The day was beautiful, birds were singing, the grass was growing, and the residents of Warfang were going about their days as if nothing was wrong. The truth was nothing was wrong or had been wrong for several years now. The war that had nearly decimated the entire dragon race was slowly fading from the memories of those who had been around to see it, though history would always remember what had happened, the dragons pushed the thoughts aside to be happy.
Rebuilding Warfang had not been easy. When the dark master's legion had marched on the city, they left destruction in their wake, as such many of the buildings had been destroyed and social order had taken a back seat. Thankfully dragons who had once lived in a settlement known as the shattered vale had come to aid in the restoration of the great city. Cheetah, dragon, and mole alike all worked hard to make the city as it once was, though an addition was made that none could see fault in.
A statue had been erected in the center square of the city, the statue was of a dragon a cheetah and a mole, all of whom had remained nameless and had fallen in the battle for Warfang. The statue was a commemoration of all those who had fought hard and died. Those whose remains could not be identified and were thus given the honor of being remembered as faceless soldiers who fought till their last breath.
Once again it seemed that peace had finally returned to the dragon realms, but the effects of the war could still be felt by those who had been around since it's start. Dragons lived long lives. It was not uncommon for a dragon to reach to to 300 years of age, however, despite the longevity of their lives, only three dragons had survived from the wars beginning to it's end. They alone felt the full burden of the war and what it had taken from the world. Many dragons who they called friends had died, and many species had gone extinct.
While most dragons walked about the city of Warfang, with joy and content on their faces, three dragons, who were by every right the oldest living dragons in existence, remained within the newly constructed temple. There they watched the city, their bones creaking with old age. Long had it been since they should have stopped to relax and allow their bodies to rest, but the post war society needed to be carefully guided, to be reshapened back into the old traditions that dragons held for countless years. Dragons needed to be carefully guided back onto the path of their ancestors.
"Come away from the window, Terrador, you'll find no dissent by simply looking at the city." A shrill and tired voice called from the shade as he sat on a royal blue body pillow.
Sighing the dragon known as Terrador turned away from the window to glance at his fellow elder. Terrador was a large green dragon, Scars ran the length of his body, and a large crack ran down his chest plate, a testament to his many long fought battles. Two plates closely resembling boulders rested near his shoulders making the old green dragon appear to be wearing pauldrons. His dark green eyes seemed to be faded with time and his tail lightly dragged against the ground as he moved to rest on his own body pillow, the large spiked ball that made up his tail tip long since having been worn down.
"I do not watch the city in fear of chaos." Terrador spoke, his voice deep and booming with authority, despite the fact that it gave away how old he truly was. "The war has long since ended yet I still find joy in watching as dragons enjoy peace."
"Indeed, it has been a long time since dragons have been this happy." the shrill voice from before agreed.
Leaning forward the dragon on the blue pillow was sat his head in the light of the sun. Icy blue scales faded nearly to white shone dully in the light. The purple chest plates were faded as well, as the ice shaped Pauldron plates seemed broken and brittle. His tail while dull, still looked to hold a sort of elegance to it, as it's unique shape seemed like that of ice. His dull blue eyes closed for but a moment as a small smile crossed his face before it faded and he let his body fall from exhaustion.
"Speaking of dragons being happy, Terrador it is my understanding that your new mate has had a clutch not to long ago. It had been my impression that your time of vitality had long since passed. I have to ask, for the sake of knowing how you fair, does the clutch bear life?" A third voice asked.
The third voice while still speaking of age, held an energy that the other two dragons seemed to lack. The third voice was alive with curiosity and determination. Stepping forward a bit to be better seen, the faded electric yellow scales showed the dragons age. White electrical markings lined his body, the yellow from within them having long since faded could now be mistaken for scares. While all three dragons did bear scars, this yellow dragon held far less scars then his companions. Like his voice his eyes were alive and moving, taking in every detail he could.
"Volteer!" Chastized the blue dragon as he lifted his head, an angry glare on his face. The Yellow dragon, Volteer seemed not to notice or care for the blue dragon's reaction. "You should hold your tongue long enough to allow your brain to catch up to it."
"Be calm, Cyril," Terrador spoke, his voice silencing the blue dragon. His words held no malice or disdain for Volteer or his question. "Our clutch bears life and strong life at that," he replied a small smile gracing his rough features for but a moment. "Gaia, has already chosen an egg to remain at home with us."
"Good show old chap," Cyril congratulated Terrador, his anger towards Volteer seemingly gone now. "Even as your life wanes you still seem to keep the lineage going, I have long since given up the hope of siring another whelp."
"Indeed. Though I admit, I am not as verial as I once was. I myself feared that I would fail in producing a clutch." he seemed to sigh though. "Gaia was displeased when she had to part with the other eggs though. Even my explanation that it was the way of our ancestors did little to ease her sorrow." Terrador lowered his head at this, sighing heavily as the weight of the world seemed to take residence upon his shoulders.
"The war may have destroyed much of our society, but the old laws still stand." Volteer replied returning to his yellow body pillow, his bones causing him grief. "In time we will change the laws, but for now we must grasp at what we know. Dragons must first learn of their past so that they may shape their future." He added for good measure.
"While I agree that the old ways are outdated, I find myself agreeing with Volteer. The old laws are all we know, and with the war still so close to the hearts of many we must ensure that the dragons will be able to cope and live in some measure of prosperity. If that means that each dragon claims only one egg in a clutch, then it must be so." Cyril said shaking his head in shame.
"You agreeing with Volteer?" Terrador asked in surprise. "We must truly be in worse shape than I thought if you find your only options is to agree." He joked, causing Volteer to laugh as Cyril huffed in mild agitation.
"As I said, the old laws are all we know, better to stick to them, than waste time trying to form new laws, that may or may not stick. The old laws were fair and ensured peace, of that you cannot deny." Terrador sighed at this and nodded his head.
"Ay, that they did, but I fear we may not see the day that the laws can be changed. Rebuilding or great race will be hard work, and even then we may not succeed. of the six races of dragons only four remain, and those of fire remain without proper guidance." All three bowed their heads at that as they remembered the fallen races.
Before the time of the Dark Master there had been six races of dragons. Those of fire, born from the flames of magma and masters of destruction. Those of the earth, who were born as the plates within the core of the world brushed against each other and gave form to those who would mold the soil as they saw fit. Those born from the sky and given the powers of the lightning. Those formed from ice and chill of the frozen tundra. Those of the deep ocean who had long been eradicated by pollution, and finally those of the wind who traveled the world and was said to give the wind life.
Those of the wind had been the first to be killed. The darkmaster had used his dark and twisted arts to break the wind dragons and strip them of their power. It was a punishment for their refusal to teach Malefor the arts of the wind. As such he had stripped them of their power and claimed it for his own. Without their powers, the wind dragons had slowly begun to die off. Their non-combatant nature had made them the perfect prey for the predators of the world.
" May our cousins find peace with the Ancestors." Volteer said as he lifted his head.
"May our cousins find with with the Ancestors ." Terrador and Cyril mimicked before they raised their heads as well.
"How many clutches have been laid this season?" Terrador spoke up looking at Volteer, the moment of his sorrow having passed to be replaced with his business as usual demeanor.
"Including yours? 13." he replied shaking his head in distaste at such a low number. "Each clutch averages at around 3 eggs, with the exception of one holding six," Terrador turned to face away from Volteer doing the math in his head.
"Is this before or after the parents have claimed an egg?"
"Before," Volteer replied his head sagging.
"Ancestors, such a low birth rate?" Cyril asked shocked. "How many dragons are currently in Warfang?"
"We're not sure, but the last time I've checked we're ranging around five hundred, with more dragons still setting up settlements outside of the city." Volteer said as he went over the numbers in his head.
"What of Spyro and Cynder? Do they reside in the city or are they taking up residence in Avalar?" Terrador suddenly asked, getting the other two dragons to perk up slightly.
"Last I heard they took up residence in the residential district of Warfang." Cyril added, getting Terrador to nod.
"If we can get those two to agree to persuade more dragons to come to Warfang, perhaps we'll be able to return this city to it's status as the capital of the dragon realms. This city could be considered a shining beacon of hope to those outside it's walls, assuming we have the space of course."
"I've had the moles go around the city and take a census, while not fully back to it's original state, Warfang is still capable of housing at least ten thousand dragons. once repairs are finished, that number nearly triple in size." Nodding his head Terrador turned to face Cyril.
"How about the schools? are any young one's born during the time of war using them?"
"Yes and no," Cyril replied taking a deep breath he tried to recall the report given to him by the moles. "I don't think we can even consider them schools. The current content of the 'lessons' is severely lacking. I'd recommend that the temple be turned into a temporary school so that we can carefully monitor the lessons and correct any mistakes that may appear. Perhaps some of the mole scholars could teach the young ones the basics of math and science,"
"I good idea, we might be able to teach the next generation about the old ways." a murmur of agreement went around the room before there was a soft knocking on the door, causing the three elder dragons to turn and look at it. "Enter." Terrador commanded.
Slowly the door pushed its way inward before a mole quickly entered the room, bowing slightly to the dragons he straightened up a bit before approaching the the three dragons. "Masters, Terrador, Cyril and Volteer," The mole spoke, the impression that he was speaking from his nose instead of his mouth passed through a few of their minds before it passed.
"You may speak." Cyril said as he waved his paw in boredom.
Nodding the mole began to clear his throat as he pulled out a scroll from under his breast plate. "My men and I received a report from the hero's Spyro and Cynder." he began instantly getting the attention from all three dragons. "They claimed they were out on date, relaxing when something troubling happened nearby.'
"Spyro claims that he watched as a dragoness ran across a river being chased by the cursed skeletal remains of the apes. She was in a terrible state, but Spyro and Cynder quickly came to her aid. They were able to dispatch of the apes, but it seems the dragoness was succumbing to her wounds." The three dragons lowered their heads in a silent prayer to the Ancestors as the mole recounted the tale. "Spyro claims she was holding an egg to her chest, and was begging that he bring it to the city. Before she passed she seemed to speak to the egg and called it...Boreas." The mole finished as he placed the scroll back in his breastplate. "Spyro and Cynder are currently waiting outside in the hall. What would you have me tell them?"
"Send them in." Terrador commanded. The mole nodded his head and gave a short bow before turning around and walking out the door.
A moment later two dragons walked in. The first which was male, was a royal purple with golden chestplates. His eyes, a deep amethyst shade looked around the room before taking in the sight of the three elder dragons. A smile crossed his face as he moved to stand in front of Terrador. The purple dragon stood just a foot shorter than Terrador, and by comparison, Terrador was obviously the stronger of the two, despite his old age. The second dragon, a female with a more slender frame, walked in beside Spyro. Her scales were a darker shade of purple bordering on black, her chest plates a deep crimson. Clutched tightly to her chest was something large and white.
Leaning forward slightly, Terrador got a better look at what the dragoness was holding, and noted with a bit of surprise that it was a white egg. The fact that she held an egg was not what had surprised him, the reporting mole had already reported that they had brought the egg with them, no what surprised him was the egg itself. The pale whiteness of the egg was broken only by spots of red, which smelled faintly of blood. Where the blood covered the egg, indents could be seen on the surface, the lines forming what looked like swirls and loops, the lines sticking out in the small patches of blood.
Turning to his fellow guardians he saw that they were just as enraptured by the sight of the egg as well as he was. It had been nearly three centuries since last an egg like this had been seen by any of them. Turning to face the two dragons again Terrador cleared his throat to gain some of his composer back.
"Spyro," he said his eyes focusing on the young male. "it's good to see you and Cynder again."
"It's good to see you as well Terrador, it's been what...three weeks?" Spyro asked as he tried to remember correctly.
"Three weeks and five days," Volteer interjected.
"Yes it's been awhile since we saw each other last, but rebuilding our race requires a lot of attention." Terrador replied crestfallen.
"We understand, Terrador." Cynder, the female dragon, said giving the elder dragon a sympathetic look.
"Spyro my dear boy, I don't mean to interrupt but could you and Cynder tell us first hand what happened that caused you two to come into possession of that egg?" Cyril spoke up from his spot on his pillow, his joints ached and he wasn't up for standing just yet.
"Oh yeah. Well, Cynder and me wanted to get away from the city for a while, some of the dragons and moles like to come to us for advice or to praise us. We headed for the river that leads to Avalar and passes through the woods. Then Cynder said she heard something. We didn't have to wait long before a dragoness ran out from some tree's." Spyro started.
"We saw that some of the cursed ape skeletons were chasing her so we jumped in to save her, but when we got near, she blew them back with a wind attack. We were shocked at first but then Spyro remembered she was still in danger so we jumped in and took care of the skelations. When we went to help the dragoness, she was crying and talking to her egg."
"She was calling the egg Boreas, but when she saw us approaching her, she shoved the egg into Cynder's paws and told us to bring the egg to Warfang." Spyro finished.
"This Dragoness? What was the color of her scales?" Terrador asked tentatively.
"White." Spyro and Cynder said at the same time.
Turning to Volteer and Cyril, Terrador's face lit up in joy, a similar look appearing on the faces of his fellow elders. "The wind dragons survived."