Mother of Midnight

Chapter 238 – Coincidence

Vivienne followed the girl into her father's store, and the sharp, earthy scent of herbs washed over her like a wave. It wasn’t unpleasant—just strong, rich, layered with dried roots, oils, and the faint bite of something medicinal. The interior was cozy, if a bit cluttered. Glass vials lined nearly every wall, some filled with vibrant powders, others with curled leaves or sloshing liquid in hues ranging from emerald green to deep crimson. Scrolls and notebooks were stacked neatly on one counter, beside a large mortar and pestle that still held traces of some ground-up root.

Bundles of herbs hung from the rafters overhead, drying slowly in the warm air. A set of wind chimes—delicate and made from slivers of bone and crystal—hung near the door, gently tinkling as they entered.

Talli trotted ahead with purpose. “Pa! I brought someone to meet you!”

Vivienne stepped softly, adjusting Liora’s weight in her arms. Her disguise held, though the effort of maintaining it tugged faintly at the corners of her mind. Her posture remained regal, but she’d dulled the edges of her presence as much as she could. Even still, it was like asking a hurricane to play the part of a gentle breeze.

From behind a beaded curtain, a man emerged—tall for a lekine, with silver threading through his dark brown fur and tired eyes that sharpened the moment he laid them on Vivienne.

His gaze flicked to her, to Liora, then narrowed slightly. “Talli… who is this?”

Vivienne gave a small bow of her head, graceful even while balancing the small, bundled weight in her arms. “My name is Vivienne. And this little one,” she said, gently shifting Liora against her chest so the man could see her better, “is Liora, my daughter. I believe she and your daughter might make fine playmates.”

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly. He stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted with crushed herbs and tincture stains. His expression was guarded, the look of someone used to bad news in good clothing. His gaze swept over her—her smooth, unmarred skin, the glint of practiced poise in her eyes.

“You’re very clean,” he said slowly, voice edged with suspicion. “You from one of the big families? One of those... more distinguished folk?”

Vivienne let out a low, melodious laugh that shimmered through the air like chimes on the breeze. “No. Though I do work quite closely with the Serkoth family. But as for my cleanliness…” Her eyes twinkled. “Dirt doesn’t cling to me the way it does to others.”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, his eyes slid back to Liora, then to Vivienne again. “She don’t look like yours,” he said, blunt and skeptical.

Vivienne’s smile widened just slightly, her head tilting. “She very much does, if you know what to look for. But I admit, I’ve altered my form—this is not my true appearance. I chose something gentler. Less likely to alarm.”

The man stiffened. His fingers curled slightly at his sides, subtle but tense.

“Pa!” Talli piped up from beside Vivienne, eyes wide with excitement. “She’s that monster that’s been working with the Serkoth family!”

The silence after that was a knife’s edge.

The man inhaled sharply, his eyes now locked onto Vivienne like a blade was at his throat. “Talli,” he said, his voice low and tight. “Get behind me.”

The little girl looked confused. “But Pa—”

“Now.”

Talli scurried around the counter and peeked out from behind her father’s hip, her expression somewhere between frightened and curious.

Vivienne didn’t move. She simply stood there, calm as ever, her arms wrapped protectively around Liora. Her expression softened, not with shame or apology—but with patience.

“I mean no harm,” Vivienne said softly, the timbre of her voice low and comforting, the kind of gentle sound meant to soothe a frightened animal—or, in this case, a frightened man pretending not to be. “And I didn’t come to you wearing another face to deceive. Only to speak as one mother to another parent.” Her fingers brushed lightly over Liora’s back, a motion full of quiet affection. “I wish for my daughter to know laughter. To make friends. Real ones. Ones her age.”

The man didn’t relax. His stance was still defensive, one hand hovering near a shelf of bundled dried roots—though what he thought he might do with them, she couldn’t guess.

He gave a stiff nod toward her. “And if I say no?” he asked, voice low and tight, a hard edge wrapped in fear. His breath came in short bursts—trying to control it, trying not to show it—but she could taste it on the air, bitter like copper and burnt herbs.

Vivienne’s smile didn’t falter. She cocked her head slightly to the side, letting her expression soften further, her black eyes never breaking from his. “Then I leave,” she said simply. “Disappointed, yes… but I won’t linger where I’m not wanted.”

She looked down at Liora, who was bundled quietly against her chest, eyes half-lidded and calm.

“My little mijita has endured more than she ever should’ve. Her world fell apart before she even learned how to speak. If she’s going to grow, if she’s going to thrive… she needs a chance to be a child. To play. To laugh. That’s all I want for her. And Talli…” Vivienne looked up, her eyes finding the girl again as she peeked from behind her father’s hip, “…Talli impressed me. With her courage. Her curiosity. She reminds me of the kind of friend I wish I’d had at that age.”

There was a long, brittle silence. The kind that settled in the bones, heavy and certain.

“Leave,” the man said at last, his voice cold, clipped. “I won’t have my daughter associating with you.”

Vivienne gave him one final, searching look, her expression unreadable. “Are you sure I can’t convince you otherwise?” she asked, her tone still warm, but now tinged with a quiet disappointment.

“No.”

She sighed, the sound like wind brushing through dying leaves. Not unexpected—but still a shame. “Fine,” she said, turning on her heel with a rustle of skirts. “Have a good day.”

The man didn’t answer.

Behind her, as she stepped through the threshold and the door swung shut with a dull thud, she heard Talli’s voice raised in protest.

“But Pa—!”

“Not another word.”

Vivienne said nothing. She simply walked, her pace measured as she moved through the crowded streets with her daughter tucked close. Liora had her chin resting on Vivienne’s shoulder now, quiet for a time.

Then, softly, the girl murmured, “Talli seemed nice.”

Vivienne’s features softened, and as they turned a corner into a quieter lane, she let the illusion fall. Her horns returned in a slow spiral of bone and obsidian, her skin darkened to a smooth slate grey, and the false warmth pressing against her mind faded into nothing. Her true self settled back into her body like slipping into a familiar dress.

“She did,” Vivienne agreed. “It’s okay, though. I’ll find other little ones for you to meet. There are many children in the city, and I’ve only just begun looking.”

“I don’t need friends,” Liora said, voice small but sure. “I have you, Mommy.”

Vivienne paused mid-step, then let out a delighted noise and spun the girl around in her arms, smothering her cheeks with kisses. “You are too sweet! I could just eat you up!”

Liora squealed with laughter, wriggling in her arms but making no real effort to escape.

They chatted the rest of the way back, speaking of nonsense things—cloud shapes, favorite smells, what kind of animal would be the best to ride on a river, and by the time they reached the manor gates, Vivienne’s heart had lightened.

Still, as the door closed behind them and the quiet of her home enveloped them, she let out a long, deep sigh. The kind that curled from her throat like steam from cooling embers.

Perhaps it was time to start pulling on the threads of Serkoth's social web. She didn’t particularly enjoy it—she found little value in hollow pleasantries and subtle games—but when parents gathered, children often followed. And Liora, no matter how sweetly she clung, needed more than just a mother.

Maybe in a week or two—if her little mijita had recovered her strength—she could host something. A feast, perhaps. Something that drew the higher families in like moths to a lantern.

Vivienne tilted her head, considering. Yes. That could work.

But not just yet.

First, Liora needed food and rest. And Vivienne had a few more shadows to chase.

The next few days passed in a blur, even if the nights stretched long and quiet for Vivienne. Much of her time was spent in motion, following through on the promises she'd made. She took the list Kivvy had given her and made the rounds personally, inspecting goods, negotiating with merchants, and ensuring every item was of the quality her friend deserved. Renzia’s needs were simpler, but no less important, and Vivienne made sure both were handled with care.

Soon, deliveries arrived in a steady stream. Crates of parts, coils of wire, panels of carved metal, and sealed jars of mysterious fluids were hauled in and sorted. The manor’s lower level transformed in the span of days—two of the spare bedrooms were completely remade.

One room, now Kivvy’s private workshop, was already starting to show signs of her personality: neatly labeled drawers, delicate mechanisms laid out in careful progress, half-finished contraptions glowing softly with unstable aether. The air inside smelled faintly of solder, ozone, and oil. It was cramped, but hers—and that seemed to matter most.

The other room, a bit larger but less specialized, became a shared workspace—primarily for whatever projects the goblins might dream up together. Its shelves were half-stocked, and while it lacked the finesse of Kivvy’s domain, it had space, potential, and most importantly, a heavy door to keep the noise down. Plans for a third workshop were already sketched out, but Vivienne had put that on hold. There would be time for expansion when they could afford to build something from the ground up—something truly tailored to their eccentric little family.

Vivienne didn’t mind the effort or the expense. Kivvy had been a persistent, loyal friend—and Renzia had become something special to her. Spoiling them both was easy, natural.

Mera and Corven had also settled in, though not quite in the way Vivienne had expected. Rather than accepting her offer of whatever unoccupied room they wanted, they’d made themselves at home in the servant’s quarters—tucked under the manor where dust still lingered from months of disuse. They’d uncovered a few old vents behind a half-rotted bookshelf, cleared them out, and turned the tucked-away space into a much nicer place. Mera had woven together some spare curtains for privacy. Corven, more practical, had simply dragged a rug over the cracked floorboards and called it good enough. That was a later problem.

The two of them had taken to cleaning up more than just their own corner. The kitchen, which had been largely ignored save for goblin snacking and Vivienne’s halfhearted cooking, now gleamed. Utensils hung in rows, cabinets had been reorganized, and there was no longer a lingering smell of stale bread and scorched stew.

More surprising still, Corven had revealed a talent that none of them had anticipated—he could cook. Not just toss things into a pot and hope, but truly cook. His meals were flavorful, satisfying, and—when he was feeling fancy—bordered on gourmet. He'd taken it upon himself to feed the goblins each day, and did it without complaint, ever the professional. The goblins, of course, adored him for it.

With everything going so well, Vivienne couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in her chest—restlessness, anticipation, a whisper of danger that hadn’t yet arrived but felt close. The manor bustled with life. Her loved ones were safe, projects moved forward, and her daughter was healing. And yet, she found herself pacing hallways at night, tail twitching, her mind haunted by the silence that followed Drakthar’s fall.

She hadn’t heard much about the war, only a few things from Kivvy and Renzia when they reunited. Drakthar had fallen. She had seen it with her own eyes. An old power toppled, its skies shattered and bleeding. That had to ripple outward, and she doubted those ripples were gentle ones. The steppes were vast,but with the northern wall demolished, Aegis finally had a way past the mountains unhindered.

Vivienne’s lip curled in a silent snarl.

She had promised. Promised Liora, promised herself that she would see the Sovereignty wiped clean from the map—no more chains, no more poison veiled as order. Just ash.

But for that, she would need power. More than she had now. More than she could grasp with song and summoning alone.

She remembered Rava's words early in their journey—how she’d offhandedly remarked that Vivienne’s way with aether was an odd blend, a fusion of endomancy and exomancy without formal discipline. At the time, it had amused Vivienne, but now it stuck in her mind like a thorn. If she could master those schools of magic, deepen her control over what already flowed through her, perhaps she could become something truly formidable.

Endomancy—manipulating the self, body and spirit. Exomancy—reaching outward, shaping the world.

She already sang her will into being. Maybe it was time she learned to shape it properly.

Of course, there were other avenues. The ruins—ancient, dangerous, and filled with monstrous guardians—still called to her. Her last expedition had left her changed, stronger, her bond with Liora deepened. And those orbs… Those strange, humming spheres of crystallized power. She’d absorbed one before and felt it etch itself into her bones like molten light.

If she could find more of them, she could grow beyond what even the old gods had imagined.

Vivienne reached out to rest her hand on the cold stone wall of the corridor, eyes narrowing, her horns catching the flicker of a lantern nearby.

She would not be caught flat-footed. The world was moving again, and if she didn’t grow, she and everything she loved would be left behind—or crushed.

No.

She would devour the power she needed.

And when the Sovereignty came crawling, she'd meet them not with diplomacy, but with hunger.

First, she would need to find exomancers and endomancers—true masters of the craft who could show her the shape of what she already danced around instinctively. To see if there was more than just raw talent in her—if there was potential for refinement. For power.

Her first thought was Tarric. He was the best exomancer in the family, that much was certain. But he was also… elusive. Busy. Deep in the family’s plans, and even deeper now with Rava in the state she was.

Rava.

Vivienne’s claw flexed over the armrest of her chair, her gaze softening. Rava was—at least before—an extraordinarily skilled endomancer. The kind that didn’t just shift flesh and bone, but understood it, made it sing. Now? Now she was something else. Bruised in mind, perhaps, but still whole. Still hers. If Rava recovered—and Vivienne had to believe she would—then perhaps she could teach her. Or even now… perhaps there was a sliver of that old brilliance still reachable. Vivienne would take it slow. She wouldn’t pressure her.

She missed her.

Gods, she missed her.

She hadn’t seen Rava since that night. The night the hunger overtook her—the deep, maddening craving that turned desire to obsession, warmth to burning need. She could still remember the way Rava’s body felt beneath her hands, the moment when love and longing blurred into something primal.

Vivienne exhaled slowly. Her heart ached with guilt. She should have apologized by now. Instead, she’d busied herself with errands, renovations, errands, anything to avoid facing what sat hollow in her chest. She’d convinced herself it was patience. That Rava needed time. But maybe she was the one who had been afraid.

She needed to make it right.

She needed to tell her.

I love you, you magnificent idiot, she thought. And I’m sorry.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Vivienne straightened, smoothing her dress with a clawed hand before calling out, “Come in.”

Mera peeked her head through the door. “T-There is a guest here to see you, mistress.”

Vivienne arched a brow. “Oh? Who is it?”

“Lady Ravanyr Serkoth.”

Vivienne froze.

What?

A strange pressure bloomed in her chest—disbelief, nerves, something hopeful and anxious all tangled together. What kind of cruel or perfect twist of fate was this?

“Bring her here,” Vivienne said softly, voice calm despite the sudden thundering in her chest.

Mera gave a quick nod and disappeared.

And then she was there.

Rava ducked through the doorway, broader than ever, her frame filling the entrance like a shadow come to life. Her fur shimmered with dark hues, streaks of aether-blue tracing her limbs like living veins. Her posture was cautious, uncertain, but her eyes—those glowing, brilliant eyes—locked with Vivienne’s, and something ancient stirred.

Vivienne's breath hitched.

How she wanted to run to her. To wrap herself around that brute like ivy on stone. To bury her face in Rava’s chest and stay there until the ache faded.

Instead, she kept still. Composed. But her eyes softened and her smile warmed as she gestured to the seat across from her.

“Hello, Rava,” she said, voice tender as silk. “Please. Sit.”

Rava grunted—a wordless sound, but not a cold one—and moved forward, ducking again to avoid the chandelier. She folded herself into the chair across from Vivienne with surprising gentleness for someone so large. Her presence filled the room. Even the cushions seemed intimidated.

She really was massive now. The Serkoth children were all large, but Rava dwarfed them. She looked less like someone from a noble line and more like a force of nature made flesh.

And yet—Vivienne saw her.

The same woman she rescued from the first ruin. The same woman who hesitated before every embrace. The same woman who had stood beside her, bloody and bruised, and smiled like it was the only thing that mattered.

Vivienne folded her hands in her lap, tail curling lightly around her chair. She tried to keep her voice steady, but it trembled just a little with affection.

“I’ve missed you.”

Rava said nothing right away.

But her ears twitched.

Her eyes didn’t leave Vivienne’s face.

And Vivienne’s heart ached with the terrible, wonderful hope that she was still in there—her Rava, bruised but unbroken, waiting for her to reach out.

Rava stared at her.

Not just looked—stared. Like she was trying to memorize every curve of Vivienne’s face, every shift in her expression. Her glowing blue eyes bore into her like twin suns behind storm clouds, unwavering, unblinking. The silence between them stretched long, taut as a bowstring.

Vivienne chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair behind one horn. “That much staring is going to make a woman blush, sweetheart,” she teased, the warmth in her voice undercut by the nervous flutter in her chest.

Still, Rava said nothing. Her lips parted slightly, and her brows twitched, as though there were too many thoughts crowding her mind and not enough room to shape them into words.

Then finally—quietly, almost too softly for a voice that large to manage—Rava spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

Vivienne tilted her head. Her smile faded, replaced by confusion. “What?”

“I got in the way of your hunt,” Rava said plainly, gaze never dropping.

Vivienne blinked.

For a moment, the world felt upside down.

That’s what she was sorry for?

“I…” Vivienne’s lips parted, then shut, then parted again as she tried to wrap her head around the absurdity of the statement. “I was going to apologize to you.”

Rava’s expression barely shifted, but there was the slightest narrowing of her eyes. Her ears twitched once.

“Why?” she asked, voice low, uncertain.

Vivienne leaned forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees. “Because I lost control,” she said honestly. “I gave in to something base, something that should never have touched you the way it did. I didn’t mean to frighten you, or make you feel… like prey.”

“You didn’t,” Rava said quickly, perhaps too quickly. Her claws tensed against the arms of her chair. “I didn’t feel afraid.”

Vivienne raised an eyebrow, studying her.

“Then what did you feel?” she asked, gently.

Rava’s jaw tensed. Her tail, long and thick, coiled once around the leg of her chair before settling again with a low thump. Her shoulders twitched, then rolled with restrained tension. Everything in her posture screamed movement—like she wanted to get up, pace the room, shake off her thoughts by brute force—but instead she sat, a hulking storm held in place by will alone.

Her mouth worked slowly, her tongue dragging across the backs of her teeth like it might find the words hidden there, curled in the crevices.

“Confusion,” she said at last. Her voice was thick, grating like it scraped the words loose from somewhere deep. “Wanted to help you hunt. Don’t know why you attacked me for it. Thought…” She swallowed. “Thought you didn’t want to be my mate anymore.”

Her eyes flicked away as she said it, though her glare never quite softened. That resting scowl was etched into her face like scars into old bark—but her ears told the real story. They drooped low, trembling faintly at the tips, like she was bracing for another blow.

Vivienne’s heart clenched.

“Nonono!” she burst out, rising from her seat before she realized she was moving. She nearly tripped in her urgency, catching herself on the edge of the table. “Rava, no, that wasn’t it at all.”

She crossed the distance and crouched in front of the towering brute, cupping Rava’s face in her clawed hands. “Sweetheart, I hadn’t eaten in weeks. I was starving—and I mean truly starving. Everything I can eat… was in danger from me.”

Rava blinked down at her, confused, as though trying to fit that explanation into a framework that made sense.

Vivienne’s hands moved to her shoulders, firm and grounding. “I didn’t attack you because I stopped loving you. I attacked because I lost control. I was drowning in hunger, in instinct—and when you came close, when I smelled your aether—” she shook her head, her voice catching, “—I wasn’t me anymore. Not completely.”

Rava’s brows furrowed. Her hand, slow and uncertain, came up and rested lightly against Vivienne’s hip, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed.

“You didn’t mean it?” she asked, voice barely more than a growl, but the vulnerability behind the question was raw.

Vivienne leaned in until their foreheads touched, her horns brushing Rava’s brow. “I would never hurt you on purpose. Not you.”

Rava’s hand tightened slightly. “Felt real.”

“I know it did,” Vivienne whispered. “It was real, but it wasn’t right. And I should have come to you. I should have explained. But instead I let my shame get in the way, and I buried myself in everything else.”

Rava was silent for a moment, her breath heavy, her expression unreadable.

Then, softly, hesitantly, she said, “Still want to be your mate.”

Vivienne’s breath hitched. Her black eyes shimmered with emotion, and her smile trembled as it spread across her lips.

“You are my mate,” she said. “Always.”

Rava let out a breath she’d been holding for far too long, her whole body sagging just slightly with it. She pulled Vivienne forward, slow and gentle, until the smaller woman was in her lap, arms wrapping around her middle like she was something fragile and precious.

Vivienne melted into the embrace, nuzzling against her shoulder. “I missed you so much,” she whispered.

Rava grunted. “Missed you too.”

And for a while, there were no more words. Just two forms wrapped together, the silence full and warm, like something finally made whole again.

They sat like that for a time—quiet, breathing in sync, warmth shared in stillness. Rava’s arms cradled her with that same mix of gentleness and unthinking strength that Vivienne had always adored, her thick fingers idly tracing over Vivienne’s back as if to reassure herself the little summoner was really there. Vivienne didn’t speak, didn’t need to. Just the solid thrum of Rava’s heartbeat beneath her ear was enough.

It could have been minutes. Could have been longer.

Then, with all the subtlety of a goblin tripping over a pile of metal, the door slammed open.

“VIVI YOU’RE NOT GONNA BELIEVE WHAT I JUST—oh.”

Kivvy stood there, bright-eyed and vibrating with energy, a handful of blueprints in one hand, a grease-smudged rag in the other. Her mouth hung open mid-sentence. Her ears twitched once. Her eyes flicked to the pair tangled together on the chair, Vivienne nestled in Rava’s lap like she belonged there.

A long, glorious beat of silence.

Vivienne didn’t move, only turned her head slightly and raised a brow. “Yes, sweetheart?”

Kivvy’s expression did a little stutter-step between excited inventor, scandalized child, and shocked sister catching you kissing someone in the pantry.

“I—uh. I can—come back?”

“No need,” said Vivienne sweetly, not moving from where she was curled. “You’ve already come.”

Rava growled low in her throat—just a warning rumble, nothing serious.

Kivvy backpedaled quickly. “Right. Yes. Nope. I see what's happening. I’ll just—uh—come back later with my plans. For the thing. That goes vrrmmm—” she made a vaguely turbine-like motion with both hands “—and shoots lightning—okay BYE.”

And then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her once again with a startled yelp echoing down the hall.

Vivienne let out a slow, amused breath, nuzzling into the crook of Rava’s neck. “I’ve missed this chaos.”

Rava’s clawed fingers moved up to stroke her hair. “She always like that?”

Vivienne chuckled. “Oh, you’ve no idea.”