Legend of Spyro

Prophecy of Blood

Chapter XIII

The Memorial Gardens of Warfang, located near the outskirts of the city, where something to behold. Within the garden walls was a sanctuary from the hustle of the last civilized settlement known to dragonkind. Trees stood tall over the sculpted landscape, some older than the city itself. Flowers of all variety grew in even rows, some of which no longer grew in the wild. Sculptures saved from many fallen cities were on full display, priceless in value and cultural significance. And at the center of the haven was a small island surrounded by a small pond connected to the rest of the garden by a stone bridge. On that island stood three obsidian obelisks, each of which had rows and rows of names inscribed on them, and a small altar set in front of the obelisks.

Samson stood in front of the alter, staring at the obelisks. In his right claw was clutched a letter, in his eyes tears silently formed. "Well, it's been a year, hasn't it?" He spoke, "I-, Mom's still doing fine. She is still working on improving the walls. Esau and Petela are growing like weeds, almost ready to start school." He paused for a moment and then held the letter to the hot coals on the fire.

"Talk to you again next year, dad." The earth dragon said as the flames burned up the letter. The drake took a deep breath; the few tears he had shed hitting the ground. Each year he shed fewer tears. One year he may shed none, but he had vowed to come every year.

"Samson!" The drake turned around to see a small mud-green dragonling with small wings run up to him. "Esau is picking on me!"

"Am not!" A mud-orange dragonling of about the same size came running up to defend himself. "She is just easily startled!"

"You're used fire breath on me!"

"You shouldn't be such a crybaby about it!"

"I am not a crybaby!"

"Yeah you are! Cry-"

"Enough!" Samson half roared, causing the two twins to stop bickering, "Esau, did you really use your fire breath?"

"Yep!" The young drake swelled with pride, "Wanna see?!"

"Es-" Without waiting for permission, the dragonling exhaled a small burst of flame. Harmless, but unusual for someone his age.

"See!? See!?" The dragonling exclaimed, hopping up and down.

Samson smiled, "It is very impressive, little bro, but you can't use your fire here. Okay?"

The dragonling stopped his excited hoping and nodded. "Alright. I can't wait to show mom though!"

"I'm sure she'll be impressed."

"Where's daddy's name?"

Samson turned around to see Petela staring up at one of the obelisk. "I'll show you." He said and let her and her brother climb on his back. "There, 'Samson von Tremion III.'" The two dragonlings stared at the name, the only real connection they had with their father.

"He was brave, right?" Esau asked, putting his small claw over the name.

"Yes," answered Samson, "very."

The city of Warfang was bustling with excitement. Tonight was the night of twin Blood Moons and the 750th anniversary of the defeat of the Wyvern empires. Banners and ribbons were hung, festive lanterns lit with a distinct red tent, and special memorials were on display depicting the war (from an extremely biased view, of course). It was to be a night long remembered.

For the future Electric Guardian Watts, however, it was pure torture. He had hoped to spend time with his friends, cut loose a bit, maybe even sneak some wine if Samson dared him, but not have to stand still as a tailor fixed a hot, stuffy, and heavy robe around him and meticulously place patterns and jewels "worthy of his Guardian status" on them.

Cyril, who had forced him to where these robes as soon as he found out he was to attend the party alongside his grandniece, stood across from him arguing about how the lightning bolt emblems should be arranged. It didn't help that Watts still didn't know how he felt about his date.

"Ouch!" Watts exclaimed, snapping him out of his self-pity.

"Sorry," the tailor, a cheetah-woman dressed in a blue toga muttered, "but I have to keep realigning these emblems because someone insist that every detail must match up with a thousand-year old design."

"Seven-hundred and fifty-year-old design, thank you very much!" Cyril huffed. "He, along with myself, will be the first Guardians to attend the celebration since before the Wars of Malefor."

Silently, Watts envied Terrador. The Earth Guardian had "volunteered" to watch the egg chamber tonight while he and Cyril "got the prestigious honor of attending the festivities." The elderly dragon was never really the sociable type, at least according to his overly social uncle.

"Isn't it a little heavy?" Watts complained, "I mean, I need to be able to move."

"You see," The cheetah tailor exclaimed, "I told you it has getting heavy. A simple shoulder-cape and collar would look much better. I can't count how many I have fashioned this week."

"Tradition is-"

"What if I incorporated some of the emblems into the cape?" The tailor suggested.

Cyril huffed, "Fine, but next time there is a celebration we use the traditional robe." The Ice Guardian then but a large sack of gold on the counter, "I'm afraid I must be leaving." The dragon then left the establishment, the door slamming behind him.

Watts sighed in relief as the heavy robe was removed from him. "Thanks," He muttered.

"No problem," The Cheetah said, fitting a silver and gold collar onto him. "I'm just glad he listened. Most of the time it's 'Tradition, tradition, tradition!' That they want places where they can hide knives and such."

"Does that happen a lot?" Watts asked, his curiosity peaking.

"All the time with high-ranking cheetahs," The tailor confirmed as she began to hold up different capes, "Of course they would never say 'Make a place for a hidden knife,' They would insist on small pockets that would be hard to find. Of course, it's almost mandatory among Chieftains now. I think lightning blue."

"Interesting," Watts muttered as she fitted the shoulder-cape onto him. "Well, thanks for all of the help! Um, what time is it?"

"About three fifteen."

"Three fifteen!" Watts jumped, knocking the tailor back. "Oh, Ancestors, I can't be late." The drake then charged out the door and took flight, leaving the tailor dazed.

Spyro nervously fiddled with his dark purple cape as he waited in the courtyard. It was almost four o'clock, and the festival was about to start. Cynder had yet to appear. His adopted brother, who was buzzing in his ear at the moment, was doing little to ease his nerves.

"You know, perhaps she decided to find a date who was less fat," Sparx gibed, resorting to his favorite remark. "I told you to start eating more salads."

Spyro rolled his eyes. A small part of him wanted to swat him, but only a small part. "Or maybe she is deciding on what kind of cage to put you in," Spyro retorted, positioning his head away from the dragonfly.

Sparx just hovered closer, "Or maybe she is decided this whole festival thing was a dumb idea. Which it is."

"Sparx, would-"

"Sparx, would you leave me to my date?" The two brothers turned their gaze on the approaching black dragoness. She had a long transparent silver silk robe that draped over her back but let her wings out. She also had on a silver necklace with a black crystal in the center. The crystal had been given to her by Spyro on her latest birthday.

"Well, she did show up. See? (added question mark) I told you not to worry!"

"Cynder," Spyro paused, stepping forward towards her, "you look...amazing."

"Um, thanks." Cynder blushed, her confidence she had worked up for the entire day almost evaporating on the spot. The two stared at each other, unsure how to continue.

"Well then," Sparx coughed, breaking the silence, "I'll just leave you two love birds to enjoy the party, alright."

"Yes," Spyro said, snapping out of his trance. "You, uh, have fun tonight Sparx."

"Oh, I will," The dragonfly smirked, "And you don't have too much fun tonight. I don't want to be an uncle before I'm a best man, ya hear?"

"Sparx!" Spyro yelled, blushing. The dragonfly just winked and flew off to the safety of the temple. "That insufferable dragonfly."

"Spyro, he's just teasing," Cynder said in a knowing tone. "Besides, it's almost time for the party to begin."

Spyro nodded, "Yeah, I guess we huh-" He paused again, trying to remember what he had rehearsed. "I mean; it would be my pleasure to accompany you to the dance."

"Oh, of course, sir knight," Cynder said, smiling and deciding to humor him, "Shall we be off then?"

"Yes, let's!"

Two robed bipedal met in halls of the domed building that housed the Council of Warfang. One was Julien J'avik, ambassador of the Cheetah Tribes. The other was Hunter Tigro, the first Grand Chieftain to lead the Tribes in over two centuries. The two embraced each other in a friendly hug.

"How has it been, my friend." Hunter asked as they parted. The two had not met in over a year, Hunter having the difficult task of reorganizing several settlements and Julien having the task of playing politics. They began to walk away from the Council building.

"Well my friend," Julien exalted, a smile spread across his maw, "I have made several inroads and friends here."

"Really?" Hunter asked, surprised, "Our people have tried for centuries to make friends with the dragons, but since the destruction of our ancestor's homeland…"

"That's just it, I think I can get them to hand over the Valley of Avalar back over to us and allow us to rebuild our cities!"

Hunter was stunned, "Did you just say-"

"Yes, and Tykron has even promised to help rebuild our cities."

Hunter's shocked expression turned into a scowl, "Tykron, I thought I told you not to trust him."

"Why?" Julien asked, turning down an unpopulated street with Hunter close behind. "He has done no wrong. In fact, he has promised to make us great again."

"The Guardians do not trust him," Hunter answered sternly.

Julien laughed, "The Guardians are a dyeing order. Their power has been waning. We must pledge ourselves to a new power. One that will-"

"Wait," Hunter stopped. He turned to his friend and looked into his eyes, "When did you have red eyes."

"...Master Tykron has need of you Hunter, son of Tigro." Julien said, revealing a hidden dagger. "You shall be his lieutenant. You shall lead the Cheetah race by his side." Julien then plunged the dagger into his own chest, "You shall be his now." Julien's eyes returned to their usual purple color as blood soaked through his clothes.

"Julien!" Hunter screamed, catching his friend as he fell.

"Amicus vicimas lumen in maibus suis. Hunter sanguine et ligabis ad Tykron"

Before Hunter could turn to see who had spoken, Julien's blood gushed out, blinding. Slowly, Hunter's mind was clouded. He could feel the foreign entity invade his mind, imposing its will on him. A will that yearned to serve Tykron.

Tykron walked out of the shadows. He was dressed in full body golden battle armor and had several magical crystals embedded into his chest plate. He approached the Cheetah known as Hunter. "Arise."

The Cheetah dropped the carcass of his former servant and turned to him, "Master." The Cheetah addressed him, his eyes now glowing red.

"Good." Tykron grinned, looking into the Cheetah's red eyes, "It seems the spell works flawlessly on beings whom have no magical connection."

"Your powers are remarkable, Master."

"Yes, they are." Tykron laughed, "Go rally your men. Take with you Julien's medallion and await further instructions."

"By your command," The Cheetah said, reaching down and taking the medallion off his friend's body and running off to find his men. Tykron then turned his attention to the body. Letting loose a surge of electricity, he blackened it beyond recognition.

Hi, author here. I'd like to say thanks for being so patient with this. Also, a shout-out to my beta reader, Zilla0128, who will be beta reading from this chapter on.