The walk to the Prey Center was a blur of jostling scales and cacophonous chatter. Moon had offered to guide me, her presence a quiet anchor in the swirling chaos of dragonets. Kinkajou, of course, had bounced along beside us, her scales a vibrant, almost painful, fuchsia-and-orange as she pointed out every passing dragon. "Oh, look! That's a Gold Winglet SkyWing! And there's a Silver Winglet MudWing! Do you think they're friends? They look like they're arguing about something important, don't they?" Her voice was a constant, chirping stream, and I found myself bracing for each new exclamation. Qibli had fallen in beside me, his presence less overwhelming than Kinkajou's, but no less observant. "So, Cactus," he'd begun, his voice a low, conversational rumble that cut through the din. "First impressions of Jade Mountain? Besides the obvious 'too many dragons, not enough sand' observation, of course." He'd flashed a quick, knowing grin, as if he'd already read my mind. I'd grunted, my gaze sweeping over the various tribes. "Loud," I'd offered, which was an understatement of monumental proportions. The sheer volume of sound was a physical assault, a constant pressure against my eardrums. In the desert, silence was a companion, broken only by the whisper of wind or the rustle of a scorpion. Here, silence felt like a forgotten language. "You'll get used to it," Moon had murmured, her silver teardrop scales catching the light. "Or you'll learn to tune it out. Most of us do." She'd glanced at me, a flicker of something unreadable in her dark eyes. I wondered again if she was trying to peer into my thoughts, but I kept my mental walls firmly in place. It was a habit born of necessity, honed over years of solitude. Winter, predictably, had lagged behind, his frosty snorts occasionally audible above the general din. He clearly found the entire situation beneath him, his wings held stiffly, his tail dragging slightly as if to emphasize his reluctance. Turtle, meanwhile, had practically vanished into the crowd, his quiet nature making him almost invisible amidst the boisterous dragonets. Finally, the tunnel opened into a cavern even larger than the main entrance hall. This was the Prey Center, and it was a spectacle unlike anything I had ever witnessed. The air here was thick with a thousand different smells: roasted boar, fresh fish, the sweet tang of berries, the earthy scent of roots, and the unmistakable, slightly metallic aroma of fresh blood. It was a primal symphony of sustenance, overwhelming and utterly alien to a dragon accustomed to hunting his own meals in the vast, empty desert. Long, rough-hewn tables, carved directly from the cave stone, stretched across the cavern. They were laden with an astonishing array of food. Whole roasted animals—boars, deer, goats—lay steaming on platters. Piles of glistening fish, still smelling of the ocean, were stacked high. Baskets overflowed with fruits and vegetables in every color imaginable. It was a feast fit for a queen, or perhaps an entire army. And judging by the ravenous expressions on the faces of the dragonets already digging in, it was about to be devoured. The noise level here was even higher than in the tunnels. Roars of laughter, the clatter of talons on stone, the tearing of meat, the slurping of water, and the constant, overlapping chatter of hundreds of dragons. It was a beautiful, terrifying chaos. I felt the familiar thump-thump beneath my talons, a steady counterpoint to the pandemonium above. It was still there, a deep, resonant hum that seemed to mock the superficiality of the scene. It was a reminder that beneath all this noise and feasting, the mountain held its own secrets, its own rhythm. "Find a seat, everyone!" Clay's booming voice cut through the din, though he sounded less overwhelmed now, more like a dragon in his natural element. He was standing near a particularly large roasted boar, gesturing expansively. "There's plenty for everyone! And remember, no fighting over the last scavenger!" Kinkajou, already a blur of motion, darted towards a table where a few other RainWings were gathered. "See you later!" she chirped, her scales flashing bright green with excitement as she joined her tribe-mates. Qibli nudged me with his snout. "Well, Cactus, looks like it's every dragon for himself. Unless you want to sit with the IceWing over there?" He gestured with his chin towards Winter, who had found a solitary corner and was meticulously dissecting a fish, his expression as frozen as his breath. I glanced at Winter. The thought of sharing a meal with him, after our earlier exchange, was about as appealing as a mouthful of sand. "I think I'll pass," I said dryly. "I prefer my meals without a side of frostbite." Qibli chuckled. "Wise choice. Come on, let's see if we can find a spot that isn't already claimed by a particularly territorial MudWing." He led the way, weaving through the throng of dragons with an easy grace, his tail flicking occasionally to avoid a stray wing or snout. We found a relatively quiet spot near the edge of the cavern, close to a small waterfall that emptied into a clear pool. The sound of the rushing water provided a welcome, albeit slight, dampening of the noise. Moon joined us, settling down with a quiet sigh, her eyes scanning the room with that familiar, thoughtful intensity. "So, what's your poison?" Qibli asked, gesturing to the spread of food. "Or rather, your prey? I'm a fan of anything that doesn't try to bite back, personally. Though a good scorpion is always a treat." He winked, and I felt a faint, almost imperceptible twitch of my own tail barb. A fellow SandWing, even one who clearly hadn't spent his life in the harsh realities of the desert, understood the allure of a scorpion. I surveyed the offerings. My stomach rumbled, a deep, unfamiliar growl. It had been a long journey, and my last meal had been a tough desert lizard days ago. My eyes settled on a particularly plump roasted goat. "Goat," I decided, my voice a low rumble. "And some of those red berries." Qibli nodded approvingly. "Excellent choice. I'll grab us some. Moon? Anything for you?" Moon shook her head. "I'm not very hungry right now. Thank you, Qibli." He shrugged, then effortlessly navigated the crowd to the food tables, returning a moment later with a whole roasted goat in his talons and a pile of berries. He placed the goat between us, then nudged a few berries towards Moon. "Just in case," he said with a smile. I tore into the goat, the rich, savory meat a welcome change from my usual diet. It was cooked perfectly, tender and juicy, and I found myself eating with a ferocity I hadn't realized I possessed. The desert had taught me to eat quickly, efficiently, never knowing when the next meal would come. Here, surrounded by abundance, the habit felt almost uncivilized. As I ate, I watched the other dragons. A group of MudWings were having a wrestling match over a particularly large fish, their scales caked with mud and laughter. A pair of SkyWings were engaged in a loud, boisterous argument about who could fly faster. A SeaWing was showing off his bioluminescent patterns to a fascinated group of RainWings, his scales flashing in intricate, mesmerizing sequences. It was a vibrant, living tapestry of tribes, all thrown together in this strange, subterranean school. And I, Cactus, the lone SandWing with a scar and a secret, was now a part of it. "You're very quiet," Moon observed softly, pulling me from my observations. She was nibbling on a few berries, her gaze still sweeping the cavern. "I'm observing," I replied, wiping a bit of grease from my snout with the back of my talon. "It's... a lot to take in. Different from the desert." "I can imagine," she said, a hint of understanding in her voice. "It must be quite a change. But I think you'll find it's a good place, once you get used to it." "Or once I figure out what's making the mountain hum," I muttered, almost to myself. But Moon's head tilted slightly, her eyes meeting mine. "The humming?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "You hear it too?" I froze, a piece of goat meat halfway to my mouth. My scales bristled. "You... you hear it?" My seismic sensitivity was my secret, my quirk, something I had always assumed was unique to me. The idea that someone else, especially a NightWing, could perceive it was unsettling. Moon hesitated, glancing around as if to ensure no one else was listening. "Sometimes," she admitted, her voice even softer. "A faint thrumming. Like a heartbeat, deep inside the mountain. I thought it was just me. Or maybe... a dream." Qibli, who had been listening intently, leaned forward, his eyes alight with curiosity. "A humming? What are you two talking about? Is this some secret NightWing-SandWing code I'm not privy to? Because I'm excellent at codes. And secrets." I looked at Moon, then back at Qibli. The SandWing's sharp mind was already piecing things together. My instinct was to deny it, to dismiss it as nothing. But Moon's quiet admission had opened a door I hadn't realized was there. "It's a vibration," I explained, choosing my words carefully. "A low, rhythmic pulse. I feel it through the stone. It's been there since I arrived. Stronger in some places than others. I thought it was just the mountain settling." "But it's not," Moon finished, her eyes wide. "It's too regular. Too... alive." Qibli's tail flicked, a sign of his heightened interest. "A vibration, huh? And only you two can hear/feel it? Fascinating. Could be anything. Geological anomaly. Underground river. Or, you know, a giant sleeping monster. This is Jade Mountain, after all. It's practically begging for a good mystery." Winter, who had apparently finished his fish and decided to grace us with his presence, stalked over, his expression as sour as ever. "What's all this nonsense about humming? Are you two trying to scare the new dragonet with ghost stories?" He glared at me, then at Moon. "Or are you just making things up for attention?" "We're not making anything up, Winter," Moon said, her voice firm. "Cactus feels it, and sometimes I hear it. It's real." Winter snorted. "Right. And I suppose you'll be telling us the mountain is haunted next. Honestly, some dragons will believe anything." He turned to me, his blue eyes cold. "Don't let them fill your head with rubbish, SandWing. This academy has enough problems without imaginary hums." I met his gaze, my own amber eyes unwavering. "It's not imaginary, IceWing. It's real. And I intend to find out what it is." My tail barb gave another twitch, a silent promise. The thump- thump beneath my talons felt stronger now, a challenge. This mountain had a pulse, and I was going to discover its secret. And perhaps, in doing so, I might just find my own place within its ancient, echoing walls. The Prey Center, with all its noise and chaos, suddenly felt like a prelude to something far more significant. My first meal at Jade Mountain Academy was over, but the real hunt had just begun. I had found my seat at the table, but the table itself was shaking. And I was the only one who truly felt it.

Prey Center Etiquette