Eighty-One: Long-Awaited Reunion

Lilith and the others drifted back to the inn, the hallway quiet as a sleeping stream. The Little White Dragon whisked Abaddon upstairs to find Litt, quick as a pale swallow. That left Nidhogg, the Archbishop, and Mio at the table, three gazes knocking together like pebbles in a bowl.

“Should I call Aila over?” Mio poured them tea, steam coiling like spring vines, and joked with a half-smile. “Last time we saw you at the Majestic Court it was the three of us. Without her, the rhythm feels off.”

“No need. I came to check on you.” The Archbishop waved him back, her sleeve falling like dusk over the table. The old elf lifted the blossom tea and sipped, soft as rain on leaves. “This is your mother’s blend, isn’t it? Her craft was the finest in Lamter.”

“She retired years ago. I just copy her method, rough as a sketch in charcoal.” Mio shook his head, the motion weary as wind-bent grass. “Since Aila took the city lord’s seat, Mom hasn’t made flower tea again.”

“It’s fine. What you brew is hardly a step behind,” Nidhogg said, easy as a cat in sun. “Even if she stopped, you could inherit it and grow the shop like a tree after rain.”

“Forget it.” Mio waved it off, palms fluttering like moths. “Lamter doesn’t have many who like flower tea now.”

“Young people don’t like it?” The Archbishop leaned in, curiosity bright as a lamp in fog. “I thought it had just started trending.”

“It’s not new anymore. Last time I came to Lamter was decades ago,” Nidhogg said, voice steady as a mountain track. “Back then, flower tea was everywhere, like blossoms in full spring.”

“Am I that out of touch,” the Archbishop murmured, her sigh a wind through pines. “Seems that Little White Dragon was right. I need to see how Lamter lives now.”

“Not just Lamter. All of Kuri is changing fast, like a river in flood,” Mio said, sitting beside her with a clouded face. “Even a young thing like me can’t keep pace.”

“That’s because you lock your door and pickle yourself in silence,” Nidhogg shot back, dry as old bark. “If you kept up, that’d be the miracle.”

“Hey!” Mio slapped the table, the clap sharp as a firecracker.

“Alright, no fighting.” The Archbishop stepped in, calm as a hand on cool water. Mio swallowed the half-formed retort and sat, quiet as a sheathed blade.

“Let’s map our route. Lilith isn’t here, but she’ll be into the Selnos Mountains,” Nidhogg said, laying the thought down like a road. “It’s Lamter’s largest industrial belt, built after the God of Mountains waned and Mali rose like a red sun. If we’re doing fieldwork, we have to see it.”

“Good. I’ve heard of the Selnos Mountains,” the Archbishop said, memory drifting like mist over ridges. “I remember it as a barren range no one visited. Now it’s become the bright heart of Lamter.”

“No, Selnos isn’t the brightest spot anymore.” Mio shook his head and drew out a map, paper whispering like wings. He spread it over the table, flat as a quiet lake, then tapped a small point before Mount Mali. “The most prosperous place is here—the North Market at the foot of Mount Mali.”

“Didn’t you take that Little White Dragon there?” Mio looked up, eyes glinting like wet stone.

“No. I only took her to the Central Commercial Street and the South Market,” Nidhogg said, honest as bare steel. “The North Market is either pricey luxuries or imports that don’t hook us. So I’ll hit the North Market first, then the Selnos Mountains. We’ll scout the land, and I’ll let her play a little, like wind catching a kite.”

“You’re deciding all that on your own? She’s got no opinion?” Mio raised a brow, voice light as a tossed leaf.

“As long as she goes out with me, she’s happy,” Nidhogg said, shrugging like a ripple across a pond. “If the Archbishop’s fine with it, we’re good.”

“I don’t mind, but ask her anyway,” the Archbishop said, her tone warm as lamplight. “You two are sweet, but don’t trim her voice thin as paper. Keep talking, or love goes stale like sealed air.”

“Got it. She’s probably in the room with the kids,” Nidhogg said, nodding like a drumbeat. “I’ll ask her later.”

“That little one isn’t really yours with the White Dragon, right?” Mio finally voiced the itch, the words tumbling like pebbles down a slope. “She’s so young. That’d be a crime.”

“No. Litt and Abaddon were both picked up by Lilith,” Nidhogg replied, a small pause hanging like a bead of dew. “Maybe because she looks like a child and acts like one, kids flock to her like sparrows. She keeps finding unwanted little ones by the roadside. And by age, she’s a child too.”

“Then you’re still committing a crime,” Mio muttered, deadpan as a stone. “Forget it. Dragon ethics are a maze in fog. If you’re happy, fine.”

“Mm. I think it’s good,” Nidhogg said, the agreement soft as moss. She glanced at the Archbishop, thought turning like a whetstone. “But we should redo the lady Archbishop’s outfit. What she’s wearing draws eyes like a bonfire at night.”

“Agreed.” Mio gave the Archbishop a once-over, expression dark as a storm front. “This worn robe and veil combo was hot decades ago. Walk out dressed like this, you’ll stick out like a crane in crows.”

“Really? In my day, this was common,” the Archbishop said, lowering her gaze, the fabric heavy as old snow. “I thought it was fine. Didn’t Nidhogg say it was fine?”

“I don’t really know Lamter fashion,” Nidhogg said, rubbing her neck, guilt quick as a shadow. “And Lilith dresses like this all the time, cloak and all, like a traveler in rain. Mio’s the pro—let her handle it.”

“Mhm, leave it to me!” Mio thumped his chest, confidence ringing like a bell. “There’s nothing I can’t fix!”

“Then it’s yours. I’ll go find Lilith,” Nidhogg said, rising smooth as smoke, and headed upstairs.

“Alright, let’s get you dressed,” Mio turned to the Archbishop, eyes bright as a honed blade.

“Alright,” the Archbishop answered, feeling a pressure like mountain wind on the skin, yet she nodded without flinching.