The Silver Dragon King’s Palace was built on the highest peak of the Dragonrest Mountains.
From the outside, it was just a crack in the mountain wall, but walking inside, it opened up into a vast space.
The dome was so high the top was invisible.
The silver-white stone walls were embedded with luminous ore, like stars plucked from the sky and set into the walls.
The corridor was wide.
Every ten steps on either side stood a silver-white stone pillar, with silver-white magical flames at the top—cold but illuminating every corner.
Astrid sat in a chair by the living room window, wearing a silver-gray morning robe with the sash tied loosely.
Her silver hair hung loose to her waist.
In front of her was a low silver table with a tea set.
The Wuling black tea in the cup was steaming, the aroma rich.
The silver dragon maid Serena stood beside her, poised like a painting.
Astrid picked up the teacup, sniffed it, then set it down.
Her silver pupils narrowed slightly.
“Have both the Blue Dragon King and the Red Dragon Queen been notified?”
Serena bowed slightly.
“They have been notified. The Blue Dragon King will attend on time, and the Red Dragon Queen is very interested and will come in person.”
“And the Black Dragon King?”
Serena’s lashes fluttered.
“The Black Dragon King has matters to attend to. His attendant said His Highness is engaged in important magical research and cannot get away.”
“Magical research.”
Astrid’s lips curved, the arc clearly saying, ‘I heard that but I don’t believe it.’
“Since when did Mordred become interested in magic?”
Serena did not answer.
Astrid took a sip of tea, then leaned back in her chair.
The morning robe slipped off one shoulder, but she didn’t bother pulling it up.
“Ah, I feel like after little Olivia left, things have become much more boring.”
Serena shifted the position of her folded hands—she was a little nervous.
“I still love her angry face. So cute. Puffing out her cheeks, glaring, wanting to curse but not knowing what to say, finally choking out ‘old mother dragon.’ Don’t you think she’s adorable?”
Serena hesitated.
“Aren’t you worried about her?”
Astrid glanced at her, an expression not of worry but of something more complex.
“No need to worry. She’s already two years old.”
By dragon age, Olivia had been two years and three months since the day of her transformation, equivalent to a human child of seven or eight.
But her body was that of a twelve- or thirteen-year-old girl.
Her mentality… sometimes like a twenty-year-old man, sometimes like a twelve-year-old girl, sometimes like an angry cat.
“It’s time for her to go out and explore a bit.”
Astrid’s tone was light.
“When the time comes, she’ll realize that only by her mother’s side is true happiness.”
Serena said nothing, silently refilling the teacup with hot tea.
One year earlier.
Olivia’s bedroom was in the east wing of the palace, the only room not decorated in silver-white—the walls were painted light pink.
On the first day she woke up and saw the pink walls, she froze for three seconds, then turned to leave, only to be picked up by the collar from behind by Astrid and dragged back.
The curtains were white gauze printed with floral patterns.
The bed was white wrought iron, with a carved silver dragon spreading its wings at the headboard—she rolled her eyes every time she saw it.
The vanity was lined with bottles and jars; she had never used a single one, but the maids kept them neatly arranged.
The most incongruous items in the room were on the table: several sheets of Empire-produced industrial paper covered in mechanical drawings.
Straight lines, arcs, dimension markings, section lines—gear tooth profiles, spring coil counts, trigger force analysis.
The edges were crumpled, some spots erased by rubber.
Olivia sat at the table drawing a folding crossbow, which could normally be folded into a palm-sized square and hung on a belt, then expanded in five seconds by pressing a mechanism when needed.
She muttered while drawing:
“Old mother dragon… You undying old thing… Locking me in a pink cage… Making me wear dresses… When I escape, first thing I’ll do is paint all the walls black, second thing I’ll do is dismantle your silver throne and sell it for scrap…”
The pencil scratched on the paper, her complaints nonsensical, but the lines were precise and smooth.
“And the third thing is to take your two—”
“What are you drawing?”
A voice came from behind, laced with amusement, like a cat silently landing behind you and breathing into your ear.
Olivia’s pencil drew a long crooked line across the paper.
Her back stiffened, and she froze like a cat grabbed by the scruff.
“N-nothing.”
She flipped the paper over and pressed it down with her elbow, but her body was too small; the edges were visible on all sides.
“Let mother have a look.”
Astrid’s hand reached over from above her shoulder, slipping like a snake between her and the table.
Two fingers pinched the edge of the paper and gently pulled it out.
Olivia tried to press it down with her weight, but she was probably only a fifth of Astrid’s weight; the paper slipped out like a slippery fish.
She stood on the chair to barely reach Astrid’s eye level and reached out to grab it, but couldn’t.
“Give it back!” Her voice shot up an octave, cute and childish.
“Nice drawing.”
Astrid folded the paper into a square and tucked it into her robe pocket.
“I’ll take it.”
“That’s mine! Give it back!”
“Isn’t it time to sleep?”
Astrid’s tone was as if talking about something completely unrelated.
Through gritted teeth, Olivia said:
“Old mother dragon, you go to sleep yourself. Stop bothering me.”
The moment the words fell, Astrid’s eyebrow twitched—the gesture meaning “Okay, you asked for it.”
Olivia looked down and saw a red rope already around her wrist.
She was tied hand and foot, lying on the bed, swaying and almost falling off.
“Old mother dragon, what… what are you trying to do?”
Her voice trembled a little, about the same level of fear as seeing a spider crawl onto her pillow.
Astrid tilted her head, silver hair falling across her face, her lips and eyes curved, her whole face reading “loving mother”—but on a queen who was currently tying up her daughter, it looked very wrong.
“Since Olivia doesn’t want to sleep, then play a game with mother.”
“Mother, mother, I was wrong!”
The small pink carved door closed.
The light of magical flames flickered under the door crack, then dimmed.
“Don’t… there… no!…”
“No surrender accepted.”
(Then came a sound that couldn’t pass the review.)
After about ten minutes of fierce battle, the room quieted down.
The ropes had been undone.
Perhaps because Astrid had been too rough, Olivia was already lying on the bed with her eyes closed, breathing evenly.
“Sleep well.”
Astrid’s voice was very soft.
After an unknown amount of time, the sound of fabric rustling came from the darkness—
Olivia turned half a circle in her sleep, rolling from the left side of the bed to the middle, her face buried in the hollow between Astrid’s arm and shoulder, her arms wrapping around Astrid’s waist, and her legs hooking over.
Like hugging a huge, warm, soft-but-firm pillow.
Astrid’s eyes opened in the darkness, her silver pupils brightening for a moment before dimming.
She slowly lifted her arm, wrapped it around Olivia’s back, rested it on her shoulder blades, and gently patted twice.
Outside the window, the moon emerged from behind the clouds.
Silver-white moonlight filtered through the curtain gap and fell onto the bed.
Silver hair mixed together.
Light pink pajamas and silver-gray morning robe overlapped.
Two arms intertwined, like two trees growing together.
“Good night.”
She closed her eyes.
The breathing sounds of the two, one deep one shallow, one fast one slow, gradually merged into the same rhythm.
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