Chapter 1: Awake and Alive
Cynder was dreaming.
She did not know why or how she was aware of that. She shouldn't have been aware of that, and yet there she was. Her mind simply recognized it as a most obvious fact, just like the existence of gravity. Still, it unsettled her. This was not like any normal dream she had ever had up to that point.
A pungent smell assailed her nostrils, and she flinched back as it seeped into her mouth. The sickly-sweet taste burned in the back of her throat, yet there was something wrong with it. The air felt heavy and still. Cynder swung her head around, trying to catch a glimpse of her surroundings, yet to no avail.
Lights and shadows danced before her eyes, shifting and melting into thousands forms all at once. A tide of nausea washed over her, and her head pulsated painfully.
Gravel crunched under her paws as Cynder strode ahead towards . . .
Wait, where was she going?
Why was she even walking to begin with?
Cynder came to a halt, then blinked. She tilted her head to one side, then the other. A soft hiss escaped her as she silently lowered herself to the ground. She narrowed her eyes, stalking forward with extreme caution. Something was out there; Cynder could feel its aura, the ancient yet raw power emanating from somewhere nearby.
Except it was not just somewhere. It was everywhere, the very air around her permeated with a kind of energy she had never felt in her entire life.
'No. That's not true. You've felt it once, haven't you? In the Well of Souls, when they . . .'
Cynder snarled, teeth grinding together, the memories already trying to slip past her mental barrier only to be brutally pushed back. She shook her head. This was different though; powerful, yes, but different, without a hint of that old malevolence. And ancient, very much so.
The shapes twisted and twirled in the air, before dissipating like incorporeal smoke. Cynder sensed some strange familiarity in them, as if she had seen them before. Yet, each time she thought she'd just recognized one, they would simply fade away, only to reform in the corner of her eyes.
She was getting closer now. The dragoness could feel the pulsating power, a vicious headache pounding at her mind with each step she took. Cynder lowered herself to the point that her belly touched the cold ground as she advanced. A more rational part of her screamed hoarsely to get back and run, but she pushed it back. She had to discover where that was coming from, she had to-
"Hello there."
Cynder's body moved far quicker than her mind. She pivoted her entire body around in one fluid motion, hissing as she deployed herself into a fighting form and barred her fangs. Her scythe-shaped tail-blade stood ready, coiled like a poisonous scorpion's tail and ready to strike.
Then, her jade-green eyes swivelled upward.
The dragon standing before her amidst the flowing mist was tall, yet old, grey-coloured scales covering his body. Two sets of horns sprouted from the back of his head, all tipped in bronze aside from the right-upper one, chipped. His wings were flared open, revealing pale battered membranes. After a taking a look at them, Cynder briefly wondered how the dragon before her could fly, if at all. Pale blue eyes settled on her with a twinkle of curiosity.
After a moment of silence, the elder dragon chuckled.
"My apologies. It was not my intention to frighten you." He began stroking at his goatee. "I just couldn't resist making a dramatic entrance. After all, first impressions are everything, yes?"
Cynder said nothing, keeping her eyes fixated on the dragon. Her muscles were taunt like a charged spring, ready to launch herself into violent action at the slightest provocation.
"Who are you?" she said quietly.
The elder dragon opened his mouth for a moment, then stopped, frowning. "Uh. That is in fact a good question," he mused. "It has been quite some time since I've used my proper name. Probably a millennium or so. I guess it happens when you have nobody to have a real conversation with."
Then, he shook his head. "Bah, no matter. You may call me The Chronicler. After all, that is the title most know me."
"I don't know you."
"Ah, but I do. You, I mean," The Chronicler replied. "Young Cynder, the second hatchling to survive that fateful night at the temple all those years ago. The Terror of the Skies. Malefor's own right h-"
"Stop it," Cynder hissed. "I'm not that. Not anymore."
The Chronicler raised an eyebrow, then quickly nodded. "Of course. I did not wish to distraught you. Still, it's a pleasure to finally meet you personally. I have been following your story for quite some time now. It is a most particular one, in my humble opinion, and I look forward to consulting the pages still blank on your book; I am confident they'll have an interesting story to tell."
Cynder raised an eyebrow. "My . . . book?" The elder dragon nodded.
"Your Book of Time. Every dragon has one. You, the Guardians, young Spyro . . . I merely watch over them though. It is up to you to decide what is written in the blank pages."
"Right," Cynder said, unconvinced. Her posture relaxed just a bit, but she kept on eyeing the dragon suspiciously. He was powerful, she had not doubt about it, far more than he let on. The very air was permeated by his ancient aura. She had to be careful, Cynder decided.
"Why are you here then?"
"A happy accident, I am afraid," The Chronicler admitted with a chuckle.
"You see, I was looking on re-establishing my link with young Spyro but . . ." He paused, then shook his head. "Alas, it appears something might be wrong. I can sense his presence still, yet something pushes back against me." He shot a look at Cynder.
"You wouldn't happen to know where he is, right? The last time I managed to perceive his essence he was rather close to yours."
Once again, Cynder raised an eyebrow. "I . . . no? Why would I know where he . . . he . . ." She trailed off, eyes widening as the memories, all of them, came back in one violent rush.
The Well of Souls
The fight with Gaul.
The darkness as the Celestial Moons finally came into conjunction.
The beam striking Spyro and infusing him with . . . with . . . something.
Her own blood froze as the last memory flashed before her eyes. They were in the Well of Souls, the entire place coming down on them, the crashing of stone drowning out every other sound.
Except his voice.
'Get close to me, now!'
Cynder swallowed hard. Her lips were trembling.
"Is everything alright, young dragon?" The Chronicler asked. "You look a bit ill."
"N-nothing, it . . . it's just . . ." The words died in her mouth. She grinded her teeth, desperately trying to piece together the events in a coherent manner, but to no avail. She simply couldn't remember anything past what Spyro had screamed at her.
"I-I need to get out of here," Cynder finally managed. "I must find him before the Apes do. Or Malefor, for that matter. He's in danger."
The Chronicler nodded gravely. "I am afraid both of you are at the moment. I wish I could prepare you for the trials awaiting you. Unfortunately, as I said, the pages of one's Book of Time are his or her to write. Your path hides many surprises, and those are only yours to discover."
"What are you talking about? Trials? What trials?" Cynder demanded. "If you are about to start talking about my destiny or whatever, save it. I'm not interested in any of that nonsense."
"I fear there's little time for explanations," The Chronicler said, shaking his head. "I'm honestly surprised I managed to find you, and even more that our little meeting hasn't yet been cut short. Little seems to be certain as of now, and the currents of fate branch off into infinite directions."
"That is not a real answer," Cynder growled in irritation. "Stop playing around and speak clearly!"
She winced back when The Chronicler turned his head fully towards her, his sunken eyes boring deeply into hers. His gaze was cold, unrelenting, and for the briefest moment she felt the true power emanating from him.
Blood left her face, and she found herself out of breath. She would have taken a step back if her legs had not simply ceased to work. In that very moment Cynder finally realized how foolish she had been to even think about facing him. She had thought the Guardians were powerful; she had thought Spyro was powerful; some time before, as Terror of the Skies, she had even considered herself to be powerful.
But The Chronicler? He was beyond those petty squabbles. His was a power that no words could describe, for those that could had been forgotten throughout the millennia.
"Be careful, young Cynder," the Chronicler said, his tone darkening. "The enemy has increased his power in your absence; his armies grow in size and strength with each passing day, while the Dark Master moves closer and closer to his final victory. And you are out of time, in more ways than you may think. Dark days await us all."
Then, a soft smile appeared on his muzzle. The oppressive atmosphere around them lightened considerably. She finally managed to draw in some air.
"Yet, there is still hope. When you wake up, find young Spyro and make your way to Warfang. If all goes well, our next meeting will be a more pleasant one."
Cynder blinked. She opened her mouth only to close it immediately. "Wake up? You mean this really is a dream then?" The Chronicler nodded. "But wait, if I am dreaming then . . . what is this place?"
"Oh, I do not have the slightest idea," the elder dragon admitted candidly. "We are, after all, speaking within the confines of your mind. This is the place you have conjured up, whether you realize it or not. Admittedly, it may need some improvements."
Cynder glanced around at the desolation around her. The rotten smell permeating the air, and the feeling of dry, hard gravel beneath her paws were omnipresent. The dragoness let out a dry chuckle.
"So, my mind is not a nice place. I would have never guessed it."
"If it does console you," the Chronicler said, "I've seen far uglier ones over time."
For the first time, Cynder smiled. "No. But I appreciate the gesture anyway."
The Chroniclers gave her a nod before speaking again. "I believe it is time for me to leave. I can sense the spell I used to come here as it unravels, and much quicker than I expected. Be careful, Cynder, and extend my greetings to young Spyro as well. The road ahead is fraught with perils, but I'm confident we shall meet again."
The elder dragon stood back, stretching his massive pair of wings to their maximum span. He flexed them a couple of times, ready to take flight. And then stopped.
A frown made its appearance on his wrinkly face, and he looked down in curiosity. His eyes went wide. He shook his head before slowly glancing back towards her. There was in his gaze now, Cynder noted, nothing but immense sadness.
"My dear child," he whispered, "what have they done to you?"
The shapes froze in mid-air. Her surroundings grew freezing-cold, clouds of condensation forming around Cynder's muzzle with each exhale. The dragoness swallowed, a chill running down her spine as she felt the metallic taste in her mouth. It was a familiar one.
Something brushed against her rear calf. Cynder wanted to look down. Her mind told her, screamed, begged her not to do it. Nothing good would ever come out from looking down. She forced her eyes forward, only to catch a glimpse of something shifting beneath her. Her emerald eyes finally swivelled downward, only for her breath to die in her throat.
There was no gravel. There had never been any gravel.
There was nothing beneath her paws but bones.
Thousands surrounded her on all sides and as far as her eyes could see; an unending sea of dull white. Skulls of all shapes and sizes gathered in haphazard piles and staring silently at her, their empty sockets shrouded in darkness.
They stared at her.
They hated her.
They wanted her death.
She knew it, she could hear them whispering, the droning of countless voices rising to ear-splitting intensity, until the only thing left was the sound, shrill and merciless as it penetrated her very soul.
Cynder shut her eyes, paws pressed hard on both ears, but the noise was overwhelming. The dragoness screamed, but no sound came out. She could no longer ear anything else. There was only the noise.
'. . . Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop . . . '
Warm tears streamed down her face. Then came the cold hand closing around her throat in a vicious grip. Cynder's eyes bulged open as she fought desperately for breath. A massive, hunched figure crawled its way upward, breaking through the mass of bones beneath.
There was laughter, loud and cruel. The light coming from the thing's left eye was a blinding, sickly green.
"Hello, Cynder. Did ya miss me?"
Gaul.
Finally, Cynder heard herself scream.
Compared to the scorching, open air he had grown so used to in the previous weeks, the stone tiles beneath his paws felt cool to the touch, pleasingly so. Hunter stood still for a few more seconds, closed his eyes, and simply enjoyed the feeling of fresh air against his fur. Though he prided himself for having traveled over the years through much of the known world, for one reason or the other, the cheetah had not trodden into the Crimson Lands for quite some time.
'Almost five years by now,' Hunter mused, blinking his eyes open. 'Praise be to the Ancestors that the locals value hospitality.'
He glanced down for a moment, and couldn't help himself from frowning, even if for just an eyeblink. He was wearing little aside from his brown short tunic and his leather vambraces, and he had been forced to relinquish his handcrafted bow and quiver, as well as his knife. The locals may have been hospitable, but they had their rules towards guests, especially if they were armed.
As for his cloak, the months spent traveling through dark forests, endless swamps and dusty canyons had taken their toll on his humble, yet extremely useful, garment. Despite Hunter's initial protests, the locals had insisted on at least giving it a thorough wash.
Hunter wasn't exactly sure how to feel about it; admittedly, his long stays outdoor might have numbed him to the smell.
His ears perked up as he heard voices echoing from the other side of the room, coming muffled from behind a door. Then came the quickening footsteps.
"Where is he? Where's that ungrateful cheetah that dares to come into my home after all this time?! Oh, but he's not getting away now, may the Spirits eat my soul otherwise . . . Ashiof, bring me my cane!" A pause. "No, not that! I meant the heavy one . . . yes, that one! Bring it here, I want to test the thickness of his skull!"
Hunter raised an eyebrow. 'Oh wonderful. He's in a good mood.' He crossed his arms on his chest and waited.
Soon enough, the door burst open, and the fennec came barreling through with an unnatural energy for someone of his age. Pale brown-furred with an occasional streak of grey, his facial features were twisted in a fierce and ugly scowl. As expected, he had a cane with him, and he did not need it for walking.
"You!" Mojiz snarled as he came to a stop before him. "I see you've finally decided to show your face in my house." He stumbled closer, his body covered with brown and dark red clothes. "And to think I willingly let you step through my door, as a guest no less! Truly, I am lucky my ancestors cannot see how low our clan has fallen!"
"Mojiz-" Hunter began.
"Four years!" Mojiz snapped. "For four years, three months and twenty-seven days, you simply vanished! Not a word, not a written letter, not even a farewell feast! Then, after all this time, you start sending letters and ask for my help. My help! For all you knew, I could have already passed away, but did you even inquire on how my health was? Did you? No, of course not. Not even a small 'hello my old friend how are you feeling' or some other senseless chatter!"
"I was under the impression you hated that."
"I do, but it would have made me feel better!" he countered.
"I see," Hunter said, unmoving. "Are you done now?"
"You ask me if I am done?" The fennec frowned even more deeply. "I'll have you know that this is my house, and as such, I am free to complain as much as I want! In fact, I may spend the next hour or the one after that, if I were to wish so."
"Of course you can. It is your home after all," Hunter said. A small grin made its appearance. "Just so you know, Mojiz, I did miss you. And I'm glad to find you in good health."
The fennec tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowing in suspicion as his large ears flicked. Finally, he shook his head.
"Oh, who am I kidding, I can't bear a grudge to you. Come here now," he gestured, and Hunter gladly obliged. The two friends exchanged a fraternal hug, made a little bit harder by the fact that, in terms of height, Mojiz's head barely reached Hunter's chest, yet they managed. Then, as he touched his friend's left shoulder, Hunter's grin turned into a grimace. His eyes went wide.
"Mojiz? Your . . . your left arm is . . ." The next words came out in an incomprehensible stammering as the realization finally dawned on him. Where his arm should have been, there was simply nothing, all the way to the shoulder.
"Uh? Oh that." He reached up to adjust his cloak. "Yeah, I lost it."
"Lost it? How?" Mojiz simply shrugged.
"Ape ambush near the border. It was going pretty well until their sorcerer joined in." The fennec grimaced. "It didn't go too well after that."
Hunter nodded but remained silent for several moments. To see a friend injured so heavily . . .
"I'm very sorry for what happened," Hunter began. "I didn't wish to-"
"Sorry? And for what? You didn't take my arm. Heck, you weren't even there to begin with." He grinned for a moment. "Besides, I did crack his head open with a rock for that."
Hunter blinked. 'He seems to be taking it very well?'
"But enough about me. Let's sit down for a moment before my legs finally decide to give up on their own," the fennec noted with some amusement.
A pair of comfy-looking red cushions had been prepared on the other side of the room by a low table, and the two sat on the ground cross-legged. It wasn't long until a couple of servants came in and began pouring some beverages in brightly colored ceramic cups. Both opted for some fermented milk.
"So, how's that insufferable tribe chief of yours?"
Hunter took a sip from his cup. "Chief Prowlus is well, though it's been a while since the last time I've paid a visit. I had feared the Grublins would force the village to relocate, though this hasn't happened as of yet. Despite his, well," he paused, "attitude, he does keep Avalar safe."
Mojiz sniffed in amusement. "Figures. That damn cheetah is too stubborn to die. The Dark Master himself would probably have a hard time trying to put him down. I can't believe what I'm about to say, but he's probably going to outlive me in the end, or all of us for that matter." That earned a brief chuckle from Hunter.
"You two might be more similar than you think."
"Oh, you little . . . that's it, where's that cane? I'll teach you some manners." The two shared a laugh. Food arrived shortly after, a pair of servants carrying a wooden tray with fruit and other delicacies. Hunter took an occasional bite or two, but mostly let Mojiz dig in with gusto.
"How's the situation back in the east?" the fennec eventually asked, his voice turned serious.
"Precarious," Hunter said after some hesitation. "Warfang stands for now, but this has not been a good year for the Alliance. We've been bloodily pushed back, and the Principality of Naskaline has defected to Malefor during the summer."
Mojiz snorted contemptuously. "Cowards."
"They are just scared."
"They are fools. I wish I could see their faces once the Dark Master turns his armies on them." He frowned. "Ask us, and we will gladly tell you the only way you can deal with them for good."
"I'm sure you will. Matters seems to have settled down here though, at least for the time being."
Mojiz shrugged. "Sort of. The Dark Armies still probe our border from time to time. They send raiding parties across, and we send them back, usually in pieces. Still, nothing major apart from that; we exterminated the first army they sent into our lands six years ago and the Dark Master doesn't seem to be in a hurry to try again."
He drummed his fingers on the table. "Which is why I'm still hesitant to plunge us back into the fray. What we have here is, frankly put, the closest thing we had to actual peace in years. It turns out having an external enemy does wonders in putting to rest rivalries among the clans."
Hunter raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said there was only one way to deal with them."
"Yes, yes, I know." Mojiz shook his head. "I'm old, I'm allowed to be delusional once in a while."
"More than a while, I'll say," a new voice spoke up from behind.
Hunter glanced up and to the side, noticing the fennec standing by the door. Young-looking, her fur was pale-yellow, and she had dark brown eyes. She wore a set of traveling clothes, though Hunter caught the glint of scale mail on her chest. Her hood was down, revealing a trio of metal earrings standing out on her right ear.
She quickly covered the distance between them, before coming to a stop right by Mojiz's side and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.
"I see you are back, Zara," Mojiz noted. "Have you come once more to torment your elderly father?"
"I'm not sure on who's tormenting who," she noted with a roll of her eyes.
The older fennec shook his head before turning to Hunter. "Can you believe it? My own offspring, mocking me in my very house!" He snapped his head back at her. "I blame your mother for this, you took too much from her."
Zara said nothing, limiting herself to a grin as she sat down by his side. Eventually, she finally noticed the cheetah sitting across from her. She reached up with a pawn and gave a light tap on her own forehead. Hunter mimicked the greeting gesture without hesitation.
"Apologies for my sudden entrance. You must be Hunter from the valley of Avalar, yes? I'm Zara. It is an honor and pleasure to finally meet you in person." She smiled, genuinely. "I've heard much about you from my father here. He simply would not shut up about it."
Hunter shot his friend a mildly amused glance. "Oh, is that so?"
The fennec sniffed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Enjoy the moment if you want, but it won't last. If Zara's here, it means we can put aside the pleasantries and discuss serious matters."
The cheetah nodded. "Fair enough. You did not mention what you wanted to discuss in your letter though. You were, in fact, quite vague."
"And I had my reasons for that," Mojiz said. He scratched at his left shoulder. "Do you remember when you mentioned you had pinpointed the location of the purple dragon? Well, it turns out you were right."
Hunter nodded. "The Well of Souls? Yes, I suspected as much. Unfortunately, I had only a few rumors to work with and, most of the times, conflicting ones at that. The raging war has not helped either. Still, if Spyro is there, it is good news. I will warn the Guardians as soon as possible."
He made to rose to his feet, but Mojiz raised a paw. "Slow down, will you? I haven't finished yet, and I'm afraid I don't have good news either." Hunter blinked. "As I was saying, you were right, but the situation has changed in the meantime and, uh . . . Zara, do you want to take it from here?"
The younger fennec nodded smartly. "Of course. To put it very concisely, our pathfinders keeping an eye on the place have reported grave news. It appears there has been a battle in the Well of Souls, and the local Grublin garrison has been utterly exterminated. The assailants have made their way east, and they carry the purple dragon with them."
Hunter's brown furrowed deeply. "Are you sure of this? Is there a possibility you were mistaken?"
"No," Zara simply said, crossing her arms. "I've read multiple reports confirming it. A purple dragon, a black dragon, and a dragonfly. These are the ones you are looking for, yes?"
In the end, Hunter nodded, slowly. He had spent three years following whatever scrap of information he had managed to gather about Spyro. They had guided him across half the known world, from the freezing tundra of Kasselon to the warm and sunny shores of Pelagia. Most had proved to be veritable red herrings, but an almost casual reunion with the Manweersmalls and their leader had brought him toward the Well of Souls. But now?
He shook his head. 'And to think we were so close, back on Skabb's ship. If only I had been quicker, if only I had not hesitated . . .'
"Hunter?"
"I am alright," he said. "Forgive me, I was reflecting." Then, he sighed. "The news you bring me is in fact troubling, and I was hoping to reach them before the Dark Master's forces could. Still, I'm thankful for the information you shared with me. Do you know where they are directed as well?"
Zara nodded, her lip twitching in a grimace.
"Jachai-Kul," she said quietly.
Silence fell within the room. Hunter blinked, slowly, the mug almost slipping through his fingers. For the first time, a sickening feeling seized his stomach in a painful grip. He felt for a brief moment his hackles rising on their own. At first, Hunter took a deep breath, then another one, and finally he decided that a third one would probably help him too.
He looked up, eyes hardened in determination. "Then there is no time to lose. I'll be heading there next." Mojiz nearly chocked on his beverage. He struggled to suppress the fit of coughs.
"You can't be serious!" he exclaimed. "The place is a fortress, and a nearly unassailable one. And that without taking into consideration all the rumours floating about that forsaken place."
"Such as?"
"I've heard stories about what happens inside," Zara said. "It's a fortress consecrated to the Dark Master itself, where his minions and loyalists ready for war. Prisoners from the war are marched there and none has ever come out. Some say it's because of the dark, forbidden rituals carried within its walls by renegade and half-mad sorcerers." She shook her head. "It's a dark place."
"I have no doubt it is," Hunter replied. He rose from his cushion and back to his feet. He turned to each fennec in turn.
"Zara, I thank you for the information you have decided to share with me, as well for the warnings. Mojiz, I thank you for the hospitality you have shown me today. I'll be sure to repay you in the same way should you decide to come visit to Avalar."
The two exchanged a brief, puzzled glance amongst themselves.
"By the Twenty, you are serious, aren't you. You are really planning on infiltrating Jachai-Kul?" Mojiz asked in astonishment. Hunter simply nodded.
"I have made a promise to Ignitus, and I intend on keeping it. Furthermore, this might very well be the last and only chance we have to end this conflict for good. If Spyro is indeed there, my road is set."
"You are never going to make it," Zara stated. "Not by approaching the front gate anyway. Though perhaps you won't need to," she concluded with a soft grin.
Hunter glanced at her. "You mean there's another way? Can you tell me where it is?"
She nodded. "Better than that. I can lead you there. The enemy might think they control every inch of their lands, but you can always find a chink in their armour if you look hard enough."
Hunter paused, blinking furiously. "I thank you for the offer, but this won't be necessary. You have already done plenty enough to-"
"Too late," she said, jumping back to her feet. "I've prepared my travel pack already. Don't worry though. I packed it light, I know how to live off the land. If we move quickly, it will take but a few days."
"Absolutely not," Hunter stated, frowning. "I accepted the task, and as such it is my responsibility. Besides, I would never risk the life of the daughter of a dear friend by thrusting her in the midst of danger."
It was Zara's turn to frown. She placed both hands on her hips. "I can take care of myself. I am a Spear Maiden, after all. I've faced the servants of the Dark Master many times in combat, either alone or in group, and carried back trophies to prove my deeds."
Hunter paused. He shot a sidelong glance to Mojiz, almost begging him to intervene and put a stop to this. The fennec, instead, glanced to both in turn with a neutral, if slightly bemused, expression. Still, Hunter made one last effort.
"I'm, well, I'm used to travel alone. I wouldn't want you to-"
She raised a paw, stalling him. "Unless you are planning on finding the route inside Jachai-Kul on your own, without knowledge of the patrols and the wards surrounding it, I suggest you stop right now, Hunter of Avalar." She lifted an eyebrow. "And stop looking at my father as well. I already had a conversation with him about this, and he agrees. I'm coming with you."
Hunter stared at Mojiz in pure astonishment. "Wait, you do?"
"Me? No. Gods, no." He shook his head. "But as I said, she's far too similar to her mother. Unless the gods were to raise from the earth itself to come to your assistance, I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice, my friend." Zara shot her father a silent glare.
Hunter's eye twitched in irritation, but he said nothing.
'Seems like I won't be able to drag myself out of this one. Just my luck.'
The amusement radiating now from Zara's face, on the other hand, could almost be physically felt.
"That's settled then. I'll be waiting you downstairs," she said. "Try not to take too long, you two." She gave Mojiz one last kiss on the cheek, flashed a speechless Hunter a wide grin and headed for the exit at a brisk pace. The fennec waited for her to be well out of earshot before letting out a soft cackle.
"I think she likes you."
Hunter's eyes narrowed to slits. "You planned this, didn't you?"
"What? Me?" Mojiz threw his head back in shock. "So, this is how my hospitality is rewarded! I'm accused of plotting against a good friend behind his back! Oh, such gratitude you have, Hunter of Avalar!"
The cheetah shook his head. "Now I remember why I never came to visit."
"But I'm glad you finally did. Now, let's reminisce about the old times, yes?" He turned his head around and glanced over his shoulder. "Ashiof! Bring some wine for us. And make sure it's the good one!"
Her eyes slowly blinked open, the simple act of moving her eyelids turning into a labouring process. The fact that her surroundings refused to come into focus did not help her.
A soft groan escaped her lips and she shivered. The ground beneath felt cold to the touch, Cynder only belatedly realizing she was laying against stone. It took her some time for the pounding headache to subsize, and even longer for the soreness in her muscle to fade away. Slowly and methodically, she climbed up to her feet, stretching her aching and lean muscles as she did so. She managed to finally get a look at her surroundings as they stopped swirling around her, and Cynder frowned.
She was in a cell. There were no windows, and the only light came in the form of a lantern hanging in the corridor outside, casting long shadows through the metal bars. Cynder caught sight of another cell just across from hers, empty, the door open. She tried to ignore the atrocious smell coming her way, a mixture of sweat and other bodily fluids.
There was no time to wonder where she was, nor how she had gotten there to begin with. Harsh voices came her way, together with the sound of footsteps.
"That's just our luck, isn't it? The others get to go topside and have some fun while we're stuck here on guard duty. Wonderful. Bloody wonderful!"
"I don't know what you are complaining about, it ain't so bad down here," a second voice countered. The sound of steps grew louder, the clinking of armour echoing her way.
"I mean sure, we are not with the others, but at least we are dry. There's ought to be a bloody downpour up there, and I prefer my fur when is not soaked wet, thank you very much." A pause. "Also, it's cold. I'd rather stay in the warrens."
There was a bark of laughter. "Wanna keep warm? Go and find yourself a pretty lady for the night. I bet this is exactly what the captain is doing."
"I thought he was supposed to lead the assault."
"In more than one way, yes."
"Uh . . . what?"
"Gods, you really are a rookie, aren't you? Just forget it. Shift's almost over anyway."
Two silhouettes passed in front of her cell before coming to a sudden halt. Cynder blinked several times as she tried to make out the newcomers as light cast their long shadows past the bars, hiding their faces. In the end, she didn't need to. The smell hit her long before she noticed the glistening teeth and the two tails swishing behind.
'Rats. One of Malefor's many pets. It's been a while since the last time I've seen them. Most of my dealings were done with Gaul and his damned Apes.'
"Well, would you look at that," one remarked. "She's finally awake."
He was taller than his companion, with dark-grey fur covering his body. Red eyes scrutinized her from beneath steel helmets. Their armours seemed to be a combination of leather and thick cloth, and both held a barbed spear in their claws. The dark-grey furred one seemed visibly older than his companion, brown-furred with white speckles dotting his belly. He rattled his spear against the bars, loudly.
"You've been asleep for a while, haven't you?" the rat sneered.
Cynder said nothing. A cold stare was the only answer he would receive.
"What's the problem, uh? The Ape got your tongue?"
Once again, Cynder remained silent. Slowly, she sat on the ground, her tail coiled around herself. They were just trying to provoke her, nothing more. Her cold emerald eyes never left him.
"Knock it off, Zrich," the other rat cut in. "Don't you see she's barely a teen?"
Zrich scoffed. "My ass she is. I know exactly who this one is." He shot his companion a glance. "She's Cynder. The Terror of the Skies herself."
The younger rat let out an amused squeaking. "Yeah, sure. Stop messing around with me, would you? There's no way in hell she's the old commander. I've heard that she could bring about a hurricane with a simple stroke of her wing, and chew through armour with her bare teeth."
He shook his head. "Besides, everyone knows the purple dragon killed the old commander."
"I'm telling you it's her!" Zrich hissed. "I served under her years ago. One never forgets those cold, murderous eyes as they gaze deep within your soul." He shot a glare back at Cynder. "I don't care what she looks like now. It's her."
The younger rat rolled his eyes before letting out a tired sigh. "Sure. I'm gonna go grab something to eat in a few minutes. Feel free to join me." And without another word he set off. Zrich watched him go with sullen eyes. He spared one last glance at Cynder.
"Enjoy your stay here, commander," he spat out venomously. "Once the Elder has finished his work with your purple friend, it's your turn. And I can't wait to watch you scream."
Cynder bit her lips just as her eyes narrowed to slits. The rat must have noticed her subtle reaction, for he let out a last cackle before moving up to join his comrade. Cynder waited until their steps faded away somewhere down the corridor before finally exhaling through her mouth.
Her shoulders slumped, as if a crushing weight had just been dropped on them. It took Cynder some time to realize that she was actually shaking, her tail twitching. She scowled. She couldn't allow herself to show weakness nor hesitation, not now, not when she had a job to do.
The dragoness inhaled, deeply and slowly. The flame inside the lantern some distance away flickered.
'Alright, Cynder, calm down. He was just trying to get on your nerves. Still, he let out some information, whether he wanted or not.'
They were underground, she knew that much; rats built warrens as their homes and strongholds. More importantly, it also seemed like they were understaffed, at least for now. Cynder had to move quickly to exploit this advantage.
And finally, Spyro was down there as well. The dragoness grinded her teeth, claws scratching the stone as she tightened her front paws.
'And they are doing something to him. I don't know who this Elder is, but if he lays a single claw on him, I swear I'll rip his guts out and make him swallow them again!'
She blinked. Where was all that anger coming from? Eventually she shrugged. No matter. Anger was a weapon as any other; she just needed to point it in the right direction. Still, it was unusual. She hadn't cared that much for somebody else in a long time, if at all. Cynder shook her head.
'Spyro came to help me, didn't he? He offered me a chance when nobody else would have. Time to repay him back and get him out of this mess.' She frowned. 'And Sparx too, I guess. Dammit, I'm never getting rid of that annoying dragonfly, am I?'
She craned her head around, listening carefully at her own surroundings, though the only sound coming her way was the slow dripping of water from somewhere down the corridor. No footsteps nor squeaking of rats.
Cynder rose back up from her haunches and approached the iron grill. She gave it a tentative tap with her tail. It looked sturdy enough, though Cynder could not sense the presence of enchantments on the bars. It made sense; iron did not marry well with magic.
Had she been a Fire or even Earth dragon, she could have probably torn through that thing in moments. She was, instead, a Wind dragon, and they were probably aware of that as well; that explained why they hadn't thought about adding extra protection to the bars.
Cynder glanced around her cell with a deepening frown. The pavement, walls, and ceiling were covered with slabs of stones. She was not going to dig her way out. Not quickly enough at least.
"Hey . . . hey, you're there?"
Cynder froze, ears twitching. Had she heard that whisper for real?
"Hello? Can ya hear me in there?"
She had not imagined it. Once more, Cynder shifted closer to the iron grill. The cell opposite her was empty, so that leaved only those at either side. However, she carefully chose to remain quiet, waiting for the voice to speak again.
"You ain't deaf, are you? You th-"
"Yes," Cynder whispered back. "I'm here. Who are you?"
"Oh, good. I was getting worried for a minute. Thought they had cut your tongue or something." There was a nervous chuckle. "Name's Remy. Nice to meet you. Looks like we're neighbours now, aren't we?"
Cynder frowned. "I can't even see you," she pointed out.
"Details." There was a long, pregnant pause. Cynder had no intention of breaking it first.
"So, I've been listening to the guards chatting about as of late and, well . . ." Cynder caught something resembling a sigh. "I swear, seeing the actual purple dragon with my eyes was not something I was expecting to happen. Not to me anyway."
Cynder blinked. "Wait, you saw Spyro? How? When?"
"I mean, yeah. He was literally in the cell in front of yours. Not much of a talker really. Must have been 'cause he was knocked out cold."
Cynder bit her lips, her gaze immediately darting to the empty cell opposite her.
"It's empty," she said quietly.
"Yeah, I know. A whole team of rats came here some time ago and dragged him away. They kept blabbering about 'Elder this' and 'Elder that'. Didn't hear much aside that."
Cynder took a deep breath, closing her eyes for just a moment.
"I need to get out of here. I need to find him," she finally said.
A snort came from the next cell. "Good luck with that. The galleries down here are crawling with rats, as well as their guard posts. You'll get cut down long before reaching your friend. Though perhaps with a little help . . ." He trailed off.
Cynder frowned. She understood what he was doing, letting that juicy hook dangling before her, goading her into something, an agreement perhaps. Her guts told her to immediately reject whatever he was proposing.
'Still, you should at least listen his offer. It's not like you have much in the way of options.'
"Uh, hello? You still there?"
"Yes," Cynder said evenly. "I'm listening. What do you propose?"
A pause. "Geez, straight to the point. Alright, I can respect that. So, let's say that I know of a way to get out of here. All I need is someone to watch my back on the way out. I'm not much of a fighter, but I'm sure as hell not spending the rest of my life in a rat-infested hole. So, what do you think? You in?"
Cynder tilted her head to the side, even though she couldn't see him. "Why me? If you had a plan to escape, why wait up until now?"
"I needed some insurance. Of getting out of here alive, I mean. You are the last one I'd have ever expected to meet, but I'm not one to spit on a golden opportunity."
"I'm sorry?"
"You are the Terror of the Skies, aren't you?" Remy said. "Like, the real deal. The black dragoness. I've heard plenty of stories about you. If you are half as deadly as they say you are, then we've got a chance."
Cynder felt her throat suddenly dry. "I'm no longer that." The only response from Remy was a chuckle.
"Yeah, sure. You're gonna bring back from the dead all those you killed while you are at it? But enough with jokes. You are in or not?"
Cynder grinded her teeth silently. She narrowly managed to keep herself from lashing out at him right there. The dragoness realized that whatever she wanted to say didn't matter in the slightest. She had to help Spyro, no matter the cost.
"I have one condition," she began.
"I didn't say you could put conditions."
"And yet I'm doing so," Cynder continued without missing a beat. "They're holding Spyro somewhere. You are going to help me free him. Then, we can each go for their separate ways."
A few moments of silence passed. Cynder briefly wondered if he was going to refuse it outright, but she suppressed the urge to speak up and remained in disciplined silence. She had laid out her terms, and she would not back down an inch from them.
"Alright, miss," Remy spoke again. "You've got yourself a deal."
There was a soft metallic rattling, a clinking, then a loud snap. A screech as a door swung on rusty hinges. Then, came the soft footsteps as an astonished Cynder got finally the chance to lay her eyes on Remy. To say he wasn't one bit like she expected him would have been an understatement.
Remy was an otter, and a short one at that. His hazelnut fur was dirty and unkept, almost like the rags covering his body. He looked frail, no doubt due to the imprisonment he had gone through. Still, Cynder recognized a hardness in his dark eyes and furred face as he gazed back at her. He was spinning a tiny picklock in his paw.
"Well, what's with the staring? You were not expecting a dragon, were you?"
Cynder blinked. "I . . . well . . ." She shook her head. "Truth to be told, I don't know what I was expecting."
"I was expecting you to be much bigger honestly," Remy said with a frown. "Like, you know, how the tales described you? The dragoness that darkened the sky with her very presence? The hell happened to you?"
"I lost weight," Cynder said sourly.
"Very funny." Remy scratched his head before letting out a tired sigh. "Ah well, I guess a deal it's a deal. Just give me a moment," he said, before getting to work at her cell's lock. The clicking of his picklock soon became the only sound echoing down the corridor, Remy's eyes narrowed in focus.
"Old lock," he hissed. "This might take a while."
"You seem pretty skilful with that thing," Cynder noted. Remy simply shrugged.
"Comes with the experience, I guess."
"Experience? So, you are a thief then."
He looked up from his work just the time to shoot her a grin. "And a pretty good one at that."
"You were in a cell mere seconds ago."
The otter shrugged. "Nobody is perfect." There was a metallic clank as the lock snapped open. "And there we go, easy as-"
"Hey! The hell you think you're doing?!"
"-pie." Remy exhaled, the grin dying on his muzzle.
