Lilith opened her eyes; the world slid in like a lake thawing.
A strange emptiness pooled beneath her skin; her body felt like mist she couldn’t grasp.
Even imagining a hand opening in her mind gave no touch, no weight.
Yet sensation lingered; she knew she was sprawled on the floor in an indecent crawl.
She just didn’t know how to stand, like a foal on ice.
The instant the thought sprouted—stand—the body moved on its own.
The Little White Dragon scrambled up, swaying like windblown reeds, yet rooted steady as stone.
A pale-blue halo filmed her vision, a new pupil throwing a veil across the world.
She hadn’t lost sight; she simply hadn’t tuned this strange gaze, like lenses of frost.
Not seeing clearly soured her mood; the Little White Dragon longed for answers like a child in fog.
She opened her mouth—and a keening roar ripped out.
A White Dragon’s call, noble to humans, hit Lilith like demon music, almost knocking the young White Dragon senseless.
Startled by herself, the White Dragon girl dropped to the floor again, like a rain-beaten leaf.
Instinct took over; she dragged her wide wings like a blanket, crawled inside, and shivered.
In half-draconic form, the girl kept a mostly human shape, but her mind slid toward dragon instinct.
Like a hatchling fresh from shell, everything felt too new; she shrank down and whimpered.
“Don’t be afraid; let the storm inside settle.” Asterios whispered as he approached.
The Silver Dragon lowered his body and stroked her arched spine, soothing her like a frightened milk puppy.
“This is your body. Don’t fear it. Now, breathe deep,” he murmured close to her ear, warm as a hearth.
Lilith obeyed and gulped a mouthful of air—then dust scratched her throat like sandpaper.
She coughed uncontrollably, eyes wet, peeking up at her teacher like a rain-soaked sparrow.
Asterios couldn’t help laughing, charmed by the Little White Dragon’s clumsy misery, like a kitten with oversized paws.
Stung by the tease, Lilith butted him with her head; scale-clad cheeks puffed like a balloon as she glared.
“Ha—feeling looser now, like a knot opening?” Asterios relaxed when he saw her clear displeasure.
Keeping her calm mattered most; fear must not seize the body and steer it like a thief grabbing the reins.
She was human turning into dragon, yet still a child; treat her like a hatchling in straw.
He coughed, dust of worry lifting, then spoke solemnly:
“Little White Dragon, for a dragon, the pillar is never to fear the body.
No matter your shape, remember this—you’re a dragon; your greatest staff is your flesh, the one ally that won’t betray dragonkind.”
At Lilith’s age, the sharpest danger is growth racing ahead until you lose your feel for yourself.
For dragons, that is fatal—like a misstep at a cliff edge.
Our kind bears a body other races dream of—iron strength, magic immunity, and hides that shrug off almost any curse.
To ride that power, you must believe, no matter what, that you control yourself.
If your body stampedes like a mountain flood, life ends in a breath; a dragon becomes one of the continent’s worst calamities.
Each year, rampaging dragonkind cause losses enough to name a disaster—Dragon Calamity.
It falls short of divine relic scourges like Death Dust or Taint, yet to small city-states it’s world-ending.
“We need a way to help you fit your dragonization,” Asterios murmured, palm gliding down her back like a river over stone.
Lilith lifted her head, curious; when no answer came, she tilted it, a silent question mark floating above.
Once calm, Lilith finally eased into the feel of dragonization, like slipping into warm water.
Before she could test the boost from resonating with the constellations, Asterios and Nidhogg led her to Fafnir’s manor.
They said she’d learn techniques to control the transformation there, to tighten the reins.
“So, how do I freely control dragonization, Teacher Fafnir?” Lilith asked, eyeing the teacher her own height like a mirror.
“Simple.” Fafnir planted hands on hips atop his throne, confidence blazing, and pointed at Lilith.
“Different dragons have different ways, but the most efficient, agreed by all, is this.”
“We beat you. We keep beating you until you can control dragonization.”
“Eh? You’re joking, right?” Lilith yelped in horror, honorifics blown away like leaves.
“Of course not.” Fafnir folded his arms and smiled, sure as steel.
“It’s the optimal solution, tested on thousands of hatchlings, hard as math.”
“Only by pounding you to the border of life and death, until your mind blurs, will you truly feel and master the change.”
“For you, I invited the four strongest Black Dragons in the Dragon Territory.”
“Be good and enjoy.” He snapped his fingers with a cold huff, like frost breaking.
A heavy beat kicked in, an old song rolling like thunder from the throne.
Four figures stepped out from behind Fafnir’s seat; a chill crawled up Lilith’s spine like a spider.
Who were they, these shadows with scales?
Whoa—four hulking Black Dragon bruisers.
Muscles built to dominate, scales sharp and unyielding, and tails like iron whips.
They were the cream of the Black Dragons, the peak of the mountain.
“Heh, I know you’re good against magic, Lilith,” Fafnir said.
“So I brought four Black Dragons who excel at raw strength to greet you.”
“I call them the Four Boss Ladies; each has a signature killer move and frightening power.”
“Their claws and tails will bring extra surprises, like drills and whips, enough to make you grow plenty, okay?”
Wa-ya-ya—those four were scarier to Lilith than ten billion Demon Kings.
“W-woah, don’t come any closer!” She backed toward the door, heartbeat rattling like a drum.
A Black Dragon was suddenly behind her, a wide claw settling on her thin shoulder like a clamp.
“Oh, darling, you’re sweet magic from head to toe.” The Black Dragon leered, stroking her shoulder like silk.
Then she raised a fist as big as Lilith’s head, a boulder ready to fall.
“Waaah! Master, save me!”
