35 An Invitation Letter

“Aren’t you two moving a little too fast, like a river after spring thaw?”

“What?”

Lilith let her small hands fall from that curtain of white hair, while Nidhogg withdrew the braid she was weaving from the Little White Dragon’s long locks. Both turned like twin moons toward the City Lord standing in the doorway.

Aila froze, caught between their gazes like a deer in torchlight. She widened her eyes and said, “What did you two do last night? She was dancing at the Coining Festival, and today Lilith can’t get out of bed.”

“Nothing much—just a grown-up secret,” Nidhogg said, her voice smooth as ink on silk. The Black Dragon’s nimble fingers finished two slim braids, just enough to frame Lilith’s small ears like petals. Pleased, she shifted and presented the new style to Aila, like a freshly unfurled fan. “Well? Pretty?”

“Very pretty. Suits her. But her pose will crush the hair like snow under a boot. Pull it forward,” Aila said after a careful look, nodding—then snapped back like a bowstring, “No, don’t change the subject!”

She stormed to Nidhogg’s side, a gust of autumn leaves. The Black Dragon hooked a chair for her with a casual sweep. The elf dropped into it, bracing a knee with one hand like a poised spear. “Don’t underestimate my web of whispers. Only one minor is in this room, and she’s the one lying in bed.”

“Stay calm. We dragons don’t draw lines by age like fences in frost,” Nidhogg replied, steady as a mountain shadow. She smoothed Lilith’s hair into order, every strand like marsh reeds laid flat on her shoulder, so the Little Dragon wouldn’t press them when she leaned back. “Besides, Lilith has just passed the Feather-Dragon phase. She’s got the power to bear life now; that counts as grown. So don’t shout like thunder in a temple.”

“Ugh, that hairstyle looks dangerous, like ivy catching on armor,” Lilith murmured, curling a finger through the hair draped over her chest. The Little White Dragon felt like those gentle wives in anime posters, soft glow and kind eyes—just in a size the world didn’t expect, which made it feel safer.

“Is it? I don’t see a problem,” Nidhogg said, drawing back to admire her like a painter stepping from a canvas. “No problem. Beautiful. We’ll keep it.”

“I still can’t digest this.” Aila sighed, the sound like wind through empty halls. “Whatever. I came for something else.”

“This morning, the old geezers up in the Majestic Court sent down a notice. They’re inviting Lilith up for some theology symposium.”

She drew out a letter from her clothes, packaged with the care of lacquer and gold. The invitation’s lines were carved once in Old Elvish and once in Old Draconic, ink flowing like a night river:

“Honored Lady of the Star Canvas:

The God of High Mountains will soon lose His last voice. As His final believers, we follow His will and invite you to witness.”

“So short, and unsigned,” Lilith said, turning the card over and over, like gauging a blade’s weight. Beyond those few words, nothing. “You’re sure this is from the Majestic Court?”

“Of course. Those ancients hate putting their names on anything, like rabbits dodging the moonlight,” Aila grumbled. “Them being famous would be the real surprise. Well? Will you go?”

“I should. I’ve got nothing else pressing,” Lilith said, breath a small ripple on still water. “Please tell them my legs aren’t steady these two days. I’ll go up the mountain once I can walk cleanly.”

In Lamter, idle hours drift like fallen petals anyway. She could hurry to the next city and gather the Nameless One’s shattered true self, but ever since speaking with the Star Canvas, a hairline doubt flickered like a candle in wind. Stopping in Lamter might be a good place to think.

“You danced at the banquet yesterday. Say you can’t walk today, and those old stones won’t buy it,” Aila said, seeing the Little White Dragon’s wavering state like clouded glass. A lifelong single elf isn’t great at guessing last night’s storms.

“Mm…” Lilith felt Aila was right. But her legs truly wouldn’t carry her, and the Holy Mountain was a staircase into the sky. “Tell them I hurt my leg. Say I was… bitten by a dog!”

Nidhogg raised a brow like a drawn quill. Lilith looked away, guilt fluttering like a startled sparrow.

“Got it. Once you’re steady, have Nidhogg or Mio tell me,” Aila said, nodding like a judge to a verdict. “I’ll soothe those old men first.”

She rose and slipped out like a glinting fish. Another minute in that room and she felt she’d start glowing like a lamp, and risk getting knifed by a friend’s temper. The City Lord chose a swift exit.

As for the Little White Dragon—may luck be her raincoat.

“Um… if I say I didn’t mean it, would you believe me?” Lilith asked, cold sweat beading like dew. The Little Dragon pressed herself against the Black Dragon, rubbing gently, trying to smooth the sting of her dog-bite excuse from Nidhogg’s mood.

“I’m not angry. No need to tiptoe like a cat on porcelain,” Nidhogg said with a calm smile, soft as a winter sun. “I went too far last night. Holding a touch of grievance is natural.”

“Whew. If you don’t blame me, that’s a lifeline,” Lilith sighed, relief washing over her like a warm tide. She’d thought punishment loomed like a sword on a hook.

“Next time, I’ll leave marks everyone will see and know a dog bit you,” Nidhogg murmured, mischief curling like smoke. “Then, when you can’t walk, you won’t need to explain.”

She extended a single finger, drawing a line along Lilith’s thigh like ink on rice paper. She pressed close like night on skin and whispered, “Please—be ready.”

Half of Lilith’s breath scattered. The rest jammed in her throat like a cork.

She stared at Nidhogg’s wicked smile as if facing a wave at midnight. For the first time, the Little White Dragon wished her egg had lingered longer in the nest. Otherwise, she might weather a storm worse than last night.

“Alright. I’ll go help Mio with dinner,” Nidhogg said, patting Lilith’s back like soothing a foal. “I’ll carry you down to eat later.”

Lilith watched the Black Dragon girl leave, eyes glassy like a lake at dusk. Only one thought rang in her head—

Is it still in time to raise her resistance to Word Spirit Magic?