Side Story: Lilith Sings

This happened back when Lilith still lived in the Dragon Territory, charting the Void Command Seat across the Star Canvas.

“Singing?” Lilith set down her star chart, one brow lifting like a crescent blade, and looked at the Black Dragon girl before her.

She’d spent days stitching results from her latest watching. The Little White Dragon had asked Asterios, and the Silver Dragon Saint confirmed it.

One particular dragon had lifted the fourth veil of the Star Canvas, and could glimpse more of its truth.

So Lilith chose to reorganize all she’d seen, to redraw the whole chart, hoping new patterns would bloom like frost on glass.

The little dragon sat on Tartaros’s rooftop, legs swinging like pendulums, watching the Star Canvas blink overhead, checking her notes star by star.

For reasons unknown, the sky above hadn’t changed much, even after that veil fell. An eye still hung open, its cold pupil fixed on her.

Lilith asked Asterios about it. The Silver Dragon pondered long, yet offered no clear answer, only told Lilith to watch and send reports.

With no better path, Lilith did as told. She compared old charts to tonight’s constellations, tracing differences like ripples of ink in water.

Just as she focused hard on her work, an uninvited visitor cut through her quiet like a shadow crossing moonlight.

Nidhogg stood over her, eyes lowered like eclipsed moons, watching the White Dragon’s hands clutch the chart, and invited Lilith to sing with her.

“This is a rite of our kind.” Nidhogg pointed to the street below, a river of lamps. “When the music constellation climbs high, we sing.”

“Every dragon walks the streets and sings the song born in their heart,” she said, her voice steady as basalt under snow.

Lilith eyed the Black Dragon girl with soft doubt. It wasn’t distrust, just that she’d never heard of a constellation for music.

“It’s only a song on the street. If you don’t want to, hum here.” Nidhogg sat beside her, shoulders almost touching in the night wind.

“No rule says where to sing. The Star Canvas hears you anywhere. If you prefer, sing right here,” she said, calm as still water.

“Then here,” Lilith murmured, turning away and sliding to leave a neat gap between them. “But I can’t sing. Don’t expect much.”

“It’s fine. Your voice is lovely; your song will follow,” Nidhogg said, her smile warm as an ember. “We mostly hum a few lines.”

“Got it.” Lilith blushed and puffed her cheeks like a small storm. “Praise won’t make me happy. Don’t mock me, or I’ll ignore you.”

“I know. I won’t,” Nidhogg said. She scooped the little dragon onto her lap, breath brushing Lilith’s ear. “Sing for me. I want it.”

“You—you…” Lilith froze as the hand reached her, then found herself held. Warmth wrapped her soft as clouds above a winter ridge.

Her mind overloaded, white steam rising in daydreams. The Little White Dragon turned apple-red and squirmed, but strength favored the Black Dragon.

“How am I supposed to sing like this?” she asked, voice thin as a reed in wind.

“I didn’t cover your mouth. What’s stopping you?” Nidhogg’s long fingers pinched Lilith’s small, full lips, her whisper curved wicked.

“See? Like this, you couldn’t sing. If you won’t, I’ll keep you hushed like this. Deal?”

“Mmph!” Lilith fought hard, but she was not yet grown. How could she beat a Black Dragon built of sinew and storm?

Nidhogg gave her slim waist a teasing pinch, and Lilith went still at once, like a trembling leaf settling.

“Will you sing now?” Nidhogg asked with a smile, watching the little dragon’s eyes glisten like dew.

Lilith nodded, small and pitiful. Nidhogg let her lips go, and the night loosened like a loosened knot.

“Meanie,” Lilith pouted with quiet grievance. She bared tiny fangs to look fierce, but one look from Nidhogg turned her meek.

She shrank in place, ready to sing obediently, like a paper lantern sheltering its flame.

Truth is, Lilith sang well. It felt like a gift bound to this reborn body, a grace the White Holy Maiden once forged.

Perhaps she honed a voice to soothe souls gnawed by the Taint, a clear stream running through ash.

The Little White Dragon’s voice carried a child’s pure innocence. She chose her favorite requiem, a melody that lived in her mind from the start.

She never chased its origins. Humming it brought deep calm, like snow falling on a restless field until the earth sleeps.

It felt as if every soul listening might find rest in her song, a lantern hung on the far shore.

Nidhogg listened in silence. She watched the Little White Dragon seated in falling starlight, bathed in the moon’s pale spill.

Lilith hummed a quiet, solemn, comforting requiem, a thread of silver woven through the night.

She hadn’t lied. Lilith’s song was beautiful.