Chapter 73: The Red Button

“Gillian...” For the first time, Sakunae Mashiro spoke the name that weighed on her heart like a sealed jade pendant.

In the fox lady’s dreams, it was always that Undead royal princess she’d never named. Gillian had only ever left a “D” at the tail of each letter, like a firefly’s dot of light.

“Why’d you use ‘D’ as your code name?” The feeling came first, a tide of nerves, then the words tumbled out like pebbles skittering down a slope.

“A tiny secret. I’ll tell you later.” The Undead princess winked, bright as morning on frost. The Wraith’s ash-white hair swayed like drifting ribbons.

She didn’t look like a nation’s heiress. She felt like the girl next door, sunlit and spring-warm, as if someone else was the one caged in a gem for decades.

“Since you’re here, my dear pen pal, doesn’t that mean my country’s disaster has passed?” Gillian leaned in, half a body length, eyes wide as twin moons.

“Ah... ah.” The feeling hit first, a clean, stunned happiness, and Mashiro froze like a deer in first snow, lips opening and closing without a sound.

“It’s rude, but I’ve got to step in.” Lilith sighed, a breeze over still water. The Little White Dragon felt if she waited, someone would get eaten clean like candy on a stick.

That wouldn’t do. She had to pull someone back before the tide took them.

“Truth is, the Moonswallow Mist plaguing the Undead isn’t fully solved.” Lilith’s voice fell steady as falling starlight. “We handled the Divine Fragment steering that calamity.”

“But the Mist itself still shrouds the Grand Mausoleum like night fog over a marsh. We need a way to break it. You Undead used it as energy before.”

“You should also have a way to counter it, right?”

“Yes.” Gillian’s words were sure, like iron cooled in water. “We Undead have a mechanism to reclaim and store the Moonswallow Mist across the Grand Mausoleum.”

“Eternal Life wrecked that device, so the Mist leaked, and the Mausoleum fell under Its control like reeds bent by a storm.”

“As long as we restart it, the Mist will be reclaimed. Those Undead under control will regain their minds, like dawn burning off fog.”

“Where is it?” the Little White Dragon asked, her focus sharp as a drawn blade.

“This is the royal dungeon. It’s close, under the palace proper.” Gillian’s tone turned formal, like a banner snapping in wind. “From here, return to the upper hall.”

“Head into the northern corridor. Midway along the western wall, there’s a hidden door. Past it lies the device that drinks the Moonswallow Mist.”

You store the Mist right under the palace? Lilith’s thought clicked like flint and spark. No wonder the first blast hit the royals, like a firecracker rigged under their feet.

“I’ll take you. The mechanism needs royal blood to start.” Gillian drifted from Mashiro’s side, her motion smooth as a cloud on a breeze, and faced Lilith.

“Alright.” Lilith nodded, decisive as a bell stroke. “Let’s move.”

Mashiro wanted to speak. The feeling tightened first, like a string drawn to sing, but she pulled her hand back and followed Gillian, quiet as rain on leaves.

They met no resistance on the way, the halls as empty as a riverbed at low tide. That was normal. The source of the Mist had been swallowed whole by Lilith’s good daughter.

Even if the Moonswallow Mist still controlled some Undead, it wouldn’t drive them to attack, like a wind that had spent itself against the pines.

So they reached the spot Gillian named in no time, their steps light as moth wings on stone. In the corridor, the Little White Dragon caught a wrongness like a snag in silk.

“This the hidden door?” Lilith tapped a stone a shade off, a pebble in a field of slate.

“Mm. Here.” Gillian nodded, certain as a north star. “I’ll open it.”

“No need.” The moment Lilith saw the panel, she had already smeared her blood across it, quick as a brushstroke.

She gave the wall a gentle push, and it rotated half a turn like a millstone, opening a shoulder-wide gap, skinny as a crescent moon.

“I’ll go first. Mm—ah, stuck.” Lilith slid in sideways. The gap was tight as a knot in bamboo, and her Sun Furnace wedged firm like a rock in a sluice.

She wriggled for a while. Nothing gave. Only when Nidhogg gave her a push, firm as a shove from fate, did the Little White Dragon pop through.

“How did she open it?” The Wraith’s attention drifted like smoke. “Only Undead royalty can open this door.”

“It’s her thing,” Nidhogg replied, casual as a yawn at dusk. “You can treat every door in the world as foam board to her.”

“She just pushes, and it gives. Don’t overthink it.”

“What’s foam board?” Gillian tilted her head again like a sparrow. Nidhogg didn’t answer. The Black Dragon slipped through and hurried after the Little White Dragon like a shadow after flame.

“Maybe it’s Miss Lilith’s hometown slang.” Mashiro whispered behind Gillian, voice soft as a reed flute. “She says a lot of things I don’t get. If she’s happy, it’s fine.”

“Alright.” The Wraith pinched her chin, thoughtful as a scholar by lamplight.

It was pitch-black past the door, a well with no stars. The Little White Dragon took the Astrolabe from Litt, and cast starlight to paint the dark like dew on spider silk.

Stairs again. Passages again. Familiar as an old song looping back to its refrain. Lilith felt no surprise, just the quiet of walking through fog she already knew.

The stairs weren’t long. The passage wasn’t deep. In moments, they reached the end, where a small pedestal waited like an altar at a shrine.

On it sat a big button, red as a berry in snow. A clear magic shield lay over it, shimmering like heat over a summer road.

“This is the device?” Lilith pointed at the pedestal, head tilted like a hawk testing wind.

“Yes.” Gillian floated forward, hand settling on the dais like a leaf on water.

The shield unraveled at her touch, threads of light loosening like a spiderweb in rain. The red button lay bare to the air, bright as a pomegranate seed.

The Wraith set her hand over it, pale against the crimson, and spoke like a bell in a quiet temple.

“Press this, and all Moonswallow Mist will gather here like tide to a moon. But this only stores it. I’m afraid it’ll spill again someday.”

“I want a way to end it in one go, like a blade through knot.”

“Don’t worry about that.” The Little White Dragon stepped up, warmth rising first like sunrise behind clouds. She laid her hand over Gillian’s, gentle as a snowfall.

Then she pressed the red button with a soft click, sure as a heartbeat.

“You just gather every wisp.” Lilith smiled, bright as starlight on a river. “I’ll handle the rest.”