Firestorm over Avalar Chapter 12, a spyro the dragon fanfic

Chapter 12: Meetings

"See how the unfaithful tremble before our might? Those old bastions cannot shield them any longer from our righteous fury.

Praise be to Bezolt's Champion, and ready the siege guns. Tonight, the vultures feast on Augusta's corpse."

- Legate Kaindar, Twentieth Legion of Bautar

"The Westerners really tore through this place," Lunt muttered.

The young scribe had pushed aside the curtains as he peered outside. The window shook and rattled as the column of roc-pulled carriages rolled along deserted streets. The few inhabitants they came across were quick to shuffle out of their way.

They moved past levelled, burned-out suburbs and through the gaping wound in Augusta's walls where the Red Gate used to be. The city was a graveyard, where the old empire had been gutted and buried for good.

Agzot caught sight of the blackened husk of an abandoned administrative building. Lunt leaned out, trying to catch a better view. Despite the surrounding devastation, it must have remained an impressive sight for a rat accustomed to his Warren's tight confines.

"The Bautarii certainly had a score to settle. And don't do that; all it takes is one lucky rifleman," the Elder said.

His secretary gulped, quickly sinking back into his seat with a nervous squeal. The Elder chuckled, amused.

"Don't worry, the panels are warded."

The rat appeared unconvinced. "They said Augusta was pacified."

"And you believe the Bautarii of all people?"

Lunt shrugged. "Why are we trusting them then?"

"Because for us, they are preferable to the Augustians and their dragon allies." The Elder shook his head. "I don't expect you to understand. You are young. You've seen our Warrens only as the powerful block they are nowadays. Had things gone differently, we might have ended up like the fauns."

His claws pushed the curtains to the side by a few inches. Boarded-up shops and homes moved the opposite way. Tired and dirty-looking inhabitants glanced distractedly their way. They were all that remained; those that could had fled the advancing Dark Armies and headed either south or east. The rest had been put to the sword.

To think the heart of a once mighty empire had been reduced in such a pitiful state . . .

The column passed by a line of creaking gibbets. Cawing carrion birds crowded the wood beams. Agzot closed the curtains before the smell of rot had the chance to seep inside. He shook his head once again, steeling himself.

They gave us no choice. They would have driven us into the bowels of the very earth given the chance.

Ignitus stalled the Council meeting for almost a week. Excuses were easy enough to find; he wanted to better prepare Spyro. Nothing he had faced up until that point, not even Gaul's apes, could have readied him to Warfang's political environment. It wasn't a fight you could win through strength alone.

Cyril was the most proactive on that front; he provided the young dragon a crash course on recent history and politics, at least on the basics. Though he appreciated the efforts from his part, Ignitus held personal reservations on how much information Spyro could realistically retain on such a short notice.

In reality, the Fire Guardian just wanted to give him some time to rest and enjoy the city.

The ball of fire sizzled as it cut a whistling path through the air. With an ease born out of years of elemental mastery, Ignitus's claw shot up as a blur. The next moment, the glowing orb of scorching fire rested in his grasp.

He grinned, nodding in approval. "Not bad at all. Your own mastery is getting better, young dragon."

He lobbed the burning projectile to the other side of the training hall. Spyro caught it with similar ease.

The exercise was a simple way to test the control of Fire. When the natural resistance of Fire dragons was taken into account, it was almost a game. His youngest students certainly seemed to enjoy it from time to time.

"Even better than yours?" Spyro called out with a laugh.

"I'm sure one day you'll make a fine elder dragon."

"How does one become an elder anyway?"

Spyro spun around, deciding to add a little curve to his throw.

"Well, one doesn't become one for a start. A dragon is proclaimed elder as a sign of respect, but only upon reaching a certain age. Some would say it also requires you to be of a certain size as well, but I disagree."

The fireball halted in Ignitus's claw, flaring up for a brief moment. To him, it felt like a tickle.

"So that's why the other dragons I've seen are not that big as you four," Spyro mused. His eyes narrowed as he studied the fireball coming his way, waiting until the last moment before leaping and snatching it out of mid-air.

"Are there many elder dragons? Aside from you Guardians."

Ignitus shook his head. "Sadly, only a few. For many reasons, our kind doesn't reach our age very easily. War has not been kind on our younger generations, but it was even crueller to the oldest ones."

He let out a melancholic sigh. "My old master was sadly amongst them."

Spyro stopped, the flames flickering against his palm as he hefted the fireball.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Nonsense," Ignitus said, shaking his head. "Don't let this brooding old dragon stifle your curiosity. Not when you have so much to learn."

Spyro grinned. "I mean, I'm pretty good with Fire already, am I not?"

The throw was a serious one this time. Ignitus felt its force as it slammed against his open palm, forcing him to call upon his Element so to contain and compress the wild flames.

He flashed Spyro a grin of his own. "Very good indeed, young dragon. Yet mastery of Fire is not just about throwing fireballs around. Observe."

Ignitus closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the fireball in his paws, the flames responding to his imprint without delay. They grew brighter and stronger, the fireball itself swelling until it was the size of his own head. Ignitus opened his eyes. He gave it one last touch before finally letting it go. The orb rose in the air, the hungry flames inside spinning like in the midst of a savage and frenetic dance.

Spyro's stunned expression remained glued to it the whole time. He failed to notice Ignitus drawing closer to him.

"One of my greatest regrets," the Fire Guardian said softly, "is that the only knowledge you received of our elements was as weapons, as brutal tools of war. They can be that too, yet they are much more."

The fire burst free in an explosion of orange and crimson, the orb flaring open like a vibrant flower bud of pure heat. The air sizzled as the flames spun, quicker and quicker, the petals unveiling like great sails. And then it was over, dissipating without a trace.

He sighed. "You never saw the magnificent works dragon glass-benders could produce with their own Fire, nor the towering holds of the Earth dragons before they moved to the Delta. Above all else, I hope through your stay in Warfang you'll see that our kind is not just a blunt fighting instrument. The Elements are a gift from the Ancestors, but the rest is up to us."

Spyro remained silent, blinking slowly as his eyes stared to where the fireball had morphed and vanished a moment ago.

Ignitus frowned. "Young dragon?"

"That was so cool," Spyro finally said.

Ignitus couldn't hold back a chuckle. He placed a gentle paw on Spyro's shoulder. "Yes, that it was."

In Colonel Elizabeth's opinion, the chamber where the Council conveyed was a perfect mirror of Warfang itself.

Gathered beneath the tall ceiling and vivid frescoes, the representative of each dragon clan sat in a circle of preciously ornated cushions and carpets. A cordon of heavily armoured guards separated them from rest of the crowd; felines, canines, moles, llamas, ibexes, and so on. A couple of harpies towered over the rest, standing out thanks to their motley and bright plumage.

It mattered little what position or role they happened to fulfil in their daily life. If they had come to watch the proceedings and didn't have the foresight to bring a seat of their own, they would remain standing. Or with some luck, they could find a spot on the steps lining the walls.

She snorted.

If the Communards ever hear about it, they'll have a field day.

Elizabeth was not a lucky vixen, so she would stand like the rest. She rolled her shoulders, growing stiff under the uniform and armour.

"Dammit, we should have come here earlier!" Hollie hissed. The hare was bouncing on her feet, desperately trying to catch a glimpse over the massive crowd.

"This is a waste of time. We have better things to do," Elizabeth muttered.

Hollie stopped. She flashed her a smirk. "Oh come on, Lizzie. You want me to believe you're not curious about him? Not even a little bit?"

She frowned. A part of her wanted to reprimand Hollie for showing so much familiarity, especially in public. Elizabeth remained her direct superior after all.

Who am I kidding, I'm already bending the rules with her. She won't let me live it down if I start enforcing them now. No, that ship sailed a long time ago.

Elizabeth shrugged, her mouth twisting into a small grin. "He's a dragon. What else is there to see? Doesn't change much whether he's purple, red, or yellow. He could be blue for all I care."

"People are saying he's the saviour of the world of something. Make it sound like he's gonna win the war for us," Hollie said.

"Sweat and blood win wars. Always have, always will.

The hare rolled her eyes. "It's not that, it's . . . wait." Her long ears jerked up.

"Look! There!"

Elizabeth craned her head up, just as gasps and murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd. She finally caught a glimpse of the Purple Dragon as he stood by the Fire Guardian's side.

She frowned again, unconvinced. "I imagined him taller."

"Yeah, me too. How old is he anyway?" Hollie shot her an impish grin. "You think they'll put us under his command?"

Elizabeth snorted, ears flicking. "Like hell. I don't care if Lord Commander Terrador himself orders it. He will not place my regiment under a dragon, let alone one that young."

Hollie nodded. "And we all love you for that, ma'am."

Heavy silence fell, yet it was a momentary one. Beneath the apparent quiet, a murmur was building up, slowly and steadily.

"I'll reformulate my question, Guardian Ignitus," Lord Cremar's voice boomed clearly throughout the hall. Cynder's stomach sunk when she realized where the Fire dragon's hateful gaze was directed towards.

"Why is she here? When did we allow a servant of the Dark Master to walk free of bounds in our very city?"

Ignitus matched the dragon's frown with one of his own, yet it was Cyril who answered first.

"Perhaps you were not paying attention to what we explained earlier. The dragoness's actions were performed under the influence of malignant sorcery. If the Collegium's members wish to, they may run their own examinations to-"

"Have you taken leave of your senses?!" Lady Llum snarled as she stood up. Lighting arched between her claws. "The Purple Dragon's testimony all but confirmed she still carries His taint!"

"Uh, actually I didn't say that," Spyro began with some hesitation. "Yeah, she's got different powers than most, but that's it. We fought together on our way here."

"Her influence is already spreading on the young dragon!" Lord Boreal hollered, puffing white frozen smoke out of his nostrils. "This Council must intervene before another catastrophe befalls us all!"

The ground shook with a thunderclap. Countless eyes swung towards the Earth Guardian. There were cracks on the stone tiles beneath his forelegs.

"The Council will return to order and calmly analyse the situation," Terrador growled. "Or the session will end now."

The discussion devolved into a shouting match. Cynder didn't hear any of it. Her gaze moved past the squabbling collection of high-placed dragons asking for her immediate execution, and towards the gathered crowd behind.

There are dozens of them.

The murmur was growing, creatures jostling each other to get a better look at her.

Two hundred, probably more.

Piles of skulls by the hundreds; murderous glares from empty eye-sockets.

They hate you, you know that.

She started the moment the claw landed on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Spyro cautiously asked. His touch was delicate, gentle even. Only then Cynder did realize she was shaking. Tentatively, she gave him a nod.

You should have never come here.

"That's enough!" Lord Cremar's voice boomed over the rest. "The Guardians have willingly and knowingly bypassed this Council's authority. The fate of the Terror of the Skies should have been a matter of discussion from the beginning."

"There is nothing to discuss here." Lady Llum shook her head. "Cities were razed at her command, while apes hunted us like sport. Her crimes are well known, only the sentence remains to be determined. I'm in favour of mounting her head on the city's gates!"

Another minor lord, a Fire dragon, snorted. "Decapitation is too good for her. Countless of our kind were mercilessly killed by the Terror. She deserves far worse."

"Is that so, Lord Carbon?" Cyril hissed, icy wings flaring behind. "Your clan has never ventured past Warfang's walls, yet there you are donning the mantle of defender of dragon-kind. Truly, we have fallen on hard times indeed."

"His claim is as good as yours, except that he never lost the bloody Purple Dragon!" Lady Llum countered. "You were supposed guide our kind, yet your inaction brought us here!"

Those words earned a pause. Cynder's gaze moved instinctively to Ignitus. If stares could kill, the Fire Guardian would have turned her to a smouldering pile of coals half an hour ago.

Finally, Cyril cleared his throat. "As interesting as hearing this great and powerful Council planning the demise of a dragoness barely out of her teens is, I am afraid this discussion is pointless. The Guardians will veto any resolution taken by the Council on this."

"Your veto does not apply in cases of unanimity," Cremar hissed. "And I believe in this particular case we might very well have a full and unassailable-"

"Uhm, actually, I think I'll abstain for now."

Cremar's gaze snapped to the side, murder in his eyes. Lord Ledus sported instead a completely serene expression. The Ice dragon rose to a sitting position on his own cushion, tail slowly coiling behind.

"Is there are reason for that, or do you simply enjoy irritating me?" the Fire dragon growled, nostrils belching smoke.

"I assure you, the latter has nothing to do with my choice, at least for this time." Ledus smirked. "It might surprise you, my old friend, but some of us do have qualms about sentencing a young dragoness to death on a whim."

"She is the Terror of the Skies! A servant of the Dark Master!" Llum countered with a furious hiss. Ledus merely rolled his eyes.

"She is indeed. Amongst those present today, she has the greatest knowledge on how He operates. She led the Dark Armies once, didn't she? It would be foolish for us indeed to waste such an opportunity in a time of crisis. I believe the knowledge she possesses of our enemy is reason enough for a more lenient approach."

He shot Cremar a grin. "If you are dead set on this, we can always hold the vote at a later date."

Cynder didn't like the glint in his eyes. She liked it even less when they settled on her.

The chimneys stood along the waterline like a forest of smoke-belching black towers, the colour on the firebricks having faded after years of unending activity. Pitch-black smoke rose to the sky, the air filled by the smell of burning coal and the clanking of machinery and tools at work.

Ignitus could not understand why Volteer had decided to move his own study there of all places. Admittedly, there was much about the Electric dragon that left him perplexed, and sometimes he wondered why he had abandoned his career as a scholar.

He shook his head. That would have to wait for another time.

"I'll say the meeting went better than expected."

The Fire Guardian shot a glance to the side as he and Cyril made their way through busy streets. Sweat-drenched workers shuffled past them in a hurry. Few stopped in their routine to greet them, all of them moles.

The Ice dragon noticed his sceptical glance and added, "I had low expectations to begin with. Still, they haven't drawn and quartered young Cynder yet, so I'll consider that a good result."

"It buys us time, nothing more," Ignitus said, frowning. "What do you think Ledus is planning? He went alone against the Council."

Cyril shook his head. "Alone? My friend, if a vote had been held after his announcement, Cremar would have been lucky to reach a very slim majority. Our veto would have taken care of that easily enough."

"Is Ledus really that powerful?"

"No, but he isn't the sort of dragon other clans want to get on the wrong side of either." He shrugged. "My guess? He has enjoyed us keeping the Council divided so far, but he's clearly getting ready for something. Alas, it seems his grandfather's cunning did in fact end up somewhere. Unsurprising given his lineage."

"Is that admiration I hear in your tone?"

The Ice dragon rolled his eyes. "Respect mostly. In the same way one may respect the hunting technique of a rattlesnake."

They slipped past the open gates of the factorium and headed for Volteer's study. The air was burning hot, filled with shouting and the growling of high-pressure furnaces. Crowded and dirty, it was places like those that kept the Alliance in the fight.

"I should mention that I've received quite the number of letters in the last days. Seems like the clans could not wait for the Council to be conveyed and were all trying to get an official introduction with Spyro."

Ignitus shot his colleague a glance. "I've received nothing."

"Yes, you tend to throw them out of claw upon arrival. They likely expected to have better luck with me." He grinned. "I should also mention all the clans in question do happen to have a young daughter or two that just came of age."

The Fire dragon nearly missed a step.

"You've got to be joking. Please tell me you threw them out."

"I replied that us Guardians would examine all possibilities."

"Cyril! You are not thinking of-"

He scoffed. "Of course not, but we don't have to tell them that. I told you, we are keeping them divided, forcing them to keep an eye on each other. It'll give us some time if nothing else."

"Young Spyro has gone through enough. He is not a pawn in Warfang's politics. If I can, I wish to spare him from that."

"That's very noble on your part," Cyril conceded. "Yet we both know it's not that easy. For now, we must play along, as uncomfortable as that is."

Ignitus scowled for a few moments before finally relenting with a nod.

"Sometimes the ease you handle politics with unsettles me."

The Ice dragon shrugged, then smirked. "Someone must do it, I suppose. Terrador feels more at home on a battlefield, and Volteer is not exactly suited to handling crowds, or anything public really."

A sharp crack rented the air, followed by shouting and no small amount of cussing. Without hesitation, Ignitus quickened his steps. Pushing the doors of Volteer's study open, he came upon a rather curious sight.

"Did ya smoke yer brains out, you scaly-faced imbecil?! That's me bloody prototype, you just don't go showin' it around to anybody!" Mason roared, the mole gesturing wildly at the smoking hole drilled into one of the bookcases.

Yap, a red-scaled kobold with green eyes, replied in kind. "Prototype is mine. I saw apes do better artificery than you!" she snapped.

"Oh, so that's how it is uh? Let's see ya talking like that once I grab me hammer and shove it right up your-"

"Mason. Language, please," Volteer warned him, his eyes never leaving the papers on his working station.

Like its owner, the study could have been described as eclectic. Aside from the piles of scrolls and paperwork, there were also measuring instruments scattered about, diagrams and blueprints covering the walls, and sets for distillation on a few tables. Priceless artifacts of ages long forgotten stood in their own alcoves.

Ignitus's gaze then moved to a very confused Spyro observing the whole scene. He held something in his claws. It resembled the result of a haphazard combination of a Soul Gem with a metal pipe. It was also smoking.

The Fire guardian raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Ah . . . okay so, in my defence, I didn't know this thing had a trigger," Spyro began.

"Please put it down. It literally looks like a gun, what did you expect was going to happen?!" An irritated Sparx made his presence known, carefully poking his head out from behind a pile of stacked books.

"Lad, ya should listen to yer tiny friend and put that down," Mason said. "Gently."

Spyro nodded and carefully lowered it to the ground before stepping back.

"Does anyone wish to fill us in on what just happened?" Cyril chimed in.

Yap nodded and eagerly at that. She gestured around. "Armies of Betrayer use Elemental cannons. Powerful. Destructive, yet unwieldy. We make them smaller. Less potent, but easy to handle. Quicker than muskets."

Mason sniffed. "That's the idea anyway." He went to pick the weapon back up before carrying it back to a shelf.

"Yet somebody here thinks she knows better than me, despite me kin passin' down this craft for five generations!"

Yap narrowed her eyes, tail twitching behind. "Your ancestors are not excuse for incompetence!"

"That does it, I'm gettin' me mallet!"

"That's enough. Both of you, leave," Ignitus hissed. "Continue outside if you wish, but do so quietly. This is Guardian's business now."

Beneath the withering glare of the Fire Guardian, they both left in silence, aside from the occasional grumbling. The doors slammed closed behind. Ignitus let out a sigh.

"Volteer, you wanted to show Spyro something, right?"

Spyro blinked. "He did?"

The Electric dragon glanced up from his working station, puzzled. "I did? I mean yes, of course I did. Well, don't just stand around all of you. Come and take a look."

Without delay, Volteer hastily cleared the surface before him, rolling open a sizeable map.

"Oh boy, this isn't turning into a geography lesson, is it?" Sparx groaned. Spyro shot his brother a glare.

Volteer shook his head. "Not at all. It is in fact an history lesson. Tell me, young dragon, what's the first thing that comes to your mind if I say August the Red?"

Spyro frowned, scratching his head. "I . . . I think Cyril mentioned something about him during one of his lessons. A great conqueror or something."

"Almost," the Ice dragon corrected him. "You keep confusing him with Thamer-Leighn, except August did not leave the same trail of death behind. Still, that's unimportant. Volteer, please skip the details and get to when he almost killed the Dark Master."

"Wait, what?!"

"Yes yes, I was going there," the Electric Guardian continued. "Now young dragon, as you can probably surmise, dragon-kind's records of the Dark Master's first banishment are incomplete and spotty at best. However, His brutal sacking of Imperial lands has aided us in a way, for amongst the streams of refugees heading here were many scholars and academics. The vast records salvaged from the advancing Dark Armies, and their personal help, have provided a great contribution to my research."

Cyril rolled his eyes. "What he's trying to say is, we now know our kind was not alone during the first confrontation. The Empire's founder was there, and his wounding of the Dark Master has become a founding moment for the imperial mythos, his own spear raised to the level of holy relic."

Sparx snorted. "You're telling me the big and scary evil guy, master of darkness and all that, got hurt by a simple toothpick."

"Oh, it wasn't by all means a simple spear," Ignitus said. "August's weapon of choice carried some powerful and ancient enchantments. Don't forget, a single blow wrenched the Dark Master's very soul from his mortal body so that it could be banished to his prison."

Volteer nodded in clear excitement. "Yes, but that's not the most interesting news by far! The spear must have been a magical anchor of sorts, for it could keep the Imperial Gateways open."

He reached up for a heavy-looking tome, flipped through a few pages and laid it down across the table. Ignitus gave the younger dragon a gentle lift so that he could get a better look. On the page, a stylized representation of an arch-like construction stood out, magical glyphs covering every inch of the stone.

"So, what does it do?" Spyro curiously asked.

Volteer hummed. "Well, the theoretical principles are a bit all over the place but, in its simplest form, Gateways employ magical means to draw closer different points on the same plane of existence-"

"They teleport stuff," Cyril cut in once again. "More specifically, they shorten travel time between long distances. Days of travels are reduced to mere hours. Very useful if you're campaigning."

"I have been conducting some forays on whether the Gateways design can be replicated for our own use. With utmost secrecy, of course," Volteer added. "Mason and Yap have been providing some assistance on certain aspects, but they are unaware of my aims. They are smart enough to figure it out eventually though."

Spyro nodded, eyebrows furrowing in thought. "So, you are telling me there's a spear that can deal with Malefor for good and teleport stuff around too. And you are sure this thing is real, right?"

"Not until your return," Ignitus said with a grin. "We were unsure as to why old Imperial chronicles spoke about a Purple Dragon until you revealed to us the Dark Master's true identity."

"Glad to help you, but where's that weapon now?"

Cyril let out an embarrassed sigh. "Sadly, we don't know. The spear has gone missing for almost a century, and the Gateway ceased functioning shortly after. Then there was the Imperial Anarchy and . . . well, you get the picture."

"We should assume the Dark Master is looking for it too," Ignitus said grimly. "If nothing else, restoring access to the Gateways will tip the scale in his favour. Sadly, we don't know where to look."

The Electric dragon shook his head. "I must dissent on such affirmation. Before the fall of Augusta, there were rumours that the spear had been in fact hidden in Riràny the whole time. I understand the academy was sacked by the Bautarii legions, but if they had found the spear, we would be aware of it by now."

Cyril scoffed. "Those zealots are too stupid to know its value even if they were to stumble on it."

Ignitus narrowed his eyes at his colleague for a moment before deciding to let it slide.

In the meantime, Spyro had risen from his feet. "Alright, so the academy is a good starting point. Sounds easy enough. Me, Cynder, and Sparx won't have any problems; we'll fly there and take a look around."

There was a moment of silence. Ignitus felt his own throat drying up. He pushed through the unease anyway, for there was no way around the subject.

"Young dragon," he began. "I believe it's better to keep young Cynder in the dark for now."

Spyro blinked, looking at the larger dragon as if he had just grown a second head.

"What?"

"The Council is already tense as it is, you've seen it with your own eyes. They are unaware of what we are doing right now, but if they were to discover that Cynder was informed on this before them . . ." Cyril trailed off.

Ignitus sighed, shaking his head. "That would be enough to unify the clans, at least for a bit. And Cremar would finally get his vote."

Spyro shook his head. "But you are the Guardians! You said you trusted her!"

"We do. I do," Ignitus replied. "But a Guardian is not above the law of the Ancestors, and the Council cares little whether she's dangerous or not. For them, she remains the Terror of the Skies. That's why dragging her into this is too risky. The less dragons know about it, the better."

The young dragon tightened his jaw, teeth grinding together. Finally, he exhaled in defeat. "You want me to lie to her."

"It's not a lie," Cyril said. "You will tell her this when the time is right, but for her own sake that time is not now."

Spyro stared at him. A simple look at his face made it clear how unconvinced he truly was. Then, his shoulder slumped in defeat.

"I guess if it's to keep her safe . . ." he muttered, his gaze locked on the floor.

Ignitus kept his face straight as he nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

You hypocrite. So much for keeping him outside of the Council's manoeuvring.

The Chronicler was not going to contact her again. Cynder took a few days before realizing it.

Maybe he was busy. Or maybe he had needed her just to get Spyro out of danger and now she was no longer useful.

Cynder leaned towards the second option. It wouldn't be the first time someone had discarded her like an old glove after being used. The only reason she hadn't dismissed him as a product of her imagination in the first place was because Spyro seemed to know him.

Ignitus had assured her that the Dragon Temple was open to her; that she was a guest just like Spyro. She highly doubted it; outside her room, Cynder had but to glance over her shoulder to spot a kobold spying on her, before immediately scurrying out of view.

Sometimes she idly wondered how long it would take for the Guardians to scramble a wing of dragons after her, were she to actually leave.

After a few days, Cynder had gained enough familiarity with most of the temple complex to be able to move freely, not that she had much reason to. The temple had a vast training dojo, the perfect place to stretch her wings a bit, and nobody was around it during the evening. For all intent and purposes, she wasn't even there.

The guest room was spacious enough, though the emptiness made it look larger than it was. At least she didn't lack in reading material on the bookshelf. Cynder had a lot of free time now, and she didn't like it. She hated staying idle, so she got quickly to work.

She had kept the Dreadwing rider's belonging for herself, after the ambush. Nobody had noticed, and the owner was in no condition to ask them back. Cynder peered over maps and papers he had been carrying; much of what she found were personal notes of little value, yet her would-be aggressor had sure liked to write down stuff. With some guesswork, Cynder had narrowed down his origin.

Aquilia? You were a long way from home, flyboy.

Finally, hidden in a fold within the bag, was the letter; above all else, brief.

Assets going underground. Situation in Cradle boiling hot.

Eagle is on the prowl, liquidate at earliest chance.

Suppress lifelines. Operation Midnight proceeds.

The Dark Master wills it.

Seated by a small desk, Cynder spun it around a few times, hoping to find a trace or a clue of some kind. The only one turned out to be a small stamp in the corner, a pair of crossed red blades.

We met their leader. I guess it was inevitable we would eventually meet the rest of the Crimson Blades.

The dragoness narrowed her eyes, studying the pilfered maps once more. Pencil marks dotted the paper, which she quickly complemented with her own.

The annotations are hasty. The ambush for us was a last-minute development. They didn't even know I was with him. It must have been one last gambit to capture Spyro.

Cynder froze. The realization dawned on her, and she suppressed a growl.

She was doing it again. The old her was still there, dangling a juicy bait right before her eyes in the form of a thrilling hunt; the cacophony of battle followed by a bloodbath.

You are good at it.

The dragoness shot an angry glare at the papers scattered before her. She had not come to Warfang to go back being that. She had fought only to help Spyro, to repay her debt towards him, but that was over.

Her war was over.

Cynder almost jumped at the knock at the door. Scowling, she swiped everything back into the bags Hunter had provided her and away from view. Satisfied, the dragoness cautiously made her way for her room's entrance. She pushed the door just a bit, letting the morning light flood into her room.

A kobold stood before her. Navy-blue scales glinted, partially hidden beneath an elegant button up shirt and sleeveless jacket. As he bowed his head, Cynder found her eyes glued to the short-sword and the pair of pistols on his belt. They were loaded, she was sure of it.

He blinked as he sized her up in turn.

"Did you come to kill me?" Cynder spoke quietly, her voice above the whisper. Her tail-blade twitched behind.

He shook his head.

"Why are you here then?"

"I serve Unseen Ones. Illan commanded me to be here."

"Who?"

"Illan speaks with Unseen Ones," he explained matter-of-factly. "Illan governs in their stead. We live in peace under their guidance, and we watch over temple until their return."

Cynder narrowed her eyes. She pushed the door open, slowly. Her gaze never left him for a moment, wary of any sudden movement.

"So you are not here to kill me. What do you want?"

"Eagle asks of you. She is friend of Illan. Ours same battle, against servants of Betrayer."

He tapped a clawed finger against his chest. "This one will guide you."

Cynder frowned, unconvinced.

Betrayer? Is he talking about Malefor?

"Let's see if I'm understanding this. A complete stranger just knocked at my door because he wants me to meet a friend of his."

The kobold nodded.

"And you think I want to because . . ."

"You and Eagle are same. Soldiers. Fighters. Struggle is one." He pressed his paws together. "Soldiers strong together."

He paused for a moment, blinking, then shrugged. "Eagle is friend of Illan. She asks of you. Illan commands me. This one obeys."

Cynder opened her mouth to reject the offer, yet something halted her midway.

The letter mentioned an eagle.

She hesitated. Should she warn Spyro about this? Where was he anyway? Probably dealing with some Guardian-related business. For a moment, her memory went back to their little chat in Avalar.

The dragoness shook her head. There was no reason to disturb him for whatever that was. As much as she hated to admit it, that was the only link she had to whatever the Dark Master was plotting.

And if indeed that was nothing more than an elaborate trap, only one of them would fall into it.

"How far is this friend?"

The kobold grinned.

His name was Vik and he really liked chatting. Cynder had struck conversation in order to learn something about the impromptu emissary, only to discover much to her annoyance that the kobold would not shut up once given the chance.

"Illan guides the kin, and kin maintains the Illan," he went on. "The temple is hallowed ground, for there Unseen Ones showed themselves. Kin maintain temple until their return."

Cynder nodded absentmindedly. "I thought you were just some servants the dragons kept around."

That got a ferocious hiss out of Vik. "Falsehood! Moles told you that! Dishonour upon them and their brood!"

The kobold went on a rant, switching to his native tongue. Though Cynder couldn't understand a single word, the sheer vehemence made it clear that those were anything but compliments. Still, she followed him.

The streets were different, growing tighter around her. Tenements blocks loomed from either side. The lush of the great boulevards was gone; smooth stone gave way to dirt and grit. The architecture grew simpler, sometimes downright haphazard. Cynder and Vik pushed their way past the throng of creatures choking the street during market day.

There was not a single dragon aside from her. Many glanced her way, mostly out of curiosity, yet little else.

I don't think dragons are a common sight around these parts.

The dragoness followed Vik down a narrow side street. Loaded clotheslines hung above their heads, forcing Cynder to keep an eye out for the dripping water. She examined her surroundings; though empty, she was confident enough someone was watching them. Something shifted in her eye's corner, and she caught movement on the rooftops above.

She held back a growl as she eyed Vik moving ahead. If this was indeed an ambush, she would have no choice but to spring it and slaughter everyone, the kobold included.

Suddenly, there was music. The street opened into a larger courtyard, a warehouse looming from the opposite side. A feast was being held, with chairs and long tables arrayed in the open space. Creatures passed about steaming pots of stew. Pups shrilled and laughed as they run amidst the tables.

Cynder came to a stop, blinking as she glanced around in confusion. Only then she realized the kobold was nowhere in sight.

"Hello. Can I help you?"

The dragoness snapped her eyes to the side. A grey-furred she-cat was there, smiling. She held her paws in front of a white apron worn over her everyday clothes.

"No, I . . ." Cynder began, then shook her head. "Sorry, have you seen a kobold around here?"

Her face brightened. "Vik? Oh, he probably went back in the warehouse. It's over there, you can't miss it. Are you his friend?"

"I . . . think?"

She nodded. "He's such a sweet little guy, you know. Always ready to make new friends."

Cynder frowned, glancing around a second time. "Are you having a feast?"

She chuckled. "Oh no, not really. We just hang together. You know, having lunch and all that."

"We?"

"The neighbourhood, of course. And some folk that happened to pass through, but mostly the neighbourhood."

Cynder glanced about. "There are many of you."

She shrugged. "It's a big neighbourhood."

She wasn't lying, but she definitely wasn't telling everything.

"Although," she frowned thoughtfully, tapping her chin. "Miss Zenith did in fact just delivered her second boy. And Sijan and Lucas just got married. And Hana and her folk just won their strike back at the steel mill."

She looked up again, grinning. "You know what, you are right! We are actually celebrating something."

"Glad to know that, uh . . . I think I should go now."

"Of course," she nodded. "While you're at it, do you mind saying hi to Adelie for me? Tell her it's from Airi and she'll know."

"I'll try."

"Thanks! And don't worry about the others. They act all tough, but they are very nice folk once you get to know them. They're just a tiny bit suspicious of outsiders."

Cynder raised an eyebrow. She shot a glance at the larger building looming over the plaza. The music picked up tempo as a jig began.

Where have I just ended up?

"I can count the times a scalie showed up here on a single paw. And they all brought troubles with them each time."

The she-cat leaned back in her chair, tail silently swishing behind. Despite a dangerous edge in her voice, she was serene. A musket rested against her shoulder, almost as an afterthought.

"You invited me," Cynder replied.

"That I did."

The place was for all intent and purposes a war room. Maps laid sprawled across tables, amid filled ashtrays, crumpled papers and a few empty cups of tea and coffee. To Cynder, it all felt eerily familiar; she was no stranger to such places.

It was a different time. I'm no longer that.

The feline leaned forward. Ginger-furred with the occasional white stripe, she wore a deep-blue coat over a stained white shirt, a couple of buttons missing. Mud stains were visible on her wide trousers as she sat. The cuts and slashes in her uniform had been patched up. An old eagle-shaped pin shood out from her collar.

Well, I've found the eagle, if nothing else.

"So, what do you think of our little place?"

Cynder shrugged. "Looks cozy. And out of the way. I bet dealing with problems here doesn't raise eyebrows."

She had counted five rifled muskets trailing her very move, three scimitars waiting behind, a short spear right by the feline, a doe with a boarding axe just itching to use it, and there were at least five kobolds waiting on the ceiling beams above. And of course, the serval by the door was definitely a pyromancer.

She couldn't tell if Vik was there too. The kobold had disappeared.

The cat grinned. "Nah, don't worry about that. If I wanted you dead, you would be already."

"If that makes you feel any better. This is not the first time someone has threatened me."

"Ma chère, I like you already." The grin grew broader. "Do you know who I am?"

"The Eagle, apparently."

She shook her head. "Almost. That's just what the kobolds insists on calling me. No idea why, but it has a nice sound to it,; my own started using as my codename."

The she-cat rose from her seat, before pausing and tilting her head. A signal. All around, weapons were lowered. Glancing up, Cynder found the beams along the ceiling deserted.

"Name's Adelie, Major of the Fourth Demi-Brigade, Garde Républicaine. I'm with the Aquilian attaché in Warfang," she reported smartly, before heading for a nearby teapot and pouring herself a cup. Cynder couldn't help but wonder where had the musket ended up to.

"As for you, well, presentations aren't really required, are they? Dragons in the city speak of only two things these days, and your purple friend is one of them." Adelie added.

Cynder raised an eyebrow. All around, the same folk that were about to jump her at the slightest provocation went back to their business like nothing had happened.

"What do you want?"

"Many things. Like the Alliance armies finally getting their shit together. The Republic can't fight a war on its own, and I'm here to make sure they don't have to. You know what a liaison is?"

Cynder nodded.

She took as sip of tea, smacked her lips a few times, then frowned. "Too sweet." She sat the cup down, eyes burning with renewed intensity as they focused on Cynder.

"Let's make it clear already. I don't care what the Council says or does. They are aristocratic waste that would have received a razor below the ears back at home. I care about my folks, and that's it. Most importantly, I care about the dragoness that a week ago, and together with his purple friend, butchered multiple Bautarii companies and run them out of Avalar."

"The cheetahs did most of the work," Cynder replied.

Adelie snorted. "Well, would you look at that, she's humble too. We're gonna get along fine you and me."

"Get along . . ." Cynder shook her head. Suddenly she had become keenly aware of where the conversation was going, and she didn't like it one bit. "Are you . . . are you offering me a job?!"

"Maybe. My superiors won't bat an eye if I say I need to hire a consultant, and I bet you have quite the experience already. Truth to be told, the Alliance needs all the help it can get."

"No. I didn't come all the way here to join an ongoing war. I'm done with that."

"Is that so? Why come to Warfang then? Hearing how dragons talk about you, I would have thought you'd stay clear from this place."

Cynder didn't answer. She could not answer; it was a question she had refused multiple times to grapple with. Did she do it only because Spyro asked her to?

Is that what you want to do? Trail behind him, like if the two of you were chained together. You didn't come all the way here just to become an addendum to the Purple Dragon's prophecy, did you?

Scowling, she bit the inside of her cheek until the metal taste invaded her mouth.

"I don't care. This is not my war. Ask Spyro for help; he's the Purple Dragon."

The music from outside was growing louder; percussions and other unknown instruments joining in the forming melody. She could have sworn somebody was singing.

Adele grinned. "Please forgive the ruckus. Autumn was clement, so they're enjoying themselves one last time. Winter shall be a cold and hungry one, but I think they know that. At least they can."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The she-cat waved a paw. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

Beneath the shadow of Warfang's curtain walls, an encampment had sprung up. Countless tarps hug the inside of the gargantuan bastions for safety before stretching across the clear ground separating the walls from the city proper.

The smell was overwhelming; sweat, urine, and other bodily fluids soaked the very air with their stench.

Adelie led Cynder right through it.

"A flying column hit the town of Tenko two weeks ago; burned half of it to the ground, then toppled the Keres there. The inhabitants didn't have much choice where to go."

They passed by a larger tent, a green leave haphazardly drawn across the flap. The taste of metal reached Cynder's ears just as the pain-filled wailing did.

Blood.

"One week later, the same happened to Hasse, but the Darkies decided to get creative that time. They forced the locals to leave, then squads of Dreadwings hit them every night until they reached the walls. The volunteers had their paws full, either patching up or digging graves."

Cloaked figures huddled around smouldering fires by the dozens, searching for warmth. Others moved amongst them, delivering bread and heavy cloaks. A few wore elaborate surcoats, identifying them as belonging to the city's temples; most had instead only a simple red armband and a black feather on their cap.

"Why are you showing me this?" Cynder demanded as they came to a halt.

"To make you understand that, as things stand now, we are sitting on a powder keg. Winter is setting in, so rationing is one month away at most. Rationing means dragons get precedence as always, which means we'll have a bread riot the moment anyone sees that."

"If you care so much, ask the Council to do something."

"Oh, they did something. You don't see any dragon amongst them, do you?"

Cynder blinked as the realization slowly sunk in.

"If you noticed it, everybody can. The Fourth Demi-Brigade? They're all locals; I may have trained them, but they still live here. What do you think happens when they start seeing their loved ones going hungry? That's how the whole Seven Days Revolution got started back home."

"Then tell someone about this! Make them listen," Cynder countered.

The she-cat shook her head, paws firmly on her waist. "Who? Lord Terrador has his attention fixed solely on the frontlines. The Darkies know that the Alliance hinterlands are weaker right now, with only a few exhausted regiments and militias left. The rest is on the frontlines. As for the Council, their heads are too far up their own rears to notice the enemy systematically going after every source of food at our disposal. They don't care how many are driven inside the larger cities just to survive the winter. The Darkies certainly know what they are doing. Hell, they came up with a name for this tactic."

"The Hangman's Rope," Cynder hissed.

She knew what it was. She had tested it on the field; designed it under the knowledge that any fortified position could be cracked when its defenders were forced to eat the weeds growing out of the stone walls. Hunger, fear, and disease were effective weapons to wield.

Slow, methodical, and brutal, just like the Terror of the Sky. Though now others made use of it, she had started it, perfected it, and enjoyed it.

Cynder tried to speak, only for the words to get stuck in her throat, tongue going flaccid. Her eyes darted around. She found burning hatred in every casual glance thrown their way.

You did this.

The faces disappeared behind bleached skulls.

Monster.

She had done that.

Monster.

She had enjoyed it doing that.

Monster.

That's what she was, what Malefor had turned her into. There was no point in trying to deny it any longer. The pinprick of hope she didn't know had been there made itself known as it withered like an early bud in the last throes of winter.

Cynder felt something; different yet familiar. The cold rage that had followed her over the years had never left her, and she found comfort in that. She held onto it, sharpened it, harnessing that old anger until it had become a tool like any other for her to wield.

She had run away once. Three years before, she tried leaving everything behind. The dragons, the war, the Apes, the Dark Master; no matter what she tried, she couldn't run far enough.

No longer.

Her jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. Her breathing felt slower; not calm, but measured. If she was to be a monster, then she would put the abilities she had never asked for to good use.

He wants the Dragon Coast. Make him bleed, girl. Make the bastard bleed himself dry for every single inch of ground.

When she finally spoke, her voice was even.

"May I reconsider your offer?"

The Imperial Palace loomed before them. Tall, twisting spires reached upward, toward the sky. It had survived anything that had been thrown at it, be it invasions, civil wars, palace coups, revolutions, and uprisings. The Dark Armies might have broken the back of the empire, but its symbol still stood. What remained of the garrison and Royal Guard had performed their last stand there.

The place was a fortress. Defensive layers of all kinds surrounded the complex, its ancient bastions bristling with either gunpowder-based or Elemental cannons. It was the hardened and beating pitch-black heart from where the Dark Master's control spread. It mattered little that the hinterlands were still contested.

After a few days of waiting, the twenty rat-strong delegation followed their Elder through the vast halls and decorated corridors, past large stained-glass windows and portraits of long-dead emperors, their line extinguished. Though mostly barren, they still sported some of the old splendour.

Better not to ask how that wealth was gained in the first place.

Silent sentinels challenged their approach multiple times. Hulking brutes of black, ethereal-like bones stared at them through empty eye-sockets. There, only a malevolent green glint revealed what kind of sinister power held them together. They never said a single word, simply moving to the side to allow the rats to pass. Bones creaked as they followed them with their gaze.

Agzot suppressed a shiver. He had once asked Baos whether those were the result of the Dark Master's forays into necromancy. The sorcerer never answered; he refused to even stand close to them.

They came to a halt before one last set of doors. A squad of Bautarii Swordsingers stood guard, regarding the rats with cold indifference as they approached.

"We have been summoned," Agzot informed them. None moved. They merely stared at him through their visors' eye-slits.

"He expects us," Agzot hissed.

A Swordsinger tilted their head to the side. They barked something in their mother tongue, the voice muffled through the full-face visor. The doors were opened, allowing the delegation to march hesitantly through, and then consequently locked behind them.

The hall was vast. Candles cast their soft glow against windowless walls. Piles of old and dusty tomes littered the floor, stacked along countless bookshelves, or gathered in haphazard piles on the ground. Servants clad in long robes hustled about in complete silence, their faces hidden by cowls.

Settled near the far wall, his ancient yellow eyes examining the leather-bound tome on the bookstand before him, the Dark Master took a few moments to register his presence.

"Elder Agzot," he spoke, his smooth voice echoing his way. "Earlier than I expected."

Pulsating glyphs stood out along the pavement, forcing Agzot to divert his gaze as he bowed his head. The rest of the delegation followed him suit.

"We did not wish to bother you more than necessary," he said.

"How thoughtful of you." The dragon still refused to look at him. Long horns rose proudly along his head, glinting in the little available light. From there, they were not dissimilar from a royal crown. A cloak was gathered around his shoulders.

"Tell me then. What is so urgent that cannot wait for the coming war council?"

"It is a matter regarding your servants, my Lord."

The Dark Master hummed, flipping another page with a razor-sharp claw. Agzot suppressed a surge of unease shotting through his body. The other rats were watching him. He couldn't let them become aware of his uncertainty.

"You'll have to be more specific."

"Grublins," the rat continued, his voice even. "They assaulted our Warren for unknown reasons, my Lord. Many have lost their loved ones, and the fighting damaged the upper levels. We understand that the war requires your full attention and that you do not wish to be disturbed, yet we were hoping for-"

"Reparations," the Dark Master concluded. A cold edge had creeped into his tone. Even if his attention remained squarely on the pages before him, Agzot could have sworn his eyes had hardened.

"You are correct. I do not wish to be disturbed by such trivial matters," he growled. "The treasury is downstairs. I'm confident something can be scrounged up from the imperial coffers. I have other matters to attend to."

Agzot suppressed a grin, forcing his face to remain straight. It had proven to be far easier than expected.

"Jachai-Kul extend their thanks to you, my Lord. May our allegiance remain firm and fruitful in the future," the Elder said with another bow. He turned around, ready to guide the rest of his delegation out.

"I didn't say you could leave, Elder."

The tone was casual, striking Agzot like a knife in the back.

"The rest of you will leave us," the Dark Master commanded.

The delegation hesitated, their gazes darting in confusion between their Elder and the Dark Master. A single, quiet nod from Agzot silenced the protests they were about to voice.

The doors closed a second time, leaving him completely alone. He glanced back. Now the Dark Master was looking at him, malevolent eyes drilling into Agzot's very soul. A grin took form along his muzzle.

He closed the book, tapping against the cover. "I apologize for my brusque manners, Elder, but you've caught me in the midst of a captivating tale. Surely you have heard of August the Red."

Agzot blinked. "The empire's founder?"

"Alleged," he corrected him. "The tales about him are mostly exaggerations and rumours. The real August the Red was an insufferable mercenary captain turned folk hero. Luck, and Warfang's assistance, made up for his mediocrity."

"You speak as if you knew him, my Lord," Agzot said.

The dragon's grin grew a little. "In a way. The empire we have recently put out of its misery is but a product of his grandchildren. Unlike him, they were cunning enough to parade their ancestor's name around and gain legitimacy from his cold bones."

The Dark Master rose slowly as he spoke, the elder dragon easily towering over Agzot. His wings unfolded, causing the flames to tremble on top of their candles.

"A tale as old as time itself. Some will always take the labour of others as their own. Still, the writing style was lovely. I regret allowing the Bautarii to toss the author in a mass grave."

Agzot frowned. He pushed aside the sense of unease creeping into his stomach as the Dark Master drew closer. The dragon licked his lips, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

"My Lord," he began, suppressing the slight trembling in his voice. "I apologize, but I fail to see how any of this is-"

"Where is the Purple Dragon, Agzot?"

The rat felt as if the floor had just dropped from under his feet.

"I . . . I'm sorry?"

"Yes, you should be," the Dark Master growled. The grin shifted, turning into a murderous snarl. "It won't save you, but I enjoy the part when they start begging."

Agzot said nothing. Even if he had wanted to, his throat had dried up. His mind raced, spinning out of control.

"Confused? Allow me to illustrate what your incompetence just caused."

He tapped one single claw. The glyphs beneath burst to life and the ground erupted.

Agzot had the time for one single, surprised squeal before the air exploded out of his lungs. The floor crumpled, solid stone bending unnaturally as barbed vines shot up and coiled around Agzot's body, seizing him in their vicious grip.

Agzot's eyes were wide with panic. He couldn't move. He let out a strangled whimper as the vines squeezed tighter, driving him to his knees.

"Let us start with the obvious," the Dark Master began, the placid tone in sharp contrast with the snarl. "You disobeyed me. I commanded the Grublins to watch over young Spyro. A simple task, yet one you decided to usurp for your own ends. And thanks to your stupidity, my plans have been utterly ruined."

"M-My L-"

"He was to remain there, you imbecil!" he snapped. "Safe in that crystal, where the Guardians couldn't have poisoned his young mind. Once the Alliance was dealt with, I would have reawakened him. We would have finally had time to speak face to face. I could have convinced him once the war had passed!"

A whimper escaped Agzot as the barbs pushed into his flesh.

"Instead, he is travelling now to Warfang, ready to be pulled along like a marionette by those old fools. We were about to rip their coalition at the seams, but now the Dragon Coast will be energized. We'll be forced to reach Warfang's walls and batter them down."

Agzot couldn't speak. He could barely breath, the wines tightening around his chest and squeezing his neck.

"Is this how my generosity to you is rewarded? I offered you the chance to strike back at Augusta, to exact vengeance after the years under their heel, and your kind repays me with treachery?"

Agzot's eyes fell on the open claw the Dark Master held out. Dark magic swirled and twirled along his claws like tiny ethereal whips. He recognized the spell. His blood went cold as the wines stiffened, awaiting the command.

"If my dealings with Gaul taught me anything, is that treachery should be dealt with as soon as possible. Permanently." His eyes narrowed to slits. A clawed finger twitched.

"W-Wait . . ." Agzot croaked.

"Ah yes, the begging part. Go on, don't let me interrupt you."

"Y-you . . . you n-need m-me . . ."

"Do I now?"

The Dark Master chuckled. And yet, Agzot could feel the pressure around his neck lessen a bit, allowing him to finally breathe properly. He seized on the moment of respite.

"Y-You can't kill me now."

"Would you like me to show you how easy that would be?"

"You need us!" Agzot blurted out before adding, "You need the Warrens. We keep the Dark Armies supplied. The Bautarii have mobilized everyone for their push east, and only our railways keep them marching."

He could feel the Dark Master's gaze piercing through him, but Agzot didn't back down. Not when his very life was on the line.

"I'm an Elder of the Three Great Warrens. The only thing my death would achieve is turning the rest of rat-kind against you in the most crucial moment." He tried to keep his tone as confident as possible, yet his eyes remained glued to the dragon's open paw. If he were to choose the wrong words . . .

"We'll make up for it!"

The Dark Master tilted his head "Is that so?"

"Yes, of course! I . . . we'll double the work-shifts! Our workshops will be churning out the firearms we promised you in no time. They'll surpass anything the Aquilians or mole-smiths can put together!"

The Dark Master said nothing. A claw came up and he scratched his chin, thoughtfully. Agzot's tail twitched behind. His whiskers trembled. The vines grew tighter around him. And then they were gone. The Elder collapsed on the ground, gasping for air.

"I might have been hasty. Perhaps you still have some use after all," he mused.

Agzot waited until the coughing fit had subsided. He checked himself from wounds, yet the barbed wines had left no visible trace. He decided not to dwell on it.

"Y-Your . . . your Lordship is m-most mercif-"

"Be quiet. I'm still of the opinion that keeping you breathing is a mistake," the dragon growled. His tail squished impatiently behind. "It's up to you to prove me wrong."

The Dark Master swung around, heading back for his bookstand.

"Our assault on the Dragon Coast hinges on splitting enemy's attention as much as possible. While the Bautarii prepare for the main push through Avalar, young Ludovicus Traius has been having troubles dealing with the fauns. I promised him substantial reinforcements."

The dragon smiled as he set back down on his cushion. "Coral must fall before spring. I'm sure Jachai-Kul is up to the task."

Agzot blinked, struggling to get back on his feet. Finally, he nodded.

"O-Of course. Your will shall be done, my Lord."

"Make sure it is," he snapped. "Or I'll send far worse than a Grublin horde down your precious tunnels next time. Now you can leave."

The sight of the Elder escaping the room with barely concealed hurry should have been amusing. Malefor found little to enjoy however as he sat back down by his personal bookstand.

He spared one last glare to the tome before him.

"This is not the one," he announced to none in particular. "Bring me the next."

As if on cue, a robbed figure bowed their head and silently shuffled out of the hall. A few more came along to remove the book before him and carry it away. Rubbing his temples in frustration, the Purple Dragon began peering through the letters and scrolls that had gathered on the nearby cabinet.

His eyes narrowed the more information he absorbed. To say things were not proceeding smoothly was an understatement. The Dark Armies were running out of the momentum gained after the Trident, there was no point in denying it. Despite the boost in his number, having former imperial princes defecting to his side had simply meant more snakes for an already pernicious nest.

Then there was the matter of Ludovicus. Installing a useful proxy on the Aquilian throne had appeared a brilliant idea at the time, yet it was becoming ever clearer that most of his would-be subjects were not too keen on having him back. Competent, yet ambitious; Malefor decided it would be wise to kill him once the time was right.

Malefor grimaced, lips peeling back as a growl escaped him. A crumpled letter burst into a brief flame.

And of course, the Terror of the Skies had shown up her face again, with Spyro no less. Why the young dragon wanted to waste his time with Gaul's failed experiment was beyond him. Though he would have rather avoided it, it was appearing likely that he would have to clean up after the ape's mess.

He snorted.

I bet you thought you could control me just like you did with Cynder. I'm not a traumatised hatchling, you fool. You are lucky young Spyro killed you back in the Well of Souls. I would have enjoyed skinning you alive.

He was determined to avoid the same mistake. If he had to deal with lesser races, he would take care in pitting them one against the other where possible. A headache for sure, but Grublins could achieve little on their own, despite their numbers.

He shifted in his seat and, for the briefest moment, the ancient injury in his side flared up again. The Purple Dragon scowled; since regaining his body, the pain had never abandoned him. It was there, taunting him; a constant reminder of his past failures, of the moment of distraction that had allowed an utterly mediocre warrior to sneak up on him and steal the triumph he deserved.

Footsteps echoed his way. A pair of cultists carried another tome for him to consult.

No matter. We will put an end to this. One year, maybe two at most, and Warfang will fall. Only then me and young Spyro will be able to speak on equal terms. Now, Augustus, where did you hide that wretched toothpick of yours?

Author's Notes: Happy New Year! First chapter of 2024, and what better way to start it than by finally showing the guy who's supposed to be the story's main villain? Be honest, you thought I had forgotten about him, didn't you ;)

Author-san 9001: Yes, we are in fact very much getting started. I'm glad you liked the part between Ignitus and Spyro (I definitely didn't write it down, delete it in frustration, and start over. No sir). I am also glad of making you care about another character after your earlier statement; I can assure you I won't be exploiting that in the near future ;)

Austin: A cat fight sounds like fun up until you realize that Cynder would probably end it in the quickest and most brutal way possible given, you know, *gestures in her general direction*

Besides, if you pick a fight with someone literally called "Terror of the Skies" then, in my modest opinion, you don't have anyone to blame but yourself :)

NoobWonderWaffle: Thanks! It is in fact one of the aspects I'm trying to show; just how big and earth-shattering the conflict truly is, with many jumping in the fray for their own reasons.