“Companions? You, of all creatures, have companions? Humans are reeds in the wind—companions and friends are just other names for weakness.”

“But you can’t deny it. Those ‘weak’ humans almost killed you, didn’t they?” Her words cut like cold rain on iron.

The Black Dragon let a sigh scrape its throat—thin as smoke, brief as winter sun. Anger burned red toward Night Frost, more than any regret. Night Frost spoke true; that swarm of fragile mortals had killed it, even if their means were stained.

Against Night Frost, the Black Dragon truly couldn’t press forward. It had nested in the heart for years like a coiled serpent under ice; its goal was resurrection, nothing else.

Resolve steadied Night Frost’s gaze, a blade of frost in dawn light. The Black Dragon wouldn’t gamble. Corner her, and its soul might die with hers, two sparks snuffed in one gust.

Its soul went still, like a shadow pinned under stone. Those dull golden eyes fixed on Night Frost. She understood—she’d slipped past this gate of the Black Dragon, for now.

She hadn’t lied. Since the last time it broke free, she’d carved a vow into her chest—if it would run wild and harm Chen Xiaoyin and the others, she’d end herself first. Let it never rise again.

Yet she couldn’t throw her life like a leaf into a storm. The dragon was right—before the goal was achieved, she refused to die. But if the moment came, with no other path and the Black Dragon poised to seize her body, she would die without looking back.

Night Frost’s spirit form drifted from the soul’s deep well, the place quiet as a winter lake. The Black Dragon was a ticking bomb buried in ice; to possess her before she acted, it had to stockpile power to break the crack that linked their two souls. Next time, it would strike with everything.

She had bluffed the dragon for now, like a candle fooling a tiger in tall grass. After that? One bluff doesn’t make two. Its spirit power grew daily like a rising tide; how could Night Frost stand still on the shore?

She had to prepare for the next attempt—build her spirit strength like stacking stones, or find a Magic Tool tied to mind or soul.

Her soul slid back into waking, like a diver breaking the skin of water. Her body felt weightless, hollow, a wobbling boat; spirit burn had drained her. It was a Black Dragon from Myth—its power was no small storm. Fighting it was climbing a sky of knives.

Mana answered when she called, a warm current threading her limbs. The float loosened its grip. She stood slowly. Her eyes fell on a blood-stained bath towel, red like autumn leaves. Kaneko stood there, embarrassed, holding two pads with helpless brows.

Night Frost looked to the source of Blood and her pupils shook like struck bells. She was a Magic Maiden—her cycle was something she could control. And she wasn’t in those days. How could it be?

She grabbed at a reason, thin but neat. Maybe the clash of minds with the Black Dragon made the body reel, so the cycle jumped ahead.

Mana pooled and curled through her body, a small whirl in her lower belly. She meant to steady the flow. But as mana circled the womb, a tearing pain came like a claw.

Thank the stars Kaneko pressed the pads in first. Otherwise, in that posture, Night Frost would’ve mopped the floor with herself.

Kaneko felt oddly reliable today, like a lantern in drizzle. When the cycle eased, Night Frost pushed hard, then sealed that damned channel, her will a snow seal on a stream. The stray Blood either left or rejoined the great circulation.

Afterward, Night Frost changed into pajamas. She tossed the stained dress and towel into the washer. Then she flicked a cleansing Magic Spell at herself—clumsy strokes, but she remembered the words, enough to work.

The landlady heard the bustle and opened the bedroom door, a smile like warm bread on her face. Girls bleed; it’s a tide they all know. Kaneko had said it came a few days early. Night Frost hadn’t seen it coming.

Kaneko said they’d searched the room for pads but found none, so she’d gone to borrow some from the landlady.

Night Frost gave an awkward smile, thin as paper. She’d thought mana could control the embarrassing days. Today, the body stabbed back.

Her face stayed pale, dawn ash on snow. Spirit strain and Blood loss had stripped her color. A night of rest should restore her seven or eight parts.

Back in the bedroom, Kaneko brewed brown sugar water, steam rising like morning mist. Her big brown eyes looked at Night Frost, soft and glistening. Night Frost’s heart unknotted; she didn’t refuse.

She didn’t like brown sugar water—it was sweet like syrup. But it sped recovery, and Kaneko asked with that gaze; she had no real reason to say no.

She drained the warm sweet cup in one go. Heat gathered in her belly like a small hearth. She felt better. It was likely the hot water doing the real work. Drink more heat; that was the quiet truth.

Kaneko turned in early. Night Frost laid plans, a map unrolling like a river. She’d learned her lesson. She needed District Twenty One, so she packed a map. Preparedness was a shield in rain.

If they followed the Old Woman, renting this place had no need; the Old Woman’s next mark was near the northern tech park, while they were on the south side like two stars far apart.

The Seeker Tower was a no-go. Night Frost didn’t want to abandon this rental either; the ink was dry on the contract. She searched the board, finding no better move.

Split routes with the Old Woman? No chance. That would make Night Frost a clown chasing rooms. Maybe this place could be a perch for Zhao Qingsnow. Not a loss, then.

Midnight came like ink poured over rooftops. She opened the curtain. Almost no windows still held light. At the front door, a key clicked in the lock, and the security door swung open.

If Night Frost guessed right, the husband had come home. Through the crack, she saw a tired face and heavy dark circles, lashes like wilted grass. The whip of the workplace had driven him to overtime this late.

His suit was wrinkled like crumpled parchment. He hung his briefcase on the rack. Jacket off, he staggered toward the bathroom, one step like a sway in wind.

Water hissed from the showerhead, rain in a tin roof. He washed quick. The landlady warmed the afternoon’s dishes, heat ghosting up like a gentle fog. He sat and ate his wife’s small feast.

He grumbled about his boss, a machine without a heart. The first draft had been approved, yet he was forced to revise many times. A task meant to end by evening had been dragged past midnight.

He sipped his wine, a bitter river in a small cup. He sighed. If he’d refused the job, maybe he’d be home earlier. He looked at his wife and the baby in her arms. Worth it, he thought, like carrying fire through snow.

He straightened a little, shoulders back like a drawn bow.

He asked about the rental in the day. The landlady shared Night Frost’s details. He nodded. This month, they could breathe, a shallow tide easing off stones.

“Tomorrow, go buy two good dishes. Let’s host them well,” he said, voice warm as tea. “We’ll live with them for a while. Times are tight, but guests shouldn’t be shorted.”

He cleared his bowl, clean as a polished moon. He pinched the baby’s cheek, then tapped his wife’s face, gentle as a feather.

“I’m turning in. I still have work tomorrow, and I should head out early.” His words fell like soft rain.

They were good people, this pair. Night Frost felt a small ache of gratitude. Plans might need to wait a day. They wanted to welcome her and Kaneko properly. If Night Frost left, she’d waste their kindness like bread going stale.

Zhao Qingsnow and the Old Woman slid in through the window, shadows cutting the night. Night Frost briefed Zhao Qingsnow, then went to wash.

After washing, Night Frost tucked the map away. With only one double bed in the room, she had to share with Kaneko. Pain still pricked her lower belly like a thorn, but sleep came all the same.

Morning knocked on the door, a soft drum with knuckles. The sound woke Night Frost. She opened her eyes, brushed off Kaneko draped over her like a sleepy cat, and pulled the door open.

The landlady stood calm outside, quiet as a garden. She’d heard the footsteps and stopped knocking.

Night Frost rubbed her bleary eyes, a smear of haze over pupils. Tiredness lay on her shoulders like damp wool. The landlady wore an apron. From the opened door, the scents drifted in—milk and toasted bread, light and warm. Breakfast would be handmade.

Night Frost had tried to keep the landlady from making breakfast, but warmth rolls like a tide. The landlady’s kindness was a sun she couldn’t eclipse. By the time Night Frost woke, everything was set.

“Didn’t we say we’d buy our own breakfast?” Night Frost asked, voice thin but fond.

The landlady’s gentle smile was hard to refuse, a lantern in dawn mist.

“It’s fine. First day, try my cooking. Later you can eat out. Food outside can be late every day,” she joked, sweetness like honey, not cloying.

Night Frost didn’t refuse. She didn’t wake Kaneko. Children sleeping more is normal as rain in spring. Night Frost went to taste the landlady’s craft alone. Sleeping late meant Kaneko missed a small blessing.

Breakfast was milk, eggs, and toasted bread, a simple trio. Night Frost looked around—no toaster or oven. The bread must have kissed a skillet, oil shimmering like sunrise.

That kind of bread comes out with a little oil fragrance, edges crisp like thin ice. Add eggs, lettuce, and salad dressing; together they make a neat morning delight.

After eating, Night Frost told the landlady the day’s route and asked which nearby park felt best underfoot.

The landlady naturally picked the park close to their home, a choice with a small, quiet thought behind it.

Night Frost smiled and nodded, seeing the thought like a thread in cloth. The pick was not too near, not too far, and well-known. Night Frost and Kaneko wouldn’t come back too late. They could still meet the husband, for the welcome meal.

They talked, drifting like leaves through an hour. Then Night Frost went to wake Kaneko.

Kaneko rushed to the washroom, water pattering. She realized she’d overslept. She bit the bread from the table in a hurry and tugged Night Frost out the door. Hard to believe that was done in minutes, swift as a gust.

The landlady watched them leave, eyes shining like morning dew. She seemed to recall her own youth, a memory soft as worn silk. She looked down at the child in her arms, light pooling in her gaze.

It was a long time ago.