The next morning, after a warm breakfast, Lanxia shed her human skin and rose as a dragon, her back broad like a moving ridge under a blue sky.

We climbed onto that living hill and flew for Moonhundred City, the frost-bright capital of the Ice Rock Empire, our shadows long as banners on the clouds.

Afena stayed home with Nanai to tend the hearth and chores, so only Nalu joined us, quiet as a reed by a winter stream.

...

Lanxia flew like an arrow of sapphire through gauze-thin clouds, and soon we hovered over Moonhundred City, roofs glittering like scales under a pale sun.

At my word, she bled speed like a falling leaf and settled us in a wide patch of earth, dust curling up like smoke.

A dragon in the open, plus Lingxiao, Lingsaki, and Lixue bright as moon-flowers, drew every eye like moths to a lantern in dusk.

A few silk-draped young nobles swanned over like preening peacocks, smiles oily as spilled lamp oil on water.

I didn’t hesitate; one short command, and Lanxia let her Dragon Aura roll out like thunder over plains, dropping the fops like cut wheat.

Under that pressure, the watching stares ebbed in a rush, a tide pulling back from a black reef.

“Lanxia, keep the Dragon Aura on,” I said, voice flat as a blade laid on stone.

I remembered the first days on the Eastern Moon Continent, when I had Hill leak Dragon Aura, and street eyes lowered like frost-burned grass.

“Understood! This dragon hates being gawked at by a swarm,” Lanxia chirped, bright as morning sun through bamboo leaves.

“Rest easy, Mizumi. This dragon won’t let a nest of ants’ gazes bother you.”

Nalu sighed, a small wind through chimes. “I think this might draw even more attention, maybe even trouble.”

“Why?” The question left me like a pebble dropped into still water.

Lingxiao tilted her head, eyes clear as a mountain spring. “Isn’t this better? No pesky flies buzzing at us.”

“Yeah. I truly hate all those eyes,” Lingsaki echoed, her voice soft as falling snow.

“What kind of trouble?” Lixue asked, cool as moonlight on ice, and the word tugged at me too like a snag in silk; I didn’t want delays.

“If you keep Lady Lanxia’s Dragon Aura up, it’ll spook workers like birds in a storm and snarl the streets like a net,” Nalu said, calm as a teacher by a brazier.

“Worse, it might pull in the City Guard and bored young nobles, the sort that sniff out scenes—like Prince Keliya last time.”

“Is it that serious?” The doubt pricked, a thorn under a glove I couldn’t ignore.

“It is. With Miss Lixue and the others’ looks, blending in is hard as hiding a full moon,” Nalu went on, her gaze steady as a plumb line.

“This is the capital of the Ice Rock Empire; a strange dragon leaking Dragon Aura can look like a challenge, a drumbeat at a gate.”

“Provocation?” The word hung, a raven on a branch.

“Think of it from their side,” Nalu said, tossing the thought back like a ball across a courtyard.

“On your own turf, an unknown dragon arrives and flexes freely—what would you think?”

Understanding clicked, a lock turning in the dark; of course that could stir trouble, and the lack of it would be stranger than mist without dew.

“What should we do, Mizumi?” Lanxia asked, the pressure still thrumming around her like a storm that refused to break.

I winced; trouble didn’t bother me, but delays did, like mud on a traveler’s boots.

It was a knotty thing; scaring flies off us was fine, yet jolting common folk felt like tossing stones in a quiet pond.

“Dear elder brother, don’t fret,” Lingxiao said, voice smooth as silk over wood. “Rules and rails are made for the weak.”

“What are you saying, Lingxiao?” I asked, a frown drawing like ink.

“My meaning’s simple,” she said, lifting a slim finger like a flute pointing north. “Keep the Dragon Aura on.”

“Dear elder brother, look over there.”

I followed her finger, and the sight clamped my throat like cold iron—

A poor father and son in worn clothes scrambled for fallen fruit, hands shaking like leaves, and blocked a gilded carriage for barely ten heartbeats.

The noble inside had them dragged and beaten, sticks falling like hail, all because his mood was storm-dark and they stood in his road.

“That’s vile! Nalu, is this common?” The question burned like hot tea swallowed too fast, while the crowd around us stared ahead like statues in frost.

“It is… fairly common,” Nalu said with a bitter smile, thin as a crescent moon.

“In Moonhundred City, commoners live at the bottom like dust under boot-heels, and dying for offending a noble isn’t rare.”

“Dear elder brother, compared to that, we’re only using Lanxia’s Dragon Aura to shoo flies,” Lingxiao said, her tone light as a fan’s flick.

“We’re not hurting anyone; it isn’t excessive.”

“Elder brother, the City Guard surely knows nobles crush commoners like ants,” Lingsaki added, eyes cold as a winter well.

“They look away because they fear noble power like mice fear a cat. Do we need to care about such people?”

A prickle of unease ran through me, a chill under armor; if we act on every whim, aren’t we no different from those nobles?

Then I breathed, and memory rose like incense—Lingxiao and Lingsaki spent years in the Daynight Sanctuary at eleven or twelve, and only just left the Mizumi Clan.

Their hearts are still young, saplings grown in a cloistered courtyard, and that’s normal.

If it were Littlesky here, her reaction would likely be the same, bright and fierce as a colt in spring.