Chapter 10: Aftermath


"I have yet to see a glorious battle."

-Bertolt Von Lidringen, last Imperial High Marshal


"Cyrus, you are out of formation again."

The Fire dragon suppressed a growl as his eyes swivelled upward. Mistral was there, looming over him. The Ice dragoness's wings glinted under the sun, slashing through the air with each powerful stroke.

Cyrus ignored her, focusing his own gaze back ahead as he adjusted his own googles. They were flying low, the treetops rushing past a few dozen yards below. Their wings battled with winds blowing against them. He caught sight of an isolated farmstead as they flew past it.

"Cyrus."

He grinded his teeth. She was using that tone again; half sigh of disappointment, half reprimand. He still didn't know how she managed to do that.

"Cyrus-"

"I've heard you," he snapped, more forcefully that he had intended. He pushed himself harder, gaining speed, until he was aligned once more with Muck. The Earth dragon didn't seem to notice that he had been missing from his side for a couple of minutes. Cyrus frowned, shooting him a sidelong glance.

Some wing-mate I've got.

He shook his head. Alright, stop being an asshole. It's not his fault he is here. Had you done your job properly, he wouldn't even need to be here.

"Me and Gale are taking the lead," Mistral said eventually. "You two try to not fall behind too much."

Cyrus didn't give her any acknowledgement and she waited for none. The dragoness shot ahead. A small thunderclap behind warned him that Gale had surged past them like a silvery bullet, pales scales rippling and glinting.

"How does he do that?"

Muck had shifted closer, yet careful to maintain enough safety distance for their wings to swing properly. The Fire dragon arched an eye ridge at him.

"I mean, you saw him, right? His wings were basically immobile, but he just kept on flying like it was nothing."

It took Cyrus a few moments to realize he was talking about Gale. He shrugged.

"That's a Wind dragon for you. I don't think he needs wings to fly. He unfolds them just so to not make us feel bad."

Muck grinned, a weak chuckle escaping him. A few more minutes passed in silence.

"Is this your first assignment?" Cyrus suddenly asked.

"Yeah, pretty much. First wing too," Muck said. "How about you?"

"Haven't moved around much, though I've been flying for a year by now."

The Earth dragon let out a whistle. "A year? Damn, I better not embarrass myself in front of a veteran on my first flight."

Cyrus held back a scoff. A veteran? Him? He didn't feel like it. More than anything else, he felt lucky. Ancestors only knew how many times the Grey Warden had tried to collect his soul.

"What happened to the last one?"

Cyrus shot him a glance. "Excuse me?"

"The wing-mate before me. I may be new here, but I know how replacements work. What happened to them?"

Cyrus said nothing. His eyes narrowed slowly until they were no bigger than a couple of burning, glaring pinpricks. For his part, the Earth dragon seemed to realize he may had touched a nerve.

"Right, sorry. Shouldn't have mentioned it."

He swallowed and turned his attention back to their flight path. Mistral and Gale's silhouettes stood out in the distance.

Keeping themselves low to the ground was less efficient, but it allowed them to avoid catching the attention of enemy wyvern riders, should they invade Alliance airspace. The trees eventually gave way to rolling farmlands, fields of gold and brown undulating under the breeze. Cyrus spotted outlines moving there, the working tools glinting as they caught the sunrays. He was confident at least some of them had stopped in their work and craned their necks up to watch them pass.

Yeah, I bet we are quite the sight, aren't we.

"What do you think he is like? The Purple Dragon, I mean," Muck wondered aloud.

"No idea. I guess we'll see soon enough. The next rest should be the last one before we reach Avalar." He was glad for the sudden change of subject, even if he wouldn't say it out loud.

"I've heard he is the most powerful dragon that has ever lived, even more than the Four Guardians combined!"

Cyrus had his fair share of doubts about it, but he decided against voicing them. He had other things in his mind anyway.

If he is so powerful, then why send the four instead of someone with actual experience? Why does he even need an escort for that matter?


Chief Oganos fought against his injuries for two entire days, almost out of sheer spite after the Blue Claws healers had given him a few hours at best. If he truly had, Hunter couldn't say he was surprised; if anything, his warriors would have probably agreed it being a fitting end for their chief.

It sounds better than getting struck down by a lucky pike-bearer in the midst of the melee.

The village was eerily silent all around. Hunter couldn't remember the last time it had happened. There was only a way he could picture the village where he had grown up, even after all those years; noisy, crowded, and bursting with life. Now the silence surrounding him felt wrong.

The marketplace had been cleared out for the occasion. The faint smell of aromatic wood and burning incense reached Hunter's nostrils as the Blue Claws accompanied their chief through the last stretch of his journey. Drums rumbled slowly in the distance, deep and mournful.

Hunter watched from a distance as the pyre was readied, soaked in precious oils and decorated with garlands and talismans. Oganos's body was deposed on top, wrapped in thick clothes, while his four sons and daughters arrayed their father's weapons on the body.

He caught sight of Prowlus there, the cheetah's face covered with grey ashes. He and a few of the Twisted Branches druids led the ceremony. Prowlus would be the first to toss a burning torch on the base of the pyre, as per Blue Claws tradition.

A chief was always the first to light the fire for a fallen warrior. Prowlus had renounced his position as War Chief with the end of the crisis, but Oganos had followed his lead during the battle.

The fallen chief's family tossed their torches and lanterns only after him, and then was the turn of the tribe's senior warriors and elders. Flames crackled and popped, rising one last time in a mighty flash before subsiding as they enveloped the pyre.

The pyre carries the spirit through the last stretch of their life's journey, Hunter thought to himself, reminiscing the lessons of his own elders. Fear not the flame, for its warmth soothe the spirit and lifts them high, above the cold earth and the winds, past the tallest peak. The halls of our ancestors are open to them.

"Always keeping a distance, aren't you?"

Hunter glanced to the side. Zara was there, frowning.

"It's a Blue Claws ceremony," Hunter said. "There's no need for me to be present."

"Yes, and it's being held in your village, by your chief, and with representatives of the other tribes as well," the fennec pointed out.

"I've seen enough funeral rites in the last days."

"Better, but still not enough. You are worried about Prowlus," she said. It was not a question.

"We have an unfinished discussion. I do not look forward to it."

"Why?"

"It's complicated."

Zara sighed. "Everything about you is complicated, even what shouldn't be. I'm not surprised that dad likes you."

Hunter arched an eyebrow yet said nothing. They watched for a few moments the crackling flames consume the pyre as the last torch was thrown. Weeping, murmuring, and humming coalesced into one single, incomprehensible background noise. A few musical instruments had been brought out.

An elbow nudged him in the side, the pain far sharper than Hunter expected.

"What was that for?" he hissed, turning on her.

"Really, Hunter? You can't think of any reason at all?" she replied evenly, arms folded on her chest. "How about the part where you left me rescuing the prisoners on my own, so that you could go and take on a Bautarii Fist?"

Hunter frowned. "Alright. I'm sor-"

"This is not about being sorry," Zara cut him off, eyebrows furrowing. "Warriors don't abandon their comrades just before a fight. Spear Maidens always fight in pair, so that we may support each other. You did the opposite and nearly died, if not for your chief."

"He told you?"

She flashed him a grin. "Amazing how much knowledge you can obtain if you just ask. Take Chief Kina, for example-"

"Ancestors!" Hunter hissed. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach. "Did you really-"

"She was tending to the injured and I offered my help," Zara said. "And we did happen to chat a bit in the meantime."

"You had no right to pry into that," the cheetah begun, a growl building up in the back of his throat."

"I didn't pry," Zara countered. "If she decided to speak about your and her past, that's her prerogative. She was there too, wasn't she?"

Hunter frowned, unconvinced.

"And besides, give her some credit. She said not a single bad thing about you," Zara added. "Honestly, for a moment I thought we were talking about an entirely different cheetah."

"I am not surprised. We used to . . . well, we were close once."

"Not anymore?"

Hunter shook his head. Memories flashed before his eyes; different ones, and happier ones, from a time so far away that almost felt like a different life altogether. The beginning of a smile tugged at his lips.

The world seemed so much smaller then, and brighter. He shook his head. Enough. You made your choice, and Kina made hers. She has found happiness and a companion that would remain by her side. Maybe it's time you do the same.

Zara's attention had eventually shifted back on the burning pyre. The ceremony was drawing to a close; with the rites completed, cheetahs began to slowly drift away in small groups. Only Oganos's family would be allowed to return later to collect the ashes once the embers had cooled off.

She watched silently, the grin gone. The fennec wrapped her arms around herself, biting her lips.

"You said Spear Maidens fight in pairs," Hunter eventually noted. "Yet you don't."

"I used to."

"Not anymore?"

Zara shook her head. "I made a mistake."

If there was something else, she didn't say it. Her eyes focused instead on the few cheetahs still gazing into Chief Oganos's burning pyre. Hunter could make out Chief Kina, Alios standing by her side, holding a shaking and crying cheetah in her embrace.

Akey. The poor girl has just lost her father and she's already expected to wear his sash by afternoon.

"You were right," Zara eventually whispered. "I've seen enough funeral rites."

She left without another word.


Grey clouds hung over the valley of Avalar as they had done so for a few days. The winds were silent and the air still, so they simply stood there, immobile. Spyro had hoped they would go away eventually. He had seen enough smoke in the last two days.

His first flight over the valley had been illuminated by the glare of raging fires amidst the darkness and a violent clash. His second one had been instead accompanied by rising smoke columns from the valley floor, where countless funeral pyres had been prepared. After that, he simply decided to stop flying for a while.

A part of him wanted to feel proud, just a tiny bit. The survivors from Greenvale were now safe, and the Dark Master's forces had been expelled from the valley; he had finally done something. He should have felt proud.

Yeah, well, it's a bit hard to feel any pride at all when you see the cheetahs collecting their dead, isn't it? Ancestors, why there had to be so many?

The Purple Dragon sighed as he laid against the ground, scales pressed on the grass beneath. His wings were open on either side, his tail twitching. The ancient oak tree above gave him some shade, or would have if the sun had actually peeked out from behind the clouds.

"You shouldn't be out here. There's rain in the air."

Spyro's eyes swivelled up as Cynder came into view above, looking upside-down from his perspective.

"You are though."

She shrugged, or at least Spyro thought she did. "Someone had look for you. Also, Sparx said he can't fly in the rain, so he asked me to come looking for you," Cynder added.

Spyro arched an eyebrow, failing to hide his surprise. "He asked you?"

Again, she shrugged. An awkward silence settled in between them. Somewhere above, a faint breeze had picked up and leaves rustled. The clouds were still there of course, mocking him.

Ancestors, I would give everything for just some sunshine right now.

"I was thinking I should go."

Spyro's head jerked up. The sentence alone was enough to utterly blindside him. His muzzle opened and closed a few times, unable to formulate an answer, nor to keep up with his racing mind.

"What?" was all he managed to say.

Cynder came over to his side and sat on her haunches. "There isn't much reason for me to stick around. My help is not needed any more and you should have no more problems reaching Warfang."

Spyro climbed back to a sitting position. "Yeah, but why you should go then? We got this far together!"

She shrugged, her eyes refusing to meet his. For his part, Spyro remained silent as well, waiting for an answer. He felt a creeping sense of déjà vu, as if he had gone through this conversation before. Then it hit him.

You have. Back in the temple, remember? The night she left.

"Things may have changed since I was, well, Malefor's slave, but I don't think our kind has forgotten what I've done," Cynder said, then she pursued her lips. "It might get heated once we get there."

Spyro wanted to slap himself. He had been so focused on reaching Warfang and reuniting with the Guardians that he had forgotten how daunting the whole idea must have looked to her.

"Cynder, you hadn't even hatched when it happened. You didn't have a choice in the matter. It's not your fault."

Her mouth's corners curled up, just a little. For a moment their eyes met.

"I appreciate you saying that, but I don't think it really matters in the end. Dragons will have their good reasons for distrusting me."

"Cynder . . ."

"You are the Purple Dragon," she added before Spyro could reply. "All of dragon-kind will look up to you, the entirety of Warfang and beyond. You will be their beacon of hope in this war, while I . . ." She hesitated, grimacing.

"I'm just another angle Malefor will attack you from. My very presence near you will sow suspicion, and he will exploit that at the first opportunity. I'm not giving him the chance if I can help it."

"Is this what you want to do?"

"It doesn't matter what I want."

"Of course it does! You-" Another pause. Spyro took a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Look, I won't pretend I know what you went through before our fight in Convexity, for Ancestors know I didn't. I was just a kid expecting things to go back to normal after that, and not once I stopped to consider how everything had impacted you. I . . . I'm sorry, I wasn't a good friend."

"Spyro, it's not that. It's . . ." She trailed off. Her mouth moved but no word came out. "You and the Guardians tried already to give me a second chance, and I just run away. Why would I deserve a third?"

Spyro smiled. "Ignitus thinks you do. Hunter said he sent him looking for the both of us. And so do I by the way, but only on one condition."

The dragoness arched an eyebrow in confusion. "That being?"

"Give me a second chance as well. I told you, I wasn't much of a bright kid back then."

"You make it sounds like it was years ago," Cynder mused.

"I mean, it was, but I like to think I've grown up a bit in the meantime. I got taller, right?"

"Around the sides maybe," Cynder snickered.

Spyro couldn't hold himself back, bursting into laughter.

"Alright, now you're just being mean!"

"Am I? I've seen you tore through a pile of cooked fish yesterday. I thought for a moment you were going to swallow them whole, fishbones and all."

"Growing up in a swamp will do that to you. It's only meat that won't try to eat you first." He paused. "Besides, I was hungry."

"Clearly you were," Cynder mused. Her amusement waned as her tone turned more serious. "How's the injury?"

"I'm not making a mess everywhere I go, and Meadow's remedies and a Spirit Gem have done the rest," he said. "All in all, I'll say pretty well."

"You know I could have dodged it, right?" Cynder said. "You didn't need to take a crossbow bolt in my place."

Spyro chuckled. "It would have been nice knowing that before. But in my defence, I'm not very good under pressure. Sorry."

"There's no need. I, uh, appreciate you doing that. I'm sure Bianca thinks the same."

Spyro nodded. They remained quiet for a few more minutes, sitting side by side as they enjoyed a moment of calm. It lasted up until a freezing droplet hit the tip of Spyro's muzzle. Only then his ears caught the faint sound of a drizzle coming down.

"We should start getting back. Hunter won't take it well if any of us gets a cold before we depart," Cynder pointed out.

Spyro made to nod, only to fully register those words. He flashed her a toothy grin.

"Wait, you'll stay?!"

She shrugged. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't hide the small grin from him.

"For now."

"Awesome!"

He raised a clenched fist, waiting for her to do the same. Seconds dragged on, as the only answer Spyro received was a quizzical look.

". . . w-what are you doing?"

"We're supposed to bump fists," Spyro replied matter-of-factly. "Come on."

"Uh, I don't . . . I don't think we really need to."

Spyro blinked. "Are you seriously going to leave me hanging here? Don't do this to me, Cynder."

The frown on the dragoness's face only grew deeper and deeper with each passing moment. Slowly, she lifted a clenched claw, her face scrunched up in confusion as she gave a tentative tap to Spyro's own.

"There. Now, can we please get inside? I hate rain," Cynder hissed.


Above their heads, droplets drummed and rapped softly against wooden beams and thatch. Just like the village, the hall showed not a sign of the frenetic activities and preparations of a few days before. Across the wide chamber, only the sound of a sizzling fire on a stone slab could be heard.

"You were right."

From his sitting place, Hunter glanced up, eyes blinking. He could count the times he had remained speechless on one paw. Across from him, Chief Prowlus paced slowly, stopping only to hold his paws above the fireplace, searching for warmth.

"I deluded myself into thinking everything would just return to normal once the fighting was done. That the war would just move past us and let us be," Prowlus continued, paws twitching above the flames as they illuminated the streaks of grey across his face. He had not bothered wiping off the ashen mask for Oganos's funeral procession.

There are more he still must preside over.

"Clearly, I was mistaken."

"Chief, the tribes don't need to-" Hunter began.

"The choice has already been made for us," Prowlus stated. "The Dark Master sent forces into Avalar and we exterminated them. I have no illusion that He, or His supporters, will forget that any time soon."

He sighed. "It pains me to admit it, but this is not a battle we'll win on our own. As the fight at the old temple showed, a dragon is a fearsome ally to have at your side."

Hunter remained silent. Any small bit of satisfaction that finally Prowlus had listened to him was brutally smashed under the knowledge that nearly five hundred cheetahs had joined their ancestors, with a similar number of wounded.

"Why are you telling me this?" Hunter finally asked.

"You have been to Warfang and met the four Guardians. They trust you."

He shrugged. "I like to think they do."

"You can dispense with the modesty. They sent you to collect and escort their precious Purple Dragon, and that's not a task you give to anyone. If they're willingly to place that much trust in you, they must hold you in high regard."

As he crossed his arms, Hunter spotted the stitches the tribe's healers had applied.

"I spoke with the other chiefs. If the five tribes are to join the Alliance, then they must do so on their own terms where possible. When you return to Warfang, I ask you to speak to the Guardians and see if they are receptive to the proposal. We'll need better weapons for when spring comes, and I want to know what they'll ask in exchange."

"You want me to do politics," Hunter said, frowning.

"I want you to make sure that the five tribes are treated with the respect they deserve," Prowlus countered. "I know what the Dragon Coast think of us. To those city-dwellers, we are primitives at best."

Hunter opened his mouth to reply, only to think better of it. He couldn't wholeheartedly disagree with him; though not as widespread as his chief seemed to think, the sentiment was definitely there.

"Very well. I cannot make any promise, but I'll do my best."

"That's all I ask of you," Prowlus said. He made to turn away but then stopped, biting his own lip. There was something else the chief wanted to add, and eventually he did.

"I thought this would make you happy, at least a bit. Didn't you want me to admit I was wrong?"

Hunter shook his head. "Things change. I never wanted any of this. I knew the war might come here, but I had hoped it could be slowed down, even forestalled." Their eyes met. "For a brief moment, I had hoped you were right."

"What changed?"

"The Trident," Hunter simply said.

"So you were there."

The cheetah nodded, slowly. "Not in any official vest, you see. I was just supposed to observe and report back, but the Augustians took to the field before reinforcements from Warfang could arrive. Before I knew it, I was in the middle of the maelstrom."

Prowlus stayed silent. He disappeared behind a nearby cabinet, only to reemerge with a pair of glasses in one paw and a bottle filled with a dark-brown liquid in the other.

It took Hunter a few sips before he began talking. When he later thought back about it, he would realize it had had little to do with alcohol, and more with the desire to simply talk about what he had seen that day. One could hardly remain silent when witnessing a three-centuries-old empire shatter before their very eyes.

He told Prowlus about the countless flags waving under a scorching, late summer's sun as Augusta marshalled everything and everyone at their disposal.

He described the thundering guns and sizzling of sorcery as it filled the air, cutting down whole companies in mere moments; Imperial tercios enveloped in smoke; the ear-splitting cacophony of battle as lines clashed into each other again and again, the grass turning red amidst the dead and dying.

And yet, he also spoke of the bravery and determination he had witnessed that day; of the Bautarii phalanxes driven back by constant, furious charges by Augustian knights; of the Frontier's regiments holding the line against Grublins three times their numbers; of Marshal Von Lidringen personally leading the assault on the River Redoubt and preventing the Imperial centre from snapping in two.

And how all ended at the dawn of the fourth day, when the Dark Master had personally taken to the field and rained black fire from the sky.

"You managed to survive all that, and yet you still periodically cross into territory under enemy control?" The chief shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know if I should be impressed either by your luck or stupidity."

Hunter shrugged. "The land is vast, and travelling alone helps."

"You weren't alone when you entered the valley though." There was an unmistakable smirk on Prowlus's face. "I think what really surprised me was seeing you with one of Mojiz's own offspring."

Hunter frowned. "I needed . . . I mean, she offered her help. Besides, Zara has proven herself to be a fierce fighter, as one of your warriors can attest."

"Yes, Cos mentioned that. Impressive indeed. I just wonder how long it will take before you realize it."

"What was that?"

"Only my hope that one day you'll stop acting as if the fate of the known world rests on your shoulders alone."

"It isn't. Not after our expedition in Jachai-Kul."

The grin waned as Prowlus nodded gravely in response.

"He's the real one, isn't he?" he spoke at length after a few moments of silence. "The one legends and songs speak about."

The cheetah raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't believe me before."

"I believe what I can see. A dragon barely taller than my chest saved a group of hostages, burned a camp with three thousand Grublin inside, and then proceeded to do the same on Bautarii veterans until they broke in panic. I saw what happened, and so did the tribes. Chances are that rumours will reach Warfang before you do." He emptied his glass in one gulp.

Hunter shrugged. "Perhaps he is. Hope is such a fickle, dangerous thing. Even when you need it most, you are afraid you might snuff out the flickering flame by accident. And Ancestors know that we need hope after all this time."

"You fear he might become just like Him."

Hunter's nod was so faint that anyone else might have missed it.


The rain hounded and pelted them for the last stretch of their journey, growing in intensity the closer they got to Avalar.

Roger de Flor pulled hard at the reins of his personal roc, dragging the beast through the mud and forward, before handing them to one of his retainers. A glance to the side revealed more of the chevaliers doing the same with their battle mounts. The shrill, screeching sounds from the beasts drowned everything else.

Rocs didn't like rain, that much was certain. The long-necked, flightless beast shuffled around, shaking their long, yet powerful legs to keep four-fingered, taloned feet out of the cold mud; they screeched and shrilled and clicked with their stubby beaks as their feathers drenched in the outpour.

Roger had to remind himself that, as much comical as they looked, the things were sturdy enough to ride with a knight in full armour on their backs, and trample most opponents under foot.

The canine tightened the cloak over his armour as he headed for the treeline's edge. He passed groups of coustilliers as they set up camp and got a few lanterns going, trying to shield themselves from the downpour.

A large tent rose before him and beneath a tall oak. Roger pushed inside, feet squelching, as the guards didn't even try to challenge his approach. The cold earth gave way to warm carpet; a few oil lamps burned. Roger slipped out of his overcoat before throwing it on a nearby chair. His ears caught a muffled moan, his attention shifting instinctively to the large cot within the tent and then to scattered robes on the table.

He chuckled. "For someone who has brushed against death closer than usual, you seem to be enjoying our stay here."

A startled gasp, then a deeper growl. The covers shifted as two figures became distinguishable. Neves, the Crimson Blades' top mage, was the first to climb to a sitting position; the doe's cheeks flushed red as she levelled him the most murderous glare she could summon.

"Roger, you pig! Get out of here before I turn your guts inside out!" she snarled as she covered herself with the bedsheets.

"Don't. I forgot I had sent for him," a deeper voice countered. Its owner rose from the bed with deliberate slowness. His silver-grey fur showed clear signs of singing over his chest and back, but he paid no mind.

"Roger, did someone ever tell you that you have a horrible timing?" Ludovicus asked.

"My first wife, sire."

He barked a laugh. "A good answer. Give me a moment, I need to at least get my pants. We have to pretend to be professionals, don't we?"

"Mind handing my robes back while you are at it?" Neves mentioned.

"No need. We will resume where we stopped."

The doe rolled her eyes yet said nothing. She turned her glare back Roger instead, as she caught him ogling a bit too much.

"I hope you don't mind the mess," Ludovicus said as he got dressed. "I was just showing Neves my gratitude for saving my life."

"Oh, I've heard of that." He glanced at the doe again, making sure this time to keep his eyes above her chest. "A teleportation spell, I take it?"

She shrugged, adjusting the bedsheet covering her. "Not easy nor inexpensive. It's a given if you want to enchant a piece of armour and make sure the magic remains bound to it."

She smirked. "Of course, I designed it as a last fail-safe should he get stabbed, not getting blown up by gunpowder. The armour was unsalvageable."

"A pity. I was starting to get attached to it. How's morale?" Ludovicus eventually asked as he turned around, tightening his belt. The wolf had not bothered covering his chest, showing his muscular upper body as he lounged in a chair.

"Could be better. We've been pushing them hard in the last few days, and the weather isn't helping. Attrition has claimed a few rocs and coustilliers, but we can still field six hundred riders once reaching the valley."

"And I take it our western friends are still silent, yes?"

Roger shrugged, armour clinking. "The Bautarii haven't even bothered sending a messenger. My outriders should be back soon though."

"No surprise there." Ludovicus glanced over his shoulder. "Neves?"

She scoffed. "What? I told you, I can't get in contact with their mage, I don't know what more you want from me."

Roger smirked. "Well, about that . . ."

"Another word and I'm feeding your intestines to the rocs," she spat.

There was a commotion by the entrance. Soon enough, a heavily armoured guard stepped inside, a burlap sack held firmly beneath his arm.

"Apologies for the interruption, my lords. The outriders have returned."

Without a moment of hesitation, he strode forward and placed the sack upon the table, pushing a few things and several induments out of the way. He loosened the knot and the sack fell open, revealing its content.

Reactions were mixed. Nemes let out a screech; Roger himself blinked in surprise, then jerked his head back due to the foetid smell; as for Ludovicus, there was a wide grin stretched across his face.

Fist Colledan stared at them with glassy eyes, his jaw slack.

"Our scouts have found a mass grave outside of Greenvale, filled to the brim with legionnaires," the guard explained, unflinching. "As for the Fist, the cheetahs impaled his and the officers' heads there as well. The outriders managed to remove only his before being spotted and driven away."

Ludovicus's grin only grew broader. "How cute, they set up some decorations to greet our arrival. What do you think, Roger? My money is on the old commander. This does look like her handiwork."

"In truth, I cannot say for certain, sire." He chewed on his lips, trying to disguise his unease. He shot a quick glance to Neves, and the doe seemed to be on the losing side of a fight against a tide of nausea.

"My lord, if the legionnaires are dead, then-"

"Yes yes, I know," he scoffed. He shook his head to Roger. "A waste of time, but it can't be helped now. Still, it was worth a trie. Have the regiment rested, we'll leave tomorrow morning if the weather permits it."

Roger raised an eyebrow. "Leave? My lord, if the Dark Master hears about this, he-"

"When He hears about this," Ludovicus corrected him. "And He will hear only our version, for our dear Fist here cannot speak any longer. If the Bautarii cannot deal with a few primitives, then it's hardly our fault. We will simply report that, despite our best efforts, his western zealots were too busy licking his behind to do actual fighting, so they were butchered before we could relieve them."

He grinned. "Besides, I want their archons to grovel at His talons a bit. They've been running a bit too high on success for my liking. Let's hear them complain about the ongoing siege of Coral after this blunder."

"There is still the Purple Dragon though."

Ludovicus rolled his eyes, then shrugged. "Unfortunate, but as I said, it's not our fault. He's a problem we'll have to deal with once the campaigning season resumes, and after we have strengthened our current position. I have no intention to remain dependant on Malefor any more than necessary. In the meantime, let the Bautarii explain how they let the Purple Dragon slip away."

Roger frowned for a moment, then nodded. He was not going to question now whether their advance had been slow on purpose or by mere happenstance.

He ordered a few extra breaks for the troops. And we did halt our march for half a day, waiting for reinforcements that never showed up before resuming.

Cunning and brutality were after all a core component of the Traius's bloodline, in the same way grapes were for a fine wine.

"What should I do with, well, the Fist's remains?"

"That?" Ludovicus waved a paw nonchalantly. "Toss it in the roc's pen. Those beasts eat everything."

He rose from his seat, stretching his muscles, before flashing him a hungry grin. "Oh and, Sir Roger? Close the tent's flap on your way out."

Roger de Flor couldn't fathom how he managed to still be in the mood, nor he wanted to.


Spyro realized something was wrong the moment he heard the buzzing in his ears. A groan escaped him and, without another word, he buried his head in the pillow before pulling a wing over it for good measure.

"Rise and shine, big boy! You've slept enough," Sparx announced.

"Five more minutes," he groaned.

"Oh no, I know how long your 'five minutes' are. Get up before I go looking for mum just so that she can kick you out of bed."

Spyro lifted a wing just a little, one eye creaking open. "Wasn't I the one who usually kicked you out of bed?"

"Yup, you were. This is called payback, by the way," Sparx said. "Come on, the day waits for no one!"

Spyro rolled his eyes, slowly getting up from his cot with a loud yawn. He stopped mid-way, gritting his teeth as the room felt spinning all around him. The light coming in from an open window felt like knives stabbing at Spyro's eyes, forcing him to shield himself with a forearm. He blinked, and everything went back into focus.

About time it stopped raining.

The cheetah's home was exactly how Spyro remembered it; cluttered, and with a single room. The former was a recent addition though. Clearly Bianca had been doing a much better job at keeping it tidy than they had given her credit for.

His eyes fell on Meadow sitting by the fireplace, the cheetah busy checking on whatever concoction boiled softly over crackling flames. The smell felt foreign to Spyro's nose.

"Please tell it's not another of those remedies," Spyro groaned.

"Don't worry. This is just our lunch," Meadow said with a grin, before glancing to Sparx. "So, where were we?"

"Something about letting it simmer for a bit."

The cheetah nodded. "Very well then. At this point it's almost ready, but you may add some seasoning of your liking. A bit of garlic, for instance."

Spyro had to rub the torpor off his eyes before noticing his brother as he nodded along with the cheetah's explanation. His eyebrow went up just as the realization dawned on him.

"Sparx, are you . . . are you trying to learn how to cook?"

The dragonfly shrugged nonchalantly. "Mabye. The others are somewhere else and you were snoring. I had to pass the time somehow."

Spyro glanced around, realizing for the first time that there was indeed no one in the home beside the three of them. "Really? Where are they?"

Sparx's wings hummed as he dived behind a cupboard. He reemerged shortly after, his tiny arms wrapped around a small spice container as he fluttered closer to Meadow. The thing was around his size, yet dragonflies could be deceptively strong compared to their size.

The cheetah gave him a grateful nod before adding some of the powder to the boiling pot and stirring it.

"Alright, back to your question," Sparx began, "Bianca's doing some commissions, ignoring both her conditions and Meadow's opinion that she should rest . . ."

The cheetah snickered in response but otherwise said nothing.

". . . Hunter and Zara have finally followed my advice and went looking for a room . . ."

"Wait, what?"

"He's jesting," Meadow cut in. "Hunter would never do anything inappropriate. They were just talking."

Sparx rolled his eyes. "Way to ruin my fun, but okay. And finally, Miss Terror of the Skies got up before dawn to go somewhere. I don't know where and she didn't tell me. Now, normally I would feel alright about it, but it turns out that I don't like not knowing where she is. Who would have thought."

There was a knock at the door. Cos pushed it open carefully as he stepped inside. Spyro remembered him; he was a friend of Hunter, or something like that probably. Bandages were wrapped around his forehead and ears, covering the injuries he had sustained during the fight. He carried a basket of weaved vines.

"Good morning," he said, tipping his head. He sat down the basket on the table. "The Twisted Branches send this as a gift to you."

Spyro spotted food inside: fresh fruits, pastries, and some dark bread, all arrayed on a bed of crimson petals. Before he had the chance to speak though, Sparx zoomed forward and snatched a berry. He began loudly munching on it.

"Sparx!"

"What? It looks juicy." He stopped, swallowing. "Oh wait, was I supposed to thank him before taking a bite?"

Spyro rolled his eyes. "Yes. Just be thankfully mum's not here."

"A gift? Seriously?" Meadow had stumbled closer with his walking stick, eyes narrowing on the cheetah. "By the same logic, why not a carved totem then?" he hissed.

Cos raised both paws. "It was not my idea, I assure you. I'm just delivering it," he said, causing Spyro to arch an eyebrow.

"I must go now. Peace be with you, Purple Dragon," the cheetah quickly added. He bowed his head to each in turn, even to Sparx, and left without another word.

"You didn't look too happy," Spyro said after the door closed.

Meadow shook his head. He reached inside the basket and picked one of the petals. He held it around his thumb, studying it with a frown. It looked delicate, fraying at the edges at the mere touch.

"That was very nice of them though, wasn't it?" Sparx spoke up. "I think we could get used to this whole hero thing." He took another bite out of the berry with gusto.

"Red Ocris," Meadow suddenly said. "That's the flower's name."

"It looks pretty," Sparx said.

"It's sacred. We use it only to mark the offerings to our gods."

There was a pause. Spyro blinked as the realization slowly sunk in. Even Sparx stopped munching.

"So wait, if he brought that here, then they think we . . . that I am . . ."

"The tribes have just witnessed a creature that lived only in ancient legends fight by their side," Meadow explained, gesturing at the basket. "I wouldn't be surprised if many started to think this is an appropriate rite. Fools."

"Riiight," Sparx said at length. "You know what, this got weird real quick, even for me. Should we hand it back?"

The window burst open with a crash, followed by a blur charging inside. Wind slapped him across Spyro's face as it landed, and Sparx yelped by his side. Then dark and magenta membranes folded back, revealing a familiar face.

"Okay, now you're just doing it on purpose!" Sparx protested. "There's literally a door!"

"I was in a hurry and there's no time to waste," Cynder said, before turning back to Spyro. "There's a party of dragons heading for the valley and coming in fast. Ten minutes, probably less, until they are here."

Spyro's jaw nearly hit the floor. "Wait, dragons? Here? How many?"

"I counted four," Cynder replied, before turning to Meadow. "By the way, I think I should mention that I spotted Bianca on my way back. She was at the old temple."

The cheetah did not react aside from an arched eyebrow. He sighed.

"You don't look surprised," Cynder noted.

"I am not. She has been acting strange since that night. I think it's time for us to have a little chat."

The cheetah raised a paw, forestalling Spyro before he could even begin to speak.

"I appreciate the offer you're about to make, but this is between the two of us. Furthermore, I believe you have more pressing issues right now, don't you agree?"

The Purple Dragon failed to suppress a visible gulp. "R-Right . . . okay, okay, okay, how do . . . how do I look?"

Cynder shot him a look. "Excuse me?"

"I'm about to meet other dragons for the first time. You and the Guardians aside I mean. I just want to look my best. So?"

"You look like a dragon that got up five minutes ago," Sparx interjected, then rolled his eyes. "Honestly, you shouldn't sweat it. Keep your chin up and straighten those shoulders. They ought to be the ones nervous to meet you."

Spyro nodded, slowly. "Right. I guess it's time to put that to the test, isn't it? Cynder, you-"

There was a loud crunch. Spyro glanced to the side, noticing Cynder chewing on an apple for the first time. His confusion must have been apparent as day, for the dragoness stopped midway through her meal.

"What? I skipped breakfast. The basket was there and I'm hungry. Is something wrong?"

"I mean, that was . . ." Spyro begun, only to for words to fail him. Eventually, he shook his head. "Never mind, it's nothing."

The dragoness shrugged and went back to eating like nothing had happened. He could have sworn he heard Meadow chuckling though.

The door swung open once again as Hunter and Zara came through, the fennec pausing only to slam it shut once she had made sure none had followed them. Without a word, Hunter dropped a pair of loaded saddlebags onto the table.

"Your parents never taught you to knock?" Meadow mentioned with an exasperated eyeroll.

"I apologize, but there is little time." He turned to face Spyro. "Young dragon, my falcon has returned. Soon, we will have visitors here."

"Yeah, you came a bit late for that. We know already," Sparx said.

"Very good, then I will be short. We've prepared some provisions for your travel. They should be more than enough for your flight to Warfang."

"Why are there scarves and a blanket in here?" Cynder asked aloud as she went through one of the bags and examined its contents.

"A courtesy from Chief Kina and the Crazy Wings. She mentioned that winters on the Dragon Coast are not gentle."

"It's pink," Cynder began, before shaking her head. "Forget it. I guess I can . . . appreciate the gesture or something."

The fennec smiled. "I'll make sure to report your thanks to her then."

"If there isn't anything else, you three should depart as soon as possible. The weather won't remain clement forever," Hunter said.

Spyro blinked as realization struck him. "The three of- . . . you are not coming?"

Hunter shook his head. "My duty is done, young dragon. I promised Ignitus that I would have kept you safe and so I did. I expect that in two days you'll be in Warfang, probably less with favourable winds."

"We got this far together," Spyro said.

"We did. Fear not though, this is no farewell. I have business with the Guardians to discuss, and a report to prepare for the Warfang's High Council. I have full confidence we'll be meeting there eventually."

Spyro frowned for a brief moment, before shaking his head. "Alright, but I'm counting on it. I'll . . . I'll say hi to Ignitus on your part. Any warning for the road ahead?"

Hunter nodded with a smile. "You have a good heart, young dragon. Don't forget that."

"Right, uh, maybe it's a bit late now, but can you please stop calling me that? I mean, I'm not saying it's bad or anything but it kinda sounds weird, you know."

The cheetah chuckled. "Fair enough. Spyro it is then."

"Thank you. And also, thank you both for dragging us out of that whole rat nest. Take care of yourself."

Hunter nodded once again.

"May the peace of the Twenty be with you, Purple Dragon," Zara said. "And don't worry, I'll make sure to keep an eye on him in your absence," she added with a grin, her eyes focusing on Hunter.

"I'd prefer if you didn't," the cheetah noted.

"And I'd prefer if you used your brain for once, yet here we are."

"A challenge if there ever was one, with you around me."

Zara's eyes narrowed. "I'll have you know I've taken tongues for much less, so watch yours."

The back and forth between the two went on for a little while longer. Sparx took the chance to shift closer to his bigger brother.

"See what I meant?" he whispered.


Mud splashed on his paws as Spyro sprinted through the village as fast as his legs could carry him. Cynder and Sparx trailed behind, trying to keep up with him with varying degrees of success. He could already spot a gathering crowd up ahead.

Though part of Spyro's mind admonished him for that, he simply couldn't help it. Cyril, Volteer, Terrador, and Ignitus had been his first real introduction to dragon-kind, true, but Spyro had looked at them more as mentors than actual friends. Even with Ignitus, there had always been a gulf in terms of age and experience that couldn't be easily filled.

He shook his head. This was different though; those were normal dragons, just like him.

Well, they are not exactly like you, are they?

Spyro frowned as his mind went back to what Cynder had mentioned the day before. Hearing that the hopes of his entire kind, and by extension the world, rested on him was a whole different thing that putting it into practise.

A knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach, and Spyro was glad of having skipped breakfast for once. He felt himself anything but a model to follow.

He almost didn't notice the gathered cheetahs near the village's entrance, nor how they parted on their own to make way for him, all the while exchanging nervous whispers amongst themselves.

Spyro came to a halt a feet away past the gate, eyes widening at the waiting figures. The dragons were there.

The first thing he noticed was just how small they looked. Perhaps it was just his experience with the Guardians; he never had any reason to ask how old they were compared to him. Spyro just ended up assuming that all dragons were just as big.

Clearly, that was not the case. The four dragons now speaking with Chief Prowlus couldn't be more than a head or two taller than him. Specifically, the Ice dragoness focused on the ongoing conversation with the cheetah was clearly the older one. The silver-scaled one at her side seemed to busy going through his satchel, muttering in frustration as he adjusted the scarf around his neck and googles.

Two more waited behind; the Earth dragon was content observing a butterfly that had just landed on his snout's tip. His scales were of dark brown, broken occasionally by strips of pale yellow. An evident contrast with the Fire dragon and his blazing orange scaly hide, observing his counterpart with evident amusement.

Instinctively, Spyro moved his eyes to Cynder, glad to find her still standing by his side. She studied the newcomers with a frown.

"You alright?" he whispered.

"Yes, I just . . ." She paused, biting her lower lip. "No, I'm not. Maybe I should let you do the talking. You know, start us off with the right foot."

"They'll want to know who you are eventually."

"Hopefully they'll be too busy ogling at you to pay attention to me," she replied. Spyro wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a joke or not.

In the end, it was the Fire dragon that noticed him first. He blinked, as if trying to bring him something into focus, then elbowed his companion. He hissed between clenched teeth, drawing the attention of the other two. The Ice dragoness fell silent as her eyes glanced past the cheetah, then widening in silent astonishment.

As for Prowlus, his reaction was by far the most muted. He simply glanced behind, took notice of Spyro and the others, and then shrugged.

"These ones have been asking for you, young dragon."

The chief took his leave without another word, and an uncomfortable silence settled in his stead. The Earth dragon shifted awkwardly on the spot. Behind, Sparx cleared his throat.

Oh come on, just say something. It's not that hard.

Spyro took a deep breath, summoned all the courage he had left, and then took the plunge.

"Alright, I guess we have to break the ice eventually, don't we. I'm Spyro and . . . ah . . . it's nice to meet you." He trusted a claw out and waited for the Ice dragoness to do the same, only for her to stare in absolute confusion.

Hold up, do dragons shake claws? Dragonflies sometimes do, but what if they don't? What if it looks weird to them?

The Wind dragon cleared his throat, breaking the impasse. "Mistral, shouldn't you say something now?" he whispered, leaning closer.

She blinked, shaking herself out of her stupor. "Right, of course."

The dragoness straightened herself before speaking. "I am Mistral, Fourteenth Wing, First Recon Squadron of the Warfang Home Guard. These are Gale, Cyrus, and Muck," she added, waving a claw to each in turn.

"And you . . . u-uh . . ." she stammered, eyes darting everywhere but at him. "I-I'm very sorry, it's just . . . I-I thought you'd be bigger."

Her expression alone was enough for Spyro to know that she regretted those words the moment they had come out. By then, however, it was already too late. Behind, Cyrus burst out laughing.

A good impression as any, I guess.


Author's Notes: Truly, I have no idea what a writing schedule is. The chapter is probably a mess, yet I've got to drive the plot forward somewhat. But hey, at least things will get better upon reaching Warfang, right?

Right?

Author-san 9001:

-Indeed dragons are very dangerous, though as you can probably guess Spyro and Cynder are a couple of steps above the rest. Not invincible of course. Finding a niche for Sparx is in fact one of the hardest part.

-I mean, this is basically a warfic so there is going to be a lot of death along the way. Of course I'm not going to just kill characters for the sake of it. Most of the time I mean ;)
Oh yeah, the Bautarii languange is definitely made up. I'm no Tolkien though, so I'm not going to create a whole language from the ground up.

-Yes, I too want to see my take on the Guardians. With some luck, I should be able to do them justice. Or more accurately, one in particular.

Austin:

I'll be completely honest, I haven't really thought about the Apes that much, which I guess it's ironic givent that they were the main source of mooks for the first two games. They're going to show up eventually, so don't worry.

Well, there is a reason why I referred to it as "the sack of Riràny". And saying that heads will roll implies that there will be something left of them once Malefor discovers what happened.