Book One – Chapter 13

Midnight instinctively densified the darkness that clung to her. As she tracked the fiator through the jagged terrain, her focus honed in on the delicate space between the essence and all that the essence held. Her intent was to sever the arachnid’s webbing right at its legs, to tear apart the sticky structures that bound the physical form and Rothar to the core so tightly that they seemed inseparable from the essence itself. Midnight aimed to distinguish what was truly the fiator, and what was merely an extension of him.

But each attempt met with failure. Midnight’s darkness, potent as it was, could not hold onto essence, Rothar or matter. The very nature of all that was something resisted the intrusion of the nothing that was her. The fiator, still sensing the preying nothing, fled with desperate agility, his small form darting ever further down the mountainside. Gushes of determination and frustration rippled through Midnight, merging, maddening storms flooding her mind, while the bird’s movements grew increasingly erratic and unpredictable, driven by a primal surge of survival amidst the chaotic elements.

The chase became more frantic as the fiator swooped down, skimming the snowtrail that wound through the mountain’s lower reaches. Where the air around the birds’ resting place had almost been calm, the night now transformed into a maelstrom of elements, mirroring the intensity of the hunt. The wind howled with fury, snowstorms screamed through the jagged peaks and valleys, hurling thick layers of snow across the landscape. Dense fog rolled in waves, shrouding the treacherous slopes and steep cliffs. Loose rocks and icy ledges gave way to the ruthless forces, breaking and plunging into harrowing depths.