Chapter 2: The Eternal Grand Mausoleum

Nidhogg’s timing was needle-precise; the Little White Dragon and the Black Dragon reached the tomb-fort in three days, like arrows finding a mark.

Lilith had expected constant landings and rests to steal hours, beads slipping from a string, but Nidhogg had counted every pause like an abacus.

“How’d you calculate it so exact?” Lilith asked, curiosity fluttering like a moth to a lantern.

“I know your stamina,” Nidhogg grinned, a fox with a secret. “I know exactly when you’ll tire, and I’ll set you down.”

She caught his meaning and flushed tomato-red, heat rising like sunrise; her tail snapped his rear with a swish, and she hissed, “Keep it down—this isn’t the place.”

“What are they saying?” Litt tilted her small face up from Abaddon’s arms, bright-eyed as a cub sniffing wind.

The little Demon covered her ears like cupping shells. “I don’t know either, but it’s likely not good. Good kids don’t listen.”

“Oh.” Litt nodded and nestled in, quiet as a pebble in moss.

“Why’re we stopping so far out?” Lilith’s fingers pinched his waist, nails moon-sharp; when she found no give, she acted as if nothing happened and shifted her gaze. “The map says this is only the edge. Why stop here?”

“First, the Grand Mausoleum’s surface footprint is small,” Nidhogg said, voice flat as iron. “The Undead build downward, like moles, and most geographers won’t crawl into their warrens.”

“So since the Cataclysm, maps only mark the skin, not the bones,” he added. “At that size, we could walk across in hours.”

“So it’s that small?” Lilith tugged a map from her satchel, parchment rustling like leaves. It couldn’t hang from Nidhogg’s spines anymore, so under the Holy Cloak she carried it with a sigh.

“It’s not much bigger than Dragon Territory,” Nidhogg said. “And there’s a heavy fog in the center. That’s the Undead’s calamity here, so I didn’t go straight in.”

“The Undead’s calamity… Moonswallow Mist, right? What does it do?” Lilith tilted her head, a crane listening to water.

She didn’t know the three calamities well after the Cataclysm; Black Sun Devouring she knew firsthand, a shadow that ate light, and Death Dust had slammed her hard once.

Even without the details, she felt the wrongness like a cold nail in the wind; calamities were the same breed of poison—Black Sun Devouring, Death Dust, the Taint coiled inside her—all drove people mad on touch. Moonswallow Mist wouldn’t be kind.

“We should be careful,” Lilith said, the words a pebble dropped in a still pond. She and Nidhogg and Litt didn’t fear it much, but Abaddon might catch it like smoke in lungs.

“But you know Moonswallow Mist?” she asked, hope flickering like ember.

“No,” Nidhogg shook his head, a bell tolling once. “I’ve always been bad at Death Magic. I almost failed graduation because I fell behind there.”

“You flop exactly when it matters,” Lilith muttered, a thorn under silk. “Guess I’ll carry it again.”

Her hawk-sight snagged a flare of orange not far off, a fire bud blooming in the dusk; she waved from Nidhogg’s back. “There, firelight—people, probably. We can ask!”

“Don’t sprint—you’re in heels!” Nidhogg caught her, grip steady as a rock ledge. They’d been rushing with no place to change; he’d suggested a bush, and she’d refused with icy pride.

Since becoming a girl she liked things clean as new snow; better kill her than make her change in brambles and dirt.

His warning hit, and Lilith felt the wobble in her step like thin ice; running in heels was a face-first fall waiting to happen.

She braked, light as a falling feather, no inertia to fight; she stood still, took Nidhogg’s offered hand, and they walked toward the fire, careful as cats.

Up close, the fire was a big bonfire, a red flower in the dark. Two figures in thick iron plate sat beside it, helmets like moonless cliffs.

The one on the left had wolf ears pricking the night, a beastkin silhouette. The one on the right seemed human; Lilith saw no strange marks on him.

They stood behind a table like a low altar. A line flowed past them, a river of grim faces and odd gear, weapons bristling like a hedgehog’s back.

Dust cloaked them like old bark; they looked like they’d walked here from the far side of a map.

Each person showed a paper to the pair. The beastkin took it and checked like reading tracks in snow, while the human chatted a few words, tone easy.

Most passed after a simple check, slipping through like fish through reeds; a few were stopped and turned away, sent back like leaves on a contrary wind.

“What are they doing?” Lilith asked, voice soft as mist.

“No idea. I’ll go ask.” Nidhogg turned to Abaddon, eyes a dark gleam. “Hide for now. I’ll call you out when it’s safe.”

“Understood,” Abaddon nodded and slipped behind him, quiet as a shadow. A small vortex bloomed before her, a black lily on air.

The little Demon stuffed Litt into the pocket-space with one smooth push, shot the White Dragon and Black Dragon a glance, then slid in herself.

“Alright, let’s see what this is,” Nidhogg said, watching the vortex close like a blink. He led Lilith toward the long line, boots tapping like rain.

“Play along,” he murmured, voice a thread.

“Got it,” Lilith answered, sullen as a damp match, yet her eyes were bright as sparks.