A/N: This is a tribute to DS' newest ReMix. This one, as a matter of fact. Incidentally, it was a tribute by him to Metroid's recent 25th anniversary. Here you are. This is an indirect sequel to 'Little Black Book', my other Spyro oneshot in the DarkeSword's ReMixes Project. Like that one, this is supernatural genre. It's set in the location of Convexity, some time after Malefor's defeat.

DarkeSword's ReMixes Project

Piece Four: Lore Hunter

Eight clawed feet clacked as they landed on the steel floor. The two dragons – still young by anyone's standards – looked about them at the violet, swirling abyss.

"I don't like this place," whispered one. She was plainly female, in both voice and form, and her color was jet-black with a magenta underside.

"I know, Cynder," the other said comfortingly, his violet tail twining with hers. "You don't have to stay."

"Neither do you!" Cynder cried out. "Don't pretend it doesn't hurt you too, seeing the places we battled! Come on, Spyro. Let's go."

"No," said Spyro flatly. "I made a promise. I swore to them that I'd return, and I intend to."

"Them?" the black Dragoness asked in exasperation. "Spyro, they are a bunch of runes on a metal slab! A bunch of runes that almost took your spirit last time!"

"Sparx talked to you?" her counterpart asked her softly, one brow raised.

"He did," Cynder acknowledged. "And pardon me if I agree with him on this! None of us want you to die! I don't want you to die!"

"Cynder…" Spyro murmured, turning to her. Her emerald eyes were filling with tears. "I'll be fine. You haven't seen them. If you knew…" He shook his head. "Cynder, please. It needs to be done. Something made those runes for a reason. I want – no, I have to know why. I have a feeling it's important."

The Dragoness stared at him for a moment, and then nuzzled him softly. "I just don't want to lose you, Spyro," she crooned in the tone of a lover.

"You won't," said Spyro, nuzzling her back. "If I start to fade, just nudge me. If that doesn't work, then kiss me. Then I should come 'round."

Cynder chuckled lightly. "I'm sure you will," she said, licking his cheek quickly. "All right. Come on. Let's get to these runes."

The two Dragons took off and glided from platform to hovering platform. At the fourth metallic landing, Spyro spoke.

"It's here." His voice was harsh and quiet, preoccupied and – was it possible? – almost fearful. They were standing in the middle of the writings they'd come for.

Cynder looked about her, and at once understood why her mate had been drawn to the place the first time. The letters on the metallic floor positively stank of mystery and passing time. They were plainly very old. "Well, come on. Do what you have to."

Spyro walked slowly around the hovering platform, hanging, suspended, in Convexity, examining each rune carefully. After a time, he spoke again, to both her and himself. "Here. This is the beginning. They started writing here."

He deposited himself in that place. "…Spyro?" Cynder asked, worried. Had her lover begun to fade?

Her fears proved baseless, however. "I'm still here, Cynder," he said, reassuringly. "They aren't trying to take me this time. I guess it's because Malefor's not in Convexity anymore. The place is pure now – clean."

"Okay…" said Cynder. She was relieved, but she didn't let down her guard.

Hours passed, painfully slowly. Every few minutes, the black Dragoness asked her mate if he was still there, or if he was all right, and he always reassured her. All the while he slowly moved around her, inching his way along the line of letters.

It was much later when he finally reached the ending. "It's done, Cynder," he said, softly. "I know what it says."

She nuzzled him in relief and love. "And what do they say?"

He turned to her then, and his eyes seemed almost incandescent in the violet glow of the void about them. Or were they truly lit from within by a power she didn't understand. "It's a poem. In another language, but somehow, I don't know how, I have a translation. In the old language, it goes like this:

Artanis un Tassadar,
Larandil Ibraam.
Templar ur'gin Vinadar,
Weil du Daelaam.

Sakhu weil irn anlet hril,
Du Ragan awath.
Ibraamin un drilin dril,
Hram hru weil druath."

She stared at him, shocked at the strange, elegant, flowing language she'd just heard coming out of his mouth. He looked strangely sad, as though he could feel the sorrow of whoever had written this verse. "In our language," he added, "It translates to:

Artanis and Tassadar,
Hierarchs of the Firstborn.
Templar of the Twilight,
We are the Daelaam.

Seek us in ancient halls,
The Successors await.
Firstborn's child, and their child's child,
Come to us again.

I don't really get what it means," he concluded, "But… it was sad. This rhyme… I get the feeling that whoever wrote it… they're gone. Dead, all of them."

"What do we do about it?" Cynder asked.

Spyro shrugged. "It said to seek them in ancient halls. We'll do a bit of research and do just that."

"All right," she said. She then nuzzled him again. "Now let's go. You did as you promised. Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift." Here she pulled herself close to him with a wing, entwined their tails, and rubbed her cheek along his as she whispered the last line of the ancient proverb in her mate's ear. "That's why it's called the present."

Spyro nuzzled her back lovingly, a deep, Draconic purr resonating in his chest. "You're right, Cynder. We can learn from the past and predict the future, but we must live in the now. Thanks for reminding me." Then he nudged her, and disentangled their tails. Stepping away from her, he turned back to meet her eyes. His were twinkling with internal laughter as they hadn't since the day Malefor had fallen, and suddenly she knew that now they would always glimmer like that. He was free from the bonds of the promise he'd made – free to live, and laugh, and love. "Come on, Cynder. Let's go home."

She smiled and blinked at him. "Yes, let's."

Their wings unfurled simultaneously, and began to flap. Soon they were airborne. They glided back from platfor to platform, and flew out from the abyss of Convexity, which seemed to close behind them, nevr to return. Warfang was waiting.

And in the violet darkness, the spirit of the carver of the runes watched them go, satisfaction in his heart. The sacrifice his race had made would not be in vain. The Dragons would know what lay within the Void, and would know how to counter it.

And at last he could be at peace.

Thus it was that the last Templar truly died.

A/N: Okay, first off, this is a bit of an AU off my Hierarch series (SpyroxStarCraft crossovers). Yes, there were blatant elements from StarCraft, but not enough, I thought, to call it a crossover. I mean, it was still good, right? It's probably actually better for those of you who don't kow SC; you get the air of mystery I wanted to project. Anyway, you should read this while listening to the ReMix. It really improves the atmosphere.

In any case, review! The button's right there!