Cold, unyielding stone met Cactus's claws. He pressed a talon against Moonwatcher's cheek, feeling the rough, granular texture where soft, warm scales had been just moments ago. Her eyes, once pools of midnight mystery, stared blankly, obsidian spheres holding no light, no recognition. The glowing symbol on her neck pulsed faintly, a cruel, mocking heartbeat. Every breath became a jagged shard in his chest. Helplessness clawed at him, a familiar, agonizing sensation. He'd sworn to protect her, to never let anything touch her. Yet, here she was, lost to him, a monument to his failure. Panic erupted. A piercing shriek tore through the usually placid halls of Jade Mountain Academy. Then another. And another. Distant thumps echoed, growing closer, the sound of bodies hitting stone, or perhaps, of dragons turning to stone mid-flight. Students scrambled, their fear a palpable wave. Dust, fine and gray, began to settle in the air, stirring from unknown sources, clinging to scales and vision. Dragons stumbled, their movements sluggish, their scales dulling, cracking. A young SkyWing collapsed in the corridor, limbs freezing mid-stride, a look of pure terror etched into his now-hardened face. Cactus watched, a cold dread seeping into his bones. This wasn't just Moonwatcher. It was spreading. Fast. His mind raced, fragmented thoughts like shattered glass. Who could do this? What was happening? Trust. He needed to trust someone, but the word tasted like ash on his tongue. Every time he’d leaned on others, he’d paid a price. Every time he’d opened himself up, he’d been burned. He was alone in this, always had been. This burden, this crushing weight of responsibility, was his and his alone. Moonwatcher's still form anchored him. Her eyes, even in stone, seemed to plead. His love for her, fierce and unyielding, was the only thing cutting through the paralyzing dread, through the ingrained distrust that screamed at him to retreat, to hide, to save himself. But he couldn't. Not when it was *her*. Answers. He needed answers. Desperate, he scanned his memory. Ancient texts, old scrolls, whispers from the elder dragons. Something about the IceWings. Their history, their deep knowledge of ancient magic, their isolation. Queen Glacier. She was rumored to possess libraries of forbidden lore, a repository of knowledge kept secret from the other tribes. It was a long shot, a frantic, desperate hope, but it was all he had. He had to try. For Moonwatcher. For every dragon now falling victim to this silent, stony plague. He would not fail again. --- Pushing past the petrified forms, past the terrified, fleeing students, Cactus launched himself into the sky. The academy, usually a vibrant hum of life, was now a scene of silent horror, scattered statues marking the paths of lost lives. The air grew thicker with the fine obsidian dust, glinting ominously under the waning afternoon sun. His powerful SandWing wings beat a steady rhythm, eating up the miles between the mountains and the frozen north. The familiar warmth of the desert faded behind him, replaced by a biting wind that carried the scent of ice and snow. His scales, usually so suited to heat, prickled with the cold, a stark reminder of the alien territory he was entering. He flew without rest, his mind a whirlwind of fear and determination. Moonwatcher. Her image was burned into his mind, the cold stone a constant accusation. He recalled her gentle smile, the way her eyes would crinkle when she laughed, the soft touch of her wing against his. That was the Moonwatcher he knew, the dragon he would fight the world to save. Doubts gnawed at him. What if Glacier refused him? What if she had no answers? What if this was all a fool's errand, leading him further from a solution, further from Moonwatcher? His ingrained distrust, a deep-seated part of his nature, whispered insidious suggestions. *No one cares as much as you do. They'll just use you. Turn your back, and they'll strike.* He’d seen it before, felt the sting of betrayal. But this was different. This wasn't about him. It was about *them*. All of them. And Moonwatcher. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, heavy as a boulder. He was not just a SandWing now. He was a vessel for hope, a desperate plea for survival. He felt the immense pressure, the potential for catastrophic failure, but still, he pressed on. There was no other choice. Hours blurred into a grueling flight. The landscape below transformed from jagged peaks to vast, icy plains. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in frigid hues of violet and steel gray. Stars, sharp and numerous, glittered in the frigid night, their cold light offering little comfort. Finally, on the distant horizon, the jagged, crystalline spires of the IceWing stronghold appeared. It wasn't a natural formation. It was carved, sculpted from ice and rock, a fortress against the elements and, perhaps, against the outside world. Towers of brilliant white and pale blue ice pierced the sky, reflecting the starlight with an almost ethereal glow. A shiver, unrelated to the cold, ran down his spine. Cactus descended, his wings cupping the air, slowing his approach. The air here was thin, crisp, burning his lungs with every breath. He landed softly on a barren expanse of packed snow, a respectful distance from the towering walls. The silence was profound, broken only by the whistling wind. He took a steadying breath, his heart thrumming a frantic rhythm against his ribs. This was it. His last, best hope.

Whispers of Obsidian Dust