Mother of Midnight

Chapter 239 – The Scope of a Project

“Sorry for biting a chunk out of your arm.”

“It’s fine. I pushed when I should not push.”

“Still… Ugh, fine. Be far too agreeable. We’ll leave it at that and I will try to not eat more of you.”

Rava chuckled.

Vivienne sat nestled on Rava’s lap, her cheek resting just above the curve of the brawler’s collarbone, her fingers drawing lazy, swirling patterns along the thick cords of muscle across her chest. Rava’s arms were wrapped around her, heavy and secure, coiled with the quiet possessiveness of someone who had lost something once and wasn’t willing to let go again. But there was no tightness, no fear—only that still, quiet presence that grounded Vivienne in a way few things ever had. It was the kind of stillness that came with trust, and the quiet reverence of someone trying to memorize every curve, every warmth, every small breath.

“You know,” Vivienne murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as her fingers drifted along the edge of Rava’s collarbone, “I’ve always been weak to muscles.”

Rava shifted slightly, her claws flexing gently at Vivienne’s hip. “You are not weak,” she said, her voice deep and firm, as if correcting an error in fact. “You are very strong.”

Vivienne giggled softly, the sound muffled against her skin. She tipped her head back just enough to look up at Rava’s face, her black eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “Not what I meant, darling.”

Rava blinked. “Oh.”

“I meant… I like them. A lot.” She dragged her fingers teasingly down Rava’s abdomen, where her muscles tensed instinctively under the touch. “They’re lovely to look at. Lovely to touch. Lovely to fall asleep on.”

Rava’s ears twitched, and her tail gave a slow, pleased pat on the couch. “You like… me.”

Vivienne laughed again, more fully this time. “Stars, yes. Very much.”

Rava nodded sagely, her tone absurdly serious for someone wrapped up in soft furs with a giggling woman on her lap. “Yes. I am powerful and attractive. A prime mate.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes, but the smile on her lips was unmistakably fond. “I ought to chastise you for having such an ego,” she said, dragging a claw lightly along Rava’s collarbone, “but I’m no better. Especially when I can look and be whoever I want. It is unbelievably freeing.”

Rava grunted in agreement, her claws gently tracing along Vivienne’s lower back in slow, absent circles. “You always look good. But I like this you. Squishy. Sharp. Dangerous.”

Vivienne’s cheeks darkened with warmth, and she nestled in harder, draping her tail across Rava’s thigh and curling tighter into her. The movement was subtle but deliberate, her way of saying don’t move, I’m not done being here. Her voice dropped, quieter, touched with the weight of longing that had been buried too long beneath work and worry. “I missed this. I missed cuddling up by the fire… sharing furs every so often. You always kept the cold off. I never realized how badly I needed that until you weren’t there.”

Rava was silent for a moment, save for the slow thump of her heartbeat under Vivienne’s cheek. One hand came up and threaded carefully through Vivienne’s hair, claw-tips brushing her scalp with uncharacteristic gentleness. “I didn’t want to be gone,” she murmured. “Didn’t want to forget. You were comfortable, too. Like… home.”

Vivienne’s chest tightened, and she let out a small, shaky breath against Rava’s skin. “You remember?”

“Small pieces,” Rava rumbled. Her voice was low, gravelly, and heavy with strain. “Hard to grasp. Most still gone. Hurts to remember.”

Vivienne shifted to look at her, her eyes shimmering with guilt and sorrow. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though it felt useless.

Rava shook her head slowly. “No. I am sorry. I should try harder.”

Vivienne’s breath caught. Her claws curled slightly against Rava’s chest. No. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

“You shouldn’t be the one apologising,” she said, the words leaving her in a rush. Her voice cracked, trembling at the edges. “It’s my fault you died. You died! Fuck!” Her composure shattered, and thick, cold streaks of ichor spilled down her cheeks—black and glistening, bitter as guilt.

Rava went still beneath her, unmoving save for the quiet rise and fall of her chest.

“I convinced us to stay for the battle at Drakthar,” Vivienne continued, her voice rising, shaking. “You wouldn’t have died, Kivvy wouldn’t have been re-enslaved, and Liora would still be able to run around like a normal girl her age! It’s all my fucking fault.”

Her words poured out like a flood, choked and jagged, torn from a place she’d tried for too long to bury. She pressed a hand against Rava’s chest, half to steady herself, half to hold onto the only thing in the world that felt real right now.

“I was supposed to protect everyone. That’s what I told myself. But all I did was make it worse. I was selfish. Arrogant. Just because I thought it would be an easy feast. And I didn’t— I didn’t stop to think how much it could cost.”

Rava’s breath was slow and deliberate, but her grip tightened—not painfully, but firmly, like she was anchoring Vivienne in place. One clawed hand slid up her back, careful, and cupped the back of her head. She didn’t speak, not yet. She just held her, letting Vivienne's trembling form press in, letting the tears—and the guilt—have space.

When she finally did speak, her voice was low, rough with the effort to find words. “You didn’t kill me. War did. We chose it together. I would do it again if you were there.”

Vivienne choked out a sob and clung to her, fingers curling into Rava’s fur like a lifeline. Her voice cracked. “You can’t say that when you don’t even remember it. Do you remember your death?”

Rava was silent for a long moment, her chest rising and falling beneath Vivienne in slow, controlled breaths. Then she exhaled, the sound low and tired. “No.”

“Exactly,” Vivienne snapped, though the bite in her voice was dulled by grief. “You don’t remember what it was like. How it felt. You don’t remember me failing you. You should scorn me. You should hate me.” Her voice wavered again, a mix of bitterness and pain. “Not... this.”

There was another pause, heavy and thoughtful. Then, Rava’s voice, deep and unflinching: “How different am I now?”

Vivienne blinked through the blur of ichor and emotion. “What?”

“How am I different from before?”

Vivienne met her gaze, those glowing blue eyes like frozen stars. She hesitated, the answer catching in her throat, then spoke softly. “A bit grumpier. A bit more... primal. You still fight the same, mostly. I don’t know how much you think through things now, but you weren’t an idiot then—and you’re no idiot now. And you’re kind. I think you’re kinder than you realize. You were like that before, too. You just didn’t show it unless you trusted someone.”

Rava nodded slightly, as if filing the words away. “If I get my memory back,” she asked, voice rumbling low, “what do you think I would say to you?”

Vivienne squinted at her. “Is this some kind of mind game?”

“Just answer.”

Vivienne exhaled through her nose, gaze drifting away. “You’d probably be angry with me. You’d tell me I made a stupid call. Then you’d get over it. You were a pragmatist. There wasn’t much that made you... uncontrollably angry. Not for long.”

Rava shifted, not in rejection, but to hold her a little closer. Her next words were quiet but certain.

“Then you are forgiven.”

Vivienne froze. “What?”

“I forgive you.”

“You—” Her voice broke again, sharper this time. “You can’t just forgive me for what I’ve done!”

“I can,” Rava said simply. “And I am.”

Vivienne pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, disbelief etched across her face. “You don’t understand—”

“I don’t need to remember every detail to know who I am. And I know you.” Rava’s hand cupped the side of her face with uncharacteristic gentleness. “If I chose to die at your side, then I chose it. Not because you made me. Because I wanted to.”

Vivienne trembled, lips parted, searching her face as though trying to find some crack in the calm conviction Rava held. But there was none.

“You blame yourself for surviving,” Rava added, voice softer now. “But I’m not gone. I’m here. So don’t keep punishing yourself like I’m not.”

Vivienne’s heart ached. The words settled over her like a warm, heavy blanket—comforting, suffocating, true in a way that made her throat tighten. She let herself fall forward again, into that waiting embrace, her arms around Rava’s neck, her body folded in close.

“I don’t know if I can forgive myself,” she murmured.

Rava leaned her head against Vivienne’s and whispered, “Then I’ll carry it with you. Until you can.”

They sat in silence for a while, wrapped in one another, saying nothing over the low, constant crackle of the hearth. The fire’s warmth danced against their skin, casting soft flickers of light across the furs and stone. Vivienne’s breathing had evened out, slow and quiet, and Rava’s heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath her ear.

Eventually, Rava stirred. Her chest rose with a breath that seemed to draw up a memory from somewhere deep.

“We met in some ruins,” she said slowly, the words half-stated, half-asked. “I was cursed… wasn’t I?”

Vivienne tilted her head up to look at her. “Yes to both,” she said softly. “You were this growling, half-feral animal with a spiked collar turned inwards. I woke up in this world, in the same room as you. It was the first thing I saw after falling through.”

Rava’s brow furrowed faintly. “You’re from another world?”

Vivienne nodded. “I am. I lived… half a life over there. And then Akhenna—she tore a hole in the world and dropped me into this one.”

Rava stared at the fire, her expression unreadable—but there was a faint twitch in her ear, a furrow softening around her eyes. “No,” she said after a moment. “I think… I remember this. Not clearly. But I remember your voice. The way you smelled. Like flowers and smoke.”

Vivienne gave a small laugh through her nose. “That’s morbidly sweet.”

“Good,” Rava rumbled, her arm tightening slightly around Vivienne’s back. “That means I get to have you.”

Vivienne blinked, caught off guard by the possessiveness in her tone—gruff and simple, but full of meaning. She looked up again and saw no jest in Rava’s glowing eyes. Just quiet certainty. Claiming, not as ownership, but as truth.

“Do… do you want to live here with me?” asked Vivienne.

The question came quietly, almost as if she regretted it the moment it left her mouth. Her voice was small, barely rising above the crackle of the hearth, and there was a tremor beneath it—a hesitation born of too many losses, too many unanswered hopes. She didn’t look at Rava when she asked. Her gaze stayed fixed on the glowing embers, her fingers tracing slow circles over the thick muscle of Rava’s side as though trying to distract herself from her own vulnerability.

Rava didn’t answer right away.

Her arms didn’t loosen, didn’t tighten—she just held her there, unmoving, and silent. But Vivienne could feel

her thinking. Feel the way her chest rose with a deeper breath. Feel the slow beat of her heart, steady and strong.Then, softly: “Yes.”

Vivienne looked up, just a little, unsure if she’d heard right.

Rava’s eyes were already on her—those bright, glowing blue eyes, quiet and serious and sure. “Yes,” she said again, more firmly this time. “I want that.”

Vivienne’s lips parted, but no words came out. Relief hit her so quickly it almost felt like pain. Her shoulders sagged, and a tremble ran through her as she clung to Rava tighter, hiding her face again against her chest.

“It’s a big place” she murmured. “And there are lots of people living in my home now. But you, I want more than anyone else, other than Liora of course.. It’s mine. And I just… I want to share it with you.”

“It is warm,” Rava said. “It smells like you. I like that.”

Vivienne laughed softly, muffled by skin and fur. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Rava nuzzled her hair with her chin. “It is a yes.”

Vivienne tilted her head just enough to peer up at her, the firelight painting soft amber hues across Rava’s dark fur. There was something quiet and certain in those glowing blue eyes—an anchor in a storm, and for once, the storm wasn’t in Rava’s heart. Vivienne reached up, brushing her fingertips along the line of Rava’s jaw, and let her smile bloom slowly.

“You’re a brute,” she whispered, voice light but trembling around the edges. “But you’re my brute.”

Rava didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

Her hand came up, rough palm cupping Vivienne’s cheek with surprising care, her claws brushing gently against the edge of her hair. She leaned in slowly, deliberately, giving Vivienne every chance to pull away.

She didn’t.

Vivienne’s eyes fluttered closed just before their lips met. It was a soft thing, at first—more a promise than a claim. Rava’s mouth was warm and sure, but not forceful. Their kiss deepened gradually, coaxed rather than taken, a shared breath wrapped in firelight and unspoken things. Vivienne’s hand curled against Rava’s chest, fingers tightening slightly in her fur as if to say stay, don’t go, not again.

When they pulled apart, it wasn’t far. Rava rested her forehead against Vivienne’s, her breath warm against her lips.

“I missed you,” Vivienne whispered, her voice breaking just a little. “Even when I didn’t know it.”

“I did not remember,” Rava murmured, “but my heart did.”

Vivienne smiled, eyes wet, but shining. “That’s beautifully corny.”

Rava gave the faintest, rumbling chuckle. “I am not good with words.”

“You don’t have to be,” Vivienne said, brushing her thumb along Rava’s chin. “You just have to stay.”

“I will.”

They stayed like that for a long while—quiet, wrapped around each other, the hearth crackling softly beside them. The world beyond the little home could wait.

Vivienne flattened out the folds of her dress as she slipped out of the bedroom, leaving Rava snoring softly in the oversized bed. She cast one last glance over her shoulder and smiled. The giant lekine was sprawled on her back, a blanket half-kicked off and one massive foot hanging just off the edge of the mattress. Thank the stars the previous owners believed in extravagance, Vivienne thought. Any smaller, and she'd be sleeping with her knees to her chest.

She padded downstairs, bare feet whispering against the polished stone steps. The air was cooler on the lower floor, laced with the faint, ever-present scent of oil and ozone that had become synonymous with Kivvy’s workspace. She knocked lightly on the goblin’s workshop door, half-expecting it to swing open from sheer overuse.

But there was no response.

No clatter of tools, no excited rambling, no wild mechanical laughter from inside.

Vivienne tilted her head, concerned. Kivvy hadn’t left the workshop for more than a few minutes at a time in days, obsessively buried in whatever new contraption had seized her manic attention. It was unlike her to be so quiet.

Then, with a click and a creak, the door opened a crack. One gleaming yellow eye peered out from a soot-smeared face, half-covered by a pair of oversized goggles. Vivienne blinked as the faint sound of machinery—once muted—spilled into the hallway. Whirring, grinding, the occasional spark-pop. Kivvy pulled the goggles down around her neck, revealing the only clean patch of skin on her entire face: a wide ring around her eyes, like a reverse raccoon.

“Finished doing the thing with Rava?” Kivvy asked with a mischievous grin. “Got time to see what I’ve been cooking up?”

Vivienne rolled her eyes, lips curling. “I am finished with the ‘thing,’ yes. I wanted to check in on your latest masterpiece.”

“Perfect! Come in. You’re gonna love this.”

Kivvy practically dragged her in by the wrist, excitement fizzing off her like static. The workshop was as chaotic as ever, but now the walls were… covered in something new. A lumpy, pale substance with a vaguely spongey texture. Vivienne ran a hand along it as she passed.

“You made the walls soundproof?” she asked.

“Yup!” Kivvy chirped, already halfway across the room. “Well, not perfectly, but close enough that my latest tests won’t shatter glassware upstairs.”

That didn’t exactly ease Vivienne’s nerves.

Kivvy stopped at her main workbench, sweeping a pile of copper fittings aside to present what could only be described as a mechanical Frankenstein’s rifle. It was bulky, all straight edges and reinforced plating, with a strange rectangular barrel and glowing lines of aether crystal running along the length of it. Cables trailed off the side like veins.

“So,” Kivvy said proudly, “I lost my burnstick.”

Vivienne raised a brow. “Oh no.”

“Yeah, sucks,” Kivvy replied flatly. “But! I made something better.” She patted the rifle like it was a beloved pet. “Meet the replacement. It’s still got the old cooling rod system, but I reworked the barrel to hold a lattice of aether crystals. Makes it a lot more modular. Multi-stage trigger—half-press charges, full-press fires. The longer you hold the light press, the more aether it draws in. And the lattice—chef’s kiss—it amplifies and accelerates the projectile, gets a nice kick going.”

Vivienne’s eyes widened. “You made a railgun.”

Kivvy squinted at her. “Is that, like, an actual thing? Or are you just pretending to know what you’re talking about to make me feel smart?”

Vivienne laughed, the sound light and genuine. “No, I promise. They existed where I came from. Used electromagnets—coils of conductive wire—along the barrel to accelerate metal projectiles. They weren’t aether-based, but same concept. Punch holes in tanks, ships, you name it.”

“Huh,” Kivvy said, looking down at her own creation, then back up. “And you didn’t think to tell me about this?”

“I wanted you to come up with things on your own,” Vivienne said with a wink. “And you did. Be proud. I didn’t even mention railguns to you, and you just… built one.”

Kivvy puffed up, chest forward, soot-streaked cheeks flushed green. “Well. That’s because I’m a genius.”

“You’re definitely something.”

“Is that a compliment?”

Vivienne reached out and ruffled her wild hair, leaving a smudge of soot on her fingers. “Yes, it is. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“It’s already there,” Kivvy said proudly, gesturing at the rifle like a mother showing off her firstborn. “Along with several other things I probably shouldn’t have inhaled.”

Vivienne arched a brow, stepping lightly across the cluttered floor as the door closed behind her. “The ventilation in here is lacking,” she hummed, glancing up at the jury-rigged ducts overhead. “That’s not healthy.”

“Unimportant,” Kivvy dismissed with a firm wave of her hand, as if health were merely a passing inconvenience. “Anyway! I managed to reduce the size of the cooling rods for two reasons. First, I can pack more easily on my person—obvious benefit. Second, I can fire them. If I need a kinetic projectile for any reason.” She reached under the bench and pulled out a slightly scorched iron plate. “I tested it on this. It went straight through.”

Vivienne leaned in, fascinated despite herself. The rifle’s form was far from elegant—more blocky than graceful, with exposed crystal matrices and a complicated series of vent fins—but there was a rough beauty to it. Function had clearly guided form, and every component buzzed with intentionality.

“I look forward to seeing this in action,” she said, trailing a claw lightly along the lattice. “What’s the range on it?”

Kivvy’s face lit up like a wildfire. “About two leagues.”

Vivienne let out a low whistle, eyes widening slightly. “That’s impressive. Could you actually shoot that far?”

“Nah,” Kivvy said with a snort. “My eyes aren’t that good. If I tried, I’d probably hit a cow three villages over.”

Vivienne gave her a sideways look, lips twitching. “Then why not attach a scope?”

Kivvy blinked, her expression blank for a beat before she turned slowly back to the rifle. “...Explain.”

Vivienne chuckled under her breath, stepping around the table so she could gesture more clearly. “Alright. So, in my world, a scope is a kind of optical enhancement—usually a tube you mount on top of a ranged weapon. Inside is a series of magnifying lenses calibrated to adjust for range, wind, and even bullet drop. Some had built-in rangefinders, night vision, even targeting reticles that adjusted dynamically based on input data.”

Kivvy’s eyes grew wider with each word. “That’s genius. Magnifying lenses... you mean like a spyglass?”

“Yes, exactly. But refined. Calibrated.” Vivienne mimed looking down a scope. “You can even set it for different ranges, or add tick marks inside the lens to estimate distance and arc. If your eyes aren’t up to sniping across a battlefield, a scope gives them a helping hand.”

The goblin immediately dove for her cluttered bench, shoving aside a pile of scrap metal and parchment to dig out a cracked lens. “Magnification... I have a lens somewhere from that broken aether telescope! That might work! Oh—oh, wait, if I combine it with a focusing prism I can—no, wait—”

Vivienne stepped back as Kivvy’s manic energy filled the room, watching with quiet amusement as the goblin began muttering to herself in half-syllables and nonsense phrases. She scrambled for a piece of chalk and began sketching frantically on the wall, jotting down angles, material strengths, and arcane resonance values that looked like gibberish to anyone else.

Only once Kivvy was fully immersed did Vivienne feel the tug in her stomach. A pang, sharp and hollow—hunger. Not the idle sort that came from missing a meal, but the deep, instinctive kind that had been lurking ever since her summoning song days earlier.

She laid a hand lightly on the workbench and said softly, “I’m going out for a bit.”

Kivvy didn’t even look up. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t die. Bring back something interesting.”

Vivienne smiled. “I’ll try.”

She slipped out of the workshop and into the cool light of the early evening. The city hummed faintly in the distance, but the call in her blood pulled her beyond its walls. She needed something with legs and fangs and muscle beneath its hide—something that would struggle, at least a little. The kind of hunt that grounded her, even as her power swelled.

Time to find dinner.