Itsuki’s song faltered. Kiri drew her blade. The dragon didn’t attack. It uncoiled slowly, placed one clawed hand on the piano keys, and played a single, perfect note.
The nest opened into an old concert hall. Chairs were overturned. The stage lights still worked, casting dusty beams onto the floor. And there, coiled around the grand piano, was the True Dragon. 7th dragon
You came, a voice said — not aloud, but behind her eyes. The seventh children. The ones who carry my cousins inside your chests. Itsuki’s song faltered
“Don’t listen,” Kiri whispered.
They moved in silence after that. Through the skeleton of a department store, past a vending machine that still hummed faintly, through a subway entrance where the lights flickered like dying heartbeats. The dragon smell grew stronger — sulfur, copper, and something sweet, like rotten honey. It uncoiled slowly, placed one clawed hand on