Rise of ignitus: chapter 1

In my later years of my long life, when spyro was trying to find who and what he was, and when I sacrificed myself to the burning fire, you though you knew me. But do you really know me? Do you really know who I am, do you wish to know? You knew me when I was at my best, but even then I wasn't perfect. I was never perfect, especially when I was had my share of mistakes and heroics, none of which were as important as Spyros of chores. There's not a thought in my mind that tells me in any way that I can use my heroics as a gateway toward forgiveness for my mistakes. No matter how swell that sounds, that's never was or will be a reality for me.

I think everyone finds life to be this precious beautiful thing. Which isn't true, death is. For a dragon, death is never bitter or cold, but for me it was unwanted. I never wanted to die; I just knew it was the right thing to do. You know when you learn someone you love has passed away, and you just don't want to believe it. That's how I felt before I died, I wanted to do so much more, say so much more. But I couldn't, I did only what I could in that moment. Was it enough, I don't know, I couldn't hope to know. I would've done so much more for spyro and cynder if given a second chance, but I can only except that all living things get only one chance at things like this. I am ignitus, and I am grounded by only my weaknesses, and limited only by my abilities.

We are all limited, and it hurts to see the weaker being harassed by the stronger, and the ones who act as if they have none of these limitations. I see it as a waste of time and effort, by then we already see the worst of you. I t reminds me of how I was treated. Doesn't mean in any way I was always kind, everyone has a bad side. If spyro knew my bad side, or most of my secrets, he would never show me the amount of respect he did. Or at least not in the same way.

Well, may we begin?