7th Dragon Link

A seventh chord. Unresolved.

The sky over Tokyo hadn’t been blue in eleven years. 7th dragon

“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.” A seventh chord

You came, a voice said — not aloud, but behind her eyes. The seventh children. The ones who carry my cousins inside your chests. “You’re thinking too loud,” said Itsuki, her partner,

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.

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.