Mother of Midnight

Chapter 245 – Divine Business

Lyra yanked her arm free from Vivienne’s grasp, clutching the spot where the black tongue had touched her. Her expression was tangled—equal parts fear, frustration, and something softer. Regret, perhaps.

“How did you know?” she asked, voice low.

Vivienne’s five eyes gleamed as she tilted her head, licking her lips slowly, savoring the lingering taste. “It is not difficult to parse the divine from the mundane. Aether sings differently when it has roots in godhood.”

She leaned forward slightly, smiling with something just shy of menace. “You taste immaculate. Like sun-warmed fruit on a spring morning. Like the finest spiced curry simmered for hours. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.” Her gaze sharpened, voice lowering into a murmur that felt like a knife sliding into silk. “Tell me, Lyra—do you think I could kill a god?”

The question hung in the air like a guillotine.

The bard-turned-something-else shivered, clutching her arm tighter. “I… don’t know. As Entheris said, you devoured part of a god. That shouldn’t be possible. Even the primordials can’t destroy each other like that. Not truly.”

Vivienne narrowed her eyes. “Primordials?”

Lyra nodded cautiously. “Mortals tend to lump them all together—gods, primordials, avatars. But they’re not the same. The primordials came first. Forces made flesh. They can’t die. Not really. If they’re destroyed, they dissolve back into the aether and eventually re-form. But the mortal gods…” she hesitated, eyes downcast. “We’re… different. We can die.”

Vivienne gave her a long look. “And you’re a mortal god, I presume?”

There was a long silence. Lyra let out a sigh, then finally met Vivienne’s gaze. “I was hoping I wouldn’t be discovered this early.” Her form seemed to settle, her voice clearer now. “I am Lyridia. The goddess of stories.”

Entheris moved instantly, dropping to the floor and prostrating themselves with mechanical efficiency. “I did not know. I apologize for my irreverence,” they said, their tone somehow both flat and reverent.

Lyridia grimaced. “I hate this part. Just treat me like you would any bard. That’s all I ever wanted.”

Vivienne didn’t smile.

She watched the so-called goddess for a long, slow breath, then walked a half-circle around her—predator circling prey. Or was it reverence? No… curiosity.

“So,” she drawled, “why is a mortal god in my home?”

She said the word mortal like a curse, like a poisoned dart aimed with precision—and it hit. Lyridia flinched, visibly, her face paling.

That reaction. Vivienne caught it. Savored it.

A goddess, afraid.

The thought should have terrified her.

But instead, Vivienne felt a strange, blooming heat in her chest. Wonder. Confidence. Hunger.

Why was she afraid of me?

“I wanted to meet you in person,” Lyridia said at last, her voice softer now—less performative, more sincere. She turned her head slightly, eyes flicking toward Entheris. “Please get up.”

The ex-champion hesitated. Only slightly. Then rose from the floor and returned to their seat on the couch, posture rigid, hands folded in their lap like a dutiful servant awaiting judgment.

Vivienne reclined like a queen draped across her throne, one leg lazily hooked over the other, her stomach resting against Rava’s thigh. Her clawed fingers tapped a slow rhythm on her own knee. “Well,” she purred, “you’ve met me now. What are your thoughts?”

Lyridia studied her for a long moment—no fear this time, just a thoughtful frown creasing her otherwise smooth features. “I wonder what Akhenna was thinking… creating you.”

A growl like distant thunder rumbled through the room. Rava’s ears had gone flat, and her claws had sunk halfway into the couch frame. The massive lekine hadn’t said a word during the exchange until now—but her protective rage bled into the aether like static heat.

Vivienne turned her head and offered Rava a gentle, warning look—soft enough to say “I appreciate it,” but sharp enough to say “Let me handle this.” Then she faced Lyridia again.

“How could we ever know what she’s thinking?” Vivienne asked, tilting her head slightly, horns catching the low firelight. “She’s enigmatic. And from what I’ve gathered, she mostly works behind the scenes. Whispering to champions. Lighting a match and watching what burns.”

Lyridia let out a breath and leaned back into the chair, as if the weight of the room itself had grown heavier. “I agree. But still… she gave you more than I expected. More than anyone should have received. So much potential. So much raw freedom to grow. Maybe that’s why Praxus broke the rules. Maybe he saw what you were becoming and panicked.”

Vivienne’s smile returned—but this time it was thin, cold. “And did you panic, goddess of stories?”

“No,” Lyridia murmured. “But I did start paying attention.”

Vivienne chuckled, the sound low and velvety. “Then I suppose I should be flattered.”

“You should,” Lyridia replied, without bravado. “You’ve already become more than just a player on the stage. You’re changing the shape of the play itself.”

Vivienne flicked her tongue at Lyridia again, slow and deliberate, savoring the bitter taste of divine anxiety. The goddess flinched—a subtle jerk of the shoulder, a faint narrowing of the eyes—but it was enough. Vivienne smirked with delight before rising fluidly and circling back around to Rava.

She practically melted into her lover’s lap, her clawed fingers stroking the top of Rava’s thigh.

“What do you think, love?” she murmured, turning her head lazily. “What should we do with them?”

Rava’s brow furrowed more than usual. Her expression didn’t shift much—but her silence was thoughtful, not empty. Her ears twitched once, then again. Finally, she muttered, “Don’t know.”

Vivienne exhaled through her nose. “Mmm, still need more of those memories recovered. You might be a brute, but I know there’s a thinker in there somewhere. A schemer. You used to be better at this.”

Rava grunted, the sound low and unreadable. Not agreement. Not disagreement. Just there.

“I might be able to help with that,” came Lyridia’s voice, quiet but firm.

Vivienne didn’t even look her way. “And why would you do that?”

“Because it would help you.”

A slow blink. “And why do you even want to help me?”

Lyridia hesitated. Her fingers tightened slightly on the arm of the chair. “I don’t,” she admitted. “But I will. Frankly, I think you’re an existential threat that should never have been created.”

Vivienne chuckled darkly. “But?”

The goddess sighed, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off invisible chains. “But… you don’t scare me as much as something else does.”

Vivienne’s gaze snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. Her voice came like a dagger wrapped in silk. “Which is?”

Lyridia looked away, visibly uncomfortable. “I can’t say.”

“Can’t… or won’t?”

Lyridia squirmed. “Either? Both?”

Vivienne hummed, but there was no pleasure in it this time. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against Rava’s side. “So something else is stopping you. Or scaring you. I see.” She let the words hang, tasting the implications.

The silence that followed was heavy, but not empty. Possibility hovered in the air like static.

She wanted to eat them. Truly. Every fibre of her being itched to pull the divine spark from their bones and drink it down. But…

Useful tools had uses before they became meals.

She leaned back further into Rava, thoughtful now, almost serene. “Alright, goddess of tales. Let’s say I don’t kill you. How, exactly, would you help her?”

Lyridia straightened slightly, seizing the moment. “I am the goddess of stories. I don’t just record them—I can write them. Guide them. Bend the threads of memory and meaning. Even the other gods can’t use narrative aether, though I don't know why.”

Vivienne tilted her head. “And how does writing a story help her?”

Lyridia folded her hands on her lap. “Because her memories—what’s missing, what was broken—are part of her story. Buried in the ink of her soul. If I can find the right thread… I can write it back in. Not a false memory. Not a fabrication. The truth. As it was, waiting to be told again.”

Rava’s ears twitched.

Vivienne didn’t speak yet.

Her eyes remained on Lyridia, narrowed and unreadable, but her expression had softened—just a touch. Her black tongue flicked out slowly across her lips, a deliberate motion more feline than human. A slow exhale followed, as she leaned her cheek against Rava’s side again.

“This is about you, love,” she murmured. “What do you want to do?”

Rava was quiet for a few long moments. Her claws flexed absently on the armrest. Her gaze was distant, like she was trying to peer into herself and finding only fog. “Memories are pain,” she finally rumbled. “Dunno. Do what you think is best.”

Vivienne turned her head, five black eyes fixed on her partner. Her voice dropped to something softer than silk, tinged with something uncharacteristically gentle. “This isn’t about me, though. This is about you. I don’t want to make decisions about what happens with your body while you’re aware and can consent. You’re not a broken weapon, Rava. You’re a person.”

For a moment, there was quiet.

Then Lyridia stirred, brow furrowing as if something didn’t quite compute. “You care about such things?” she asked, her tone almost disbelieving. “But I’ve seen—” She caught herself. A breath hitched in her throat.

Vivienne’s eyes flared, the humor gone in an instant. “What have you seen?” Her voice was death wrapped in honey.

“Nothing,” Lyridia replied quickly, but not convincingly.

Vivienne sat upright slowly, her full weight still pressed against Rava. “You are a teller of tales,” she said, voice like a needle, “but apparently not a teller of tall ones. You’ve been paying close attention to me, haven’t you?”

Lyridia clicked her tongue, clearly regretting speaking at all.

Vivienne’s lips peeled into a slow, wicked grin. “You know I’m still tossing up whether you’re a tool or a meal, yes?”

“Noted,” Lyridia said quietly, not meeting her gaze.

Vivienne leaned back once more, stretching languidly before resting her hand on Rava’s thigh. “I’ll be honest—I don’t know much about the aethers. I’ve always gotten by on instinct. My talents lie elsewhere. So, tell me, what can Narrative aether even do?”

Lyridia seemed relieved to be on a new topic. “Anything,” she said, with surprising honesty. “Almost anything. Depending on the caster.”

Vivienne raised a brow. “That’s vague and conveniently tempting.”

Lyridia nodded. “That’s the nature of it. The how much and how far depend on the caster’s aptitude—creativity, power, intent.”

“Or paying a price,” came Entheris’ sudden voice from across the room.

“Or paying a price,” Lyridia echoed, more quietly. “It’s not omnipotence. Not even close. But within its rules—and yes, there are rules—Narrative aether allows for staggering flexibility. Stories are powerful things. You can change people’s minds, alter outcomes, restore what was lost, bend fate toward conflict or resolution. You can reframe events. Or… nudge them. Influence which path a story takes, or even who is central to it.”

Her voice grew more animated as she went on. “You could craft a story where someone recovers their memories. Or where two figures—say, a beast and a goddess—are set on a collision course. Or gently rewritten so they become allies instead. You could take on another’s appearance for a time. Influence entire cultures, if you plant the right tale in the right mouth.”

She leaned forward in her chair, eyes gleaming. “It all depends on the story you tell. And how well the world listens.”

Vivienne tilted her head, silent again. Five black eyes shimmered with unfathomable depth. Her tongue flicked once more across her lips, tasting something in the air that wasn’t blood—but rage, coiled tight in her chest like a wire ready to snap.

She hummed, low and soft. A warning.

“So,” she said at last, voice like velvet across a razor’s edge, “you’ve been using your talent to… what, exactly? Nudge things? Shape events? We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Her tone shifted as her eyes narrowed. “How many events have been orchestrated by you?”

Lyridia opened her mouth, but Vivienne didn’t give her the time.

“Are you the reason my little girl suffered?” she hissed, her voice suddenly a whisper sharpened to a blade. “Why she was tortured? Why she was rendered unable to walk for months?!”

Lyridia shrunk back into the chair, something flickering behind her mortal guise. Her hands rose in a defensive gesture—but too late.

Vivienne was on her in an instant. A blur of scaled limbs, muscle, and fury. She crashed into the bard with all the force of a thunderclap, slamming her into the plush of the couch, claws pinning her wrists down. Her black tongue coiled and writhed with fury, her teeth bared.

“SPEAK, GOD!” she roared, every word reverberating through the room like the bellow of something far too large for a mortal shape.

“I—I didn’t harm her!” Lyridia gasped. “Vailora failed her task. I took her place. I defeated Nythara myself.”

Vivienne didn’t loosen her grip. Her claws twitched, digging faintly into divine skin. Not enough to draw blood—yet.

“I also arranged for many of the aetherbeasts to come your way in manageable waves,” Lyridia continued quickly, breath tight. “Strong enough to challenge you, never so strong they’d kill you. I was trying to help you grow. To survive.”

Vivienne’s lip curled. “So I’m just another story to you. Another protagonist on the page. Food? Or a tool?”

Lyridia looked away. “I… I might be scared of it, but I will not die for you, Vivienne. Don’t forget that I am a goddess.”

“And hell hath no fury,” Vivienne breathed, five eyes glowing, “like a furious mother.”

Silence. Pressed so close together, the tension between them nearly hummed.

“I didn’t know,” Lyridia whispered finally. “I didn’t know you had a daughter. I didn’t know Praxus would break the accord. I… I never meant for that to happen. Your defeat… it was beyond me. I don’t control every thread—I just weave the pieces I can. Almost no one even knows I meddle directly. I’m careful. I only interfere when I believe it’s for the best. I swear it.”

Vivienne’s claws trembled.

“I am

sorry for what happened to your daughter,” Lyridia said, her voice soft, eyes shining with something between shame and fear. “I truly am. But I’m not omnipotent.”For a moment, Vivienne didn’t move.

Then she inhaled—long and low. A sound that rumbled deep in her chest. Her eyes never left Lyridia’s. Her hands, after a tense pause, finally released the goddess’s wrists.

She stood.

Not because she was satisfied—but because there was more to gain than to kill.

“You both will stay for the evening,” Vivienne said, tone clipped but controlled. “I will have Corven assign you each a room. You will not leave the property. I need to think on this.”

“Of course,” Lyridia replied softly, carefully.

“As you wish,” said Entheris, offering a slight, respectful bow.

Vivienne turned without another word and stalked to the door, talons clicking with every step. She slammed it behind her, the sound echoing like a whip crack through the hallway. Just outside, Mera was there, mopping dried streaks of blood from the polished floor—the remains of Vivienne’s earlier hunt.

The girl froze mid-motion, wide eyes snapping up in fear.

“You. Get Corven. Tell him our two guests require rooms,” Vivienne ordered, voice low but razor-sharp.

Mera stood stiff, paralyzed for a moment.

“Now.”

“Y-yes, Mistress! Right away, Mistress!” Mera squeaked, dropping the mop handle with a clatter and scrambling off down the stairs with frantic, uneven footsteps.

Vivienne didn’t watch her go. She turned down the corridor and returned to her chambers.

Her room wasn’t the grandest in the manor. That space belonged to her daughter—it always would. Vivienne’s was modest in comparison, by design. She rarely stayed in here anyway. Most of her hours were spent in the lounge, sprawling across Rava’s lap or basking in the dim, shifting firelight. This room felt too quiet, too clean.

She sat at the edge of the bed and exhaled a long breath through clenched teeth. One hand cradled the swell of her bloated stomach. Her fingers splayed across the softness like she wasn’t sure whether to soothe or interrogate it.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do.”

She wanted to dismember Entheris. Still. Even now, the image of her daughter lying limp in her arms seared across her mind like molten wire and knowing they were at least tangibly responsible for it.

And Lyridia—Vivienne licked her lips reflexively—Lyridia she wanted to eat.

It had taken everything not to leap at her again after that first taste. Gods had always intrigued her, but the flavor of one wearing mortal skin? It was intoxicating.

Did she really think she could hide what she was from Vivienne? From her tongue?

Laughable.

…Or maybe not. Maybe she didn’t know any better.

Still, they had knowledge. Entheris knew the inner workings of the Church and Praxus’ network. Lyridia, for all her deceit, had talents Vivienne barely understood. Narrative aether? That sounded dangerously useful. Useful enough to be tolerated—for now.

But Rava… That was the real question, wasn’t it?

She glanced down at her stomach again, running her claw gently across the curve of it.

Did Rava need help?

Her memories were fragmented, yes, but returning—slowly. She seemed more lucid with every day. Beneath the primal strength, the blunt words, the growls and stares… she was still Rava. Still the woman Vivienne had loved, and loved still.

Maybe the help was warranted.

Maybe not.

It wasn’t Vivienne’s choice to make. Not really. That was something for her love to decide. Alone. Without interference.

“Haaaaah,” she sighed, letting herself fall backward onto the bed, arms flopped out to either side. The soft bedding barely creaked under her weight.

“Maybe I should see if Akhenna will speak to—”

“Hello, Vivienne.”

Her eyes snapped open.

She wasn’t in her room anymore.

She was in… a place. That was the only word her mind could latch onto. It defied description, its boundaries impossible to define. The air had texture, but no temperature. The floor existed and didn’t. Nothing held still, yet nothing truly moved. It was every color and no color at all.

She was somewhere.

Across from her sat a woman. No—a being. Regal, composed, with eyes that shimmered like starlight drawn through ink. Akhenna. Her goddess. Her patron. Her contractor. The one who gave her power… and purpose.

Vivienne blinked.

“Hello again, Akhenna,” she said, cautiously.

The goddess gave her a sidelong look, lips twitching into the barest hint of amusement.

“No need to sound so bothered, darling. I called you here as a favor to you.”