Chapter 7: Fire and Water

Thirty minutes earlier...

Elora peered into her vanity mirror, reimagining herself.

She would be a head shorter, stouter, and on four legs. Her blood would be twice as warmer. She would also be able to breathe fire and would be covered in scales instead of skin and fur.

What color would her scales be? Maybe a shade of green, like her eyes? Then again, blue was her favorite color. She couldn't decide.

And maybe she wouldn't have horns, she couldn't imagine that. Although she fantasized sometimes about flying like a bird, she was simultaneously afraid of leaving the earth so far beneath her. So maybe she'd have light and delicate wings, more for gliding around on the winds like a wayward cloud.

She had fun with her daydreaming, but it wasn't enough to keep her attention away from it: the wardrobe along the back wall, visible over her shoulder.

For the first time in years, she had finally opened it again. She had to do it so she wouldn't back out of what she had promised Spyro. She still pretended it wasn't there for the time being.

She turned away from her mirror, anxiously fidgeting with her bracelets. Her room, like most of her cottage (which was modest for even a young faun like her), was hued with earthy colors. The warm pinks and toasty browns were calming, but always an unfortunate reminder of where she'd come from. Elora tried to busy herself, smoothing out the comforter that used to be her mother's. Before they'd fled the southern faun kingdom, her father had…liberated a few things from their old family home.

Anxious, she checked the time. Spyro wouldn't be there for a little while longer.

A walk. She needed to take a quick spirit around the forest to settle her nerves.

The dragon waited, anxious and agitated. Her eyes narrowed when she saw movement.

Elora exited her house, glancing up. Cynder thought she may have been compulsively checking to see if the weather stayed fair.

Finally, faun. We wouldn't want you getting hurt.

Cynder was hidden a dozen yards up in the canopy. It would have been impossible to spot her looking in from the outside, but she had good eyesight; the gap she was looking through gave her the perfect view of the cottage doorstep half a mile away.

For some reason Cynder didn't move when she planned she would. She did glare at Elora until she vanished from view, though. Now that her rage had extinguished, she was left confused and frustrated.

Why? What's the purpose?

I don't believe her story.

She's the very last sort of creature to trust. Yet they knew what she was the entire time and still accepted her. It makes sense Spyro doesn't understand the danger, but not the adult dragons!

I bet an adult female wouldn't be so naïve.

She ruminated and stewed longer than she needed to. Elora still hadn't come back, but Cynder knew she was running out of time. She lowered herself from the branch, latching onto the bark with her cat-like claws. Unlike a cat, she scaled downwards with the ease of a wingless lizard, periodically glancing towards the cottage to make sure Elora was still gone.

It was in her nature to be sneaky, though she wasn't sure why she cared about being caught at this point. Everyone would hate her anyway once Spyro told them the truth.

She stalked towards the cottage, stoking her inner fire with a brew of malcontent emotions. Her fire was cooler than most dragons', perhaps a side effect of living most of her life in the coldest mountain range in the world. A less normal quirk of her fire was that it burned things silently.

Then again, she thought everything about her was silent. Her fire, her presence…her identity. She belonged nowhere.

I'm…I'm not going back south.

I don't know where I'm going after this. But I won't let them catch me again.

Elora's cottage was looming over her, but it was so blurry! Cynder was choking up as she crept through the grass. Something at the back of her mind to her to hold back, but by now her fire had been fed too much.

Her paralysis broke. She drew all of her emotions up in one breath, and then let them out.

Elora came out of the grove, fixing a white wildflower into her hair. As per her usual route she'd walked two miles through the forest, circling back around to the back of her house. She stopped in her vegetable patch, checked to make sure she'd watered her sprouts for the day, and then went in through the back door.

She was distracted and didn't spare a look down the hall. If she had, she would've seen flickers of crimson snaking along her living room carpet.

Elora shut herself in her room and flopped down in front of her vanity, frowning as she fussed over the flower in her hair. She went back to daydreaming again.

I think I would choose blue. Not blue like Bubba, but a lighter color than that. Sky blue. That'd be perfect.

…

…

…

Wait…

…what is that smell?

Her father always told her—listen to your instincts, even if they appear to defy reasonable explanation.

Elora, this world is too seriously strange for us not to ponder all its endless abnormalities, her father had said. Even if it seems wrong, assume that it can just as well easily be right.

So when Elora opened her room door, she wasn't that shocked to find her entire hallway on fire.

The crimson tongues immediately reacted, lashing out at her like fiery serpents. She slammed the door shut and quickly backed away. Her room didn't have windows. Being faun-made, the walls of her cottage were sturdy but crafted to break under a strong kick or two in case of an emergency.

She groaned. She'd literally just done her hooves when she'd gotten home earlier, so she wasn't kicking through anything right now.

"Oh, great…"

Presently…

Spyro acted on sheer instinct. When he barged the front door in, part of the doorframe and wall crumbled. He skittered to the side, scattering embers and burnt refuse.

The walls burned red and sour, bitter smoke hung in the air. He thought he may have been dreaming. Everything around him was burning thoroughly, but without noise. He avoided the larger parts of the blaze and the flames only lightly singed his hide as he went in deeper, double-checking every burning object to make sure it wasn't Elora.

He was at the mouth of the hallway when a large portion of the ceiling caved in and crashed hard to the ground. Spyro was knocked back in a wave of heat and debris, landing directly into a large patch of fire.

He screamed and writhed. The flames crawled all over him like searing worms and seemed to burn hotter by the second. He staggered up and blindly crashed into something. He picked one direction and ran, lowering his head until he burst through a wall of the cabin. Spyro collapsed to the earth, burying his head into the ground.

He became detached from the passing of time. If one hadn't known a cottage used to be there, they never would've guessed after the fire finally went out.

Spyro couldn't pull his head up. He knew he had to go back and get help, but at this point there was nothing left to save. He slowly rotated towards the ruins and moved at a crawl, sniffling as he tried to pick himself up.

He found where Elora's bedroom was. There was a wardrobe that was oddly intact, and so he knew it had to have been enchanted. A white wildflower was stuck in between the doors of the wardrobe, miraculously unburnt. When Spyro gently tried to pull it out, it slipped away from him.

The wardrobe flung open. He backed up, flaring his wings as a metallic-looking creature lurched out, wielding a large war hammer.

"What are you!?" Spyro screamed. "You did this, didn't you!?"

With a bellow he blasted a torrent of fire from his mouth, striking his target point-blank. His rage made his fire burn three times hotter, but the creature took the attack with nothing more than a flinch.

Spyro charged. His target flung its hammer out, catching his horns in the grooves built along the shaft.

"Stop, stop!" it cried.

The dragon ferociously threw his weight forward. The armored creature stumbled.

"Spyro, stop! It's me!"

He heard her. He pulled back, unable to even think.

It was Elora, and she was wearing the armor she had told him about. She pulled her helmet off. She was uninjured, but pained.

"It's me. I'm alright," she said. "I promise I'm alright."

"Oh…oh my ancestors, Elora…"

Spyro leaped on her, clutching her tight.

Cynder had already been physically sick. When she saw Spyro and Elora embrace and fall to the ground, it almost happened again.

She dropped to her knees. Her mind buzzed numbly. She had never felt more pathetic.

She had no idea that Elora had come back. She was worried when Spyro appeared, though not necessarily for his life since dragonfire wasn't lethal to other dragons. She didn't start to panic until she saw part of the roof cave in. By that time she was so paralyzed that she wouldn't have been able move if she wanted to.

I almost killed her. I almost killed them both…

She could have laid down and died right there.

"YOU."

Cynder snapped out of her disassociation. It was now dark. Light came from around Elora's ruined cottage and others were there now.

Something bright and angry was invading her eyes. Sparx was so furious he was vibrating.

"I knew it. It was you, wasn't it?" he snarled. "You did it. You tried to kill her."

"I…I…"

"Don't even try to lie again! Elora had a wardrobe that was proofed against DRAGON fire. It was the only thing that saved her from you!"

Sparx's glow flared blindingly. There was an immediate flash of movement in the distance. It was Spyro, breaking away from the group and charging their way.

Cynder launched a ball of fire. Sparx curved around it but it struck Spyro in the face.

Then she turned and ran like never before. The dragonfly tailed her closely, flashing his light like a distress signal.

Spyro's rage was burning over. He hadn't flinched when the fireball hit him in the face, but it made him angrier than he'd ever been in his life. He could feel it; Cynder's fire had burned down the cottage.

She veered and zig-zagged through the forest, trying to throw him off her tail. Spyro was too enraged to think about using his agility. He charged through everything in his way and was barely lucid enough to avoid trees. Sparx's flashing aura never left his sight.

They were unknowingly approaching Chasm Cliff, the source of the forest's largest waterfall. Cynder broke free from the forest and raced for the edge of the drop-off. Countless gallons of water bled out of the cliff side, pouring down into a series of river rapids. The height was so great that one could reach terminal velocity before hitting the water.

Sparx darted up out of the way. A rocket of fire struck Cynder between the wings and she tripped up with a squeal. She stumbled over the cliff side and fell weightlessly for a few moments, almost swept under the deluge of water before taking wing into a steady glide. Spyro's fire burned her wing joints and made them ache, preventing her from ascending.

Spyro was now in a steep dive, gaining on her quickly. At the last moment she closed her wings and plummeted. His claws slashed at her head. Cynder inhaled.

"Roll!" Sparx warned. Spyro did a full midair rotation, avoiding the blast of fire aimed towards his underside. He pulled around in a sharp turn and dove at her head on. Flames built and frothed through his clenched teeth.

Cynder showed her intelligence on wing. In the air, she was more adept and agile than he was. She gradually descended in spirals and dives, timing the execution of her movements with high precision. He was unable to hit her even once.

She glanced down. Spyro fired at her face and she pitched forward into a rapid somersault, spinning a defensive shield of cool air.

The next thing Spyro knew, his own fire was flying back and hitting him in the face. He saw red. His nostrils and pores emitted smoke. He lowered his head and swooped down towards her, aiming to run her through with his horns.

"Spyro!" Sparx cried. "WAIT!"

Cynder gathered an updraft underneath her wings and beat them hard, ascending sharply in a column of icy wind. Only then did Spyro finally notice the river rushing up to him.

He crashed into it at full speed. Sparx recoiled as his glow went straight from gold to green and almost fell out of the air.

Several meters down Spyro popped his head out of the water with a gasp. The river was narrow and winding. Spyro was thrown against the bends, flailing his paws as he tumbled wildly in the water. Sparx followed as fast as he could along the riverside.

"Spyro, to your right! Go to your right!"

There was a shallow and sandy part of the river bank ahead. The dragon struggled to keep his head above the water. He found leverage on the river bed and pulled himself free, collapsing on the sand. He coughed and hacked up boiling water. Sparx landed next to him, almost invisible with how dim his light was.

"She got—she got away…didn't she?" Spyro panted. "…Sparx?"

"Mhm," Sparx mumbled. He drooped over to his side and went still.

Spyro gently nosed him up onto his snout. It took everything in his strength to move without passing out. He limped away from the rushing river in a daze.

A rainbow of colors exploded in his vision and manifested into a robed figure.

"Bianca…that you?" Spyro stopped, swaying. "Sparx needs help…can you get him first?"

She quickly gathered them both up, teleporting away.

The next day…

The Artisans

It was an overcast and gloomy daybreak. A small group had gathered in one of the outside corridors.

Spyro laid flat on his front, staring at the floor with hazy eyes. He had barely gotten through telling everyone what he'd known about Cynder. He didn't have any secondhand guilt or shame. He thought he was just as responsible for Elora almost being killed.

His head was wrapped up in bandages and he was further agitated since he couldn't scratch his itching horns. He had been told that if Sparx hadn't been with him, the headfirst impact into the water may've very well killed him, if not put him in enough distress to where he would've drowned.

Hunter leaned against a wall with crossed arms, glaring up at the ceiling. "So, what are we gonna do about this? What if she comes back?"

"Then she will face the consequences," Nestor responded. He hadn't stopped frowning since the previous night. "That is a promise. And for absolutely no reason is she allowed back in our realm."

"I'm sorry," Spyro said. "I should have said something sooner. I just hoped she would leave. But she didn't. Now look."

The clan leader sighed. "I know there's no convincing you otherwise, Spyro. You were an accepting dragon like the rest of us. It's hard to predict when our judgments and good faith take a turn for the worst. I would have to take responsibility as well."

"Me too," Hunter added. "I'm the one who saw that side of her first."

"Hm…well then, Elora?" Bubba spoke up.

She had been quiet up to now. "Yes?"

"Your house. Tell us what we need to do and we'll get it done."

"Um...let's wait until after the Festival."

"Aw, come on, Elora," Hunter exclaimed.

"I swear, it's fine."

"Alright. We can wait on building you a new house," Nestor said. "But you still need a place to stay. The old castle will do. We can set up a space for you there."

That was what they were busy with the entire morning. Spyro watched from the top of a hill with his head lowered between his paws. They wouldn't allow him to help. He was burning ferociously on the inside.

Stupid Cynder, he thought, over and over again. Stupid wings…if you knew how to fly on your own, you'd have caught her.

His head pounded with tension. Spyro drug himself into the clearing by the dragon head and flopped down, dozing off with a deep scowl on his face.

The Artisans—Stone Hill

Last night, Cynder had wheeled around in a wide circle after losing Spyro, flying right for the portal back to the Dragon Realms.

She was sure no one had seen her as she soared over the grasslands. The furthest outreaches of Stone Hill had been her destination. She hadn't stopped to rest until she reached the mountains to the far north.

There, she had spotted and flown straight into a dark crevasse. She had hardly been able breathe.

I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here.

She had managed to get to sleep. Presently, she was hiding in an alcove, nervously peering out into the morning.

Something felt wrong. Again. She didn't know what it was this time.

Cynder gathered her wits about her and in a burst of movement, charged out of hiding to take off. A voice locked her wings up in fear.

"Finally. We were getting impatient."

A dozen armored figures suddenly leapt out from the rocks and crags. She was a defector now surrounded by her enemies—the southern fauns.

Cynder was saturated with terror. A figure stood on an overhanging cliffside, broad wings blotting out the sun behind it. She knew it was none other than her fellow dragon, Commander Colidon.