Part One

The wind was still and the air was silent. Spyro gazed up at the night sky with his mouth agape. Hundreds upon thousands of stars lit up the blackness above him and the celestial moons bathed the area around him in a soft glow. He scanned the stars, searching for the constellations Volteer had shown him and Cynder in their recent lessons. He only managed to pick out a few of them; he couldn't recall what the rest were. It's not like it mattered, though. He was out here for fun.

"Is this how you've been spending your nights, Spyro?" a golden voice rang out.

Spyro turned and found Cynder standing some feet away from him. He hadn't heard her land. "How did you find me?"

The black dragoness peered over the side of the cliff he had chosen for his spot. It was covered in grass and was empty otherwise, save for a fallen tree trunk some feet away. They were just beyond the outskirts of Warfang. "This just seemed like a place you'd go to," she said.

Did she really know him that well?

Then she smirked. "And I may have spotted you flying out in this direction a little while ago…"

"Of course you did," Spyro replied, chuckling. "I can't do anything without you finding out, can I?"

"Nope." Cynder sauntered over him and settled beside him. "So were you just looking at the stars or did you come out here for a reason?"

He shook his head. "I wanted to watch the stars. We never had the time to sit back and relax like this during the war. It's sad to think that we came close to losing something so beautiful."

"But we didn't," she said, "because of you."

"Because of us," he corrected. "You're just as responsible for saving the world as I am."

"I can't change your mind about that, can I?"

"Nope."

A thin smile played on Spyro's lips. This is what their exchanges had become over the last two months, evolving from short, awkward conversations to lively banter. They had grown closer since their final battle against the Dark Master—far closer than they had been before that—picking up on each other's personalities to the point where they could predict one another's actions. He had come to greatly value this newfound companionship in his black counterpart and he didn't want to give it up for anything.

And he hadn't been at all surprised when he realized that these strong feelings for Cynder had been something more than friendship. The warmth in his cheeks and the flutters in his stomach? He wasn't so naïve to believe that it was merely a coincidence that these feelings arose whenever he thought about her. He was fully aware of the fact that he cared deeply for the black dragoness.

Whether or not he loved her was an entirely different question. He had spent many nights like this contemplating the thought and it actually frightened him a bit. The concept of devoting oneself and offering everything he or she had to another individual was rather daunting. While he had shown that sort of dedication when he had taken it upon himself to save the world—with Cynder's help as he would always add—that level of commitment to a single person was not something he had thought about before.

Would he really be comfortable spending the rest of his life like this? With Cynder by his side?

It wasn't an unappealing prospect and there certainly weren't any cons to it as far as he could tell. But he was still hesitant to say that he truly loved her. And he knew why.

If he chose to fully embrace this, to embrace her in the way only mates would, it would end up in one of two ways. The first one being he and Cynder living happily ever after, the ideal scenario. Then there was the second one—the main reason behind his reluctance—rejection and the inevitable result of their relationship falling apart afterwards. He didn't want to risk the latter from ever happening and there was no way he could ever get to the former without knowing how she felt about him. He would only be able to find that out if she chose to tell him outright, assuming she did return his feelings in the first place. But why would she ever do that? It's not like she had a reason to.

So to possibly save him some heartache, he opted to temper his emotions. In the end, he was happy with the way things were. He could live with this, as long as he was able to keep her in his life.

"How many of them do you think are up there?" Cynder asked, pointing at the stars.

Spyro's brow furrowed. "I'm not so sure. I tried counting them all once, but I lost track after a couple hundred."

"Maybe you should pay more attention to Cyril's arithmetic lessons," she teased. He gave her a playful shove and she gave it right back. "But what's your best guess?"

He shrugged and said the first large number that came to mind. "One million?" He heard Cynder snicker next to him. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "What about you? How many do you think are up there?"

"Absolutely no clue."

Spyro snorted. He should have expected that response. His eyes then drifted towards the two moons and the image brought him back to a night three years ago, the Night of Eternal Darkness. The arrangement of the moons looked similar to how they had back then. That night would have been more breathtaking than this had it not been tarnished by the events that had transpired then.

"The moons remind me of that night, on the Night of Eternal Darkness," Spyro said suddenly, breaking the quiet that had fallen between them. "It's a shame Malefor came back. It would have been nice to watch the sky and the stars then."

"Yeah," Cynder said solemnly.

Spyro turned to face Cynder and saw a forlorn expression on her features. "Is there something wrong?"

She shook her head.

He touched his paw against hers. "It's okay. You can tell me."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and sighed. "I don't think about that night too fondly," she said. "It wasn't a good time for me."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's fine. You didn't know," she said. "And you're right, it would have been nice to look at the sky and stars back then."

The silence returned and this time it was accompanied by awkwardness. Both of them knew that the conversation wasn't going to end there.

"You want to know why," Cynder said, "why it wasn't a good time for me."

"I'm sorry," he apologized again. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. It isn't my business."

"No, you deserve to know. You did save me after all." Cynder, pensive, gathered her breath then began. "When I was first captured by the apes, after that run-in with the pirates, the first thing that came to mind was that I had to escape. At the time, I didn't even know what they were going to do. I just knew that whatever their plans were, they wouldn't be good.

"Imagine my surprise when they said that the Dark Master was coming back. And that I was going to be his servant again. I tried everything I could to get away, but I was powerless in the end. I spent hours chained up, knowing I would go back to being that monster unless someone—you—came to save me. I had almost given up hope when you arrived.

"The time I spent at the Well of Souls was the worst time of my life. It was like I was reliving my past and there was nothing I could do about it. I would give almost anything to have never gone through that—being a slave to him—in the first place."

Cynder dropped onto her belly and rested her chin on her paws.

"I didn't mean to dig all of that up," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"That's the third time you've apologized tonight," she noted.

"Sor—" he started, but she cut him off with a sharp look. He cleared his throat. "Right."

"You don't have to apologize for anything you know. You've done so much for me already."

Hearing those words eased the guilt Spyro felt, if only just. "And I'd do it all again."

"I know."

He wanted to say something more, to try to offer her some comfort, but he couldn't think of anything. His mouth opened and closed several times. And just when he finally decided on a syllable, a flash of light raced above them.

It was a shooting star.

Their necks craned upwards in unison and Spyro's eyes widened at the sight. It temporarily washed away his thoughts and he became mesmerized by the streak of light that illuminated the area around them. Witnessing a shooting star wasn't something he had expected when he had decided to go stargazing.

"This may be a coincidence, but," Cynder said, drawing his attention, "I was reading a book the other day and it mentioned a myth about shooting stars. It said that wishing on one would make the wish come true."

Stories from his childhood echoed throughout Spyro's mind. "My mom said something like that once too. And she said that for every wish that comes true, a new star is born."

"How about we each make a wish then?" she suggested. "It's probably just a myth, but who knows?"

Spyro nodded in agreement and they closed their eyes. The purple drake paused for a moment though, unsure of what he would wish for. There were a number of things he could wish for—shorter lessons with Cyril, for instance—but they all seemed silly or petty. He opened his eyes, wanting to ask Cynder for any good ideas, but stopped.

The black dragoness was in the middle of making her own wish and a faint smile spread across her lips, one that made Spyro's heart skip several beats. His gaze dropped to the choker resting around her neck. It lingered there for an instant and he knew what his wish was.

He wished for Cynder's egg, and all of the other eggs in the temple on that fateful night, to have never been lost to the apes.

No one, not Cynder nor anyone else, would be forced to serve under Malefor's command. She would be safe from that life. She would be happy.

He shut his eyes and concentrated. Even if it was just a myth—even if his wish wouldn't come true—he still tried and hoped for Cynder's sake.

When the light faded behind his eyelids, he opened them to see her watching him inquisitively.

"So what did you wish for?" she asked.

Spyro hesitated. He didn't want to tell her, afraid that she might criticize him. "Y-you know wishes don't come true if you tell someone, right?"

"It's just a myth, though, isn't it? I think we can tell each other, at least."

He should have known that she wasn't going to give up that easily. "I, uh, wished for...for the people of Warfang to live good lives," he lied instead.

Cynder raised an eye ridge and shook her head. "I guess I'm not too surprised. You really are selfless. It actually makes me feel a little guilty about mine."

"What was it?"

She blushed and averted his gaze. "I wished for us to always stay together…" she murmured.

Spyro's own cheeks heated up. "Oh," he mumbled. "That's…a good wish…"

Cynder cleared her throat. "Well, we should probably head back to Warfang. Staying out so late isn't a good idea."

He nodded fervently, which was much more than he normally would have. Of course, this wasn't exactly a normal situation by anyone's standards—seeing as his heart was beating a hundred times faster than usual.

"Agreed. Wouldn't want to fall asleep during one of Cyril or Volteer's lectures." She snorted at that and Spyro stretched his wings, prepared to take off. The black dragoness, however, strode over to the tree trunk nearby. His wings fell back and he followed her. "What are you doing?"

She scratched something into its side. "Just leaving something here to remember this by." After several more strokes with her claw, she stepped back and revealed a simple sketch of a shooting star. "Now we can go."

Then without warning, Cynder leapt into the sky and left Spyro standing on the cliff by himself. He offered the drawing one more glance and smiled before taking off after his companion.

Blazing pain erupted in Spyro's side. His eyes snapped open and he tried twisting his neck to look at his flank, but his vision was still blurry from just having woken up. He laid on his back for ten agonizing seconds before he was finally able to see what was troubling him. When he did, he almost wished he couldn't.

A wicked scar ran down from his wing joint to where his hind leg connected to his body.

He reached toward it with a shaky paw and the pain flared up before he could even touch it—which, in retrospect, would have been a poor idea. He could do nothing but lie there in anguish and was at a loss for what was going on.

Spyro observed his surroundings and found that he was back in Warfang and in his room alone. The light filtering in from the window told him that it was mid-morning. Cynder tended to be out and about to take care of errands around this time, but her room was right next to his and she was the closest person he could think of that might be able to help him.

"Cynder!" he cried desperately. "Are you there?!"

The simple act of shouting left him drained of his energy, preventing him from making another attempt. He waited for the sound of pawsteps outside his door, but his heart sunk as he was met by silence.

Spyro tried rolling onto his good side in an effort to find somebody that might be able to explain things to him, but he crashed onto the floor and the rough stone tiles scraped against the sensitive scales making up his scar. He let out a whimper, not even having the strength to cry out. He looked up at the door in pathetic defeat, praying to the Ancestors that someone would come find him.

This time, he wasn't let down.

When Sparx emerged from a conveniently sized hole, Spyro fought back tears of relief. "Sparx…" he choked out.

The dragonfly's eyes bulged out of their sockets when they saw the condition the purple drake was in. It seemed that Spyro wasn't the only one to be shocked by the sudden appearance of his injury. Sparx rushed over to his brother's side.

"Don't tell me you tried getting up," he said, much to Spyro's surprise. "Day one without the bandages and you're already trying to push your limits. I know you recovered a lot faster than the healers thought you would, but you really should still be resting up!"

"What are you talking about? What healers? What bandages? How did I get this scar?"

Sparx looked at him concerned. "Are you feeling okay? Do you have a fever or something? Has the medicine been making you feel a little loopy? I know the healers said that the new formula might come with a few side effects, but memory loss? That's rough."

"Sparx, just tell me what's going on!" He let out a soft grunt and gently cradled his side.

"Okay, okay! Just calm down!" Sparx exclaimed. He wrung his hands for a moment and licked his lips hesitantly. "After you, uh, beat the big ol' dragon of bad alone and pulled the world back together—jeez, I still can't believe you did that, by the way—we found you lying unconscious on the ground and you were bleeding out super hard. The big guys took you to some healers and they did some freaky dragon magic to try to patch you up. They managed to close it, but you were left with a scar."

Spyro stared at his paws uncomprehendingly. He hadn't gone alone. Cynder had been by his side, regardless of whether or not it was her choice, and they had returned relatively unscathed. "But I didn't go alone," he said. "Cynder was with me. And when we came back, neither of us had any serious injuries."

Sparx hovered in the air wordlessly for a brief second before saying, "I know you might not be completely right in the noggin, but who the heck is Cynder?"

The purple dragon frowned in disapproval. "I know you two don't get along, but pretending she doesn't exist isn't funny and doesn't help anyone."

The dragonfly pursed his lips and nodded, seeming to understand for once. "Yeah…maybe taking your medicine will make things better."

Sparx flew back out the way he came and returned with a small vial of unfamiliar red liquid that was roughly his size. Had Spyro not be so utterly lost by what was going on, he would have made a remark about impressive it was for the dragonfly to be carrying something so disproportionate to his body size.

Spyro eyed the bottle warily as his brother set it down before him. "Is that the medicine you were talking about?"

"Same one the healers have been forcing you to drink for the last couple weeks; give or a take a couple doses."

He opened the bottle and sniffed it. The purple dragon stuck out his tongue in disgust. "What is that?"

Sparx shrugged. "Beats me. They said something about it being made from red gems and some herbs or whatever. Now drink up!"

"Will it help with my..?" He gestured to his flank. Sparx nodded and Spyro reluctantly drank from the flask. He fought back the urge to gag. It tasted as bad as it smelled. He shuddered as the liquid traveled down his throat. Almost immediately, the stabbing pain he had felt earlier settled into a dull ache. He let out a sigh of relief. "So do you know where Cynder is?"

His surrogate brother shot him an odd look. "Like I said earlier, bro, who the heck is Cynder?"

Spyro growled in frustration. "You know what? I'm just going to find her on my own." He motioned to leave the room, but Sparx blocked the way.

"Uh, I don't believe that's a good idea, bud. The old guys and the healers both said that you shouldn't be walking out and about. I don't want to get chewed out for letting you go outside."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm just going next door to Cynder's room," he said. "No one is going to notice."

After some struggling, the injured adolescent opened the door of his bedroom and stepped out. He looked down the corridor and saw that no one else was there. He turned to his left and knocked on the door of the neighboring room, hoping that Cynder would answer.

"I don't want to burst your bubble or anything, but you do remember that that room is empty, right?"

Spyro ignored the comment and waited. Sparx hovered next to him, repeatedly checking for anyone that could spot them. The pair stood there for half a minute before the dragonfly tried ushering him back to his own room.

"Welp, nobody there! Now let's get you back inside before —"

Spyro pushed the door open.

It was a standard bedroom, not very different from the others located on the same floor. At one of the room was a set of cushions and across from it was a wooden desk. A small bookcase carrying several books rested on the wall above the desk. There wasn't much to the room as it was meant to simply provide a place for one to rest.

However, Cynder's room wasn't just a place for her to sleep in or for her to store her belongings in. The times he had been in her room in the past had told him that it was a place that represented her—who she was as an individual. But this place didn't remind him of her at all.

There were no pieces of art hanging from the walls. There was no second and much larger bookshelf to house her collection of books and scrolls. There was no stand supporting the piece of finely cut black crystal he had gifted to her just last week.

There was no Cynder.

"See! Empty! Like I said! Happy?" Sparx said.

Spyro's brow furrowed in confusion. "Where's all her stuff? Did she decide to change rooms without telling me?"

Sparx groaned and said, "Look, I've said this how many times already, but this room is empty; has been ever since they decided to move you into this place. Now you're going back to your room whether you like it or not."

The dragonfly flew up to the dragon's cheek and pressed hard against it to get him to move. He only managed to nudge Spyro's head slightly to one side, but it was enough to get the drake moving. Spyro dragged his paws across the floor as he tried to make sense of what was going on.

He was interrupted, though, by the sharp tone of Cyril's voice.

"Young dragon! What do you think you are doing!" In the middle of the hall stood the proud Ice Guardian looking down disapprovingly at Spyro. His gaze shifted over to Sparx. "Perhaps you can explain why our injured dragon is not resting in his room?"

Sparx brought up his hands defensively. "Hey, I tried to do my job! He just didn't listen! He wanted to check out this room for some reason and I couldn't stop him!"

"I wanted to check if Cynder was there, but…" Spyro trailed off. He looked up at the Ice Guardian. "Cyril, why is Cynder's room empty? What happened to her things?"

A puzzled expression replaced the stern one on Cyril's face. "Who is Cynder? And this room has been unoccupied for quite some time. In fact, you are the first resident of this floor."

Spyro looked from Cyril to Sparx baffled. The dragonfly then said, "I told you I wasn't kidding when I said I didn't know who you were talking about! Even Mr. Freeze here doesn't know!"

Cyril frowned at the nickname given to him. "While I may not agree with our tiny friend's choice of words, he is right in that I, as well as the other Guardians, do not know of any 'Cynder.' Are you feeling ill, young dragon? The healers have mentioned that there are some potential side effects to the medicine you have been taking." He eyed Sparx. "He has been taking his medicine, hasn't he?"

"Of course he is! I know I goof off sometimes, but I'm serious when it comes to my brother's health!"

"I suppose that is true, given your more recent behavior and actions," Cyril admitted. He faced Spyro, concern on his features. "Are you sure that this 'Cynder' exists?"

Spyro nodded adamantly. "Yes, she exists! Cynder is real!" he protested. "She's been borrowing books from the library! The librarian can tell you! We went to the public baths last week! We ate at that new restaurant the other day!"

Neither of them looked convinced.

"We were out stargazing just last night. We even left a mark," he murmured. Gathering strength, he added, "I can take you there! It's just beyond the outskirts of Warfang!"

Cyril's lips formed a thin line. "I am afraid you won't be going anywhere, young dragon. Not while you are still recovering."

"It won't take long!" Spyro tried arguing. "I promise I'll rest after I show you guys!"

"You aren't gonna leave this alone until we see this mark, are you?" Sparx asked. The conviction in Spyro's eyes was the only answer the dragonfly needed. The drake's brother faced the Guardian. "Just give him a chance. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner he'll go back to resting, right?"

Cyril sighed. "I will talk to the other Guardians and we will see about escorting you there. For now, I expect for you to stay in your room. You will know our decision shortly."

The Guardian of Ice turned and left the two brothers alone again, one of which sported a grateful smile.

Spyro let out a grunt with each flap of his wings. It took all his willpower to ignore the pain emanating from his flank and to concentrate on getting to his destination. In the several minutes he, the Guardians, and Sparx had been flying, the purple dragon's focus had lapsed three times, causing him to dip in the sky.

The relief on his face had been palpable when he finally caught sight of the last place he had spent with Cynder.

Spyro immediately fell into a low crouch when his paws touched the grass and he panted hard, grimacing. Each of the older drakes eyed him in concern, but it was Terrador who spoke.

"Take a moment to catch your breath, young dragon. In the meantime, the rest of us can search for this mark you mentioned. What does it look like?"

Spyro pointed to the fallen tree trunk nearby. "It's a little star," he said.

Terrador nodded and the three Guardians began to inspect the log. Sparx, meanwhile, kept his brother company as the drake recovered. Spyro wouldn't admit it to anyone, but the flight had drained him considerably. The much needed break helped eased the strain on his body. Unfortunately, a moment's rest was all he would get.

"Are you sure there was a mark here, Spyro?" Volteer said.

"What?" he said, his mouth feeling dry.

"There isn't anything unusual on this trunk," Cyril said.

"You must have missed it," Spyro said, walking up to the piece of wood. He raised a claw to point out the star Cynder had carved. "It's right he—"

His claw hovered over an empty space.

"Where is this mark, young dragon?" Terrador asked with a frown. Spyro failed to respond and the earth dragon's frown deepened. "The healers did say that one of the potential side effects to the new medicine was having hallucinations."

"I'm not hallucinating! We really were here last night! We were stargazing! There was even a shooting star!"

Spyro's eyes widened in realization. The shooting star—his wish; it had come true. Cynder's egg hadn't been taken by Malefor. Knowing that his wish had ensured that she hadn't been exposed to that life brought a small bout of happiness to him, but it became overshadowed by a single thought.

What happened to her?

He hadn't at all considered what the consequences of his wish was; he had only been concerned with Cynder's wellbeing. But because of his rashness, he had created a number of new problems. And while Cynder's disappearance was one of the largest, the chief one among them was the fact that he no longer had the opportunity of exploring a relationship with her—platonic or otherwise.

There's still a chance that she's still out there. I just need to find her.

"Where did they go?" he asked the Guardians suddenly. "The eggs! From the night the temple was attacked!"

They looked at him oddly, unsure of where his question would lead them. Cyril answered, "They were evacuated from the temple safely, young dragon. We have told you this before."

"But where?!"

"Are you having memory troubles as well?" Spyro ignored the question and stared intently at the ice drake. Cyril sighed. "That much we do not know, unfortunately. We have tried to search for their location in the past—we still do now—but the results remain inconclusive. They could be anywhere or even…"

A sinking feeling formed in Spyro's gut. So that was it then. He had lost Cynder and it had been his own fault. Never again was he going to know the joy of her company or the warmth of her laughter. The purple dragon began to tremble.

Seeing this made the Guardians look down at him in pity. "Perhaps it would be best if we returned to Warfang. We can arrange for you to take a different medicine to help you recover and—"

"No!" Spyro cried. "S-she's still out there somewhere! I know it! She's just waiting for me to find her! I can start looking in Avalar!"

The purple drake whirled around and stretched out his wings, preparing to take off. But as he did so, his scar flared up. This time, however, the magnitude of the pain was far greater than it had been before. He dropped to the ground and writhed in agony. It was as if a few dozen grublins were digging their claws into his side.

"Enough!" Terrador boomed, slamming his paw onto the ground. "There is and never has been anyone named 'Cynder!'"

The sincerity in his voice caused Spyro to hold still for a moment, briefly distracting him from the burning sensation underneath his scales. As soon as the moment passed, the pain hit him again with full force.

"All 'she' is is a threat to your health! We will not allow you to further injure yourself so you can chase after some hallucination! You will be going back to Warfang where we and several others can keep a close eye on you until you have fully recovered!"

Spyro tried to gather whatever strength he could to rebuff Terrador's words, but he had none. He opened his mouth only to release a low whine. Everyone's faces grew blurry as tears filled his vision and he cast a final glance at the markless tree trunk before passing out.

If you somehow missed the bold letters at the beginning of this story, this is part one (of two) of the story I have been working on for the last few months. I would have finished this a month or two sooner, but I hit a rut sometime back in December. I don't believe I have fully recovered yet, so some parts of the story may feel a bit weak.

I would greatly appreciate feedback if any of you could spare it.

The second half of the story will go up in within the next week, seven days from now at the latest.