Sixty-One: A Little Prep Work

Lilith led Nidhogg up to the observatory, moonlight pooling on the steps like spilled ink.

The Black Dragon finally slipped a delicate little dress onto the Little White Dragon. Lilith refused a crinoline. A skirt meant to fluff like cotton candy now drooped like a rain‑soaked puppy. It matched the damp, travel‑worn mood she’d had on arrival.

Nidhogg frowned at first about her going out like that. But the Little Dragon agreed to wear black stockings. The Black Dragon let the complaint die like wind over snow.

Nidhogg held Lilith, admired her for a slow two minutes. Then she pulled the cloak tighter, like drawing curtains against a night draft.

At night, the Astrology Academy buzzed like a hive. By day it was sparse, a stray student rushing by with parchment. By night, elves streaked past like sparks.

Some clutched unfinished star charts. Some hauled bags of aquamarine, blue as winter seas. They even met one poor soul wailing on the floor, Astrolabe snapped clean in two.

Kindness stirred like a warm coal. Nidhogg fixed the staff with Word Spirit Magic, syllables threading wood like silver vines.

“Feels like you haven’t used Word Spirit Magic in ages,” Lilith said, voice a soft ripple on stone.

“Truth is, I haven’t fought in ages,” Nidhogg replied. “I graduated early in combat and Word Spirit Magic. Lady Fafnir kept me on hold because I put off my Necromancy exams. Too many debts, not enough time.”

“You know Necromancy? You don’t look like a mage at all.” Lilith glanced up. The Black Dragon was tall, slender as a bamboo shadow. Lilith had felt that strength; it was absurd, mountain‑deep.

“Black Dragons are usually bad at magic,” Nidhogg said. “Compared to other dragon kin, though, and to the orcs in the middle, we’re privileged mages. Most Black Dragons just dabble in Necromancy.”

“But you’re not most. You’ve got Word Spirit Magic too.” Lilith glared, cheek puffed like a small storm. “It never lands on anyone else. It hits me every single time. Do you have a problem with me?”

“What problem could I have with you? You probably lack resistance to Word Spirit Magic.” Nidhogg brushed it aside, calm as dark water. “My Word Spirit hits hard. You lack the right resistances, so you get swept up.”

“Then what do I do? If we fight together and you drop a Word Spirit AoE, I’ll get wiped too.” Worry rose first, cold as fog; then her words followed. “Life in Lamter is easy enough. But I’m going to the Undying City and the Demon Realm next. Those places bite. We’ll fight shoulder to shoulder. You’re not ditching me, right?”

“How could I?” Nidhogg tapped Lilith’s head, a gentle knuckle like a raindrop, stopping her spiraling thoughts. “I’ve followed Lady Tartaros’s instructions before, and now you’re my wife. No way I’m letting you travel alone.”

“Nonsense.” Heat bloomed; the Little White Dragon’s winter‑pale cheeks turned strawberry‑mochi pink. She thumped Nidhogg’s chest, soft as a cotton puff. “I’m not your wife yet. You haven’t proposed.”

“Then what are we now?” Nidhogg knew the little dragon was shy again. Her breath came easy; her smile curved like a crescent moon.

“You’re my girlfriend. I’m your wife after you propose.” Lilith stopped, spun with small, righteous fire, and pointed at Nidhogg. Her voice was quiet but solemn, a bell under snow. “I want the best proposal. Prepare it right, or I won’t agree.”

“What if I don’t?” Nidhogg laughed, low as velvet.

“Then… then I won’t accept, and I’ll do it myself.” She huffed, a proud little breeze. “It’s a reward for great kindness. If you miss your chance, wait till I propose—and call me husband!”

Lilith knew her own state. Forced to awaken the queen inside, she thought the last bit of male in her had died like a candle in rain. Yet the urge to counterattack still flickered. It meant the Little White Dragon wasn’t fully conquered. She had to let the Black Dragon know who ruled this house.

(Honestly, her backside was just itching for a spanking.)

“Enough. Tell me how to build resistance to Word Spirit Magic.” Lilith cleared her throat, dropping the not‑for‑public topic. The elves were frantic tonight, too busy to eavesdrop.

“That’s simple. No resistance? Take a few hits; it’ll grow.” Nidhogg’s tone was flat water. “You reacted so strongly because you’re new to it. The body hasn’t adapted. Give it time.”

“The best way is to let Word Spirit control you through rough, wide‑range movements. Let your body fight that control. You’ll adapt fast.”

Heat flashed into panic; Lilith’s knees pressed together on instinct. She heard exactly what Nidhogg had in mind. She darted a glance around. They were close to Joseph’s office now. From here, a sprint might save her.

“I’ll ask Mr. Joseph to let you accompany me tonight!” Panic shot first; then her legs moved. The Little White Dragon bolted like a rabbit from its burrow—whoosh—and streaked past Nidhogg.

She reached for resonance with the constellations, praying for speed. Foolish little dragon—she didn’t notice she wasn’t resonating with the Void Command Seat tonight. Her pace barely rose. The Black Dragon’s hand closed over her fate.

“Stop.” The word fell like a sealing sigil.

Lilith froze mid‑stride. Despair hit first, like sleet; then thought followed. Her legs felt poured with lead. She couldn’t move, only watch Nidhogg approach, step by step, mountain‑sure.

Move, legs! Why won’t you move!

Lilith slapped her unresponsive calves, a bird beating against a cage. Nidhogg reached her, slender hand alighting on the White Dragon’s shoulder.

“Relax. I won’t lay hands on you tonight. Consider this bit part of your punishment.” Nidhogg read her panic and steadied it, voice warm as ember glow.

“Then what are you doing now?” Breath tight, Lilith dared a small glance up, nerves shivering like a willow leaf.

“Just collecting a little interest.” Nidhogg’s hand slid across Lilith’s waist. The Little White Dragon trembled, then closed her eyes like a petal folding at dusk.

When the Little White Dragon finally pushed open the observatory doors, trembling, Mr. Joseph was engrossed in his papers. He looked up, set the parchment down, and welcomed them with bright warmth, like lantern light.

“Good evening, Miss Lilith. And this is… ah, let me guess, Miss Nidhogg?”

Lilith nodded but didn’t speak. Head down, she hurried past him and limped up to the telescope.

Joseph watched, puzzled. Usually Lilith was courteous, even when work piled like snowdrifts. She’d chat, report her progress. Tonight, not a word—straight to the eyepiece?

While he wondered, Nidhogg stepped forward and shook his hand, grip firm as a bridge beam. “Sorry, Mr. Joseph. She hurt her lips a little. Not easy to talk right now.”

“Ah, careless indeed.” Joseph’s face cleared. He’d jabbed himself more than once with a quill while half‑asleep, small wounds deep as thorn pricks. Lilith had the look of someone with research on the brain; accidents weren’t rare birds.

“I’m Nidhogg, currently Lilith’s girlfriend.”

“I know. Miss Lilith mentioned you in past chats.” Joseph nodded, friendly as spring rain. “Sometimes she murmurs your name while waiting for the Gate to open after her astrology work. After a while, it sticks.”

“My honor.” Nidhogg dipped her head. “I came up the mountain to see Lilith—and to speak with you.”

“Oh? What business with a plain elf scholar like me?” Curiosity pricked like a fox’s ears.

“Nothing grand. I wanted to ask how Lilith’s been performing at the Academy.” Nidhogg smiled, cutting through courtesies like clear wind.

“She? Miss Lilith’s excellent—one of the most diligent I’ve seen.” Pride warmed his voice. “Her talent’s keen. I’ve almost never seen someone spend twelve hours a day on star charts and still find something new daily. She’s overturned what I thought an apprentice could be.”

“Thank you, Mr. Joseph.” Nidhogg smiled. She knew the Star Canvas had blessed Lilith, a quiet divine tutoring in the dark. No wonder others were impressed. But that wasn’t what she came for.

“Mr. Joseph, I mean outside research. How is Lilith otherwise?” Nidhogg gestured lightly, dismissing appearances with a breeze. “Don’t be fooled by my plain looks. I know living beings—half a scholar at least. The star field? I’m lost there.”

“Haha, Miss Nidhogg, you jest.” Joseph chuckled, then cleared his throat and began. “Honestly, I only know a little, mostly from other students.”

“Miss Lilith hasn’t caused trouble. She follows our rules, tries not to bother others, does what she can herself.” He paused, the smile softening. “Maybe she just doesn’t pay much attention to dressing herself.”

Joseph mulled it over, then finally said, the words dropping like a pebble in a still pond, "Most of us researchers share the same ink‑stained quirk. We don't waste hours polishing the mirror. Miss Lilith's in the same boat."

"Still, I'd love for Miss Lilith to dress herself up a bit," he added, as if brushing dust off a pearl. "She's that pretty; leaving her grimy like before would be a crying shame, like soot on snow."

"I think so too," Nidhogg nodded, approval thumping like a slow drum.

Perched on the telescope, Lilith was already drenched in sweat, beads falling like summer rain. While she sketched a star chart, how was Nidhogg still shooting the breeze with Mr. Joseph?

Are you here as a parent at a parent‑teacher meeting? Why air out all my laundry?

Heat first, action later: she fumed, anger simmering like a kettle, and wanted to burst out and cut their talk short. But before the Little White Dragon could move, she caught a strange star in the eyepiece, a needle of light.

Why's it so bright—like a lantern pinned to the night?