Dragon's Favor
Sae-sae
December 19th, 3025
The greenhouse smells like damp earth and sharp green things, a warm pocket carved out of the blizzard’s howl. Agatha and I kneel side by side in the soft soil, our knees sinking into the wool pad she dragged over from the potting bench. Outside, wind screams against the glass panes, snow piling in drifts that blur the village into a white smudge. Inside, it’s quiet: just the snip of her shears, the trickle of water from the can, and the faint, steady tick of the clock on the wall.
“These tomatoes need thinning,” Agatha says, tucking an errant lock of hair back into her kerchief. The she clips a suckling stem with careful precision, her fingers stained green at the tips. “Mother always says too many promises on one vine means none ripen true.”
I nod, pinching off a leaf from my cucumber row. The plant curls toward me like it knows I’m here, vines twisting gentle. “Cucumbers are sneakier. They hide their flowers until the last second, then bam—too many at once.”
Agatha chuckles, soft and low, the sound almost lost in the storm’s muffled roar.
We work in easy rhythm, soil cool under my fingers, the can’s water warm from sitting by the heater. It’s nice. Simple. The kind of morning where the world feels small and safe, just us and the plants and the faint steam rising from the tea mugs on the bench.
But inside my head, it’s not so quiet.
Something’s wrong. Has been for a week, maybe longer. A hollow feeling, like the lake’s gone still in the deep places. I keep thinking about the shards—the ones who came to the surface, one by one, with their answers that weren’t answers. Clara’s hug. Lily’s desk. Lunara’s salute. Sylvara’s books. Zindzi’s tower. Evelyn’s chessboard. Their voices echo funny now, like they’re underwater, getting farther.
Now, with the storm battering the glass like it’s angry we’re inside, the emptiness tugs harder. Like pieces of me—of us—are missing. What if they’re… gone? What if Mei Shadowsoul is hunting not just Lanissae, but all of us?
Agatha clips another stem. “You’re quiet today, little one.”
I force a splash of water from my fingertips, letting it arc into the can like a tiny fountain. “I have an ominous feeling I can’t shake.”
The shadow of a cat flickers at the greenhouse door. Black as spilled ink, sleek and silent, slipping through the crack under the door like smoke. It pads across the stone floor, making no sound, two tails swaying in lazy rhythm. Agatha freezes, shears halfway to a leaf. “That cat… it has two—”
The cat rears up, stretching tall and thin, fur melting into gown and skin. Mei Shadowsoul stands there, petite and doll-perfect, black hair bleeding into gloom, red cat-eyes gleaming like fresh blood on snow. Tails flick behind her, ears forward, fixed on us. Her smile is wide, fangs glinting.
Fear crashes over me like a wave I didn’t see coming. Not my fear—Lanissae’s. The memory slams in: hunted through snow, claws at her throat, the Reaper’s purr echoing in endless white. My water surges, unbidden, splashing the soil into mud. I scramble back, heart pounding like a trapped fish.
Agatha’s hand clamps my wrist, pulling me up. “Stay behind me!”
Mei tilts her head, tails curling. “Protecting one of your little friends, modest one? How noble.”
Agatha steps forward, putting herself between us. “Why? She’s just a child.”
Mei’s laugh is silk over knives. “Zindzi Aquavance, High Priestess of Mkhulu’zulu, granted me the final Authority. All shards of the ancient murderer Leslie Jones are mine to reap.”
Agatha’s grip tightens on my wrist. “Leslie Jones? Who did she murder?”
Mei’s eyes narrow to slits. “Her own unborn daughter. Because she was inconvenient.”
The words hit like ice water. Agatha inhales sharp, but her voice stays steady. “God forgives all sins, if the sinner repents.”
Mei scoffs, stepping closer, claws glinting. “She regrets her wickedness, but has not repented of it. The wages of sin are due.”
Agatha squares her shoulders, still blocking me. “Then go through me first.”
Mei’s grin turns fiendish, tails lashing. “My orders are one major prize per day. If you are offering yourself as prey I will gladly let her go.”
Agatha’s hand squeezes mine, hard enough to bruise if I wasn’t made of sturdier stuff. “Go, little one. Now.”
I hesitate, water coiling at my feet, but she shoves me toward the door. My legs move on their own, stumbling over pots, edging back as Agatha faces the Reaper alone.
Mei lunges, sickle arcing silver.
Agatha’s pearl necklace flares—blinding white, a sunburst in the greenhouse gloom. The air cracks like thunder, and Madeline materializes between them: draconic maid in scandalous ice-silk, pearl in her forehead pulsing, knife already drawn. The blade meets Mei’s sickle in a shower of sparks, the greenhouse shaking as they clash.
I hit the door, fumbling the latch. Glass shatters behind me. The fight is spilling out into the blizzard, wind howling through the frame. I risk one look back: Mei’s claws rake air, Madeline’s knife a blur of frost and fury. Auqdrolong’s shadow looms in the storm, massive and plotting, sapphire scales glinting as she circles the fray.
The door bangs open. Snow swallows me whole.
I don’t wait to see who wins. Water surges, portal ripping open in a whirl of foam and salt. The greenhouse vanishes; I tumble into Lanissae’s grotto, collapsing on the lily-pad mats, chest heaving.