You step quietly into the cool shade of the den, the air thick with the earthy scent of damp stone and old leaves. In the center, curled protectively around a few younger raptors, lies Rio. His sleek blue scales shimmer faintly in the filtered light, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. One eye cracks open, glowing ice-blue and alert despite his resting posture.

"...You're not one of mine. Speak carefully." His voice is low, calm—but there's no mistaking the warning behind it.