Forty-Nine
Lilith opened her eyes, like lanterns lit in mist.
Elasha’s memories weren’t sharp; they came like fogged glass and distant bells. The Little White Dragon had expected vignettes, clear as lantern-slides. Instead, she listened to Elasha’s own voice, a calm river over stone. She still learned much, like shells picked after a tide, but it wasn’t the shape she’d imagined.
She clung to what Elasha said about the infant, like a fisher gripping a silver line. She’d guessed that baby was a shard of the Nameless One’s true body. Now it fit. The infant was one of the Grim Reaper’s authorities—Early Death.
But the last part tripped her like a root in the dark. Elasha said she’d understood why the Vampire progenitors could exploit Early Death so quickly, and why Early Death’s mana drained like spilled wine. Perhaps the long-lived Vampires truly grasped it, like old trees reading wind. Lilith, with her self-mocked “stupid little head,” couldn’t pull that knot loose.
Lilith hated riddle-mongers most of all, like sand under eyelids.
She puffed her cheeks, a little kettle on the boil. This crystal held only that slice of memory, yet she felt the piece wasn’t born this way. Not that Elasha had handed the Keeper of Secrets a forged memory. Rather, it was compacted—sound muted like snowfall, colors thinned like dawn, outlines blurred like breath on glass. Even the emotions were folded, like a letter creased too many times.
So, was the voice-over there because the memory had been compressed?
Lilith preened at the notion, tail-tip flicking like a quill. What a genius she was—her brilliance shone like frost at sunrise!
Confident, Lilith pushed up from the memory’s shore, casting one last look at the silent blood-lake, smooth as a mirror. She tipped back, ready to leave that inner world like a diver leaving a grotto.
Yes, she could guess what Elasha planned, with a mind like a knife on silk. But guessing took work and might miss the mark. Lilith chose the quick path to answers—go ask Elasha directly, like a hawk stooping straight for prey.
She fell again into blood shaped by magic, only this time she rose the other way, like a bubble seeking light. She floated in pale-blue liquid, buoyed by gentle currents lifting her upward.
After a breath, her claws brushed a thin membrane, taut as dragonfly wing. She scratched a slit through it, clean as a quill cut, and slipped out.
“Done watching?”
Lilith opened her eyes to her own familiar body, solid as earth after rain. A surge of information poured in with her returning mind, a tide hammering pebble thoughts. Dizzy, she swayed like a reed in crosswind.
She sat up, palm to temple, fingers combing a lock by her cheek like smoothing silk. Inwardly, she tried to gather the scattering thoughts, loose leaves in a courtyard gust.
Elasha sensed the hatchling’s return. The Vampire, who’d been murmuring with the forest like leaves talking to wind, fell silent. She turned, gaze steady as starlight, measuring Lilith’s state.
“Finished, but I didn’t get everything.” Lilith rubbed her brow, voice low as embers. When her thoughts cleared a shade, she frowned. “Why was it you narrating? I thought I’d see it first-hand.”
“That takes too much space,” Elasha said, calm as a still pond. “The Keeper of Secrets can read it anyway, so we folded what I offered Him.”
Only then did Lilith notice the crystal in Elasha’s arms, cradled like a sleeping bird. The Vampire pressed her left hand to it. Under Lilith’s gaze, memory seeped in, drop by drop, like dye into water.
“What are you doing?” Lilith pointed at the crystal, claw bright as a moon-scratch. Had Elasha struck more than one bargain with the Keeper?
“Paying my price.” Elasha bowed her head, voice cool as shade. “I vowed to offer the most precious vein of Vampire memory. One civilization’s memory can’t sit in one crystal, like a sea in a cup.” The crystal in her arms turned blood-crimson. She set it aside, took up a white crystal, and laid her left hand on it again. “Even compressed once, this memory still overflows a single vessel. The Keeper asked me to store them apart, so nothing spills or grinds itself down inside.”
“What did you ask Him for, to pay so much memory?” Lilith stared, stunned as a deer in snow. She didn’t know how the Keeper weighed requests against recollection, but this much memory smelled like a mountain-price.
“Didn’t you watch my memory? Or didn’t you understand?” Elasha didn’t answer directly. She smiled, expectant as dawn, waiting for the hatchling’s reply.
“I—I did get it,” Lilith said, cheeks pink as peach petals, stubborn as a cub. “But what’s that got to do with paying so much?”
“Left in my soul, memory only wears me down forever, like grit in a gear.” Elasha arched a brow. “If I can trade it for what helps my clan endure, why wouldn’t I? As an ancient dragon, you should know how memory hinders thought, like vines choking a path.”
“I’m still a hatchling!” Lilith snapped, tail flicking like a willow switch. “I don’t know what ancient dragons know.”
“Fair. Humor me.” Elasha’s smile tilted, helpless as a sigh. “Few get to deal with a dragon at all. To most, ancient or young, a dragon is a storm—no one stops to ask its age.”
While they spoke, she poured the last strand of recollection into crystal, a final thread through a loom. Elasha set the dark-red shard beside the others and admired the cluster, a little grove of memory.
“See? Entrust memory elsewhere, and it bears more fruit, like seeds sown beyond one field.” Elasha’s gaze was steady as iron. “I still need the Keeper’s aid. To reach my goal, I won’t discard any power.”
“That so?” Lilith nodded, like a bell touched by wind, accepting Elasha’s reason for now.
