Chapter 13: Paradise of Altair

The group made their way to the city of Altair. Link had heard that Altair was said to be paradise on earth, but it seemed a much simpler and plainer construction than Spyro expected. The houses were reasonably small, and modestly built, obviously of wood. The streets were paved with the same cobblestone that covered the streets of Warfang. The familiar feel of the stone made Spyro homesick.

After asking around, they learned that the residents valued scholarship above combat skills, and utterly despised war. The inner walls of several buildings seemed to be made of bookshelves, leaving Spyro with the impression of a great library.

"And I thought the library in Warfang was huge," Ember observed as they neared the temple in the very center of the city.

"I know," Sparx said. "I'd say this whole city is a library in itself!"

"Oh, it pretty much is, young dragonfly," a male voice echoed through the air, coming from the direction of the temple. Its owner was an eldery dragon at the door. He lay on the ground with his right side facing them, hiding his left flank. His scales were a clowdy white; even while lying on the ground, he was taller then Terrador on all fours. Those were the only features that suggested his age; his wings were perfectly smooth, likely not having even seen the tip of a claw or sword; his eyes were a vibrant blue, still full of life; and his voice was almost identical to the Chronicler before Ignitus. At first, Spyro believed him to be the Chronicler, but knew better; the Chronicler's wings had been almost covered in holes.

Sparx looked around at the city once again before groaning in frustration. "How can you people stand to live here without any action? Don't you get bored, or sick of reading books all day?"

"I've spent most of my long years here," said the dragon. "So I've grown accustomed to the sight of books, though I have seen my share of combat." He stood up, revealing his true height - which put Terrador's size to shame - and turned to them. As he did so, he revealed a horrifying sight: the old dragon's entire left forelimb was gone.

Spyro and Cynder gasped in horror; Ember squealed for a split second; Flame's eyes widened; Link simply froze on the spot, apparently not knowing how to react.

"How...?" That was all Spyro could bring himself to say. He was too horrified by the sight to even think of anything else.

The dragon frowned slightly as he glanced down at his severed limb. "A battle scar I shall carry even unto my death...which should have been the day I recieved this wound." He closed his eyes as if trying to hold back tears.

Finally, Link spoke. "What...what happened?"

The old one sighed. "It was in the last battle in the war with Nightmare, shortly before the fall of the Dragon Riders..."

In the following pause, Spyro regained his composure and said, "The Dragon Riders?"

The old one raised an eyebrow. "You mean you don't know?" he asked, sounding exactly like Ignitus had when Spyro asked him what he was.

"Uh, yeah, you'd think it'd be obvious he doesn't know, considering he asked, pal," Sparx said.

"Sparx!" Cynder snapped. "Be polite." Sparx shrugged, but fell silent.

"Long ago," the old one began. "There was a fierce war between men and dragons. When the elders stopped the fighting, a truce was made, so such a war would never again occur."

"What kind of truce?" Spyro asked, suspecting that a simple word agreement wouldn't stop the ancient Wild dragons from starting the war again, nor would a simple scrap of parchment.

"Magic." He paused. "A chosen few were selected from each race to work together to keep the peace. Each pair was binded together in the most intimate way possible. Thus the Dragon Riders were formed."

"I've never heard of them," Ember stated.

"No, you wouldn't have," the elder said. "It was millenia ago. The purpose of the Dragon Riders were to keep the peace in the Multiverse, but also to ensure that another war between man and dragon would never occur again..." he paused again. "But, in the height of the Riders' power, they grew arrogant, and began fighting amongst themselves for power.

"As if sensing their weakness, Nightmare struck, with the full power of Soul Edge at his command. The war lasted for many years, costing many dragons and Riders their lives, and their souls." He lowered his gaze. He appeared to be holding back tears again. Spyro felt that he was remembering something painful from his past. "In the final battle in the Ostreinsburg Castle, Nightmare was defeated, though the Rider who wielded Soul Calibur, Vrael, was mortally wounded. Not even our best healers could save him.

"His dragon nearly went mad of grief as the loss of his Rider." He kept his head lowered, and a tear splashed onto the ground by his only front paw. "That is exactly how closely linked the Riders and their dragons were. When one of the two dies, the other feels as if a part of theirself dies." He paused. "The few dragons who survived the war and live today are known as the Old Ones to those who know their history."

"Who was Vrael's dragon?" Flame asked, surprising Spyro; Flame had never been into history, much less a history lecture, and yet he seemed particularly interested in this story.

Suddenly, the old one sobbed. "...Me." He looked up, revealing tears streaming down his face. "I am Umaroth, last surviving dragon who was once bonded to a Rider."

Spyro's eyes widened, and his expression turned from one of shock to one of awe and respect. Everyone else who was within earshot, even Flame, bowed to Umaroth. Only the five of them held it for more than a few seconds. In fact, they had no intention on rising any time soon.

Finally, Umaroth said, "Please, young ones, rise." And thus they stood up. "You're kindness touches me, but I am a Rider's dragon no longer. I am mearly the guardian of this city." After another minute, Umaroth ragained his composure.

"But, I'm sure you didn't come to the temple to listen to me rant about ancient history," he said in a deceptively brighter tone. "For exactly what reason have you come here? I can tell you're not from Altair."

Although unconvinced by the Old One's calm demeanor, Spyro looked around. "Um...Is there some place we can talk in private, Umaroth?"

"I sense this is a matter of utmost importance. Very well, follow me."

They followed Umaroth through the gigantic door to the Temple of Altair. Spyro guessed the temple had been built to house dragons the size of, if not bigger then, Umaroth. The interior suggested as much, as the ceiling was higher than the tallest spire in the Warfang Atrium, and then some - Spyro guessed it was over a dozen stories high; there were several pathways leading to different parts of the temple, each lit by a series of flameless lanterns.

The main hall was made of silvery-white stone with several stained-glass windows, depicting images of the Dragon Riders, some of humans alone, some dragons, and some with Riders astride their dragons. One particular mural showed a silvery-white dragon carrying a man with pointed ears and golden armor, wielding a longsword the exact same shade of white as the dragon's scales. Spyro found himself entranced by the beauty of the windows, left to wonder exactly how peaceful the Multiverse had been like under the watchful eyes of the Riders.

Cynder nudged him with her snout, snapping him out of his trance.

They followed Umaroth through the main hall, their footsteps echoing unnaturally loud in the massive chamber. They took the passage just to the left of a statue of a man. This pasage was also illuminated by flameless lanterns, which Spyro stared at almost the entire way, wondering how they shone so brightly. If Umaroth noticed his confusion, he didn't show it. They mearly continued down the hall without a word.

The passage led to another enormous chamber. It, too, was walled with stained-glass murals of Riders. At the very end of the long chamber was another mural of a white dragon carrying his gold-clad Rider. Only in this one, the sword wasn't white, but blue like the clear afternoon sky; the blade was split from the tip down; and the crossguard looked like flower pettals.

That must be Vrael, Spyro thought. Then he noticed the mural directly in front of it: Nightmare, wielding Soul Edge. This must be their battle.

Other than the murals, the chamber was empty, save for a stone altar with a red cloth draped over it. A man in a brown robe sat crouched before it, head down and hands together as if in prayer.

Umaroth waved a wing at Spyro and the others. "Wait here." And he hobbled ahead of them, half-hopping on his one front limb.

As he neared the altar, the man ceased his murmuring and said, "You've brought guests, Umaroth."

"Yes, Lee." The white dragon motioned with his wing for them to approach. "These are Link, Spyro, Cynder, Flame, and Ember."

The man named Lee stood up and turned. His eyes were a kind brown, as was what little hair he had, and he was the exact same height as Link. "What brings you to Altair?"

"Bad news, I'm afraid," Link answered, and they repeated Sophitia's words to the priest.

"I had seen the thread of misfortune which clung to northern Mizar, but I never imagined that the gate itself had fallen..." Lee spoke with a look of great concern. He then faced them and said, "And she requested that you five deliver this message yourselves?" They nodded. "I see. In other words, she saw in you the potential to take on the Dark Knight, Nightmare."

Lee pondered for a moment and then led them to the altar, saying he had something to give them. "I'm sorry, but I cannot yet bring myself to trust you. Would you allow me to perform a small test?"

"What kind of test?" Cynder asked.

"A test of your will..."

At the sound of the priest's words, the sound of multiple footsteps caught their attention. They turned toward the mouth of the passage into the chapel to see five obviously hostile figures approaching: themselves! Their dopplegangers were identical to themselves, save for them being entirely black with glowing red eyes. Link drew his sword and shield, and they all got into their battle stances.

They atacked simultaneously, each of them engaging their shadow counterpart. Lee and Umaroth stood by the altar, watching the fight with great care. Neither side could gain the advantage, but Spyro knew that one of them would have to tire out eventually.

The fight was dead even on all five fronts; Shadow Spyro knew every trick in Spyro's arsenal, and Spyro did likewise; The two Flames' agressive attacks bounced off each other; Ember was doing nothing but countering and dodging her other half's moves and rarely attacked, though she was tiring quickly; Link and Dark Link seemed to be fencing, as they had each de-shielded the other; Cynder and her shadow were mirroring each other's movements, attacks, and feints. Neither had any scratches on them.

Finally, Shadow Spyro attacked at Spyro's head. As the purple dragon made to sidestep, the black dragon feinted and struck Spyro on his exposed flank with its tail. While he was surprised by the sudden change in strategy, Spyro couldn't regain his stance as Shadow Spyro hit him with a Dark Comet Dash.

As the black dragon made to perform a combo attack, Spyro blocked with his horns, hooking Shadow Spyro's claws in them.

Spyro suddenly got an idea. He jumped and twisted in a complete horizontal circle mid jump. With its claws still hooked onto Spyro's horns, Shadow Spyro's forelimb was twisted in a complete circle, and Spyro heard a sickening crack as its bones broke - or at least what Spyro thought were bones - and the creature gave a warped scream of agony.

Spyro landed on his paws, while his shadow counterpart was forced onto its side, still favoring its mangled limb. Spyro jirked his head, and the limp paw fell to the floor. Spyro didn't even think. He stabbed the creature in its throat. It squirmed as the blade pierced the dark flesh, and Spyro felt his tail cut the jugular. After a gurgled death rattle, Shadow Spyro's eyes stopped glowing, and it was still.

When Spyro removed his tail, there was nothing on it. The creature wasn't even bleeding. There was obviously a wound there, but no blood. Spyro didn't have to wonder why for much longer, as the creature dissolved before his eyes.

Link managed to disarm his doppleganger before slicing its leg open. As it fell to the ground, it looked up at Link with pure hatred in its red eyes.

Suddenly, it spoke with a warped imitation of Link's voice, "I will be back!"

"Yeah, well, until then..." And Link beheaded him. It too dissolved into nothingness.

By then, the others had defeated their dopplegangers. None of their wounds were serious, though Ember looked as if she'd endured an ape ambush; one of her wings were bent at an odd angle, obviously broken; her tail and hips were covered in wounds; and her face was likewise damaged; Even her necklase hadn't escaped unscathed, as several scratches and dents were visible along the collar. Only the ruby was undamaged.

After healing Ember to managable health, Umaroth and Lee approached.

"Well done, young ones," the white draogn said.

"Well done, indeed," Lee agreed.

"Well, that's all fine and dandy, but, exactly what was the point of all that!" Flame shouted, dismissing the praises.

"I apologize for deceiving you," Lee said. "But it was necessary."

"Yes," Umaroth added, hardly perturbed by Flame's outburst. "Now, please, follow us."

Umaroth held out his front limb toward Lee, who, to Spyro's utter surprise, climbed up and sat in a gap between two of the white dragon's neck spikes.

"Is Umaroth...just..." Flame stammered before pausing.

"...let Lee...get on his...back..." Ember continued the sentence, pausing herself.

"...like his own...Rider...?" Link finished in Ember's pause.

If Umaroth or Lee heard their question, they didn't respond, only started down the tunnel back to the main chamber.

"Well," Spyro said. "We have no choice but to trust them. Let's go."

They silently followed the ancient dragon back to the enormous main chamber, their paws - in Link's case, boots - echoing loudly in the hollow room. Instead of turning donw another tunnel, as Spyro had expected, Umaroth turned into an alcove, toward the silver statue Spyro had noticed when they entered the temple. As he reached the statue, Lee dismounted, with surprising elogance. Umaroth looked down at the statue's face, before lowering his gaze to his paws, a tear dropping from the tip of his snout.

It was only then that Spyro realized exactly who the statue was of: Vrael; he was standing with his legs together, feet slightly parted; his silvery stone face overlooked the entire hall, with long hair flowing down to the middle of his back; his hands clutched at the hilt of a sword, the tip resting between his spread feet. Spyro was too occupied by his awe to notice the color of the blade.

Just behind the statue was a stone slab, large enough for a full grown man to lay on, with a series of runes engraved on it. The runes were of a language foreign to Spyro, and he could only stare at them in confusion and wonder.

Lee stepped up to the stone. Holding his right hand over it, he murmured several words in a foreign language, similar to the one Spyro heard Link whisper in Charon's pass. As the last word echoed in the chamber, the engravings seemed to ripple through the air, before they transformed, becoming that of the common tongue that Spyro was accustomed to. Now it read:

Vrael Silvermane
Unknown - 1025
Vanquisher of the dreaded Nightmare,
Leader of the Dragon Riders,
Rider of Umaroth the Awakener.

"A setting sun will eventually rise,
the shadows will then lift.
Even in perpetual darkness,
a light will always show the way."
-Vrael Silvermane, Light and Darkness.

Spyro held his breath and slowly raised his gaze to Umaroth, next to whom he was now standing. The ancient dragon's eyes were closed, but that did nothing to stop the downpour of tears that flowed from them. Finally, Spyro dared speak, "So...this is him..."

Umaroth sniffed and, in a croaking voice, said, "Vrael...my Rider...and closest friend...slain by the very creature who took my leg.." The old dragon couldn't contain himself any longer, and broke into a fit of sobs, barely managing to maintain his balance on the one foreleg he had left.

"When Vrael died," Lee explained. "Umaroth nearly went mad with grief. It's truelly remarkable that he's held onto his sanity all these years. These fits of sorrow," he gestured to the Old One. "occur every time he's in this alcove longer than a few minutes..."

It took almost an hour, but Umaroth finally regained his composure, though he remained silent throughout the remainder of their time in the alcove.

"Now," Lee said. "For what we're here for." The priest took a breath. "What you all overcame were, obviously, yourselves. Or, rather, your darker selves. You have all proven the strength of your will." He moved back to the statue, placing his right hand over the sword just as he had the stone slab containing the remains of Vrael.

Lee muttered another series of words in the same foreign language, only this time, Spyro noticed two things: Link staring at the priest with slightly wider-than-normal eyes, and the area around Lee's hand glowing and eminating energy Spyro could literally feel.

A flash of light blinded him for a few seconds. After his eyes readjusted, Spyro saw the sword that was once in the statue's hands was now in Lee's hands, with a silver stone blade clutched by the stone Vrael.

Lee turned to Link. "Now, take this sword." he said. "You have earned it."

Link took the sword, which was of a pevuliar design. It was intricately decorated and its blade was split in two. Spyro felt it emitting a feeling of purity, yet at the same time, he could feel a darkness within it as well. After a few seconds, Spyro gasped as he realized what Link was holding.

This was the Spirit Sword, Soul Calibur; the very sword once wielded by Vrael; the very blade that had defeated Nightmare; and the only weapon that the Dark Knight still feared.

Link seemed to realize it too, though his face remained one of confusion. "This is Soul Calibur," he said with an equally confused tone. "But, then why do I feel darkness coming from it?"

Spyro took a second look at Soul Calibur. It was only then that he noticed the discoloration in the spirit sword; at the center of the crossguard was what looked like an open eye, similar to that of Soul Edge; blood-red tentacles seemed to be spreading from the eye, threatening to devour the entire sword.

It was Umaroth who answered. "During the final battle against Nightmare, Soul Edge saw it had met its match. In an effort to preserve itself, it attacked Soul Calibur itself, an immensly powerful mental assault that overwhelmed the spirit sword.

"By the time Vrael realized it, he was too late. The only thing he could do was use the last of his and Soul Calibur's power and strike down Nightmare. That was when he suffered the injury that was his undoing. Both he and Nightmare stabbed the other simultaneously. Vrael stabbed Nightmare through the heard, while Nightmare cleaved Vrael's lung in half with his thrust." His voice was heavy with sadness and regret, and Spyro thought he was on the verge of tears once again.

Lee patted the enormous dragon on his side before continuing. "We've been working ever since to purify the sword, though we've made slow progress, and the job is only partially completed. It is just enough to stop the darkness from spreading to anything else."

"And I believe you have proven yourselves worthy of posessing Vrael's sword," Umaroth said. "Answering the call when the evil reemerged; resisting the temptations of the shards you once carried; and surviving an encounter with Nightmare himself without submitting to the evil blade."

Spyro couldn't believe that Umaroth was entrusting them with one of his fallen Rider's posessions.

"I...I-I don't know what to say" Link stammered. "Thank you, Umaroth."

"Now," the ancient dragon said. "If I'm correct, you five are looking to destroy Soul Edge?" They nodded. "I can help at least a little more, with information: the remaining shards of Soul Edge lay sealed in the land to the east, in Antares."

"Just like we thought," Spyro said.

"And the three gates were built to protect the evil sword from evil ones," Umaroth continued. "Only those with pure hearts can pass through them. You must stop Nightmare from obtaining the shards and completing Soul Edge. Otherwise, the Soul Void, and the Multiverse as we know it, will be no more."

"No pressure, right?" Sparx said sarcastically. Spyro rolled his eyes.

After a few more farewells, they left the Temple, Soul Calibur held tightly in Link's sword hand.

When they reached Mizar once agian, they immediately searched out Sophitia. She was recovering faster than expected; her wounds completely closed, though her ribs would take much longer to mend.

She refused Ember's offer to help, saying, "They need you more than I do right now, young dragoness. Go with them."

As they climbed over the ruins of the gate, Spyro gave a backward glance at Mizar. This very well could be the last time they saw the city, should they fail.

Shaking the thought out of his head, he looked forward and led the others on. They had to defeat Nightmare, the sooner the better. The chase was on...

There! Officially my longest chapter so far! (Over 4,000 words! Damn!) I just had to add a side story, and I absolutely love the concept of Dragon Riders.

PS: I do not, and I repeat, NOT own the Dragon Riders, Umaroth, or Vrael. They belong to Christopher Paolini, author of the Eragon series. (Blast them for not making movies out of Eldist or Brisingr yet!)

I know, Umaroth died in the Inheritance cycle, and it was Glaedr who lost his leg, but I just had to have Umaroth there.

Anyway, thanks for sticking with me thus far, people! I appreciate reviews, good and bad. Everything helps!

Next stop: Aldebaran! See ya there!