"…And the residual energy waves of said phenomena waver and proliferate, attracting them to any draconic embodiment where they reside and multiply, which is what empowers the dragon whose soul is joined by them…I'm sorry, am I boring you?"
It was better just to reassure him. "No…not at all," Cynder said hastily, jerking her head up from where it had previously lay over her delicately thin forelegs to look him innocently in the eyes. It certainly wouldn't do for her to offend a dragon Guardian only a mere seven days after she had been redeemed from the Dark One's seemingly indomitable hold.
The large dragon lowered his head to meet her steadfast gaze, an intent expression on his scaled face. His eyes, a deep bronze in contrast to the gold gleam of his hide, seemed to glitter with inner electricity; which was rather fitting, considering he was the Guardian of lightning.
She shivered, denouncing all the woefully ignorant sayings that Guardians brought with them a sense of contentment and safety; she felt neither content nor safe, and she didn't think she ever had before in her life.
"Are you sure, Cynder?" He was peering at her closely now.
"Yes…" She knew misleading him was probably a bad idea, but if she could succeed, all she'd have was a guilty conscious, not an angry dragon several times her size. And the added weight of lying was nothing in comparison to the wrenching, sorrowful void that was her true guilt-ridden legacy.
Volteer's horned eye ridges narrowed slightly in a frown, which Cynder immediately changed her opinion of to a thoughtful look. Volteer didn't frown. Ever.
To distract herself, she averted her gaze to the dust covered binding of a book lying haphazardly on the Temple floor, the parchment torn and decrepit with age.
The ruse didn't distract Volteer in the least, "I am rather skeptical of your claims, considering you were nigh falling asleep when I asked the aforementioned question." Her defiant protest to that caused the old dragon's grin to broaden. "Very well then, pray tell me, if you were as attentive as you say, what is the core mineral involved in a productive Manweersmall mining system, and what are the key foundations for its use?"
The dragonet blinked several times in rapid succession. How in the icy cliffs of Dante's Freezer could she answer this? Guesswork wouldn't work in her favor this time.
"I…"
Nope. Nothing whatsoever could be found in her fragmented recollections of Manweersmall history and culture. What was there to know about a clan of sightless, long-snouted mole-creatures that made their unchallenged home underneath the volcano-dominated island of Boyzitbig?
"Iron?"
The attempt was half-hearted, and it was only inspired because that was the material that her wing and tail blades originated from. The glinting, razor sharp talons were the only reminders of her tormented enslavement that she could not rip from herself. They were irreversibly melded to her body.
Volteer's eyes danced and he said in a pleasant but triumphant tone, "incorrect. It appears you were not listening quite as attentively as you assumed you were. The answer, Cynder, is a kind of reinforced mixture of ore and steel, and it is used most regularly for armor and tools." He smiled at her expression. "I would advise you pay more attention in the future."
She blinked at him, "You're…you're not angry?"
It was Volteer's turn to be puzzled now. "You expected to receive anger for that?"
"I…I always got beaten for lying…or not doing things right." Cynder admitted quietly, an expression of blatant childish confusion spreading across her face. Her tail wrapped around her feet sullenly.
A deep, gruff voice entered the conversation, "Easy, young one. You will not have to fear such punishment here."
"Tis an unsavory, cruel, uncouth tradition, I agree Terrador," Volteer was in accordance with the enormous earth dragon. "It rather irks me to conceive that you were subjugated by such treatment– '
He faltered at the warning glance the green dragon gave him. Obviously, he had not pre-evaluated the effect his words could have upon Cynder.
Terrador then said in a low rumble, "Perhaps it would be wise of you, Cynder, to go find Spyro. The two of you seldom speak, and you need experience with others your age."
Cynder stared up with round, wide eyes, before nodding and darting off with every intention of crawling into a little niche in the Temple's outer wall by herself. While it was uncomfortable, she could at least take some consolation from the fact that no one would disturb her there.
Keeping very low to the ground, she crept as inconspicuously as possible outside, wings scraping the Temple wall as she did so.
"Cynder?"
She refrained from allowing her head to drop in disappointment. Looking around, she saw the purple dragon gliding down from the balcony, dappled wings rippling with the breeze.
Noticing her not so positive reaction to his appearance, Spyro frowned, landing and approaching her in that typical hatchling waddle that she herself must effect.
"Where're you going?"
She couldn't help but respect his inquisitiveness. "Out there somewhere."
"What do you mean, 'out there'? Ignitus said we aren't supposed to leave the Temple."
Cynder turned around fully, "Not in the night," she corrected him, "He didn't say anything about day. And I'm not leaving the Temple grounds, I'm just going to..."She bit down on her words before her intended destination left her mouth.
Unfortunately, despite his easy going complacence, Spyro didn't allow the subject to drop. "Going where?" he questioned, ignoring the uncertain muttering of the dragonfly who fluttered after him everywhere. Sparx didn't trust her – and that again was understating his attitude towards her…downright terrified would be a little more accurate. Cynder didn't want either of them to know where she was heading, for then it would not longer be the same, and she wouldn't be alone. Her independence, her deceptiveness, were two of her strongest weapons, though while she resided in this monumental structure of learning and draconic power, there was not much use for them.
Cynder had tried to change her mode of thinking, she had! She couldn't be held responsible for finding it difficult to adapt her way of life to a calmer, more trusting nature when she had spent her entire life – more than eleven years – honing her guile and speed to avoid the brutality she was exposed to from the instant her soft, beaklike snout had cracked the shell. And her first memories of life were composed of darkness, of the gruesome, disgustingly abhorrent smell of Apes, of the rank breath and horrible screeching of their beasts that perched on the myriad cliffs and ridges of the Well of Souls. The screams of the resultant skirmishes over the most agreeable roost still made her wince and hunch her shoulders if she thought about it.
"No place interesting…"
"I'm interested," Spyro cut in, "Don't you trust me?"
Cynder didn't know what reply to make to that; partly because she wasn't sure. On one hand, it was the most natural occurrence for her to put her trust unwaveringly in the one who was responsible for her freedom, but on the other, she didn't know if she was comfortable enough at the moment to trust anyone. Even a dragon that was probably the friendliest creature she had ever met. He was still dangerous, and it was not in Cynder's nature to just allow her defenses to drop. Savior or not, Spyro would have to earn her intimate trust just like any one else.
Deciding that honesty would not cause any harm, she replied tentatively, "Sort of."
"Sort of?" Spyro repeated, blinking at her with a mixture of confusion and…hurt?
She didn't like seeing that reaction. "I'm not going to lie to you Spyro," She said firmly, "I'm not sure if I do or not. Please…try to understand that I can't just trust someone. Even you," She pointed a small bony talon at him, "Have to prove to me that you're trustworthy."
"Wasn't the whole implodin' realm mumbo jumbo enough?" Sparx demanded in an indignant voice.
Before Cynder could reply, Spyro intervened, "Sparx, don't bring that up…"
But the dragonfly was not to be quieted, "I'm not gonna just shut my yap when she's tellin' you you're not trustworthy! After all she did, it's her, who should be proving to you, not the other way around!"
She froze, shocked at both the authenticity of the fury in his words and the words themselves. He was making sense. Who was she to demand of Spyro to prove his trustworthiness? It was not him who had attempted and nearly succeeded to murder all dragonkind, nor was it him who had weakened and leeched the Guardian dragons of their powers to the point where it was nearly fatal. The dragonfly was undeniably correct in his anger, and she was in no position to argue the black magic involved in the process.
"Sparx!" Cynder was surprised to hear the name snapped with equal force. She altered her head from pointing shamefully at her feet to looking at Spyro, who was glaring at his foster brother.
Family…
Switching his gaze to her, Spyro said in a voice that was determined to remain amiable, "Alright then Cynder, I will prove you can trust me." He gave her a warm grin, the look in his eyes telling her that he was treating it as a challenge, a game. Whatever offense he might've taken earlier seemed to have dissipated.
Such forgiveness unaccountably touched her, and with a jerking gesture of her head, Cynder indicated that he should follow her, leaving Sparx, who had begun to rant, "What? You ever heard of justice? This is an outrage! Burn her! Burn her!"
Now this is just getting strange, Cynder thought critically, continuing to walk away, doesn't he know Spyro can't breathe fire at the moment?
Padding softly to the outskirts of the Temple's wall, she only now realized that Spyro actually had followed her.
"Cynder, wait up!"
She swiveled her sleekly horned head back to him, glancing over her shoulders. "Sorry. I got side-tracked." She said apologetically.
Spyro studied her for a long moment. "Sparx didn't mean what he said," he told her, his expression darkening momentarily at the thought of his brother's words.
"He didn't?" Somehow, Cynder very much doubted that, and it seemed to show in her tone, for Spyro gave her a slightly startled look.
Apparently uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking, Spyro asked in a falsely casual voice, "Where were you going?"
That again? She looked up, eyes narrowing as she scanned the ancient walls for the niche she had established as her place of fortitude. Upon locating it, she settled back on her haunches and raised a forepaw in a pointing motion, "Up there."
"That little hole?" He sounded doubtful, eyes flickering between the utterly serious look on Cynder's face to the niche far above them.
"It's not that small," She said mildly, deliberately not adding that her sole reason for her entering the place was to be alone and at peace with herself.
Spyro, still studying the distant niche, answered absently, "Guess not." He still seemed uncertain. Well, he would be.
"You wanted to know where I was going," Cynder said pointedly, "And I told you." Imperceptibly, she stabbed her tail with the larger-than-normal talon jutting from her 'heel', intending to stop it from twitching and giving away her discomfiture. It gave a final convulsion, before lying still, she herself tensing from the pain. It had been necessary, but it had also hurt.
That, however, was inconsequential. She was well accustomed to pain.
Giving a self effacing shrug, she unfurled her wings, raising them up before pumping down to leap skywards, gaining height progressively to reach the niche, which raced towards her as she flew.
She overshot the hole at first then, beating her wings backwards in a hover, she groped blindly with her hind feet until she found the jagged rim of the niche's opening, digging her talons into the crumbling stone for purchase.
Continuing to flap her wings quickly and almost madly, she managed to flip herself ungracefully into the hole, squawking in surprise when another small shadow flashed in her vision. Poking her head out, she blinked, finding Spyro clinging to the wall with his talons insecurely penetrating the stone which had once been so strong and impregnable. Now, even a dragonet could inadvertently pierce the old wall.
Beating his small wings in much the same desperate way she had, he exclaimed urgently, "Cynder, help me out. I don't know how to do what you did." It was obvious that he didn't as well; the purple dragon was valiantly attempting and failing to mimic Cynder's unintentional performance, and found that, while they were the same height and length, he possessed more baby fat than she did, making him heavier and consequently unable to execute certain moves that she could perform without effort.
The conclusion seemed to bother him.
Cynder made no comment of it, crawling halfway out of the niche to perch haphazardly on the rim, edging as far away as she dared. "Try and stretch in." she suggested, flaring her wings for balance.
Nodding to show his acknowledgement of her words, he slowly unhooked his talons, paw by paw, from their current place, and lowered himself to the same level as the hole, extending a hind leg surreptitiously to the mouth. However, when he thought he had gripped it firmly enough and lifted another, the section of the rocky ledge gave under his foot, disengaging him from his place.
"Spyro!" Cynder leapt entirely out of the niche, folding her wings tightly against her back as he dropped like a stone after the other dragon as he fell, outstripping him, then twisting back up shooting like a cork from a bottle up, colliding with Spyro and continuing upwards, before pushing him into the niche, panting. Her head drooped, the black-grey hide expanding and contracting as she breathed in and out. Cynder wasn't quite able to understand how she contrived to remain airborne, but did.
The moment he recovered from his shock, Spyro squirmed against the side, making room for her, and beckoned peremptorily for her to enter the niche.
She complied with very little reluctance, needing a rest, no matter the discomfort.
While she regained her breath, Spyro shifted into a more comfortable position not quite so pressed against the granite-ridden walls of the niche. He seemed subdued…somewhat humiliated by his fall.
She supposed, dryly, that she too, would feel the sting of embarrassment if she had done what he did, even if it was an accident. He, after all, was not used to such occurrences.
She pulled her wings in firmly and tightly against her sides as dragons were apt to do when cold or, in this unusual case, prevent a tight squeeze. She noted with a touch of detachment that Spyro had done the same.
Neither commented on this.
Cynder was beginning to regret bringing him up here now that they had descended into such taciturn silence.
After a while, he said with an edge of anxiety that she did not quite understand, "Cynder…are you alright?"
"…Yes. Why?" She gave him a perplexed look.
"You don't look so good." Spyro said, appearing to choose his words carefully.
A quick examination of herself brought forth no truth to his answer. Dragon hide did dull with particularly strong emotions, such as extreme stress or unhappiness, but it took some time, and normally the condition had to stay the same level for a long length.
Her soft scales were exactly as they had been yesterday; black grey and glinting with the sun. She could see no differences in them. "There's nothing wrong."
"But…but your head…"
"My head? What about it?" There was no use in trying to see what he meant; her head build was very preventative of it anyway.
"Those markings, they're…glowing." Spyro tilted his head at her.
"Glowing?" Cynder's eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with thoughtfulness. Why, by the Ancestors, would they glow if all they were was different colored scales? There was nothing abnormal about them; there was an 'outline' of silvery white ones, then the rest were a very deep royal blue. Nope, nothing magical whatsoever.
Her tail thumped on the restricted area of ground she had access to, triggering little puffs of dust that dirtied the black hide, not easily noticed due to her color.
Cynder couldn't pretend that she wasn't grateful for that.
"Yeah." Spyro scrutinized her for a long moment. "Are you sure you feel alright?"
"I'm fine, Spyro, really."
She put as much assurance into her tone as possible, hoping it would deter his concern and leave her to ponder the irregularity of the triangular markings on her forehead actually glowing, not just refracting the light thrown upon them in little glints.
She remembered in the chill of the Well of Souls, deep in the mountain, there had been gems, their surface almost polished, that when peered at reflected a mirror image of whoever was looking into them, and were more trustworthy than gazing into a pool of water; they made no ripples when touched. She could have used one of the silvery crystals right now. But of course, there would be none found in the Temple – probably weren't traditional or natural anyhow.
"Do– do they normally do that? Glow, I mean?"
Evidently, his concern nor curiosity had evaporated with her reply. "I…I don't think so," Cynder stuttered an answer, once more refraining from attempting to breach her bodily limits and see the damned phenomenon herself. Then, she couldn't help but ask, "Do you know anywhere I can see it?"
Spyro looked thoughtful for a moment. "There's the river," he suggested, "Maybe you can look there." He stood expectantly – then uttered a growl, because he hadn't remembered the exceptionally cramped conditions of the niche and had scraped his back and wings on the rocky walls.
Cynder deliberately averted her gaze, stifling the slight giggle elicited from his indignant expression, and as she leapt out of the opening, spread her wings and glided in a slow circle to the ground. Not ten seconds later, Spyro landed clumsily next to her, his wings pricked upwards and his tail flicking from side to side in embarrassment at his sloppy landing – sloppy, at least, compared to what she achieved.
Wings furled, she set off towards the clump of trees – or outlandishly large mushrooms – with a backwards glance to determine if Spyro was following or not, disappearing under the thick foliage.
This was when she discovered how much she detested the root-ridden undergrowth. The great thick curving things jutted out of the soil like over-sized worms, unmoving, and prone to being tripped on. Which was exactly what Cynder did – unintentionally, of course.
She let out an ungracious squall that produced a reaction that was rather unexpected, involving Spyro bowling through the trunks of the tree-mushroom-plants-of-some-sort and hissing, stopping short when he saw her picking herself up, muttering some crude swear that overwhelmed the worse dragonfly curse he had heard in his lifetime.
She halted her grumbling when she sighted him, and gave an odd, half apologetic, half resentful bob of the head, her tail twitching irritably. "I fell, okay."
Spyro made no answer to that, plainly lost for words – or unsure how to make an appropriate reply that would not land him with a very angry Cynder.
She didn't press for one either. Whirling around, she continued to stomp forward, though she was careful to watch her step this time.
"Can you see it?"
"Yeah…I think I can."
Her markings were indeed glowing, illuminating in such a way that she looked unworldly, and troubling to her. No matter how much she racked her brain, Cynder could not find a believable explanation for it. And she refused to contemplate the possibility of it having a connection to him.
Spyro watched her reaction steadily, before saying suggestively, "Maybe Ignitus can tell you why it's happening. He–"
"No!"
Cynder's vehement outcry startled the other dragonet visibly. She regretted it momentarily, then pushed the feeling away as she was taught. "No," she repeated, "He can't know about it…no one can."
Spyro's perplexed expression broadened, "But – but he's gonna notice anyway, when we go back. And why are you worried? Ignitus wouldn't tell you off for something that you can't control."
She gave him a pained look. She wasn't going to admit her fear; that if she questioned the old Guardian about it, he would state a confirmation that she didn't want to think about. Instead, she answered pleadingly, "I just don't want them to know Spyro. Please, keep it a secret."
Spyro still seemed confused, but obliged, "Alright, I promise, even if I don't understand why I'm promising it."
She blew out a sigh of relief. "Thank you." Her mouth lifted in an odd half smile, a token of her gratitude. He was probably right; they would likely see the occurrence the moment she returned to the Temple, but if that could be avoided, she would do all in her power to do so.
"And Cynder," Spyro said, looking her directly in the eye, "do you trust me now?"
He kept promises. Cynder knew that he wouldn't break his oath unless ordered in the most desperate circumstances to do so, or she told him that he could. He had saved her from certain death in the windless realm of Convexity. And he was the one that, out of all that had shown her kindness, though her nature dared her to defy it, she could trust blindfolded.
Her eyes softening, Cynder answered, "Yes. I do trust you Spyro."
End