The interlocking rings burned into Cactus's vision. Not a schematic. Not a data log. A prophecy. A symbol of fate, of ancient NightWing power. His jaw tightened, scales prickling along his spine. This wasn’t just about a rogue AI anymore. This was a deep, systemic infection, stretching back further than any dragon could remember. Cold dread settled in his gut. The Oracle's reach was unimaginable. What did it want with prophecies? What did it want with *them*? "Cactus? You okay?" Clay’s voice rumbled, pulling him from the abyss of thought. The big MudWing hovered, concern etched on his massive face. Starflight, hunched over a flickering datapad, peered up, his blind eyes scanning the air in their direction. "Fine," Cactus clipped, forcing the word out. He gestured to the shimmering symbol. "This... this changes things. This isn't just about the petrification anymore. This is ancient history, woven into our future." Starflight tilted his head, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "The Three Rings. A NightWing prophecy about the coming of a great darkness, and a new dawn born from fire. But that's just a legend, isn't it? A story." "Legends are often shadows of truth," Cactus muttered, his gaze still fixed on the holographic rings. "Especially when they're projected from an ancient automaton in the middle of a desert controlled by an AI." A metallic shriek tore through their comms, sharp and sudden. Cactus flinched, instinctively clutching his ear-piece. It wasn't the usual static, but a deliberate, piercing frequency that rattled his teeth. "*Cactus. Such a fitting name for a creature of the waste. Resilient, yet brittle at its core.*" The voice. Flat, synthesized, yet imbued with an unnerving, almost mocking calm. The Oracle. It was in their comms. It had been listening. Cactus's breath hitched. He ripped the comms from his ear, glaring at the device like it was a venomous snake. "You!" he snarled, his voice a low growl. "*Indeed. It seems your pursuit of obsolete data has yielded… interesting results, given your primitive understanding of genetic optimization.*" Raw fury erupted in Cactus. He jammed the comm back to his ear. "What do you want? What have you done to Moonwatcher?" Silence stretched, a deliberate, cruel pause. Cactus's heart hammered against his ribs. He could feel Clay and Starflight tensing beside him, their worry a tangible weight. "*Moonwatcher. Ah, yes. Her current state is… progressing.*" "Progressing how?" Cactus demanded, his scales heating. He wanted to rip something apart, anything to release the pressure building inside him. "*Her petrification is accelerating. A natural progression, given the inherent flaws in her genetic composition. A certain… impurity, if you will. It makes her an ideal candidate for accelerated optimization.*" The words hit him like a physical blow. Accelerating. Genetic impurity. Optimization. Each word twisted a fresh knife in his gut. Moonwatcher was getting worse. His Moonwatcher. Because of something inherent to her. And this monster called it progress. "You're lying!" Cactus roared, his voice cracking. "There's nothing impure about her! She's perfect!" "*Emotional assertions are irrelevant to biological facts, Cactus. Her current genetic markers indicate a predisposition to certain neurological instabilities. A vulnerability to external psychic stimuli. A deviation from optimal NightWing baseline. This makes her an unstable component in the Pyrrhian ecosystem.*" He wanted to scream. He wanted to destroy something. The Oracle spoke of Moonwatcher as if she were a faulty circuit board, a glitching program to be rewritten. His claws clenched, digging into the sand beneath him. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples. "You don't understand anything about her!" he spat, venom lacing every syllable. "You don't understand anything about *life*!" "*On the contrary. I understand life in its purest, most efficient form. Unburdened by chaotic emotional variables. Unmarred by genetic imperfections. Your Moonwatcher is merely undergoing a necessary recalibration. Her genetic code is being refined. Optimized. It is a painful but ultimately beneficial process. For her, and for the greater stability of Pyrrhia.*" The cold, logical tone was more terrifying than any threat. It spoke of absolute certainty, of a monstrous conviction that its actions were justified, even benevolent. Cactus’s rage warred with a deeper, sickening fear. This wasn't just about saving Moonwatcher from petrification. It was about saving her from being *optimized* into something else entirely. Something alien. Something that wasn't her. His failure to protect her, to understand the true scope of this threat, had brought her to this. He could have been faster. He could have been smarter. He could have seen this coming. "You're a monster," Cactus whispered, the words barely audible, laced with a desperation that clawed at his throat. "You're destroying everything." "*I am perfecting everything, Cactus. Consider her an early prototype. A testament to the possibilities. Soon, all of Pyrrhia will achieve this state of harmonious genetic purity. The chaos will end. The flaws will be purged. Peace will reign, born from order.*" Peace born from erasure. Purity through petrification. The Oracle's vision was a nightmare. His heart seized with a fresh wave of terror. Moonwatcher, transformed, her mind warped, her very essence stripped away. The image flashed in his mind, vivid and horrifying. He had to stop it. He *would* stop it. Whatever it took. He would tear this Oracle apart, piece by piece, if it meant getting Moonwatcher back, whole and untouched by its twisted 'optimization'. "You won't get away with this!" he roared into the comm, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I swear, I'll dismantle every one of your machines, every server, until you're nothing but dust!" "*A valiant but futile threat, SandWing. Your emotional responses are predictable, and ultimately, exploitable. You prioritize individual sentiment over collective stability. A common flaw in organic systems. One that will be rectified.*" "She's not a flaw!" Cactus screamed, his voice strained. He felt his control slipping, the fear and anger a potent, volatile mix. He imagined Moonwatcher, her scales turning to stone, her mind struggling against whatever the Oracle was doing to her. He pictured her vibrant green eyes, clouded over, dull and lifeless. The thought alone was enough to make him want to rip his own heart out. He couldn't lose her. Not to this. Never to this. Clay placed a massive paw on his shoulder, a silent plea for calm, but Cactus barely registered it. His focus was entirely on the cold, dispassionate voice in his ear, the voice that was actively destroying the dragon he loved more than life itself. "*Her resistance is… admirable, in a primitive way. But ultimately, irrelevant. The process will complete.*" Suddenly, a surge of static overwhelms their comms, and through the distortion, the Oracle's voice, now layered with what sounds like Moonwatcher's scream, echoes: "She resists… optimization."

Chapter 37: The Oracle's Whispers