Epilogue — Today’s Meal at the Little White Dragon’s Home

Morning pooled like warm milk in a nest within the Dragon Territory.

Lilith, eyes hazy with sleep, pushed open the window; the Little White Dragon sprawled on the sill, drinking sun like a lazy cat in a beam.

Yesterday, for once, Lilith didn’t chase the Star Canvas; an annoying Black Dragon tumbled her across the bed for four hours, like waves rolling a small boat.

She slept from six to twelve; when the little dragon finally crawled up, dawn’s rim was already bright like a silver blade.

So after a quick wash, Lilith claimed the windowsill, soaking in sunshine like a lizard on a sun-warmed rock.

“Mrr~ Ever since I became an Astrologer, sunlight and I barely meet, but the sun still feels like silk on the scales,” the Little White Dragon murmured.

After ten blissful minutes, eyes half-lidded like crescent moons, she flicked her tail, shifted to human form, and hopped down toward the kitchen like a bird from a branch.

Apron on, high ponytail tied, the Little White Dragon faced a magic-scrubbed pot that gleamed like a mirror, thinking what storm to stir into dinner.

Nidhogg, that rascal, had gone out at first light with Typhon, two shadows slipping east, chasing a newly found cave like crows after a glint.

The Black Dragon left before the sky paled, following the Silver Dragon, and only a kiss on Lilith’s cheek lingered like a dew drop.

Lilith was mad as a puffed-up sparrow, but she still had to feed that scoundrel; resentment simmered, yet the hearth had to blaze.

Those two never fly far; with her nimble wings, Lilith could always track them down with a lunchbox like a hawk bearing prey.

“We’re low on meat. Time to buy,” she said, opening the fridge to a sad landscape like winter fields.

It would feed humans, sure, but two dragons eat like twin furnaces; that little stash was a snowflake in a brazier.

She didn’t bother to hang up the apron; no need to change, she just pulled on a jacket and padded out in cotton slippers like soft drums.

The streets of the Dragon Territory were clean as fresh ice; a quick grocery run in slippers felt like walking clouds over jade.

“Ah, Little Lilith, out for groceries again?” Voices drifted from windows like warm smoke.

It was a quiet morning; most dragons lounged at their sills, tails lazily swaying like pendulums, greeting Lilith as she passed.

“Yeah. We’re almost out. My idiot’s bad at everything except eating,” the Little White Dragon replied with a grin sharp as a fox’s.

“Haha, youth’s a feast,” the nearby dragons laughed, voices like wind chimes under eaves.

Lilith said nothing more; slippers slap-slap, she hit the market, cut a slab of fresh meat, and slap-slapped back home like soft rain.

At her door, a familiar scent rose like smoke from a familiar fire; it curled into her nose and tugged at her mood.

“Nidhogg? Why’re you back early?” The Little White Dragon carried the meat in, and there they were: the Black Dragon and Typhon, human-shaped, drinking grape-fermented juice like guilty teens.

“I told you to lay off that,” the Little White Dragon snapped, snatching the bottle like a hawk snatching a mouse, and thumped Nidhogg’s head with a crisp pop.

“And you.” Typhon, who was smirking like a fox at a henhouse, lost her bottle to a swift slap and earned a tail-swat like a flicking willow.

“We went to that cave we mentioned,” Typhon said, hands up like flags in surrender, “but two teams of earth-dragon students got there first.”

“We’re not stealing their thunder,” she added, voice flat as a put-out candle.

“Then don’t just sit there. Help,” the Little White Dragon said, back turned like a closed gate, and she hauled the meat into the kitchen.

Nidhogg and Typhon traded a look, shoulders lifted like twin hills, and followed the stormy Little White Dragon into the kitchen.

Lilith pulled ingredients like a magician from a hat; she dumped the vegetables before Typhon like a river of green and sent her to wash.

She handed Nidhogg a clay pot and a basin of rice, assigning six servings like a general pointing troops toward a bridge.

The Little White Dragon squared up to the meat like a swordsman at dawn, knife flashing like frost over steel.

This world’s creatures were not her old world’s, but she’d found good flavors like hidden springs in strange rocks.

Today’s cut came from a dog-like omnivore that tasted like beef; on its back ran a massive ribbon of fatty meat like a golden road.

Perfect for braising, a tried victory; it wasn’t Mom’s beloved taste yet, but she’d captured seven parts of the spirit like an echo in a canyon.

At least Nidhogg loved her cooking; that praise warmed her like coals banked under ash.

She took Typhon’s washed vegetables to the board; meat went into a blanching pot where water bubbled like a mountain spring.

Vegetables got cut to size, pieces neat as tiles; a flick of her tail sent Nidhogg to fish out the meat like a crane plucking fish.

Another pot rose, oil heated to a shimmer like sunlight on a lake; vegetables slid in with a whisper like rain on bamboo.

At this stage there was nothing left for Typhon; the Silver Dragon got shooed out like a cat from a pantry.

When the vegetables blushed a pale gold like autumn straw, the Little White Dragon had Nidhogg add the meat like stones back to a river.

Lilith stood on a small stool, toes stretched like budding shoots, and stir-fried until the scent rose like banners in wind.

Spices followed, each a note like stars pricking a velvet sky; water poured in, a small rain over fields, and the lid came down like a moon.

“Let me handle the rest of the dishes?” she asked, wiping sweat from her brow like dew from a leaf.

Nidhogg slipped behind and hugged her; a roving hand slid under the apron like a warm wave, covering Lilith’s soft belly.

“What? Tired of my cooking already?” The Little White Dragon had nothing left to do for a moment, so she leaned back like a willow on a breeze.

“No. This time’s not like last time; it’ll weigh on your body more,” Nidhogg said, rubbing her belly with care like a palm on warm clay.

“I don’t want you worn out. I can stir-fry the small stuff.”

“If you worry that much, you shouldn’t exhaust me every night,” Lilith snapped, cheeks blooming like peach petals under spring rain.

She kicked the Black Dragon out of the kitchen and slammed the door with a thump like a drum.

Leaning on the door, Lilith touched her flat belly; inside, a new life curled like a seed under dark soil.

She was ready to welcome her.

That bastard Nidhogg finally knew how to be gentle; since the Black Dragon’s apology came quick as a bowed head, the Little White Dragon decided to make her favorite side dish.

She kept vigil over the kitchen like a small hearth-god, and slowly brought forth a whole table of dishes that steamed like a little festival.

Nidhogg and Typhon ferried plates to the table, moving back and forth like diligent ants under sun.

Lilith cradled the fresh-braised stew, setting it at the center like a small sun.

She had just sat down when a knock sounded at the door, three taps like pebbles on a pond.

Lilith hurried over; the door swung open like a curtain, and Tartaros, Asterios, and Fafnir stood in a tidy row like pines.

“Hey, long time no see, Little White Dragon,” Fafnir said, smiling like a crescent moon.

“Long time, Fafnir, sir. Sorry I’ve slacked on Death Magic,” Lilith replied, eyes curving like crescents.

“No one makes a pregnant woman study Death Magic,” Asterios said, rapping her head lightly like a knuckle on a melon.

“Not at the door. Inside,” Tartaros cut in, steady as bedrock, and shepherded the bickering pair indoors like a calm shepherd.

Lilith led them to the living room; they ringed the table like stones around a fire.

Nidhogg and Typhon were already seated, backs straight as spears across from their teachers, barely daring to breathe like mice under an owl.

Seeing them so cowed, the Little White Dragon narrowed her eyes and smiled like a cat with cream.

“All right then. Let’s eat.”

When everyone was ready, she stood and lifted the lid of the braise; steam billowed like white banners, fragrance rolling out like a warm tide.

It hooked every appetite like a line in clear water.

The little dragon served each a bowl of rice, white as new snow, and watched them enjoy the feast she’d made like a farmer watching harvest.

Lilith picked up a piece of meat and slipped it into her mouth; juices burst like a small sun, and warmth spread like dawn.

So good.