The sound of rushing water reached Spyro's ears, and he paused mid-step to turn his head in a saurian manner, looking in the direction it was coming from: to the right of his current path, beyond the wall of grass and flowers that surrounded him on all sides.
His forked serpentine tongue licked at the roof of his mouth, a sudden thirst making itself known in it and his throat as he crooned with a dry breath; apart from licking the large morning dewdrops off the giant flowers of the meadow he was traveling through, he hadn't had a proper drink of water since the night before...
Zoe fluttered to a halt when she noticed the dragon suddenly stop and turn to stare to their right; she was about to ask what was wrong when her own elf-like ears picked up the sounds of flowing water.
Without a word, Spyro promptly turned in the direction of the sound, pushing his way through the wall of stalks in front of him, leaving a tramped tunnel behind; his fairy waited until the entirety of his spiny tail slid through the air after him before she followed herself, having learned from experience to be careful of the ever-moving extension of his spine and the many sharp points at the end of it.
He continued to push his way through the giant flower patch until he finally broke through the edge of it and found himself out in the open air again. He stepped out from the confining plants and took a much needed breath of air free from pollen.
A thick coat of the seed-bearing powder clung to the cervices of his scales all across his body, giving him the appearance of having large yellow splotches across his length. He parted his wings slightly before clapping them against his sides with a thunderous slap; the sheer force of the impact, combined with the wind generated from it, was enough to blow all the annoying powder off himself and send it scattering through the air in a flurry.
Then he looked out to the sight that greeted him; a sight that brought forth a wave of pleasant memories of the carefree days of fun and joy, long before the burdens of his many titles were bestowed upon his purple scales.
Flowing down from the east and slithering back and forth across the plains to the ocean that he had left behind hours ago, its view of the crystal-clear waters only muddled by the rapids that warped the surface, was the great Brisby River.
Named after a famous adventurer/hero of the Rodentkin Lands, it was nowhere near as large as the river that flowed through Feywild, but it was just as important and well-known a landmark to the Fae; according to the story, it was on these very banks that the younger Prince Avalon first encountered said adventurer and challenged him to a duel for the right to drink from the river first, only to lose with the mouse using his quick-wit and tricks to send the young eladrin tumbling into the water like a drunken toad.
A story that was a favorite amongst the fairies and told throughout the palace to this day, much to the annoyed humor of the king himself.
It was also a place that held personal memories for the young dragon; the very riverbank he was standing on was once the sight of play and childhood joy for him. Appearance wise, the bank was by no means special, other than a large yet normal-sized oak tree that he was currently standing next to. Said tree grew out and over the riverbank and river, its branches already full of early-spring leaves, making it both the perfect shade during a hot day and a fun platform for jumping into the water from.
His eyes fell to a spot near the base of the trunk facing him; there, clumsily carved into the bark near the roots, were the stick-figure etchings of a girl with wings and a small dragon jumping happily in play.
The letters 'S' and 'Z' had been carved above the dragon and fairy respectively, a small heart symbol sitting between said letters.
He could almost hear it in the rushing water: the distant sound of happy giggles and squeals accompanied by gurgling coos and yips. He could also almost see it as he looked back over the water: the sights of a purple dragon wyrmling, no bigger than a medium-sized dog and wide-eyed with happy wonder, and a young fairy child no older than six, with messy brown hair in a loose-fitting, sleeveless flower-gown, splashing about in the shallows in the light of the summer sun. Spraying each other with the cold, sparkling water, chasing after normal-sized frogs and crayfish through the reeds, and laying out in the grass to dry their muddy bodies off in the warm summer sun, only to eventually be dragged kicking and screaming to bubble baths by exhausted servants and tucked into warm beds for the cool summer nights.
The image of his past played out before his eyes, as if he was someone watching it from the sides, while his mind's eye saw it through the perspective of the young wyrmling.
A soft warmth burned beneath the plated scales of his chest; a feeling that ached with longing yet was comforting and soft to his insides. A thrumming sigh escaped his nostrils, twin streams of smoke blowing from them.
It was beginning to feel like he was finally home now.
And with the recognition of this place, Spyro knew where he was now: his favorite spot was not far at all, no further than around the upcoming bend in the river. They would be there in but a minute or two...but as of that moment, what he wanted most was to quench the dryness of his throat. A few more minutes wouldn't hurt.
He stepped down to the edge of the river, his paws leaving deep saurian footprints in the mud, before crouching down and reaching out with his neck to dip his lower jaw into the water and drinking deeply of the flowing water.
The icy-cold liquid flowed down his throat into his fiery stomach, a deep chilling sensation causing him to give a brief shiver; another sign of winter's passing. The snow had just melted off the ground and was now flowing off to the reclaimed by the distant sea. In fact, scattered across the distant banks of the river, he could see clumps of muddy snow bunched up along the water's edge; the last bits of winter clinging to the coldest parts of the earth they could, before they too would eventually melt away to the warmth of spring.
As he drank, Zoe flew up into the branches of their old tree, tucking the back of her skirts under her legs before sitting down on one of the larger branches; her wings folded behind her back like a butterfly in rest.
She simply leaned forward to watch the Safi'jiiva drink, content to simply sit and admire the awe-inspiring sight of her draconian charge.
And for a brief moment, things were looking like they could be good again.
Then the peace was shattered by a very unwelcome presence in the form of a sharp twinkling tone, like the music from a wind chime, singing out from within the confines her right skirt pocket; said pocket was glittering with a blue light that was just bright enough to glow through the fabric of the skirt, blinking in a rhythm almost matching a heartbeat.
Zoe's ears curled into angry downward hooks as a very displeased frown twisted her face; couldn't have given him so much as a single day to himself, huh?
Her reaction, however, was a child's pout compared to Spyro's. The Safi'jiiva's pupils narrowed into perfectly straight slits of anger as he glared backwards from his position at the fairy, the glowing fire within them once again licking all the way up to his eye-ridges as his lips twisted into an angry snarl that showed off all of his deadly teeth. A thunderous growl erupted from deep within him, vibrating through the earth and the very tree Zoe stood in, the branches quivering as if in their own fear of his wrath.
"They're probably just freaking out that we didn't return to Feywild." Zoe reassured him, a bit nervous about being in the sights of an upset dragon but understanding all too well why he was upset. She slipped a hand into her pocket to fish out the item in question. "I'll talk to them. Give me a moment to get them off our tails."
Spyro snorted in displeasure, but ultimately said nothing and returned to drinking from the river, though the water was bitter to the taste now.
Zoe gave him an apologetic look before she turned her displeased attention to the item now in her hand: a large sky-blue crystal that was cut in the shape of a flat hexagonal diamond. It glowed with its own sparkling light, while the air around it filled with a fine, almost pixie-dust like mist that twinkled in the sunlight.
With a soft growl of her own, she flipped it over and tapped her thumb against the smoothed surface three times; this action made the crystal's soft glow increase to a brilliant light. She then opened her hand, which allowed it the crystal to slowly rise into the air, until it was floating free at eye-level with her. Free from having to hold it, she made herself comfortable by leaning back against the trunk of the tree, grumpily folding her arms around her bosom as she watched the pixie dust come together around the crystal to form a single orb of white light floating in the air.
And from deep within the light orb, an image formed: first it was faded and blurry, as if surrounded by fog...but eventually the image cleared to reveal none other than King Avalon himself, sitting in his throne within the council room. Zoe's expression softened a touch when she saw the King of the Fair Folk; he was all but limp in his chair, the exhaustion and stress of the kingdom making him appear older than he actually was, his eyes closed as if asleep, but the farthest thing from it.
After a second or two, the eladrin opened his eyes and met hers through the Speaking Crystal, the direct line of communication between the king and the dragon fairy.
"Zoeandra Autumnleaf." He said in greeting, his voice polite and strong despite his current appearance. "You've grown since we last spoke."
Zoe narrowed her eyes in mischief, unable to pass up the chance. "And you've gotten as saggy as an elephant's ass." She quipped without missing a beat. "Still look better than the rest of the Calick-a-dick-a Council, though."
As if on que, there were several cries of offense and outrage from Avalon's end of the spell, many of the council members speaking out against the words the dragon fairy against them and their king. Avalon, on the other hand, only groaned in exasperation.
"I take back my previous statement." He stated flatly. "You may have gotten older, but you haven't matured a bit."
"Oh, I've matured." Zoe said smugly as she brushed one of her locks behind her ear, only for it to fall out and hang back over the side of her face. "But neither you nor the court deserves to see it." Her smugness vanished as her expression hardened again. "Besides, you're not here for me, are you?"
"Let's get straight to the point and be done with it, then." The king said in agreement, adjusting himself in his throne. "First and foremost: where in the hollow are you two?"
"Along the banks of Brisby River." Zoe answered. "At the sandbank we use to play in, to be exact; by the old oak tree?"
There was a moment of silence, before recognition flashed across Avalon's eyes. "Ah, yes, I remember: your old 'swimming hole'." He muttered thoughtfully. "Why didn't you return to Feywild? We made many preparations for Jendovahzoor's return."
Zoe spared a quick glance to the side; Spyro had paused drinking and was giving another draconian glance of anger in their direction, as if daring either of them to say something he didn't want to hear. The dragon fairy shivered slightly, the piercing glare of his fiery eyes triggering every blood-rooted instinct within her to run for her life, even though she knew it wasn't really in danger.
That's how powerful the influence of the Elder Dragons of Primordia was throughout all the realms...
"Spyro does not wish to return to the forest." She ultimately managed to say. "We're currently heading to the Le-."
"Watch your words, Autumnleaf!" The sudden voice of the Spriggan Representative shouted in the background of the spell. "You disgrace our savior addressing him with the 'name' the mortals have sullied his glory with! You will address him as Jendovahzoor and nothing less!"
Spyro growled under his breath at the spriggan's words.
Zoe was no less impressed than her dragon was. "Spyro's ass must taste of honeydew and rainbows if it's that delicious to kiss." She 'pondered aloud', more than enough so for everyone on the other end of the line to hear.
And despite his current anger, the young Elder Dragon couldn't stop a huff of amusement from escaping his throat.
They both could imagine the Spriggan's face going as red as his beard. "YOU DARE SPEAK TO-?!"
"ENOUGH, BOTH OF YOU!"
Avalon's voice was as powerful and demanding as the crash of thunder, silencing everyone in the conversation quite effectively, as well as scaring a few of the birds roosting in the tree to the skies.
"You watch your own words, Spriggan! Zoeandra is Jendovahzoor's Dragon Fairy and said blessing grants her special privileges regarding interaction with the dragon!" He then turned to her. "Zoeandra, for the sake of addressing Jendovahzoor's current status, please keep at least some level of respect when speaking to the council."
Said Dragon Fairy remained quiet for a moment.
"...I will not make promises I don't intend to keep." She ultimately stated, earning a heavy sigh of exasperation from the Fairy King. "But as I was saying before being rudely interrupted: given that we just got back home after an entire decade of being away, surely you can understand that Spyro needs some time to familiarize himself with Nimh before doing anything else. We're currently on our way to the Lee of the Stone, near the old Fitzgibbons Ruins at the lake, where he wants to stay for a bit. Without being disturbed."
"I understand Jendovahzoor's desire to roam where he pleases, but we cannot simply ignore the changes his return will bring." Avalon told them, speaking in a manner that addressed them both, even if Spyro wasn't directly participating in the conversation. "Our biggest concern right now is the fact the Rodentkin will eventually discover his existence, and the conflict that said discovery will bring to the entirety of Nimh."
Spyro gave pause mid-drink to that comment.
Why was that an issue they worried about? Apart from Redbeard and his crew manning the Veil Piercer during the voyage, he had never encountered a native of the Rodentkin lands in all his life.
Then again, in the entire century and more he had lived on Nimh, he had never set foot beyond the Lee of the Stone, the furthest from the palace they were allowed to go. And Rodentkin were outright forbidden from entering Feywild's territory itself, with those that wandered too close to the forest for comfort were 'encouraged' by the patrols to leave altogether.
Had it been because of him? Avalon had just said he and the other fairies didn't want the rodents to find out about him; were they that focused about keeping him a secret from the world? And is so, why?
Was it because if they did, they wouldn't shower him with the overwhelming adoration that the fairies constantly gave him? Given that he was thoroughly sick of it by this point, a different reaction would be a welcomed change, as far as he was concerned...unless...they would react with fear instead? They always did say the rodents were easily frightened by nature, and Elder Dragons were the most feared of all the creatures in the world.
Would they instead view him with horror and disdain, as if he was some great monster like the Titan Beasts?
Like they had done?
"Is that really so much an issue?" Zoe asked, subtlety aware that her charge had gone unnaturally silent. "The closest rodentkin settlement is Dapplewood, and that's on the very border of the Fae kingdom. The chances of him running into any is very low."
"Only if Jendovahzoor were to stay within the forest." Avalon said sternly. "Which he has already proven he won't."
Zoe cleared her throat, her next words spoken in an almost teaching tone, "'One cannot order a volcano to stop erupting when it decides to do so, nor ask the earth to stop shaking during an earthquake, as the true forces of nature bow to neither man nor magic. By the same reasoning, one cannot command the Sons of Akatosh from going where they will their wings to take them, nor stop them from breathing their flames where they wish'." She quoted with perfect memory, grinning like a cat afterwards. "You told me that the day I became Spyro's Dragon Fairy, remember?"
And despite the stress of his current situation, Avalon couldn't stop from smiling himself.
"If only you gave as much dedication to common manners as you did caring for your dragon." He humored fondly at the memories. The lighthearted merriment of the moment didn't last, though; the smile fell from the king's face, which looked to take on several years of age in a few minutes, his eyes tired and regretful.
"What happened in the Dragons Realms? Where did it all go wrong?"
A cold silence filled the sandbank, with only the sound of the rushing waters of the river and the distant sounds of animal life throughout the plains to fill it.
Spyro didn't say a word as he sat at the edge of the river, the fire in his eyes cooling to a weak glimmer as he stared into the water with an unreadable expression. His wings sagged against his sides as his eyes met those within his own reflection, as if staring at another Safi'jiiva on the opposite side of the water.
A long, thrumming groan rumbled up from his chest as he lifted his right hand and reached out to the water's surface, poking the image of himself with a single claw. The ripples spread from the point of contact, distorting the water and only confirming that his reflection was only that: his reflection...his image...him.
A creature forsaken by his own kind.
"The first dragons we introduced him to with were the Peacekeepers." Zoe said with a hollow voice, as if numbly reading off a written script, all the while watching her dragon with a sorrowful pity. "They were the closest to the Elder Dragons of Primordia in terms of lifestyle, so we assumed they would be our best shot." She sadly shook her head. "We assumed too greatly. All the dragonesses of the realm rejected him, one by one, until we exhausted all possible candidates. Then the whole 'War' happened, and you know the rest of the story from there."
"Even those with wyrmlings of their own?" The Shimmerling Representative asked.
The dragon fairy outright snarled like a wild animal, bared teeth and all. "The ones with children were the most ferocious in doing so!" She snapped with spite. "They didn't want Spyro anywhere near them or their hatchlings! No matter how much we tried, no matter how well Spyro appealed to his own kind, they refused him at every nest!"
She gave a heavy sigh and tried to calm herself, already feeling the effects of anger in her chest. "This continued throughout the rest of the realms: The Artisans, the Beastkeepers, the Magic-Crafters, hell, we even tried the Dream Weavers, for Akatosh's sake! But no one would take him...and it was obvious why."
"You must be exaggerating the severity of the reactions." The Grig Representative sniffed; Zoe could outright taste the smug doubt in his voice. "Yes, the previous Purple Safi'jiiva may have...left a mark of dragon history, but even then, would all of dragonkind feel the same way towards a single wyrmling?"
"Agreed. The entirety of the realms couldn't have all shared a single animosity towards him; the Elemental Guardians of Warfang know him well enough to vouch for his moral heart." The Nixie Representative offered. "Surely at least one dragoness would've stepped forward with their blessing?"
"Exaggerating, am I?" Zoe growled dangerously. "Well then, would you all like to hear the new title they bestowed upon him during our little adventure?"
Spyro closed his eyes and lowered his head in defeat, not even bothering to brace himself for it; he had been called it so many times during the past ten years that its effect on him had faded into a dead numbness.
Then, before Zoe even had a chance to say anything more, he spoke it himself:
"The Son of Malefor."
Dead. Silence.
Not a single word was spoken. Not a single sound was made. Even with his sharp draconian hearing, he couldn't even hear anyone take a single breath. No one dared to say anything. Zoe's face was cast in the shadow of her locks, hiding her eyes from view, her mouth set in a tight-lipped frown. While Avalon, the Unshakable Eladrin King of Feywild Forest, could only stare at the dragon in silent, wide-eyed horror.
It remained that way for a good minute that felt like an eternity.
Then Spyro simply stood up on all fours, turned away from the tree, and left without a sound.
The others could only watch as the last of his tail slowly disappeared into the tall grass, like a snake slithering away. Only after they felt that he was out of hearing range did Avalon speak again; this time, his once strong and proud voice was hollow and shaken, his mind still reeling from the knowledge it had received.
"...We will give him all the time you need." He said quietly, his own face downcast in defeated sorrow. "If there's an emergency, or if he heads into Rodentkin lands, contact us. Until then, we won't bother him any further...I'm sorry...I truly am sorry."
"Thank you." Was all Zoe could bring herself to say.
The last thing she saw in the spell was the king of the fair folk sink wearily into his throne, lifting a hand to cover his face in grief, before the image dissolved back into a flurry of pixie dust.
She didn't say anything as she caught the Speaking Crystal before it could fall to the ground below; she stared at it in her hand, unsure whether to smash it into the ground screaming, chuck it into the river, or just break down and scream her emotions to the world then and there. In the end, she slipped it back into her skirt pocket before sliding herself out of the tree, taking to the sky to follow her dragon to their destination.
At the very least, they would not be disturbed any further.
The giant stalks of grass fell around Spyro as he pushed his way through the last stretch of field, using more force than was clearly necessary to do so; the drier brown stalks snapped against his body and fell in straight lines, while the softer green stalks were flattened and crumpled like paper under his footfalls.
The drake's lips were curled into an angry, tooth-bearing snarl that shot smalls licks of hot orange flames from between his teeth with each growling breath, while his eyes still burned with the angry golden flames that now flowed across the sides of his head; fire in any form was a very dangerous thing to be breathing in the middle of a giant field, but at the moment he was far too upset to care.
Any contentment he found at the riverbank was completely gone, leaving nothing but the tight emptiness that ached within his ribs for many years now. He had finally found a place to relieve himself of it at least a little, but all it took was the memories of his time in the realms (and his kin-bestowed title) to bring it all back.
He gave a wild snarl and slammed his head into the side of a giant flower he was passing; the sheer force of the impact blew the very stalk apart in an explosion of plant matter, sending its upper body crashing to the ground like a tree.
What was it going to take to be rid of these sensations within him?! He finally returned back to Nimh. Nothing. He was free to roam wherever he please now. Barely a change. He visited one of the happiest places of his old life. Gone within the instant his new life made itself known again!
What did it want?! What did he want?!
"Calm down. you're going to burn down the entire field at this rate."
Spyro whipped around in a serpentine manner, his tail leveling an entire semi-circle of grass in the process, and gave off an aggressive snarl at the owner of the voice.
Zoe, who had been the one who spoke, only flinched a bit as she found herself at the receiving end of an angry dragon's temper; this was hardly the first time she had been, and she knew full well it wouldn't be the last. She waited patiently as he turned around fully, still growling and thrashing his tail like a wild animal, though the fire in his eyes was notably calmer than it had been before.
At this point, he was just venting his frustrations, rather than actually acting with intent aggression, and she knew how to deal with a dragon throwing a tantrum.
"Easy now...easy." She repeated in a calming tone, keeping her voice soft and raising her hands to show she was unarmed. "There's no need for that. You know me."
The Safi'jiiva continued to growl, but over the course of a few heated seconds the growling slowly faded into a soft thrumming; the fire of his breath and eyes alike slowly died down to a low flicker, allowing the fairy to breathe a sigh of relief for the dozen-mile tinderbox they were standing on the edge of. Eventually, he calmed down enough for her to approach, allowing her to gently stroke the sides of his snout with her hands; the rough, scaly skin of his face was very warm to the touch, like the feeling of heated stone on a summer day, the essence of his fire burning hot within his bones.
A clear sign of his intense emotional distress.
"Avalon promised to leave us alone after you left and told us to take all the time we needed to heal." She told him quietly, resting her forehead against his; he shuddered with a warbling croon at the contact, but otherwise didn't object to it at all. "I know it's hard. I know what it feels like. I know it seems it's never going to end...but it will. I promise."
Spyro's only response was to close his eyes and give a crackling warble of grief, the breath he exhaled long and hot with an almost weary flame...
...then he took another, and that's when he caught it: the barest hint of a scent.
He had been breathing through his mouth at the moment he did, expelling the excess body-heat caused from his emotional outburst, but just enough air passed through his sinuses to bring the scent through them. From there, his draconian sense of smell (unmatched by anything in the animal kingdom, even dogs and other saurians) easily picked it up amongst all the others, his eyes snapping open and all emotions instantly fading away as realization snapped him to attention:
They weren't alone in the field.
He quickly pulled away from Zoe's touch, much to her confusion, and turned toward the scent, sniffing the air in deep, slow intakes; the scent was much stronger this way, filling his sinuses and forming the image of his target in his mind's eye, piece by piece:
Warm blooded flesh mixed with sun-warmed fur. Mammal.
Sweet hormonal scent. Female.
Said hormonal scent weak and underdeveloped. Child.
The artificial smell of fabric. Wore Clothing.
The supernatural glimmer of spiritual essence woven throughout the flesh. A Soul Bearer.
Spyro lowered his body to the ground and followed the scent with slow quiet footsteps, slinking through the grass like a giant snake or weasel, taking care to make as little noise as possible. With every step he took the scent got stronger; whatever it was, it was closing in on it now. Zoe watched in confusion, aware by his behavior that he was on the trail of something, but unaware as to what said something was. Potential prey, perhaps? Though judging from how seriously he was locked on, she doubted that.
The trail led them straight to the edge of the field. A large wall of thick green grass blocked their path, no doubt providing the perfect hiding spot for their mammalian intruder. The scent was as thick as fog now, and his draconian eyes could make out a small ball of life aura quivering just behind the plants, while the soft patter of a rapid heartbeat brushed against his ears.
He was on top of it now.
Spyro's eyes narrowed in focus, zeroing in on the target. Then he took a final step forward, pushed his head straight through the thick grass wall...
*Boop!*
...and found himself snout-to-nose with a very young and very frightened mouse furling.