Chapter 23: Cry-Cry
Lilith steadied her breath, like smoothing ripples on a pond. The Little White Dragon knew this wasn’t the Dragon Territory or safe Lamter. She was still beneath the Grand Mausoleum, alone on a disaster-blighted plain where life could slip like sand with one misstep.
Confidence warmed her like a small fire; Lilith trusted her strength. The Little White Dragon believed she’d make it out alive. But she couldn’t promise a fight without wounds. She had to leash her mood, not let thoughts of Nidhogg circle like crows. Even she couldn’t fight while her heart dragged chains of worry.
Bottom line, I need a way to link up with them. Lilith chewed the thought, tasting iron. The Little White Dragon’s biggest problem was simple: she didn’t know where Nidhogg had fallen. If she had the Black Dragon’s direction, she could walk to her like a needle to a lodestone.
But how to catch Nidhogg’s shadow? Lilith opened her pale palm. A dusky-blue butterfly lifted from her hand like a spark from a candle.
It circled once before her face, wings flicking in a sulky flutter, like a leaf scolding the wind.
Sorry. I know I just called you out, and you want to rest. But I need a favor. The Little White Dragon bent halfway, gentle and a touch meek. Can you help me find Nidhogg? The Black Dragon who’s always bullying me—you know her. I’ve lost her trail. If you lead me to her, I’ll feed you a bit more mana, okay?
The butterfly wheeled half a circle, like a coin flipping in air.
Twice the usual. Lilith raised two fingers, a market haggler under a paper lantern.
It tacked another quarter turn, stubborn as a kite waiting for wind.
Fine—two and a half. Lilith grit her teeth and sealed the bargain. She had mana like a deep well; this little draw was just lantern oil, nothing but a touch of weariness.
The butterfly finally agreed. It fluttered to her nose, then skimmed ahead like a blue will-o’-wisp, a guide-lantern in the gloom.
Ugh, you bully me too. Seeing it lead, Lilith hurried after, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish, muttering under her breath.
Her whisper didn’t reach it. The dusky-blue mite worked hard for its promised sip of mana, combing the air for Nidhogg’s scent like a hound of wind.
The second stratum of the Grand Mausoleum was full of interference, like static in a storm. Even a guide-born butterfly couldn’t pin Nidhogg’s spot fast. The Little White Dragon trailed it, stop-and-go, like a boat in contrary tides. Sometimes they had to double back along their own footprints. Lilith’s delicate ankles ached like bruised peaches, and still not a flicker of the Black Dragon’s shadow.
Where did you go? Lilith’s head drooped like a puppet with cut strings, her voice a wet whimper. They’d fallen from the same passage—she remembered that clearly. Even if the Black Dragon was forced off-course by a headless rider, in theory she shouldn’t be that far.
How can I not find her… Her heart felt hollow, an empty bowl in cold rain. The Little White Dragon had never imagined losing Nidhogg in a moment like this. The Black Dragon was unreliable as drifting smoke, yet Lilith leaned on her all the same. Truth was, beyond Nidhogg, she had few shoulders left.
Tongzi had been gone nearly a year. The rest of her old companions left even earlier. They traveled with Lilith for a while as phantoms, but as the Taint deepened like spreading ink, they had to part.
Lilith had come to this continent alone, a lone boat on dark water. In one night, a storm blew out her parents, kin, and friends like lamps. So the Little White Dragon poured herself into the Demon King’s downfall and into the new companions she found. Even after that war, when her companions turned to phantoms, they stayed. More dragons befriended Lilith, and the number of hands she could trust grew like spring shoots.
Later, she set out alone again. Even during the Morris chapter, her hours alone outweighed the ones in company. Yet the Little White Dragon knew many phantoms kept her company inside, like lantern-shadows on a wall.
At the end of the Morris journey, Lilith lost even those phantoms. But Nidhogg came to her side again. The Little White Dragon couldn’t tell how much of their closeness was fate, and how much was her vine-like habit of clinging.
In short, Nidhogg became Lilith’s leaning wall. She stuck to the Black Dragon, handing her the world’s messy knots to untie. Until—
She was left here alone. Left on a plain emptied of all but her and withered black grass, like crow feathers on ash.
The Little White Dragon was utterly alone. Nothing stood with her but the butterfly she’d condensed from her own magic, a single candle in a wind-torn hall.
The butterfly seemed to have a mind, but it was only her thoughts wearing wings. Her craft wasn’t high enough to spin a true mind on a whim—just a puppet on a silk thread.
Lilith truly had only herself now. A small White Dragon in a cold field, with nothing to lean on but her mana and her blade.
She wanted to cry. Before she knew it, glassy beads clung to her lashes. Just a brief split from Nidhogg—being left alone—was enough to bring her to tears.
The little dragon sniffed hard. The Little White Dragon slapped her own soft cheek, like patting dough, trying to tie her courage back into place.
It’s just being alone for a bit. It’s not like Nidhogg doesn’t want me. Why are you crying? Lilith patted her face through a wavering voice. The little dragon wiped the tiny pearls at her eyes and sniffed again, breath smoky in the cold.
Sensing the shift in her mood, the butterfly stopped and looked back at the teary Little White Dragon. Its small blue wings trembled like petals in rain, frantic to comfort.
I’m fine, really. Lilith couldn’t help a laugh. But halfway through, the smile slipped off her like sand from a heel, leaving only a gray dusk in her eyes.
I’m fine. I’m fine… she said, the words a paper boat wobbling on choppy water.
