Firestorm over Avalar Chapter 11, a spyro the dragon fanfic

Chapter 11: Warfang

"When the skies bleed,

the realms burn,

steel stains the land with innocent blood,

purple wings shall bring the shattering of the world.

Fate commands it be so."

-Anonymous

Tree branches rustled softly under the cold freeze. The night sky had finally cleared, and the twin moons shone their light upon the small clearing and the sizzling campfire. For Cyrus, such quiet moments at the end of the day were perfect for sharing a strong drink around and a few tales; his preference laid squarely on the first. As they were technically on a mission though, he would have to make do with the latter.

"The Skavengers? You're telling me you went against the scourge of the east, the same guys Pelagians regularly bribe just to not get plundered, on your own?"

Sitting on his haunches, Spyro shrugged with some embarrassment. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, Sparx was with me . . ."

"I punched a parrot," the dragonfly proclaimed. "And that's about the only fun I had during the whole ordeal."

Cyrus said nothing, taking a sip of water from his canteen.

Ancestors, I would give anything for some mead right now.

All in all, the Purple Dragon was intriguing. He wasn't the bragging high-born Cyrus had feared, nor the ancient and wise warrior he had expected. In fact, he wasn't dissimilar from someone Cyrus might stumble upon during his leave and share a pint with. Yet it was also clear he knew little to nothing about dragons in general.

"I've heard about the Silver River," Muck said, tilting his head. "Mostly wetlands from what I remember, just like my home back in the Delta."

Spyro blinked. "Really?"

"Yup. I'm from the Mudplains. Born and raised there."

Sparx shook his head. "Why would anyone want to live in the mud?"

"We are from a swamp by the Silver River. I don't think we are in the position to judge anyone," Spyro pointed out.

Cyrus raised a quizzical eyebrow as he witnessed the Purple Dragon and Muck bond over having hatchted in some bug-infested, muddy swamp. He could understand at least Spyro's circumstances.

Shouldn't be surprised Earth dragons decide to live there. Marble enters their brains eventually.

"Now that I think about it, having your First Molt there must be a pain in the rear," Muck said. "More than usual, I mean."

"A first what?"

"You know, First Molt. When you shed your scales?"

"Ah, so that's what that was," Sparx said. "Yeah, mum and dad had one nasty panic attack when he started dropping that stuff whenever he went."

Spyro rolled his eyes. "It wasn't that bad!"

"From your point of view, maybe. Took us months to throw all that stuff out."

The Earth Dragon stared at them, aghast. "What? Why would you do that?! You don't just throw away your First Molt, that's important! Mum keeps mine and my siblings' to this day."

Sparx shot him an unconvinced look. "Riiight, because that's a thing you normally do. Spyro, you're my brother and I love you, but your kind is weird."

Muck frowned. "What about your Ceremony of Bones? You had that, right?"

Spyro shook his head.

"The Dance of Fire?" Cyrus asked.

He shrugged.

"What about-"

"Alright, stop pestering him," Mistral cut in. She shot Cyrus a look. "And besides, the Dance of Fire is overrated. You Fire dragons just like to show off."

"You are very lucky you are my superior, or I would have taken that personally," Cyrus grunted. There were a few chuckles all around.

Cyrus glanced to the side, furrowing his brows in thought. The Wind dragoness sitting beside Spyro was instead an enigma, and a difficult one at that. She hadn't said a single word during the entire flight. Even now, she remained eerily silent.

Shyness, he had thought. There was something unsettling in her gait though, in the way she moved and looked around. Old scars crisscrossed her hide.

She's a soldier, no doubt about that. Why she's traveling with him? He doesn't look like he needs a bodyguard.

Muck glanced around. "Hey, where's Gale?"

"He took the first watch" Mistral mentioned.

"Really? I can't see him though."

"Good."

Cyrus rolled his eyes. "Do we really have to go through the whole thing? We are in friendly territory now."

"I'm sure Dreadwing riders won't cut our throats while we sleep when they hear that."

"Why not? Wouldn't that be very easy?" Muck asked.

Mistral let out an exasperated sigh. "Muck, that . . . I was joking."

The Earth dragon tilted his head again. "Oh? I don't think I got the joke, ma'am."

"Don't worry." Cyrus smirked. "It's Ice dragon humour. They're the only ones getting it."

The answer seemed to satisfy him. So far, his new wing-mate didn't appear particularly bright. He could follow order well enough though.

Muck glanced at the Wind dragoness. "By the way, I don't think I caught your name."

"You didn't because I didn't tell you," she said.

Cyrus could have sworn the answer had slipped from grinding teeth. Muck failed to take the hint.

"Probably. So?"

She didn't reply. The dragoness bit her lips, tail twitching behind her in nervousness. Cyrus had to admit, there was something unsettling in the way her eyes regarded each in turn.

"I'm going to lay down for the night," she muttered. The dragoness got up and left the campfire for her cot without a single word.

A strange silence settled around them for a few moments.

"Did I . . ." Muck blinked in confusion. "Did I say something wrong?"

Cyrus shook his head. He shot one last glance her way, and his brows furrowed. For a moment, her black scales seemed to melt with the surrounding darkness. He shook his head again, deciding he was probably imagining things. Something still nagged him though.

A dark-scaled dragoness. Where did I hear that one before?

His mind wandered back, digging through old and half-forgotten memories. He remembered the rhymes and tales her mother sung to lull him to sleep; legends of a time long past and, occasionally, a warning or two to make sure he wouldn't sneak out of bed and stay out all night; tales about the Terror of the Skies coming to drag away misbehaving dragonlings into the darkness of the night, never to be seen again.

Something finally clicked. His paws froze, holding his waterskin in mid-air, eyes going wide.

No fucking way.

The second day was much a repeat of the first. They woke up while the sun had not yet cleared the horizon. As he rose from his cot, Spyro couldn't help but notice Cynder being awake and up already. He didn't mention it to her, yet he was left wondering just how much that had to do with being an early bird, if any.

They ate a quick breakfast in silence, the chill from the previous night lingering, not yet dispersed by the warm sun. After some hardtack and dry salted meat, they broke camp, spread their wings, and took to the air. The four dragons would act as an escort, leading the way for Spyro and Cynder. As for Sparx, he settled inside his brother's travelling bag and enjoyed a cozy journey.

Mistral gave the order to climb to a higher altitude and ride favourable currents. A decision Spyro was silently thankful for; he didn't need to expend much energy to keep himself aloft, leaving the winds do much of the work.

"About last night," Cynder said as she drifted closer. "I'm sorry for leaving like that. That was rude. I thought that if they realized who I was, they would, well . . ." She trailed off.

He nodded. "It's alright, I know it's not easy. Just do it at your own pace. I'm not going to pressure you." Spyro flashed her a grin. "Hey, don't worry. They seem alright. They're not going to hurt you."

She shook her head. "I'm not afraid of that. I'm worried that they'll try."

It took Spyro a few moments to realize what she meant. Their fight in the tunnels flashed before his eyes. Cynder said nothing more, turning her attention back on the flight path.

Ahead, Muck glanced over his shoulder and at him, grinning. A pair of darkened googles concealed his eyes.

"Keep an eye out for shifting currents," he called out. "Aside from that, enjoy the view."

Spyro nodded. "What are the googles for?"

"Precautions. And we Earth dragons are not great flyers anyway," he explained, tapping at the lenses. "They help with that a bit. As for you, unless we find ourselves in the middle of a storm, you should be fine."

Hours dragged on.

Amidst white and puffy cloud masses, Spyro caught glimpses of the earth below. Sprawling woods over rolling hills looked like splotches of dark green paint on a great canvas. Settlements and homesteads rose amidst vast stretches of farmland, connected through roads of dirt and cobblestone.

The towers caught his attention. Tall structures of wood and metal, anchored on the ground thanks to large stone basis; Spyro spotted at least a dozen of them outside a rather large settlement, scattered amongst fields of greenish cereals. The air shimmered around them.

"What are those?" Spyro eventually asked. Of the four, Cyrus glanced downward for a moment.

"The Keres are quite a sight, aren't they. Geomancy, I think. You'll find them all over the Dragon Coast. They help with the harvest."

"There's a lot of them," Spyro noted.

"Enough to feed the Alliance's armies," Mistral spoke up for the first time.

"I mean, it's not like we need them that much. At worst, dragons can hunt," Cyrus said.

"Everybody else does."

A pair of shapes flew below them, circling the town a few times. Orange and red scales shone under the sun, and metal plates glinted as the pair of dragons began their descent, disappearing from their view.

"Don't worry, those are ours," Muck said, noticing Spyro's furrowing brows. "Wyverns and Dreadwings sometimes slip past the mountain ranges, especially as winter approaches. Darkies hope to take us with our guard down."

Spyro arched an eyebrow in confusion.

"He means the Dark Armies," Cynder whispered. The dragoness had shifted closer to him once more.

"They go after anything that might store food; granaries, mills, warehouses, fisheries. They get in, burn the place to the ground, and then leave a few dozen dead bodies as a warning." Her tone felt ice cold.

"How do you know?"

Their eyes met.

"I taught them that."

The sun had reached its peak when Mistral signalled to begin their descent. The six dragons dipped their wings and veered around, turning their trajectory into a tight landing spiral. They touched ground within a small, empty clearing overlooking a meagre stream. Cawing crows were the only company they had.

"We make one last stop. Take a breath, a sip of water, or a leak. Let's make it to Warfang before night falls," the Ice dragoness announced.

"I think I'll take the third option actually," Muck muttered before making his way deeper into the vegetation and out of view. The dragoness rolled her eyes but said nothing.

Cynder kept her distance. She had decided to simply stick close to Spyro for the time being, at least until they had reached Warfang. She clenched her teeth.

Maybe she had made a mistake. It wouldn't be the first time. How long would it take before somebody recognized her? What would happen after that? A single thought prevented her from just leaving.

Leaving for where? Where would you go? You have no friends nor a family waiting for you. Nothing.

Cynder suppressed the growl in the back of her throat.

"You thirsty?"

She hadn't realized Spyro had been talking to her. Slowly, she shook her head.

"Thanks, but I have my own canteen."

"Oh, right. I forgot about that." Spyro let out an embarrassed chuckle.

He reached back into his own bag. He stopped as his claws bumped into something that shifted, then groaned. A drowsy-looking dragonfly poked his head out, looking around.

"We there yet?"

He shook his head, grinning. "Just looking for something to drink."

Sparx disappeared back inside without a word, before dragging with some effort a waterskin up. Spyro nodded, picking it up and downing a quick sip of water.

"So, how's your kind treating you two so far?" Sparx asked.

He shrugged. "Not too bad. It turns out there's quite a lot to learn."

"Alright, but if any of them start being mean just give me whistle and I'll beat some sense into them."

Spyro chuckled. "I thought I was the one doing that back home."

The dragonfly popped out from the satchel, wings humming and buzzing. "Well, we aren't there, so I've got to look after my brother now. I'm the only one allowed to pick on you."

Spyro laughed at that. He and Sparx enjoyed poking fun at each other, Cynder had noticed. They didn't even seem to be putting effort in it; it felt natural. It was not something Cynder could imagine herself doing openly, like Sparx did.

Are you seriously jealous of Sparx?

The thought alone felt stupid. It should have been stupid.

Spyro's right, maybe I should try talking with them. I've got to start somewhere.

She spotted Gale as he sat some distance away, peering a map stretched on the rock before him. The Wind dragon tapped his chin thoughtfully, his scales shimmering in the light as he laid out navigational instruments.

A start as any, I suppose. Just keep your cool and try doing some small talk. You're both Wind dragons, you can probably find something in common.

Slowly, Cynder began a tentative approach. And then halted after a few steps, blinking.

The dragoness swung her head around, studying her surroundings. The crows had fallen silent amongst the trees. There was a faint odour in the air; unpleasant and sweaty, yet familiar. She had smelled it before, she just couldn't place it.

"Cynder?"

"Yeah?"

Hers was a reflex. By the time Cynder realized what she had just done, it was too late. She swung around, heart sinking already in her chest.

Cyrus was there. Narrowing eyes stared her down.

Oh no.

"I knew it," he hissed. "I knew it!"

She remained silent.

"I knew there was something weird in you, but this?" He drew closer, smoke trailing out of his nostrils. "We are traveling with the bloody Terror of the Skies in the flesh!"

"I . . . I-I am n-not . . ." Cynder stammered. Words refused to come out.

"You think I'm stupid? No parents with a brain would ever give that name to their kid!" he spat. "So, what's the deal here? The Dark Master got bored having you around? You decided to leave before He could stab you in the back?"

He shook his head, baring his teeth. "I can't believe it. Is this why the Guardians sent us out here? So that you can switch sides?!"

The orange scales on his chest glowed, an indication of the mounting fury burning inside him, in more ways than one.

"I'm not here to fight a war," Cynder muttered. She eyed him warily, looking for the slightest sign of an incoming assault.

"You and Dark Master started this one! Half of the dragon communities in the west are gone; hundreds of dragons, from elders to hatchlings. And all because of you and your bloody Apes!"

The Fire dragon gestured away, where Spyro and Muck were chatting together. Even from a distance, she could hear the Earth dragon breaking into a fit of giggles.

"Does he know it? Does he know what you are?"

"I never wanted this!" Cynder snarled. Her lips were trembling, and she could do nothing to stop them.

"I never wanted any of this," she repeated.

"It doesn't matter what you want! I never wanted to leave my home behind because of the Apes. I didn't want to be dragged into this colossal mess. And I didn't want to leave my mat-"

He stopped.

"My wing-mate," Cyrus corrected himself. "I never wanted to leave her behind to die, but guess what happened."

Once again, Cynder said nothing. Her mind came up blank.

Cyrus left without another word, but not before spitting on the ground in disgust. He cursed and growled under his breath, kicking a pebble off his path as he stalked back towards the rest of his wing.

Cynder stood alone for a few moments. For the first time, she didn't know what to do.

She had feared that once her identity was discovered, there would be dragons trying to settle accounts with her in blood. She had considered the possibility she might have to kill again in self-defence. It was something she could understand. This somehow was worse.

She had to fight savagely to keep her façade intact as something churned and shifted from within. She didn't know what that was; she didn't like it.

You must fight it, just like every other time. You can do this.

She contained the rushing tide at the best of her abilities, wiping the wetness from her eyes only once. Finally, Cynder exhaled. She had done it. Experience reminded her that no wall survives a determined assault forever. She shook her head, trying to chase that thought away too.

The smell came back. Something shifted in her eye's corner. Leaves rustled softly behind, and her gaze narrowed. She flexed her claws as her mind finally registered it.

You picked the wrong time for this.

She snarled. For once, Cynder would welcome the distraction.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck . . ."

Cyrus was pacing, his tail swishing madly behind. As the anger cooled, the reality of the situation finally sunk in.

The whole endeavour had been suspicious from the beginning; Cyrus had smelt something was off the very moment the order came down. Nobody had mentioned why they were the ones tasked with escorting the Purple Dragon, especially when the Guardians could have assembled a wing of Dragon Knights and have them fight over the honour.

And if that wasn't enough, they said nothing about the Terror being with him. He could excuse the colonel at least; the Guardians had probably jumped past her entirely. The question remained, however. What were they trying to pull off?

"Will you calm down, Cyrus?" Mistral sighed.

"Calm down?" The Fire dragon stopped, hissing. "There's no calming down here! We are traveling with the bloody Terror and you want me to calm down?"

"We can't be sure of that. Besides, we have our orders."

"You think that matters now?" He cut her off. "We are literally bringing her to Warfang!"

"Who are we bringing to Warfang?"

Cyrus suppressed a yelp just as Muck appeared to his side, seemingly out of nowhere. The Fire dragon scowled at him.

"He's referring to Cynder," Mistral explained.

Muck arched an eyebrow. "What about her?"

"Are you dense?! She is the Terror of the Skies!"

The Earth dragon frowned, then grinned. "Alright, nice try there. I almost fell for that. Everybody knows the Terror has been dead for years."

It took some time for his smile to wane as he glanced around. "W-Wait, are you serious? How do you . . . I mean, isn't she a bit short?"

Cyrus ignored him, turning back to Mistral. "Should we warn Gale about this?"

"I know that already."

Cyrus hissed as he found the Wind dragon standing exactly behind him.

"Oh for the love of . . . how?"

Gale gave him a shrug. "A black dragoness travelling with a living legend? It wasn't that hard to figure out."

"That's a fancy way of saying you took a wild guess," Mistral pointed out. The Wing dragon smirked in response.

Cyrus growled. "Great, everybody's up to speed. So, what do we do now?"

"You could start with keeping your voice down. The two of them are starting to notice us being huddled together here," Gale said, before glancing to Mistral. "Ma'am?"

"Our orders remain the same," the dragoness spoke at length. "Everyone, I want you to focus. We are almost there. Whatever her deal is, it will be out of our claws once we deliver them to the Guardians."

"And what's stopping her from ripping our hearts out while we aren't looking? Hell, she has a bigger body count than the whole regiment combined."

"She hasn't done that so far," Mistral said. "Don't give her an excuse to."

Cyrus scowled. "That's it?"

"You may also want to avoid approaching an actual warlord the way you did before," Gale said. "I'm honestly surprised you are still here."

Cyrus opened his mouth to spat a reply. The scream coming out was not his.

A shadow fell over him and a violent, beastly screech rented the air. Gale cried out, and then something tackled Cyrus. The ground exploded, dirt and blackened grass enveloping him. There was a bright flash, followed by crackling lighting. Elemental magic filled the air.

"I've got you! You are okay!" Muck screamed into his ears as he shielded him. Cyrus registered something else though, a sound he had grown accustomed to over the years. The unmistakable humming of a Wyvern's wings.

Crap.

He scrambled up, blinking as he pushed the Earth dragon off. Smoke and dust enveloped him, broken by flashes of Elemental magic and painful cries. Mistral and Gale had disappeared from view.

By his side, Muck was hyperventilating. "I-I can't see anything! Where-"

"Stick close to me!" Cyrus snarled. "We are getting out of here!"

There was a growl and, amidst the dust cloud, yellow eyes peered at them.

"Get down!"

The Dreadwing charged into view, a nightmare barrelling out of a fever dream and into reality on leathery wings. The beast's maws drooled as it lunged for Cyrus's head, its screeching becoming one with the rider's wordless war-cry. The Fire dragon dove low and to the side, slipping past the beast's forelegs.

A painful cry warned him that Muck had not been quick enough. He was smashed aside and hit the ground, grunting. The Dreadwing halted its charge, then swung around. It pounced on Muck with gnashing teeth.

Cyrus waited for the sound of crunching bones, but nothing happened. Instead, it was the Dreadwing's turn to howl in pain as it trashed around.

Muck was there, his forelegs wrapped around the beast's neck. He hissed and huffed, jaws clamped shut around one of the Dreadwing's horns. He drove his rear legs into the ground, pulling savagely as he wrestled the flying, snarling beast to a stalemate.

Leave it to an Earth dragon to fight a Dreadwing head on.

Steel glinted as the beast's rider, a canine, leaned from the saddle and raised a tulwar. Gritting his teeth, Cyrus flared his wings and leapt on the Dreadwing's back, scrambling for purchase just behind the saddle. Pain exploded across his muzzle as the rider lashed out with an elbow, yet Cyrus pushed through; he bit down on the arm, teeth locking on the chainmail. The rider screamed in pain.

Cyrus fought to maintain his balance on the rampaging beast, fending off the struggling canine as he tried freeing his arm and swing his weapon. Then the dragon's rear leg slipped, and he lost his grip. He held on for dear life, claws raking against the beast's side, but it was too late.

With one last savage tug, the rider's arm came free. The armoured canine swung around in the saddle, snarling. The tulwar came down for Cyrus's head.

A shadow slammed against the Dreadwing. Blood flew and bones crunched, then snapped. The beast let out a blood-curling howl as it collapsed. Cyrus found himself rolling on the ground. The rider landed by his side with a painful grunt.

Sheer adrenaline guided him. Hissing, Cyrus lunged for his opponent. His body moved faster than his mind could keep up, following the simple command learned by heart through exhausting training session.

Go for the throat. Always go for the throat,

Blood filled the dragon's mouth. Teeth sunk through exposed flesh, the rider thrashing and gurgling beneath him. After a small eternity, he went finally still. The tulwar clattered against the ground.

Cyrus coughed as he painfully climbed back to his feet. There was a metal taste in his mouth. All around him, the sounds of battle had ceased. The smoke cleared and dust settled.

All around, the bodies of Grublins and their Wyvern mounts littered the clearing, some still twitching amidst oozing liquid. The Purple Dragon stood amidst them, panting with effort, the ground blackened and smouldering around him. The closest Wyvern had an ice shard through its carapace.

A screech came from above, followed by the beating of wings. The second Dreadwing wheeled around as it made its escape, disappearing amidst the treetops.

There was a groan. Muck emerged from behind the fallen beast, limping. He winced in pain, hissing as he rubbed the back of his neck. The idea of chewing him out for trying to wrestle something twice his size on his own quickly became unimportant.

The shadows by the Dreadwing's corpse churned. Cyrus fought back a shiver as the black dragoness stepped out. She didn't say a thing, nor she spared a single glance his way. Cynder walked past him as if the Fire dragon wasn't even there, her tail flicking to remove the last crimson stains.

Cyrus tried very hard to not register the Dreadwing's belly, sliced open through a single, precise cut. He tried very hard to ignore just how much viscera had spilled out.

Muck did and lost his breakfast shortly after.

"They were waiting for us."

The blood-soaked bag hit the ground. Papers, hand-drawn maps, and notes spilled out before the gathered dragons, together with various items of personal use. Their owner wouldn't need them anymore.

"The maps highlight positions of sentries on the ground. The enemy must have kept themselves concealed, using one or two Wyverns to shadow us from below," Cynder coldly reported. "They converged on us only when we stopped."

For a few moments, none spoke. Their escorts were either looking after their own injuries or making a very conscious effort to not look her way.

Of the four, Gale had suffered the worst, and Spyro and Sparx had volunteered to help Mistral patch him up before resuming the flight. The bleeding had stopped but the scar along the Wing dragon's neck would remain; a cheerful reminder that the tulwar had missed an artery.

Mistral was the first to glance up and at her. Their gazes met with the same friendliness of two predators sizing each other up.

"Nobody knows we are out here. This assignment should have been a secret."

Cynder shrugged. Gears were already turning inside her mind, faster with each passing moment. She studied again the papers; they were a bit too detailed for their liking, highlighting Alliance guard posts and patrols.

Somebody in Warfang must have informed them of our arrival. Malefor's claws are sinking already into the Dragon Coast, preparing the ground for his armies no doubt. Were they planning to take us alive? What is Malefor up to?

"Do you think they might return?" Spyro asked her. He and Sparx finished applying the last few bandages on Gale. Despite better judgement, the dragon kept on scratching at them.

Cynder nodded. "Possibly. One got away, and Dreadwings operate on shorter distances than dragons. It is reasonable to assume their base camp must be nearby."

Mistral sighed. "I take responsibility for this. I didn't post sentries as for protocol."

"Somebody probably told them we were coming," Cyrus muttered. He didn't bother to hide the glare shot Cynder's way.

"Cyrus. . ." Mistral warned him.

"What? I'm just saying it would be very easy for her to-"

"Enough."

"This is ridiculous," Spyro said, shooting up to his feet. "Are you seriously accusing her of doing this? She has been with us the whole time!"

The Fire dragon narrowed his eyes. "We've all seen what the Dark Master's sorcerers are capable of in battle. That was Dark Magic; I saw her using it. Unless you know how that works, can you honestly tell me she couldn't have warned her old buddies that we were coming?"

Spyro hesitated. "I-I mean . . ."

"Oh really? So, we've got an expert here," Sparx hissed, flying off Spyro's shoulder and about. "Enlighten us then! Explain how it works, as you clearly know everything on the subject."

Cyrus tilted his head in confusion, confronted by a creature that could have easily fit into his mouth without problem. The dragonfly didn't back down.

"No? You don't? Then shut your mouth and save your breath." He gestured to Cynder. "She just told you those guys will be back. I don't know about you, but becoming the dinner of some flying whatever-that-was is not in my evening's plans, so grow a brain and let's put as much distance as possible between us and them!"

An uncomfortable silence settled on the group. Judging by the way his expression shifted, Cyrus wasn't sure whether to be confused or angry. And as she shot the dragonfly a puzzled glance, Cynder couldn't blame him.

"He has a point," Gale finally spoke up. "We weren't ready for this. The fact that we had the Purple Dragon and the Terror on our side is the only reason we are alive. We should leave right now."

Cynder bit her tongue, holding back a snarl. "I'm not the Terror of the Skies," she spoke evenly. "Not anymore."

Gale's eyes flicked from her to the Dreadwing's corpse laying some distance away. Flies swarmed over the carcass.

"Right. You still kill, but now you feel bad about it."

"Enough," Mistral hissed, enforcing her point with an ice-cold snort. White vapour hung in the air. "We are wasting time here. Gather your things and get ready to move."

Without another word, Gale went back to adjusting the bandages on his neck and shoulders. Muck had suddenly found the ground to be very interesting. Somewhere above, the crows had returned, a few deciding to venture down amidst the sprawled bodies.

They said nothing, yet their silence said all that Cynder needed to hear. There was only one way they would ever look at her: the Dark Master's iron fist; the warlord that had almost led the Apes to victory; the demon mothers used to scare their dragonlings into obedience.

A monster.

The rest of the flight was slow, uneventful and, above all else, utterly boring.

After the ambush, Mistral had forbidden any more rests; that in turn meant reducing their travel speed and riding favourable currents where possible. Fields and woods; rivers; the occasional sprawling village with red-bricked rooftops; they all became uninteresting stains of colours rushing past and below them.

The sun descended in the distance as their journey continued throughout the afternoon, the sky turning into a palette of pink and orange hues. Not a word was exchanged. If Gale felt any discomfort about his fresh injuries, he kept his mouth firmly shut, and even Muck had suddenly turned a lot less talkative than before.

For a while, Spyro flew on his own. Sparx would occasionally come out of the satchel and join him for a short while; stretching his wings, according to him. They chatted for a while about home, or so Spyro thought. Truth to be told, he had a hard time paying attention on the subject. His eyes kept shifting to the side, where Cynder flew alone.

Spyro turned his gaze back ahead, only to find Sparx settling between his golden horns.

"Alright, what's bothering you? You can tell me."

"Cynder," Spyro blurted out, before realizing what he had just said.

"Go figure. Tell me something I don't know."

"I should have said something, to convince the others I mean. They were accusing her of drawing the enemy to us! I can't help but think that if I had . . ."

"Hate to tell you that, brother, but you can't do everything on your own," he said. "Those guys? They probably have their fair share of grievances with her. Just give them some time to get used to Cynder, that's my advice. If I can tolerate her around us, everyone can."

Spyro made to shake his head, only to remember where Sparx was.

He sighed. "It's not just that, I . . . I thought back on what the Chronicler told us, about Cynder joining back with the Dark Master upon his return. And when Cyrus talked about Dark Magic and all that, I . . . for a moment I . . ."

"Look, just because some old dragon told you it might happen, doesn't mean he's omniscient or whatever. Heck, I've been basically telling you that since we got back to the temple with her, but I don't remember that ever affecting you before."

Sparx rolled his eyes. "And besides, what makes you think he knows what he's talking about? Did he foreseen us getting stuck in a crystal for three years?"

"I . . . I think he did actually," Spyro said.

There was a pause.

"Okay, but that doesn't make him right about everything else."

Up ahead, Mistral let out a sharp whistle. All four dragons dived in one synchronized motion through the cloud mass below. It took Spyro a moment to register the signal.

"Hold on to something," he told his brother. He angled his own wings to follow them in their descent. They plunged through white vapour-like puffs, emerging just as the sun had begun to sink below the shimmering sea, the water turning orange as it mirrored the beginning sunset.

Sparx breathed in. "Holy . . ."

He wasn't referring to the setting sun. Spyro knew that because he could finally see Warfang now.

The city stretched into the sea like a talon, the peninsula curled around an inner bay to its north. As they soared over it, the still water below laid hidden amidst a jungle of sails, masts, and fluttering flags. Ships of innumerable shapes and sizes crowded the piers.

Above all else, Warfang was loud. Even from the air, the cacophony of noises slammed into him before receding into the background. Ancient towers and spirals loomed over tenement-blocks and more modest houses, the buildings themselves packed together along stone-paved boulevards.

Spyro didn't know where to look. He hadn't thought it could be possible to see too much, but that was before laying eyes on Warfang. He felt like he could stare at it from above for days and days, and still not see everything it could offer.

"That's . . . impressive, I guess," Sparx said. He was trying to hide his astonishment, yet Spyro could see right through it. He couldn't blame him.

We grew up in a small village. This is something else altogether.

The sight of Mistral and the others veering away broke him from his stupor. He ignored the lingering pain in his joints and pushed himself harder, trailing behind. Furious sea-born winds slapped him across the face.

"We head for First Hill!" the Ice dragoness called out.

Spyro followed her lead as the group began their descent towards the mouth of the bay. A vast, sprawling complex overlooked it from the top of the hill. Lush gardens surrounded spacious courtyard; white cupolas shimmered under the fading sun.

Silhouettes rushed about the paved yard the six dragons were heading for. They appeared similar to dragons at first,though Spyro realized soon enough that was only half correct.

Kobolds rushed them from every direction the moment they touched ground. Spyro found his own travel bags being taken away before he could understand what was going on. His confusion only increased as the same occurred to Mistral, Cyrus, Gale, and Muck, only for the dragons to appear utterly unbothered as their equipment was collected and taken away. The kobolds took special care with the Wind dragon upon noticing his injuries, and Muck even exchanged a grin and fist bump with one of them.

A growl and a yelp just behind warned Spyro that they were having much less success with Cynder. He singled out one of them before they had an accident.

"Hey, uh, you should tell your friends there not to do that," he said. "She prefers to keep her stuff."

The kobold blinked, nodded, and scurried off all in the span of a heartbeat. More dragons appeared, peering at them from the balconies and rooftops along the courtyard, scales of countless colours glinting and shimmering in the afternoon sun, seemingly attracted by the ongoing commotion. A soft, indistinct murmur hung in the air. It wasn't too hard to guess what they were talking about.

Sparx muttered something about them drawing an audience, or something like that. Spyro stopped paying attention the moment the Fire dragon stepped into the courtyard, blinking as he adjusted his eyes.

Words failed Ignitus.

That by itself was surprising. It shouldn't have happened. He had done nothing for the last years but weathering crisis after crisis, and yet now he couldn't even bring himself to speak. If there was irony in the situation, he couldn't find it.

He had prepared for that moment. Ignitus had worked tirelessly in the days following the arrival of Hunter's message; there was much to organize, and delegate, where possible. The other Guardians had offered their help, yet there was much the Fire dragon felt he had to do himself. The burning in his heart was more than enough to fuel him.

Young Spyro was alive. Three years of waiting and bloodshed had not been in vain. There was still hope for dragon-kind after all.

It wasn't all for nothing.

Ignitus had prepared himself for his arrival, even going through the steps of practising the words he would say once they were finally reunited. When sentries had rushed in his study to report the approaching group of dragons, that confidence had helped stem the tide of rising anxiety. Said confidence had promptly collapsed like a sandcastle the moment he emerged into the courtyard. His mind and tongue refused to collaborate anymore.

He has grown up.

It was the only thought he could formulate, as if he had just realized how much time had passed. The strong limbs; the set of his jaw; they all hinted towards the strength the young dragon would naturally develop over the next decades.

Their eyes met for a single, eternal instant, and he still couldn't speak. If Cyril had been there, he would have probably found the whole scene immensely amusing.

Spyro broke into a run. He was fast, and much more than Ignitus remembered. The Elder dragon staggered as Spyro barrelled into him and hugged his chest, seemingly unbothered by the difference in size.

"Young dragon-" he began before stopping. Spyro was shaking in his embrace, eyes shining with streaming tears.

No words were necessary, and they had never been. Ignitus placed a forearm around Spyro's shoulders and held him close. The tension from months of intense work evaporated for a few moments. A smile grew on his muzzle, and he could have sworn something had just entered his eyes, forcing him to blink.

Guardians don't cry. They must always maintain their composure, Terrador would have probably said.

Finally, Ignitus chuckled. "You kept us waiting for some time, young dragon."

Spyro broke away from the embrace, as if he had snapped out a trance. He spoke quickly, gesturing around with his claws. Ignitus found difficult to focus on the events being described; something about apes, and crystals, and rats, and dragons, and other things he had lost track of amidst a whirlwind of information.

". . . and then we got to the village, except it was gone. So we went to another village, but cheetahs were not happy we were there, so Hunter went to talk to his chief, but he was . . ."

Ignitus lifted a paw, forestalling him. "I'm sure yours is quite the tale, but let us focus on one thing at the time. You must be exhausted after your travels, yes?"

Spyro nodded, wiping the tears on his foreleg. "R-Right, it's just . . . I-I missed you so much."

He smiled. "So have I. I'm glad to find you now safe and sound."

There was a cough just behind Spyro, followed by buzzing wings.

"Of course, the same is valid for you, young dragonfly."

"You are lucky I don't get offended easily." Sparx crossed his arm. "But hey, it's nice seeing you too."

Ignitus grinned. He faltered only when his gaze shifted to the dragoness that had silently joined Spyro's side.

Just like him, Cynder had changed; lithe and sharp, like a well-balanced duelling sword. Where normal dragon scales would shimmer under the sun, hers remained a matte hue of black and purple. A reminder of what the Dark Master had done to her.

She bowed her head, formal and stiff. "Guardian Ignitus. It's been a long time."

"Please, let us leave formalities for another time. I realize coming here of all places wasn't an easy undertaking, especially for you. I appreciate you decided to do so regardless."

He spotted the travelling bags dangling from her side. "Oh, you don't need to carry those with you. The temple-keepers will take care to deliver them to your prepared rooms."

She shrugged. "I'd rather keep them with me, if possible."

Ignitus frowned, yet his confusion was momentary. He nodded.

All of this must be a lot for her. She just needs some time to adjust.

"Of course. As I said though, you must be tired and hungry from your travels. Let's head for my study. It's much quieter." He gestured them to follow him into the temple complex.

Ignitus hesitated only for a moment, stopping to cast a glance behind. More dragons had made their appearance along the rooftops, crowding the temple's balconies. The news of Spyro's arrival had spread quickly; by nightfall, the whole city would be aware of it. In a couple of weeks, the news would have reached every corner of the Dragon Coast and beyond.

What else were you expecting? You prepared them for three years for his return.

Cyrus and Muck helped Gale stand as they accompanied the Wing dragon to one of the dragon temple's medical hall. He had never asked them for help, but if he had some reservations, he didn't voice them. Cyrus would have probably ignored them anyway.

"Is it just me or he's quite light for his size?" Muck said.

"Must be the hollow bones."

Muck blinked. "You mean like birds?"

By his side, Gale let out a groan. "That's not how Wing dragons work, Cyrus."

"Oh relax a bit! You should learn to take a joke once in a while."

"A grublin drove a spear into my side while its Wyvern tried chewing my face," he growled. "Forgive me if I'm not in the mood for jokes."

"You'll be fine," Cyrus said. "A couple of Spirit Gems, and you'll be as good as new."

They found a healer easily enough. Unfortunately, it was Penya.

"Well, well. What did you bring me this time?"

The ibex slowly rose from her chair, straightening an apron that had ceased being white a long time ago, replaced now by a dull, russet-like hue. She was chewing on some leaves; tobacco, perhaps.

"Put him in on the table, I'll give him a look," she began just as her eyebrows began to furrow.

"Alright, who in Okra's name put those bandages on him? That ought to be some of the sloppiest work I've ever seen."

"I think the Purple Dragon did," Muck mentioned. He flinched back as the ibex whipped her head his way. Eventually, she shrugged.

"So, rumours are true then. He's back for real?" Cyrus nodded.

Penya went straight to work. She began removing the used bandages for some clean one, making sure to tighten them properly. Gale hissed in pain and discomfort a couple of times.

"Careful," he growled.

"Next time you be careful. What in hell did you fight anyway?"

"Dreadwings," Cyrus said. "And a few other things. It's a long story."

The ibex stopped for a moment, glancing their way. "You sure you two don't need some attention as well?"

Muck shrugged. "I feel fine."

"I saw you enter a wrestling match with a Dreadwing, how's that you're fine?" Cyrus arched an eyebrow.

"I had a lot of practise."

"In bootcamp?"

Muck shook his head. "Youngest of a five dragonlings batch. Though there was a lot less, you know . . ." He swallowed. "Blood."

"You did fine," Cyrus said, patting the Eart dragon on the shoulder. "I don't know whether you are the luckiest, bravest, or stupidest dragon I've ever met, but that was some fine work back there." Muck gave him a grin and a silent nod.

"If you two are quite finished," Gale hissed, just as Penya began examining his injuries, "we've got troubles incoming."

Armour clattered behind them. Turning around, Cyrus spotted Mistral as the dragoness made her way past empty cots and shelves in the medical hall and towards them. That wasn't trouble; the figure proceeding her however, was.

Colonel Elizabeth marched towards them, the vixen moving as a battering ram about to deliver the final strike and bring the whole gatehouse down on their collective heads.

Ancestors, she probably is.

Cyrus hoped she hadn't noticed him swallowing. The vixen halted before them, paws resting on her hips as she sized them up. Hard hazelnut eyes stared him down.

"Report. What happened?"

"Ma'am, on our return we were surprised by-" Mistral began. She fell silent as the colonel raised her paw.

"I've heard that already, and I'm not asking you." The paw came down. "I'm asking your second."

Her sec- oh right. I've got seniority over Gale by a week. Just my luck.

He cleared his throat. "Well, ma'am, I'm not sure what else I could add to what our wing leader already told you."

"You can, in fact. Did the Guardians summon you for this? Were you tasked directly by them?"

Cyrus blinked, slowly. "Yeah. I mean, yes ma'am."

The vixen frowned as she exhaled, slowly. She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Why even bother to have a chain of command in place if they insist on not following it," she hissed. "A single wing. Unsupported, no less."

She glanced to the side, taking notice of Penya seemingly for the first time.

"How is he?"

The ibex shrugged. "He'll fly." She went back to work.

"I need him flying now. The regiment cannot operate without at least a flying wing at full strength."

"And I don't do miracles," Penya countered. "I can spare a Spirit Gem, but it'll take some time.

The colonel narrowed her gaze before finally nodding. She turned around, eyeing each dragon in turn.

"As for you three, take the rest of the week off. Rest and recuperate, I want you all in top shape. And make sure not a single disciplinary note reaches my desk."

Cyrus didn't like how she looked specifically at him as she said the last part. He was however smart enough to not let it show. He waited until the colonel had left the hall, the sound of her footsteps fading away, before speaking.

"So, are we in trouble?"

Mistral shook her head. "Not us for once."

"Uh, you think we should have mentioned to her the whole thing with the Terror or-" Muck fell silent the moment Cyrus gave him a nudge.

"Not a chance. I like my scales to stay where they are, thank you very much."

"And what's that?" Spyro asked, pointing to a specific relief lining the corridor as they passed by it.

"That's Great Master Calderas, Fifth Guardian of Fire, clashing against a herd of Hippocamps," Ignitus explained. "I believe it's ironic, considering that he would later take an Hippocamp as a lover."

As they made their way deeper into the temple, Sparx paid only some attention to whatever his brother and Ignitus were talking about. Arched passageways and vast chambers surrounded him; some were large enough to house his whole village, five more, and then a couple dragons added in.

Spyro would often stop to point to something that caught his attention, be it a statue, a relief, or a mosaic. Ignitus may have lacked the vast encyclopaedic knowledge Volteer had, but he was more than happy to fill him in on what he knew.

Sparx trailed behind as the two dragons chatted amongst each other. He hummed to himself, his eyes glazing over much of his surroundings. As fancy as the decorations were, he wasn't one for sightseeing. The place was simply too big for him. Spyro would probably feel right at home with his kind.

Damn, I miss home.

"Is it just me or this place is a maze?" Sparx eventually mentioned.

"Uh? Oh, yes. You are not wrong, young dragonfly. Moles designed the temple with defence in mind," Ignitus explained.

"Moles built all of this?" Spyro asked.

He nodded. "They built the whole city, in fact. With some help from dragon-kind, though their pride forbids them from mentioning it too often."

The discussion fell on something else. Spyro had just remembered the talk they had around a campfire the previous night, and wanted now to know what a Dance of Fire was.

"He's very excited," Cynder noted. Sparx found the dragoness walking by his side.

"Yeah, he gets like that sometimes." The dragonfly tried very hard not to flinch, keeping his tone as casual as possible. He waited for some rebuke, even irony, but nothing came.

"About what you said back there, I . . ." Cynder began before biting her lips. There clearly was something she wanted to say.

"Thanks."

Sparx could have sworn his wings had stopped for an instant as he did a double take.

"Come again?"

"You didn't need to come to my defence." Again, she hesitated. "I . . . appreciate it."

Sparx frowned. He thought back to the whole encounter, to what he had said after hearing Cyrus blathering about Dark Magic and whatnot. Admittedly, he wasn't sure why he had burst out like he had done.

"Yeah, that . . . that was nothing. No need to thank me or whatever. That idiot didn't know what he was talking about anyway."

He fluttered ahead, trying to catch up with Spyro and Ignitus as they disappeared into another corridor.

You're welcome though.

Papers and notes laid all around the floor, with scrolls piled haphazardly on a wooden desk and filling the bookshelves to the brim. The centre of the room was dominated by a large marble bowl were chunks of coals smouldered and cracked.

A modest dining table with a few sitting cushions had been arranged by the large, oval-shaped window. Plates of cooked food were already waiting for them.

Still, Ignitus barely touched them. They laid there, forgotten, the Fire Guardian attention focused solely on Spyro's tale, from their meeting to the Chronicler, to his fight with Gaul, and then to their awakening in Jachai-Kul.

Spyro would occasionally pause his narration to enjoy a mouthful or two of Warfangian cuisine, with Sparx's willing help. As he finished recounting their travel, Spyro turned his attention to some mashed potatoes, leaving Ignitus alone to his thoughts.

Three entire years trapped within a crystal? I must have underestimated his powers. A dragon wielding time itself is–

He shook his head. He would discuss this later with the other Guardians. Still, there was much food for thought there.

The enemy is not as unified as we thought. Could this be the opening we were waiting for?

"Everything's alright?" Spyro's worried tone yanked him away from his thoughts.

"Of course. My apologies, you've just given me much to think about. Your tale is nothing short of astounding."

The Purple Dragon nodded, hesitantly.

"Something bothers you, young dragon?"

"It's just . . ." Spyro hesitated, his mouth opening and closing a few times. "I'm sorry, I was away for so long. I couldn't do anything. The Dark Master returned, and I couldn't-"

"No," Ignitus said. "Don't do that."

Spyro blinked, puzzled.

"You are a caring dragon, and that's good, but you should not place blame yourself for events outside your control." He smiled. "You are here now. You are safe. That is all that matters."

He shot a glance to the side. "Of course, the same goes for you too, Cynder. I understand past events weight greatly on all of us, yet I'm confident this is the beginning of a brighter chapter."

The dragoness gave a small nod. Her tail twitched faintly behind. It was only then Ignitus realized she had barely touched her plate the whole time.

"Is the food not of your liking? I could ask the kitchen staff to prepare something else, if you want."

"Thank you, but no. I . . . I'm just more tired than I thought. Is there someplace where I could rest for the night?"

Ignitus blinked. "Of course. There should be a kobold temple-keeper just down the corridor. They'll be more than willing to indicate your rooms. If you can wait a little, I will accompany you two there."

"That won't be necessary, though I appreciate the gesture." Cynder said, slowly rising from her sitting cushion. "I'll see you in the morning then."

She shouldered her bags and left the room without another word. The doors closed and, after a few moments, Ignitus sighed.

"I understand it's difficult for her."

"It's complicated," Spyro said. "Her first meeting with other dragons didn't go very smoothly."

"Uhm, yes. I should have foreseen this and sent someone else," Ignitus said. "I fear urgency overrode my caution. And yet she accepted to come to Warfang of her own free will. That must amount to something."

"I spoke to her. We've been helping each other so far, so I thought the least I could do was helping her out now."

Ignitus nodded. "From what you've told me, you two seem to have developed into quite the formidable force together."

The young dragon chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Something like that, I guess. We . . . uh, we're just doing our best."

Ignitus arched an eyebrow. It could have sworn he had detected a faint discomfort underneath his tone. That was odd; it wasn't like they were-

Oh.

You said it yourself. He has grown up.

"Hey, uh, can I ask you something?" Spyro quickly blurted out. Ignitus nodded.

"Back when we were traveling with Hunter, he said you asked him to look after Cynder too; that you wanted her to come to Warfang as well. Why?"

Ignitus exhaled. "It's a long story, young dragon. We were opponents in the past, and I won't hide I've lost friends battling her. Though I once harboured distrust towards her, I've realized it was nothing more than the weight of my failures haunting me. You see, the night I carried you to safety, her egg was-"

"Gaul took her. I know," Spyro said. "The Chronicler told me."

"Oh." Ignitus frowned. "I can't help but notice you didn't mention that part while you recounted your tale."

He shrugged. "I didn't think she wanted to hear that part."

The Guardian nodded. "Very considerate of you, young dragon." Then, he asked, intrigued, "Did the Chronicler told you something else that caught your attention? Perhaps something that may aid us in our current struggle."

Spyro frowned, scratching his nose, deep in thought. "He said something about the Dark Master. He was a Purple Dragon once. I don't know if that helps."

Ignitus said nothing, merely nodding along.

We suspected that, but now we have the confirmation. And if he is who we think he is, then the time Volteer spent on those dusty old records might finally bore fruits.

Familiar voices drifted their way from the corridor. Footsteps accompanied them, echoing as they drew closer.

" . . . dreadful, I assure you. After that, me and Mason spent the next hour having an academic discussion on whether Laffrey's Law of Magical Decay was applicable in such circumstances."

"You shouldn't assume I have the slightest idea of what you are talking about, Volteer."

The Ice dragon was the first to step inside the study. A faint trail of condensed air gathered around his back spikes and ice-like crests.

"My apologies for the delay, Ignitus," Cyril announced. "The message promptly reached me, yet I happened to stumble on Volteer on my way here."

His eyes finally found Spyro, and Cyril smiled. "Ah! You're back, young dragon! I must say, you gave us quite the fright. Especially Ignitus. Did he mention the sleep he lost, worried as he was as he waited for your return?"

The Fire Guardian let out a snort, rolling his eyes. "Thank you, Cyril, but I was hoping to not pile too much on his plate. He just came back."

"Yet I see you've been piling other kind of plates already. You don't mind if we- uh, Volteer, what are you doing?"

The Electric dragon had already shuffled past his colleague, eyes sparkling with newly found interest as they settled on Spyro. Before Ignitus had the chance to speak, Volteer came to a stop before the Purple Dragon.

"Fascinating," he muttered, shifting around him to get a better look, studying the young dragon. Volteer's eyes zipped around, taking precise measurement without need for instruments.

"Astounding. What happened to him?" he wondered. He was now in the process of examining Spyro's wing span, much to the young dragon's discomfort.

Ignitus shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I remembered him to be much shorter than now."

Cyril frowned. "He just grew up. You make it sound like he sprouted a second head or something."

Volteer glanced up. "I reject such baseless accusations. I never implied he did, in fact, gained a second, functioning head; as fascinating as the notion is."

"However," he continued, "he did happen to be at the epicentre of a small, crystallized, time anomaly of magic origin over a three years-long period."

Ignitus arched an eyebrow. "Wait, how do you know-"

"My fault, I'm afraid," Cyril said. "Hunter's dispatch arrived around midday. I made the mistake of mentioning it to him."

The Electric dragon swung his attention back to Spyro. "Tell me, young dragon, how would you describe your experience? Would you say it was the catalyst of much larger cascade of temporal anomalies, spreading from a point of origin and outward?"

Spyro blinked a few times. "I . . . I mean, no? I-I don't . . . I don't think so?"

"I knew it!" Volteer exclaimed. He stood back, grinning in triumph. "Once again, Decanay's theories prove themselves to be the haphazard pile of supposition and arm-chair exercises so typical of him. I'm steadily approaching a confutation of his mode of thought so thorough that he will be utterly unable to defend himself."

"I was under the impression he died a century ago," Cyril noted.

"And yet his theories survived him! Unacceptable." He glanced up. "Oh, hi there, Terrador."

The Earth Guardian had slid past the doorway with surprising quiet for someone of his size. His expression, aside from an arched eyebrow, was unreadable.

"Hello, Volteer." He bowed his head. "Young Spyro. I apologize for ruining the festive mood, but it is urgent."

His hard eyes focused on the other Guardians. "The Council has been informed of his return. They demand a formal meeting."

Author's Notes: Would you look at that, we actually made it to Warfang. Everybody's going to have a great time there. Even Cynder. Especially Cynder. Next time we're gonna take a look on how another dragon's doing. Now, rewiew's time:

Austin: Thanks! I don't know much about 40k, aside from Dan Abnet's Gaunt's Ghosts series. As for speeches during battles, well, we'll have to get there first.

Author-san 9001: Shenanigans is sure one way of putting it. Still, I'm glad you liked it and thank you!

NoobWonderWaffle: Yeah, uh, about the whole dragons thing, I think this chapter answers it. But hey, things could be worse, right?