Chapter 44: Darkness and the Eternal Icefield

“It’s a bit cold here.” The Little White Dragon and the Black Dragon squeezed through a needle-toothed passage. Frost skimmed the stone like scales; Lilith sheathed both herself and the Black Dragon in a sturdy layer of ice, so the thorny growths scraped harmlessly instead of biting.

They dropped onto the next tier of ground. Lilith missed her footing and plunged into a milk-white drift. The Little White Dragon vanished like a fox buried in a snowbank, head and ears swallowed, only a slim spiky tail twitching above the surface.

“Ugh—mm.” She struggled and flailed, but the snow held fast. Nidhogg watched her flounder, sighed, then pinched her tail and pulled, neat as yanking a radish from a field. A white dragon popped free with a gasp.

“My tail hurts. Can’t you be gentle?” Lilith scrambled up, dusted her backside, and shot Nidhogg a vicious glare. Her “threats” puffed like breath on glass—more cute than deadly.

“I didn’t even use much strength.” Nidhogg wasn’t fazed. She ruffled Lilith’s hair and smiled. “Careful. The snow’s thick here. Don’t sink again.”

“Why is there so much snow?” Lilith stood. The drift swallowed her shins, nearly up to her knees. No wonder she’d gone in like a turned-over turnip.

“Isn’t this the deep stretch of the dungeon? Where’d all these flakes come from?” she asked, peering at Nidhogg.

“Not sure. I figure it’s tied to Eternal Life’s power.” Nidhogg spoke softly to the Little White Dragon. “This underground city beneath the Grand Mausoleum sits closest to where the Reaper Fragment sleeps. Among all races, the Undead used that fragment best. So this blizzard is likely the fragment’s lingering influence.”

“They studied it thoroughly, yet they ended up controlled anyway.” Lilith sighed, a note of pity drifting like a cold breeze.

“Exactly because they studied it too deep, and touched it too long. They say good swimmers drown.” Nidhogg scooped a handful of snow, brought it to her lips, and blew. “Huh. It’s actual snow.”

“What else would it be?” Lilith copied the gesture. She cupped a drift, puffed her cheeks, ready to scatter it in one breath. She hesitated, then opened wide and took a sudden bite.

Soft as cotton, cold as moonlight—Lilith loved that taste. She gulped a big mouthful, cheeks ballooned, and mumbled, “It’s pretty tasty. Same as the snow I make with magic. So... what did you think it might be?”

“...” Nidhogg didn’t want to say it. But if Lilith didn’t get an answer, she’d peck at the question forever. The Black Dragon chose cruelty over delay.

“I thought it might be Undead ash. Look at how many skulls they keep.” Nidhogg turned away, avoiding Lilith’s incoming scowl.

“Pfft!” Lilith spit out the half-melted mouthful, coughing as if to expel every speck of impurity. “You’re awful. Why say that out of nowhere?”

“It came to mind, so I said it. Don’t dwell on it.” Nidhogg shut up after two flimsy excuses. The Black Dragon knew Lilith would be mad, so she let silence smooth the ripples.

“You overthink everything!” Lilith wiped a cold film from her lips, huffed, and thumped Nidhogg’s stomach with a tiny fist. Then she turned away and tried to trudge forward, struggling like she was wading a winter ocean.

The snow went thick, deeper patches swallowing Lilith past the knees. She had to use her hands to brace and plow, carving a path inch by inch, swimming more than walking.

“Heave-ho.” Lilith hauled her leg from a hole and tumbled forward, thigh stretching out to clear the ridge. She scraped past the packed crust and, after much suffering, won her first step.

“Whew.” After a short slog, Lilith stopped and panted, a little dragon clouding the air with breath. It was slow and exhausting. Endurance wasn’t her forte; she looked half-dead, gasping where she stood.

“Tired?” Nidhogg came to her side. The tall Black Dragon felt the snow’s drag, too, but her legs were longer, her strength steadier, her stamina a black river. She moved easier, face calm.

“Mm.” Lilith nodded, weak and wilted.

“I know a way to make this much easier.” Nidhogg’s smile turned sly. “Want to try?”

“What way?” Lilith perked up. She didn’t want to spend half her strength just walking.

“Hey.” Nidhogg didn’t answer. She slid her arms under Lilith’s armpits and hoisted the Little White Dragon right up.

“Wha—hey?” Lilith flailed midair, feet kicking. Nidhogg pinched the back of her neck, and Lilith froze like a kitten in a scruff hold, curling quiet in the Black Dragon’s arms.

“Don’t squirm. Gather a thin plate of ice under each foot. Thin, but wide.” Nidhogg spoke near her ear, voice low as snow at night.

“I’ll try.” Lilith understood at once. She shaped transparent sled-plates beneath her soles.

Nidhogg saw her catch on and set her back down.

With long ice boards underfoot, the Little White Dragon stood easy on the drifts, floating instead of sinking, weight spread like lily pads on a pond.

“Whoa, genius!” Lilith beamed up at Nidhogg, a bright grin like sunlight on hoarfrost.

“Heh. Now you won’t fall through.” She hopped twice, and the wide boards dipped. Lilith squeaked and grabbed Nidhogg’s shoulder, stopping herself from sinking further.

“Don’t get too excited.” Nidhogg laughed and tousled her hair. “Alright. How are you planning to move? Those things don’t walk.”

“Eh?” Lilith hadn’t thought that far. She tried to lift a leg like usual, but the sled under her foot blocked the motion. She wobbled, center of gravity tipping, almost face-planting into the snow.

“Careful.” Nidhogg caught her and stayed close. She took Lilith’s soft hand and led her forward.

“Stand steady. No rush. I’ll pull you along.” Nidhogg drew Lilith across the white, their pace a gentle slide over polished frost.

“What is this place?” With movement sorted, Lilith finally had time to look. Her eyes went round—curious cat in a winter shrine.

Snow was everything. Her gaze touched mostly white: a blank icefield stretching to the horizon, broken only by the rare blue-white pillars of ice rising like sudden pines, heavy with blossoms of crystal, pale and pure.

“It’s beautiful.” Lilith spoke softly. She’d studied ice magic a while, and her affinity sang here. In a world of snow and silence, the Little White Dragon felt at home—especially under those towering trees carved from cold.

“Still, there’s no sign the Undead lived here.” She frowned and glanced at Nidhogg. “Deeper levels should be higher status. This floor should outrank the two above. Why is there no trace at all?”

“This should be where Undead nobles lived.” Nidhogg said, thinking aloud. “The layer above was their training ground—knights and bone cavalry everywhere. Whoever lived here should outrank them. That means Undead aristocracy.”

“On the first level, skeletons farmed on the outskirts, while ghosts worked in the city as craftsmen or merchants. In their society, Wraiths seem higher than skeletons.” Nidhogg compared, memory stacking like slate.

“So the residents here were Wraiths—stronger than the first layer’s folk. Like the gap between skeleton knights and little skeletons.” Lilith clapped softly. “But nobles should leave buildings, right? Wraith aristocrats wouldn’t cram into stone coffins like their cousins upstairs.”

“No idea.” Nidhogg shook her head. She didn’t know the Undead well. High theory wasn’t in her quiver. “Maybe the snow’s just too deep, and the buildings got buried.”

“Hardly. The snow only reaches my knees.” Lilith knew her height all too well. Knee-deep drifts wouldn’t swallow architecture whole.

“Let’s keep looking.” She shook her head. The two spun once, then Lilith flipped a coin—ice-made—choosing their direction by its fall.

They set off fast. The world repeated itself: white, blue, and quiet. On this frostbound plain of snow and ice-trees, one black, one white, they were the only strokes of ink on a blank scroll.

“Do you feel it? It’s getting darker.” After a while, Lilith spoke, voice small under the sky.

“?” Nidhogg halted and studied the horizon. The icefield lay broad and flat. Vision should be clear. She didn’t sense any dimming.

“Did you missee it?” Her voice stayed gentle, a warm lamp in winter.

“I don’t think so.” Lilith rubbed her eyes. The world pulled a shade down, as if hands cupped over her face. Distance blurred; far shapes turned to ghosts.

“I’m worried. Maybe it’s an Undead ability.” Tension pricked her tone. She squeezed Nidhogg’s hand tighter, knuckles pale on black scales. “Wraiths are good at this. I hope I’m wrong.”

“Could be. Either way, caution first.” Nidhogg kept her voice steady. “I’m not affected yet. Maybe it hits softer souls harder. Check the ward I left on you. See if it’s still holding.”

“Okay. I’ll check.”

Memory rippled back to Lilith only when Nidhogg reminded her, that he'd once slipped her a tiny charm against mind strikes.

Heart pricking like a needle, she tapped her brow, as if knocking on a hidden bell, to check if the mark still burned there.

The Little White Dragon's touch came back empty, cold as dead ash; the thing Nidhogg set on her head didn't stir at all.

Nidhogg, that little thing you gave me seems broken. Am I already—

Lilith lifted her head to tell the Black Dragon, but as her eyes met his, a blot of ink bloomed, and her vision dropped into night.

Wait—what's with this fog?

Startled like a sparrow in the reeds, the Little White Dragon froze for a breath.

Then she flailed her tiny claws, pawing at the darkness, a big cotton candy of night, and peeled it off her head.

Cough, cough—the sound puffed like dust.

Throat smoky, she rasped, Nidhogg, what on earth—

She lifted her head as if pushing through water. Nidhogg?

Where the Black Dragon had stood a blink ago lay nothing, empty as a swept courtyard.

Eh?