Lilith burst back into the inn and dove onto the cloud-soft mattress in her room, like a swallow dropping into a warm nest. She’d left at dawn with the chill riding her hair and hurried across half of Lamter; even her dragon body felt like tired stone.
“My feet are killing me—” The Little White Dragon sprawled on the bed and waggled her two pale, tender feet like twin flags in a breeze. She’d kicked off her shoes at the door; white ankle socks still hugged her heels, swaying with each small fidget like bobbing petals.
“I’ll fetch you some hot water.” Nidhogg slipped into the bathroom, her voice steady as a river under moonlight. The Little White Dragon had thin skin; when she wanted comfort but couldn’t say it, she’d start to complain like a cat mewling at dusk.
“Not too hot—” Lilith’s stretched-out call drifted into the small, tile-bright room, a ribbon of sound curling like steam. The Black Dragon couldn’t hold back; a small smile lit her mouth like a candle behind glass.
“Ahh, I’m alive again.” Lilith dipped her feet into the warm basin, the heat blooming like spring under ice. She tipped her head back, let out a long breath, and hummed with half-lidded eyes, lazy as sun on water.
“So tired. We walked more today than I do in a week back in the Dragon Territory.” The Little White Dragon melted, letting her waist go soft like warm dough. She plastered herself against Nidhogg, side-on, and looped her arms around the Black Dragon’s slightly thicker waist, fingers tracing her abs through fabric like counting ridges on a river stone.
“Because you barely move in the Dragon Territory.” Nidhogg’s voice carried a dry warmth, like tea at dusk. “Typhon was at her wits’ end every day, trying to drag you outside. She came to me more than once, asking how to pull you down from the roof and stop you from stargazing till dawn.”
“Nonsense. Typhon’s downstairs stuffing her face. If you don’t believe me, let’s go ask her.” Lilith’s expression snapped into a smug “no way” like a cat showing its whiskers. She pointed at the floorboards, tapping lightly as if on a drum; the Silver Dragon was indeed eating in the room below.
Lilith and the Black Dragon had come back with Mio—our elf mage with a sparrow’s stamina. To speed things up, Nidhogg slung the would‑be quitter over her shoulder like a grain sack and brought them in under a night sky thick as velvet. The two early‑to‑bed kids were already curled asleep like bundled lambs. Only Typhon, now a proper adult, had snuck into the kitchen, conjured up something tasty, and was feasting in the dining room when they walked in, like a fox caught at the henhouse.
After a day of slogging, the Little White Dragon had no appetite and went straight to her room, hollow as a winded reed. Nidhogg slid both her share and Lilith’s over to Typhon, who was probably wrestling with three servings like a warrior in a banquet battle.
“Let her be.” Nidhogg shook her head and pressed Lilith gently back, her palm firm as a steady stone. “You’re still soaking. Spill it, and water will run everywhere like a creek turned wild.”
“Wash with me, then.” Lilith nestled against Nidhogg and whispered, the plea soft as mist.
“No. Your water’s too cold.” The Black Dragon refused with clean edges, like a blade catching light.
“You’re the worst.” Lilith wriggled out of Nidhogg’s arms and scooted a bit farther away, small hips shifting like a fox puffing its tail. She puffed her cheeks into an angry pufferfish; sapphire eyes went wide as lake gems. She put on a stormy act and huffed, “Go live with your hot water forever. I’m not talking to you.”
“Alright, alright.” Nidhogg’s smile curved like a crescent moon. She’d seen this little storm before; she had her own gentle weather for it.
“You toured Lamter with the Archbishop today. Any harvest?” Her tone moved the air like a fan through summer heat.
“Mm, a little, but not much.” The moment Nidhogg touched a serious thread, the Little White Dragon tucked away her clouds and sat straighter, voice clear as a bell. “I don’t know Lamter’s past well. When you talk about how it changed, it’s like riddles to me—pretty words, no map.”
“Lamter wasn’t fun back then. Boring as a gray sky.” Nidhogg’s memory unfurled like an old scroll. She’d stayed in Lamter for a long stretch, walking every district until the streets felt like lines in her palm.
“I don’t know if humans have those picture-book stories, but it was the usual—worlds full of sword and sorcery.” Her voice sketched a horizon like ink wash. “Lamter wasn’t the place adventurers dreamed of. When I first got here, the elves were drowning in problems bred by a boom in trade, swarmed like bees by stings. I met merchants chasing profit like hounds, and criminals hunting those merchants like wolves.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” The Little White Dragon’s worry rippled like wind across rice, her heart sounding a soft drum. That kind of scene feels anything but calm. Why would the Archbishop tour a time like that?
“Not that dangerous. I sent them all to Lamter’s prison and locked the doors like winter shutters.” Nidhogg said it very calmly, like rain tapping the eaves. “When they came out, they were remade into good citizens who worked and traded like honest oxen.” A chill ran down Lilith’s spine like a thin blade of frost.
“When I left, their seafaring had started to bloom, sails opening like white wings.” Her gaze went distant, sea-blue. “About a hundred years ago, Lady Poseidon joined the coastal nations and pacified the monsters in the deep, quieting the abyss like a tamed storm. People no longer feared a giant hand crushing their ship with one slap. Lamter’s folk took to the waves, hauling crates by the dozen like ant caravans, then melting gold into Mali, bright as suns in a coffer.”
“Really? Tell me more.” Lilith wriggled back into Nidhogg’s arms like a kitten returning to a warm lap, her small face upturned, eyes wide and bright as lanterns.
“Dry your feet first.” Nidhogg tipped her chin toward the towel, her voice a calm harbor after rain.
