Mother of Midnight

Chapter 266 – Oversight

Something felt wrong.

The siege was progressing well—almost too well. By all measures, the plan was unfolding exactly as intended. Losses were expected and acceptable. After all, the Lekine were savage creatures, brutes who lived without the grace and wisdom of Praxus. But High Priest Kaelen Varis was not foolish enough to underestimate them. He knew they held the advantage in strength, speed, and terrain. That was the reason the walls had not yet been taken. That was acceptable.

The north and west had met fierce resistance, but they were holding their attention. Drawing their strength. Buying time.

The eastern front, though? He had heard nothing. Not a single report.

It was a minor detachment, of course. Token resistance meant only to divide the defenders’ numbers, to stretch their forces thin. It did not matter if that front succeeded. Their purpose had been simple: provide enough pressure to ensure the defenders could not commit everything to the real assault.

Still, the silence itched at the edges of his mind. Two bells had passed. Someone should have reported back by now.

He shook the thought away. There were more pressing concerns.

Tarric.

The third son of Korriva, champion of Serranos. A powerful exomancer—perhaps too powerful. Kaelen had watched from the safety of the rear lines as a quarter of his northern forces were erased in a heartbeat. Lightning, fire, gravity, force—all bent around the man like limbs of a loyal pet.

Kaelen did not want to admit it, but the Lekine exomancer might have surpassed him in raw magical execution. That wouldn’t do.

Tarric was not to be destroyed. No, he was to be captured. Bound. Broken. Reforged. Kaelen would see his talents turned to the glory of the Machine Father. Anything less would be a waste.

Then there were the others.

Korriva’s children.

He had studied them all.

One of them painted. Wasted his time on canvases and color.

Another? A tinkerer. Locked away in a workshop, buried in inventions.

Useless. Harmless.

But not all of them.

Kavren led the defenders on the northern wall. A charismatic leader, a seasoned tactician, and a warrior of no small skill. Kaelen had watched him deflect fireballs with the back of a gauntlet and catch arrows like falling leaves. A formidable opponent.

Narek? An enigma. More administrator than warrior, he kept to the city’s inner workings. Kaelen had no measure of his strength, but in a family like that, one did not get the luxury of being weak.

And then there was Rava.

Not as dangerous as Tarric, perhaps. But still a problem.

A stubborn, tenacious, vicious problem.

She had come for him once. Kaelen remembered her well—grey-furred, teeth bared, eyes burning with purpose. She’d been sent to kill him. It had ended in failure. He had bested her. Collared her with a cursed restraint of his own design. Left her broken in the ruins of an old world, never expecting to see her again.

And yet, she had returned.

He had seen her, clear as daylight, during the battle for Drakthar. Among the chaos and bloodshed, there she was—Rava. The beast. The feral daughter. Charging through fire and rubble with teeth bared and claws drenched in Sovereignty blood. She fought like something primal. Something unshackled. Like the ruin of an oath made flesh.

Kaelen had thought her a myth, even then. A ghost of a mistake long since buried.

But he knew what happened next. He had seen the truth.

Zerathiel had cut her in half. Not metaphorically. Not symbolically. In half. From hip to shoulder, one clean strike. No being survived that. No one stood back up from being reduced to two pieces of meat.

So that was one of Korriva’s spawn accounted for. One threat erased.

One less thorn in his side.

The greater concern, however, was Korriva herself. The Matron of Serkoth. The mother of those monsters. If she stepped onto the battlefield before Zerathiel arrived, everything would unravel. Kaelen knew his limits. He was no fool. Even a priest of his station, with decades of power and the full blessing of the Machine Father, would not survive an encounter with her.

Her reputation was not exaggerated. Korriva had torn through battalions, turned exomancers inside out with a word, leveled keeps with a gesture. No one—not even Kaelen—faced her and lived unless she allowed

it.Which is why she needed to stay hidden until the trap was set.

Kaelen exhaled slowly, refocusing his thoughts—until something scraped against the back of his mind. A pressure. A flicker of dread. No sound, no smell. Just wrongness, curling like smoke through his senses.

His body moved before his thoughts caught up.

He snatched his wand from his belt and carved the spell-nexus into the air, fingers dancing through the familiar symbols with practiced speed. A golden shell of radiant energy snapped into existence around him just as something crashed through the tent wall.

Black.

A tide of darkness surged inward like a living wave, thick and roiling, consuming light and space and sound. It slammed into his barrier with a wet, slapping impact, enveloping him entirely.

Everything outside the shell went pitch black.

No light. No sound. Just ink.

Kaelen’s breath caught.

This wasn’t shadow.

This was that.

The Devourer.

Akhenna’s Beast.

Kaelen’s thoughts spun as the ink-black tide surged around him. Why was it here? Why was she attacking his forces?

When he first heard whispers of her—of the creature birthed in the labs of Akhenna, the escaped anomaly, the uncontainable experiment—he assumed she was little more than a wild aberration. A weapon gone rogue. A feral thing. Dangerous, yes, but lacking direction. No loyalty, no master, no plan.

He had believed the beast to be just that: a beast. One that had broken free into the untamed wastes, devouring whatever she stumbled upon like a living plague. Not something that could choose a side.

But this…

This wasn’t aimless destruction.

This was tactical.

She was targeting his camp. His officers. She wasn’t just feasting on the battlefield. She was moving like she knew who to hunt. Where to hit hardest.

Had she always been aligned with the animalfolk? Was this all part of some long game Korriva and her spawn were playing?

Kaelen clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the wand still glowing in his palm. Stupid. How stupid he’d been. When Akhenna’s beast escaped one of his labs, he hadn’t worried. Not truly. The facility’s objectives had already been met. It’s escape was unfortunate, but not catastrophic. It was just a leftover problem.

At least, that was what he told himself.

But this… this was what oversight looked like.

The darkness continued to flood the camp beyond his golden shell, and Kaelen felt it pressing, pushing, thumping against his shield like it was trying to taste him. His barrier held—of course it did. It was one of his most perfected defensive matrices, capable of withstanding direct bombardment from siege-class exomancers.

But even so, he felt it.

Not in the spell, but in his gut. In the old, animal place inside him that still knew fear.

His army, he knew, would not be so lucky.

The sounds outside were gone. The screams had been swallowed. He couldn't see more than a few feet through the thick ink of her body, and it pulsed with the faint suggestion of bones, teeth, veins. Faces pressed through the sludge, screaming silently before vanishing again. Illusion? Memory? He didn’t know.

He cursed under his breath.

He hadn’t wanted to play his hand so early. Not here. Not without Zerathiel present. But if Vivienne was here, and if she continued rampaging unchecked, then the entire offensive would collapse. His men would die. His advantage would be lost.

He would be exposed.

Kaelen’s grip on his wand tightened until his knuckles turned white.

He just needed to wait. Let the Devourer pass. It hadn't found him yet—hadn't sensed him through the shield. The moment she moved on, he’d drop the barrier. He couldn’t cast the spells he needed while it was up, and dropping it too early would be suicide.

Come on, you creature. Move along. Feast elsewhere.

He just had to wait.

Then he would strike.

Let it see what real power looked like.

“This is my brother?” Asked Liora as she looked at the obsidian egg.

“Or sister.” Said Corven. “We will not know until they hatch.”

“Oh, okay!” Said Liora cheerfully. “I’m excited. I’m gunna be a really good big sister!”

“I’m sure you will be, young mistress.”

“Ch-ild.” Said Renzia as she leaned in closer.

“I wonder what they will look like when they come out.” Said Liora.

Corven stiffened up. “I wouldn’t know, young mistress. I wasn’t expecting an egg.”

“Why?”

Corven paused thoughtfully. “Well, did you come from an egg?”

“Umm, I don’t think so? I woke up and mommy was there and I was like this.”

Corven nodded. “I expected something like this, but the Mistress is… unique.”

Liora seemed satisfied with that and she nodded. “Okay.” She got closer to the egg. “When is mommy coming back? I miss her.”

“I couldn’t say, young mistress, but I know she is thinking of you.”

“Is she?”

“She loves you very much.”

Liora smiled meekly. “Yeah. Mommy loves me so much. She gives me hugs and kisses whenever I want. Mama doesn’t though.”

Corven gave a soft, understanding sigh. “Lady Ravanyr is just shy. I am sure when she gets used to everything she’ll have plenty of affection for you,” he said gently, carefully choosing his words. “Some people take a little longer to show how much they care. But I’ve seen how she watches you when she thinks no one’s looking.”

Liora blinked. “Really?”

Corven nodded, offering a small smile. “Really. I think she just doesn’t know how to say it yet.”

Liora looked a little thoughtful, then gave a tiny nod. “Okay... I’ll wait.”

“Chiiii-llld,” crooned Renzia as she slowly leaned in further, pressing her smooth, faceless head right up against the surface of the obsidian egg. Her hands, stiff and perfectly symmetrical, hovered just shy of touching it.

“You are-ssssoft,” she whispered to the egg, her voice oddly tender for something so unnatural. “Do you knooow-ww what you’ll beeecome?”

Liora tilted her head, watching Renzia curiously. “Do you think they can hear us?”

Renzia paused. Then nodded with a faint creaking sound. “Yeeesss. There is a sleeep-ssoaked thought inside. Dreeeam-ing. Listening. Sspin-ning itself.”

Corven kept his expression neutral, his ears flicking just once. Renzia always unnerved him, but he was long past reacting. Serving Lady Castillo required a certain tolerance for the unnatural. And this... thing had become part of the household.

“Indeed,” he said with quiet restraint, and turned back toward the girl. “Would you like to tell your sibling a story?”

Liora’s face lit up again, a sudden warmth bursting through like sunlight after a storm. It almost made Corven flinch. He wasn’t used to that kind of light anymore. “Yup!” she chirped, rocking forward onto her knees and leaning closer to the obsidian egg. “Oh! I should tell them about the time I met that girl in town! She had a pink ribbon in her hair, and she let me try her candy stick, even though her daddy looked mad the whole time.”

Corven raised a brow. “I take it he didn’t speak to you kindly?”

Liora shook her head. “I don’t think he liked me. Or maybe Mommy. Probably Mommy. People don’t like her when she’s all drippy.”

“Your mother can be very scary to most people,” Corven said, adjusting his coat with a quiet rustle of fabric. “She is... unique. People are often afraid of what they do not understand.”

“Oh.” Liora tilted her head. “I thought it was 'cause she always comes home covered in blood.”

Corven blinked. “That... contributes to it, yes.”

Liora giggled, then looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Are you scared of Mommy?”

He hesitated. The silence hung for a beat longer than it should have.

“A little bit,” he admitted at last, folding his hands behind his back.

“Then why do you work here?” she asked, frowning as though she’d caught him in a contradiction.

He smiled thinly, careful not to show too much fang. “Because she is a good person to work for. She likes to frighten Mera and myself from time to time, but she has never hurt us. Never even come close. So yes, I’m a little frightened of her... but I also feel safe. And that’s rare.”

He didn’t add that the pay was absurd. Or that Vivienne’s enemies never lasted long. Or that this household, twisted as it was, had become something resembling home.

Liora considered this deeply, lips pressed together. Then she nodded once. “That makes sense.”

She turned back toward the egg, her tiny fingers brushing the smooth, black surface. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “You’re gonna be safe here too.”

Mistress dropping off her egg had been a blessing in disguise.

Before it arrived, Liora had been all nerves and pacing, biting her claws, fluttering between rooms like a trapped moth. She didn’t say what was bothering her, but Corven knew the signs well enough. There was too much of her mother in her when she got like that—unsettling quiet one moment, frantic babbling the next. It had taken all of Corven’s patience to keep her distracted with stories, tea, and half-truths.

Now, though... now there was the egg.

Since its arrival, Liora had hardly left the room, and while Corven would usually have discouraged that, the change in her temperament was undeniable. The chaos had mellowed into focus. She was gentle with it, speaking to it in soft tones, telling it things Corven doubted she’d ever told anyone else. She was soothing herself through it, and he would not interfere.

“Hello, Liora!” called Mera brightly as she stepped inside, brushing dirt from her gloved hands. She smelled faintly of wet soil and rosemary—she always did after working in the garden.

Corven sighed quietly through his nose. “Young mistress, or Lady Liora, Mera.”

Mera blinked, then gave him a crooked smile. “Right, sorry. Lady Liora.”

She was spirited, that one. Had to be, to survive even a week in this household. But spirit didn’t excuse lack of decorum, and Corven made it his quiet mission to drill some basic etiquette into her before she embarrassed them all in front of nobility. Or worse, before Vivienne noticed.

Mera flopped onto a cushioned bench without invitation and peered curiously at the egg. “Still just sitting there?”

“It’s not just sitting,” Liora huffed. “It’s dreaming.”

Mera’s eyes widened a little, but she didn’t argue. Just leaned forward and whispered, “Is it dreaming about us?”

Liora beamed. “Maybe. I’ve been telling it all my best stories.”

Corven folded his arms and looked between the two girls—one too stiff, one too wild—and allowed himself the faintest smile. It was not peace, exactly, but it was close enough.