I'd like to thank Hollow Mashiro for re-mastering this chapter. Please check out her stories when you get time :)
(Author Medical Facts: Just like human women, most female mammals and even some large lizards have large holes in their pelvises. This allows an infant passage during birth. All large mammals have it and so do dragons as far as I know. Just need you to know for the birth scene ahead. But Cynder is a dragon, it will not be a live birth, I assure you.)
The black night sky lightened as dawn set in, and the sun's orange glow began to warm the realms. An hour after Spyro had collapsed to the stony floor of the ramparts, Cynder managed to lick him awake. He gasped as he awoke, then sprang to his feet to face her.
"You really think you're going to lay eggs, Cyn?" he asked with a hint of fear in his tone.
Cynder tilted her head, a sorrowful expression on her face. Before long, she had hung her head and shed tears, disheartened by her husband's reaction. Spyro could see her sadness and quickly approached her. He attempted to nudge her head back up, but she resisted.
Spyro whimpered, "Cynder, no no no no. Please don't do this on me... not now," he pleaded.
She raised her head just enough to look at him with wet eyes. "Don't you want a family, Spy? I mean... if I'm going to lay your eggs, what choice do I have?"
"Cyn, I do wanna be a father... I really do. But... I don't want our children raised in such a hostile environment. I wish we could raise them in safety and peace."
She gave him a reassuring nuzzle, even though she was still distraught that Spyro didn't seem to be proud of his new status as a soon-to-be father. "But they will be safe, Spy. The trolls aren't a real match for you or me. We defeated the Dark Master, remember?" She lowered her head again. "You sound like you don't wanna be a father." She sobbed, tears dampening the stone beneath her. "You won't just have me in your life anymore, Spy. You'll have a son or a daughter or both. Does that mean nothing to you?"
Spyro tried to nudge her head up again. "It means the universe to me, Cyn," he reassured. "But we can't raise children at this point in time."
"But I'm gonna lay your eggs soon!" she shrieked. "I can't hold 'em in. I can't abandon them." She couldn't even look at her life mate as she ran towards a window and took flight over the city.
"Cyn!" Spyro cried out as he took to the air and pursued her. His distraught dragoness could fly faster than he could because she was more streamlined and lighter than he was. She flew between buildings and tried her best to avoid Spyro. After a tireless pursuit, Spyro lost her and hovered in the air, motionless. "Damn!" he cursed. "Dragonesses... honestly," he sighed aloud before gliding ahead. He wasn't going to give up the chase that easily.
Now, if I were an irate dragoness, where would I be…? he thought.
Meanwhile, the zeppelin Bronze Eye approached the center of the troll kingdom, the Valdin Marsh. It was a vast area of golden brown swamps and gigantic leafless trees covered in strangler vines. The air was damp and the ever-present fog prevented clear sight beyond a hundred meters. The troll settlements only filled half of the soggy land. The largest city was Valdin City, which was surrounded by five smaller towns. From a bird's eye view, the road that led from town to town formed a pentagon around the troll city. It was much like Warfang, except the buildings were much thinner and taller than those of the dragon city. Plus, the building sported flashing red, pink and blue beacons on their roofs so that zeppelins wouldn't collide with them. Some of the tallest buildings, like the queen's royal citadel, had towers with chain hooks and spiral stairs that were designed as docks for zeppelins. The streets below were crowded market stalls that were open all hours of the day. Dreadwings, which the trolls had trained as mounts for harmless messengers and couriers as well as for the fiercer city guards and authority, flew between the tall buildings.
The Bronze Eye had to fly over the tallest building, just like any other zeppelin. But its destination was the queen's royal citadel at the north edge of the city, which was atop a steep, foreboding hill. Her palace resembled a fat obelisk: a square body with a pyramidal roof. Out of the roof jutted several towers, a few of which were docks for zeppelins. The Bronze Eye docked at one of these specialized towers, which had flashing red beacons that lit it in a vertical line from base to tip.
Much to the surprise of General Vaulta Stone-Fist, Queen Carmeleon herself, wearing a lavish robe over her transparent and skimpy clothing, was waiting at the top of the zeppelin's docking tower's spiral stairs. "What the..." the general exclaimed, tightly gripping the craft's railing. He was surprised because the queen herself typically didn't meet the general; she would send her right hand or the captain of her personal guard to meet him.
Instead of an anchor, a thick chain dropped from the vessel's belly down to the docking tower. A troll engineer grabbed the chain and hooked it to a reel, which was turned with an automated crank. The system reeled in the chain, pulling the craft close enough for docking.
When the craft was low enough, the zeppelin lowered its gangplank, and the general strode out quickly, but respectfully, towards the queen. He bowed deeply before asking, "My queen, you stand here waiting for me... is something wrong?"
The queen shook her head. "No... In fact, I have the best news for you, General Stone-Fist." She smiled before continuing, "It's your wife... She's given you... a son. A healthy, strong son. I promised her I personally would tell you." The general went wide-eyed and slack-jawed in joy with a touch of triumph.
"I have a son!" he shouted ecstatically into the air.
The queen nodded and took his hand. "Come, General. Your wife is still recovering, but she's going to be so happy that you're still alive and well. I am sure that she will be elated to see both of her boys with her," she informed him as she led him down the metal stairs.
When the queen and her general reached the bottom of the tower and entered the top floor of her lavish citadel, the general asked, "About my son, are his eyes open yet? Will he be able to see my face?"
"I do not know, Vaulta. He could not see when I last looked in on him," she replied with a light tug at the corner of her mouth at his curiosity.
"Is my wife alright?" he questioned concernedly.
The queen scoffed playfully before answering, "You've asked me that before... the answer is yes... and no."
The general tilted his head with worry and confusion. "Yes and no?"
"Yes, because she's alive, expecting full recovery and with a healthy boy... and no, because she won't stop complaining about... her torn opera house."
The general smiled weakly and eventually chuckled softly. "Yeah. She yelled at me while she was pregnant; saying that because of me, she would never look the same again down there." The general laughed aloud at the memory as he and the queen approached a set of mammoth-sized double doors. Two guards pushed them open for the pair.
The queen smiled and nodded knowingly. "When I had my son, the doctors had to cut me open to pull him out. She should be thankful she didn't have to have that done." Before long, the queen led the general to the guest room his wife gave birth in.
"Again, my queen, it was so kind of you to have your own royal physician help deliver our baby," he thanked as they stood before the guest room doors.
The queen smiled. "Consider it a favor for your undying loyalty, Vaulta." She pushed open the doors and ushered the general inside. "Now, go in; she is waiting," she whispered. She watched him enter the guest room and slowly shut the door behind him.
Lying on her side on the single, queen-sized purple bed was the general's blue-skinned, white-haired wife, Valari Stone-Fist. She held their teal-skinned, white-haired infant against her belly and fed him her sweet, thick, caramel-tasting, yellowish milk from her bluish nipple. The baby boy massaged her engorged breast to stimulate milk flow, exactly the way all troll infants knew to do from instinct. And Valari... she was almost nothing like her husband. She didn't have the stubby thorn-like horns on her head, and her eyes were like green healthy human eyes. Also, her hands were soft and ladylike, nothing like the queen's or any other female's.
As she fed the child, she felt the presence of her husband. She turned her head to him, and her mouth split into a wide grin. "Vaulta!" she gasped in a mixture of happiness, relief, and contentment. "Come meet your new son... Gavrin."
The proud father slid onto the bed behind his wife and looked over her torso. It was then that their infant removed his hands and lips from his mother's breast eyed his father curiously. Vaulta could see that his son was examining him so he slowly removed his veil, revealing the rest of his pale face in all its glory: bluish lips, small but sharp horns, and jagged, inch long front teeth, so long and sharp that he couldn't close his jaw entirely without some pain or irritation.
Gavrin went wide-eyed at the sight of his father's monstrous teeth and horns alone and began to whimper, crawling to his mother's head, even trying to hide beneath the thick covers of the bed. Vaulta was taken aback by his son's fear and removed himself from the bed to stand before his wife and frightened child.
Valari took her son from under the covers and held him against her chest. Stroking his back with her fingers, she reassured, "Don't be afraid, Gavrin. He's your dad."
Gavrin softly whimpered into his mother's chest as she turned her head to face her husband. She was surprised by his defeated stance; his shoulders were slumped and his head was bowed miserably. "What's wrong, baby?"
Vaulta took a long look at his long-fingered, clawed hands and stroked his teeth with a finger. "I... I know why Gavrin fears me, Valari. I am not a troll... I'm a beast... I do not blame him for being fearful of me." He turned his back to her. "I don't want him to see my face."
She gasped, "Vaulta!" When he did nothing in reply, she stroked her infant until an idea came to her. A weak smile grew on her face as she suggested, "Honey, put your veil back on and I'll gradually reveal you to him. He should be comfortable close to me."
He turned to his wife. "You really think it could work?" he asked doubtfully. "You saw how he reacted to me."
"We have to try, honey, or else he might not take to you," she said, hoping herself that her plan would work.
He sighed and returned to the bed while replacing his veil over his mouth and nose. He lay down behind his wife again and peered over her shoulder. Valari allowed her son to suckle, and he closed his eyes while she stroked his back. "I hope you're right about this, Valari," he sighed, saying it softly enough not to alert their son.
"Give him a rub, Vaulta. He won't realize it's you while he's suckling. Then speak softly to him."
And so while his son massaged his mother's breast with his little hands for milk, Vaulta sluggishly reached out a hand to stroke him on the back with his palm. Before long, he spoke up a softly as he can, hard because of his deep and slightly raspy voice, "I'm your da, little Gavrin."
Gavrin was alerted by the voice and snapped his eyes open, glancing toward the mutated troll that was his father. His little mouth detached from his mother's nipple and faced his father with creamy, yellowish milk around his open mouth.
"No need to fear me, Gavrin." He gave his son another rub on the back. Gavrin stared at him. Astonishingly, before long, Gavrin shimmied closer...eventually leaning on his mother to examine his father's face more closely. This elicited a wide smile from Vaulta...if only Gavrin could see it past his veil. Vaulta became so lost in the pride of holding his son before him, he nearly overlooked Gavrin reaching out a hand for his veil. Luckily, he noticed, and he gently grasped the child's little arm before it could reach the veil. "No, Gavrin... You cannot see daddy's teeth." Gavrin didn't think much of his father's refusal to reveal the bottom half of his face and instead crawled over his mother to hug his father's neck. Vaulta's anxiety dissipated as he savored the father-son moment.
"See, Vaulta? He likes you," Valari pointed out. He didn't seem to hear her, though, so she gave her husband a tap on the shoulder to bring him back to reality. "I still need to feed him, honey. My breasts are still full and he needs the milk."
"Alright." Vaulta handed Gavrin to his mother. She gently took him and allowed him to suckle, this time on her other breast as the first had already been drained.
There was a knock at the door.
Vaulta removed himself from his wife's warmth and approached the door. "That's probably the queen. I'll get it." He answered the door, revealing not the queen, but her right-hand troll.
"General, mistress hopes you, the infant, and the madam find the room to your liking," the butler proclaimed with a bow. He took from his coat a thin silver chain with an insignia card and another chain with a brass key. "Mistress requested that I give your wife these. She said she could stay here for as long as she needs."
He handed the key and pass to Vaulta, who accepted them with a small smile. "Please give her my thanks, won't you?" Vaulta requested with a slight bow in return.
"Definitely, General. That pass will grant her limited access in the citadel, and the key is for the room." The butler was about to turn away when he paused and added, "Oh, yes and... To celebrate the birth of your son, mistress has sent out an invitation to the dedicated followers of the queen in Valdin for a function. There is also a fireworks display scheduled for this evening. She says it's the least she can do for you, general Stone-Fist."
Meanwhile, back in Warfang, Spyro gave up his search for his distraught dragoness after a few fruitless hours and returned to their home. As he landed in the avenue their home shared with many others like it, his insides began to twist with painful apprehension.
He wondered if he would ever see Cynder again.
As he pushed open the doors to their home, he was greeted with silence, broken only by the sound of the doors latching shut behind him. Spyro was about to enter the kitchen when he heard a faint sobbing upstairs. He whirled around, surprised, then dashed up the spiral stairs. At the top, he peered through the archway of the master bedroom and spotted his dragoness, who was lying on her belly and soaking a pillow in her tears. Spyro's gut clenched; she was so distraught because she thought he had no desire to be a father. He approached quietly enough that she wouldn't hear him and gently rubbed the space on her back between her wings. She jumped, startled, and turned to face him. When their eyes met, she merely cried even harder and buried her face in the pillow.
"Cyn, please, don't fall to pieces on me," he pleaded. "Why are you crying? How can I make it better?"
Cynder replied, voice muffled in the pillow, "Just... tell me you wanna be a father, Spy... Tell me you want children."
Spyro responded as passionately as he could. "Of course I do, Cyn. We'll make great parents; I just know it!"
She sluggishly removed herself from the bedding and stood to face him. "You truly mean it, Spy? Because... what you said on the ramparts…"
He gave her a reassuring lick on the neck. "I'm ready." Cynder laid her head on his neck and he did the same. The couple rubbed their heads against each other's necks, wishing they could sink into each other. Before long, they broke from the hug and exchanged licks on the snouts.
"When do you think you'll lay the eggs, Cyn?" Spyro asked concernedly.
"Today, tonight, or tomorrow morning, judging by the way I'm feeling," she said as she reached out a paw and rubbed her belly. Her face contorted with fear she quietly revealed, "Spyro, I'm scared... I don't know how big the eggs will be and you and I aren't much bigger than hatchlings... know what I mean?"
Spyro could almost feel her pain as he gently nudged her. "I'll be there to comfort you. You can count on that." He licked her snout once before asking, "Is there anything you need, Cyn? I'm going out. Our stocks are empty."
She smiled weakly. "Some cured pork and some salted fish would be nice... oh, and some tartar sauce."
"Are you asking daddy to cook some fish tonight?" he asked with a chuckle.
She nodded. "Yes. I love the way you cook those fish... just…" She rubbed her belly, and gave him a pleading look. "Please hurry back. I have a feeling it's not long now and I don't wanna be alone when it happens."
"I won't be long; I promise," he reassured before kissing her collar bone and trotting toward the stairs.
"And no hunting!" she called after him.
Spyro stopped in his tracks. "Aww, Cyn!" he complained, glancing back at her.
"We're civilized dragons now. We should shop in the market more often. Besides, I don't you being outside the walls now with the trolls about. Take some gold and go to the markets."
"Okay, Cynder," he sighed. He clambered down the stairs, filled a small sack with several ounces of gold from a chest against the wall, and walked out the door. He traveled through the streets for about ten minutes before he reached a marketplace: a long, crowded avenue of weapon, armor, food, and jewelry stalls decorated by cords of blue and red lanterns.
Spyro approached one of the fish sellers' stalls. The catches of the day were already gutted and stuck in barrels of marble-sized salt to dry out. Among the dried fish were carp and salmon. The fish were only slightly shriveled from the drying process, and the salt could be dusted off so virtually no salty taste remained.
Spyro approached the stall and cleared his throat. "Four salmon, please... oh, and a small pot of tartar sauce," he said to the pale-furred cheetah vendor.
Using tongs, the cheetah put four large, raw, dried salmon in a paper bag along with a tall, white pot of tartar sauce. "Have a large one for the price of small, Spyro. The total will be just ten ounces."
Spyro hopped up and rolled out the gold on the counter before the cheetah. "Wow. Thanks," he said, grateful for the discount. He grabbed the bag in his jaws.
"It's the least I can do for a new parent," the cheetah smiled, earning a wide-eyed look from the Purple Dragon. "That's right, Spyro. Hunter has been telling us that Cynder's carrying and will soon lay your eggs. You must be so proud."
Spyro smiled, and before he departed, he said, "Still, it's very generous of you." As he walked through the avenue of stalls back the way he'd come in, stall vendors and some of their customers waved at Spyro and shouted things like:
"Congratulations, Spyro!"
And even, "You're a machine, Purple Dragon!"
Spyro glanced around and grinned at their praise, though it was concealed by the bag in his mouth.
As he left the neat half mile of stalls and vendors, he heard the loud flapping overhead of the rambling Electric Guardian, Volteer.
The larger dragon landed before Spyro like a gigantic scaly butterfly before babbling excitedly, "Spyro, I've heard the most wonderful tremendous news! Cynder is expecting to lay your eggs, yes?"
Spyro put the bag down and answered with a smile on his face and wonder in his tone. "Yes. She's expecting them very soon, today or tomorrow."
"I say, we must throw you a hatchling shower! Terrador, Cyril, and I will inundate you and Cynder with gifts!" Volteer craned his head down to Spyro's level. "Could we drop by this late dusk?"
Spyro smiled widely and nodded. "Of course, Volteer. Cynder would love a hatchling shower."
Volteer's excitement abruptly melted into concern. "I must ask, Spyro, is Cynder still upset?"
Spyro tilted his head. "Upset? What do you mean, Volteer?"
"Hunter told us that you and Cynder had a disagreement on the ramparts and she flew away, crying, distraught... is she alright?"
He nodded, "Yes. She thought I didn't want to be a father, but I convinced her I did. She just sent me shopping for fish."
"I say then, Spyro, you must return to her! If she lays the eggs soon, she'll need you to comfort her. She's not too much larger than a hatchling. She may have difficulty laying them, the poor little dragoness."
Spyro's eyes widened at the thought of his dragoness suffering and struggling. "You're right. I gotta get back to her," he said, as he grabbed the grocery bag again. He ran around Volteer and flew away, hastening his return to Cynder.
"Godspeed, Spyro!" Volteer called as he took to the sky to return to his companions.
Spyro didn't bother landing when he reached his home; he just lowered his horns and burst through the doors at top flying speed. He figured that any collateral damage done to the door could be fixed later. He dropped the grocery bag to the floor and looked around frantically for his life-mate. "Cynder! Cynder!" he cried.
Cynder slowly came down the spiral stairs, baffled by her male's frantic calls. "Spy... I'm fine. What's wrong with you? You look like you just saw an ape skeleton," she said.
"I need to be here to comfort you while you lay the egg or eggs. Volteer told me that you might struggle while laying them because you aren't much bigger than a hatchling."
"I'm alright, Spy. I feel like I'm going to lay them soon, though," she said with a reassuring bite to his neck. The two exchanged warmth for a moment before Cynder asked, "You got the fish and sauce, baby?"
"Yeah," Spyro nodded. He grabbed the groceries from the floor and took them to the kitchen. "Daddy's gonna cook us some salmon," Spyro said as he put them on the counter. He turned back to Cynder. "Oh, and you're not going to believe this, but because of Hunter, nearly half of Warfang now knows that you're expecting my eggs. The cheetah who sold me these fish gave me a large pot of tartar sauce for the price of a small one 'cause he'd heard."
Cynder smiled weakly with a, "Mmm," and a weak nod before she hung her head solemnly, which concerned Spyro.
He approached her and nudged her comfortingly. "What's wrong, Cyn?" he asked, looking down at his unhappy dragoness with concern. "We're going to be parents. You should be proud as I am."
"Spy, what will the other dragons think of me having your hatchlings? I mean...you know how much they still hate me... after five years of peace... After you and I defeated Malefor... And they still look at me like..." She trailed off, sighing.
Spyro was quick comfort her with a draconic embrace, twining his neck with hers. "Look at you like what?"
Her voice shook. "Look at me like I'm still the Terror of the Skies. What will the other dragons think of me and our children?" Cynder broke the hug and retreated to the fur in the living room, curling up into a ball and burying her head into a pillow. Spyro lay down behind her, wrapping his front leg and wings around her while twining his tail with hers. He licked her neck soothingly. Before long, she shifted her shoulders, a slight movement that told Spyro she would be alright.
"Cynder," Spyro began softly. "What do you expect from dragons? You gotta remember that these aren't the guardians... These are simple dragons; the common folk of the realms." He paused. "You know what? They're dumbasses."
Cynder relaxed as she giggled, "Dumbasses. That's funny, Spy."
Satisfied that she was no longer upset, Spyro nuzzled her before rising to his feet. "My work here's done. I'm gonna cook our lunch, Cyn." He smiled as he retreated to the kitchen, followed by Cynder's nasal laughter.
Cynder sighed peacefully. "Dumbasses... That's funny... Dumbasses." She relaxed into the cushions, waiting for her life-mate to prepare lunch.
Spyro prepared the grilling rack with logs and set them alight with a small burst of fire. He took the raw, cured fish from the bag by their tails and laid them on the grill. They sizzled nicely, and the delicious scent of cooked fish began wafting through the kitchen. Whenever the flames became too wild, he used a puff of frozen mist to calm the flames. Neither he nor his life- mate would eat over-charred fish. When he felt that one side was done, he used a spatula to carefully flip the fish over.
While her life-mate was cooking, Cynder felt a grinding feeling in her belly and gasped, clutching her stomach. Pain shot through her abdomen, causing her to dig her hind claws into the fur. She was near laying the eggs.
Spyro couldn't hear the pained noises of his dragoness, as they were muffled by the grill's crackling flames. Once the fish were cooked, he used a carefully aimed blast of his icy mist to quell the flames. He flipped the fish onto a wooden platter with the spatula before taking it in his jaws. "Fish's ready, Cyn," he called around the platter. Once he entered the living room, he continued, "It's nice and hot and well done. Just how you like-" Spyro was cut off by his dragoness, who moaned painfully and rubbed her now-swollen gut. He dropped the platter on the floor, but he didn't care. "Cynder, what's wrong?" he demanded, worried.
"It's time!" she grunted, grasping at her belly.
"What?! Now?! I don't know what to do!" he shouted, panicky.
"Spy, just... take me upstairs to the bed, for a start," she graoned, biting down hard.
"O-okay, Cynder," he complied, approaching her. He slithered beneath her and carried her on his back. She wrapped her legs around him so she felt secure and coiled her tail around his as he ran up the stairs and into the master bedroom as fast as he felt he could without dislodging her. He flapped his wings mightily a couple of times to get the both of them up on the bed. Cynder slipped off him and onto the soft, thick fur, in too much pain to bother laying her head on a pillow. Spyro, unsure what to do from this point, licked her neck to give her some comfort and awaited her orders. Spyro stopped licking when he saw Cynder's face contort with pain. She whimpered as she struggled to stand. Spyro helped her by supporting her chest until she was shakily standing on her own.
She turned to her life-mate and pleaded, "Spy, hold me... It really is time... It's-" Her choked words degenerated into a pained whine as clear jelly began to gush from her and trickle on the fur.
Spyro, catching sight of the flow, was quick to press himself against her side and twine his neck with hers. She whimpered as she felt the egg begin its excruciating journey to the outside world from inside her. She was forced to rear up on her back legs and use Spyro as a crutch so the egg could more easily exit her. She spread her hind legs as far apart as she could and lifted her tail high.
Spyro stretched his neck forward and grabbed a pillow from the fur beneath them. He twisted his head just enough that Cynder could grab it. "Bite this, Cyn," he suggested. She did so, desperate for pain relief. At the most, it gave her something to bite on and groan into so she wouldn't accidentally bite her tongue off. "I'm not leaving you. Hang in there," Spyro said determinedly.
Cynder cried out in pain as the egg stretched the neck of her uterus and sluggishly moved through the birth canal, which was just big enough to allow passage for an egg. She let out a groan as the muscles in the area contracted hard and fast, forcing the egg through. She alternately screamed and panted for breath, all the while pushing at the egg. She gave another mighty push and screamed towards the ceiling. She could feel her claws digging into Spyro, but she didn't care, the pain was awful, she could feel her insides and entrance stretching and she just wanted it to end—and slowly but surely, she felt the end of the egg emerge from her. She kept pushing and the egg slowly inched out until her opening was stretched to its limit—and then it stretched more and tore painfully, though Cynder barely noticed beyond the contractions. Finally, the egg slipped out of her completely and onto the bed's fur. She let out a deep, long groan of relief and unhooked her claws from Spyro's back. She almost collapsed in a heap, weak from aftershocks, but Spyro caught her (he was such a good sport; her claws had to be painful) and turned her toward the egg. It was a darkish grey and speckled with golden flecks. It was smeared with clear jelly and a little bit of her blood.
Spyro rubbed their jaws together, praising, "You did it." The two parents stood before their egg proudly.
Cynder wrapped her tail around Spyro's and nuzzled his neck. "You're going to be a daddy," she said with a wide smile.
"Wrong, Cynder. We're going to be parents," he said proudly. "But just so we're clear, Cynder, I do want to be a father." He laughed gently. The argument seemed so petty now.
Cynder suddenly started groaning again as the contractions started up again. "What's wrong?!" he demanded, terrified.
"I'm laying another one," she hissed through clenched teeth.
"What?!" he yelped.
"Uh-huh," she grunted. "So if you'd please…"
Spyro needed no more prompting. He lay down as flat as he could so she could put her front legs on him more easily. He stood to give her more elevation and barely even noticed when her claws dug into him in new places. He was concerned more for her than himself.
Thankfully for Cynder, this egg wasn't as much torture as the first. The contractions still hurt, of course, but her insides had been stretched from the first one, so she didn't need to expend quite so much effort. The second egg traveled the same path as the first, and every millimeter it came closer to the outside world was a struggle. Throughout the ordeal, Spyro was treated to a nonstop flow of growls, hisses, grunts, and cries. Listening to his wife's pain was torture for him, but he couldn't do anything more than support her and ignore her gripping claws.
Cynder unleashed a mighty groan along with an equally mighty push. As her entrance stretched open again for the second egg. It slid out onto the bed next to the first after a few more painful minutes of pushing. Cynder sagged against Spyro, completely limp, and took deep breaths of relief, her vision blurry. Spyro gently slid out from underneath her, which allowed her to rest peacefully on the bed. He approached the second egg, wet with jelly and smeared with a little blood like the first. It was a blood-red egg with faint veins of magenta.
The two eggs rested together motionlessly, but Spyro couldn't have been more in awe of them and his wife's accomplishment.
"You're amazing," he murmured happily. A thought suddenly struck him, and he whirled toward Cynder, panicked again. "Hey, you're not going to lay another one, are you?" He wasn't sure if he could listen to Cynder's pain like that again without setting something on fire. He hated feeling helpless.
Cynder laughed weakly. "No, I'm not," she said. "And thank you. Also, could you get a wet towel for me? I'm bleeding and it hurts." She paused for a moment before adding, "Clean yourself up too. You're bleeding."
That's right, Cynder had poked holes in his back with her claws. (Not that he minded, of course.) "No problem," he obliged, heading toward the bathroom. He doused a towel in water from the tub and took it back into bedroom. His aching dragoness was relieved at the sight of the wet towel.
He nudged it beneath her and she sank into it, sighing as some of the pain was numbed. "Ah… That feels better…" She noted that he was still bleeding. "I told you to go clean off, didn't I?"
Spyro chuckled. "Alright, alright," he said as he returned to the bathroom. He jumped inside the tub and turned on a spray for water. He watched as the water ran into the drain, fascinated by the pinkish color he knew was from his blood. Once the draining water was clear again, he shook himself off and quickly returned to Cynder, not wanting to leave her alone for long periods of time.
Spyro found her staring at the eggs and stood before her with a smile. "They're beautiful, Cyn. We have two children-to-be. Your hard work paid off."
Cynder smiled back at him. "I know," she said simply. "It was worth it."
At that moment, there was a loud knock at the door. "Must be the guardians," Spyro mused. "I'll get it." True to his prediction, Volteer, Cyril, and Terrador stood at the threshold, looking concerned.
"Spyro, has Cynder laid the egg? Is she well, alright, flourishing?" Volteer asked in his typical fast manner.
Spyro smiled. "Yes... she's alright, just hurting. But instead of just one, we have two eggs!" The guardians let of relieved sighs and excited exclamations at the news.
Cyril said, "I'm glad she's alright. She's not much bigger than a hatchling; it couldn't have been easy. We hope she recovers."
"Thanks, Cyril. Come back in two weeks and you can maybe even watch the eggs hatch, if you're lucky."
"We definitely will! It's a soul-calming, gorgeous, glorious sight to see newborn hatchlings emerge from their eggs," Volteer assured.
"Come in. Cynder'll wanna meet with you all," Spyro said as he stepped aside and ushered in the massive guardians. In single file, they climbed the stairs to the bedroom, and a hurting Cynder greeted them with a small smile.
"Hello, guardians. Thanks for coming," she greeted.
The guardians' eyes wandered to the two still-slimy eggs on the bed. "They are wonderful colors... and I know that if the eggs have good colors, the hatchlings will be gorgeous," Cyril complimented.
"Come back in two weeks and you can see them." Cynder recommended.
"It will be an honor, Cynder. But Volteer, Terrador, and I must return to the palace; the need for a governing power in this city cannot be put aside, not even for such a stunning and monumental occasion such as this," Cyril revealed, looking slightly disheartened.
Cynder smiled at him reassuringly. "That's fine. Just remember: come back in two weeks." And so the guardians returned to the palace of Warfang, leaving the new parents to gently roll their eggs into a basket of towels.
Over the next two weeks, Cynder hardly left the bedroom. She felt uncomfortable leaving the eggs alone while her life-mate hunted and shopped in the markets for her. It was exactly fifteen days later at midday that the eggs finally hatched.
Spyro returned from the market with a bag of dried salmon in his jaws. "Cyn, I got our groceries," he called. When Cynder didn't respond, he looked around and called for her again. "Cynder!" He climbed the stairs and was relieved to see her in the bedroom, sitting before their eggs, which were comfortably settled in lavish blankets in the basket. He put down the bag near the door so he could lay down next to her, coil their tails, and join her examination of their eggs.
"It won't be long now, Spy. I've heard 'em moving inside," she said excitedly before giving him a peck on the cheek.
The proud father lowered his head until his snout was close to the eggs. "Daddy's here. He can't wait to meet you," he softly said before he rubbed the side of his face on each of them, letting the possibly alert hatchlings know that he was there. Cynder did the same. As she did, she felt gentle scratches in the egg.
Meanwhile, the guardians and two Ice Dragon warriors, each with special seats in their light armor to carry eight mole archers on their backs, glided over the Valley of Avalar in an arrow formation. Cyril was in the lead, even though it was typically Volteer's position, and was followed by the others down to the cheetah village.
Just hours before, they'd received an urgent message saying that the village needed reinforcements due to the increasing risk of attacks from troll zeppelins. After an hour of flight through low cloud cover, they reached the area the cheetah village resided in. But they weren't alone in the skies.
The guardians and Ice Dragon warriors hovered in astonishment at the sight of the zeppelin Bronze Eye hovering close to the ground and slowly pursuing a horde of panicking cheetah warriors. The zeppelin had iron barrels containing dozens of pods for crude missiles mounted on the sides of its gondola. But the horde of warriors was heading toward the village... why?
"Why are they heading toward the village with that zeppelin pursuing them?! Their homes and families won't stand a chance!" Volteer exclaimed.
"They most likely think that the small catapults the village has will deter the zeppelin... but they won't! Those stupid idiots!" Terrador cursed, frustrated.
"Do not blame the warriors. That zeppelin is a menace to the realms, even on its own," Cyril defended. "We have to harass the zeppelin to buy them time."
"Aye, Cyril," the two Ice Dragons approved in unison, eager to deal damage to the trolls. Cyril led the group towards the zeppelin, aiming to intercept it from the side. When the trolls on deck spotted the approaching dragons, they panicked and began to fire their revolving rifles at the dragons. Thankfully for the dragons, the bullets missed or hit nothing vital. When he got close enough, Cyril flew alongside the zeppelin and banked, allowing the moles on his back to unleash a barrage of arrows at the trolls on deck. Mole archers were renowned for their accuracy, and this was certainly proved as their arrows hit their targets: the trolls' necks and torsos.
Terrador flew alongside the zeppelin close to its armor and used his earth flail to pound hole into it, which even took out a few of its side-mounted canons. The cheetahs hollered in victory and relief as the zeppelin changed course, desperate to escape the dragons. But Cyril and the two Ice Dragons hovered before the massive, eight-cylinder, roaring engine on the zeppelin's left side and, using their ice in unison, killed the engine by blocking its intake with ice. When the propeller screamed to a stop, Cyril used his hind claws to bend one of the blades, rendering the entire propeller useless. The zeppelin now only had one engine, and the gunners rushed to protect it with their lives. They could barely steer the craft and had to use both of its rudders: the one on the back of the gondola and the one on the tail of the balloon. It yawed violently as it turned away and fled, its rear gunners firing madly at the pursuing dragons.
The guardians and two Ice Dragons were eager to pursue the wounded craft when Volteer shouted, "Fall back to me!"
The guardians and Ice Dragons hovered before Volteer. "Volteer, you electric fool, we must bring down the Bronze Eye! It's a danger to the realms!" Cyril shouted, agitated.
"A pursuit would only result in casualties on our side. The Bronze Eye, from what we learned in Warfang, is a durable craft and it took the guardians and two other dragons just to damage it and scare them away."
While the guardians conversed aloud, one of the Ice Dragons was watching the retreating zeppelin and gasped when numerous troll soldiers repelled into the forest below. "They're dropping troops in the woods!" he exclaimed, cutting off the guardians' deliberations.
All watched in astonishment as wave after wave of troops down dropped from the zeppelin, which then roared away, as if it had never stopped.
"Don't fear, the cheetah warriors can deal with them, but we do need to drop off our passengers in the cheetah village," Volteer said.
"But we must to something to help them!" one of the Ice Dragons shouted angrily.
"Very well, you two can assist the cheetahs, but we must reinforce the village," Volteer proclaimed before leading the guardians to the village. Volteer and the guardians landed before Chief Prowless, and their passengers dismounted to take up defensive positions nearby.
"Chief, are you alright? We came as soon as we got your message," Volteer said.
"Yes, but we've lost about fifteen warriors in the past hour," he said, waving his drawn sword around in agitation. "Thank the ancestors you scared the Bronze Eye off, or else we may have never stood a chance."
Meanwhile, because of the absence of dragons in the sky, the Bronze Eye turned around to face the distant cheetah village. It launched rockets, which screamed toward the ballista on the hill. The guardians and warriors of the village stared awestruck as the missiles pounded the tower. Everyone in the village panicked and scattered as the tower began to break from its supports and plummet for the village below. It crushed a portion of the village's wall and impaled a few warriors on landing.
"Those bastards!" Prowless cursed savagely. "Now we're in trouble!"
"Don't panic!" Terrador advised. "I have a plan... You two, draw the crew's attention while I infiltrate the ship and kill the captain."
"Brilliant, incredible, stupendous plan, Terrador! Let's do it!" Volteer exclaimed excitedly.
The three guardians took to the air and attacked the zeppelin. Cyril and Volteer harassed the craft at the front with electric bolts and ice projectiles. Some trolls were foolish enough walk to the bow of the ship to try to get a better shot at the dragons; however, their efforts were rewarded with razor sharp shots of ice from Cyril that shredded their torsos. Terrador, who'd been picking up altitude while the other two guardians distracted the trolls, dove powerfully at the side of the craft. Right before impact, he turned himself into a spinning, rocky wheel and crashed through the gondola, killing dozens within.
Meanwhile, the cheetah archers lit their arrows and proceeded to fire at the gaping hole Terrador had created. Before long, the zeppelin began to burn. The cheetahs hollered in victory, knowing that the craft would soon crash. After a couple minutes of waiting eagerly, there was a sudden popping followed by a loud bang: the ammunition storage within the craft had caught fire and exploded, splitting the craft in two.
Shortly before the explosion, a single Dreadwing had taken off from the deck of the craft and began to soar away. General Vaulta Stone-fist was its rider. He had failed his queen and country once again and had no desire to be in Avalar any longer. He cringed at the thought of meeting his queen and telling her that the Bronze Eye had fallen.
The guardians hovered before the burning wreckage as it fell into the forest and caught sight of the fleeing Dreadwing.
"Aren't we going to pursue Vaulta Stone-Fist, Volteer?" Cyril asked, looking at the yellow guardian.
"Of course not; he's no threat on his own. He has nobody at his side or back," Volteer said. And even though he knew the general was out of earshot, he shouted, "Run back to your queen, general! Tell her she's but a tyrant and she is inferior to the allied races!"
Meanwhile, Spyro had dozed off from the lack of movement and had rested his head on his dragoness's back. On the other hand, Cynder, having heard scratching inside the eggs earlier, stared eagerly at the eggs and watched for the slightest movement. Eventually, though, even Cynder became overwhelmed by fatigue and laid her head down on the fur.
However, the sleepy haze was instantly lifted when the blood-red egg began to wobble. Cynder's eyes snapped open, and she saw, to her delight, the shaking egg.
She shoved Spyro to wake him up. "Spyro, one's hatching! Wake up!" she hissed excitedly.
"Huh... what?" he muttered, not quite fully aware.
"One's hatching!" she smiled, drawing his attention to the blood-red egg. The egg wobbled gently at first, but it shook faster and faster as small cracks splayed across the shell.
Cynder gently encouraged, "Come on, baby, push! Push!"
A crimson, gold ridged tail burst through the shell and swayed. "Whoa, our child's strong," Spyro joked. "That's its tail there." Two front paws punched through the shell. "And there's its paws!"
Before long, the hatchling's head burst through the shell, which then fell apart. The hatchling had glistening crimson scales and a golden underbelly and wings, which glistened like solid gold. It had two horns like Spyro that were the same bright gold as its belly, but they looked like they would grow to be much larger and sharper than its father's horns. It had emerald eyes like its mother and had small spikes on the back of its tail from the base to a yellow tail plate like its father's.
The hatchling seemed hyperactive and looked around the room like a meerkat on sentry duty before it caught sight of its smiling parents.
Cynder coaxed, "Come to mommy." The hatchling rose to its feet, approaching its mother for some tender contact.
The hatchling squeaked happily as it hopped up and hugged his mother's snout, nipping the spot between her eyes and even trying to bite her horns... its way of showing affection.
Cynder licked its belly, causing it to squeal and roll on its back. She checked its gender. "We have a feisty son, Spy," she announced.
The hatchling got on his feet and returned to hugging his mother's face again. "He's feisty...but affectionate," Cynder noted. Her son laid his little head on her snout. "I like that," she added.
Spyro sidled closer to his wife and son. He swallowed nervously and said, "Hey, little man." He immediately had his son's attention, and the hatchling tilted his head curiously. "I'm your daddy."
Though the hatchling didn't understand a word his parents could say so far, Spyro's voice let his son know that he had a father. Let go of his mother's face so he could get closer to his father. He sniffed Spyro curiously, memorizing his unique scent. He looked up at his father and squeaked happily.
"That's right, I'm your daddy." Spyro playfully nipped his son on the torso. The hatchling returned the favor, though Spyro couldn't tell if his son was just mimicking him or actually showing affection. Spyro nudged his son back towards his mother, who pressed him against her chest with her head.
Spyro suddenly heard some faint scratching—it was coming from the light grey egg! "Cyn, the other's hatching!"
While their son sat at Cynder's feet, the two parents scrutinized light grey egg. It was gently shaking. The hatchling was desperate to get out before it starved of air. The egg stopped trembling when a small, pointy, dark snout poked a hole in the shell. The egg was now completely still. After creating a breathing hole, the hatchling seemed content to stay in its egg.
Spyro put his snout close to the egg and whispered, "It's okay, little one. You can come out." The egg shifted again and a circular crack at the top formed a lid. It rose up an inch, revealing a pair of emerald eyes before it lowered. This hatchling was quite shy and had no intention of emerging. Curious, the crimson hatchling approached his sibling's egg and sniffed it, committing his sibling's scent to memory.
The lid rose again, and the hatchling beneath it eyed its blood-red brother for a moment. The lid quickly dropped with a clack. Curious, its brother grabbed the lid in his little teeth and tossed it aside. He peered into the egg. He could see his cowering sibling, so he excitedly smashed the rest of the egg to meet it. It whimpered pitifully as its protective shield to the outside world was destroyed and fled to its mother to escape its brother. It was a light grey dragon with a yellow belly and yellow wings with silver ridges. Its glittery silver horns were like its mother's, but like its brother's, they looked like they would grow larger and sharper. It didn't have spikes on its tail, but a metallic scythe was attached to the tip like its mother's tail. It also had emerald eyes like its mother.
When Cynder had a hold of it, she lifted the hatchling's tail to check its gender. "We have a shy daughter too, Spy!" She gave her shaking daughter reassuring licks on her neck and little head. "You don't have to be afraid, baby girl." The hatchling quieted under her mother's comforting ministrations and looked around warily but curiously. She quickly noticed her purple father.
Spyro lowered his head to greet his shy daughter. He examined her closely while she stretched to sniff his snout. "She's one shy little dragoness, Cyn... I wonder if it's just unique to her or if she inherited it from one of us."
Cynder shrugged. "If she's shy, she's shy, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that."
Their blood-red son approached their daughter, who cowered beneath Cynder's head. She feared the red hatchling as he sniffed her from chest up, as any dragon would do with its sibling.
"Don't be afraid, baby girl, this is your brother," Cynder reassured as she stroked her daughter on the back. "He just wants to meet you."
Soon enough, their son gave his sister a playful nip on the neck, followed by a nudge on the snout, recognizing her as his sister. She softly squealed as she playfully batted at him with her claws, finally realizing he was her brother.
Spyro, contentedly admiring his son and daughter, realized that they had yet to be named. "Hey, Cyn, for our son... what do you think of the name... Aventus?"
Cynder rolled her eyes and she smiled knowingly. "It's an okay name," she approved before they exchanged a nuzzle.
"I think you should name our daughter, Cyn."
Cynder smiled at the honor she'd been given. After thinking for a while, she suggested, "How about… Dara?"
"I love that name, Cynder," Spyro replied, nuzzling her.
Cynder rose to her feet and started herding their children to the basket they'd hatched in. "C'mon, time for bed." She grabbed the blanket with her teeth and shook it to rid it of shell shards. She neatly made their basket bed and nudged the two towards it. They both curled into tight balls in the blankets and pressed against each other. "Mommy'll get you two some food before you go to sleep."
Spyro said, "I got it, Cynder." He flew down to the kitchen and grabbed a roasted salmon he had cooked earlier. He returned to the bedroom and handed the salmon to Cynder, who began to tear off strips of fish to feed to her children one at a time. Aventus stole a strip that was offered to his sister as she was about to eat it and earned his first scolding.
"Aventus, naughty!" Cynder growled, "That was your sister's." Aventus cowered at his mother's growl and gave his sister a lick as an apology, which was accepted. "Good boy." Cynder gave them each strips until there was no salmon left.
The two hatchlings yawned widely. "You two ready to fall asleep?" she asked rhetorically, knowing they couldn't understand her or answer just yet. "Then mommy and daddy'll leave you be." Cynder gave them each a kiss before she took the blanket in her jaws and covered the two. They tightly curled around each other, a sleepy mass of limbs and wings. The hatchlings, bellies full and warm, were asleep almost instantly.
"Aww, Spy, look at 'em snuggling." Cynder kissed Spyro on the neck.
"Yeah, it's amazing. Let's go to sleep too, Cyn," he replied sleepily with a wide yawn.
Spyro and Cynder curled together on their own fur and fell asleep.