A/N:
Greetings! It's been a long time since I visited this archive. I've had the first and part of the second chapter for this story written for a long time, and the idea for an even longer time. I was bored rooting through old documents and decided to publish this since I still find the concept intriguing. I can't promise this story will be updated in anything resembling a timely manner (if ever). But I'll see if my interest in this story takes hold, and what kind of reception it gets. Enjoy~ ^^
She woke with a jolt, clutching the white silken sheets wrapped around her lithe body so tightly that her claws tore through the fabric. Gripped, suddenly, by the feeling that she was clawing for life, the young dragon bolted out of her magnificent bed and tumbled into the wheelchair. She rolled over and slammed the wide window of her third-story room open, collapsing on the sill and gasping in the sweet summer night air.
She lay there with her head on the windowsill for a moment, her chest heaving, but the panic refused to cease. She felt it clearly, her insides shifting, the weak energy inside her beginning to slip away. With every breath she takes, the clock is ticking down.
The Change. That's what they all called it. Trapped in this room all day, she had all the time in the world for reading. Books by and about those also infected. It was morbid, she knew, but she couldn't help it.
The child's disease. The birthday killer. Aurus. But she didn't like to say the name, because it reminded her that she would never grow up.
Cynder Blackburn. She was 14 years, 10 months, and 16 days old. They had stopped celebrating birthdays long ago, when it became clear that she was not going to be a miracle child who somehow fought off the disease. Every birthday was just another year closer to her death. But she still kept track of every day. The years, months, and now days left that she had to live.
15 years old, when a dragon begins to emit their aura. Their magical energy becomes so strong that it can't be contained in their body. But that was what Aurus was waiting for. The stronger Cynder's magic became, the more it drained her strength. She watched herself slowly getting weaker with every passing year; dying, but alive. Until her 15th birthday, when magic would course through her veins, making the disease rear its ugly head. And then...
Cynder would be no more.
The young dragon gazed around the luxurious room that had been her prison for the last fourteen years. It was a beautiful room, the best any dragon could ask for. The walls were made of smooth, pure marble, the floors covered in plush carpet. The furniture was created out of mahogany, a luxury, as dragons left Warfang only rarely. In the winter, the fireplace, nearly as tall as the ceiling, crackled warmly.
The young dragon never needed to ask for anything in this magnificent room. She had her own crystal-clear pool to bathe in, and a soft bed that was far too big for her lean, lithe body, and all the latest toys to amuse herself with, and dozens of servants to meet her smallest need.
But she would die in this place.
Her parents, the Baron and Baroness Blackburn, were the richest dragons in Warfang. Though they weren't recognized as rulers, they ran this city. And they weren't corrupt leaders or bad people, not at all. Their only faults were that, in their high position, they were blind to those not as well off. And, too, they were even blind to their own daughter's suffering.
They were kind to everyone they met and endlessly doted upon their beloved Cynder. But, overprotective of their weak, helpless daughter, they refused to let her out of her room. She was only allowed into the beautiful Blackburn Reserve after twilight, when it was closed to the public.
Cynder's gaze turned back to the stars. The tiny lights twinkled happily above the city, dark and silent except for a few candlelit windows. Warfang, the City of Wonder, the Dragon City, the only stronghold left against the Darkness. Would she ever have a chance to leave it? Even just for a moment, just to walk through the forest that bordered the city?
She longed to breathe fresh air, throw away her wheelchair and walk unhindered through the grass, close her eyes and think without the din of the city encroaching upon her thoughts. Peace. Just a moment of peace, that was all Cynder wanted. She would gladly die in this prison, if she could just have that one small wish. Would that day ever come?
But she knew, staring at the fortified city that had been her home and prison her whole life, the approaching stormclouds that blotted out the stars she wished upon, that she would never leave this place.
~~...~~
"Oh, what a dreadfully dreary day," sighed old Miss Aiko, her worn grey scales looking even more dull in the wan twilight. Outside the foggy window the old dragon gazed upon, the rainclouds had devoured the sun's light and had even taken it upon themselves to drizzle on Warfang for the past week.
Miss Aiko turned away from the cold panes and hobbled over to her desk, her old bones aching as she eased herself into the cushion with a sigh. "Where is that blasted boy..." the old dragoness grumbled, shuffling through paperwork on the great wooden expanse.
Now, Miss Aiko was old, even by dragons standards; many of the children in the orphanage whispered before bedtime that she had been around during Malefor's childhood–or even, dare they say it, that she had known him herself. But despite her age, the wizened wind dragon could hear the creak of the third stair down from a mile away, and the shriek of that step never failed to give away the headmistress' students that were attempting to sneak by.
"Spyro," Miss Aiko said sharply, turning her head just in time to see a flash of purple zip by the doorway. There was a pause, as if the young dragon was considering the consequences of running away, and then a head peeked around the door frame.
"Yes, ma'am?" the in individual in question asked, an award-winning smile on his face that did not faze the old dragon.
"Have a seat," Miss Aiko said gruffly, and at this point Spyro would have bolted if not for the kindly crinkles and worried creases in her weathered face. So he came in and casually sat down on a cushion, yawning in an attempt to mask the guilt on his face.
"And don't 'ma'am' me, mister," the old dragoness continued in the same tone. "So, where have you been, young dragon? No lies, now."
Widening his eyes in feint innocence, Spyro said, "Why, Aiko, I've been in the library with Flame all day, helping the little ones with their addition."
"Ah, yes," said Miss Aiko, and Spyro swore that he saw her roll her eyes, "that's why Flame is in bed with a cold–no surprise there I must say, since the two of you are thick as thieves and have probably been gallivanting about Warfang together–and the young ones have been on multiplication for a month now." The headmistress raised a stern eyeridge.
"Crap," the purple dragon said under his breath, laughing nervously. "Alright, alright, Miss Aiko, you got me. I went to the market."
"The market!" cried Miss Aiko, clutching the clasp of her red robe, and Spyro flinched. "You went to the most crowded place in Warfang? And for what?"
Spyro, unsure how to put the frivolity of his reason into a good light, simply said, "Well... Violet asked me to get her candy. And you know I can't say no to that kid." He rose a paw in defense.
The headmistress sighed in exasperation, but she knew. That child was six years old, but everyone who saw her was starstruck by her charming smile. Spyro could learn a thing or two from Violet. "Please tell me you strayed from stealing?"
"From the vendor, but if you open your drawer, you may find approximately seven gems missing." The purple dragon smiled sheepishly.
"Spyro..." Miss Aiko leaned her head into her paw. This incorrigible child is going to be the death of me...
Spyro grimaced. "At least if you caught me, I know you wouldn't ship me off to one of those Channeler camps!"
"And speaking of that," Aiko said sharply, causing the young dragon to shrink back, "if you insist on going out there, you really must be more careful. You're fifteen now, which means your magic is really kicking in."
Spyro sighed dramatically, preparing for a speech, but the old dragon ignored him. She stood and walked to the window, gazing sadly upon the rainy city. "You already have your aura, Spyro, and it's... unnatural. The relentless heat of fire or the chill of ice, the tense auras of the lightning dragons, or the calming balance of earth... Not water, not shadow, not poison or fear or wind–not even light, the element that is always shifting.
"A hooded robe won't be enough to hide you, young Spyro. You get within a couple feet of someone... They won't even have to look at you. They'll know."
"I know, but–" Spyro protested.
"And you've had no experience with the powers rapidly growing within you. You could be channeling and not even know it. And there could be an... accident." Miss Aiko sighed deeply.
The young dragon tensed. They didn't talk about that. That was the rule at the orphanage: You never speak of what brought you here. You never gossip about what brought another dragon to this tragedy-ridden place.
The weary headmaster sighed. "I'm sorry. I just don't want something to happen to you."
She stared at his reflection in the window as he walked over and placed a paw on her robed shoulder. "I can't stay here forever, Miss Aiko," Spyro said gently.
The wind dragon straightened quickly and brushed a few tears from eyes that had once been sky blue, now cloudy with age. "I know, though I wish you would. I promised your mother that I would keep you and any other Channeler who came to my doorstep safe. I'm afraid that, by allowing you to have the freedom that you deserve, I may be breaking that promise."
Miss Aiko sighed again, even more deeply than before, and Spyro felt uneasy. He wasn't sure what he could do to bring the kindly old dragon solace.
As if reading his thoughts, she slowly shook her head. "Run along, Spyro. I'll be alright." Miss Aiko ushered the purple dragon out with a long wing. "Bring your sickly friend some tea; I'm sure he could use the company."
Spyro grimaced as he headed back down the stairs, all his spunk having faded. So what if he went out in public? He wasn't going to hurt anyone. He wouldn't do that, not after... well, he wasn't supposed to think about that. Flame wasn't bad either. It was an accident. An accident Spyro had no intention of committing.
The violet dragon recovered quickly as he entered the large, homely kitchen. There was always a warm fire roaring in the hearth, always a pot of tea or an aromatic stew on the stove. It had such a cheery atmosphere that never failed to perk him up.
Twelve-year-old Lidaea was taking a kettle of boiling water off the worn iron stove. The young, gold-furred cheetah was a rarity, possibly the only one of her species in all of Warfang. Non-dragons weren't allowed within city walls, but Miss Aiko refused to turn anybody away.
Plus, when you already were harbouring two Channelers, another illegal resident was hardly daunting. So in came demure, kind Lidaea, who quickly melted the hearts of all the other orphans.
"Oh! Hiya, Spyro!" the little cheetah chirped, setting the kettle on the counter. "Want some drakis root tea? I'm nearly done!"
The young dragon was relieved that he didn't have to make the tea himself. He wasn't sure how it was possible to burn tea, but he had somehow accomplished it on multiple occasions. "Sure, that sounds great. Could you make some for Flame too? He's feeling a little under the weather."
At that moment there was a rumble of thunder that rocked the entire orphanage. Lidaea giggled and poured the hot water into three cracked ceramic cups. "Good one, Spyro. I'll help you carry it up."
After adding the tea leaves and putting in a pinch of sugar, the young cheetah grabbed the cups and led Spyro up the stairs. The smell of the tea was overwhelming, sharp as a sword but with a gentle sweetness about it too. The exhausted dragon would be glad for a nice cup of tea after a day in the drizzle.
"Are you going out, Spyro?" Lidaea asked as she walked briskly down the hall. "There's almost nobody out when it's raining this hard." The drizzle had intensified to a steady torrent now, dancing loudly on the wooden roof.
Spyro longed to escape again, but he remembered what Aiko had said. "Maybe not. I've already been today."
"If you do–you've heard of the Blackburns, right?"
"Who hasn't?" Spyro asked incredulously. The Blackburns were only the most esteemed, influential, wealthy family in Warfang. Even orphans, who were considered less than beggars, knew about that family.
"Well, they have a park right outside their house. It's called Blackburn Reserve. I've never been there, of course–" Spyro saddened at this. At least he could hide, but a two-legged creature would be noticed right away. "–but I heard that it's the prettiest place in the walls. It's like they transplanted the entire forest. At night, fireflies come in swarms."
Spyro had never dared to fly during the day, and they shot down any fliers at night, so he had only caught a few glimpses of the forest. There were areas with pathetic, short grass, and a few shrubs here and there. But otherwise, it was all stone and wooden walls.
"It sounds pretty," he agreed, wondering how he hadn't heard of such a place before. Most likely because the Blackburns lived in the better part of town, where a young dragon with his head down in a raggedly old robe would not be well received.
"The fireflies are especially common right after a storm, I hear," the little girl rambled. "I think the rain will stop tomorrow though. Oh, we're here! Come on, let's get this tea to Flame. I've still gotta help make dinner."
Just then, the two heard a hacking cough from behind the closed bedroom door. "Yo, Spyro, is that yo–do I smell drakis root tea?!" the hoarse voice cried, forgetting all about his friend in favour of his favourite drink.
"Yes," Spyro replied with a grin, opening the door for Lidaea. Rows and rows of beds lined the walls, just one of the many dormitories in the orphanage. One of the beds was occupied by a very sick dragon and too many tissues to count. "You're lucky I was in a good mood, Flame. I had half a mind to have her make Dryleaf tea."
"You wouldn't!" Flame gasped in fake surprise, placing a paw on his purple cheek. "Actually–you would. I wouldn't be surprised."
Spyro laughed, taking a cup from Lidaea and placing it on the bedside table. "What surprises me is that I didn't."
Flame humphed and tasted it himself, nearly melting into the cup. "I think I'm in heaven," the happy dragon sighed. "Thanks, Liddy." But the little cheetah, always a bit awkward when there was more than one person around, was already gone.
Spyro settled into his bed beside Flame's and sipped his tea as well. The two were silent, sprawled on their respective beds, but it was an amicable kind of silence. Though their chatter often kept the other boys up late into the night, causing the two to receive a stern scolding from Miss Aiko in the morning, they spent a lot of their time together saying nothing at all.
They weren't brothers, Flame and Spyro, though they were just as close–thick as thieves, like Aiko had said. But despite their bond, they looked practically from different worlds. Flame, often sick, had grown up small and lean, while healthy Spyro was tall, athletic, and strong. And while they both shared the bright yellow horns and chestplates of fire dragons, hinting at their shared ancestry, the latter was a somewhat dark royal purple and the former had brilliant shades of red mixed in with his brighter violet.
Another thing they did share was their personality: Fun-loving, perhaps a bit too cocky for their own good, and always chasing danger. The two often left the confines of the orphanage to explore the forbidden city that had cast them out.
"Hey, did you hear about the princess?" Flame asked, purple eyes that matched Spyro's own lighting up. The more eager of the two always loved a good story.
Spyro rolled his eyes. "How could I forget, dummy? She just turned seventeen and they had a massive party in Warfang square. But you were sick and Aiko was watching the door all night." The larger dragon grimaced, recalling the night spent staring glumly at the festivities below.
"Yeah, but that's not what I meant. The night of her birthday, she was out with her guards, and–" Flame glanced at the door to make sure there was nobody listening, and his voice dropped. "They found her and her bodyguards, dead. They blamed it on insurgents, but I know it was Malefor's shades."
Spyro blinked in shock. "How do you know it was... them?"
"Insurgents? Are you kidding me?" Flame raised an eyeridge. "Everyone loves the princess. Her daddy is the one executing Channelers and I like her."
"Because she's cute," Spyro teased.
"Whatever. She doesn't seem that bad."
Spyro laughed, but he found himself suddenly hitting a blank. "What was her name, again?"
"It was Princess–"
"Visitors!" Miss Aiko's cry pierced the air, and a thousand steps rumbled up the stairs.
"Crap!" Flame exclaimed, hastily slurping the rest of his tea. "No time to get to the kitchen. Under the bed!"
Spyro heeded the order and dove under his bed. He was glad he had bothered to make it today, as the sheets hung down low, covering all but an inch at the bottom. Luckily, the bed frame was made of solid wood.
Hopefully Liddy's okay, Spyro thought. She would be crouching in the wide metal cupboard below the sink, worrying where he and Flame were.
Before he could get comfortable, he was nearly knocked out of his hiding spot by someone else zipping under there. "Spyro!" a small voice exclaimed.
It was five-year-old Emerald, one of the children that the purple dragon had a soft spot for. The little earth dragon could melt the coldest of hearts, with her quiet demeanour and honey sweetness.
Emerald was about to find another hiding spot, but students were lining up at the base of their beds and Miss Aiko was talking outside the door, so she yanked the sheet down. Luckily, the young dragon didn't take up much space, so she and Spyro fit well enough under there.
"Emerald, what in the world are you doing?" Spyro whispered to the quivering child. He would have been annoyed at the suddenness of her entry, but no one could be mad at sweet Emerald.
"I don't wanna get adopted, Spyro! I wanna stay here with you and Flame and Miss Aiko forever and ever!" the little girl whispered furiously, her pale green eyes flashing in the dark.
Spyro drooped at this. The poor kid, choosing him and a rundown orphanage over a loving family. "It's probably not anyone adopting anyway. Nobody really–" But he had no time to finish as the door slammed open.
"AIKO! Where the hell is she?!" The rough voice of an angry male blasted through the room, all the children tensing in fear.
Spyro felt Emerald's heart pounding as she pressed into him. "It's my parents!" she hissed. "Don't let them find me!"
As the argument between a serene Miss Aiko and the two violent parents raged on, they began stomping around the room, demanding the children tell where their daughter was hiding. Then, to Spyro and Emerald's horror, they began ripping the covers off every bed.
"I can't go back there," Emerald whispered pleadingly as her parents grew closer. But Spyro didn't know what to do. If they found him and Flame, the orphanage would be raided; every child, down to the youngest toddler, would be executed for harbouring illegal residents.
Spyro shuddered, gripped by the sudden urge to push the little girl out and save himself. No, no! He couldn't do that to her. The dragon tensed, realizing that he would have to kill them. He'd never hurt anyone before.
Before he could do anything drastic, his eyes drifted over to Flame, motioning to get his attention. The younger Channeler disappeared down some sort of hole. Eyes widening, Spyro grabbed Emerald, clamping her snout shut to stop her squeal, and dashed under the bed and into the trapdoor.
He pulled it slowly shut, and darkness immediately filled the room. Luckily, Emerald was able to use her small amount of magic to make a tiny ball of glowing earth that cast a small amount of light across the room.
"Come on," Flame, standing down the tunnel before them, whispered. Spyro and Emerald didn't have to be asked twice. Though both were wary about venturing into this low-hanging, cramped tunnel, the screams of Emerald's parents more than convinced them to continue on.
"It feels weird in here," the little girl said after a while, and her ball of earth-light flickered.
Spyro could feel what she meant. Like the cave was alive. "What is this place?" Spyro whispered, his voice echoing off the endless passage.
Flame looked around, peering into tunnels that branched off into more darkness. "The orphanage is pretty old. And old houses have a lot of secret passages, right?"
"I think you've been reading a bit too many mystery novels there, Flamey."
The red-purple dragon scowled. "Don't call me that."
Spyro grinned. "Why not... Flamey?"
Flame chuckled darkly for a moment, then sprung at Spyro, tackling him and pulling him to the ground. The two laughed as they wrestled on the dusty stone floor.
"Dummies," Emerald muttered to herself, stepping over the two vivacious males and turning down the tunnel. She intended to explore the ruins, alone or not.
It was several minutes later before the two exhausted boys collapsed next to each other, laughing. But it only took a few moments for them both to realize that something was missing.
Flame sat up. "Emerald?" When no one answered, he muttered an obscenity under his breath and jumped up, jetting into the darkness.
Spyro clambered to his feet and chased his friend into the darkness. "Flame! Wait up!"
But the dragon was relentless, and soon Spyro couldn't even hear his footsteps. He stopped and turned his head, but there wasn't even the smallest semblance of light down here. Down in this endless cave, with twists and turns like a labyrinth, Miss Aiko would never find them.
The purple dragon could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and, strangely, like he was getting weaker and weaker. Dizzy, he stumbled forward, one paw trailing against the rocky walls. Spyro wasn't usually one to panic, but this feeling of helplessness was unbearable.
And suddenly, there was light. He wasn't sure where it had come from, but before he knew it, he had stumbled into a room lit ceiling to floor with sparkling white crystals. He stared in awe at the gems that pulsed with magic, filling the room with warmth and power.
Spyro padded into the middle of the room. Strangely, it was sparsely furnished. On the floor was a worn red rug, and sitting cushions lined the walls. But the most odd thing of all was the boxes. The entranced dragon crept closer and read the names inked on them. He recognized a few, and his excitement grew.
Could this be the elusive orphanage records? He had to no avail torn Miss Aiko's office and room apart searching for such a thing, as the old dragon refused to speak of his parents no matter how he tried to charm her. No wonder he had never found them!
After a few minutes of searching, he found Flame's box. He hesitated, but decided not to search it. That was one thing Aiko was right about. The past should not be spoken about until that person was ready. But Spyro, he was more than ready. He found his box beside Flame's and impatiently dragged it away.
He opened it, and was surprised to find... not much, actually. The box was empty except for a few papers. He picked up the first one, a standard account of his arrival, and began to read.
It was a clear night, and all the children had just been put to bed, when I heard a knock on the door. I answered swiftly and was greeted by a female fire dragon of uncertain age, a bundle of wriggling cloth strapped to her chest.
At first I believed her to simply be quite frazzled and invited her in for a warm cup of tea, but I quickly realized that the dragon was severely injured. I had a couple of the older children patch her up, but she was bleeding very badly.
I was ready to escort her to the nearest healers, but she denied, hastily explaining that she needed to leave Warfang as soon as possible. As her child would not be safe outside the walls, I gladly accepted him, promising her that he would be kept safe and given to her when she returned.
Of course, I knew there was more to this story than met the eye, and I suspected that this mother would not be returning. This happened so often, parents who thought they were clever dropping off children and pretending that they were simply in hard times for the moment and would soon return for their child. It was useless, as I would never turn any child away.
After I bid her goodbye, I returned to the hatchling and undid the cloth. To my shock, the baby's scales were rich purple. A Channeler. Around his neck was a purple crystal heart with a silver chain, a parting gift from his mother.
The situation became clear. The guards had beaten his mother, trying to kill them both. If I turned him in to the authorities, he would be murdered. Or worse.
At first I didn't know what to do. How could I possibly keep a Channeler under this roof, endangering all the other children here? But, in the end, what could I do but keep him?
This was a child in need, just like any other. The colour of his scales and the magic inside him does not make any difference. They're wrong, they're all wrong about Channelers. And I could never forgive myself if I left him to the cruelty of this world.
Spyro. The word she had whispered to me as she sailed through the door, disappearing into the night.
Spyro.
The young dragon put the paper down in shock. His mother had just... left him here. Because she didn't think it was safe? Or because she didn't want him?
But what about that necklace? His claws grasped his throat. He'd never seen anything of that. Even if it was a present from someone who had abandoned him... He wanted it.
Spyro reached in and picked up the next piece of paper. It was a rather well-drawn sketch of his mother. The resemblance was... uncanny. She had a full face like him; the same thick, curved horns; wide eyes. But she was lean where he was thick and strong, small and short where he was tall. She looked like a scared kid. Like she didn't know what she was getting herself into.
Gently, with more respect for his mother, he put the paper down. There was only one thing left inside: a folded piece of paper. He opened it and something fell back into the box, glinting beautifully as it caught the light. To be given at age 15.
Spyro reached in and picked up the necklace. It was flawless. He'd never seen anything this nice except when he caught a glimpse of a nobledragon decked out in gem-studded jewelry and a silk cloak. The orphanage was far from poor, but it sat in the dirty lower-class part of town, and no orphans had possessions as valuable as this.
He closed his paw around the necklace. Why hadn't Aiko given this to him? Was she too afraid of the past? Spyro wanted to be angry, but he just felt numb. His mother hadn't wanted him because of... what he was. Miss Aiko had tried to protect him from that. But she couldn't protect him forever.
Spyro heard footsteps and shouting coming from down the dark corridor. Quickly, he shoved the papers back in and slid the box back over. But as he was about to drop the necklace in, he stopped and balled it up in his hand.
The crystals around him suddenly turned a pale green. "Spyro?"
The purple dragon turned around, hoping the partial darkness masked the fact that his paw was clenched shut on the ground. Before him stood Emerald and Flame. "You found me." He grinned weakly.
Flame raised an eyeridge. "You okay, bro?" He looked around. "What is this?"
"I dunno. Some sort of storage room, I guess." The last thing Spyro wanted was Flame getting his paws on his own box. "Let's get out of here. This place is creepy."
His friend gave him a look, but shrugged and turned around. "Whatever. You don't have to tell me twice."
The three hurried back the way they had come. Emerald whined that she was tired and weak, so Spyro hoisted the sleepy child onto his back. She giggled gleefully, leaning on his head, and Spyro managed to smile faintly. Even after what he had just read, little Emerald never failed to cheer him up.
Spyro welcomed the light filtering down through the cracks in the trapdoor, when they finally reached the end of the corridor. "Air! Sweet air!" Flame gasped, slamming it open and dragging himself out of the cave. Spyro pushed up Emerald and the younger Channeler pulled her out.
Spyro sighed as fresh air entered his lungs, the weak feeling leaving him. He was certainly glad to be out of that cave. Of course he loved a good mystery, but in a place like that... The boy hoped to never go back.
The bedroom was quiet. He could hear the sounds of chatter and glasses clinking downstairs, so it must have been dinner time. Outside the windows, Warfang was bathed in the fading summer light.
Emerald and Flame were already gone, their footsteps thumping down the stairs as they rushed in to get their meal before it got cold. But Spyro walked to the window and pushed it open, sticking his head out into the cool, soothing air that accompanies a gentle rain.
Cold droplets struck his head as he gazed towards the stony, polished Sky District. That was where people like the Blackburns lived. They knew nothing of dirty streets or rotten wooden buildings or orphans. They had never experienced the feeling of a mother who didn't want you.
The necklace snaked out of his hands, its silver chain wrapped tightly around his paws. It dangled there, the orange glow of sunset lighting it up. Against a background of cracked stone sidewalks and ugly little shacks in the distance, he had never seen such beauty.
Spyro retreated back into the room, stuffing the necklace into the cover of his pillow. Lidaea was right. It was high time to pay a visit to such a pretty place as Blackburn Reserve, wasn't it? He was curious... If his mother had been able to afford frivolities like that, she must have come from the Sky District.
What would it have been like to live in a place like that? To have a garden that must have come straight from outside the walls, feel soft grass wrapping around your paws, see bright, living flowers, rather than the wilted ones they sold in the market?
Just one visit. What would it hurt?
When Spyro sat down at the mostly-abandoned table in the large dining room, Miss Aiko gave him a stern look. "And where have you been? I was worried sick about you three."
Flame smiled sheepishly at Spyro as the latter sat beside him. The male had at least tried to stop the strict headmaster from chewing him out. Emerald was oblivious, digging hungrily into her soup.
Potato soup again, Spyro thought. If Aiko was going to hide his necklace away, why not just sell it? Realizing the old dragon was still looking at him, he cleared his throat. "We took Emerald outside and hid in an alley. I wasn't sure when it would be safe to bring her back."
Miss Aiko humphed, but Spyro could tell she bought the lie by the softening of her expression. "Well you may have come through the front door, not the bedroom window. I could hear you stomping about up there over the din of the children."
Spyro grinned. "Just wanted to be safe."
Emerald looked at him questioningly, but casting a weary glance at Miss Aiko, decided to keep her mouth shut. She might have been five, but she had quite a bit of cleverness in her small brain.
The small group ate their soup in silence. Around them were the noises of children flying up and down the stairs or talking loudly in the sitting room, excitedly using up their last few hours before bed. The moment the active Flame and Emerald were done, they were off to the kitchen to pester Lidaea for more tea. Soon, it was just Spyro and Aiko. The young Channeler picked at his food, much to the older dragon's chagrin, but she didn't bother him.
"I saw something interesting," Spyro said, staring into the brown soup. In his voice was a challenge. "One of the nobles that passed by the alley was wearing the most expensive necklace I've ever seen. I didn't know jewelry like that existed."
Miss Aiko narrowed her eyes, speaking slowly. "Don't get silly things like that into your head, young dragon. Or else you'll begin to think like them. Dismissing those who have less than you."
Was that was she was afraid of? "What if that dragon just received it from his family or something? Even if they're gaudy, isn't it important to wear things like that?"
"Sometimes the past is better left there," the old dragon said. "Things like that can just bring up bad memories."
Spyro gazed back into his soup, then quickly stood, heading for the kitchen. "I dunno, just thought that was interesting."
"Finish your meal!" Aiko yelled after him. Spyro tipped his head back and drank the rest of the soup right there, leaving the old woman muttering about table manners.
Spyro laughed to himself as he entered the warmly lit kitchen, depositing his bowl in the sink and heading up back to his room. The other boys wouldn't be there for hours, so he could finally get some peace and quiet.
Back on his bed, he lay on his back for the next few hours, staring at the white ceiling. Under the pillow, he could feel his mother's necklace pressing into his skull. Things in the orphanage began to wind down and children trickled in. Flame looked at Spyro as he entered, but said nothing as he flopped into his own bed. The smaller dragon seemed more serious than usual. Maybe that cave had changed him too.
Miss Aiko came by to say goodnight and blow out the lanterns, and the chatter continued for a long time. But, finally only the snores of the few teenagers, accompanied by the gentle breathing of the younger boys, filled the room.
Spyro sat up and stretched. Flame was passed out, as usual, and no one else stirred as he reached under his bed and fastened the black cloak around his shoulders. Not knowing why, he reached into the pillow and put on the necklace, slipping it under the robe where it wouldn't be seen.
And out the window he went, landing easily in the dirt below. Spyro glanced around, pulling his cloak over his head and slipping his horns through the holes. The streets were deserted.
What am I doing? he wondered to himself as he slipped through alleyways and ducked into shadows. What is it that's driving me here?
Spyro didn't know, but he could definitely feel something pushing him as he ran for the Sky District. What was he chasing? A life that he could never have? The place outside the walls that he would never see?
Or maybe he just wanted some peace. Just a chance to relax, free of his past, free of his "element". A place where he didn't have to be unwanted.
A silly dream, a chance to live the small fantasy that would never be. That was all.