Mother of Midnight

Chapter 247 – Ambush

The surge of power hadn’t faded—it thrummed in his bones, pulsed through his veins like molten lightning. Caelum’s breath steamed in the air as dusk aether curled faintly around his fingertips, wisping into existence with a grace he hadn’t yet earned. It wasn’t raw strength alone—it was refinement, resonance, a harmony that echoed through his spirit.

He would need time to understand it. Later. Not now.

Right now, he had work to do.

The shriek of steel ripped through the air.

A soldier lunged at him—sword raised, eyes wild, desperate to land a killing blow.

But it was slow.

Too slow.

Caelum turned, not even hurried. His body felt lighter than it ever had—more fluid, more precise. The sword came down in an arc meant to split him from shoulder to hip. But to Caelum, it may as well have been a falling leaf.

He stepped aside, angled just enough to avoid the arc, and with his right hand, caught the blade.

The soldier’s eyes widened in horror. Caelum met them—calm, clear, unreadable.

Then, with a sharp twist and a fluid wrench, he ripped the sword from the attacker’s grip mid-swing, sending the man stumbling forward from the momentum of his own failed strike.

Steel rang as it hit the ground—Caelum hadn’t even kept it. He didn't need it.

He drove his elbow into the back of the man’s head and dropped him like a puppet with cut strings.

Another one rushed in behind—he heard them before he saw them. A flicker of dusk aether danced across his peripheral vision, warning him. He ducked instinctively, pivoted low, and swept his leg beneath his attacker’s feet. The soldier crashed down with a wheeze, and Caelum was already moving before they hit the dirt.

His instincts weren’t just sharper—they were perfect. The battlefield had opened to him like a song, every movement predictable, every threat lit like constellations in his mind.

He didn’t need to think. He knew.

He spun, facing three more advancing figures, then lifted his hand. Aether gathered like smoke pouring from between his fingers—dusk aether.

Unrefined. Raw. But it obeyed him.

The world dimmed slightly, the shadows at his feet stretching unnaturally outward. The men faltered in their charge. One tripped on his own hesitation. Another turned to shout something—but too late.

Caelum surged forward, silent as falling ash.

His teammates were no slouches either.

Hana fought like a cornered beast. One arm hung limp at her side, blood slicking down her ribs, but she hadn’t faltered. Her claws tore into armor with a fury that bordered on frenzy, her movements fueled by pain and pride. Every time an enemy got too close, she made sure they regretted it.

Sunder was a wall. He stood at the front line, holding his ground against four shield-bearers. They advanced on him as a unit, trying to drive him back with perfect formation—but Sunder didn’t budge. His axe spun in wide arcs, bashing aside shields, chipping into steel. Every time they pressed forward, he pressed back harder.

Arrows hummed overhead like angry insects. Wren’s handiwork. Caelum tried to spot her, but the archer was invisible, lost somewhere in the chaos. All he saw were the results—arrows finding joints, throats, eyes. Precise. Unrelenting. Half the enemy line was hesitating just trying to guess where she was.

Gorde was the tactician—his strikes were calculated, deliberate. Whenever one of them looked close to being overwhelmed, he’d break formation and dive in, a blur of steel and instinct. Caelum caught sight of him now—intercepting a blade aimed for Hana’s spine, shoving the attacker back before ducking away to intercept another.

And through it all, Caelum moved like water.

He muttered the incantation under his breath, barely audible over the din of battle. The surge answered immediately.

The tide rose within him.

His body felt lighter, his limbs more fluid, every motion an echo of momentum and grace. His heels barely kissed the ground as he moved—one second grounded, the next flowing like a current between soldiers, weaving through gaps in their stance.

A spear lunged at him from the left.

He didn’t dodge. He guided.

His hand met the shaft mid-thrust, turning it aside with a twist of his wrist. His blade—almost forgotten in his other hand—snapped upward in the same breath. The flat of it slammed against the soldier’s helmet with a hollow clang.

The metal dented inward with the impact, and the man dropped like a sack of grain, limbs slack, spear clattering beside him.

Caelum exhaled slowly, not from exertion—but focus. His muscles hummed with restrained power, his mind in rhythm with the ebb and flow of the skirmish.

He didn’t just feel better.

He felt unstoppable.

“We must have been caught in a scry,” Derk muttered, his voice low and grim. He stood just beyond the ring of discarded weapons and broken bodies, gaze sweeping the treeline. “We’ve been keeping well out of enemy sight up until now. This wasn’t a coincidence. I’d bet my tail they’ve got watchtowers or wards planted already. We’ll need to change our approach. Completely.”

“Can the human do anything about that?” growled Hana from where she sat, leaning against a shattered log as Valaire bound her side with clean cloth. Her blood had soaked through the first layer. “Then again, he slept through the first third of that ambush. Useless.”

Caelum didn’t respond. He wanted to snap back, but truthfully—he didn’t know what he could do yet. The rush of power Heraline had granted him still burned under his skin, like embers waiting for air. But dusk aether was fickle. Some wielders gained near-perfect stealth, slipping through enemy lines like mist. Others brought down nightmares, ice, fear, illusions… and some just gave peace, dreams, clarity. He had no idea what kind he was.

“He saved you from a blade to your back,” Sunder rumbled, stepping between them with a slow, deliberate weight in his voice. “So quit it with that attitude.”

Hana growled again but went silent, jaw tight. She turned her face away as Valaire tugged the bandage taut.

Chary tilted her head. “Still—why did you sleep through it? The first shouts would’ve woken anyone.”

Caelum paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek. There was no use lying to them. Not here. Not when they’d fought and bled together.

“My goddess called for me,” he said quietly. “I was speaking to her.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Even Gorde, who had been sharpening a blade with casual, bored movements, looked up.

“You dreamwalked?” Chary asked, skeptical. “Voluntarily?”

He nodded. “It wasn’t a dream. It was… more. I saw Yenhr. And Heraline.”

“You saw both?” Derk’s eyes narrowed.

“Yenhr called me. Heraline was with her. They gave me—something. Power, I think. I can feel it, but I haven’t figured out what it means yet.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Brannet chuckled from where he crouched by the fallen. “Well, that explains the new tricks. You moved like a storm earlier. Graceful. Slippery. Pretty.”

“Don’t call him pretty,” Hana muttered under her breath.

“He is though,” Brannet grinned.

“Yenhr sometimes calls me,” Caelum said, his voice quieter now, less defensive. He stood with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his other hand flexing slightly, as if the memory of the dream still lingered on his skin. “To her realm. Or to Heraline’s.”

He paused—uncertain. They were watching him, listening now. Not with suspicion, but with that particular kind of silence that settled when something heavy was about to be dropped.

He sucked in a slow breath. This was the kind of truth that could fracture trust—or forge it. Perhaps trust for trust, he thought. These people had bled for him. At the very least, they deserved to know.

“I champion both goddesses now,” he said simply.

It was like the air thickened all at once.

Every motion stopped. Valaire froze with the bandage still in hand, half-wrapped around Hana’s arm. Brannet’s sharpening stone slipped from his fingers with a soft tunk as it hit a rock. Even Derk, who rarely showed much emotion at all, turned to fully face him, brow furrowing with something that wasn’t quite shock—but close.

“You what?” said Hana flatly.

“I said,” Caelum repeated, meeting her gaze, “I serve both Yenhr and Heraline. They named me as a shared champion. Together.”

The silence was longer this time, more strained.

“That’s… not supposed to be possible,” said Chary, her voice low and cautious, like someone stepping onto cracked ice. Her sharp eyes narrowed. “No god trusts another that much. Not even Dusk and Dawn.”

Caelum offered a small, sheepish smile. “You haven’t seen them together. They’re all over each other every time I’m in their realm. They don’t just trust each other—they complete each other.” He paused, then added, “The rules say a god’s only allowed to grant so much power to a mortal. But two gods? Together? They bent the rules by appointing me as a shared champion. I carry both their blessings.”

“Gods have rules?” Derk rumbled, finally lowering himself onto a wide, flat rock. His greatsword rested across his knees like a lazy threat. “Rules they need to follow? But… they’re gods.”

“Apparently?” Caelum shrugged, brushing some dirt off his shoulder, then letting his hand fall. “I don’t know the details. Maybe next time they summon me, I’ll ask for the fine print.”

Aloshia snorted as she bound a scrape on her thigh. “Does this mean you’re stronger than the High Fang now?”

Wren laughed—a short, amused bark from the shadows where she was restringing his bow. “Yeah, maybe in a few centuries. Power isn’t the same as experience, or cunning. And the High Fang has both in spades.”

“But you’d fight our little golden boy here, wouldn’t you?” Aloshia grinned at Wren, baring teeth like a wolf cub. “You’re stubborn enough.”

“Oh, I’d fight him,” Wren said. “But I’d make sure Derk was going in first and I’d be up a tree by the time the claws came out.”

Derk grunted in faint amusement but didn’t refute the image.

Gorde chuckled, warmth bubbling behind his exhaustion. “Maybe. Maybe one day. If we all went in together, maybe we’d have a shot.”

Sunder, who had been sharpening his axe with slow, steady strokes, finally spoke. “Don’t waste time comparing yourself to the High Fang. Or anyone. You’re not them. You’re you. You fight how you fight. You grow at your own pace.”

That silenced the group for a moment—just long enough for the wind to rustle the trees above them and for the fading light to cast long shadows over the wounded earth.

Caelum looked around at his team—bloodied, bruised, tired. But still standing. Still together.

“I’ll do my best,” he said.

“That,” said Derk, eyes half-lidded but watchful, “is all any of us can ask.”

The group moved quickly through the next night, keeping to low brush and quiet ridgelines, circling eastward to avoid the enemy’s likely patrol routes. It wasn’t the original path, but after the ambush, caution was now more valuable than speed. No fires were lit. Meals were eaten cold. Their pace was grueling, but steady—exactly what seasoned operatives needed to stay alive.

During his turn on watch, Caelum kept himself alert by experimenting with the new affinity thrumming at the edge of his awareness. Dusk. It clung to him like smoke, familiar and alien all at once. He focused, tried to grasp it—and failed. Again. And again.

“Hey hey hey! You look like someone trying to untie a knot with your teeth,” came Brannet’s chirpy voice from nearby.

Caelum turned to find the lean, wild-haired Lekine flopping down beside him with all the grace of a sack of cats. He grinned, holding a slice of dried meat in one hand, chewing noisily.

“Trying to get the hang of it,” Caelum admitted. “It’s… slippery.”

“Yeah, that’s dusk for you. Slippery, like a wet eel in a thunderstorm.” Brannet shoved the rest of the meat in his mouth, then began gesturing wildly. “Okay, okay, so here’s the trick: don’t try to grab it. Let it wrap around you. Think smoke. Think shadow. Think… I dunno, that weird feeling when a dream’s fading and you almost remember it.”

Caelum raised a brow. “That's… poetic.”

“I know, right? I’m basically a genius.” Brannet winked. “Now try this incantation—just hum it, don’t speak it. Dusk likes whispers, not shouts. And think about getting smaller. Not literally. Like… less noticeable.”

Following his instructions, Caelum murmured the words. And this time, it clicked. His skin tingled as a subtle shimmer cloaked his form. The fireless night dimmed just a little more around him.

Brannet let out a whoop, barely muffled. “HA! Knew it! You’re a natural. That took me weeks. I hate you. But like, in a friendly way.”

Caelum blinked in surprise, feeling the shadows curl protectively around his limbs, his feet barely making a sound as he moved.

He grinned. “Guess I’m not so useless after all.”

Brannet elbowed him. “Nah, you’re alright. Not bad for a double-blessed pretty-boy.”

Caelum snorted. “Thanks. I think.”

“So what’s it like living over there?” Brannet asked, his voice lowered but still annoyingly chipper as the two of them walked the perimeter of the camp. It was the fourth bell of the night, and most of the others were sleeping—except Wren, who was on a distant ridge, keeping watch through the gloom with those unnerving eyes of hers.

“Where?” Caelum asked, not really looking at him.

“Aegis, obviously,” Brannet said, hopping over a tree root and spinning once for no reason at all. “You know. Big scary empire. Shiny armor. Holy fire and doom. That place.”

Caelum exhaled. “It was… fine. If you were a human. If you stayed quiet. If you never questioned the Church, or the High Priest, or the Champion. If you lived in a city, or close enough to one that the Sovereignty actually remembered you existed.”

He kicked a stone off the path and it skittered down into a gulley.

“But if you were in some village out in the sticks, where no one came unless they were looking for something or someone… then no. It wasn’t fine. It was terrifying. Because when bad things happened out there, no one came to help. And no one cared.”

Brannet was quiet for a moment. Uncharacteristically quiet. Then: “Eesh. That sucks. What about for a Lekine?”

Caelum glanced at him, wary. “Why do you ask?”

“Intellectual curiosity,” Brannet said with a little shrug and a flash of teeth.

Caelum shook his head. “Lekine had fewer freedoms. A lot of suspicion. You weren’t allowed to travel freely without a chaperone and documents. Couldn’t hold higher office. Couldn’t own a business. You had to speak in formal tones around humans. Even if they were dumber than rocks, you had to act like they were smarter than you.”

Brannet snorted. “Sounds familiar.”

“And Sirens?” Caelum continued. “Never saw them. Not even once. If they were in Aegis, they were hidden. Goblins had it the worst, though. Weren’t even seen as people. They were tools. Servants. Slaves.”

Brannet made a face. “Yikes. We got our problems over here, but at least nobody’s treating us like property.”

“Yeah. Over there, if you weren’t human, you were something to be tolerated. And if you stepped out of line? You disappeared. That was it.”

Brannet fell silent again, this time without any jokes. The wind picked up through the trees, cold and dry.

Caelum glanced at him. “Regret asking?”

“Nope,” Brannet said after a moment, grinning again. “But I do regret not bringing a snack. This got a lot heavier than I planned. Gonna need something salty after all that emotional unpacking.”

Caelum gave a soft laugh under his breath, shaking his head. “You know, you are a bit strange.”

Brannet gasped, immediately clutching his chest as though shot. “Oh! You wound me!” He spun on one heel dramatically and staggered a few steps. “Only a bit? How dare you inflict this slight on me after all we’ve shared under these stars!”

Caelum smirked. “Forgive me. You are the second strangest person I’ve ever met, then.”

Brannet straightened, lowering his arms like a stage actor mid-curtain. “Hmm. I suppose I can forgive someone with such a pretty face.”

Caelum blinked. “Aren’t women the only ones who can be pretty?”

Brannet stared at him like he’d just declared the sun was square. “Have you seriously never seen a pretty man before? What kind of puritanical monastery did you grow up in?”

Caelum opened his mouth, paused, and shrugged. “Aegis.”

“Ah. Right,” Brannet muttered. He gestured vaguely with his hands as he spoke, pacing in lazy circles around Caelum. “Look, sure, you’ve got rugged types like Derk—grizzly, all grim stubble and furrowed brows. That has its charm, don’t get me wrong. But that doesn’t mean men can’t be pretty. Big eyes, good cheekbones, lashes like a Siren’s. Pretty.”

Brannet grinned and poked Caelum in the shoulder. “You are pretty.”

Caelum tilted his head, baffled and bemused. “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”

“Oh, honey,” Brannet said with mock sympathy, tossing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him in. “That’s because you’ve never been flirted with properly before. Don’t worry. I’ll teach you.”

Caelum laughed again, quieter this time, the sound slipping easily into the rustling of the wind through the trees. He didn’t pull away.

“If I don’t get first place,” Brannet said with a dramatic flick of his wrist, “who does?”

“Vivienne,” Caelum replied flatly.

Brannet froze, hand still mid-air. “Ah. Yeah. From what I’ve heard… the gap between first and second place would be, uh, pretty large.”

Caelum gave a solemn nod. “Yeah. Not even close.”

Brannet whistled low. “Is it true she finds victims to torture and eat?”

Caelum raised an eyebrow. “From what I’ve seen… she doesn’t torture.”

Brannet blinked. “But the eating part—?”

“Oh, yeah. That part’s true.”

“Yikes.” Brannet winced. “And… that’s just normal now? Why do they let her stick around?”

Caelum shrugged slightly, the gesture more tired than indifferent. “She’s a champion.”

Brannet stared at him. “Seriously?”

“A powerful one.”

“I wonder why they even let her stay in the city,” Brannet muttered, glancing sideways at Caelum.

“She seems close with Rava. Very close,” Caelum replied, brushing a hand through his hair. “She used to talk about her during our escape from the Sovereignty—whenever she wasn’t comforting her despondent daughter.”

Brannet blinked. “That thing has a daughter?”

Caelum stopped walking.

He turned and gave Brannet a flat, cold stare. “Don’t refer to people as things.”

The words hit harder than Brannet expected. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Caelum’s gaze.

“That’s exactly what Aegis does,” Caelum continued, voice steady. “Darius gave us a whole speech before the battle of Greyreach Pass. Said the Lekine were just nomadic bandits and marauders. Uncivilized without the grace of Praxus. That their culture wasn’t real. That their lives didn’t matter.”

Brannet’s ears twitched. There was a flash of something dangerous in his eyes—rage, perhaps—but he blinked it away, jaw tightening before his usual spunk returned.

“Well,” he said carefully, “from what I heard, you guys got beaten pretty hard.”

Caelum gave a small, bittersweet smile, eyes distant. “Yes, we did. And that’s a good thing. Aegis couldn’t be allowed to win there. Too much was at stake. I lost my best friend in that battle.”

Brannet didn’t respond immediately. His usual glibness faded for a rare moment of quiet sincerity.

“You were on the wrong side,” he said, softer than usual. “But you aren’t anymore. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Caelum looked at him, studied the sincerity behind the words, and nodded. “Thank you.”

After that, Brannet went off to rest, and Caelum kept watch while it was still day time. 

He couldn’t help but feel anxious about getting to Drakthar.