87 Overview of Industry
“What do folks in Lamter mostly make?” Lilith trailed Nidhogg like a bright tail of curiosity, the Black Dragon cutting point like a prow through a crowd. Mio kept to her left like a shadow at noon. The Archbishop followed with a measured pace, wonder banked behind calm eyes, her steps steady as an elder pine.
The Little White Dragon clasped her hands behind her back, chin tipped up like a budding flower, and asked in a small, clear voice.
“Lamter’s pillar industry is plant magic,” Nidhogg said, her tone smooth as sea glass. “We’re a coastal city. The salt’s a scar, sure, but everything else is perfect for green growth.” Her gaze swept the streets like wind across fields. “Kuri’s an elven realm. Children of nature and spellcraft, elves were born to steer living things with magic.”
“So the North Market is a green tide,” she went on, voice warm. “You’ll see plant-made goods everywhere. Woodwork with a pulse, specialty weapons and armor, ornaments bright as dew, even plant pets with actual lives.”
“Wow, that’s a lot.” Lilith’s eyes widened like lanterns at dusk, curiosity flaring bright. The Little White Dragon’s tail swished behind her like a metronome of joy. She edged up to Nidhogg with hopeful eyes, voice soft as a kitten’s paw. “Can I watch how they make those?”
“I’ll take you someday, don’t worry.” Nidhogg’s reply came like a velvet ribbon. The Black Dragon’s hand found Lilith’s slim wrist, her grip gentle as night rain. She led her toward the eastern side of the North Market, speaking low and fond. “We’ll browse first, get a feel for the goods. Once you’ve got the lay of the land, I’ll take you through the Industrial District. Sound good?”
“Mm-hmm. You’re the best.” Lilith’s joy spilled like a warm spring. She dove into Nidhogg’s arms, rubbing her cheek against the Black Dragon’s waist like a happy cat.
“So clingy, you two lovebirds. Cringe,” Mio muttered, the elf’s words a pebble tossed into still water, meant for Nidhogg and the Archbishop. “Are they forgetting why we came?”
“I think it’s sweet. Brimming with life,” the Archbishop said, face lit like sunrise. Perhaps she remembered younger kin; watching Lilith’s bliss, she sighed with a smile. “Youth is a blessing. I was that full of fire once.”
“Time changes plenty,” Mio answered, voice like an even balance. “But some things never do. No matter how Lamter shifts, there’ll always be pairs like them on the streets—glued together, oblivious to eyes. That’s youth’s spark.”
“Sounds wise, but you still can’t help slandering us,” Nidhogg shot back, her glance quick as a blackwing.
Mio took the jab in silence and lengthened her stride, feet sure as a local’s map. Elf born and bred in Lamter, she knew the North Market like a river’s bends. She headed for the spot Nidhogg meant without a hitch.
Seeing Mio ignore her, Nidhogg let it drop. She kept hold of the slightly bewildered Little White Dragon and followed the two elves east, steps steady as a traveling song.
“Here we are.” Mio stopped the group beside a long street that stretched like a laid-out blade. Shopfronts lined it tight, every window full of industrial wares like a mosaic of metal and leaf.
The Little White Dragon drifted forward, curiosity tugging her like a kite in a fresh breeze. She forgot the others and began to browse, one shop at a time, eyes drinking in details like rain on thirsty soil.
“Ooh—floor-crawling moss that cleans the house by itself. Is this… a Roomba made of green?” Her voice hopped like a sparrow.
“Vines that wash clothes and help dry them, planted on tall trees. Ready in a week—so basically a washer-dryer, right?” Her brows arched like twins.
“And this one—looks just like a pitcher plant. Ah, it is. You put what needs heating in its mouth, feed it mana, and it warms it up… a microwave, but alive?” Awe trembled in her words like a silver string.
In minutes the Little White Dragon was stunned speechless, amazement pooling like moonlight on a lake. She was a transmigrator, a soul carried across worlds like a seed on the wind, and she’d braced for strange. Now she was a proper White Dragon; once, her only “dragon” knowledge came from Monster Hunter and longsword glory. Becoming a dragon-girl had felt like a joke tossed by the stars.
Back when photosynthesis beat her silly, she’d never imagined moss that crawled across floors, cleaning as it went, like a green household spirit. It was dazzling—shock like lightning behind the eyes.
“These are all so magical!” Lilith looked up at Nidhogg, joy bubbling like a spring thaw. She bounced at the Black Dragon’s side, voice pattering like rain. “Why doesn’t our inn use any of these? They look fun. Way more useful than those old wooden things that just sit there!”
“How would I know? Ask our innkeeper.” Nidhogg shrugged, shoulders rolling like a wave. The Black Dragon refused the blame and lobbed it at Mio, who was watching from the side like a theatergoer.
“Uh?” Mio blinked, the “black pot” of blame thumping onto her head like a dropped pan. She recovered fast, words smoothing out like a well-worn path. “We don’t use them mainly because guests might not adapt. These odd plants are brand-new—fresh as spring shoots. Not just outsiders or Lamter’s elders—oh, Archbishop, I don’t mean you; you’re lively as ever—lots of young locals can’t figure them out yet. Considering acceptance, I didn’t buy them.”
“Aw, that’s a shame.” Lilith’s head drooped like a wilted bud. Curiosity had been her lantern; denied, it dimmed. Her little tail stilled, the metronome of joy gone quiet.
“Hey, don’t be too sad. We’ll take you to the Industrial District soon,” Nidhogg said, reading her mood like weather in the wind. She stepped close, rubbing Lilith’s head with a gentle hand, touch warm as sunlight through leaves.
“Really?” Lilith’s face lifted at once, hope flaring like a candle relit.
“Of course,” Nidhogg replied, helpless and fond, like a guardian who knows the script.
“Yes!” Lilith’s clouds blew away in a heartbeat; she hopped high, joy a firework in daylight.
A puppy, Nidhogg thought, dry as autumn grass, amused despite herself.
