Hello, Morning Frost here!
Welcome to my fanfic, Winds of War. This story is set after A New Beginning, and the main reason for this is that I wanted everyone's favourite dragon, Ignitus, in the story! ^^ Post-Dawn of the Dragon stories tend to get quite repetitive anyway, and I thought it was about time this archive saw something new.
I'll probably need a few OCs later on, and as I absolutely hate making them (I get really paranoid that my character is a complete Mary-Sue) I'd be grateful if a few of yours were suggested. So, if you have any OCs you could see in this story, or even any ideas for the plot itself, don't hesitate to send them in a review or PM!
Without any further ado, let's get on with the story!
Chapter One
The Revelation
Nearly a week had passed since Spyro defeated Cynder in Convexity, and the purple dragon was sorry to say that he'd not yet fully recovered. He could walk around without feeling he was going to collapse at any moment, and even fly at a push, but the breath powers Ignitus had told him would return were nowhere to be seen except from a few small flickers of flame that could barely light a candle. He hadn't been able to use his fire breath for days now - let alone electricity, ice and earth – and he was beginning to worry.
To make matters worse, the Guardians had been training Cynder and her control of fire was outstanding. She didn't just breathe it. Right off the bat she could spit fireballs, charge in a dash of flame, and her fury… Spyro recalled the memory of how the entire dojo had been engulfed in a blaze so intense it had nearly burned the pages of the book he was reading.
"How did you do that?" Spyro asked as the Dragon Guardians applauded, hoping she wouldn't detect the jealousy in his voice.
Cynder shrugged. "I've been trained since I hatched from my egg."
"But she's still an evil freak," Sparx had mumbled helpfully once they were out of earshot.
The Guardians had also managed to tidy the vast majority of the Dragon Temple, for the overrun of apes had left the building in a poor state, and once all the moss and debris had been cleared it was quite evident that the temple was enormous. As well as the Dojo and the Grotto, where the Pool of Visions lay, there was also a great winding staircase that lead up to the Library; a smaller, straighter set of stairs that down to the Dungeons, and what seemed like hundreds of other rooms and chambers scattered in between. Spyro was pleased when the Guardians suggested that they use one of the rooms as his ownpersonal chamber, which to him made the cold stony temple seem much more like home; and Cynder received the same treatment. But Spyro's favouriteroom, in which he was sitting contentedly now, had to be the Library.
It was a huge square room with beautiful, elaborate paintings on the ceiling that seemed to Spyro to tell stories whenever he looked up at them. Most were paintings of dragons but there were also paintings of creatures Spyro had never seen before: magnificent fire-birds painted in bold bright strokes of orange and gold; graceful winged horses painted in subtler shades of silver and blue; proud lions with the head and wings of an eagles – or were they just eagles with the bodies of lions? Spyro didn't know.
Wooden shelves protruded from every wall of the room, and on these shelves were books – more books than Spyro had ever seen in his life. Big books, small books, red books, green books, strong hard leather-bound books, flimsy paperback books no thicker than a piece of parchment, and every other kind imaginable. Reading had become a valuable hobby to Spyro, what with his inability to fight as of current, and despite Sparx labelling his new-found interest 'boring' the purple dragon was now seldom seen without his head buried deep in a book. Spyro curled up next to a pile of books he intended to read and opened his latest endeavour, Dragon History and How it Shapes Our Culture Today, by Quentin Quilltail.
'The caring of the dragon eggs,' Quentin Quilltail had written in an intricate inky scrawl, 'has changed gradually over the years.
'Initially it was the mothers who cared for their brood although, weakened and sapped of energy from the ordeal of egg-laying, it was the mates of these mothers that in fact did the most protecting. However, as well as being dependent on the males for protection, the mothers were also dependent on the males for food. Their mates would fly to prey-rich grounds to hunt and collect crystals, the common life-source of all dragons, and sometimes be gone for days at a time.
'It was then predators – be it apes, grublins or orcs – would attack the cave of the defenceless mother for an easy meal. It was then established that some dragon that was not weakened from the process of childbirth or absent from the cave would be more suited to protect the eggs. Dragons from all over the world met to discuss to situation and the strongest dragons – males, naturally, as they are proud by nature – volunteered to undertake the important duty of protecting the eggs.
'One such Fire Dragon believed that it was he who should be entrusted with this duty. 'But what if the attackers were to wear fire-proof armour?' protested many others. After much debate and argument as to the advantages and disadvantages to each element, it was eventually decided that, rather than quarrelling amongst themselves, they must instead join together to share the task of protecting the eggs.'
Spyro's heart beat excitedly. The Guardians! Perhaps there would be something about Ignitus in here. Mouth dry, he turned the page.
'Dragon eggs, of course, are very important, as they are our future and the sole bane of this race's existence. And so, a guardian of each element was chosen – fire, electricity, ice, earth, and-'
"Spyro."
Spyro immediately jolted to his feet, slamming the book shut and knocking over those in the pile beside him in the process. The books tumbled to the floor with a crash and Spyro quickly began to pick them up, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment. In his head Spyro could just imagine Sparx rolling his eyes and commenting sarcastically: Nice one, idiot.
As soon as Spyro felt his heart rate slowing down he turned around to face the person who had spoken – and his heartbeat instantly accelerated again. Cynder. Spyro swallowed, wondering if she really did think he was an idiot. Her eyes, like shards of broken emerald, gave nothing away. Spyro looked at her flawless features, from the three elegant sets of horns on her head to the beautiful markings on her body, and thought to himself that she rather belonged in one of the paintings on the ceiling.
"You need to come downstairs," she said. "The Guardians said they need to talk to us about something."
Spyro managed to choke out an "OK" but she had already left. He quickly followed, gliding down the stairs until he reached the Grotto. The Guardians were waiting patiently beside the Pool of Visions aside from Ignitus, who was pacing back and forth and looking very anxious.
"Good, you're here," Ignitus said hurriedly before Spyro had even sat down. "We need everyone present to discuss the situation."
Sparx buzzed over to Spyro, grinning. "Hey, purple boy. Glad you've finally put down the Bore Chronicles - old Fire Fart here's been dying to tell us something or other."
Ignitus shot a withering look at Sparx, who promptly let out a terrified squeal before slamming his mouth shut. A silence hung over the room for a moment. Then Ignitus spoke.
"I have seen something in the Pool of Visions."
"So what?" Sparx hissed to his adoptive brother. "He thinks he's seen something in the freaking Puddle of Weirdness. Big deal."
"Something worrying," Ignitus continued, glaring at Sparx, "that concerns all of us. Spyro might have defeated Cynder last week in Convexity, but he was too late to stop her releasing the Dark Master from his prison. He is free – and he will return."
A disconcerted murmur rippled through the Guardians. "So, as usual, it's the evil freak's fault," Sparx said. Spyro shushed him crossly, but it was clear Cynder had heard despite this. Her head was bowed, and she was staring at the floor with a glum, guilty expression.
"Then we must fight!" Terrador said, with a voice as booming and strong as his muscular exterior. Spyro half expected the temple itself to rumble. "We must attack now – while the Dark Master's still weak."
"A most intelligent choice," Cyril drawled sarcastically, "when we've bundles of strength now."
Terrador took a step towards Cyril, his lips pulled back in a snarl, but before he could say anything Volteer interjected. "Yes, yes, Cyril's right – you really mustn't be so impetuous, Terrador," he gabbled, "given the current circumstances our chances of success against the Dark Master are inordinately slim – our elderly demeanours are a disadvantage, and Spyro's lack of breath powers render him useless – Cynder's a bourgeoning fighter, yes, but she's still besieged by the darkness inside her, and – oh, who we'd really need to take on such a perilous affair is the fifth guardian, but-"
Suddenly Volteer clapped one paw over his mouth, as if only just realising what he'd said. Ignitus, Cyril and Terrador all turned their heads slowly towards him with a mixture of pure horror on their faces. Even miserable Cynder had stopped looking at the floor and was now staring at Volteer with an unreadable expression. Only Sparx was still grinning, making a slicing gesture as if to say, 'You could cut the tension with a knife!' But Spyro didn't grin back. He had a horrible, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was evident that everyone in the room knew something he didn't.
"What did you say?" Spyro said, breaking the silence in the room. No-one responded. Then, louder, "What did you say?"
"I, er, was just illustrating the difficulties in which we would face if we were to take on-"
"Don't play the fool with me, Volteer," Spyro snarled, whipping around to face the trembling guardian. "I'm not a child. In case you'd forgotten, I saved you when you were destined for certain death! And you," – he turned to Cyril and the other Dragon Guardians – "and you, and-"
"Now don't get excited, young dragon," Ignitus pleaded, "perhaps it's better if you don't know…"
"Don't know?" The dread Spyro felt had now turned to fully-fledged anger. "Why shouldn't I know, Ignitus, when it's obvious that everyone else does? Despite the fact that no-one in this room would be alive had it not been for me!"
"Don't speak to your elders like that-"
"I'll speak to you how I please until I get an answer!"
Ignitus closed his eyes. He suddenly looked like a very tired and weary old dragon. "Alright," he said softly, "I'll tell you. I suppose you have a right to know."
Spyro looked up at him expectantly, his heart racing.
"Spyro, when you saved us from Cynder's clutches that day, you saved all the Dragon Guardians but one. There are not four guardians, but five: us, and the Guardian of Wind."
Sorry guys, but I'm going to have to end it on a cliffhanger! So, who is this Guardian of Wind? Why wasn't he rescued? And how will Spyro react?
All will be revealed in the next chapter! Stay tuned!
