"So I just pour my mana into this pedestal and it makes an Astrolabe for me, right?" Lilith stood by the workbench in the room’s corner like a cat by a hearth. She tapped the stone dais, curiosity fluttering like a moth around a lantern.
"Yes. The Astrolabe is every Astrologer’s base tool," Asterios said, her voice steady as moonlight on water. "It takes only a little Star Energy and mana, so this simple station works." She pointed behind Lilith like a compass finding north. A white marble altar gleamed there like ice under dawn. Even with bare eyes, Lilith felt Star Energy pooling around it like mist in a valley. The Silver Dragon caught the Little White Dragon’s curiosity the way wind catches a chime. "You’ll use that altar once you go deeper," she explained, tone soft as falling snow. "It doesn’t take much space, so I keep it at home, like a shrine beneath the eaves. After your first observation of the Star Canvas, we’ll head to a formal observatory." She smiled. "But not today. Today, you just craft your Astrolabe, one step like planting a seed."
"I got it." Lilith nodded, the motion small as a ripple on a pond. She set her hand on the heavy stone, palms cool as river rock, and, guided by Asterios, bled mana into it like pouring tea. The sleeping table stirred like a golem waking. Two stone claws unfolded and seized a slab of white marble, movements crisp as a falcon’s strike. Pure starlight washed the upright block like a silver rain. The rough mass thinned into a slender rod, sized for one hand, like a branch pared by a patient knife. A last white flash fell like a shooting star, and the marble rod dropped onto the dais with a clean clack.
The claws swept away the marble shavings like tide sweeping shells. They picked up the aquamarine Lilith had condensed, blue as sea held in glass. They set it to one end, like setting a moon on a staff. Gentle starlight smoothed the excess like silk over wood. The gem shaped itself to match the marble, seamless as frost on stone, and became the Astrolabe’s tip.
A pitch-black gem lay waiting, the one Fafnir had already cut into a neat hemisphere like a dusk half-moon. No further carving was needed, only setting, like a seal pressed into wax. White starlight blinked, crisp as flint. The dark gem seated into the other end of the rod, an ink drop in snow, and Lilith’s own Astrolabe was complete.
"What now? Do I bind it, or give it a name?" Lilith panted, breath coming like steam in winter, her mana a little drained. Yet the Little White Dragon’s eyes shone like wet stars as she looked at the Astrolabe, and she bounced her question to Asterios like a tossed pebble.
"Just pick it up, you impatient Little White Dragon." Asterios laughed, light as wind through leaves. "The Astrolabe is a bridge to the stars, a reed boat on a silver river. Don’t befriend the tool. Befriend the sky."
"Oh. You’re right." Lilith lifted the Astrolabe, fingers closing like ivy around a rail. A soft surge of Star Energy flowed from the staff into her body, like warm tide into a cove, and she shivered. "Mm… that’s such a strange feeling," she murmured, voice tremoring like a plucked string.
"It’s normal. Everyone feels it the first time," Asterios said, her palm ruffling Lilith’s hair like a soothing breeze. She led her across the open-air hall to a corner like a shadowed grotto. A hidden door waited there, quiet as a sealed tomb. The Silver Dragon stopped by it and spoke, each word steady as stacked stones. "Inside, there’s a very mysterious crystal. They say it’s the memory crystal the first Silver Dragon left after she observed the Star Canvas, like dew frozen into a jewel. Every Silver Dragon who chooses the astrologer’s road comes to see it once she has her Astrolabe. You’re no exception."
"What should I do?" Lilith tilted her head, the motion like a curious sparrow, and eyed the shut door.
"Just go in and tap the crystal lightly with your Astrolabe," Asterios said, her answer simple as a path through grass. Relief loosened Lilith’s chest like a knot undone; at least it wasn’t hard.
"What will I see?" Her question fell like rain into a well.
"It varies," Asterios said, shrugging like a leaf shedding dew. "Some see what they ate last night, a small lantern in memory. Some see their dream fulfilled, a sunrise on distant peaks. Some glimpse the future, a storm crouched beyond the ridge. And a few unlucky ones see nothing but fog." She smiled. "Don’t worry. No matter what you see—or don’t—when you come back out, the Star Canvas will show you its true face, like a veil lifted at dawn."
"Uh, so the night sky I see now is… fake?" Lilith felt shock burst like a firecracker in her chest. Fake stars… what next, twin moons or a red moon?
"Words can’t cover this, my dear Little White Dragon," Asterios chuckled, the sound like bells in a temple breeze. "Seeing is the only lantern." She didn’t answer further. Understanding enough, Lilith clenched her Astrolabe like a pilgrim’s staff and walked toward the room.
"Don’t tense up; you’ll have other chances," Asterios called, her voice trailing like incense smoke. Lilith shook her head as if to shed dew, pretended not to hear, and pushed the door.
Inside, a colossal azure crystal hung in the air, floating by some hidden force like an iceberg shard caught in still sky. Lilith pressed down her shock like a lid on a boiling pot. Following Asterios’s instructions, she lifted the Astrolabe and tapped the crystal, a feather touch like a drop on glass. The next heartbeat, her consciousness was wrenched from her body like silk torn from a loom. Panic flared, hot as sparks, and she thrashed to return like a fish fighting the net. The crystal turned into a devouring black hole, a well with no bottom, and dragged her in. The world spun like storm-tossed seas, darkness folded like a closing wing, and the Little White Dragon blacked out.
"White Holy Maiden, open your eyes! I’m Icarus, the deity of stars and purification. Come back with me, White Holy Maiden." The voice was gentle, a breeze across reeds, right by her ear.
Lilith blinked awake, lashes heavy as dew on grass. A tall woman stood before her, figure slim as a pine on a ridge. The Little White Dragon pushed up to sit, palms on the ground like roots finding soil, and blurted, "Seven lost to Zedi? What kind of dream is this?"
"Haha, looks like I found the right one." The woman laughed, clear as silver bells, a sound that rang sweet as spring water. "What should I call you? Miss Lilith, or Mr. Fan Yu?"
"Call me Lilith." She crossed her arms like a shield and watched the woman, wariness coiling like a snake. "Who are you, and why are you using Lord Icarus’s name?"
"Hmm? How do you know I’m not Icarus herself? Human statues are never accurate, like maps that forget the wind." The woman’s smile teased, playful as a cat with a ribbon. "What if I am your dear Lord Icarus? What would you do then, my dear little Saint?"
"Lord Icarus has already met me. She wouldn’t first confirm I’m a transmigrator like you just did," Lilith shot back, her glare sharp as a drawn blade. "And the Saint’s Mark she gave me is glowing, which means you’re not her." If the woman had twitched wrong, Lilith would’ve drawn the Holy Blade like lightning.
"Ah, that woman is such a hassle," the stranger sighed, annoyance flicking like a fan. "Fine, I’ll be honest." She clapped softly, palms clicking like stones, and the starry backdrop behind her tore away like a curtain. It left only a pitch-black stage, a night with no moon. "Now, let’s feel each other’s true names." Her voice dropped smooth as oil. "I’m the god who governs death and life—the Nameless One. Of course, I prefer you call me Lord Grim Reaper." She waved a hand, airy as smoke. "I know, I know, you’ve got a crowd of questions. By rights, the one here should be your beloved Icarus. Among humans, they worship her as a goddess, like a lantern on an altar. Among dragons, she holds a post helping Silver Dragons observe the sky, a clerk stamping stars. But any god can handle that desk. She’s busy, so I came to greet her cute little Saint myself."
"What do you want?" Lilith fixed on the Nameless One, gaze like an arrow nocked. If the other stepped closer, she’d draw the Holy Blade and cut, swift as a flash.
"Oh, nothing shady," the Nameless One said, tilting her head, faux-cute as a fox in borrowed silk. "Don’t let the Grim Reaper title scare you; I’m quite wholesome." The act made Lilith’s skin crawl like ants; the blade hissed free in the next breath, bright as frost. She raised it to strike at the Nameless One’s head.
"Hey, hey, don’t swing yet," the Nameless One yelped, hands up like empty clouds. "You’ll be very interested in what I’m about to say."
"What?" Lilith’s eyes narrowed to crescents, cold as winter moons. She weighed cutting first and talking never, the thought hard as stone.
"It’s about your curse." The words landed like a gong, and they caught Lilith’s attention like a hook in water. The Little White Dragon snapped her gaze to the Nameless One, pupils dark as wells, and waited.
"I know how to lift it," the Nameless One continued, smile smooth as lacquer. "I might even send you back to your original world, like a boat riding the current."
"Talk," Lilith said. She lowered the Holy Blade like a falling leaf and sat across from her, posture straight as a spear.
The Nameless One kept that elegant smile, calm as a masked moon, and began to speak.
