A/N:

I posted this story a long time ago, when it wasn't much more than a vague concept. I then promptly got distracted by ten different other stories and, uh. Three and a half years passed. Oops?

Anyway, I've made an outline, I love it, and I'm ready to continue this now. So assuming I can get my life together, expect more frequent updates (more frequent than "once a year" at least). I'm really glad to be posting again so here's hoping I don't lose motivation.

And a huge thank you to RiverStyxx for being my beta reader. :)

Chapter 1: The Change

She woke with a jolt, clutching the white silken sheets so tightly that her claws tore through the fabric. Gripped, suddenly, by the feeling that she was clawing for life, the young dragon bolted out of bed and tumbled into the wooden wheelchair next to it.

Clinging to the frame, she summoned up what magic she could muster and shoved herself over to the wide window across the room. Unsteady claws clutched at the lock, and finally she slammed it open, collapsing on the sill to gasp in sweet, pure summer night air.

She lay there with her head on the windowsill for a moment, her chest heaving, but panic still welled up and choked the air from her throat. Something was changing inside her. Insides shifting, energy awakening, and – at the same time – beginning to slip away.

With every breath she took, the clock was ticking down. Sands in the hourglass falling. And when they ran out...

They called it the Change, in those books she'd spent so many long days poring over. Every dragon went through it. As their innate magical energy grows and grows, it becomes too strong to be contained within their body and they begin to emit their aura. For most young dragons, it was a time of celebration.

For her, it was a death sentence.

Cynder Shadowfall was fourteen years old, just two months and ten days left until her hatchday. They'd stopped celebrating those long ago, when it became clear she wasn't going to be some miracle child who fought off the sickness. There was no reason to rejoice another year closer to her death.

But she still kept track of every day. The years and now months left that she had to live. It was morbid, she knew, but she couldn't help it.

The child's disease. The hatchday killer, the aura-eater. Aurus, that name that had always haunted her, reminding her that she would never grow up.

Fifteen years. That was her sentence. Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Looking, now, to be right on time. Because the stronger Cynder grew, the weaker she became. With every passing year, it took a little more out of her. Until her fifteenth hatchday, when magic would course through her veins, and then...

Cynder would be no more.

Gathering her strength, the young dragon lifted her head and gazed around the luxurious room that had been her home for the past fifteen years. Her eyes lingered on each spot, taking it all in. It was truly the best any dragon could ask for.

The walls were lined with marble, so pure and polished she could nearly see her reflection in it, the floors with carpet soft enough to sleep on. Darkwood furniture – a luxury harvested from distant dangerous forests – filled every corner. In the winter, she could roll down into the lowered area and sit by the tall, tall fireplace with a book in paw.

As long as she stayed in this room, she never needed to ask for anything. She had a pool of crystalline water to bathe in, and a rounded bed covered in plush furs much too large for her lean frame, and all the latest toys to amuse herself with, and dozens of servants to meet her every smallest need.

But she would die in this place.

Cynder loved her parents very much. They were doting and kind, always looking out for her, always worrying over her safety. But she didn't get to see them very much; as leaders in the upper echelons of society, there was so much to do. And not much time for a daughter who didn't have any left.

She knew why they kept her locked up here, why they only let her outside after twilight when Shadowfall Sanctuary's gates were locked. And then, only with a guard attending. She was small and physically weak, and it wouldn't be very difficult at all to hurt a girl like her.

But she wished, more than anything else, that they would just give her the one thing she'd always wanted...

Cynder's gaze turned back to the stars peering down through a glimmering veil. They twinkled happily above the city, which lay dark and silent except for a few candlelit windows.

High up in her third-story room, Cynder imagined silhouettes in those windows looking back at her. When she was little, she'd play games, casting shadows over the candle in a silent message to far-off friends. But behind the glass, the dark rooms were always empty.

Warfang... The City of Wonder, the Dragon City. The last stronghold against the darkness. For so long, she'd watched over it from above, seeing mornings dawn and light fade, the streets filling and emptying, and leaving her alone. Would she ever have a chance to leave it?

Even just for a moment... Just to walk by the river she could see over the wall, curving off through the trees into places far beyond.

Maybe she'd never get to find out where those places were, but that didn't matter so much. Just a chance to breathe cool air, to sit in fresh, warm grass, to close her eyes and think clearly without the din of the city encroaching on her thoughts.

Peace. Just a moment of peace, a day out there. That was all Cynder wanted. She would gladly die here in this room for that one small wish she'd been dreaming of for so long. Would that day ever come...?

But she knew, staring at the walls of the city that had been both home and prison her whole life, the approaching stormclouds that blotted out the stars she wished upon, that she would never leave this place.

"Oh, what a dreadfully dreary day," sighed old Miss Aiko, her worn grey scales looking even more dull in the wan twilight.

Outside the misty window she stood before, the rainclouds that had taken it upon themselves to drizzle on Warfang for the past week devoured the sun's light. The entire city looked all washed out and dull, its stones that usually shone gold in the sun now drab, ugly. Streets lay empty, no people in sight. But just as well for her young runaway's sake.

Turning from the fogged-up panes, the elder dragoness hobbled over to her desk, old bones aching as she eased herself into her cushion with a sigh. "Where has that blasted child gotten off to now..." she muttered to herself, shuffling through papers on the great wooden expanse.

Even by dragon standards, Miss Aiko was well considered ancient; the children in the orphanage whispered before bedtime that she had been around during Malefor's childhood – or even, dare they say it, that she had known him herself.

But despite her age, the wizened wind dragon could hear the creak of the third stair down from a mile away, and the slight shriek of that step never failed to give away the headmistress' students who were attempting to sneak by.

"Spyro," Aiko said sharply, turning her head just in time to see a flash of purple zip past the doorway.

There was a pause, as if the young dragon was weighing the consequences of running off anyway, and then a head poked around the open door frame. "Yes, ma'am?" the individual in question asked, an award-winning smile on his face that did nothing to faze the old dragon.

"Have a seat," Miss Aiko said gruffly, and at this point Spyro would have bolted if not for the worried creases in her weathered face.

He sauntered in and casually plopped himself on a cushion across from her, yawning in an attempt to mask the guilt on his face.

"And don't 'ma'am' me, mister," she continued, kindly wrinkles in her face betraying her severe tone. "So where exactly have you been all day, young dragon? No lies, now."

Spyro widened his eyes in feigned innocence. "Why, Aiko, I've been in the library with Flame all day, helping the little ones with their addition."

"Ah, yes," said Aiko, and Spyro could swear that she rolled her eyes, "that's why Flame is in bed sick – no surprise there I must say, since the two of you are thick as thieves and have likely been gallivanting about Warfang together – and the children have been on multiplication for a month now." The headmistress raised a stern eyebrow.

"Crap," Spyro muttered under his breath. Flame hadn't been that bad when he'd gone out this morning...

But, caught in his lie, there was nowhere else to turn. Now he just had to do his best to avoid getting yelled at. "Alright, alright, you got me. I went to the market."

"The market!" Spyro flinched as Miss Aiko clutched at the clasp of her robe. So much for that. "What reason could you possibly have to go to the most crowded place in the city?"

Spyro fidgeted uncomfortably. Getting scolded was bad enough; she wasn't supposed to ask why. "Violet asked me to get her some candy!" He hastily raised a paw to defend from the whack on his head that was surely coming. "You know I can't say no to that kid."

Aiko sighed in exasperation, but she knew. That child was six years old at best, but anyone who saw her was instantly starstruck by her charming smile. Spyro could learn a thing or two from Violet. "Please tell me you strayed from stealing?"

"From the vendor, but if you open your top drawer, you maaay find approximately seven gems missing." The purple dragon smiled sheepishly.

"Spyro..." Aiko slumped into her paw. This child was going to be the death of her.

Spyro grimaced, expression suddenly serious. "Hey, at least if you caught me, I know you wouldn't ship me off to the Bleeding Keep or something!"

"And speaking of that," Aiko said with a sharp rap on the desk, causing the young dragon to shrink back, "if you insist on going out there, you really must be more careful. You're fifteen now, which means your magic is really kicking in."

Spyro sighed dramatically, bracing for a lecture. Aiko ignored him and stood, approaching the window again to gaze sadly out over the rainy city. "You already have your aura, Spyro, and it's... unnatural."

The relentless heat of fire or the freezing chill of ice, the tense electric auras of lightning dragons, or the calming balance of earth... Not shadow, not wind... Nothing that, in all her years, in all the hundreds of unique imprints she had felt, Aiko had ever experienced.

It was cold. It was infinite. It was wrong. And it made her start to realize why people had been so afraid of Channelers all those years ago, feeling that immense unnatural power, its consuming hunger.

"A hooded robe won't be enough to hide you, young Spyro," she said gravely. This wasn't a game anymore, not now. "You get within a couple feet of someone... They won't even have to look at you. They'll know."

Spyro tried to protest, but Aiko cut him off. "You've had so little experience with those powers inside you, and every day they grow stronger. You could be channeling and not even know it, and there could be another..." She paused, the lingering silence finishing her sentence for her, but she spoke anyway. "Another accident."

The purple dragon stiffened. They didn't talk about that. That was the rule at the orphanage: never speak of another dragon's reason for being there, at a tragedy-ridden place like this. They all had their reasons, their pasts. And it was often best to leave it there.

Catching his expression, she sighed deeply and turned back. "I'm sorry. I just don't want the same thing to happen to you."

His reflection in the window grew clear as he approached, and he placed a small paw on her red-robed shoulder. "I can't stay here forever, Miss Aiko," Spyro said gently.

He didn't have a plan, for when he would leave or what he would do when he did. But that was something he'd always known. There was no future for him, hiding in these walls forever. Someday, he would have to go.

Aiko straightened quickly and brushed a few emerging tears from eyes that had once been sky blue, now cloudy with age. "I know, I just wish you would. I promised myself that I would keep you and any other Channeler who came to my doorstep safe. But I'm afraid that, by allowing you to have the freedom you deserve, I may be breaking that promise."

Looking at her slumped form, Spyro shifted uneasily. He wasn't sure what he could say to that. Making Aiko worry wasn't at all what he wanted, but if he had to stay locked up in this orphanage forever, he would be miserable...

Even if he wasn't sure what the future could hold for someone like him, outside the asylum's walls... He didn't like to think about that, not yet at least.

As if reading his thoughts, Aiko shook her head. "Run along, Spyro. I'll be alright." Reaching out with her wing, she gave him a pat and a gentle shove towards the door. "Bring your sickly friend some tea. I'm sure he could use the company."

Spyro frowned as he made his way back down the stairs, all his spirit gone. Sneaking out and getting on the headmistress' nerves had always been his favourite pastime, but lately, he didn't have the heart for it. Before, Aiko had just been exasperated. Now she really was concerned.

But he just couldn't sit around all day hiding in the asylum, gazing out the window at the city he couldn't explore, waiting and waiting for something to happen. That wasn't much of a life at all.

Despite the damper Aiko's conversation had put on his mood, Spyro recovered quickly as he entered the large, homely kitchen. There was always a fire roaring in the hearth, always a pot of tea or a pleasantly aromatic stew brewing on the stove. The warm and cheery atmosphere never failed to perk him up.

Twelve-year-old Lidaea practically lived in the kitchen, so Spyro wasn't surprised to see the gold-furred cheetah lifting a heavy kettle of boiling water off the wrought iron stove. She always made the best of what few supplies they had, always knew how to add a little flavour to a bland soup or turn a tiny bit of extra flour into just enough cookies for everyone.

Lidaea was a rarity even in an orphanage of misfits, quite possibly the only one of her species in all of Warfang. How they managed to get her inside the walls no one knew, but Aiko had never turned a child away.

Plus, when you were already harbouring two Channelers, another illegal resident was hardly daunting. So in came demure, kind Lidaea, who quickly melted the hearts of all the other orphans, even Spyro.

"Oh!" Noticing him, the little cheetah wobbled and managed to set the kettle on the counter without burning herself. "Hiya, Spyro! Want some drakisroot tea? I'm nearly done!"

Spyro was relieved that he didn't have to make it himself. He wasn't sure how it was possible to burn tea, but according to Flame, he'd accomplished it on multiple occasions.

Or maybe Flame was just picky. "Sounds great. Could you make some for Flame too? He's feeling a little under the weather."

Thunder rocked the thin walls of the orphanage before the words had scarcely left his mouth. Lidaea giggled and took out three chipped ceramic cups. "Good one, Spyro. I'll help you carry it up."

With the tea leaves added and a sprinkle of sugar on top, the cheetah grabbed two cups and ducked into the low hallway leading up the stairs. Spyro followed close behind, inhaling the sharp, sweet scent as he followed. After an exhausting day in the cold drizzle, he'd be glad for a nice cup of tea.

As they reached the top, Lidaea walked briskly down the hall, making small talk. "Are you going out, Spyro? There's almost nobody out when it's raining this hard." By now, the light rain that had been steadily plodding on the roof this past week had intensified to a torrent thundering above.

As much as Spyro longed to escape into the night, he remembered what Aiko had said. "Maybe not. I've already been today."

"If you do – you've heard of the Shadowfalls, right?"

"Who hasn't?" Spyro asked incredulously. Even orphans knew the Shadowfall name, the pair of dark dragons who presided over the Sky District, second only in authority to the king and his daughter.

He'd never seen them, or their estate, for himself. In fact, he'd stayed well away from the Sky District, not wanting to draw unwanted attention. But even from these lower districts, standing in the market, he could just see their tower that pierced the stars.

"Well," Lidaea continued, voice lowering to a hush, "you've got to see Shadowfall Sanctuary for yourself. I've never been there of course..."

She trailed off and Spyro saddened. At least he could hide in the crowd if he kept his head down, but a two-legged creature would be noticed right away. Lidaea had never left the orphanage, not even at night.

"I heard it's the prettiest place inside the walls," she continued, brightening up again. "Like they transplanted the entire forest! And every summer night, the fireflies come out in swarms."

Spyro had never dared to fly during the day, and they shot down fliers at night with the huge ballistas that sat threateningly on the wall – more often pointed inwards than out – so he hadn't caught more than a few glimpses of the wild forest. Sometimes he'd see some pathetic garden with yellowing grass or skimpy potted trees in a row. Otherwise, it was all stone and wooden walls.

"It sounds nice," he agreed, wondering how he hadn't heard of such a place before. Probably because the Shadowfalls lived in the better part of Warfang, where a vagrant in a raggedy old robe would not be well received.

"The fireflies are especially common right after a storm, I hear," Lidaea rambled. "I think the rain will stop tomorrow, though." She had to catch herself as she nearly ran right into the closed bedroom door. By some miracle, the cups didn't spill. "Oh, we're here! Come on, let's get this to Flame. I've still gotta help make dinner."

From behind the door, they heard a hacking cough that rattled the walls nearly as hard as the thunder. "Yo, Spyro, is that – " Catching scent of his favourite drink, the hoarse voice cried, "Do I smell drakisroot tea?!"

Spyro grinned, pushing the door open for Lidaea. The long room was lined with rows and rows of round beds, little sloping walls between each providing a modicum of privacy, one of which was occupied by a sick dragon and too many tissues to count. "You're lucky I was in a good mood, Flame. I had half a mind to make dryleaf tea."

"You wouldn't!" Flame gasped in horror, placing a paw on his reddish-purple cheek. "Actually – you would. I wouldn't be surprised."

Spyro laughed, taking a cup from Lidaea and placing it on the floor by his own bed. "What surprises me is that I didn't."

Flame humphed and tasted it cautiously, nearly melting into the cup as he was met with the distinct sweetness of his favourite tea. "Thanks, Liddy."

But the little cheetah, always a bit awkward in groups, had disappeared without either of them noticing.

Right now, the bedroom was empty, all the other kids off finishing up their lessons or playing outside before dinner. Perfect time to do some brooding. Spyro settled into his bed beside Flame's and sipped tea from the flat, rounded cup as well.

The two were quiet, sprawled out on their respective beds, but it was an amicable kind of silence. Though their chatter often kept the others up late into the night, causing them to receive a stern scolding from Miss Aiko in the morning, they spent a lot of their time together not needing to say anything at all.

They weren't brothers, Flame and Spyro, though they were just as close – thick as thieves, like Aiko had said. Purple scales were practically the only physical trait they shared. Flame, often taken sick, had grown up small and lean, while healthy Spyro was taller, more athletic, stronger.

And while they both possessed the gold horns and chestplates of fire dragons, hinting at a shared ancestry, Spyro's scales were a darker royal purple while the former had brilliant shades of red mixed into his bright violet.

What they did share – what made people think of them as brothers despite their wildly varied appearances – was a personality. And often, a brain cell. Always chasing danger in the name of fun, always getting themselves in trouble. The two frequently left the confines of the orphanage to explore the forbidden city that had cast them out.

"Hey!" Flame's head popped up over the barrier that separated them, amber eyes lighting up. He always loved a good story. "Did you hear about what happened to the princess?"

"You mean the massive party they had in the Square for her seventeenth hatchday? The one we couldn't go to because you were sick?" Spyro rolled his eyes, moving to bop Flame on the head with his tailblade. He ducked. "How could I forget?"

It hadn't entirely been Flame's fault; Aiko had been standing watch outside the door all night, expecting them to make a break for it. But they could have figured out a way to get past her. Instead, Spyro and Flame had glumly watched the fireworks and festivities from the window.

Flame's illnesses meant he often got left out, so as much as Spyro had wanted to go, he'd stayed with his friend, both of them shoving themselves out the window trying to get a better look at what was going on. They'd made the best of it, but he was still a little disappointed.

A reddish snout tentatively poked over the barrier again. "Not that," he said indignantly. "The night after the party. She was out with her guards on the road, and – " He glanced at the closed door as if someone might be listening, and his voice dropped. "They found her and her guards, dead. Blamed it on insurgents, but I know it was shades."

Spyro stared up at him in shock, not sure what to say. It wasn't like he knew the princess personally, but... Nothing like this had ever happened before. How was the city not in total chaos? "How do you know it was... them?"

"Insurgents? Are you kidding me?" Flame raised an eyebrow. "Everyone loved the princess. Her daddy is the one executing Channelers and I liked her."

Spyro chuckled weakly, still a little jarred by the news. "You just had a crush on her, dude."

"Whatever. She didn't seem that bad."

Though he'd never seen her for himself, the market square too far off to make out more than blobs of crowds and the tents they set up each day, Flame claimed to have caught a glimpse of her while out alone. He'd been instantly smitten.

Spyro had made so much fun of him. Like you'll ever end up with a princess. It'd been more a jab at his awkward personality than his scale colour, but looking back on it, it felt like a grim reminder of exactly where they stood.

And now she was...

Flame had lain back down again, only his horns poking over the little barrier that barely passed as a privacy wall. After a moment, Spyro's voice drifted over it. "Do you really think she would have made things better for us?"

Spyro heard him shift. It was a long few moments before he responded. "I don't know." He paused, voice somber. "I guess I was hoping so."

They didn't have long to contemplate this before they heard a scuffling below them and Aiko's frantic voice pierced the air. "Visitors!" Before Flame and Spyro could even get to their feet, a thousand tiny steps rumbled up the stairs.

They were nowhere near in position to get to the kitchens in time, but it was the safest place to be. The only place to hide up here was smushed into a closet or under the bed covers.

"Let's go!" Spyro leaped out of his bed, turning as he reached the door to find his friend downing the rest of his tea. "Flame!"

He slammed the empty cup on the ground. "Coming!"

The boys shoved their way through the current of children sent to line up in front of their beds. Ducking down the stairs, they dashed towards the kitchen and safety.

Spyro skidded to a stop, wing just stopping Flame from flying past him. They could hear Aiko and someone else talking in the entryway, which connected directly to the dining hall they'd have to pass through. The chance of being spotted was too high.

Actually, whatever was going on in that room, "talking" was hardly the right word for it. "AIKO! Where the hell is she?!"

Motioning to Flame, Spyro backtracked into one of the side areas that had once been a sitting room but was now used for storage. A few stacks of boxes would give them cover from the doorway, the dusty chests and broken toys laying around deterring most visitors from looking around too much.

Hopefully Liddy's okay, Spyro thought. She would be crouching in the wide metal cupboard below the sink, the one that locked from the inside under the pretense of being "jammed", wondering where he and Flame were.

The two ducked behind a few boxes stacked up high near the edge of the room, giving them a small, dark alcove to hide in. It was empty but for a dusty corner fireplace and a few spiders that had made their home inside it.

They hunkered down, preparing to wait out the visit, when footsteps suddenly raced down the hall. Spyro tensed, but before he could move they shot right through the door and something collided hard with his side.

Spyro winced as he hit the wall with a light thud, the thing that had hit him collapsing on top of him. "Spyro!" a small voice exclaimed.

Judging by the pale green eyes staring wide through the darkness, it didn't take him long to figure out what had accosted them. It was five-year-old Emera, one of the children Spyro had a soft spot for. The little earth dragon could melt the coldest of hearts, with her quiet, honey-sweet demeanour.

Emera scrambled to her feet and prepared to find another hiding spot – it was a little cramped back here between the boxes and the wall – but hearing heavy footsteps tramping around nearby, shoved herself firmly into a corner. Lucky she didn't take up much space.

"What in the world are you doing, Emera?" Spyro whispered, righting himself after the dragon's assault. He would have been annoyed at anyone but her.

"I don't wanna get adopted, Spyro! I wanna stay here with you and Flame and Miss Aiko forever and ever!" she whispered furiously, eyes flashing with tiny rage.

Spyro faltered at this. Poor kid, choosing him and a rundown orphanage over a loving family. He liked his independent lifestyle and he wouldn't leave Flame for anything, but when he was younger... Well, the dreams of some empathetic soul taking pity on his purple scales had long faded by now.

"I doubt it's anyone adopting anyway," Flame said with a weak chuckle. "Didn't you hear the shouting?"

Emera stared quizzically up at him, but she shrunk against Spyro in fear as a rough voice, female this time, filled the halls of the orphanage. "Where are you hiding her, Aiko?!"

"I would kindly ask you to lower your voices, I would do no such thing – "

Their voices disappeared as they moved upstairs, angry footsteps stomping on the floor above. "It's my parents," she hissed in a terrified whisper.

Spyro could feel her heart pounding. He pried his wing from her side and covered her with it. "They won't look here, don't worry."

Emera calmed slightly at his reassurances, but he could feel her tense every time a door slammed on the floor above, dislodging dust from the wood slats that sprinkled down onto them, or a voice yelled loud enough that dragons in the market could have heard them.

Finally the tempest returned to the ground floor and Spyro thought they would leave. But the yelling quickly resumed, along with the scrapes and bangs of furniture being shoved aside or tipped over.

Aiko's protests just reached them. "Stop this nonsense immediately, by the ancestors – "

"I know you're hiding her somewhere!" Bang, what sounded like a table being pushed over and its contents clattering to the ground.

Flame and Spyro exchanged wide-eyed glances. Aiko was too frail to physically stop them, and if it seemed like she was hiding something, it could arouse unwanted suspicion from the guards. But the angry voices were getting closer and closer. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

"I can't go back there," Emera whimpered, face buried in Spyro's leg. As he closed his eyes, trying to think, he could feel Flame shifting around. Probably trying to make up some grand escape plan. But what could they do?

It wasn't Emera getting caught that really mattered. If they found him and Flame... He didn't know what that might cause. They'd be executed or shipped off somewhere worse, that much he knew. But Aiko and the rest of the children... What would happen to them?

Aiko would probably be killed for harbouring illegal residents. If not every child as well – they were keeping secrets too – they'd be left to starve.

The headmistress didn't talk much about her problems to the children, but he knew she could barely convince the crown to keep this place running as it was. It looked bad for the city, having orphans. Beggars would eventually starve to death and disappear at least. This hovel teeming with children was a blemish on Warfang, a reminder that the thousand-year war wasn't going so well.

They'd take any chance they could to get rid of it...

The voices reached the door, two sets of footsteps storming into the small room with Aiko pleading behind them. It was only a matter of seconds.

Gripped by the sudden urge to shove Emera out and save himself, Spyro shuddered. There was no way he was doing that. But the alternative...

No. He'd have to kill them, then. If he couldn't sacrifice Emera, there was no way the orphanage could be found out. He rose slowly, crouching as he tensed and prepared to launch himself the moment someone stepped into sight. He'd never hurt anyone before, but there was no way in hell they were getting to Flame.

Before he could do anything drastic, a motion caught his eye and he looked over. Flame was crouched half-inside the fireplace, rapidly waving his paw. Once he'd gotten their attention, he disappeared into the ground.

A hole in the fireplace, where the grate had been... Eyes widening, Spyro grabbed Emera, clamping her snout shut to stop her squeal, and dashed through the dusty trapdoor. A ladder led down and he grabbed it with one paw, dropping Emera into Flame's open wings below. As he slowly pulled the door shut, he could hear the voices above draw close, then muffle as they were plunged into darkness.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Spyro let himself fall. The ground below was soft dirt, but it was quite a further drop than he'd thought down here. Emera, now on her feet, managed to conjure up a tiny ball of glowing earth that lit up the room they'd wandered into.

No... Not a room. Spyro looked around at the ancient rock walls forming a tunnel that wound onwards, dipping down into a darkness her dim light couldn't reach.

A cave.