Seventy-One: A Visit

Disappointment pricked like a thorn; Nidhogg hadn’t seen the emblem either. Even the well-traveled Black Dragon didn’t know it, and Lilith’s curiosity flared like a candle. The Little White Dragon tucked the note away like a fallen leaf sliding into a book.

“I remember the top half is a special sigil from the Demon side,” Nidhogg said, voice cool as shade. “You can check the Demon Realm later.” The Black Dragon finally offered a sliver of light, and Lilith’s smile rose like dawn. She gave Nidhogg a thumbs-up like a sunbeam, then set the empty glass on the nightstand, clear as a still pond.

She held the advice like a pebble in her palm, then let the topic drift like smoke. After Lamter, her next stop was the City of the Undying; the Demon Realm lay farther, a horizon yet to cross. Fretting now felt like chasing wind through reeds.

“How long did I sleep?” The question skipped like a stone across water. The afternoon light sat like a warm coin on the floorboards, and her body felt a morning’s ease.

“About a full day, counting the fog,” Nidhogg said, parting the curtains like a wave and pointing at the sun hanging like a lantern. “I carried you down from Xilisaide Mountain yesterday afternoon. Your fever burned out past midnight, then you slept clean through the morning.”

Shock widened her eyes like twin moons. She hadn’t known she could sleep like a bear in winter; at the Astrology Academy she often lived on embers, three hours at most.

“It’s natural,” Nidhogg’s worry tapped like rain on glass. “You’ve slept too little; fatigue piled up like silt, then broke like a dam. The medical team mentioned your balance was off. The elves don’t know dragon bodies well, so I want a good doctor’s steady hand.”

Warmth pooled like a hearth ember; Lilith felt cared for, and her gaze held a smile like curved petals. But worry tugged like a long map unrolling; from Lamter to the Dragon Territory meant crossing half a continent. The White Dragon could fly, yet that sky-road felt like a ribbon stretching past her nerve. Map-wise, Dragon Territory sat closer to Kuri, but Lamter to home was a wide plain of air.

And it stung like a missed summer: she hadn’t played with Litt and the others in too long. She fretted over the little “shards” she’d adopted, the ones who clung to her leg calling her “mom,” like leaves fearing they’d forget the tree.

“No, the Dragon Territory’s too far,” Nidhogg said, head shaking like a dark bell. “Your body’s a brittle reed right now. Don’t talk about flying half a continent—if you don’t wrap yourself like a rice dumpling, you can’t even reach the Holy Mountain.” Her gaze sparked like flint over Lilith’s frailty. “Rest these next days. Don’t keep courting the storm because you think you’re sturdy. If you fall sick again, you’re the one drowning.”

Lilith nodded, the motion soft as a falling leaf. Being taken by illness had scared her like a sudden eclipse; she hadn’t lost control in years. Survival’s chill settled into resolve like a knot pulled tight.

“By the way, who’s coming from the Dragon Territory?” The question rose like a lantern. She sat beside Nidhogg, eyes meeting eyes like still water. “Dragons I know, or younger brothers and sisters?”

She was the youngest in the Dragon Territory; dragonkind’s years run like a slow river, and their bodies barely shift like ancient stones. To most, Lilith was a sudden, adorable little sister. Back then she rang “big sister” or “big brother” like a bell to everyone, cheeks flushing like peaches, feet fleeing like a startled deer.

“Probably dragons you know,” Nidhogg said, voice like mist over hills. “But I don’t know which. Lady Tartarus didn’t say.”

Anticipation budded like spring on a branch; who would fly an arrow’s length across the sky to find her?

“Also, that medicine you’re drinking,” Nidhogg added, and the memory of bitterness rose like wormwood. The cup felt like a dark well, and the Little White Dragon puffed a grievance like steam—why force a poor, helpless creature to swallow such monsters?

“The medical team gave it to suppress your over-strong immunity,” Nidhogg explained, words firm as iron. “It quiets the forest, but the snowfall has a cost. Your defenses will dip like a curtain, and sickness will slip through like cold wind. Keep warm and guarded; don’t invite the chill back.”

Lilith nodded, doubt fluttering like a moth around the lamp. Nidhogg’s tone was iron-bright; she let herself drift with that current.

“Why bundle up when you’re here?” Her eyebrow arced like a crescent. “You manage everything so neatly; I won’t rush to meddle.”

“You can’t stick to me forever,” Nidhogg sighed, a wind trying to lift new wings. “Five days alone and you end up like this. I worry about your future nest.”

The Little White Dragon took none of it to heart; her legs felt steady like reeds returning to the wind. She slipped off the bed, steps light as petals, and crossed the doorway’s frame of light.

She turned her head, voice ringing like a small bell. “Bye-bye! I’m going to see Litt!”