This fic is named after what was originally supposed to be the subtitle for the third and final game of the legend of Spyro trilogy. Given that the final game is now out in some countries, this is now officially AU.

This is mostly speculation and not to be considered part of canon. SPOILERS for the ending on "The Eternal Night" but will make more sense if you already know what that ending is.
of original Spyro games. Because I like both, damn it.

"This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."
- Winston Churchill.

Darkest Hour.

'Get close to me! Now!'

There is lightning filling every corner of his vision as the Mountain collapses all around them.

Besides the lightning there is fire. And on top of the fire is the solid grinding sensation of earth and gravity. Mixed in with the gravity is the brittle coldness of ice and electricity; and astride it all is his Dragon Time. Power –all of his power, every ability he has ever possessed– coats his body like a heavy blanket and spreads out on every side of him, while all around them the Mountain continues to collapse.

Cynder's head is curled against his neck, every muscle in her tiny body tense against him, her wings folded tight. She is afraid, but... there's no other way. There's no other means by which they can survive down here.

Spyro holds his brother close and finds that Sparx has never felt so fragile before. His wings have never been so small and easy to crush. Maybe Spyro will crush them, if he's not careful...

That thought frightens him, but there is no time to dwell on it. He can feel his body turning to crystal, his own powers –every one of them– freezing them in time and space. Riding out the storm, Spyro realizes. Riding it out, to live another day, just as the Chronicler had told him.

But there is something more to it than that. The steady freezing of the world all around him, the growing sensation of stone and earth and air and energy, reminds Spyro of memories he is certain he has never experienced. Things he knows have never happened to him, and yet which ring in his mind as clearly as daylight, with his voice and his words.

'...He is a simple creature....'

'...Looks like I've got some things to do...

'...Where's Gnasty Gnorc? I'll torch him...

He can't explain it. He has no desire to explain it. All he can focus on is freezing time around him and... It's frightening. He's never done anything like this before. He's never stopped his own world in its tracks, he's not sure what will happen next, or what the world will be like when he next sees it.

'Maybe this isn't such a good idea...'staring, haven't you ever seen a dragon before?...'

'Hey, stop

'...You're a dragon?'

'I HATE dragons!'

Things have changed. Spyro isn't certain how, or why. He knows that he's done something... bad. He has failed to stop the Dark Master's resurrection. He has failed to close the portal. He has failed to protect Ignitus, and the Chronicler, and Mom and Dad, and Moleyair and Kane. He has even failed in his search for Hunter of Avalar, whoever he might be.

He has failed them all, and now they're probably going to die.

But he won't die. He won't. And neither will Sparx, or Cynder. He will freeze time for them and they will ride out this storm and survive into the next.

More unknown memories leap into his mind.

'...You'll have to go. No one else can fit down the holes.'

'...This is no place for small dragons and pussy cats.'

'Come on, Spyro, take a break. Enjoy the show...'

Spyro doesn't understand these thoughts. Has no idea where they're coming from, but... they feel like reflections of times and worlds he didn't know existed. As if the fact that he is now using all of his powers at once, summoning his maximum potential, is opening his mind to times and places that he knew nothing about. As if nothing in the world has ever been as powerful as he is now.

As if even in failure, he is indestructible.

That thought doesn't feel half as encouraging as it probably should...

'I don't know if we can ever thank you enough, Spyro...'

A kiss.

It feels like a kiss anyway. He's familiar enough with the sensation, even within the massive, growing web of power enclosing them. It feels the way his mother's used to. The way a leaf did, falling on his head from one of the willow trees in the heart of the swamplands.

At first, he thinks it might be Cynder, but... no. Time is already stilling for her, and Spyro can feel her shivering against his throat. It has only been a couple of seconds since he first folded his wings around them, but it feels like eternity. There is a long time to go before the world for them grinds to a total halt, and around them the mountain continues to fall.

But Spyro knows the kiss was there. He knows he felt it. Some time, some place, in some other world, it was real.

His power blossoms, and the world is still.

'Elora? Hey, Elora, I found them! Get over here, now!'

Spyro blinks. And falls, but doesn't hit the ground. He hits arms, a firm hold, determined not to allow him to fall any further. He is back in the world he knows, the world where the mountain fell and crumbled all around them what feels like only seconds ago. Except that it isn't crumbling any more – the walls fell so long ago that they are almost stable again. The air around him feels heavy and thin with age. His powers haven't let him go yet, he's still... slow. Still tired, still drained of everything, just like he was in Convexity after the first time he used all his powers at once, but he reaches for Sparx and knows that he is there. That makes him feel better, even though he knows the world has probably ended by now.

And then there is a voice that he doesn't recognize, and yet does. Because it's the same voice which asked, in his mind, "You're a dragon?" even if the timbre now is totally different and even though Spyro has never truly heard it.

'...We've found you.'

This is no place for small dragons and pussy cats, Spyro thinks vaguely, and wonders how he knows that the voice belongs to a cat.

'...See, Spyro? I promised that we'd meet, didn't I?

The air feels... dark and cold and very much like the End came long ago. And yet, as he reacquaints himself with life and movement, there comes a laugh. Spyro can't see where from, but he can hear it, he can feel the arms letting go on him, he can feel the cold, weak ground beneath him. He still feels steadier than he would on his own. He still feels that there is someone here he can count upon. 'I promised...'

Hunter.

Hunter of Avalar.

Yes. He did promise. In writing, no less.

And if that doesn't mean something, then Spyro has no idea what does anymore.