It was the day after the battle and we were getting causality reports.
"Cole, we lost fifty seven dragons," That revelation hit me like a bullet.
"Over half of our force…" I was in shock. I felt cold inside and out.
"I know Cole. I know," Spyro murmured gently.
"So many families that will never see their loved ones again…" I whispered, "All my fault."
"Cole, if it wasn't for you, Warfang wouldn't be here now," Spyro insisted. I knew he was trying to make me feel better. He had a point.
I swallowed "How many wounded?"
"None."
That surprised me, "None?"
Spyro looked away, his eyes sad, "They had coated their blades in poison."
A chill ran down my spine. "One scratch and you're dead," I whispered.
"Cole, the troops want know if there is going to be a funeral." It surprised me that he'd even asked.
"Of course," I responded. Of course there would be. It was the least they deserved.
"When?" Rumbler asked, coming up beside me.
"Today," I muttered, "We don't know if there is going to be a counter attack. It's best we do it soon."
I looked at my earth dragon friend, "Rumbler? You and Spyro start making the graves. I'll make the statues."
Spyro looked anxious, "Cole, you need sleep. You don't have to do this."
I looked Spyro in the eyes, "I'll sleep when this is over. It isn't just for me. This will calm my ghosts."
I took out one of the hypos and injected it into my arm. I knew I was getting close to my limit, but as soon as I did so, I felt instantly awake. I went outside and began calling up massive amounts of coloured diamond and shaping it to the shape of the dragons. I had fifty seven to make. This would be a long day.
When I was finished, I called up a pure black, ten-foot slab of diamond. On it, I put the names of all that fought in this horrible battle. I put Spyro, Cynder, the guardians, and then all of the warriors. And last, at the bottom, I inscribed the names of me and my group. I took one of the hypos and stuck my arm, but I didn't feel any better. It was all just too much.
"Cole? Cole? Cole, wake up!" A voice penetrated my thoughts and brought me back to reality. My eyes snapped open. I wasn't sure if I had been sleeping or not. A red dragoness was watching me anxiously.
"Hi, Specter," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.
"Cole, are you ok?" she asked.
"Yeah," I stared at the line up of statues I had created, "Just tired."
Specter also looked at the statues. Her eyes looked sad, "Did you make these?"
"Yes. Are the dragons ready?"
She nodded, "Yes, Spyro told me to find you."
I didn't have my armour, so I took off my shirt instead. My chest scales were all scratched up.
"Well, now I know what their swords were made of," I muttered, running my hand over the scratches.
Specter blinked, "What?"
"Diamond," I growled. Only diamond could be strong enough to scratch these scales.
"Cole, if you want help…" Specter hesitated, her eyes on the statues. But I shook my head.
"No, I'll do it." I wanted to do it myself.
I called on what energy I had left to lift the statues and the engraved plate. The graveyard was just outside of Warfang and every dragon in the city was there. That was just over five hundred faces staring at me. I can face those wolves without a care, but crowds? Not so much. In front of them my mind froze, so I made it up as I went along. I think I did better than I thought I would.
"We're all here for one reason – to honour the fallen heroes and those who faced hell and came back," I looked at Rumbler and Tremor, "Guys, I'm going to need your help."
"What do you need?" They asked. It was a spur of the moment idea, but they agreed none the less.
"We created these statues for the fallen," I called to the crowd as I laid the statues in a circle, one in front of every grave, "As well as this memorial to celebrate the peace that their sacrifice will bring."
Together, Rumbler, Tremor and I used all of our power to call up a massive dome of clear diamond. The crowd was silent for a moment. I wondered what they all were thinking. Were they all as guilty as I?
"Bring the fallen," I sighed at last.
Spyro, Cynder and the families of the dead left briefly. They returned, each carrying a casket. And in every casket I knew there was the body of a fallen hero – a loved one who would never again see the sunrise.
"And may they stay forever with our ancestors," I finished softly.
One by one they were lowered to the ground, to their final resting place.
Two hours later, when the families had finished saying goodbye, I felt like the walking dead. When the last dragon left, I dropped. I was asleep before anyone even noticed I fell. Gust ran up to me, but Spyro stopped him.
"Let him sleep," the purple dragon said. His eyes were sunken with sadness. Gust didn't argue.
That night I slept amongst the dead.