Chapter 74 – The Mist Dissipates
The moment Lilith and Gillian pressed the red button, pipes unfurled from the walls like a steel ribcage. Hair-thin conduits laced into the pedestal under the button, and a cool, azure mist whooshed through the transparent plinths like moonlight poured into glass. The mist seeped in and the pedestal shifted, groaning softly as a container-like module slid out—every wisp drawn from beneath the Grand Mausoleum and even the grounds around it gathered into that small, waiting box.
“Here.” Gillian drifted to a round port by the pedestal and pointed, her voice soft as a lantern in fog. “There should be a pipe here. It connects to the Mausoleum’s energy core. The Moonswallow Mist gets processed there and turned into power the Undead can actually use.”
“But now there’s no pipe. So you can’t process it at all, right?” Lilith felt the pinch of urgency before she moved. Their Wraith had already said the incoming Moonswallow Mist was getting backed up. The Little White Dragon didn’t dither—one of the dark-red tendrils at her back slid into the port with a wet click, and the mist collected in the small box streamed into Lilith at nearly the same rate it flowed in.
She didn’t plan to warehouse all that mist in her body. A silver longsword bloomed in her hand; the Astrolabe was set aside with a soft clink. Mist spilled from her fingertips in a steady current, then bled into both weapons, like night dew sinking into steel.
“This should handle the buildup,” the Little White Dragon said to Gillian, voice steady as still water. “How long to pull in all the Moonswallow Mist from the Grand Mausoleum?”
“Conservative guess?” Gillian tapped her chin, apology clouding her eyes. “A full day.”
“Can’t you make it faster?” Impatience pricked before the ache. Lilith didn’t want to sit here for twenty-four hours; drawing in that mist burned focus. A little while was fine. A whole day would scatter her thoughts like dry leaves.
“This is already maxed.” Gillian shook her head, her tone a dim bell. “The Mausoleum isn’t small. At this speed we’re past the safe limit. Push harder and something breaks.”
“Your Undead gear is actual trash.” The Little White Dragon couldn’t help it; the jab flew like a pebble at still water. “And you wanted to harness Moonswallow Mist? No wonder Eternal Life wiped you out.”
Look at the Vampires. Their tech, their muscle—worse than the Undead across the board. But they know their lane. They hide like cave dwellers under old ruins, never going head-to-head with Black Sun Devouring. They even respect the risk of an early grave—and that’s how you survive for millennia.
“Because the Moonswallow lines went down,” Gillian whispered, remorse like frost. “So many systems sat idle for too long. If we force them, they’ll fail. I’m sorry. Please bear with it.”
“Fine. One day it is.” Lilith let out a breath, a small cloud on cold air. It was only twenty-four hours. She could grit it out.
Resignation settled; her white tail flicked once, and the slim, pale tail and the dark-red tendrils behind her fell into a strange, shared rhythm, swaying left and right like reeds in the same wind. While her attention still held, she fed more tendrils into the mist box. The pull quickened, which bought her brief blanks in thought—little breaths where she could rest.
“Want to hear a story? I could tell you one.” Gillian eased down beside her—well, hovered, really—smiling like a crescent moon.
“No.” Lilith’s tail swayed, the refusal gentle. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Gillian’s story—she did, curiosity a small flame—but…
“Mashiro’s looking at us like her heart just cracked. Go comfort her first.” The Little White Dragon’s helpless sigh came first, then the words. The way Sakunae Mashiro had watched Lilith earlier would scare seedlings. There’d been a lovesick, dangerous gleam in those eyes. Lucky for Lilith, she’d saved the fox once; Miss Fox wasn’t likely to take a swing at her.
The rest was Gillian’s mess to handle. Lilith stifled a yawn and watched with interest as the Wraith drifted toward Sakunae Mashiro, while Miss Mashiro turned her head away, refusing to look.
“What are you watching?” Nidhogg sat down on her left, a shadow like a mountain. Litt followed and plopped to her right. The little Demon sprawled over Litt, sticky and gray like a gooey rice ball.
“Two idiots in a lovers’ quarrel.” The Little White Dragon propped her chin on her palm. Gillian’s soft apologies and Sakunae Mashiro’s sudden flare—“I worked for decades and you said two sentences to me!”—carried over like sparks. Lilith snorted a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Nidhogg pinched her cheek and tugged her lifted smile flat.
“Nothing. Just wondering how long it’ll take them to make up.” Lilith tucked her smile away, voice light as a breeze. “Mashiro feels really mad right now.”
“She’s been trying for years, right? Even if her sister kept her on a leash,” Litt added, earnest as a lantern. “Litt doesn’t really get it, but even Litt can tell Sis Mashiro’s mad.”
“Call her Aunt.” Lilith pinched Litt’s small mouth, gentle but firm. “’Big Sis’ drops her a whole generation. But I don’t think Miss Mashiro’s actually that angry.”
“Why do you say that?” Abaddon asked, curious as a cat.
“Gut sense, maybe.” Lilith yawned, the sound small as a tide sigh.
“Because you sulk like that too.” Nidhogg ruffled her soft white hair, teasing warm as dusk. “Like a little pufferfish—tap your lips and you puff up, not really angry at all.”
“Hmph! You talk too much!” The Little White Dragon slapped him with her tail, grumbling into his shoulder. But Nidhogg wasn’t wrong. Sakunae Mashiro was soothed soon enough. Now the fox girl was buried in Gillian’s arms, ears drooping, her body trembling like leaves in rain. She was probably crying.
Gillian held Miss Mashiro close, her own mood dimming like a candle in wind.
Lilith said nothing. She leaned into Nidhogg’s side and looped her tail around the Black Dragon’s tail, a soft knot of white and shadow.
This side of things, at least, had settled.
