Twelve: Dinner

Lilith still had no idea what Mio was tinkering with in the kitchen. Steam coiled behind the door like white snakes, and the air smelled like warm milk.

Nidhogg came out with several bags of milk for the Little White Dragon, then hoisted a carrier of drinks that looked like cola, the glass glinting like river stones.

“What’s this?” Lilith asked, her finger pointing like an arrow at the dozen glass bottles in Nidhogg’s hand, their caps shining like tiny suns.

“Nuka-Cola,” Nidhogg said, the name popping like a cap. The Black Dragon girl lifted the carrier and gave it a shake, bubbles blinking like fireflies so the Little White Dragon could see.

“Cola?” Lilith’s interest flickered like a match. It was the gamer soda she used to chug; how could it cross into another world like a ghost hitching a ride?

The Little White Dragon leaned in, curiosity crouched like a cat. Nidhogg, catching the look, took a bottle cold as a river stone and pressed it to her cheek.

“If you want one, it’s yours,” she said, voice light as wind. “But let it warm a bit, or the chill will stab your belly.”

“I’m not a kid,” Lilith puffed, cheeks swelling like a pufferfish as she pushed the bottle away, her pride standing like a bamboo stalk in a storm.

She didn’t really want cola; the desire had blown away like seeds after high school. Even in a new life, the craving didn’t sprout.

“You drink it. I don’t like that stuff.” She turned her head like a cat refusing a pat, slid back to sit beside Litt, bit open a hot milk bag, and lifted it to Litt’s lips, steam curling like morning mist.

“All right,” Nidhogg said, setting the cola on the floor with a sigh like wind dying at dusk. She drew out a chair and sat beside Lilith, then passed the remaining milk to Abaddon, the bottle cool as moonlight.

“Mio needs a bit more time,” Nidhogg said, words drifting like smoke. “Whenever someone visits, she drops the ball like a kite losing wind. Bear with it a while.”

She rummaged in the cabinet behind her; paper rustled like dry leaves. She actually found a loaf wrapped in oiled paper.

The Black Dragon stripped the paper like peeling bark and tucked the soft, golden bread into Lilith’s hands, warm as a sunlit stone. “She must’ve grabbed this fresh from the street. Lucky you.”

“I’m fine. Not hungry,” Lilith said, her refusal light as a falling feather. Her gaze slid to the Demon across from her, where Abaddon wrestled the milk like a tiny warrior, hunger beating like a drum.

“Abaddon, want some bread?”

“Eh? Where’s there bread? I want it,” Abaddon blurted, need sparking like flint. At the word food, her head snapped up like a deer scenting water.

She spotted the gold-glowing loaf in Nidhogg’s hand, and her eyes lit like stars as she sprang and took a chomp.

“Eat, eat. Dinner will be ready in a moment,” Lilith said, rubbing Abaddon’s gray hair with a gentleness like warm rain. She didn’t notice the smile curling at her lips like a crescent moon.

Nidhogg watched, savoring the scene like a sip of tea. Since leaving Morris, this White Dragon had been budding into girlhood like spring flowers, nothing like the days in the Dragon Territory.

Back then the little dragon still carried the wild heat of the road, bouncing like a mountain macaque from branch to branch. Now she could cradle a little girl and sweetly smile, a change that sighed like wind through pines.

“I’ll check on Mio,” Nidhogg said after a few breaths of quiet harmony, then stood and slipped into the kitchen, her steps soft as shadow.

It was getting late; leave Mio alone to dawdle and they'd end up eating starlight.

Half an hour later, Nidhogg came back with several bowls of steaming soup and a basket of soft bread, steam drifting like pale ghosts and the basket warm like a nest.

Behind her, Mio carried cups and, gods knew from where, an elegant bottle of wine that gleamed like dark amber.

“Dinner, dinner,” Nidhogg called, her voice ringing like a silver bell. She set a bowl of onion soup before each seat, heat breathing like mist, and laid beside it a French standard-issue combat baton fresh as a baked sunrise.

“I think you should cut those two,” Lilith said, worry pooling like ink as she eyed the baguette near her hand. Litt didn’t need to eat; any tasting would end in the Little White Dragon’s belly.

But Abaddon did need dinner; a whole baton might stick like a stone.

“I did study table manners,” Abaddon said, reading Lilith’s worry like a book. “Lord Satan personally taught me how to dine. I won’t commit the beginner’s sin of getting choked by bread.”

Pride straight as a reed, she proved it with a graceful motion, slicing a neat piece, dipping it in the fragrant onion soup, and taking small, slow bites like a sparrow pecking.

Such poise Lilith had only seen once, at the single banquet she attended before leaving the kingdom, glittering like frost on silver.

Pressure hit Lilith like a sudden wave. Shame rose first, hot as steam; then memory, rough as road dust.

She thought of the wolfish way she’d learned to eat, and at once the delicious soup went dull, its flavor fading like dusk.

“Relax,” Nidhogg said, patting the Little White Dragon’s back, stiff as an iron plate. Then she pinched the tender flesh at Lilith’s waist, light and precise like a cat’s paw.

Lilith’s skin was thin and quick to spark; the waist was the prime switch. With just that touch, tears pricked her eyes like dew, half shame and half ire. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t be so tense. This is a family dinner, not a palace banquet,” Nidhogg said, laughter bubbling like a brook. “Why wage a table-manners duel?”

She smoothed the Saint’s ruffled feathers, then pushed a cut piece of bread into Lilith’s mouth, the crumb cloud-soft. “Come on. You’ve worked all day without food. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Mmph!” Lilith’s small mouth was stuffed like a chipmunk’s cheeks, words trapped like fish in a net. She chewed hard, swallowed, then spoke.

“What does my hunger have to do with you? Mind your own food,” she said, her voice trying to be cool as snow.

“All right, all right,” Nidhogg said, words tumbling like pebbles. Then a stray thought leaped like a fish: a Little White Dragon puffed up like a pufferfish—did that make her a white puffer?

The notion made Nidhogg snort a laugh like a cracked flute, and she earned a mortified glare sharp as a needle from Lilith.

“Ahem,” Nidhogg coughed twice, the sound dry as paper, and pretended to wage war on her own baguette.

Lilith didn’t keep picking at her. Hunger was knocking like a drum now.

Maybe the smell of dinner untied her appetite like loosening a knot, or Nidhogg’s reminder shook her stomach awake from the Holy Mountain’s numbness like thunder.

Either way, she suddenly felt starved enough to eat a cow, and she went at the food with wind-and-rain ferocity.

In the end, she admitted the cow was a lie. After one full baguette plus half, and nearly two bowls of soup, she was stuffed to bursting and couldn’t take another bite.

The extra bread and soup came from Litt; after a token taste, Litt pushed everything to Lilith and latched onto the Saint’s finger like a kitten, gnawing with tiny contentment.

Lilith rubbed her round belly like a drum, then bit her index finger; a bead of blood bloomed like a ruby. She fed a little to Litt, the taste iron-sweet as night.

After a few sips, Litt had enough mana for a day and mimicked Lilith, lying back in the baby chair to rub her flat little belly like a smug fox.

Across the table, Abaddon still ate with the same calm grace as at the start. Lord Satan’s drilling had taken root like an oak in stone.

She didn’t toss etiquette to the wind halfway through; she finished right on time, leaving spotless dishes and a neatly folded napkin ready for the trash, a clean field after harvest.

It stood in sharp contrast to the big-and-small pair opposite, both slumped with hands on their bellies like seals on a sun-warmed rock.

Nidhogg smiled at the sight and began clearing the table, her movements smooth as a tide drawing back.

“Put that down. I’ll take it,” Mio said, standing with a voice soft as moss. The elf pulled a tiny seed from her satchel.

With a push of mana, it burst into a thick vine like a coiling serpent and scooped up the wooden bowls and bread basket in one sweep.

“Take them upstairs to rest first. Ask what they want for breakfast,” Mio said, guiding the vine to cradle the tableware like a careful parent.

Before she stepped into the kitchen, she turned her head toward Nidhogg, eyes steady as stars.

“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” Nidhogg asked, curiosity drifting like smoke.

“No need. Later,” Mio replied. “It’s late and hot. Get some sleep. Tomorrow you can wander Lamter properly,” she added, the words clear as a bell.

It was nearly eleven. For most high-schoolers it might have been just after evening study, but for travelers, it was bedtime, soft as nightfall.

“Fine. You’re right,” Nidhogg said with a nod, simple as a bow. She scooped up the softly whining Little White Dragon and Litt under one arm, light as lifting clouds.

Abaddon rose to follow, footsteps quick as sparrows. “I’ll assign the rooms myself, then?”

“Do as you like. No one uses them. The keys are inside each room; don’t forget to take them,” Mio said, already turning to battle dishes in the sink like a soldier at the front.

“Got it,” Nidhogg answered, tucking Lilith under her arm and heading upstairs, thoughts arranging rooms like chess pieces on a quiet board.

Wedged under the Black Dragon girl’s arm, the Little White Dragon felt a sharp, dangerous gaze like a knife at her back. A chill ran down her spine like poured ice.

Something wicked crept along her vertebrae like an ant trail.

What is she planning?