76. Back Up the Mountain

Lilith and Typhon had nailed her plan; the thought settled in her chest like fresh snow. The Little White Dragon hadn’t forgotten why she’d hustled at the astrology academy. The Silver Dragon had already checked her over; her body was clear as a winter spring. So the White Dragon set her sights on the Holy Mountain again, to the Majestic Court, to find the Archbishop.

At first, the Archbishop had wanted the Little White Dragon to try contacting the God of Mountains, to have Him abandon the funeral like letting a river dry. But after Lilith spoke with Him, His mood felt like a heavy cloud—He sincerely wanted the rite to proceed on time. He wasn’t itching to flee like Star Canvas had claimed; instead, He seemed to be waiting for His own dusk.

Lilith couldn’t untangle the reason; the knot sat like a pebble in her shoe. Still, she chose to climb first and give the Archbishop an answer. What the elders of the Majestic Court made of the God of Mountains’ wish was beyond Lilith’s hands, like wind beyond a net.

“Up the mountain? Which mountain?” Typhon’s voice popped like a spring. “I haven’t even toured Lamter. Their peaks stab the sky, taller than anywhere I’ve been.” Excitement flashed from her like a fish-scale glint. Typhon ran opposite to a typical Silver Dragon’s solitude; in a flock of snow owls, she was a chattering magpie. Even back in the Dragon Territory she’d dashed about, and now the topic of climbing lit her like a bonfire. The Little White Dragon knew nothing else would reach her ears; she sighed, then sketched Lamter’s high ranges with words like brushstrokes.

“Oh, oh—so you’re heading for the top of that Holy Mountain?” Lilith gave a quick outline of her agreement with the Majestic Court’s clergy. The Silver Dragon nodded, eyes bright as river light. “And me? Can I go with you?”

“Probably not. You can climb with me, but I doubt the Majestic Court will let you inside.” Lilith’s voice fell like a curtain.

She wasn’t sure, but if even Nidhogg—Lamter’s former war heroine—hadn’t been allowed to sit in, Typhon would likely be barred like a bird from a shrine. And truth be told, the girl screamed trouble at a glance; imagining her trailing along turned Lilith’s horizon gray.

“No worries, no worries. As long as I get to climb beside you.” Typhon thumped her chest, confidence blooming like a big red peony.

Lilith sighed, then decided to bring Nidhogg along like a steady anchor.

The Black Dragon rarely denied Lilith; dawn saw them start up the Holy Mountain together like three shadows lengthening. It was Lilith’s third ascent; the path felt worn into her feet like a familiar melody. They left early, after Lilith set aside enough of her blood for Litt to feed two days—a dark crimson promise—and then they headed for the summit like ant lines over stone.

When they reached the top, the sun had just climbed to the crown, a gold coin on the sky’s brow. Lilith marveled at the smoothness of their passage, like wind in a clear pass.

“I thought your first climb would slow us down,” Lilith said as they walked the narrow path toward the Majestic Court. Her fondness peeked out like warmth from a cup. “Didn’t expect you to keep up so tightly.”

“Of course. Do you know who I am?” Typhon tilted her chin, pride puffing like a rooster’s crest, then pat-patted her small chest like drumming rain.

“Please. Mom told me all your embarrassing tales.” Lilith rolled her eyes, disdain fluttering like a paper fan. “Who got herself lost mid-climb and made half the grown-ups hunt the hills?”

“Hey—don’t make things up!” The Silver Dragon sprang like a cat. Typhon clapped a hand over Lilith’s mouth, as if pinching a stubborn flame.

Lilith pried at Typhon’s fingers, annoyance snapping like a twig. She jerked free, and they wrestled, two young winds tangling on a ridge.

Watching from the side, Nidhogg stepped in and split the pair, one in each hand like kittens by the scruff.

She wondered if this family carried a hereditary streak of tsundere. Even their pretend anger—sharp as a hawk’s screech—kept peeking back with secret worries, like sparrows glancing mid-flight.

Unbidden, Nidhogg remembered Lilith, hands on hips, proud and angling for praise like a cat presenting a catch. Typhon had just struck the same pose, carved from the same mold—only the chest’s curve differed like hills at different seasons. Typhon still held the slim slope of a young girl; Lilith, by contrast, had ripened into fuller lines.

“Looks like the younger sister’s more… mature,” Nidhogg murmured, low as a breeze under eaves.

“What’s more mature?” Lilith caught the whisper, spun with hands behind her back, and drifted to Nidhogg like a feather on a wind. She lifted her chin, smiling, eyes curved like twin crescent moons, mouth tipping up like a petal. Moments ago she’d been squabbling; now her mood was bright as sun on snow. “You mean my temperament, right? See? Nidhogg thinks I’m more mature than you.”

“I don’t care. She’s obviously biased toward you.” Typhon shook her head like a rattled gourd. Nidhogg couldn’t help a sigh, soft as mist.

Now she understood why Lilith had insisted she come. Typhon was steady in the Dragon Territory, a reliable crown of snow in the flock. Yet around Lilith she shrank to grade-school mischief, as if catching the Little White Dragon’s bug.

Resigned, Nidhogg stepped between Silver and White. She hoisted them both, one on each side, and set them down left and right like bookends.

“Enough. We’re almost at the Majestic Court. Be quiet.” She invoked the Court’s reputation, a bell of restraint that cooled the two dragons like rain. Lilith looked sulky, a cloud caught on a peak, but she knew yelling at the Court’s threshold was bad form.

“When we arrive, I’ll go in alone to find the Archbishop.” Lilith cut the squabble like slicing fruit. “You stay outside and keep her in line. Don’t let her embarrass us.” The Little White Dragon chirped on, lips running like a brook, a fingertip sneakily poking Nidhogg’s waist.

“Go on in. I wrote the Majestic Court last night; they should be ready.” Nidhogg tapped the playful White Dragon and pressed a hand to her back like guiding a fledgling.

“Knew you’d be reliable. Thanks!” Lilith hopped up and kissed Nidhogg’s cheek, leaving a silly sunshine smile. Then she scattered away like a let-loose sparrow.

“She’s much brighter than back in the Dragon Territory,” Typhon said once Lilith had flown ahead, stowing the kid-squabble mask like folding paper. “Back then she was a sealed jar, quiet as a cave. If I didn’t drag her out, she’d curl in a corner and hug the homework her teacher left.”

“She’s the same now, in her bones,” Nidhogg said, shaking her head like a willow. “Just days ago she wandered into someone else’s academy to bury herself in research, and cooked herself a high fever. I had to mop up after her, like wiping spilled ink.”

“As long as she’s happy,” Typhon waved, carefree as sea grass. “What could possibly be too much for you?”

“Easy for you to say.” Nidhogg rolled her eyes like a turning coin. “You were just quarreling with her till the ridge echoed, and now you’re the good sister?”

“We were play-fighting. I don’t do real anger.” Typhon shrugged, then—shorter by half a head—she draped an arm over Nidhogg’s shoulder, pressure settling like a hawk’s grip. She laughed, warm as tea. “Though, I do have a question.”

“What is it?” Nidhogg felt the weight on her shoulder, a subtle press like gathering storm. Her brow knit, calm as stone.

“You move fast enough to scare birds,” Typhon said, voice turning sly. “I heard you went to find Lilith right after graduation. Fine. But in no time you two sealed the pact. Tell me—was this premeditated?”

“…” Nidhogg was speechless; she sighed long, like wind through pines. “Let go of me first.”

Lilith didn’t know what they were saying outside. The Little White Dragon reached the Majestic Court’s doors and knocked with the brass ring, the sound tapping like rain on a bell. A nun arrived, gliding like a swallow, and led her in.

“The Archbishops are waiting,” the nun said, respectful as a bowed bamboo. She guided Lilith to the council chamber, then leaned close, her whisper a thread.

“I know. I’m going in.” Lilith nodded, palm resting on the chamber’s heavy door like a hand on an old tree. Before pushing, she turned back to the nun. “Two more will arrive—Nidhogg, whom you know, and a Silver Dragon with her. Seat them anywhere to wait.”

“I’ll arrange it,” the nun said, dipping in a small bow like bending grass. Lilith nodded, then pressed the doors and stepped into the council hall like crossing a threshold of frost.

She expected robed elders circling a great round table, stern as stone lanterns, waiting for her report to fall like a gavel.

Instead, a biscuit flew at her like a startled bird— a buttery ginger cookie, heavy on the ginger, the kind that smacks heat up your nose and draws tears like chopped onions.

Lilith blinked, stunned, and lifted her gaze. The cookie clanged off her horn with a sharp kiss. “Ow,” the Little White Dragon yelped, as if a pebble had pinged a temple bell. She plucked the cookie’s remains from her hair, then locked eyes with the thrower.

The Archbishop.

“Is this the traditional Lamter welcome?” Lilith asked, words landing like a stray leaf.