Chapter One: A New Journey

“Why are we rushing like this?” Lilith cried, sprawled along Nidhogg’s back. The Black Dragon had unfurled her wings like dark sails and cut through Kuri’s sky. To keep herself and the two little ones from slipping, Lilith cradled Abaddon and Litt to her chest and hooked her slender tail around a raised black spine, like a vine clinging to a cliff.

“Who knew the God of Mountains’ funeral would end and a Kuri patrol would show up right away?” the Black Dragon muttered, her voice steady but tired. After the rites, she and the White Dragon had planned to leave the Echoflower Sea, swing by Mio’s inn to pack, say goodbye to friends met in Lamter, then depart. Instead, the moment they left that azure sea of blooms, Typhon came sprinting up the Holy Mountain, arms full of their luggage, breath like steam in winter.

The Silver Dragon shouted a storm of words neither Nidhogg nor Lilith could follow. The short version? For some murky reason, Kuri was dispatching a patrol to investigate Lamter, and that patrol had taken an express line. By the time Typhon heard, they were already in Lamter.

Nidhogg’s face changed like a shadow crossing water. She grabbed the Little White Dragon’s hand, gave Mio and the Archbishop a brisk farewell, then slipped into a quiet corner of the Holy Mountain and shifted, scales blooming across her skin like midnight frost.

Typhon strapped their bags to the long dorsal spines. Without time for questions, Nidhogg launched—Lilith and the two small ones pressed tight—and left Lamter behind like a receding tide of lights.

“What on earth is going on?” the Little White Dragon grumbled, her voice thin against the wind.

“Nothing new—just old rot in fresh clothes,” Nidhogg sighed. “Kuri’s capital sits on a great tree they call the World Tree. In elven lore, an apocalyptic Black Dragon destroys it, and the world falls into ruin. So the capital’s patrols are rabid about it—no Black Dragons inside Kuri, period. It’s only the capital, though. Most Kuri folk are fine—some even welcome Black Dragons.”

“Does that doom-dragon happen to be called Nidhogg?” Lilith asked, curiosity bright as a spark.

“Then why would they chase me? I haven’t done a single bad thing.” Nidhogg snorted, a sharp puff like hot ash from a kiln.

Lilith burst into laughter, the sound like bells in a cold hall. She never imagined the Black Dragon—so steady when handling serious matters—would get hounded out of the elven lands so fast she couldn’t even greet old friends in Lamter.

“So where are we heading next?” The Little White Dragon hugged close and peered down. The Black Dragon wasn’t flying too high; with Lilith’s keen sight, the ground unrolled like a painted scroll. They were angling toward Kuri’s eastern border. By Nidhogg’s speed, another hour would push them past Kuri, and then a chasing patrol would be just wind behind them.

“We could land in about an hour and wave down a passing cart,” Lilith offered, hope flickering like a lamp.

“You still want the carriage experience?” Nidhogg’s tone was dry, like sun on stone. “Besides, you haven’t decided where we’re going next.”

Her words slapped a memory awake—the long, rattling misery of the cart that brought Lilith to Lamter. She shook her head hard. Reaching into her satchel—now neatly hung on the proud, flag-like spine beside her, bless Nidhogg’s magnificent dorsal sails—she pulled out a continent map, its inked rivers like veins in old parchment.

“Let me think. We’ll depart from Lamter and head west, loop around Sacred Tirtada, then fly to the Ancient Tomb Bastion north of Suplaite. I want to visit the Undead lands next.” Lilith traced the route with a finger, her nail glinting like a comet across the ink. Nidhogg nodded, wheeling gracefully and setting her course along Lilith’s plan.

“At this distance, we’re looking at roughly three days of flight,” the Black Dragon called back, voice warm as embers. “If you get tired up there, tell me. I’ll drop and rest. Holding on that long wears you out, and you might start to slide. Falling from this height isn’t a game.”

“Why keep flying the whole way? Can’t we switch transport on the ground?” Lilith’s worry curled tight, like a leaf under frost. She didn’t want Nidhogg to burn herself out because of her.

“To loop around Sacred Tirtada, there’s no proper nation between Lamter and the Ancient Tomb Bastion—only scattered villages like pebbles in the grass. No transit out there except carts,” Nidhogg answered, calm as a still lake.

“Alright,” the Little White Dragon murmured, defeat soft as a sigh. She couldn’t shift and fly like Nidhogg. Once transformed, she still couldn’t keep the Taint in check—she’d turn into a giant dragon-shaped dirty bomb. Nidhogg could endure it, maybe, but the two little ones would be eaten away by it. So it fell to Nidhogg to carry them longer beneath the pale sky.

“I wish I could swap in and spell you,” Lilith said, dejected, her mood drooping like a thirsty flower.

“It’s fine. I can fly on my own,” Nidhogg replied, smiling into the wind. “You thinking of me—that’s enough to make me happy.”