Twenty-Three: Nature’s Eye

“Nature’s Eye?” Lilith tilted her head, like a small bird angling to catch the wind.

“Right. You’re curious about my eyes, aren’t you?” Rand’s voice was calm, like rain over moss. “Both of mine went blind from illness. What I see now comes through a druid’s shared Nature’s Eye, a vision that lets me glimpse the true form of what sustains us.” He lifted a finger toward the eye under his black blindfold, a crescent of night pressed to his face. It matched what Lilith felt—he was truly seeing through the covered eye. “I’m no gifted druid, so only one eye bears that sight. The elves and beastfolk who devote their lives to druidry open both eyes as Nature’s Eyes, and a third blossoms on the brow—the legendary Sky Eye.”

“After your baptism, once you’re a formal druid, your own Nature’s Eye will open.” Rand’s words moved like leaves in a river. “Your world will change. New sight will show you new truths, and that’s the foundation of the Mali Dance.” He paused, like a breath before thunder. “So this afternoon, first we’ll give you the ability to glimpse the world’s essence. No Nature’s Eye, no Mali Dance.”

“So I’m getting that baptism now?” Lilith asked, her voice small, like dew on a petal.

“Yes. Don’t worry.” Rand’s tone was warm, like sunlight through cedar. “It’s not from the Mali Church. It’s an old Lamter elven custom. All across Kuri, places keep their own versions—like streams finding their own beds. We in Lamter have ours. It isn’t hard. We prepare a little, and it ends quickly.”

Lilith nodded. The Little White Dragon padded to Nidhogg’s side, stood on tiptoe, and tried to reach her ear, like a sapling stretching toward moonlight.

She wasn’t tall enough. Even on tiptoe, she couldn’t reach the Black Dragon girl’s ear. Nidhogg watched her cheeks puff red like ripe cherries, then chuckled and bent down, drifting her ear to Lilith’s lips like a lowered branch.

The Little White Dragon caught the tease in that gentle motion. She pressed a soft foot on Nidhogg’s shoe—just a cloud-light tap—then leaned close and whispered,

“Did you go through that baptism too?”

“No.” Nidhogg’s denial was clean, like a blade of ice. Before Lilith could speak, she added, “We Black Dragons study Death Magic. In a way, the world we see flips the druids’ vision like night to day, but it still shows what you need for the Mali Dance. So I didn’t do it.”

“But I’m kind of a Death Magic apprentice too, right? Why do I have to be baptized?” Lilith still clung to being Fafnir’s student, though her visits were rare—like a comet that forgot its orbit. Well… the Little White Dragon had to admit she barely attended the Black Dragon’s lessons at all.

“Please.” Nidhogg’s words landed like pebbles on a calm pond. “You’ve only got half of Stellar Magic, and Death Magic can wait years before you touch its threshold.” She didn’t spare the sting. “Fafnir has complained plenty about you, the rebellious student who won’t show up. If Lady Asterios didn’t forbid it, she’d drag you down from the star platform to study skeletons.”

“My energy’s limited, so I can only focus on one thing first…” The Little White Dragon knew she was at fault. She poked her chest with two fingers, like tapping a drum for courage, and lifted dewy eyes to meet Nidhogg’s. “Stellar Magic is so hard. I had to set aside the Death Magic I barely started. Besides, I only wanted Death Magic to control the Taint inside me. I don’t need that anymore.”

Nidhogg reached out and stroked the crestfallen Little White Dragon, slender fingers diving into her smooth white hair like swallows into cloud. Morning neatness unraveled into a nest of feathers.

“Hey!” The Little White Dragon slapped away the mischievous hand on her head. She was ready to scold—then her gaze met Nidhogg’s smile, blooming bright as summer fireworks.

Dazzled by her beloved’s face—fair as a celestial maiden—the Little White Dragon lowered her head. She hid her burning cheeks behind a fall of white hair, then walked toward Rand with a quiet shuffle, like a rabbit slipping into clover.

Lilith accepted a truth: before she confessed, she’d never beat Nidhogg in a verbal duel.

Too unfair. One look at Nidhogg’s face, and all thoughts fled like birds at dawn. Only “love” pulsed in her head. Even the teasing melted like frost under sun.

“I’ll go get baptized. Watch those two little ones,” Lilith mumbled, her voice thick as mist. Nidhogg answered with a soft hum, and the Little White Dragon finally relaxed, following Rand toward a building within the Mali Church.

“This is the place?” Lilith’s curiosity rose like sap. Green stretched everywhere around them. One moment she was inside the old hall; then a dizzy wave rolled through her mind—whoosh—and she found herself at the heart of a small grove.

Underfoot she felt a stone altar. Beside it stood several broken pillars, scarred like old trees after storms—just like ruins from forgotten rites.

Rand waited at the altar’s edge, a brimming jar in his arms. The liquid inside was opaque emerald, dense as mossy water. Its nature was a secret shadow.

“Yes. We’ll begin soon.” Rand’s reply was steady, like a drumbeat in rain. “It won’t take long. You’ll pour this over yourself, and your body will change on its own. When the moment ripens, your body will tell you it’s time to leave. Then this grove will open a path, like grass parting for the wind.”

“Wait, you won’t stay with me?” The Little White Dragon caught the hidden note in his words, sharp as a hawk’s glance. Was he leaving her alone in this grove?

“Of course. A druid’s baptism allows no others.” Rand’s explanation rustled like pages of bark. “If you could chant the nature wood-grain hymn, I wouldn’t even be here. Proper protocol has you carry the baptismal liquid yourself to the altar at the grove’s center.” He saw her blank look—druidry was a forest she’d never walked. “Then you must pour the liquid from head to toe. I may be blind, but the Nature’s Eye still tells me nature’s truth. Leaving an old man to watch a beautiful—no, a budding young lady would be improper.”

His words made Lilith shiver, like a moth brushing cold glass. He was polite, yet a chill crept up from the heart.

Thank the stars Nidhogg wasn’t here, or she’d be too shy to stand.

“All right, no more time-wasting. Let’s begin.” Rand clapped, a crisp sound like twigs snapping, and cut off their idle talk. He set the green jar by Lilith’s feet, then stepped off the altar. In the grove he took a branch—simple as breath—and used it as a makeshift staff. He chanted a long spell Lilith couldn’t understand, a river of syllables winding deep as roots. Then he turned and left the grove, quiet as fog retreating.

The Little White Dragon knew it was her turn.

She lifted the jar. She tipped the emerald liquid over her head, a cool cascade like mint wind rushing down from the crown.

Cold speared into her skull, clean as spring water, then struck like a heavy hammer on iron.

Her sight blurred, a fog swallowing the horizon. The last thread of light slid away like sunset sinking behind pines.

She fainted, falling into darkness like a leaf into a deep lake.