Sixty-Eight: Sick

Lilith didn’t get up on time the next morning; her day fell apart like a dropped porcelain cup.

She lay woozy in her bed, thoughts fogged like mist over a lake. It took minutes, with a forehead blazing like a brazier, to realize she was sick.

In the fourth year since crossing into this world, the Little White Dragon fell ill for the first time, a frost-schooled body suddenly set aflame.

She wasn’t happy; loneliness bit like winter wind. She lay alone on a dorm bed in the Astrology Academy, with no one knowing she burned.

She had no strength; heat devoured her like a desert sun, yet her limbs felt like wet sand. Even lying still, she tasted exhaustion like iron.

She tried to sit up for a sip of water, wanting to soothe a throat cracked like dry earth, ready to split with one breath.

But her calves hadn’t even slipped from the quilt, when a thread of cold air slid through the gap like a snake of ice and chased her back.

She wrapped herself into a little ball, a cocoon of cloth around a shivering moth, and leaned against the pillow, trembling like a leaf in wind.

Since becoming a White Dragon, she hadn’t felt cold; now it gnawed her like frost on bone. She tightened the blanket, but chill clung like a shadow, though her skin burned.

She curled weakly in the nest of covers, too drained even to reach for a thermometer, a wilted sprout under late snow.

Her head swam; her thoughts churned like dough beaten and stirred with a stick. She couldn’t hold a line steady; it all sloshed like muddy water.

“Nidhogg…” She whispered the name like a candle’s smoke. No one answered. Pain pressed her eyes shut, and she tried to drift into sleep like falling ash.

Her body fought sleep like a feverish drum, but her mind’s fatigue rose like tide. After half an hour of haze, she sank again into dream.

Nidhogg arrived at the Astrology Academy that day, a shadow gliding up the mountain like dusk.

In the morning, she’d received Mr. Joseph’s note: Lilith had finished her research. The elf added that the Little White Dragon would stay a few more days. So Nidhogg left Litt and Abaddon in Mio’s care and went up alone.

She got Lilith’s dorm key from Joseph. Hearing Lilith hadn’t risen, she decided to walk in and give the little one a small surprise, like a warm lamp in rain.

But as Nidhogg stepped inside, the air felt wrong, like a room where smoke had just cleared.

The room wasn’t messy; cleaner than last time, like a swept courtyard. Lilith had taken Nidhogg’s reminder to tidy to heart; aside from yesterday’s clothes on the floor, it was neat.

The only discord was the big white lump on the bed, a snowdrift in the center of the room. Nidhogg lifted the quilt and found Lilith clutching the blanket, asleep.

Nidhogg went quiet; something in Lilith’s state rang like a cracked bell.

The White Dragon’s brows were knitted like tight threads. Her delicate face flushed with a sickly bloom, making her fair skin look even paler, like petals under fevered sun. Lilith’s small body curled into a bundle Nidhogg could scoop with one bent arm. The little one bit her finger, pitiful as a lost cub, making the heart ache like a pulled string.

Nidhogg touched Lilith’s forehead, and her hand sprang back like it touched a stove.

Scalding.

She’d never felt such heat on Lilith. Lilith was better at frost than Stellar Magic; her body ran cool like the ice she loved, never like this burning coal.

Nidhogg felt the urgency thud like a drum. She searched the dorm; no medicine, not even a thermometer, the cupboards bare as winter branches.

She slipped out to the nearest dorm and knocked, knuckles tapping like rain. A sleepy elf opened the door, eyes clouded like dawn. After Nidhogg’s brief explanation, the kind lady lent her a medical kit and even offered to fetch the academy’s medical team.

Nidhogg thanked her quickly and hurried back, feet swift as a night wind. She slid a thermometer into Lilith’s mouth, a glass reed under a firefly glow. It needed time. While waiting, she prepared fever medicine, and a pot of hot water, turning powders and granules into a warm solution like melted snow.

Time’s up. Nidhogg pulled out the thermometer and checked it under the lamp, numbers shining like cold stars.

39.6°C.

She frowned and sat beside Lilith, a mountain settling to shield a valley. She brought the cup to the Little White Dragon’s lips. Parched, Lilith opened on instinct, and with Nidhogg’s help drank it all, like rain finally reaching cracked soil.

Nidhogg, seeing Lilith so obedient, turned to fetch supplies for cooling, thoughts steady as stepping stones.

Dragon body temperatures run strong; what’s a high fever for humans is a small squall for most dragons, a gust on a broad sea.

But Lilith is a White Dragon trained in frost and Stellar power; her baseline is low and stable, like still ice. She clearly wasn’t built for swings like this. Nidhogg worried the fever might leave marks, like heat warping jade.

A small hand caught her sleeve, a sparrow’s grip on a branch.

“Don’t go…” The voice was barely a ripple, but Nidhogg’s hearing was keen as a cat’s. The room was quiet as snow; aside from Lilith’s hurried breath, nothing stirred. She heard her clearly.

“I won’t go. I’m just getting things to bring your temperature down.” Nidhogg soothed her, placing her hand over the little claws. The grip surprised her, strong as braided grass. She didn’t pry it loose; she spoke soft, like warm tea.

“I don’t want…” Lilith shook her head with a sob, inching closer like a chick to a wing. Her free hand pawed at the air, seeking Nidhogg’s waist like a blind cat seeking heat. “I don’t want you to go…”

“Don’t cry. I won’t go.” Seeing Lilith’s eyes closed, tears beading like clear pearls, Nidhogg’s heart softened like wax near flame. She hugged the searching little dragon and patted her back, a rhythm like falling rain. “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here.”

“Mm.” Lilith nodded with a heavy, nasal hum, like a flute clogged with snow.

“Do you feel miserable?” Nidhogg stroked her hair the way Lilith loved, fingers combing like wind through grass.

“Miserable.” Lilith nodded, eyes wet like spring ponds.

“Do you want to get better?” Nidhogg asked, voice low as a midnight lamp.

“Mm.” Lilith nodded hard, like a chick pecking grain.

“Then let me go, okay? I’ll find a way to cool you down.” Nidhogg tried again to slip from her arms, gentle as silk.

“No!” Lilith hugged tighter, leaving no room, a vine around a post. She buried her face in Nidhogg’s neck and sighed, soft as rain. “I don’t want you to go…”

“Okay. I won’t go. I’ll stay with you.” Nidhogg sighed, helpless as clouds before wind. Thankfully, that kind elf was fetching doctors; otherwise she couldn’t handle Lilith alone.

She wondered why the usually proud, not-so-bright, stubborn little dragon would regress when sick, turning clingy like a kitten.

So hard to deal with, Nidhogg thought, a smile like a hidden crescent rising.

But kind of adorable, she added, warmth spreading like dawn.