It wasn't until noon that Spyro woke up. He looked around and realized that instead of being at his own house on his own bed he was in Hunter's home above the forge. Under him he could hear the clanging of a hammer against hot metal and realized that all of the broken armors and weapons from the battle would need fixing.
He searched in his old closet and looked for a clean cape to no avail. Whatever he had left here three years ago were already covered in dust. He walked across the room, stopping before an oak chest. It had belonged to Sparx a long time ago and sat, as dusty as everything else was. Spyro opened it and peaked inside, smiling at the sight of two layers of folded wool apparel. Sparx was always the neater person and he picked up a royal purple colored one, protected from the dust by the chest and walked out.
"Where is Cynder?" The black dragoness was nowhere in sight. He stopped before the washroom and placed the cape next to the door. From somewhere he could hear soft humming.
"I will send out a light burning for you alone…" His mind automatically filled in the words as he remembered the song. His mother had sang it to him many times as a child. He placed a paw against the door and opened it with a creak." Cynder stopped mid verse as she and the purple dragon met eyes and froze. Spyro cursed and threw the door closed again, scrambling out of the washroom, out of sight of the bathing dragoness. Cynder blushed furiously but still laughed to herself at his comedic reaction.
"So what gives Spyro?" Cynder was still smirking at the purple dragon who was sitting on the other side of the table, still blushing.
"I mean, we are dragons after all, it's not like we wear clothes either way." Spyro shifted again but looked up. "I don't know…maybe because I've spent the past few years living with a cheetah?" Cynder rolled her eyes.
"We're not cheetahs silly." Spyro snorted but didn't say anything. Cynder smiled inwardly. When she had first met the dragon in front of her she had always viewed him as a serious, capable fighter but strangely, that facade had mostly been replaced with a whimsical- albeit slightly quiet nature. Still, she could see that he knew full well when he had to put on the mask. She shrugged and eyed the lamb chops on her plate.
The cheetah Hunter was very hospitable, providing meals and whatever else she needed at the moment. She was however, still a prisoner of sorts. As Spyro had explained, the wings had spies everywhere and the appearance of a new dragoness bearing the marks of a legionary was suspicious and no doubt would land her in a prison cell if she was spotted. Akyla was lenient enough to grant her the benefit of doubt and allowed her to stay with Hunter until the next morning, when she would be escorted just outside the city walls where the exchange was to take place but today, she was going to have to stay indoors and out of sight.
She retreated back to her room when the first customers arrived at the forge and dropped off a cracked piece of armor and a dented sword, causing the cheetah and purple dragon to snap into work mode to stave off the heavy workload that would no doubt mark today. She sat on the bed and absent mindedly picked up at the top book of a stack that was provided to her by Spyro. She looked at the cover.
Tale of Shadow and Light.
The book was an old fairy tale passed down through many centuries and the story was quite well known to all dragons. Cynder however, never did find the time to read this certain piece- instead she focused on training, practicing her healing, and learning. She shrugged and flipped to the first page. "Might as well start now."
Thousands of years ago, there was no empire, only the city states that once dominated the Dragon Lands. The great kings struggled for power- waging endless wars to gain each other's territories. Great battles of steal and magic were waged for thousands of years, destroying the land and wiping entire villages off the face of the planet. Great cities rose and fell and new cities were constructed in their ruins. The ancestors watched as dynasties rose and fell, and ached to help their creations but they could not find a dragon they deemed worthy to be able to carry their banners into battle and rally the dragons under their name. After waiting another five generations with no avail, the ancestors finally decided that one of their own would have to enter the world of the living, though by doing so they become another mortal being, bound to live and die just as the rest of the world. So who could make this sacrifice? Certainly not the ancestor of light, for he was the most powerful and the leader. Neither the ancestor of fire nor earth, nor water nor ice, could be afforded. Then there was the ancestor of death, Damocrius, disciple of the ancestor of darkness, the counter of light.
He had watched for centuries dragons be born to the world and had been the one who finally laid their old corpses to rest. Almost driven to the brink of madness, he decided that he too would suffer like his people. So he came into the earth as a Guardian, a purple dragon who rallied the good behind his cause and smite all those who opposed him. Under him the dragon city states united and formed the empire with him at its helm and under his guidance, the army took over the entire continent. However, with a mortal body came the mortal temptations.
As Damocrius soon realized, he craved power. The Empire, tired after over a century of expansion had enough though and pulled back the army, satisfied with what lands they already controlled. With the military no longer under his control, Damocrius found that the power and control that he had been accustomed to no longer belonged to him. He returned to Warfang and took up his throne as the first Emperor, usurping the power of the four guardians he had put in power while he commanded his soldiers. The ancestors watched as he became a puppet to his desire for war and decided that it was time to take him back. They came to him while he slept and pulled his spirit from his body and thus Damocrius again became the ancestor of death, ashamed by his wrongdoings. In the mortal realm however, his body did not come with him and like anything with life, it died too when his spirit left. However, the darkness that Damocrius left behind refused to be destroyed. It fled the body and sought host within the body of an egg laden dragoness, manifesting itself and then rebirthed into the world as a demon. A purple dragon filled with rage and despise. He sought the armies of darkness and waged war against the empire, seeking to claim the throne. In the heat of battle he faced against the four first guardians and killed them all, albeit not before sustaining grievous wounds. In his near death state, he rose to the ancestors and the ancestor of light gave him power to resist the darkness. When he awoke, the purple dragon felt for the first time sorrow and horror at the carnage caused in his wake and instead fought the darkness and turned his armies against each other. He refuse allow the darkness to control him and with his power chose to destroy himself, ending the darkness inside. In the centuries following the dark and light forces flowed through nature, searching for a worthy host. Meanwhile, the enemies of the Empire prospered as the empire itself fought to recuperate, As the dragon empire again entered war- this time for its own survival the power finally found a worthy host, Again a purple dragon was born into the world but this time not a demon, but as a great hero who would lead the empire out of conflict and restore it back to its former Darkness however lied in wait, waiting for another dragon of weak mind to possess. And wait it did...
Cynder snapped herself awake and realized that she had fallen asleep reading the book, her muzzle still resting between a few pages. "Hey Cynder, got some food." Cynder nearly jumped out of her skin as Spyro called from the doorway. She had not noticed him enter.
Spyro came over and handed her a platter with a large lamb chop and assorted vegetables on the sides along with a hot piece of bread on the side. She nodded gratefully to Spyro who settled down on the floor to eat his own share. "Whose books were these?" Cynder asked, reading as she ate. Spyro looked up, "Those were Sparx's he loved to read." Cynder nodded. "You know, you never did tell me what happened to Sparx." Spyro stopped eating and looked at her, debating on how he should word the last part of his story before shrugging.
"After about a year or so of working and staying at Hunter's forge, Sparx and I decided to get our own home. It's by the refugee district, or what remains of it anyways. It wasn't big or anything but it suited our needs. Back then, the refugee district was meant to be a new community of residences so we thought we could get a lot for cheap- which we did. However, the Legionnes arrived at the city while we were still moving in. We were so busy working at the forge that we had barley any time to pack and move, or reinforce our house for that matter. Then the Legionnes brought in trebuchets and catapults and began to pelt the city and walls with fire stones and rocks. We didn't have time to reinforce the house yet when it was struck by a catapult shot." Cynder winced. She knew full well the destructive capability of the Legion. "Was everyone ok?" She inquired. Spyro paused, as if reliving the events again in his head before replying. "I was fine, the shot missed my room." "And Sparx?" Spyro shook his head. "Didn't even see it coming. He was dead before he even knew what happened." Cynder blanked, unsure at what to say so instead she just looked away at her food.
"I'm sorry." Spyro raised his eyebrows. "For what?" "Sparx?" "Don't be, you had nothing to do with it." Cynder pawed the ground.
"I know, it's just that… well… before I came to Nova Lumina I had always been taught that the empire was just criminals, blood lusting warmongers whom the dark master is destined to vanquish.
She chuckled. It's funny really, the divide isn't as great as I thought it was. Trust me, I've met some horrible dragons here but after over a year of being bombarded, losing friends, family, I guess there just gets to a point when it doesn't matter anymore." Spyro sighed and stopped.
"I was taught more or less the same about the Dark Master and his Legionnes. The dragons here all have; that the Legionnes were murders and cutthroats, controlled as puppets by the Dark Master's influence. This is all just lies, in all honesty, it is the Wings of Liberation who hurt us more than the Legionnes ever will. After the city was taken over, they have been enslaving and impressing citizens from across the city. Now that they have regained control, I fear the worst for the future." "Yeah, I guess life isn't going to get any bit easier for both of us." Cynder smiled at him.
"No, what a whimsical world."
They both chuckled continuously before gradually escalating to full laughter at the trivial prospect. The sound attracted Hunter a few minutes later, who looked into the room to witness both dragons trying to suppress giggles and snide remarks. The cheetah gave them a blank look before wordlessly returning to the foundry.
When Akyla returned a few hours later to pick Cynder up, Spyro almost felt sad to see her go. She had been one of the first dragons he had been able to successfully converse with about his personal thought and ideas but he knew that she was still a legionary and still fought for the Dark Master.
Spyro watched as some four hundred legionaries prisoners were marched under the careful watch of liberation soldiers towards the front gates. They were open and on the two sides stood at attention, facing each other. At one side were the Lightnings and the other were the Talons, an elite group from the Legionaries themselves. Normally they wouldn't get involved in ordeals such as this but a few of theirs had been captured in the battle and it was a story that they never, ever left any of their own behind. Also, the chance to stare down their counterparts; the Lightnings, was too great of an incentive to refuse. Thus, the two sides faced each other, ten meters apart, and black and white armors glistening in the sun. He watched from the air as the legionaries passed the wall, a flash of black scales caught his eye and he craned his head to see Cynder look back at him. She flashed him a grin before disappearing under the wall.
Cynder looked at the faces around her. Surprisingly, her chapter had suffered little casualties, losing only Olivyer and three others to the arrows but none to battle itself. Her face fell however when she caught sight of Arryn. The dragon looked horrible, his face dirty and blank, and his eyes bruised and blackened. He had gotten into more than one fight since his capture. His gloomy face brightened slightly when he caught sight of Cynder and he shoved through the crowd towards her direction. She swallowed and waited until he stopped in front of her face, the older dragon peering down at her expectantly and happily. Cynder's stomach churned. The exchange lasted less than a second, a simple question followed by a simple answer and the gray dragon froze, with the crowd shuffling past as if time had stopped in just that one small area.
And then he disappeared.
Cynder didn't know if he had blended into the crowd or had been devoured by it but either way she was now alone. Cynder bit her lip but turned with the crowd, deciding to give the gray dragon some time to himself. The dragons were marched through the ranks of the Lightnings and past Akyla, who watched them emotionlessly before passing through the ranks of the Talons and towards an awaiting convoy of steam powered wagons and medical trolleys.
Cynder passed through her own ranks and breathed a sigh of relief. She had survived. She looked back in time to watch Spyro land on top of the wall and raise a wing at her in farewell, a gesture that she returned before being ushered by a healer into the back of a steam wagon. She watched as the rest of the legionaries were done the same.
She spotted Arryn again, on the side of the column, approaching the Lightnings. Strangely, he looked calm and determined- more so than she would have expected as he passed Akyla… and abruptly snatched her sword out of its holster. She turned in surprise and Arryn powerfully thrusted the sword upwards, passing between the overlapping scales of her armor, throwing her back a few feet before she collapsed on the ground.
Both sides froze for a moment, the looks of shock mirrored on faces from both legionary and liberator.
Then chaos erupted.
A Talon grunted as his armor was pierced by a spear thrown from one of the Lightnings, who himself soon was porcupined by the javelins of a half dozen talons who jumped into action. The remaining ones frantically threw up their shields and formed a sloppy but working phalanx and retreated back into the city, the huge iron gates slamming shut after them while the talons did the same and the convoy rushed to get out of range of the cannons. Cynder watched in horror as a dozen more dragons on both sides were cut down by spears and javelins before the healer from before hopped inside the wagon as it picked up speed and shut the door. She could see a gray body lying in front of the Lightnings.
Arryn had naught a second to react before he himself was pierced with multiple swords. The rest of the dragons took to the air quickly and followed closely, wary of any return fire. Fortunately, there was none as when the unprepared gunners finally loaded their first shots, the convoy was already far away and getting smaller in the distance.
Spyro rushed to Akyla's side, landing clumsily beside her and removed her helmet, only to be met with cold, unmoving eyes. He stared in disbelief as the dragon whom he had deemed one of his closest friends for the past five years paint the earth a shiny crimson. He turned blearily and stumbled away as fast as he could from the site.
Two Years Later
"Heave!" A heavily armored dragon thrust his sword at the great gates of Warfang. The battering ram lurched forward and smashed against the stone with a sharp crack. On the walls, dragons of both sides were landing and smashing into each other while above the city fierce air to air combat with elements broke out as dragons upon dragons on both sides plummeted to the ground. The walls were little use against the dragons but while the liberationists had their entire dragon forces take to the air, the other beasts could not afford this luxury and were thus resorted to smashing in the gates by brute force.
"Commander Pixius! Send reinforcements to the east wall! We cannot afford to be pushed back." A Fire dragon wearing polished white armor nodded and flew off, leaving Commander Gydaeon to himself. The dragon watched tersely through a set of binoculars at the battle occurring before him. Finally, after two whole years of combat, Nova Lumina, Starsrise, and now Warfang were close to being back in the hands of the empire. The Legionaries on the wall were thinning out against the waves upon waves of new troops arriving from the reformed empire's garrisons and in the air, banners flying the pitch black moon of the Dark Master's forces were slowly being replaced by banner men flying flags of green, red, yellow, and blue, the four elements of the guardians who were again in power. He smiled at the progress, internally gleaming as he recalled how in the short span of two years, his own troops had taken back almost a third of all lands lost to them. The small rebellion had against all odds turned the tide of the entire war. A shadow appeared behind him, making him stop. "Sir, Lightning Squadron has finished their briefing. "Yes, good, tell them that they will move out as soon as the sun goes down and we have a foothold on the city." The dragon nodded and wordlessly left, his paws barely making a sound as he pushed through the tent flaps.
The clouds glowed a luminous orange when the battle finally drew to a close. Both sides retreated to their front lines as the night set in, neither willing to risk the danger of accidently attacking their own troops in the dark. This of course, was what a score of dragons perched on the walls were waiting for.
As soon as the sun dipped below the wall, they took flight, silently gliding into the city below still under the control of the Dark Master. They took cover behind the ruins of a multi-story building which no doubt once held a family of nobles but now served to break their forms from any prying eyes. Far in front of them, the legionaries had constructed hasty defenses of barricades and torches, lighting up the silhouettes of multiple guards all watching in case of a attack at night.
Patrols of five soldiers frequently passed in front of the defenses and were once in a while swapped out with a new shift when they passed a heavily guarded entrance. Repeating ballista's and volley guns poked above the sea of tents within, easily able to bring down scores of attackers foolish enough to present themselves a flying target. The lightning commander gave a brief wave of his paw and two subordinates silently dashed behind another building even closer to the enemy camp. They peaked their heads out before abruptly ducking back into the shadows as a heavily armed patrol in the street in front of them. As soon as the dragons marched off, the rest of the infiltrators dashed two by two to the next set of ruins. With this slow, methodical leapfrogging technique they managed to position themselves adjacent to the side of the camp, behind another building that had been demolished by a catapult. A patrol of five passed by but this time five Lightnings leaped out of the shadows, all armed with daggers and swiftly sunk their blades between the armor of their respected targets. Five bodies went limp and were dragged into the rubble and five lightning now in legionary armor emerged and resumed the original course of the patrol.
The rest of the dragons snuck to the back entrance of the camp, guarded by no less than thirty legionaries . The Lightnings remained motionless and silent in the shadows. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and then thirty before without warning the guards in the watchtowers all fell over, crossbow bolts lodged within their necks. One of the bolts clanged against the armor of one of the guards as he fell and two other guards on the ground looked up, their bored faces turning into shock at the sight of the motionless limbs of their comrades poking out of the sides of the towers. They opened their mouths to shout an alarm when a purple blur darted in front of both of them and swiftly silenced them with a pair of daggers. "Good Work Spyro" a fire dragon much older than him whispered as he returned back to formation. "Thank you captain Cyfer. The captain nodded and gestured with his paw to the three other soldiers. Immediately they dropped their crossbows and drew the short swords of the legionaries they had taken out earlier. Spyro himself also held in his paw a ceramic ball the size of a cantaloupe attacked to a hook and wire. Captain Cyfer nodded and slunk in the open, making his way towards another group of Legionaries with one of his men. The other dragons dispersed, each selecting their own set of targets.
Commander Reyden poured over the map feverishly. The garrison of legionaries at Warfang had been decimated after the first day of battle. With only eighty percent of the original force still combat capable, a direct counter attack would not be possible. His eyes squinted over the map, mulling at the positions of his enemies. No doubt they would use their superior numbers in a full on assault. With control over the walls, the imperials would be able to launch an attack from any or all sides. "And with extra men losing a few to friendly fire would pose no problem." He mused. That's it, a night attack, when the legionaries would be at their weakest. That was when they would attack. "Well, then I must greet them." The old dragon called in one of his subordinates who quickly ran off toward the barracks.
As the last legionary wordlessly fell captain Cyfer wordlessly gathered his men. With the baristas out of commission, an airborne attack would most likely be met with great success. He looked over at the dragons and nodded in satisfaction when he counted all twenty before reaching into a pouch under his cloak and pulling out a tube with an attacked metal ring. He pointed it into the air and pulled. A bright red flair shot out into the sky, soon mirrored by an identical one from atop the wall. The two pinpricks of light ascended into the heavens before being swallowed up in the outlines of thousands of dragons, many ferrying ground bound races on their backs, as they plunged from hidden positions atop the wall and into the fortifications below. The deadly rain of volley gun and ballista fire was absent, with the crews manning them dead or unconscious. The shadow fell with one fell swoop and tore into the barracks and defensive positions of the legionaries - only to be greeted with thin air. A commander fell in by Cyfer. "Captain! Where the ancestors are they?" He looked more than furious though he had the same perplexed expression worn by the members of the raiding party.
"I don't know sir, we were only operating at the borders, where the air threats were. Around them the army muttered profanities at the sight of empty bunks and posts. A young officer fell beside them.
"Commander, our dragons report seeing movement in the rubble of the city-" The words were ripped out of his mouth as an explosion rocked the ground. They dragons turned in horror as one of the barracks, and the surrounding creatures were engulfed by fire, followed in secession by another, and another… The commander looked back and yelled something inaudible above the enormous explosions but they all had an idea what it was. The surviving dragons rushed as fast as possible out of the base, only to encounter another force of dragons rising from hiding positions in the rubble of the city.
The legionaries timed their counter attack perfectly, colliding with the disorganized and panicking dragons like a wave and before they could react and the previously outnumbered legion soon turned the table. Spyro saw a dragon bearing down on him and skillfully rolled out of the way before engulfing another in a stream of fire. The scorched dragon screeched and fell off, blindly careening in the air until being met with lances from an imperial soldier.
Dragon after dragon from both sides fell towards the ruins of the city below but it was clear that the empirical forces had no hope against the legion without numerical superiority. The blare of a trumpet resonated through the air once and then again, signaling a full retreat and the wave of dragon parted, the shredded forces of the dragon empire limping back towards the walls with the legionaries in full pursuit. Suddenly, Spyro found himself alone, surrounded by soldiers bearing the pitch black moon. He stopped, staring at a score of dragons encircling him. A dragon that appeared to be a commander hovered in front of him.
"Stand down lightning, there is no way to escape." Spyro growled and looked around him. As much as he hated the prospect of being a prisoner, there really wasn't a way to outfight all of them… unless… He concentrated and felt time slow down. His heartbeat echoed in his ears as he searched for his fire. He felt the heat permeate into his body, igniting his core. The legionaries around him stopped and stared in bewilderment as the dragon suddenly glowed a bright orange before they understood what was going on.
"Back!" The commander yelled and dove as rings of fire pulsated from the purple dragon's form. The sky flashed a brilliant white around him as his fire fury scorched everything near him before dissipating into the air, leaving an exhausted purple dragon in its wake. Spyro sagged as his wings stopped carrying him and plummeted. He forced himself to throw open his wings or be dashed by the ground below and managed a rough glide that careened him harshly onto the top of a roof, skidding painfully against the tiles. Spyro gasped for breath and tried to stand before hearing another set of wings behind him. He shakily spun around, watching as a black dragoness clad in armor land in front of him. He got into a clumsy fighting position but was quickly met with a steel shield again his head, throwing him into blackness.
Cynder watched as the dragon she struck was thrown back onto the roof and rolled off, landing with a thud two stories below. She stepped over the edge and stared at the body. The dragon was covered in purple scales and appeared to be very young for a soldier.
She scrutinized at his face, dimly lit by the fires burning in the background. The dragon's helmet had been thrown off in the impact and unveiled a set of golden horns resting atop a purple head. A trail of blood flowed freely out of his mouth and his eyes were closed. Cynder's heart skipped a beat as a flicker of a past memory flashed through her mind. He looked over at the dragon again and froze.
"Shit." She hissed as he dove down and checked for a pulse, letting out a quiet sigh of relief when she found a feint, albeit steady one. "I've got a live one!" She called out at some nearby legionaries, who made their way to her. One of them- a medic- put his head to the dragon's chest and then carefully checked for wounds. "Take him to our new infirmary, he might have some good information for us." The other dragons nodded and carefully lifted the injured lightning and carried him off.
Wing beats behind her caused Cynder to turn and greet Commander Reyden as he landed. His scales were charred and some even cracked and there were multiple gashes across his body.
"Sir, I thought that the fire fury got you." Cynder was more than relieved to see him alive. But she could see that he was less than happy.
"No, I caught a building after getting thrown away. I suppose I'm lucky though because the poor bastard who was in front of me isn't much more than ashes now. Where is he, ill ring his neck until his head falls off?"
"At the infirmary, he will be interrogated later." The commander gave a snort and then glared at her.
"Go do something useful soldier, and next time if you don't address me as commander I'll have your head next to his." The dragon turned and headed off, leaving Cynder to glare at the back of his head.
