Twenty-Seven: The Little Dragon’s Pre‑Festival Prep

More than the changes in her body, what fogged Nidhogg’s mind like mist on pines was Lilith’s ever stranger behavior of late.

By day, the little dragon would bury herself in the quiet of the Mali Church, as if hiding like a rabbit in a burrow. Nidhogg even went to ask Rand about Lilith’s lessons, and what she learned hit like a pebble in a still pond. The Little White Dragon wasn’t as in love with practice as Nidhogg had imagined; she’d drift off mid‑step like a kite in slack wind. And, true to the habits she’d honed back in the Dragon Territory, she slacked—fishing in sunny waters whenever she could.

In Nidhogg’s book, Lilith liked to slack. When the Little White Dragon used to tail Asterios and sketch the colors of dusk, she already showed a prodigious talent for goofing off, as easy as a fish slipping out of a net. Even the most laid‑back dragons in the Dragon Territory weren’t as deft at “casting lines” as she was.

Nidhogg once tallied it up like counting stars: Typhon had pried a sprawled, book‑reading Little White Dragon off almost every rooftop in the Dragon Territory.

That Lilith made it onto the road instead of being shut in a dark study by the furious Lady Asterios to make up work was mostly because, each time she got caught, she could still hand in a complete assignment, bright as a polished coin.

Lady Asterios looked strict on the surface, yet inside she was gentle as spring rain. As long as you didn’t go too far, she wouldn’t press you hard. Let alone Lilith—she just loved to slack, but she never fell behind, so the teacher let one eye close like a sleepy moon.

So Nidhogg could be sure: Lilith wasn’t truly interested in learning the Mali Dance. There was only one reason she’d run off at dawn to practice, steps light as dew.

She was avoiding Nidhogg.

Confusion pooled first, then action followed. Nidhogg couldn’t read what currents ran under Lilith’s scales. By day the Little Dragon kept as far as sea and sky, yet at night she changed faces like the moon turning, and, like any fledgling in its soft‑feather phase, she pressed close to the ones she trusted, warm as a hearth.

On the fourth night before the Coining Festival, with her final test at Rand’s tomorrow, the Little White Dragon waited until Litt drifted to sleep. Then she clicked on the room’s lamp like a star, and, just as Nidhogg was about to turn in, a tug came at the quilt’s corner like a small tide. Nidhogg looked over and saw the Little White Dragon in silk pajamas, hugging her pillow, slip in like a silver fish.

“Good evening.” Shy as moonlight, the little dragon blinked her dewy eyes and hid half her face behind her pillow like a fawn behind a fern.

Nidhogg knew one of Lilith’s tiny habits. She liked to tuck her face into a collar or coat, or hide behind a scarf, like a fawn peeking from a snowdrift—so cute you wanted to nuzzle her head like soft moss.

Half her little rump still stuck out of the covers like a plum on the branch, and the chill in the room moved like winter air, so the dragon wriggled deeper into the quilt, aggrieved as a kitten. “It’s a bit cold. Can I come in?”

Amusement rose first like a warm tide, then thought followed. Nidhogg had never heard of a White Dragon bothered by cold. But those water‑clear, sapphire eyes looked up like twin lakes, and under that gaze she surrendered, letting the flimsy lie float like a paper boat without poking a hole.

“Thanks.” Lilith’s reply was sweet as honeyed tea. To Nidhogg, the Little White Dragon had grown softer and softer of late. After she entered her fledgling phase, some of her old flash had melted like snow in sun. She’d wrapped herself, like her body, in a mild outer layer. From the fated heroine of a tale, she’d turned into a piece of crystal jelly—so clear you could see the tender heart inside at a glance.

In truth, Nidhogg liked this cotton‑candy version of the Little White Dragon, in every sense.

Lilith was growing faster than Nidhogg had guessed. A few days ago, the Black Dragon’s musings about Lilith’s future were just seeds; now the sprout had shot up in a burst of green. At this rate, Lilith would soon catch up to Nidhogg’s size like a rising tide. Nidhogg could already picture her—radiant at the Coining Festival like a swan on a mirror‑still lake.

A soft sigh came first, then movement. The Little White Dragon couldn’t read minds. She could never imagine what breeze of thoughts rustled through the Black Dragon girl’s head. She only pressed her petite body against Nidhogg, who stood almost a head and a half taller, and rubbed her small forehead against Nidhogg’s sleek hair like a bird brushing a willow.

“What’s wrong?” Warmth first, words after. Nidhogg stroked Lilith’s head, feeling the little dragon’s mood dim like a lamp in mist. She leaned close and soothed her in a low voice, like rain on leaves. “Did something trip you up while you were practicing?”

“No. I’m pretty great. A tiny dance like that can’t stump me.” The Little White Dragon murmured in Nidhogg’s arms, voice light as a feather. Nidhogg believed her. The Black Dragon had learned this dance too. Once you can see the life of the world, the Mali Dance isn’t hard at all, unlike other forms. It feels more like nature in the air extending a hand of wind and taking you into a turn.

“Of course. I believe you,” Nidhogg said with a nod, satisfying that little swell of pride like a small sail catching breeze.

“Hmph, of course. A mere Mali Dance can’t trouble me.” Lilith hummed, confidence puffing up like a little pufferfish. Maybe all that time with Abaddon had rubbed off; the habits of a little demon clung like smoke.

Nidhogg minded none of it. When the little dragon puffed up, she looked like a puppy tipping up its nose for praise, tail thumping like a metronome. It made Nidhogg want to pat her head. She found Lilith adorable, so it was fine.

“Then why not sleep while it’s this late?” Nidhogg asked with a laugh, like chimes in a night breeze.

Hesitation rose like a blush, then words tumbled out. “Because…” Lilith’s face, already a touch rosy under the night light, filled with a deeper red like sunset. She parted her lips and faltered. “I… I’m a little worried.”

“What are you worried about?” Nidhogg smiled, coaxing gently like guiding a skittish colt to water.

“Well…” Lilith hummed, voice small as a moth’s wing. “I’m really worried I won’t do well at the Coining Festival. I’ve never put myself out there in front of so many people. I get nervous, and I don’t like performing under eyes like a field under noon sun. This might be my first time doing anything before a crowd—ah, except when I set out as a Hero. But back then, my teammates handled the people like walls taking the wind. So I’m scared I’ll mess up at the Coining Festival.”

“So, could you give me a little encouragement?” Lilith blinked, and the sapphires spoke in a whisper, clear as spring water.