Ok so I was two days late for this chapter, which is not a great start to me uploading a weekly chapter. Oh well. To be fair I do have a good excuse. The chapter was finished on Friday, but when I started rereading it, oh boy was it bad. It was poorly written, contradicted itself several times, and overall just was not a good chapter. So instead I salvaged what I could, and this is what you got. I hope this is enough for you all to enjoy.
The ground shook ever so slightly along the mountain range. Pouring from the peak were plumes of smoke which rained down ashes upon the barren land. It was once again that time of the year when the volcano started to erupt.
Had someone been there, they might have assumed that it was perpetually night considering how dark it was. The smoke covered the skies, blocking out any ray of sunshine that would normally light up the morning. That is except for near the top of the mountain were the rocky maw glowed a bright orange. Magma was rising up, once again, threatening to pour out the top and coating the land around it in molten rock.
The heat alone near the top was enough to burn even a fire dragon with the thickest scales. Not even the rock formations inside the volcano could manage the blazing inferno as they began to melt into slag, dripping down into the fiery pool.
The magma rose up and up until it reached the large opening that spanned a hundred yards. As the boiling earth ran down the side of the mountain, fires broke out all over the jagged, blank, mountain side, burning seemingly nothing but the rocks underneath, and thriving among the blinding smoke.
How or why these fires were made, no one knew, as anyone who was lucky enough to witness such a phenomenon, would have met a painful demise. If the blackened air did not suffocate them, then the heat alone would have cooked them where they stood.
Inside the mountain was no better, as smoke and other toxic gases filled the maze like tunnels leading deep into the rock formation. If someone did manage to find themselves trapped down there, they were still just as doomed to meet an equally painful fate.
And yet somehow, near the heart of the gas filled mine, stood a massive orange crystal that sealed off the entire entrance to some large domed room. If someone was able to make it this far into the mountain, they might have been able to see the six murky outlines of what seemed like dragons, all trapped inside the gem. More worrying though, were the dozens of connecting cracks and chips within the walls of the crystal. Whatever force was breaking this crystal, be it internal or external, was slowly whittling away at the walls to the point where it would break open soon.
Oozing down the slopes, the lava engulfed the mountain in its fiery liquid, melting the stone down till it was reduced to either more slag or volcanic rock. It cut into the volcano's sides, finding any small gap to leak deeper and deeper into. The entire rocky cliff was threatened to collapse inside of itself, though something seemed to hold it all together. As if some other unseen hand held up the rock formation, waiting for the lava to cool down and repairing whatever was destroyed.
From the highest point of all of Warfang, a single gray ancient dragon sat and watched the mountain erupt. Due to the extreme distance between where he sat and the volcano, all that he could see was a small line of smog that ruined an otherwise perfectly clear sky. Though he could not see in detail the events that occured in and around the mountain, he still grimaced at the sight, as though he knew far more than what his eyes could see.
A strong breeze blew past the dragon, his blue and gold robe billowed in the wind, further alerting him to the strong breeze. He glanced towards the empty skies where the gust came from and sighed. He was being called upon to return.
Turning around, the old dragon walked over to the doorway that led up to the roof. Leaning his head close to the door, he let out a small breath, with purple wisps escaping his muzzle. The door began to glow a bright blue and when the dragon walked through it, he found himself not looking at a staircase leading back into the temple, but back home at the white isle.
Though as magical as this place was, the Chronicler had more of a distaste for his surroundings. In his own opinion, this place he called home was rather boring. Sure the magical books that lined that walls of endless bookshelves could be called upon with a single thought, but it loses its pazazz quickly.
The place looked so dull as well. Everywhere he looked like some shade of gray. Besides the yellow torches and the random streaks of purple lights that whizzed by, the place was rather dreary. Hence his desire to leave the place for a short break every couple years.
Walking further into his domain, he came into the main room. To him it didn't hold the same grandeur it once held, though maybe that was because he spent most of his eternal life there. Sure the circular room was surrounded by the books of all living beings in their world, but at the rate books left the shelfs and replaced with a new one grew depressing to think about.
The pedestal that he read the books at was nice, and decorative, and he even got his own cushion to relax on if he so chose! But keeping track of everyone even at the comforts of home can grow tiring
Above the room all was the cosmo itself in all of its glory. The stars danced, radiating a rainbow of colors as it shifted through the universe. He could see other planets, moons, and on occasion the sun itself, but the Chronicler knew it was all just a lie. It was a jaw dropping scene when he first laid eyes on it, but over time he came to terms with the fact that the roof was a pure illusion. His home was still buried deep underground.
Lastly was a giant purple crystal that hovered in place on the other side of the room. Walking over to it, The Chronicler stared at his reflection in the gem before patting the large stone with his paw.
He sensed a book flying past him just before it landed on his pedestal. Pulling himself away from the crystal, he walked over to the book he had called upon. Engraved onto its cover was a single name.
"Spyro"
Each book contained the story of a dragon's past, while their present was slowly self written onto the pages. However, it was neither the past nor the present that the Chronicler was concerned about. Opening up to the very last page, the Chronicler would find the future that was foretold. His face only soured at what he saw.
The future for each dragon inside these books were not written, it was a picture of a likely outcome that the dragon will face. Though it was often vague, and sometimes even misleading, there was always part of it that was true about the image.
The final page of Spyro's story depicted both the young purple dragon, and Cynder staring up at a blackened sky. The cosmos above them was being devoured, all the while the ground under them was being pulled up towards the universe, as a black hole began to consume everything.