Smoke clung to the craggy peaks like a warning whispered by the wind. It never truly cleared, not this close to the crater’s lip, where the air shimmered with heat and the ground cracked with the slow, ominous sighs of an unhappy volcano. Preyhunter stood at his post, claws dug into the scorched black rock, tail twitching behind him like a restless serpent. His wings were folded tight against his sides, partly to conserve heat, partly to make himself smaller. Less of a target. Just in case.

The shift had started hours ago, though here, time bled together like the ash across the sky. The stars—what few peeked through the haze—seemed more distant every night, like even the sky had grown wary of this island.

Preyhunter hated guard duty. Not because it was boring. No—he could handle boredom. He could even tolerate the endless sulfur stench, the buzzing lavaflies that clung to his horns, or the lonely ache that came with standing sentinel over nothing. What he hated was the quiet.

The kind of quiet that left too much room for thoughts.

Preyhunter kept thinking about the mirror. About what it meant to be chosen to guard it. Trusted. Important. A dragon of value. He repeated the words in his head sometimes, like a chant or a spell to keep himself together. Important. Trusted. Important. Trusted. Sly little Preyhunter, they used to call him. Always with a smirk. Always with a second motive. But that hadn’t stopped them from posting him here, had it? Gave him orders like he was one of the real soldiers. Like he mattered.

His claws scraped against the stone. He shifted. Then again. And again.

Important. Trusted.

But what if they only gave him this post because it was useless? Because nothing ever came through the tunnel anymore except heat and the occasional lost scavenger who got cooked halfway down?

Preyhunter's tongue flicked out in frustration. The rainforest tunnel loomed behind him, swathed in shadows and the fetid breath of greenery far below. He didn’t like it. Too quiet. Too still. If anything slithered up from the jungle side, it would be on him in seconds.

He glanced over his shoulder once, twice, thrice.

Just the rocks. The endless stretch of jungle mist curling through the archway. Still, he couldn’t help remembering how Secretkeeper had slipped past with that flimsy excuse. Right. He'd believed her too quickly. Too easily. He'd wanted to believe her. She'd looked at him like she saw something worth trusting. Maybe that was the trap.

“Idiot,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

A puff of smoke erupted from the nearby vent, making him flinch. His scales itched with phantom heat. He hated how his nerves danced like beetles beneath his skin whenever the volcano groaned. Like it was laughing at him. He'd read about the Obsidian Mirror once—how it showed things that hadn’t happened yet. Preyhunter didn’t know if he believed it. Didn't want to. Because if it was true, if it showed the future…

Why hadn’t it warned him?

Another puff. A shift in the wind. The smell of rot from the tunnel. And something else.

Preyhunter stilled.

Something was out of place.

He froze mid-breath, wings still tucked, tail lifted just slightly. His ears strained. A sound. A shape. No—just the wind?

Important. Trusted. Weak. Naïve.

He closed his eyes for just a second.

When he opened them again, the shadows had moved.

Preyhunter didn't call out. He didn’t move. He just waited—silent, still, caught between duty and dread. If something was watching, let it show itself. If nothing was there, he’d be fine.

But he couldn't shake the feeling.

The island was breathing.

And tonight… it had woken up.