Iginitus wasn't exactly the most care-free among the dragons...all six of them that were left. In fact, often he was seen as something of a worry-wart. True, he preferred to be more realistic than blindly optimistic, but he could scarcely say he was a pessimist. He looked for the good in matters, even if he held a place in his conscious heart for the worst. As of recent days, however, he found both good and worst being covered by simple fascination.
It had been no small feat that Spyro had, so quickly revealed to his own destiny and power, defeated Cynder, the most powerful minion of the Dark Master's forces. It had been no small feat at all, but it paled in comparison to that which he had accomplished in performing this task. Somehow, by either the grace of the ancestors or by simply his own miraculous power, Spyro had managed to save Cynder herself.
When he found the two, he had been beyond shocked. Why he had been completely flabbergasted by this unheard of turn of events! Somehow Spyro had purged Cynder of the darkness that had held her for so many cold, merciless years. There she lay beside him, her form tiny once again. Truly the purple dragon was a hero, a messianic creature.
This turn events...however...had led to Ignitus's near perpetual bewilderment.
With every passing day, it seemed that Cynder was pulling further away from the dark power that had once taken hold on her. Strangely enough, it seemed as though her scales were changing color as well. Often he would see the light catch her just right...and couldn't help but think to himself.
With every passing day...it seemed Cynder's scales were becoming...purple.