A tremor ran through Cactus’s scales, long after Sky’s accusation had faded into the echoing halls. Her words, sharp and cold, had pierced through his usual defenses, leaving a raw, exposed feeling he despised. Worse, the scroll’s image, that bizarre pattern radiating from the dragon, pulsed behind his eyelids. It was the same rhythm, the insidious hum that had been worming its way into his thoughts, making his scales prickle and his mind feel… not entirely his own. He had dismissed it as exhaustion, as the stress of a new academy, new dragons, new expectations. But the scroll. Sky’s accidental reveal had ripped a hole in his carefully constructed denial. This was real. This was something tangible, a pattern, a force. And it felt ancient, malevolent. His core wound, the gnawing fear of failing to protect, throbbed. He’d lost too much, too many times. This humming, this hidden pattern, felt like a creeping poison, a silent threat to the fragile peace of the academy, to every dragonet within its walls. He couldn’t let it fester. Through the remainder of his classes, a restless energy coiled in his gut. He feigned attention, offering charming smiles, but his mind raced. He replayed the incident, the specific lines of the drawing, the way the patterns seemed to vibrate on the old parchment. He needed to see it again. He needed to understand. Later, as the dining hall buzzed with the usual evening chaos, Cactus picked at his scavenging scraps. The cheerful chatter, the clatter of bowls, all seemed distant, muffled. He watched Clay, the MudWing head of the academy, lumbering around, a picture of genial strength. Could even a dragon like Clay miss something so insidious? Or was he, too, caught in its subtle influence? He spotted Clay’s gaze linger on a few female students, a soft, almost paternal look. Cactus felt a flicker of possessiveness, a strange, instinctual desire to shield them, even from perceived innocence. This hum, this pattern, felt like it preyed on vulnerability, on the very warmth of connection. Meal finished, he made his excuses, a quick, polite nod to his winglet-mates. His usual charm felt like a hollow shell tonight, but it worked. No one questioned his early departure. He needed to be alone. He needed to think. Darkness began to creep across the mountain, painting the peaks in deep indigo and purple. Cactus found a quiet alcove, watching the first stars prick the velvet sky. He closed his eyes, focusing. The hum was there, a low vibration deep in his mind, persistent, like a distant, hypnotic song. It wasn’t just in his head; it felt like it was woven into the very stone of the academy. A cold determination settled over him. He had to go back. Now. Before someone else found it, before the scroll could disappear, before the hum became too loud to ignore. --- Moonlight, stark and pale, streamed through the high windows of Jade Mountain Academy. Footfalls echoed unnaturally loud in the empty corridors. Cactus moved with the silent grace of a desert predator, his sandy scales blending into the shadows cast by ancient rock formations. Every shadow seemed to hold a secret, every gust of wind through a cracked windowpane a whispered warning. He felt a prickle along his spine. This wasn't just curiosity driving him. It was an instinct, a primal urgency. The hum, no longer distant, seemed to pulse from the very rock beneath his claws, a low, resonant thrum that vibrated through his chest. It felt like a heartbeat, or perhaps, something far more sinister. His gaze darted left and right, checking for any signs of patrol. The academy, usually bustling with life, felt abandoned, a hollow shell. Only the faint hoot of an owl from outside, and his own thumping heart, broke the silence. Rounding a corner, he saw the library entrance, a gaping maw of darkness. He paused, inhaling the cool, dusty air. The scent of old parchment, ancient knowledge, and something else… a faint, metallic tang. Or was that just his imagination, amplified by nerves? Slowly, he pushed through the heavy curtain that served as the library door. The air inside was still, heavy with the weight of countless scrolls and texts. Moonlight, filtered through the high, narrow windows, cast long, distorted shadows across the towering shelves. He scanned the familiar section, the corner where Sky’s tail had inadvertently revealed the truth. Relief, sharp and sudden, flooded him. The scroll was there, still lying on the stone table, undisturbed. It hadn't been put away, hadn't been taken. His lead was safe. He took a step forward, his claws scraping softly on the stone floor. Then he froze. Not alone. A dark shape was bent over the table, its back to him, entirely engrossed. A large, stocky form, a MudWing, with scales the color of rich, dark earth. Bog. His stomach lurched, a cold wave of possessive panic washing over him. Bog, the quiet, scholarly MudWing from his history class, was examining *his* scroll. Bog’s broad shoulders were hunched, his head lowered, his snout almost touching the ancient parchment. A low, murmuring sound emanated from him, as if he were whispering to the scroll itself. Cactus watched, unblinking, his heart hammering against his ribs. How long had Bog been here? What had he seen? What did he know? This was *his* discovery. This was *his* lead. Cactus felt a surge of protectiveness, not just for the secret, but for his chance to solve it, to prevent the looming threat. Bog was an unknown variable, a potential complication he couldn't afford. He couldn't let anyone else interfere. Not with something so vital. He watched Bog’s talons. Thick, powerful claws, usually used for digging in mud, now delicately traced the patterns on the scroll. The exact same rhythmic patterns that radiated from the dragon drawing. Bog wasn't just looking; he was feeling it, perhaps even understanding it. A shiver ran down Cactus's spine. Was Bog also hearing the hum? Was he part of this? Quietly, Cactus edged closer, keeping to the deepest shadows. His tail twitched, a nervous habit. He needed to get Bog away from that scroll. He needed to take control of the situation. His charm, his usual weapon, felt useless here, in the face of this silent, scholarly intrusion. Bog murmured again, a soft, almost reverent sound. His head lifted slightly, turning just enough for Cactus to catch the glint of his amber eye in the moonlight. Bog wasn't looking at him, not yet. He was looking at the scroll, a strange intensity on his usually placid face. His brow was furrowed, a deep concentration etched there, as if deciphering an ancient riddle. The rhythmic hum intensified, vibrating through Cactus’s very bones. It seemed to emanate directly from the scroll, passing through Bog, and then into the very air around them. It felt invasive, a presence in the quiet library, making the hairs on his neck stand on end. Cactus took a deep, steadying breath. He couldn't hide forever. He had to confront him. He stepped out of the shadow, a soft scrape of his claws on the stone floor. Bog stiffened, his head snapping up with surprising speed. His gaze, usually so mild and observant, fixed on Cactus with an unnerving intensity. “You feel it too, don't you? The whispers… they’re getting louder.”

Chapter 4: Secrets in the Dust