“Small True Dragon,” Kiri repeated dryly. “As if there’s such a thing.”
The sky over Tokyo hadn’t been blue in eleven years. 7th dragon
It was smaller than she expected. Sleek. Opalescent scales that shifted from blue to violet to black. Its eyes were human-shaped, which was the worst part. It tilted its head and let out a low, curious trill. “Small True Dragon,” Kiri repeated dryly
“Don’t listen,” Kiri whispered.
“You’re thinking too loud,” said Itsuki, her partner, sliding down from a collapsed overpass. He carried a scratched electric guitar instead of a rifle. Some hunters sang. The sound waves disrupted the dragons’ sensory pits. Music was a weapon here — lullabies turned into sonic blades, folk songs tuned to the frequency of scales. “The nest is two blocks east. Three Fafnirs, maybe a small True Dragon.” It tilted its head and let out a low, curious trill