Chapter Thirty-Five: The Prowler

Curiosity pricked like frost; Little White Dragon thumbed the charm on her ear. “Ice crystals? Or an Ice Spirit?”

Lilith’s voice was cool as moonlight on sand. “It can’t be elves. Kuri to the Demon Realm is a march across the land. No reason to reach claws into the Eternal City.”

“I’d sooner believe Kuri folk lost their minds and poked the Dragon Territory than them coming here,” she said, words drifting like dry wind.

Satan nodded, her gaze steady as a dune’s ridge. “That logic holds, but Ice Spirits from Usas are different.”

“Bosaklie isn’t close to the Everfrozen Tundra,” she went on, breath low as embers. “Even at nearest, it’s half a Demon Realm away.”

“Bosaklie heads to Usas’s border about every twenty years,” she said, like counting stars. “Ice Spirits could slip in then, like frost through a crack, and lay quiet workings.”

“When did Bosaklie last speak with Usas?” Little White Dragon asked, tail swishing like grass in wind.

“About five years ago. Abaddon hadn’t gone missing yet,” Satan told Lilith, voice steady as iron. “A normal trade run; plenty of Ice Spirits came into Bosaklie.”

“That’s normal. We don’t slam the gate on visitors; Bosaklie doesn’t refuse a knock,” she said with a tired smile. “Our people also crossed for cream stew and big rye loaves.”

“Stop, you’re making me hungry.” Little White Dragon wiped a shiny trail like dew from her lip, cutting the story short. “So you aren’t sure if an Ice Spirit worked something in Bosaklie?”

“We inspected and found nothing,” Satan said to Lilith, her tone wavering like heat haze. “But I can’t swear by it.”

“Demons aren’t good at that kind of magic,” she admitted, voice rough as sandpaper. “We’ve patched our inborn gaps, but their spells twist like unknown currents.”

“They might have tricks that blind the sky and slip past the sea, leaving work in Bosaklie,” she said, words falling like coarse grains.

“Quite likely.” Nidhogg’s voice rolled in, low thunder over stone. Heads turned to him like sunflowers to the sun, waiting for a darker insight.

“Ice Spirit magic is the most secret in the world,” the Black Dragon rumbled, like glacier groaning. “No other race understands their method.”

“Even dragons can only mimic the ice, and the logic beneath is utterly different,” he said, eyes cold as deep wells. “Never take them lightly.”

“No one knows how many strange gifts their hidden blood still carries,” he finished, words settling like snow.

“Then we keep suspicion simmering toward Ice Spirits,” Little White Dragon said, gaze sharp as a blade. “Any other clues to who pushed the Golden Dragon to wreck Bosaklie?”

“There are.” Satan pulled a paper like a dry leaf and passed it to Lilith.

“What’s this?” Little White Dragon took it. A tangled rainbow of lines writhed like spilled threads, messy and wild.

It took her a while to see it: an isotherm chart, a map of temperatures, sketched so rough it hurt the eyes.

“Temperature,” Satan said, voice flat as a slate. “Recent readings across Bosaklie’s districts.”

“We compared the Eternal City’s temperatures over all hours this last week,” the Archdemon explained, words ticking like gears. “We drew this chart.”

“The Eternal City keeps moving, like a caravan of furnaces,” she said. “The braziers at center and four corners burn without rest, feeding the engines.”

“Even the unit you damaged fighting the Golden Dragon won’t stay down long,” she added, a smile like sparks. “Ten minutes and it’s back, blazing.”

“So Bosaklie’s districts stay mostly stable in heat,” she said, palms open like a map. “Around the Demon Realm, weather barely shifts.”

“Except the harsh day–night swing, it’s one long season here,” she went on. “Our only real change is sandstorms, roaring like tawny dragons.”

“Temperature shouldn’t lurch much,” Satan said, voice calm as still water.

“But—look here.” Her fingertip tapped a point, a bead on a string. Heads leaned in, breath held like drawn bows.

One district’s temperature plunged five degrees in seven days, a cliff drop in a flat plain. The surrounding zones were flat as glass.

No natural wind does that, Lilith thought, heart ticking like a drum.

“Ice Spirit,” Little White Dragon said, firm as a nail. “One’s sitting there. He doesn’t even bother with a mask. Is he baiting us in?”

“If he wanted to hide, he wouldn’t leave a hole this wide,” Satan agreed, voice like a whetstone. “He could walk this whole district in loops.”

“With their born-cold bodies and a pinch of spellwork, he’d cool the area evenly by a small notch,” she said, counting paths like chess moves.

“We’d blame a heating fault and check the furnaces,” she finished. “We wouldn’t suspect an Ice Spirit.”

“But he wrote his position on the map for us,” Little White Dragon said, face set like stone. Lilith’s thoughts circled like hawks, asking his purpose.

“Who’s his target?” she asked, voice quiet as night sand. “If it’s the Reaper Fragment, exposing himself is pointless.”

“We’d split up,” she said, plan laid like laid stones. “Nidhogg and I hunt him. You protect Litt and the Reaper Fragment.”

“He’d find no gap to slip through,” Lilith said, eyes steady as a wall.

“If he aimed at Bosaklie, he wouldn’t flaunt himself near this zone,” Satan picked up, voice taut as rope. “Two districts near it are guard posts.”

“Without calling the army, those are the strongest watchhouses in the city,” she said. “No sane saboteur chooses that ground.”

“So his target can only be one,” Nidhogg said, closing the circle like a lid. The Black Dragon looked at Lilith, gaze heavy as iron.

“Lilith. He’s hunting you.”

“Me?” Little White Dragon pointed at herself, shock splashing cold as well water.

Even her slow brain felt the frost bite; of course an Ice Spirit could seek her. Lilith had changed, like night breaking into dawn.

She’d shattered the Demon King, swept Taint like ink off the earth. She was one of the most intact Divine Fragments alive.

The god who spilled Taint split in two; half was Lilith, and the other half, Lilith swallowed like a hot coal. She could climb the heavens and claim creation and ruin.

Only, her strength was still green as spring shoots; the title was loud, the arm not yet heavy.

“The Golden Dragon said so,” Lilith murmured, memory flashing like steel. “He came for the Reaper Fragment. Then he saw me and changed the play, ready to cut me.”

“That wasn’t just his whim,” she said, frost-sure. “Likely the Ice Spirit behind him tugged the string.”

“What now?” Little White Dragon looked up at Nidhogg, eyes bright as stars. She never did plans well, so she leaned on him like a slender tree.

Too bad the Black Dragon was worse at doors than fists.

“Just go,” Nidhogg said, lazy as a drifting cloud. “He likes you? Fine. Walk in and beat him.”

“Let him learn interest isn’t something you can cash in with your face,” he added, grin sharp as a fang.

“One admirer coveting your body is enough—me,” Nidhogg declared, righteous as a temple bell. “The rest can dream elsewhere.”

Her cheeks flushed red like apples, heat blooming like sunrise. Little White Dragon swatted his flank with her tail, a whip of white silk.

She ducked her apple-red face, heart thumping like a drum. This Black Dragon was getting greasy—shrimp-head, shrimp-head!