106. White Bird (End of Volume)

A tug of impulse, like a current under petals, pulled Lilith onto the platform at the heart of the flower sea. The Little White Dragon just wanted to play backup for Nidhogg, to let the Black Dragon sing with light in his voice.

Her repertoire was a small pouch of tones; among what Lilith could whistle through, this tune fit the day like a key fits a lock.

So she drew out a flute she hadn’t touched in years, a reed sleeping under dust, and stumbled through a song.

Halfway through, a chill seized her body, like invisible strings tightening. Her limbs slipped from Lilith’s command, like fish sliding free of a net. Panic fluttered in the Little White Dragon’s chest. She clenched the flute in her teeth like a twig in storm wind. She forced the panic down so it wouldn’t ripple the others’ song, and kept the melody flowing.

Only when the last note fell away did she notice she’d, somehow, walked onto the stone dais in the flower field’s heart. She dismissed the sustained flute without thinking, like letting a wave fold back into the sea. Blue ice fractured into melt, beads sliding down Lilith’s slender wrist and soaking into the soft, loamy bed. The Little White Dragon blinked awake, like dew clearing from a leaf, realizing control had returned to her body.

Lilith turned, like a reed seeking the wind. A figure bloomed behind her, face blurred like mist over a lake. She widened her eyes, round as moons, at the faceless presence. Lilith had met the God of Mountains once in dream-threads, saw that visage. Now, something felt cut away from Him—an absence like a missing peak on a skyline. She couldn’t name it, like a word lost at sea. She only felt His outline soften, airy as wind, like how a soul should look after it has walked past dusk.

“You…” The Archbishop’s cry broke and lodged in her throat, like a bird caught in reeds. She stared at the phantom opposite, voice shaking like leaves in cold rain. “We waited for You for decades, years stacking like rings in a tree. Even when no word came, we never let our faith go, holding it like a lamp under empty sky.”

“I know,” the God of Mountains answered, voice soft as snow settling. Lilith remembered that sound; Star Canvas had given that name to this god, like constellations stitched on cloth. The Little White Dragon felt sure—the presence before her was the one they’d chased like a far ridge in fog.

“I’ve watched your striving, like waves climbing rock. But I no longer have the strength to answer your expectations, so I stayed silent through those long seasons.” His phantom face blurred further, like rain on glass. The Little White Dragon guessed it was sorrow; the tone carried a dusk-blue sadness.

“No. What we’ve done is nothing next to what You’ve done for us,” the Archbishop shook her head like a willow shedding rain. The other loyal Lamter folk pressed in, urgency rising like a tide. A ring closed like surf around rock, encircling the Little White Dragon and the phantom behind her.

“Don’t say that; let those words fall like leaves. My dear believers, remember this—my life ends today, like a sun dropping behind a ridge. This earth won’t be a home for me anymore, no valley left to shelter me. The years ahead belong to you, a road unfolding. They won’t belong to anyone else, won’t belong to outlanders, won’t belong to other elves of Kuri, won’t even belong to Mali.

“It belongs to you, brave Lamter folk, like a compass pointing home. As you once opened these plains, go open the unknown seas. As you once cleared the wild with torches and machetes on Lamter soil, take sails and treasures. Carve your wake across the wide waters.

“Go out brave, with wind at your back. Don’t cling to this small patch, like moss to stone. Don’t stay trapped among the mountains, like fog held in a hollow. You’re the mountain’s children; you will bid this homeland farewell and open new journeys in the unknown.

“On your road, a white bird will keep you company. Don’t mind it, don’t chase it; let it wheel like a cloud. Treat it as a companion, a traveler lucky enough to walk with you for a time. Then walk your path with all your heart, and don’t forget to tell that white bird the tales of what you’ve seen.

“Go, my dear children. I pass today, and today you set out anew. I can’t shield you anymore, but I believe you’ll fly farther than the sky itself. Go now. Go.”

The God of Mountains’ voice thinned, fading like wind down a ravine. The already hazy form shattered piece by piece, then gathered behind Lilith as a small white gull. The white bird settled on Lilith’s crown, turned once to take in the faces around. Then it beat its wings and flew toward a place farther than the sea’s deepest blue.

The Little White Dragon knew this was farewell, like a door closing soft. The white bird didn’t look back as it left the city; it flew straight, like an arrow loosed. It skimmed over Lamter’s central market district, like a white note. It flew over the Selnoser Plain, then the South Market. It crossed the endless Mari Sea, to the farthest edge humans have ever charted on the ocean. Then it became a tiny black speck no eye could hold, and slipped from everyone’s sight.

So this was the God of Mountains’ last departure, Lilith thought, the scene etched like tide-lines behind her eyes.

She’d imagined a god’s passing would be grand, solemn, thunder on peaks. Instead, the Little White Dragon felt a quiet ache she couldn’t name. Words stranded on her tongue; her mind held only the receding white bird and the horizonless sea.

Lilith stepped down from the stone dais, heels clicking like small bells. The Little White Dragon chose to leave this flower sea to the true Lamter folk, like a garden returned to its keepers. As for this outsider, she went to find someone who could unknot these tangled thoughts with her, like fingers teasing out thread.

In high heels, Lilith paced to a corner of the blooms. At once she spotted a big blue flower tucked under a veil of blue petals. She crouched and tapped her finger against her velvet petal.

“How’d you spot me?” Tara peeked out like a turtle from its shell, sounding pleasantly daft.

“Because the Echo Flower here once held a line I said, its place stuck in my memory. You took its spot, so of course I knew it at a glance.” Lilith sat beside Tara, the Little White Dragon pinching the flower’s stem. A wistful shade crossed her tone, like cloud over sun. “Did the God of Mountains just… leave like that?”

“Of course. He turned back into his first true body. That means He’s fully gone from this continent,” Tara replied, easy as if a stranger had drifted by.

“True body? The God of Mountains’ true body was a white bird?”

“Sure. He wasn’t a mountain-ruling god at first—just a white bird that wandered into these parts. Belief piled like snowdrifts, and He became what you saw.

“And about His true name—you actually guessed it. The Echo Flower you left back then carried the answer. It was His true name.”

The Little White Dragon remembered the last time she used an Echo Flower, like touching an old scar. It had kept an embarrassing bit—a message she’d meant for the Black Dragon.

The big blue flower lifted a smaller bloom like a bell, and offered the final answer.

“Love,” Tara said, light as dew. “That’s the God of Mountains’ true name.”