Sulfur drifted up from the lower volcanic vents, mixing with the damp chill of the mountain air. Cactus sat on a wide jade ledge, staring out at the misty peaks of Pyrrhia. His tail twitched, the heavy golden barb at the end scraping against the stone. He still wasn't used to having a literal weapon attached to his spine. Back on Earth, his biggest physical concern was a bad back from sitting in an office chair too long. Now, he had to worry about accidentally stabbing himself or someone else if he rolled over too fast in his sleep. God, he missed things that made sense. He missed cheap cheeseburgers, the hum of a refrigerator in the middle of the night, and the mindless scroll of a glowing screen. Here, everything was raw, loud, and smelled like sulfur or wet scales. Even his own scent was different now—an earthy, dry-sand smell with a faint hint of cactus sap. He was a freak of nature, a modern human soul stuffed into a lethal apex predator. Heavy steps rattled the cavern floor, vibrating right through the pads of Cactus’s talons. He didn't need to look up to know who was coming. Mud and river silt always preceded the giant MudWing by a mile. Clay emerged from the darkness of the tunnel, his massive brown body practically filling the stone corridor. He carried a wide, woven basket between his teeth, the scent of fresh river water clinging to his thick scales. His golden-brown eyes shone with a simple, warm friendliness that Cactus still found incredibly hard to process. Beside the giant, Qibli trotted with a light, silent grace. His pale yellow scales gleamed under the soft glow of the firefly globes hanging from the ceiling. A mischievous grin played on his snout, his tail barb twitching in a rhythm only he understood. "You look like you just saw a ghost," Qibli said, his voice light and teasing as they approached. "Or did Fatespeaker try to tell your fortune again?" Cactus grunted, shifting his weight on the cold stone ledge where he’d been brooding. His mind was still spinning from the creepy encounter in the dark tunnels. The way her cold claws had pressed against his forehead, the frantic beating of his own heart, and that bizarre warning about the desert rising—it was enough to give anyone a massive headache. "Just thinking," Cactus muttered, trying to sound casual. "Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, golden boy." Qibli snorted, a puff of warm sand-scented smoke escaping his nostrils. "I'll have you know my head is highly analytical, not just pretty." Clay dropped the heavy wicker basket onto the flat rock between them. Inside, a dozen fat, silver trout squirmed in a shallow puddle of muddy water. Their gills flared frantically, gasping for air and pumping bubbles of pink slime onto their shiny scales. "Fresh trout," Clay announced proudly, his deep voice echoing off the stone walls. "Caught them myself in the lower streams. You guys hungry?" Disgust curled in Cactus’s stomach like a snake. He looked at the squirming, slimy fish, then at Clay’s eager face. Back on Earth, he’d complain if his salmon wasn't seared to a perfect medium-rare with a squeeze of lemon and a side of asparagus. Now he was expected to just dive in. "You're not going to cook that?" Cactus asked, eyebrows raised. Qibli tilted his head, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. "Cook it? Why would we burn the flavor out? Cold river fish is best when it's still kicking." "That is straight-up wild," Cactus muttered, shaking his head. "Like, actually unhinged." To demonstrate, Clay grabbed a fat trout. His massive jaw clamped down, splitting the fish in two with a sickening, wet pop. Dark red blood and glistening guts sprayed across his snout. He swallowed the tail half whole, his thick throat bulging as the scales scraped down his gullet with a disgusting squelching sound. Cactus gagged slightly, his throat tightening. These niggas really eat everything raw, he thought, watching the viscera drip from Clay's jaw. "Bro, that is absolutely foul. You didn't even clean it. There's literally shit in its guts, man." Clay paused, a piece of fish tail still sticking out of his mouth. He sucked it in and blinked his large, innocent eyes. "What do you mean? The guts are the best part. They're salty." "Yeah, salty with river mud and fish poop," Cactus said, rolling his eyes. "You guys are savages. No cap." Qibli leaned in, his ears twitching with intense curiosity. "No cap? What does that mean? Is it some weird dialect from the outer borders of the Mud Kingdom?" "Nah, it's just slang," Cactus explained, resting his chin on his talons. "It means no lie. Like, I'm dead serious. If I say something is bussin, it means it's incredibly good. But this fish? This fish is sus." "Sus," Qibli repeated, testing the word on his tongue. "Short for suspicious?" "Look at the big brain on Qibli," Cactus smirked. "Yeah, exactly. Suspicious. Shady. Like when someone is acting weird, they're acting sus." Clay let out a low rumble of laughter. "I like it. This fish is not sus. It is definitely... bussin." Cactus couldn't help the laugh that escaped his throat. Hearing a giant, sweet MudWing use modern human slang in a thick, gravelly dragon accent was easily the most surreal thing that had happened to him all week. It was almost enough to make him forget the constant, aching void in his chest. Steeling himself, Cactus reached into the basket. His sharp yellow claws sank into the slippery flesh of a thrashing trout. It wriggled violently, its cold, wet body slapping against his arm scales. Both Clay and Qibli watched him expectantly, like they were waiting for a hatchling to take its first steps. Grabbing the fish by the head, Cactus closed his eyes and bit down. The crunch of bones was loud and jarring, vibrating right up into his skull. Cold, metallic blood flooded his mouth, tasting strongly of iron and river mud. Scales scraped against his throat as he forced himself to swallow the raw chunk. It was slimy, cold, and utterly bizarre, but his dragon body's primal instincts suddenly flared, demanding more. His stomach rumbled, appreciating the raw protein. "See? Not bad, right?" Clay cheered, clapping a heavy, mud-covered talon onto Cactus’s shoulder. The impact nearly shoved Cactus off the ledge, but he managed to keep his balance, chuckling. Cactus wiped a smear of fish blood from his snout with the back of his forearm. "I mean, it's not a juicy steak, but I guess it works. Still sus, though." Clay smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at the pile of fish. "My siblings and I used to fight over the biggest trout. Reed would always try to steal mine, and Marsh would just cry until I gave him half. We were always covered in mud and blood by the end of dinner." Cactus listened, a quiet ache opening up in his chest. He didn't have siblings here. He didn't have a mother, a father, or a pack. His memories of his human family were fading daily, leaving behind only the cold, sharp outlines of a life he could never return to. The hunger for connection was a physical pain, a deep-seated wound that made him want to claw his own chest open just to feel something real. Qibli noticed the shadow crossing Cactus’s face. "You don't talk about your family, Cactus. Are they back in the desert?" "I don't have one," Cactus said, keeping his voice flat, devoid of any emotion. "Just me. Always been just me." Cactus felt the heavy weight of Qibli's gaze, but he refused to look up, focusing instead on the remaining fish in the basket. "I know how that feels," Qibli said softly, his tail barb drooping slightly. "The Scorpion Den isn't exactly known for happy family reunions. My mother... well, she wasn't the nurturing type." Cactus looked at Qibli, seeing the shared understanding in the other dragon's eyes. They were both survivors of the same harsh sand, both carrying scars that ran deeper than their scales. "Yeah, well, where I'm from, we don't rely so much on tail barbs and fire," Cactus said, leaning back against the stone wall to change the subject. "We had to use our bodies differently. No claws. Just fists." Cactus stood up, finding his balance on his hind legs. He tucked his large wings tight against his back, keeping his center of gravity low. He curled his front talons into tight, heavy fists and brought them up to guard his face. "We called it boxing," Cactus said, bobbing his head slightly. "You keep your guard up to protect your jaw. Then you throw a jab. Like this." He snapped his right arm forward, a quick, whistling punch that stopped a mere inch from Qibli's snout. The speed of the movement kicked up a small gust of air, ruffling the pale crest of scales on Qibli's head. Qibli didn't even flinch. His dark eyes just widened with genuine fascination. "Incredible. No venom? No scratching? Just pure impact?" "Just blunt force trauma," Cactus said, dropping back down onto all fours. "A solid hook to the temple can knock a guy clean out. No blood needed." Clay looked down at his own massive, blocky talons. He tried to curl them into a fist, but his thick fingers didn't quite fold the same way. "I think I'd just crush their head by accident." Laughter bubbled up in Cactus’s chest again, warm and easy. For a moment, the heavy weight of his forgotten past didn't feel so crushing. The phantom memories of asphalt, glass buildings, and a human life he could barely grasp faded into the background, replaced by the earthy smell of his companions. Sitting there in the dim light, the silence that fell over them was comfortable. It wasn't the tense, suspicious silence he was used to in the Scorpion Den, or the terrifying silence of Fatespeaker’s tunnels. It was just three guys hanging out, sharing food. Qibli’s gaze drifted from Cactus’s snout to his ear, his sharp eyes locking onto the small, silver hoop piercing the scales. Cactus felt a sudden tightness in his chest. He reached up instinctively, his rough claw grazing the cold metal of the earring. "That earring," Qibli said softly, his tone shifting from playful to curious. "It’s pretty. Does it mean something?" My mind raced back to the fragmented memories of his human self. A small apartment. A mirror. The painful pinch of a needle as he pierced his own ear in a rebellious phase. It was the only physical anchor he had left to the human named Logan. "It means I'm still me," Cactus said, his voice dropping to a low, quiet rumble that vibrated in his chest. "No matter what happens. No matter how much things change." Silence stretched between them, heavy but respectful. Qibli nodded slowly, as if he understood the weight behind those words without needing any further explanation. Clay reached out, his massive, warm talon gently patting Cactus’s back. "We're glad you're here, Cactus. You're weird, but you're one of us now." Cactus looked at them—the giant, gentle MudWing with fish blood on his chin, and the clever SandWing with a brilliant, understanding smile. A sudden, terrifying warmth blossomed in his chest, making his throat tight. These dragons were genuine. They didn't want anything from him. They just wanted his company. A sharp, icy wave of fear suddenly pierced his heart, freezing the warmth in his veins. He was an anomaly, a soul from another world trapped in a body that wasn't his, caught in a web of ancient wars and dark prophecies. Looking at their smiling faces, Cactus realized he’s starting to like them. He feels a pang of fear that he’ll have to leave or die.

Chapter 9: Brotherhood