Chapter Thirteen: Keep Moving
Nidhogg didn’t press her. The Black Dragon knew a closed shell opens on its own. Prying at Lilith’s silence would just scrape a knife on stone.
Nidhogg took the paper from Lilith’s hand. She tucked the tattered scrap into Lilith’s monster compendium, like a dead leaf pressed in a worn herbarium. Then she slid the little notebook into Lilith’s sling bag.
“Let’s get going.” She dusted her palms, like brushing ash off a brazier, then bent and hauled Lilith up from the soil. “We’re tight on time. Down here, clocks lose their sun, but I’d like to reach a town before we camp.”
“True. There’s nothing over these fields.” Little White Dragon nodded, mood wan and eyes like still water. The soil under Lilith’s boots was soft as fresh clay. Around them, not even a roof to pretend to shield wind or rain—though in the Grand Mausoleum’s underbelly, storm and sky were rumors.
“That fox’s trick did most of it. Without it, we would’ve already walked into town.” Lilith grumbled at Nidhogg, like a kettle spitting steam. “Spatial powers are really annoying.”
“I doubt it’s that simple.” Nidhogg shook her head, a raven feather cutting the mist. “Stay sharp. That infected orc adventurer was a warning bell. This place isn’t as safe as it looks; a careless step is a pitfall.”
“Mm.” Lilith exhaled, a small sound like a droplet in a cave pool. She shelved her little tantrum; the fan of tendrils behind her folded like a closing peacock tail. The Little Dragon edged closer to Nidhogg and Abaddon. She and the Black Dragon took point and rear, boxing the other two between them. The locusts the little Demon had summoned patrolled the flanks like moving hedgerows.
The four of them set out again, footsteps tapping a steady drumbeat on the field-path. This time, danger kept its distance. The fox had vanished like smoke in wind. Even the skeletons were rare; the few that crawled up were swatted down by Little White Dragon as easily as flicking moths off a lantern.
The farmland stretched on like an endless scroll. Lilith couldn’t tell how long they’d been walking—an hour, two, or three—time felt like water with no ripples.
The monotony gnawed like a dull insect under the skin. At first Lilith had the heart to chat with Nidhogg, voices weaving like reeds in a pond. After a while, the Little Dragon tasted boredom, dry as stale bread.
Azure mist sheeted the empty expanse, a veil over stripped fields. The tilled earth lay exposed like a wound, soft loam breathing cold air. Little White Dragon picked her way along trammeled paths between furrows, as if trapped on a road that never found an end.
Her body wasn’t tired; this distance was a feather on her scale. She could walk a day and a night without strain, like a river that refuses to dry. What wore her down was the mind’s burden, a stone in the chest.
The thin azure Moonswallow Mist seemed to smother everything; even Lilith’s keen sight hit a wall a few dozen paces out, like staring into frosted glass. And even if she could see farther, the field around her offered nothing but sameness—now and then a skeleton popped up, a toy threat that snapped into dust. The path held no spice, no surprise; it was white rice without a side.
Boredom spread like venom through Lilith’s thoughts. She wanted to stop, shed her human shell, and slip into her true dragon shape. She pictured diving to the dungeon’s deepest root, dragging the Reaper Fragment out by the scruff, and thrashing it like a storm‑whipped tree. Then force it to reel back every thread of this cursed Moonswallow Mist.
Right—why don’t I just do that? The idea rang clear as a bell in cold air. Dizzy, Lilith lifted a hand to her temple, ready to unleash her dragon shape out of reflex.
“Lilith, what are you doing?”
The call cut like a blade through fog. Little White Dragon snapped back to herself and met Nidhogg’s puzzled gaze; the memory of that hazy moment reeled back into place like a net hauled in.
She knew something was wrong at once, the chill landing first, then the thought.
“Nidhogg, we’ve got company.” Lilith drew the Ancient Ark; the weight of the trusted weapon steadied her like a hand on the shoulder. “Something’s messing with the mind. Do the Undead have that kind of thing?”
“Let me see.” Nidhogg’s hand moved with practiced ease, plucking the monster compendium from Lilith’s belt. She leafed the little book and recited, voice calm as running water. “There’s one, ranked near zombies and skeletons among the Undead.
“Ghosts, also called Wraiths—spirit‑form Undead with sharp intelligence. They can manipulate certain things by methods unknown. Among the Undead, they handle town commerce and crafts, and they’re a backbone of tech research.
“Moonswallow Mist grants them only a small boost, but their innate immunity to physical harm makes them very dangerous against parties without magic. They’re often why most adventurers stall out. Also, they can meddle with human senses to create illusions. Mark that.”
“Wraiths, huh?” Lilith slid the Ancient Ark away; a blade, no matter how keen, was still shackled to the physical. Time to use the other half of her strength.
She unslung the Astrolabe from her back. The marble‑headed staff glimmered with pale blue light, a quiet star she’d kept waiting; she’d wanted to upgrade it for ages. After the Grand Mausoleum, she told herself.
The blue mist veiled her sight, hiding whatever shapes the Wraiths wore. But the Little Dragon had her own answer when the world turned opaque.
“Nidhogg, fall behind me.” Lilith smiled, dangerous as a crescent blade. She raised the Astrolabe high, pointing it at the sky that wasn’t there.
In a heartbeat, sable clouds shouldered aside the azure veil, and the air’s warmth drained like water from a cracked jar.
“Blizzard.” After a long silence, Lilith spoke a spell; the word fell like the first flake.
