The tunnel seemed endless, twisting and narrowing until Frost could barely stretch her wings. Her talons scraped against the uneven ground, and each step echoed in the suffocating dark. The air grew warmer with each passing moment, sticky and clinging to her scales like a suffocating blanket. She pressed forward, driven by that strange, unrelenting pull in her chest.

At last, the narrow passage opened up, and Frost stumbled out into a cavern that stretched endlessly beneath the earth. A wave of blistering heat slammed into her like a wall, making her stagger. She hissed and stumbled, pressing a talon to her snout.

The air reeked of sulfur and rot, a foul concoction that made her gag. Her stomach twisted painfully, and her ice-cold blood felt like it might boil beneath her scales.

The cavern was lit by eerie, flickering pools of molten rock scattered across the ground. Steam hissed from cracks in the stone, and a thin mist hung in the air, swirling like ghostly tendrils. Frost took a shaky step forward, her blindfolded eyes narrowing as the smell of death thickened.

"What in the three moons..." she whispered, her voice barely audible over the faint hissing of steam.

Bones littered the ground, cracked and charred as if something had feasted and left them to bake in the scorching heat. Some were the remains of sloths or monkeys... but others were unmistakably dragon bones. Their shapes were twisted and unnatural, as though the bodies had been burned or broken in ways that defied explanation.

Frost swallowed hard, tasting ash in her mouth. Her chest heaved as she tried to force down the rising panic.

"Okay, this is officially worse than the dead sloth," she muttered, her voice trembling. She glanced back at the tunnel, half tempted to retreat. But the pull in her chest only grew stronger.

Her talons clicked against the stone as she approached the edge of one of the bubbling pools of molten rock. The surface shimmered like liquid fire, casting distorted reflections on the cavern walls.

A strange symbol had been carved into the rock nearby. It was jagged and ancient, etched deep into the stone as if by claws far larger than hers. It pulsed faintly, as if alive, and Frost felt that tug again — stronger, insistent, like a heartbeat in her mind.

"I hate this," she muttered, flicking her tail sharply. "I really hate this."

But still, she took another step closer.

Because whatever was calling her... it wasn't finished.

"An IceWing," hissed a voice — a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once, slithering through the cavern like smoke. It echoed off the jagged walls, each word laced with something ancient and venomous. Frost froze, her tail snapping rigid behind her, her sharp ears twitching to catch any hint of movement.

The pools of molten rock began to bubble violently, spitting embers into the air. One particularly large cauldron of liquid fire gurgled ominously before erupting with a loud splash! Molten rock sprayed outward, and from the bubbling depths, a dragon rose — slow and deliberate, like a shadow peeling itself free from the dark.

A NightWing.

The dragon's scales shimmered like polished obsidian, reflecting the dim glow of the molten pools around him. His eyes, however, were startling — an icy, crystalline blue that seemed almost unnatural against the darkness of his scales. He moved with a predator's grace, his wings unfurling lazily as if he had all the time in the world.

Steam curled around him like a living thing, and as he stepped out of the molten rock without so much as a burn, his gaze locked onto Frost.

"How interesting," the NightWing drawled, his voice smooth and cold as a glacier's edge. His lips curled into a sharp grin, revealing teeth that gleamed like daggers. "An IceWing... stumbling into my domain. Now, that's a sight you don't see every day."

Frost bristled, her claws digging into the stone beneath her. Despite the oppressive heat, a chill radiated from her scales as she narrowed her blindfolded gaze. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the unease creeping through her.

The NightWing chuckled, a low, sinister sound that echoed like a distant storm. He tilted his head, studying her with those piercing blue eyes — eyes that seemed to see right through her.

"Who am I?" he repeated, his tone mocking. "Ah, names... such a tedious formality. But if you insist." He stepped closer, his claws clicking softly against the stone floor. "You may call me Viroxus. And you, little IceWing... you are far from home, aren't you?"

Frost stood her ground, though the heat pressed down on her like a physical weight. Her mind raced. Viroxus? That name sounds familiar... but from where?

"What do you want?" she asked, keeping her tone as cold as the frost beneath her scales.

Viroxus smirked. "Me? Oh, I'm not the one who's lost, wandering into places she shouldn't be." He gestured toward the dark hole behind her, where the tunnel she had emerged from yawned like a gaping maw. "The real question is... what do you want? Because no one comes to the Forbidden Hollow without a reason."

Frost's chest tightened, but she didn't flinch. "I came to find answers."

"Answers." Viroxus's grin widened. "And you thought you'd find them here? How bold. How... foolish."

Steam hissed from the molten pools, swirling around them both. The NightWing's blue eyes glinted dangerously. "I wonder, little IceWing... are you prepared to pay the price for those answers?"

Frost lifted her chin defiantly. "I'm not afraid of you."

Viroxus laughed again, the sound reverberating through the cavern like distant thunder. "Oh, you should be." His gaze darkened, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Because I know what you are."

Viroxus curled his lip, sneering in disgust. "You stink of his ambitions, you know that?"

Frost's spine straightened, her scales prickling with unease. The oppressive heat of the cavern suddenly felt heavier, pressing on her like the weight of unseen eyes. She clenched her claws into the stone, willing her voice to stay steady. "Who?"

Viroxus sighed, long and exasperated, as if the very question bored him. "Darkstalker," he said, the name dripping from his tongue like venom. "That old, pompous jerk. The one who made us all flee this accursed land."

He flicked his wing lazily toward the darkness that stretched beyond the cavern, his gaze distant, almost wistful. "He made our tribe small. Reduced us to hiding like frightened hatchlings, whispering in shadows. We could have been great, you know." His voice twisted with bitterness. "Powerful. Respected. But instead, we were left with fear. Fear of him. Fear of his power. Fear of what we could become."

Frost shifted uncomfortably, her blindfolded gaze never leaving Viroxus. "I don't serve Darkstalker," she said firmly.

Viroxus gave a hollow chuckle. "Of course you don't. He's long dead — or so we've been told. But his legacy... oh, that still lingers. His stench is on you, IceWing. That hunger for knowledge, that craving for something more." He stepped closer, his claws clicking softly on the stone floor. "You reek of it."

Frost narrowed her eyes under the blindfold. "I'm not looking for power. I'm looking for answers."

"And that," Viroxus hissed, leaning in, "is exactly what he sought too."

The NightWing's breath ghosted across her snout, hot and sulfurous. His sharp grin returned, filled with dark amusement. "Tell me, Frost. Do you think you'll succeed where he failed? Do you believe you can walk this path without falling into the same darkness?"

Frost held her ground, the chill of her breath frosting the air between them. "I'm not him."

Viroxus tilted his head, his blue eyes gleaming like ice chips in the dim light. "No," he murmured. "But you could be."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, before Viroxus turned away, pacing back toward the bubbling cauldron of molten rock.

"You're not the first dragon to seek the Forbidden Hollow," he said, his voice echoing. "And you won't be the last. But none of them understood what it means to walk through darkness. To carry the burden of knowledge. Tell me, little IceWing—" he glanced over his shoulder, his expression inscrutable. "What are you willing to sacrifice for the truth?"

Frost didn't answer immediately. Her mind churned, thoughts swirling like a storm. The smell of sulfur mingled with the scent of death, suffocating in its intensity. Yet beneath it all, she could feel that pull again — the invisible thread that had brought her here.

"I'm not afraid of sacrifice," she said quietly, stepping closer to the dark hole in the ground. "I'm afraid of losing who I am."

Viroxus smirked, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. "Then you've already begun the descent."