilda stepped in first, her stocky frame unmistakable even with a faded traveling cloak thrown over her shoulders. Her brown hair had grown longer, braided back tight against her crown, and her expression—though unreadable—was focused, alert. The big woman’s eyes scanned the chamber immediately.

Next came Lorne, moving with the same quiet grace Caelum remembered, though her shoulders were tenser, her gaze more anxious. There was no smile on her lips, only a steady, unreadable calm. She looked thinner.

And last… Briswen.

She was clutching Lorne’s hand, clinging like a shadow. Her once-rich auburn curls had been chopped short, barely brushing her chin. Her cheeks were fuller, her cloak two sizes too big. But her eyes—the way they widened when they saw him—those hadn’t changed at all.

Caelum’s breath caught in his throat.

None of them spoke at first.

Grunhilda came to a stop a few strides into the chamber, eyes locking on him. Her jaw clenched.

Lorne paused just behind her. Briswen didn’t let go of her hand.

Caelum stepped forward.

“…Hey,” he said, voice thick with everything he couldn’t say at once. “You made it.”

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then Lorne broke first, her lips trembling as she surged forward, dragging Briswen with her. Grunhilda followed an instant later, and the three of them closed the distance with a suddenness that took his breath away.

He barely had time to open his arms before they collided with him—warmth, weight, the scent of wind and old leather, blood and ash. Lorne’s arms wrapped tight around his back, her forehead pressing into his shoulder. Briswen, smaller but no less fierce, clung to his side, and Grunhilda’s strong hands gripped his shoulders with surprising gentleness.

He let out a ragged breath and the tears came without restraint, slipping hot and silent down his cheeks. He clutched them all to him as if they might disappear again, grounding himself in the press of their bodies, the heartbeat of people he’d thought lost.

“You stupid bastard,” Grunhilda muttered, voice cracking, but she was laughing even as she wiped her eyes.

“You look thinner,” Briswen mumbled, swiping at her face. “Have you been eating?”

Lorne didn’t say anything at first—just held on tighter. But then, quietly, she whispered against his neck, “You came back.”

He nodded, voice lost. He couldn’t speak through the ache in his chest.

They stayed like that for a long while, a knot of grief and relief and joy tangled together in the middle of the stone hall, too tightly bound to unravel.

Finally, they released him, the warmth of their bodies lingering in the air even as space returned between them. Caelum stepped back, giving a last, watery smile as he wiped the corner of his eye.

“I’m glad you all made it,” he said, voice still soft. “How has it been here?”

Grunhilda gave a short grunt, her arms folding across her broad chest. “It’s been alright. Haven’t told anyone we’re from the Sovereignty, ‘cept of course the ones in charge. They kept their eyes on us for a bit—fair enough, really—but once they saw we weren’t spies or troublemakers, they let us be. Folks here are hardy. Honest. Not exactly warm, but good people.”

Caelum nodded slowly, scrubbing the last of his tears away with the heel of his palm. “Yeah… that’s been my impression too.” He glanced toward the sitting area and motioned with a gentle hand. “Let’s sit. You’ve been through enough today.”

They moved to the lounge. The room was quiet, warm with soft lamplight and the smell of hearthstone. Grunhilda took a sturdy armchair, sitting with her elbows on her knees, back straight, alert as ever. Lorne and Briswen curled up together on a plush couch, Lorne slipping her hand into Briswen’s as naturally as breathing. The way they leaned into each other spoke of time, of shared comfort. Of healing.

Caelum sat opposite them, perched on the edge of his seat like he didn’t quite belong in it.

“What about you, Caelum?” Lorne asked at last, her voice low but not cold. “Where have you been?”

He exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with memory. “On a long journey,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands folded, then unfolded, restless. “And it isn’t done yet. Probably won’t be… for a long while.”

There was a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken things. The kind of stillness that gathers between people with too much history and not enough time to tell it all.

“I actually visited the capital,” Caelum said at last, his voice hesitant but steady. “My goddess sent me there to free another champion.”

Three sets of eyes locked onto him at once, wide and unblinking. Mouths slightly ajar. It took a moment before anyone found words.

“What do you mean, ‘another champion?’” Grunhilda asked, her brow furrowing, the steel creeping back into her voice.

Caelum chuckled, the sound faint but sincere. “Right. I’m… technically not supposed to go around telling everyone, but I trust you. Yenhr chose me. Said the world needed mending and she thought I’d be helpful in that.” He leaned back slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “She tasked me with freeing Akhenna’s chosen—who, by the way, is a strange one. Real quiet, real intense. I had to break into one of Aegis’ churches to get her out. She claimed she didn’t need saving, and honestly… she might’ve been right.”

The silence that followed was no longer shocked—it was awed. Confused. A touch overwhelmed.

“That is… that’s a lot to swallow,” Briswen murmured, fingers tightening in Lorne’s. She was watching him with a strange expression, somewhere between wonder and caution. Caelum’s gaze drifted to where her hand rested in Lorne’s, how naturally they leaned into one another. That pang hit again—old grief mixed with fresh warmth.

It still hurt. But seeing them happy eased the sting.

“You can say that again, lass,” Grunhilda muttered, shaking her head. “I thought you were just going to tend the village church, maybe lay low, then come find us. We could’ve used a damn champion on the road. There were some real close calls.”

Caelum’s expression twisted into a grimace. “I’m sorry. I would’ve if—”

Grunhilda held up a hand to stop him, her tone gentler than before. “Aye, lad. I know. You don’t ignore the gods to follow your own path. You’re walking the road they gave you.”

He nodded once, grateful. “Yeah. And I’m trying not to screw it up.”

Briswen offered a small smile. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Lorne met his eyes across the room, the tension in her face softening. “That has to count for something.”

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right,” Caelum said, voice a little steadier now. “It’s just been a lot to deal with. This is the first real break I’ve had in nearly a year. And even now, it’s not really a break. I need to go again soon.”

There was sympathy in their faces, but it was Lorne who leaned forward slightly, her brows drawn together in that way she used to get when she was worried about him. “Have you spoken to her?”

“Who?”

“Yenhr.”

Caelum nodded slowly. “I have. I’ve met her face to face… and she’s almost always with me. Not in words, not usually—but guiding me when I need it. Reminding me of who I am. Of who I want to be.”

Briswen’s voice was soft, reverent. “What was it like?”

All three women watched him now, their eyes full of something between awe and longing. Even Grunhilda, hardened as she was, had leaned in slightly.

He didn’t answer at first, searching for words that could never do it justice. But he tried.

“Indescribable,” he said quietly. “To stand before her is to feel… safe. Like the sun wrapping around you on a cool morning. Like the smell of fresh grass in the summer. Like your mother’s voice humming you to sleep when you were small. She sees you—all of you—and doesn’t flinch.”

He paused, swallowing the emotion rising in his throat. Even now, he could feel that gentle, persistent presence—Yenhr’s love like a hand pressed over his heart.

“She is beauty and kindness incarnate,” he continued, his voice low, almost a whisper. “But she is not soft. When she needs to be, her warmth becomes fire. Her love turns to righteous fury. She doesn’t pretend to be perfect. She is a goddess, yes—but a living one. A real one. Multifaceted. Honest. And… good.”

There was a long, still silence after that.

Lorne was the first to speak, her voice barely audible. “You really believe in her.”

“I do,” he said, meeting her gaze. “With everything I have. She was the light in the darkness for me, when all I had was lost. For her, I would do anything.”

Caelum felt her weight settle over him again—Yenhr’s presence, as real as breath, warm and full of quiet gravity. It wasn't suffocating. It never was. But it was heavy, like a thick cloak over his shoulders: a burden, a comfort, a blessing. He let out a long breath through his nose, grounding himself in the moment.

“So,” he said after a pause, voice still tinged with that lingering reverence, “where are you all living now?”

Lorne brightened a little, fingers still laced with Briswen’s. “Bris and I used what we had saved to buy a little home on the outskirts of the city. It’s a bit of a walk from everything, but it’s peaceful out there. Trees nearby. Good light in the mornings. Quiet.”

Briswen smiled softly. “We finally have a garden. Lorne’s already half-filled it with herbs and weeds she swears are medicinal.”

Caelum let out a quiet chuckle, his chest easing just a little more. It felt good to hear that. Normal. Human.

Grunhilda snorted. “Sounds lovely. Hope it don’t flood come spring.”

Lorne rolled her eyes but said nothing, her grin betraying her amusement.

Grunhilda shifted, resting her elbows on her knees. “I’m bunkin’ at an inn near the east gate for now. Don’t have much to my name, but I signed on with the city guard. It’s honest work. Decent pay.” She shrugged, cracking her knuckles. “I could sleep in the barracks for free, sure, but I don’t like sharin’ a room if I can help it. Too many snores. Too many smells.”

“You?” Briswen asked, glancing back at Caelum. “Where have you been staying?”

He hesitated. “I was given a guest chamber at the clanhall. It’s… nice. Too nice, honestly. Every time I wake up in that bed I half expect someone to tell me it was a mistake.”

“You earned it,” said Lorne, her voice firm.

Caelum met her eyes. “I hope so.”

They talked until well after the next bell, voices rising and falling with laughter, gentle jabs, and the occasional heavy silence that passed between old friends. Memories surfaced—some fond, others still raw—and though none of them said everything that weighed on their hearts, the unspoken things didn’t hang as heavy by the end.

When the light outside began to fade, one by one they stood. Briswen kissed Caelum on the cheek before taking Lorne’s hand in hers, the two departing with arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Grunhilda gave him a solid clap on the shoulder—no words, just a firm nod that said more than any farewell could.

And then, once again, he was alone.

The warmth of their presence lingered in the room, but it was fleeting. A silence crept back in, wrapping around him like mist. He sat for a moment longer, letting it settle, before standing with a sigh. Sitting idle only made his thoughts louder.

He needed movement. Structure. Focus.

The Serkoth soldiers would be running their evening drills now. They always started around this time, carrying on through dusk and sometimes into the first hour of night. He’d trained with them before—partly to keep sharp, partly because swinging a weapon at something was easier than wrestling the past.

Caelum rolled his shoulders, headed toward the training yard. There, under the weight of steel and the rhythm of drills, he could quiet the noise for a little while longer.