Ripto, lord of Avalar, General of the Rynocs.
Fleer of the Dagon Realms.
He scoffed to himself.
He thought his troubles had been over; escaping the home realm he had grown up in. Escaping snapping jaws, flames that turned his scales to obsidian charcoal and made him shed sooner each season. Escaping magic, leering gazes.
It didn't matter that Ripto's species were related to an offshoot of dragons far, far into the past; he hated the beasts, and vowed to slay any who dared cross him again.
Ripto gripped his scepter tightly, grinding his teeth. He never thought that he would have to fulfill his vow so soon.
But he knew that smell. That lingering soot. Somewhere, from some world, the eddies of the portals brought that smell forth. It was somewhere in Avalar. There was also the change in the magic of the very air - Ripto was sensitive to it after growing up for years on the tundra of his ancestral home. He knew magic like those mice knew gems.
"Soon, Dragon." Reptilian eyes narrowed. "Soon."
In another part of Avalar, Moneybags snarled in frustration, swiping at the thief who brought a less than optimal report.
"You better get results soon!"
And in another, Hunter running to meet his friends on the beach, Spyro laughing and Elora bleating, a little dragonfly did loops.
In his lab, the Professor mumbled to himself, tweaking some wires.
"Soon; I'm real close now! Soon, we can contact the dragons!"