The Gleam of Darkness

By: My Love's Centrifuge

Chapter 2:

Spyro sat across the table from Cynder, watching her shaking paw slowly bring food to her mouth, which was still chattering. It was abnormally quiet in the smallest of six cafés in the temple—mostly because Volteer had shooed all of the moles and occasional dragon from the café to give Cynder some room to calm herself down.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, Cynder dropped a steaming crumb onto her opposite forepaw, muttering a short curse as she did so. "Cynder, I've never seen you like this before, not even after I saved you from Convexity. Are you sure you're not hurt or something?" Spyro asked, concerned.

Cynder faked a smile at him as she wiped the grease off of her forepaw. "I'll be fine in a little while, I promise. I'm just," she trailed off, staring at her food for a short moment.

Spyro waved his paw in front of Cynder's face. "Cynder?"

"I'm just a little shaken," she finished.

Spyro wasn't convinced. "I want you to get some rest after you're done, Cynder. I don't want you to overexert yourself during the festival."

Cynder smiled genuinely and shook her head. "I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine in a little while. The adrenaline hasn't worn off yet, and not to mention, I haven't ran like that for what seems like forever."

Spyro sighed. "I just hate seeing you like this. I mean, Ancestors, Cynder! You can hardly eat, let alone walk or defend yourself if something else were to attack or chase you. You're not going anywhere until I say you're fine. Okay?"

"I'm fine," she whispered. She closed her eyes and allowed a single tear escape from the corner of her right eye.

Afraid that he had been too stern with her, Spyro asked, "Cynder? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound harsh… I just don't want you to get hurt."

Cynder wiped the tear away with the back of one of her forepaws. "I hate feeling so weak… When I was—" Cynder had to choke back a sob, then continued: "When I was one of Malefor's servants, weakness in the slightest bit was deadly—if you were considered weak, either you were bullied to death or 'exterminated' by one of the higher-ups. I'm just… so used to living with those filthy, stinking apes that I can hardly function in real life. My only saving grace is that I have you," she said, whispering her last few words.

"Me?" Spyro asked, surprised. Cynder nodded. "How am I such a great help to you?"

"Because," Cynder said slowly, "I watch you, to see what you do when faced with certain situations. You're my role model, my saving grace, my everything. Without you, I'm nothing at all. I'm just the same that I used to be—a monster. You make me civilized. You're my parental guidance, my lighthouse in the dark… I love you, Spyro. Even when I was the monster that Malefor made me, I loved you... And, that is why you're still alive today."

Spyro raised his eyebrows. "Is all of this true? Were you," Spyro thought over his words for a moment. "I mean no offence, but were you even capable of love during that time?"

Cynder chuckled slightly. "Yes, I was. Malefor wasn't able to completely eradicate that emotion—if love is even an emotion to begin with." She paused for a short moment. "Even then, I was completely blown away by what love was like… And it was only the tip of the iceberg. Now," she smiled through her tears at Spyro, her sparkling eyes reflecting the growing morning sunlight. "Now, it's more than everything that could have ever dreamed of. And, I thank you for this, Spyro," she entwined her tail with his under the table. "I thank you for caring for me, for simply being there, when everyone else simply shunned me and cast me aside. I thank you… for loving me when no one else would. And, I thank the Ancestors that we're together. You have no idea how much your love and care means to me," she stifled a giggle. "Even if it annoys me sometimes."

Spyro was on the verge of tears, himself. "C-Cynder…" He smiled back at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Do you really mean that?"

"You know I do," she said, still crying silently.

Spyro leaned over the table and kissed her, causing her to stop shaking momentarily. "I love you," Spyro whispered into Cynder's ear as he broke the kiss.

Volteer sighed as he watched the two young dragons through the window of the café. "Oh, to be young and in love, yet again… Wouldn't you agree?" Volteer said, stopping a passing mole with his tail, still keeping his eyes locked on Spyro and Cynder.

The mole winced as he was stopped, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to leave until the giant yellow Guardian had had his fill of rambling, which could take hours. Resigning himself to his fate, he sat cross-legged next to Volteer and folded his hands in his lap, a headache already beginning to form.

"As a Guardian, you know, I'm not allowed to have a mate—it distracts from our duties, you see. But, oh, ever did I have a lover… Her name was Tundria—she was an Ice dragon, but she had the warmest heart that I ever saw. My, was she beautiful, too. Just the right amount of cushion on her hips—I respect that in a female. None of this near-anorexic nonsense."

The mole could only nod his head, too afraid of what might happen if he expressed his discomfort to the Lightning Guardian. He sighed again, pretending to be interested in the one-way conversation.

…

Three days later

…

Spyro rested in a sitting position on his balcony, his head lying on top of the railing. Cynder lay on her side beside him, latently resting her head on his shoulder, looking out at the juggernaut courtyard. Spyro looked down at Cynder, the warm-yet-cool feeling of love blossoming through his chest. As he watched her, she began to snore softly.

He allowed himself to chuckle quietly. It continued to amaze him at how much a small glance at his black-scaled lover would do to him. The simple sight of her ironically innocent smile always caught him off guard, and he frequently caught himself staring at her. She never seemed to notice, but occasionally, he could swear that she was turning to the side to give him a better view.

"Hey, lovebirds! The Guardians're looking for you!" An all-too-familiar voice yelled at them from two feet away.

"Sparx," Cynder said, already annoyed. "Long time, no headache."

Sparx crossed his arms. "Hello to you, too, my queen of Darkness," he said, bowing dramatically.

"There's no need to yell, Sparx. We can hear you just fine," Spyro commented dryly. "And, be nice to Cynder, or I'll let her eat you." Cynder flashed her teeth at him and growled playfully.

Sparx stuck his tongue out at Cynder before saying, "Well, anyways, you two lovebirds, the Guardians want you in the main rotunda. They said that it was pretty important."

Cynder grunted slightly as she sat up, stretching like a cat. "I almost prefer fighting every day of my life. At least it was interesting," she muttered as she used her tail blade to pry a groaning Spyro from the ground. "C'mon, fatty," she laughed.

Spyro glared at her playfully, and yawned. For some reason, taking naps and relaxing seemed to only make even more tired than before the nap. "Fine, let's go, if it's that important."

Spyro jumped over the railing of his balcony, tucking his wings to his side to make himself fall as fast as possible. He fell the three stories nearly instantaneously, and snapped out his wings just as he was about to hit the tents that were scattered across the ground. He expertly weaved in and out of the tents in midair, his wings occasionally brushing the fabric of them.

He circled the statue on that rested in the middle of the grand fountain in the center of the courtyard and turned back towards the temple, this time flying just above the tents. He grinned—the giant front doors to the temple were wide open, to allow the moles access to it. He shot straight through them, laughing as a few moles ducked away from him, almost ten feet below him. He flew up to the top of the vaulted ceiling, inverting himself and running for a split second along the roof. As he felt himself begin to fall, he kicked off from the roof, spinning himself right side up and gliding slowly down in wide circles to the floor.

He skidded across the polished marble floor, which had only recently been cleared of moss and lichen. The plants seemed to make the floor even slicker, allowing Spyro to slide almost twenty feet before stopping, being careful not to leave streaks across the marble with his talons—although, he doubted he could, even if he tried.

Rolling his shoulders to loosen up his flying muscles, he straightened his back and his neck, and walked slowly through the hall and into the rotunda, where the three remaining Guardians were awaiting him and Cynder, who was just trotting through the giant front door.

Cyril greeted Spyro with a stern look. "Now, Spyro, we've a strict rule against flying in the temple. However, seeing as it's your first offense, I'll let you off with a warning. But, if we catch you flying in here again, there will be a stiff punishment. Is that clear, young one?"

Spyro nodded, trying to subdue his adrenaline rush. "I understand, Master Cyril."

Cynder walked up beside Spyro, who grinned at her wolfishly. Cynder rolled her eyes at him, and addressed the Guardians: "Hello, you three. I heard from our old pal Sparx that you needed us for something. What would that something be?"

Volteer broke into a smile. "Ah, yes, young dragoness—you see, seeing as the festival celebrating your victory over Malefor is tonight, we thought that you might need a few things, the first of which being some money."

"Oh, no," Spyro cut in. "You're already doing too much for us. Free, top-class education here at the temple, free meals, free room and board, and now, you're throwing us a festival, and it's supposed to be thrown every year. You've done enough for us already—please, you don't have to do any more for us."

Cynder nodded her head in agreement. "Also, all I've ever done for you is give you trouble, particularly when I was Malefor's servant. Not to mention—"

"Cynder!" Terrador boomed, cutting her off. The passing moles in the rotunda stopped what they were doing and looked to the source of the booming voice. The entire rotunda was silent, but Terrador seemed not to notice. "Cynder," he said again, softer this time. "First of all, you cannot blame yourself for what you did under the Dark Master's control. You had no power over your actions, and therefore you shouldn't feel bad about them. Second of all, from what Spyro has said to us, you've played as big of a part in defeating the Dark Master as he did. So, for that, let us thank you in every way that we can—for without you, we wouldn't be able to celebrate at all."

Cynder looked down at the ground, somewhat ashamed. "Fine, then. Just, don't give us too much money."

Spyro draped his wing across her shoulders. "Although, I doubt we'll need it, seeing as most of the vendors will probably insist on giving us stuff for free, whether we ask for it or not."

Cyril chuckled. "That's probably true, young one. Now, Volteer, as much as I hate to say it, but what were you saying?"

Volteer rolled his eyes at Cyril, and faced Spyro and Cynder again, clearing his throat. "Well, where was I? Ah, yes, your money. Here is fifty gold coins for each of you," he said, handing both of them a leather sling to wear across their chests.

Spyro strapped his sling across his chest. "How much is a gold coin worth?" He asked.

Volteer thought for a moment. "One gold coin is approximately worth one average-sized livestock ram, twenty loaves of bread, or a cheap piece of jewelry."

"Ancestors, you three! Fifty gold coins is a lot!" Cynder exclaimed.

Terrador smiled. "You deserve it, you two."

Spyro groaned. "Arguing with you would be pointless, wouldn't it?"

Volteer nodded. "The second thing that we wanted to tell you is to be careful. While we're nearly certain that none of Malefor's forces would attack the temple, much less when it's so crowded, but that doesn't mean that they're not desperate. In fact, that's what we believe that chased you through the tunnels, Cynder."

Cynder gave an involuntary shudder as she was reminded of the beady eyes of whatever was chasing her. "I understand… Is there anything else?"

Volteer thought for a minute. "Ah, yes, you both will be giving a speech."

…

"I can't believe this," Spyro muttered as he stood on his balcony, his recently polished scales glittering from the moonlight above and the torchlight below. "It's our party—we shouldn't have to give a speech if we don't want to."

"Stop complaining and think of something to say. Make it short and sweet, so you won't have to be up there long, and you won't have to memorize too much," Cynder said from their bed, lying upside down with her head hanging off the bed. "Besides," she laughed, "They're your biggest fans. If you mess up, they're not going to care."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," Spyro muttered.

Cynder sighed and rolled over, so she was lying on her stomach. "C'mon, Spyro. You've never been one to complain—let's not start now."

"But, what am I supposed to say to them?" Spyro said, turning and sitting with his back to the railing, facing her.

"I don't know. You'll think of something," she said with a smile.

"What are you going to say?" Spyro asked, cocking his head slightly.

"Oh, no—you can't have mine," Cynder laughed. "We can't both talk about the same things."

Spyro groaned, stood up, and turned back toward the courtyard. "Maybe I'll just thank them all for coming, maybe thank the Guardians for their support, and walk away…"

"Spyro," Cynder chastised. "These guys are putting on an entire festival for us. We've got to give them a little more than that."

Spyro furrowed his brow and thought deeply. "I think I've got something," he said after a few minutes of deep thought.

"What is it, so we know that we're not going to give a speech about the same thing?" Cynder asked.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure that we're not thinking of the same thing. I promise you," laughed Spyro.

Cynder narrowed her eyes playfully at him. "If you steal my subject, I'm going to be very mad at you."

Spyro laughed, and dove over the railing of the balcony, followed by Cynder. He circled the fountain in the center once before gliding to the ground, where Cyril awaited them.

"Ah, there you two are! I was beginning to worry that we were going to have to come and get you two." Cyril laughed at his own humor. "Anyways, you two will be giving your speeches over on the North podium," he instructed, pointing to a giant, brilliantly lit and decorated pavilion. "However, we won't begin the little ceremony until later tonight. Until then, feel free to browse and shop as much as you like," he said, spreading his wing to indicate all of the tent-shops that were scattered across the courtyard. He craned his neck, seeming to look for someone. "Well, anyway, have fun, you two! If you need me… Well, just find Volteer or Terrador. They're typically easier to find."

Spyro and Cynder cocked their heads at his last statement. As Cyril walked away and began to talk to a female that looked about his age, Spyro said, "Cyril never really struck me as one to have a romantic relationship with someone."

Cynder nodded. "You'd think that his… pompousness… would turn them away."

"I guess not."

Spyro turned to Cynder. "Well, shall we explore together, so people won't start asking me to marry them and giving hateful looks at you?"

Cynder wrapped her tail around Spyro's and narrowed her eyes teasingly at him. "What makes you think that people won't ask me to marry them?"

Spyro grinned at her. "No reason," he snickered.

Cynder lifted a paw and slapped his shoulder, trying to hide a small giggle. Suddenly, Spyro sighed and let his wings and head droop slightly. "What's wrong?" Cynder asked, cocking her head at him.

Spyro sighed again. "This is a big-ass festival," he groaned. "For some reason, I thought it would be smaller than this." He motioned with a wing at all of the decorations and tents that stretched into every corner of the mile-wide courtyard.

Every tent was lavishly decorated—some with tassels hanging over the doorway, some with elaborate designs decorating the sides, and some were so big, Terrador could stand up comfortably in them and swing his tail and not hit the walls. Streamers hung from the tops of each of the tents, and torches on tall poles illuminated the entire courtyard, casting tall shadows on the cobblestone walkways.

Dragons were scattered all throughout the courtyard, the old and young alike with smiles on their faces as they spotted Spyro and Cynder standing by the fountain. A few of the younger dragons darted between the alleyways that the tents made, laughing and screaming as they went.

"Eh, I've seen bigger," Cynder chortled.

Spyro rolled his eyes and tugged on her tail with his. "Shall we explore?"

Cynder laughed, freely this time. "Sure thing, chubs," she said, poking him in the side.

…

Spyro swung his tail nervously, the shiny new silver ring that he wore around the middle of it making his tail feel unnaturally heavy. He tapped his claws on the cobblestone ground, rocking back and forth.

"Spyro," Cynder scolded. "Stop fidgeting. You're making me even more nervous."

Spyro stopped and tightened his muscles, trying to keep himself from doing it again. "Sorry," he apologized.

Cynder sighed. "Don't be," she said softly, linking his tail with hers. "I know that you hate being in front of so many moles and dragons and whatever else is out there, and I know that you don't think that this festival should be taking place at all, but you've got to give these people something for all of their hard work with setting this up and traveling from the Ancestors know were just to be here. Now," she motioned with her horns. "Get on that stage and give your damned speech, before I make you."

Spyro groaned and trudged to the steps leading up to the pavilion, stopping just before he reached them. Exasperated, Cynder motioned violently with a forepaw for him to ascend the stairs. Spyro winced, and slowly began to climb the stairs to the pavilion. By now, everyone had taken notice of their heroes approaching the pavilion, and had begun to gather around it in a giant crowd.

Cynder raised her eyebrows as she looked around. "Wow," she muttered to herself. "There are more people here than I thought. They must have been hiding in the tents or something."

Spyro's muscles began to shake as he ascended the stairs and approached the podium, the entire crowd's eyes on him and him alone. The feeling of dread hit him like a blow to the stomach—something was wrong, he just knew it. He shuddered as he planted his feet on the small platform just behind the podium, raising his head so that everyone could see it. A bead of sweat crawled its way down the small of his back and down his right thigh. He gritted his teeth to resist the urge to kick his leg to make it fly off or to reach around and scratch it.

He cleared his throat nervously, and was about to speak, when a haunting scream echoed its way through the courtyard.

Spyro blanched and for a moment, sheer fear rooted him to where he stood, his mouth agape. As the urgency of the situation set into his mind, he bolted from the pavilion and onto the ground, weaving through the panicking dragons and moles. The crowd was in utter disarray, with everyone, moles and dragons alike, scattering in every direction at once, nearly all of them screaming. Mothers called for their children, and the children screamed for their mothers and fathers.

Spyro darted in between the tents, followed closely by Cynder, who kept herself partially hidden with her Shadow element. They both kept themselves low to the ground, their stomachs almost scraping the cobblestoned ground. Spyro suddenly skidded to a stop and peeked around a corner of one of the tents.

A small, golden dragoness was impaled on top of the statue in the middle of the grand fountain in the center of the courtyard, completely covered by giant gashes. Numerous streams of blood ran down the sides of it, turning the water a sick-looking red. Spyro retched as quietly as he could, struggling to keep his bile down, but to no avail; he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground next to him, taking care not to splash any on himself or Cynder.

"Sick bastards," Spyro muttered after he had wiped his mouth with the back of his forepaw. He peeked around the corner of the tent again, taking care not to look at the poor, dead dragoness on top of the statue. Upon seeing nothing moving, he took a cautious step forward—there was still no movement. He took another step; still, nothing moved. "Cynder," he whispered. "Can you feel anything?" Cynder was silent. "Cynder?" He asked again, louder this time.

Cynder's face was a mask of pain and concentration. "They're… everywhere… and they're…" she gasped. "They're just as powerful as Malefor," she whispered.