Book One – Chapter 10

Midnight had halted, observing, sensing. The darkness disclosed no humanoid presences; no witches lingered within her perception. The only discernible living entities were an enclave of crystalline insects hovering above the golems, delicate beings strewn across the cave ceiling. Thriving in the presence of the pulsating crystals, they refracted feeble glimmers with their translucent bodies. Their soft, melodic hums filled the cavern, multiplying through dense echoes and reaching Midnight as subtle vibrations emanating from the walls.

As she moved along the wall to her left, the insects directly above her fell silent. Midnight first thought they had sensed her within the darkness. However, she soon realised that their reaction differed from the instinctual hush exhibited when insects recognised her presence as she hunted or stalked prey in their immediate vicinity. This silence was not an instinctual response prompted by anticipation or fear. No, it was not that they recognised her; it was Midnight who directed them. They had no choice. The silence did not come from them. She was the silence. She was silence that moved.

Unhindered by the crystal golems, the darkness and silence that was Midnight passed through the cavern. Remaining by the wall opposite the crystal door, she seamlessly slipped through a narrow crevice no wider than the rift through which she had infiltrated the cavern.

She left. None of this concerned her. Midnight had no reason to explore the cavern or approach the crystal door, and no intention of entangling herself in a confrontation with witches. Her duty lay in fulfilling her wizard’s command, swiftly delivering his messages. She had already taken from the mountain what she needed.