The twin moons hung impassively in the night sky, their soft white light suffusing the land. Stars winked all around them, glittering like faint jewels in the dark. A danger, the dragon thought, shivering against the breeze, and against the premonitory cold that bit into his scales with icy fingers. The dull red of the larger moon seemed almost threatening, and unnatural, to Spyro's mind, as in the swamps, he had never seen these particular moons glow such a colour. They had always been the same pallid cream complexion. And the smaller one had a green hue to it, he mused. Unusual. He must remember to ask Ignitus about it.
The little dragon tucked his feet beneath him, wings pulled in tight against his sides. The inside-cold was getting stronger, as it had been for several weeks now. Since he and his former enemy Cynder had been hurled out of the imploding suspended realm, Convexity. He wondered if that had somehow triggered it. Perhaps he was not meant to have saved the other dragonet's life. If the 'Ancestors' that Ignitus was always intoning were displeased with his decision. Assuming, he thought wryly, that they existed at all. He knew he ought to listen and take in the fire Guardian's patient teachings, but after the startling revelation of Cynder's origins, Spyro didn't know if he could ever immediately believe everything he was told or saw. The world had taken on a distorted, abstract look, with nothing being what it seems.
A disturbance interrupted the dragonling's thoughts, and he cocked his head sharply, trying to interpret the source. Something was not quite right, he could feel it. As his eyes were drawn upwards again to the moons, the feeling intensified, and he knew that it was not the dreams or his brother that had awoken him before. He abruptly felt a great twinge of fear, a burning sensation at the back of his throat that made his veins tingle with liquid fire. And the feeling passed, as quickly as it had come.
Confused, and excited at the same time, he breathed in, to see if he could emulate the fiery feeling, and exhaled. All that came out was a wispy trickle of smoke. Well, he thought, settling back down in disappointment, a bit of smoke is better than nothing at all. For the past few weeks, he had accomplished nothing but such smoke, save for one occasion, but he had since then been unable to produce even the tiniest hint of flame. It was no consolation that Cynder could not breathe fire at all, as Ignitus had told them sternly that they were not to venture very far from the Temple. And not at all at night. Until his use of fire returned, he could not go anywhere.
And he didn't even want to try to fly again, discouraged as he was from his very first flight all those months ago.
A sigh came from deep within his chest, and he laid his head back down, tail curled comfortably around his body. Maybe it was worth trying to gain a couple of hours more of sleep to gain what he had lost over the past few nights.
"Spyro!"
…And he dispelled that hope. Wearily raising his head, trying as best he could to look as though Sparx had just woken him, Spyro looked at the gold dragonfly hovering with a secretive excitement before him.
Whistling appreciatively, Sparx said, "some night eh? Beautiful."
Not in the least fooled, Spyro said shortly, "what is it you want, Sparx?" He knew from their days in the swamps that his brother was withholding something. The tone of voice was unmistakable.
Sparx chuckled, "why do I have to want something?" he asked lightly, a small grin spreading on his face, "I'm just ready to begin the best day of my life now that the evil psycho she dragon is gone." His eyes twinkled maliciously, making Spyro think that he was quite enjoying knowing something that his purple adopted brother did not.
"What?" the dragonling demanded, "Cynder? What do you mean Sparx?" his tail flicked back and forth agitatedly, and he leapt to his feet.
Feigning alarm, Sparx said, "Calm down big fella. You're a little tense…haven't been sleeping much?" he threw the question slyly at the dragon.
Now how, Spyro wondered, caught off-guard, did he know that? Was his uncertainty that obvious?
"How…how did you know?" Spyro asked in a bland, emotionless voice.
Now it was Sparx's turn to revel in their brotherly knowledge of each other's habits. "Oh, don't worry, I just thought because you thrash around so much at night…" he idly examined a hand, not much troubling to hide his enjoyment.
"Thrash around? I don't do I?"
"Oh yeah, like a fish out of water," Sparx said, effecting indifference. He shrugged at Spyro's accusing look, "What? Did you expect me to tell you? How do I put this, 'Spyro, you look like a dying fish at night, what's up?' As if!"
Spyro shook his head, trying to draw attention away from himself and back to his original question, "Sparx, back to Cynder. What happened?"
As though he could not be bothered procrastinating any longer, Sparx said, "Okay, fine. I'll tell you." He cleared his throat unnecessarily, "I got up to get some fresh air. Since I don't sleep much myself these days with the, ah, 'female of fright' hanging about…" he paused, "low and behold, there she was, sneaking out into the garden."
He shuddered, rubbing his hands together for warmth, though that was not the reason. "She gives me the creeps' dude. Hear my teeth? Do you hear what she does to em'?"
Spyro wondered vaguely when Sparx would get over this ridiculous phobia of Cynder. It was not as if she had ever attacked him, even in her corrupted state. Then his mind acknowledged what Sparx had said. Cynder was gone.
Abruptly, he said, "Come on, we have to find her. It's dangerous for her to be outside the Temple at night." Or so Ignitus had said, he thought bitterly.
He began to stride purposefully from the weathered balcony, then Sparx darted in front of him, clearly not expecting this reaction. "It's dangerous for any of us to be outside at night," he said unenthusiastically as though he knew it would not hamper his brother.
"No time to argue, come on," Spyro snapped, then broke into a run.
He heard Sparx swear in one of the mildest dragonfly curses they had heard around the swamps, before following with a half formed excuse of 'you'd be helpless without me.'
As the great doors closed behind them, Spyro felt the fearful premonition prick his mind once more.