Malefor pried his tongue from the dry roof of his mouth. A weak sigh came from him, limbs leaden, eyes still moist. He couldn't muster the energy to mourn, only lie against the damp, grainy ground. He closed his eyes tighter as a meager streak of sunlight slipped through the heavy overcast, the desiccated, webbed sinew of the chamber's ceiling stripped and frayed as if by a violent storm. The great room had become as ash, drifted away along with the remnants of The Black Star, with only surrounding, misshapen pillars to denote its prior existence, like craggy, broken fingers to the dreary sky.

With a trembling effort he rose, wished for the travesty to be nothing more than a nightmare. He turned his head around and clenched his eyes shut, lips pulled back. A sprint away from him lie the corpses of Spyro and Cynder. He limped towards them, winced as acute aches protested his advance.

He ignored the pain. It paled before his grief.

He stood above them, bitterly brooded about his next course of action. He didn't want to consummate their finality, didn't want to bury them. He spoke to them despite their end. "You didn't deserve this." The tears escaped him, dripped down onto the corpses. "Life owes you so much more." His gauntlet shook as he clenched his paw and rammed it into the ash. He nearly buckled, tried to rein his deepening heartache. "I'm not letting you go. Not this easily."

He still retained his size and strength, albeit the battle had enervated him. Despite his soreness he easily scooped them both into his long, sinuous arm and held them against his chest. "Not this easily." His ethereal wings slid out from his back, languidly undulated around him. He levitated, drifted up and out of the destroyed chamber. The splotched buildings of Warfang rose into his view, to stained city streets that now bore a wretched and mournful history.

The dragons, ferals, and Hull sprung to his mind. They couldn't have wandered far, especially with the leveling of the chambers and labyrinth, the remnants of the latter as shadowed dust sprawled across an immense, cracked crater: the remains of the deity's manipulation. He prayed for the Guardians' well-being, for Flame and Ember, even Hull.

He gave a shred of prayer to Goon and Raziela. They weren't The Black Star, at least.

He searched from above for them, held Spyro and Cynder tighter with both arms. He presumed they had escaped the labyrinth, had honored Spyro's request. He approached the entrance to Warfang, and sure enough their shapes manifested in his sight midway between the city and the horizon. He sped towards them and descended, flew slightly ahead of them before he turned back around and landed on three limbs, cradled his dead friends.

He sat before the approaching group, wordless. Flame, Ember, and the Guardians' joyous faces quickly dwindled to a somber realization. Terrador led them, approached first, mouth slack with bewilderment. "Malefor, what happened? Your body! Spyro! Cynder! Are they alive?"

Malefor bowed his head, shook it. Volteer and Cynder sided next to Terrador, followed by Flame, Ember, Hull and the ferals. Ember held her muzzle, squeezed her eyes shut. Flame grimaced as he mustered the strength to ask. "The Black Star...is he dead?"

Malefor raised his head. His eyelids tensed as he scraped his teeth together. "Something of that power cannot truly die. But I know him as I know myself. My past self is with him, locked away. I hold his power now." He quickly added, "You needn't worry. I hold no joy in it, no ambition save for Spyro and Cynder."

Terrador asked, "What do you mean?"

"I'm not letting them go this easily."

Terrador's eyes widened at the implication. "You mean to resurrect them?"

Malefor's words carried an undercurrent of desperation."I'm not letting them go this easily."

Terrador looked to Volteer, to Cyril, unsure as to what to say to Malefor. He spoke hesitantly. "Malefor...when..." He inhaled sharply, the truth gnawing. "While a dragon does not truly die, it does bind itself with nature."

"No. I will bring them back."

"Malefor! Try to understand. Their spirits have dissipated. It was not the same for you. Your spirit remained intact–"

Malefor's eyes flashed with false light, and the air around the dark dragon briefly warped. The group flinched from him. "Do not argue this with me, Guardian." He took control of himself, breathed deeply and eased the harshness of his voice. "I will find the pieces, every infinitesimal part for as long as it takes."

Terrador lowered his head, the notion of resurrecting them both uplifting and unnerving. "We all hold them dearly within our hearts." He cast a sharp look at the ferals, staunched a remark from them.

Goon raised his eyebrow at Terrador. "I'm not that stupid."

Raziela squeaked, "Neither am I."

Terrador's glare lingered on them a bit longer before he turned to Malefor and softened his expression. "I don't know what you're capable of now with the power of The Black Star. It may be possible, but I can't be certain, nor do I know if they'll be the same." He gave a shuddering sigh. "Their bodies will only hold out for so long."

"Then it must be done quickly."

"But where do we begin?"

Malefor ground his fangs in thought. "I think I know where." He gazed down at Spyro and Cynder in his arm, briefly held his head against them before he laid them gently down. He took a few steps back, uncertain of the efficacy of his next action.

He needed the Elders, and while their location in the spiritual planes evaded him, he had more than enough power to get their attention. He breathed in, the image of Guntram vivid in his mind. The name played on his lips as a hissing mantra, spanned out in all directions, omnipresent.

He raised his head up, eyes shut as he held onto the image of the Elder dragon, chanted his name, the vowels and consonants lost within the pace, overlapped and separated before the cycle of chanting formed the whole name again. False light gleamed from the separations of his scales, wafted as smoke into the shimmering air around him.

The chanting grew louder, almost piercing in its susurrations. Moments passed, and the sky briefly darkened, the sun snuffed out beneath a veil of rolling clouds. The five Elders manifested behind Malefor, and their spectral bodies took on a semblance of solidity as they ambled towards him.

Guntram led them, stopped when he beheld Malefor's altered form. His sneer belied his fear. "What has become of you?"

Slowly, Malefor turned his head to Guntram. He stepped aside, revealed Spyro's and Cynder's still forms. "Perdition. Redemption. Grief. You can keep your suspicions to yourself. That's not why I summoned you."

Guntram stared at the corpses, lips parted before he raised his head to Malefor. Something sad pulled at his features. "Never have two dragons deserved so much more."

"Which is why you're here."

"What do you mean?"

"I want them back, Guntram, and you all are going to help me."

Disgust twisted Guntram's features. "Resurrect them? When they're at peace? What kind of ill-conceived–"

Malefor flickered and appeared before Guntram, clenched his throat. The other Elders moved to intervene only for bruised tendrils of energy to erupt from the ground and bind them down. Malefor slightly shifted his head to the others before he locked eyes with Guntram. "Let me make this clear: the power of The Black Star, The Godeater, flows through me. I could destroy this world at a whim. You would be no more than a thought. I will not brook obstinacy. Assist me or be at peace."

He threw Guntram to the side and untethered the other Elders, who torpidly rose in fear. Guntram massaged his throat, perplexed by Malefor's strange power. "I...I felt that. I'm a spirit, how could you..."

"Destruction's forms are known to me, but I care not for them. But to instill life, wholly, into..." Malefor glanced back at Spyro and Cynder. Grief etched his face, words sodden. "Into something so precious. I...don't know." He sank on his fours, gazed up at Guntram with beseeching eyes. "Help me, Guntram. I want them back. They gave me a chance to be something else. Don't you see? I would give all the power within me to have them back." His ethereal wings faded. "Even flight. I would be a runt once more so long as they could live out their lives."

Guntram's head turned between the corpses and Malefor, brow furrowed. "Malefor...I never thought I'd see the day..." He frowned, the weight of the request something he could not carry. "I'm...I'm sorry. The spirit...dissipates quickly once it..."

The words battered Malefor, brought him lower."No. Please, no, don't tell me that..."

"Once it leaves the body."

Malefor could scarcely carry his own heft. "No, no, no..."

Guntram averted his eyes from the dark dragon's anguish. "I want to tell you otherwise. I too wish they could have experienced life more before..." Sympathy bled from him at the dragon's mourning. Guilt, unexpectedly, drove his next words. "We were wrong for what we did to you. I think even us, in all our years, could have learned something about grace from those two."

Malefor's head swayed, his misery a deepening dementia, marked by sudden hysterics. "Just...something! I'm not...not so naive..." A weeping laugh rocked him. "To think it so simple, but..." His face contorted into a snarl of frustration as his head teetered and jaws tensed. "But at least...something. I mean...I know their spirits faded, I felt it, just..." His eyes became lucid as his breath left him. His sight drifted to his gauntlet. He sat on his haunches, fixated on it.

Guntram asked him, "What is it?"

Malefor blinked. "Guntram...When we fought The Black Star, Spyro told me to take his and Cynder's light." He turned his head to the Elder dragon, his melancholy visage abated by hope, the hope a fear. Yet the barbs of hope, while painful, held one tighter through sacrifice. "Would..." He swallowed, gave a quivering breath. "Do you think it's possible?"

Guntram's gaze roamed about the gauntlet's baroque, swirling details. "It has never been done before. The Black Star's power is unlike anything we've seen." A quick pause. "I would be wary considering the source."

Malefor assented with a nod. "The false light is something that's grayer in its ability, its potential for life and death. I tried healing Spyro when he was dying, but it further harmed him."

Guntram asked, "Do you think he didn't want to live?"

Malefor shook his head. "No. He loved life. He wouldn't have fought so hard if he didn't. But...he had lost Cynder then. Perhaps his spirit was too despaired. Something died within him when he lost her. The power he wielded..." The smoldering lids of the oculi flashed in his mind. "I didn't know he was capable of something so abandoned, so hateful."

"We all are, I think," Guntram said. "Our spirits are always in flux. But now you bear their false light, something in flux as well. Perhaps you should ask yourself where your spirit lies."

Malefor curled the gauntlet, splayed it, eyes narrowed with sad acceptance. "In hope, even if it bleeds me out."

Guntram extended his arm towards Spyro and Cynder. "Then you should actualize it."

Malefor turned to them, his steps gradual. He sloughed through his doubt, footfalls soft upon the rustling grass. He sat before them, looked up at the Guardians, at Hull and the ferals, who could only stare in anticipation. He slanted his head down at the bodies and splayed his gauntleted paw above them.

He said quietly, "As I promised." A small orb of false light swelled to life beneath his palm as he lowered his paw to them. "My power and loyalty." He closed his eyes and envisioned, summoned the memory of all the senses connected to them.

Spyro's words: gentle yet tired, but with dangerous undertows if one stepped to deep. Cynder's words: smoldering with her rasp, ready to kindle at provocation, but ultimately fueled by a loving passion. The dragons' radiating power still clung to his scales, the spectrum of destruction balanced only by the warm touches they had shared with him before the dark descent.

They both possessed an abandon tempered by experience and skill, yet their grace always shone through no matter what elements they wielded. They exuded it, had made the deepest imprint upon his spirit. He held onto that essence as he channeled his inner vision into the false light. He fortified that base with his newfound devotion for the two, for giving him a second chance and changing his outlook, for giving him something that he had never had.

Because of them he had a reason to fight for life.

The orb in his palm grew, misted with miniscule, glowing droplets that smoked towards the two and seeped into them, the power gentle yet indomitable, a stream that wound its way past the obstacles and hastened away from the downfalls, branched and found its way to two vessels, filled every hollow.

Their depths, vast and profound, took more energy to fill than he had imagined. Even with The Black Star's power the drain took a greater toll than he realized. Yet he had latched onto the barbs of hope, couldn't close off the flow even as it sapped him of his physical and elemental strength. The edges of his vision darkened, his breathing faint. The orb in his palm waned, became as a miniscule star. With a push of will he gave another burst of false light, and the orb vanished.

He buckled, barely able to breathe, vision streaked with black. Hull's large hands pulled him up. Hull...

He forced his sight and looked down at himself, shocked. He had returned to his previous stature, before his imbuement. Yet Spyro and Cynder remained unmoving.

He didn't have the energy to weep over his failure. "I...I don't understand. There's nothing else I can—"

"They're breathing," Hull observed, his arm still tight against Malefor's. Malefor gaped and shifted his sight to the dragons. Imperceptibly, their chests rose and fell, eyes still shut. Everyone closed in on Spyro and Cynder, craned their heads down.

Arid, shallow breaths leaked from between the two dragons' lips. Stunned, Malefor wished only to hasten their revival. He drew from his shallow reservoir of magic, manifested a sphere of ice in his palm, and with a small breath of fire he softened it and brought it to Spyro's lips. The purple dragon opened his mouth and took in the ice, slowly chewed it and swallowed. Malefor manifested another sphere and softened it, gave it to Cynder.

He repeated this process until the two dragons' eyes opened, though their fatigue still weighed heavily upon them. Malefor ordered Hull to help Cynder to her fours while he assisted Spyro. The dark dragon smiled, could barely rein his mirth as the two sat on their haunches, heads stooped.

"Spyro, Cynder..." He sat with them, his head to theirs as breathless laughter trickled from him. "You're alive," he said, the words unreal to him. Spyro and Cynder turned to him, faces vacuous, tired.

Malefor blinked as a thread of unease sewed itself through him. "What's wrong?"

The two dragons shifted their sight from him, stared up at Hull for a moment before they turned around and ran their vision along the others. Spyro wet his lips. "Familiar." He turned to Cynder, and his eyes slightly widened before he ran his paw across her muzzle. She returned the gesture, her lost look mixed with affection.

Confused, Malefor turned to Guntram for answers. Gravely, Guntram said, "They were gone for too long."

"What do you mean?" Malefor said as he turned back to Spyro and Cynder, the two still in a mental haze.

"There are physical facets to consider," Guntram gently explained. "They weren't just given a new body. They may have their prior power, but the spirit, mind, and body have to work together. The latter two, unfortunately, have been compromised by death."

A black streak stained Malefor's euphoria. He turned to Spyro and Cynder, his voice strident. "You remember me! Tell me you remember me!"

Lethargically, Spyro and Cynder craned their necks to him, askance. "I..." Spyro squinted, frowned. "Not sure." He looked to Cynder, but she too gave no recollection.

The revelation numbed Malefor. He took the reality with a cold acceptance, didn't want to contend with a deeper question. Did he in fact bring back Spyro and Cynder, or merely how he envisioned them? How much of their essence had he taken?

He stood back as Spyro and Cynder wandered up to the Guardians. The two sat before them, stared with a newfound desire to remember. Cynder said, "You three, though...familiar."

The Guardians exchanged contemplative looks, pondered what to do or say. Terrador lowered his head to them. "I'm not sure how much you remember, and I imagine that now isn't the time to try and recall it all. Just know that we're your friends." He gave Goon and Raziela another quick glare.

"Right," Goon said. "Bestest of besty best buds."

Raziela added, "We never once were involved in a lethal clash nor responsible for the hapless slaughter of..." Goon smacked her stomach. She grunted and said, "Right. Friends."

Spyro and Cynder gave them the barest of looks. They circled their sight around, unsure of who to address first. Flame and Ember approached them, wondered if they could spark a memory. Ember said to them, "You all went through much. Lost your lives." She raised her head up at Malefor. "He brought you back."

Spyro and Cynder pivoted to Malefor, ambled back towards him. Spyro asked, "Is that true?"

"Yes," Malefor said, his words tinged with ache. "Unfortunately, your bodies have endured much. It's taken its toll."

Spyro and Cynder brooded on that, searched their own memories. Spyro uttered, "Hunter."

Malefor blinked at that. "The cheetahman?"

"Someone else too...a cheetahgirl." He straightened, a new sense of urgency within him. "I need to see if they're well."

Questioning, Malefor turned back to Guntram and the Elders, the spirit dragons stoic. Guntram said, "Their minds are fragmented, Malefor. Thoughts and desires have shifted, some to the forefront, some more distant. Go with him."

"I will." Malefor asked them, "Is there anything else you can do? To help put the pieces back together?"

"I'm afraid not much else, except give you my newfound respect." Guntram shook his head as he said, "I understand if you don't reciprocate it, but you have ours, for what it's worth."

Malefor gave him a despondent, wry grin. "We'll see in time."

Guntram slanted his head down, gave a a quiet, cheerless laugh before he turned to the other Elders. With an unspoken parting they turned from them, began a slow tread towards the horizon as their bodies wisped away into the wind.

Spyro asked Malefor, "Who were they?"

"My elders from long ago, but...no matter. Can you recall where Hunter lives?"

Spyro winced as he tried to remember. "I see the village." He turned towards Warfang. "I know the city. I think..." He bit his lower lip. "North-west." With those words he took to the air with a quick snap of his wings. Cynder followed shortly after. Malefor summoned his wings of false light, anticipated the quick, cool rush of air.

Nothing. He gaped at his back, disheartened by their absence. He stifled his regret. He had made a promise, and he accepted the consequences. Terrador strode to him, condolent. "You can ride with me, Malefor."

Malefor said nothing, gave him a quick nod before he clambered onto his back. Goon, dejectedly, waited for Hull to climb onto Volteer before he clambered on, and with overt distaste he anchored his arms around Hull's torso. Raziela nimbly hopped atop Cyril's back, her arms around his neck. Cyril shared Goon's distaste.

The Guardians crouched and leaped to the air, followed by Flame and Ember as they flew after Spyro and Cynder. The purple dragon gave no acknowledgment of their presence. The memory of Hunter and the cheetahgirl drove him forward, even if he couldn't readily understand the vague motivation.

They flew for about an hour until they approached the familiar tree-nestled elevation of land, the circular arrangement of huts deeper in. A few cheetahmen worked outside, tended to their small gardens while others carried burlap-sacked surpluses of dried meat and produce to the storage building, a jaunt that now carried a measure of trepidation after the visit from the ferals.

Spyro and Cynder landed, visually meandered the village. The Guardians, Flame, and Ember landed near them. Volteer and Cyril crouched to allow their passengers to dismount. Raziela daintily hopped off. Goon and Hull dismounted shortly after, the red feral unwilling to enter the village. "We're just gonna go ahead and hang around here. Out of site. Preferably behind a large tree."

Cyril asked, "Why?"

Raziela compressed her lips and looked off. "No...reason." She patted the dragon's chest. "This is your day. I wouldn't want to take that from you." Volteer and Cyril gave each other a raised eyebrow, shrugged, and strolled towards the village with the rest of the dragons. Hull, shrewdly, stayed behind.

The cheetahmen stopped their tasks and gawked up at them, their expressions a mix of surprise and unease as the dragons approached, uttered Spyro's and Cynder's names in hushed awe. One of the cheetahman ran to the central hut, and after a moment Hunter emerged from its arched doorway.

The cheetahman took wary steps towards them despite Spyro and Cynder's presence, uncertain as to what to make of Flame, Ember, and Malefor, who stood back in respectful silence. He asked Spyro, "What happened? There was a great trembling from Warfang. We thought it was The Black Star again." He tilted his head at Spyro and Cynder, at the glassiness of their eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Hunter," Spyro said. "You're Hunter, yes?"

Hunter flinched, vacillated his head at the two. "Why would you ask me that?"

Terrador said to him, "Much has happened. The Black Star is slain. However, I regret to say that they didn't pass through these trials unscathed. Fortunately, you can thank Malefor for their lives."

Hunter stilled at that. He darted his head to Malefor, disbelieving. "You? Saved them? How? How did this—"

Malefor stepped forward, held his gauntleted paw out. "Spyro and Cynder's memory have been shattered. You and the cheetahgirl are all that are clear to him right now."

"Lily?" Hunter said, surprised. "She's..." He wiped his muzzle and pinched his brow. "She's not crying anymore, but she isn't very receptive. She's still coping."

Spyro said, "I want to talk to her."

Hunter conceded with a nod. "I think a visit from you two would help. Just your names have brought peace to our children's dreams."

Cynder said, "We want Malefor with us too."

Malefor's jaw dropped, and his heart fluttered. "You...you remembered my name."

Cynder nodded. "Not sure why. Not sure if I want to, or what the memory tells me. It doesn't make sense with the now."

Malefor mouthed, "With the now." He looked to Hunter, silently sought his approval.

Hunter considered it as he scratched his chin. "She won't know who you previously were." He chuckled softly. "Come to think of it, I'm having a hard time seeing the similarities."

Malefor beamed at that. "For the better, I think."

Hunter wryly grinned, and with a sobering thought he gestured towards the central hut. "Not sure how much you two remember of this." The oddity of the words struck him. "But Hermit's recovered now, living up to his name, returned to his own little nook of a home." He began his walk towards the central hut with the three dragons in tow.

The trio ducked and squeezed through the entrance, padded across the hardened earth towards the rear room, the scent of rosewood stronger, clean. Sweet incense burned from within the room, the pulsing candlelight warm between the gaps of the doorway's wooden, shingled curtain. Hunter entered first, gave soothing words to the cheetahgirl before he beckoned the dragons inside.

Spyro ducked and entered, the shingles smooth against his scales. The cheetahgirl sat in a corner upon a dark gray bed of wool, her arms hugged around her knees. She brightened a little upon the dragons' entry, a glimpse of recognition beneath her young yet drawn visage. She turned her head to Malefor, uncertain as to what to make of him.

Spyro neared her and lied on his fours, as did the other dragons. Their scales glimmered beneath the lambency of the shelved candles above them, rimmed the lines of their eyes with amber.

His speech came out hushed. "Lily?" Blankly, the cheetahgirl stared back at him for a moment before she gave him a quick nod. His brow wrinkled with the effort of remembering. "I saw you in a vision. I was worried about you. But I couldn't get to you."

She said nothing, continued to listen.

"I'm glad Hunter found you."

Her eyes thinned a little at him. "What's wrong?"

He looked away, wondered why the words weren't coming to him. "I went through a lot. I don't remember it all." He thinned his lips, the past vision dark, flailing, pierced with blinding light. "You shouldn't have had to suffer that."

Downcast, the cheetahgirl grimaced. "Dad said we can't fight back in nightmares." She raised her head, something empty within her eyes. "I want to wake up."

He canted his head at her. "What do you mean?"

"They couldn't fight back. They're gone. I want to wake up."

A heavy sigh rattled through his being. He sought another way to comfort her. "The Black Star is no more, Lily."

That fact did little to uplift her. "You fought him?"

"All three of us."

Lily drifted her sight along the three dragons. Again, she asked, "You fought him?"

"Yes."

"This isn't a nightmare?"

"No."

"They're alive then?"

Spyro inhaled sharply. A fragment of a memory drifted up from the murk of his mind. "I want to tell you otherwise, Lily. I want to. I can't."

Lily buried her head in her knees. Spyro went on. "It doesn't really go away, but it does get better."

She peeked up at him through the folds of her arms. "How do you know?"

Another fragment broke off, floated to the forefront of his thoughts: Cynder's death. "I lost someone too." Another: Ignitus. "Two of which I held close."

Her moist eyes pierced deeper into his. "What happens later?"

"It's like a wound, Lily. It heals, but it scars. But it doesn't hurt as much with time. Some are deeper than others. That's why I can't tell you that I relate. Your wound may be deeper. But if you give it time it will hurt less. And you can take comfort in the fact that The Black Star is gone. He isn't going to make others hurt like you."

She shifted against the corner. Her wide blue eyes wandered to the side, a sickly frown on her face. "I'm awake, at least."

"You are. And even though you don't want to be right now, because of the hurt, you can take comfort in knowing that it gets better, that there are things to look forward to that will make you happier, maybe help you forget the hurt for awhile."

She took the words with solemn acceptance, hugged her knees tighter. "He's gone?"

"Yes. He's gone."

She chewed her lower lip, curled her delicate fingers. "Are there others?"

"Not like him. And now we have others like me, like Cynder, to stop them if they try to hurt anyone else."

Her toes curled into the bedding, ears slightly raised. "Thank you for visiting me." She turned her head to Malefor, her head curiously slanted. "Who are you?"

Malefor, hesitant to speak, said, "I'm a friend of theirs. I wasn't always a friend, but..." He smiled a little at Spyro and Cynder. "They convinced me otherwise."

"Were you bad?"

Malefor struggled for the words. "At one point, yes. But...Spyro and Cynder have, can do something more, not just get rid of those who wish to hurt, but change the way they think. And those in turn can change others."

"Make the bad good?"

"In a way, yes."

Lily blinked at that. She uncurled her legs and crossed them, her arms between the gap as she mulled over that. " I think I understand." She returned her sight to Spyro and Cynder, recognized something. "What did you two lose?"

Cynder asked her, "What do you mean?"

"You look lost, too."

Cynder let out a weary sigh. "We're not even sure, Lily. But you can rest easy now. You're safe.

Lily leaned back, rested her shoulders against the corner. After a moment she said to them, "Thank you, Spyro. Cynder." She tilted her head up at Malefor. "Dragon I don't know."

They grinned at that. Spyro asked her, "Is there anything you need?"

"No. Hunter takes care of me."

Satisfied, Spyro nodded. "We'll be around."

"Visit me again?"

"We will."

The dragons rose to their fours, gave Lily parting smiles before they exited the room. They waited for Hunter in the main room as he gave a few hushed words to Lily, followed by light laughter. He emerged from the shingles, his aspect calmer, more at peace. "Thank you. You've helped her in more ways than you can imagine."

Spyro said, "I wish I could do more. So many...fragments of everything. So much there but I can't...can't find it all."

"You will," Hunter said. "Just like what you said to Lily: in time."

Spyro smirked, his sight to the door. "Someone else I remembered."

"Who?"

"Sparx." Cynder and Malefor followed after him. "He's going to kill me."

{{}}

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" Sparx screamed as he furiously circled around the three, his bright form blazing about Haedrig's abode. He hovered before Spyro and huffed, arms rigid. "Not sure how, but yeah. It's going to happen. And when it does I'm going to find some crazy Malefor mojo, resurrect your FAT. STUPID. PURPLE. ASS." He trembled all over, his hands clasped around an invisible neck as his teeth grated. He went slack and said passively, "Then I'll smack you. Very hard."

The three dragons and Haedrig grimaced, their heads leaned back. The words stung particularly with Malefor. "Sparx..."

"AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON YOU!" Sparx roared. "BECAUSE I DON'T EVEN KNOW!" He went slack again. "Because, seriously, I don't even know. What happened? I mean..." He spread his arms at Spyro and Cynder. "You two literally look you just got back from a nice, scenic island along the coast of DEAD. What's wrong with your eyes? You look stupider than usual."

Malefor tried to intervene. "Sparx..."

"Like, literally! You look like you've been haunted by the ghosts of idiots past."

"Sparx..."

"WAIT YOUR TURN!"

Spyro snapped, "Sparx!"

"WHAT?"

"I was."

Sparx's antennae lowered. "Was what?"

"Dead."

Sparx gaped at the dragon for a moment. He pointed at Cynder, words aimed at Spyro. "What did you do? Follow her tail to the WELL OF SOULS? WHAT DID I TELL YOU? HOW ARE YOU EVEN ALIVE? This is..." He sniffled. "This is too much. I..." He blubbered and clung to Spyro's muzzle. "I hate you. I missed you so much."

Spyro, taken aback but comforted by Sparx's presence, rested a careful paw on the dragonfly's wings. "I missed you too."

Sparx sniffled again. "You're still stupid."

Spyro didn't know what to make of that. "I know," he said as he comforted Sparx. "I know."

With a deep, final breath Sparx flew out from underneath Spyro's paw and gave himself a harsh, reassuring breath. "Okay." He puffed his chest out. "Okay. I think I'm good." He said in a strangled voice, "Think I'm good." He blew out another breath and smacked his hands. "Okay. Story time. Lay it on me."

Spyro and Cynder gave each other a questioning look. Sparx caught the hesitance. "What? Did you go senile while you were at it?"

Malefor cleared his throat. "Sparx?"

"Yes? Stupid, fat purple dragon number two?"

"I think I should do the retelling."

Irately, Sparx crossed his arms. "Alright. Alright." He gestured to Haedrig. "I'm sure the mammal wants to know."

Haedrig gave the dragonfly an annoyed grunt before he asked Malefor, "In all seriousness..."

"I AM SERIOUS!"

Haedrig shut his eyes and tensed his lips. He gestured to Malefor. "Go on."

Malefor took a deep breath and began his retelling. He started with their entrance into Warfang, detailed the phantasmagory the best he could, the images fresh in his mind yet elusive to word. He told them of their battle with The Black Star, of Spyro's and Cynder's death, how he acquired the power to defeat the deity.

Spyro's and Cynder's resurrection proved more painful to describe, the wound still new. He trudged through it the best he could, elaborated on the two dragons' memory loss. He told them of their visit with Lily and the cheetahmen, how they consoled the cheetahgirl before they left to Haedrig's home.

Haedrig had listened with his chin cradled and brow creased. "So perhaps most of the fragments are still there."

Malefor nodded. "Yes."

A knowing grin spread across Haedrig's face. "Waiting to be pieced together."

Malefor didn't understand the mole's subtext, but he didn't pry. "Yes. In a way, they are."

Haedrig nodded in approval and glanced outside his window. The Guardians, Flame, Ember, and Hull stared at something, bemused. "What are they staring at?"

Spyro and Cynder approached the window and peered out. "The red one...," Spyro said.

Malefor guessed, "Flame?"

"The other one."

Malefor grumbled, "Goon?"

"Strange name..." Spyro leaned closer, a look of rising concern on his face. "He...he just picked up a weapon, some kind of spear."

Malefor and Sparx spun towards them. "What?"

Spyro reared his head back, stunned. "He's...he's going after the female!"

Spyro and Cynder darted to the door and burst it open with Malefor, Haedrig, and Sparx close behind. Goon sprinted towards Raziela, her weapon, Shattersound, gripped tightly in his hands as he swung it back.

And smacked the blades' sides on her flank with an echoing crack of thin metal on flesh. He grinned and said, "Told ya I'd get ya back."

Raziela's hands knotted, her back arched and fangs bared. Ever so slowly, her head revolved to Goon, and a piercing shriek emanated from her, forced the dragons, Hull, and Goon to cover their ears.

{{}}

A few moments later they found themselves with their heads craned up at Goon, the feral hung upside-down from an acacia tree, his tail tightly tied around a bough. Raziela had a placid look on her face, her arms crossed behind her back.

Cynder cocked her head to the side. "Why does this seem familiar?"

Raziela chirped, "I gave him the tree."

Hull blinked up at the display. "Odd." In genuine curiosity, he said to Raziela, "Your mating rituals are foreign to me."

Distantly, Raziela said, "Oh yeah." Her lips curled into a snarl. "Mated him to a tree."

Flame and Ember gave each other incredulous looks. The red dragon asked Raziela, "You two are friends, right?"

"More like frenemies."

Ember looked to Flame and mouthed, "Frenemies?" Flame held a paw out in bewilderment and shook his head.

The Guardians, however, enjoyed the display. Cyril said, "I'm wondering, Volteer: could his head get any bigger with the blood rushing to it?"

"Hm," Volteer said. "It's already occluded as it is, but it's worth further analysis."

"Oh, indubitably."

Terrador stood between Spyro and Cynder, their expressions a mix of bafflement and amusement. Spyro asked, "Terrador...We were allied with them?"

Terrador chuckled, despite himself. "You were."

A pensive silence. Cynder said, "Somehow, I'm not regretting this."

"No," Spyro replied. "Neither am I."

Smugly, Haedrig put his hands on his hips and said to Sparx, "Maybe you should give him some company. Introduce yourself."

Sparx grew visibly brighter at the idea. He flew up to Goon's muzzle, a broad, insincere smile on his face. "HI BUDDY! How's it...hanging?"

Goon crossed his arms and pursed his lips. "Ha. Ha. Hee hee. Ha. Ho. You know, puns are a death-sentence in some countries."

"Yeah," Sparx agreed. "Death by...hanging."

Goon gave him an awkward, fake laugh as the two exchanged pointed fingers. "Ah," the feral said with a breath. "You're brighter than you look."

Sparx suppressed an angry grin. "Ah. Saw what you did there. You really turned my frown upside-down."

Spyro raised his eyebrows and asked, "How long do you think this is going to go on?"

Cynder said, "I don't know. How long do you think Sparx will keep it up?"

Malefor shook his head at that. "Scary thought."

Goon said down to Malefor, "Ever seen Raziela pick berries? Terrifying."

Raziela's eyes bulged, her striating arms taut. "You told me you wouldn't look!"

"It's like a full moon. When the sun's out. Sun gets jealous even..."

Raziela raised Shattersound and gave Goon a retaliatory smack on his flank. Goon curled up, hissed in pain before he slumped with a satisfied grin. "I regret nothing."