Author's Notes:

Once again introducing another OC, but this time as a viewpoint character. At the time I started writing this, I had just finished a video game and I couldn't help but want to see some of the characters again (especially when the game's entry in FFN is soooooooooo limited).

Note the timeskip. This is not the first time that things happen offscreen and it will not be the last.

Timestamp key: "D" for days, "W" for weeks, "M" for months, "Y" for years, "EM" for early morning, "LM" for late morning, "EA" for early afternoon, "LA" for late afternoon, "EE" for early evening, "LN" for late night, and "AD" for all day. Note that the Realms follows the sexagesimal system for keeping time, just like Earth. (In other words, 60 seconds per minute and 60 minutes per hour.)

Snip category key: There are four categories of snips. "Settling In", "City Life", "Beyond the Wall", and "The Journey Home". All four represent parallel storylines that take place within Aimless, and other than "Settling In", each snip category has at least two subtypes. Those subtypes aren't listed due to potential spoilers.

The characters Vara and Remi were imported from the game Angels with Scaly Wings, with major adjustments to their biographies. Do not expect them to be exactly the same people.

Enjoy!

City Life – Employment

Chapter 27: Teacher's Pet 1-A

"Sometimes the only reason for us to be somewhere else is to see things from a different perspective."

- Leila Summers

[37D/LM]

"Pricklies! Got lots and lots of pricklies here! As loud and spiky as you can get!"

"Loxodon ribs! Spring rabbit pie, and many more!"

"—not bragging when I say I have the finest vegetables in Roughneck! Gepetto stems, stevia leaves, matsum roots, baby frogweeds, as you can see—

"—your bulak scarves, dragon. A rich purple, like the Savior himself! How about some streamers, for your dragonet? They would look so beautiful on him."

An adolescent dragoness ignored the blaring din of the markets. She reached back with her neck to adjust the two pouches laid across her back. She was exhausted from the weight of all the food and produce pushing down on her wings, on her scales. It annoyed her. Dragons were made to wear satchels and chest pouches, not saddlebags!

The dull yellow of mustard colored her eyes. Her gaze swept across the crowd. Many went about their own business in Roughneck, the largest public market in Warfang's Blowout District, but she caught a few strangers staring at her. She was unfazed by their ogling. It wasn't the first time this happened. Most people confused her orchid scales with the rich, bright, and utterly majestic purple of the Savior's, and all the power they conferred. The comments she used to get were flattering when she was a hatchling, and she may have harbored a fantasy or two growing up, but now they were just annoying.

An old tiger approached her when their eyes met. "Huntress shoot me, are you—

Ancestors, why did you do this to me? She sighed. "Sir, my scales are not purple. They're a bit closer to pink, actually."

"Oh." An awkward expression appeared on the stranger's muzzle. "Uhm… Sorry for wasting your time."

"Vara! Varaaaaaa!"

The dragoness straightened. Her finned ears twitched. That was Mother's voice. She wrenched her attention away from the clueless feline, trained her sight several steps ahead, and blanched when she realized the pale yellow lump that was supposed to be in front of her was a quarter in size. "Coming, mom!"

Vara ran, her claws clicking across the cobblestones. The wind caressed the celadon fin on her head, a relaxing feeling that offset the strain on her flanks. Her back was already sore from all the purchasing they've done this morning. At every step her saddlebags jostled, their contents bouncing noisily. She grimaced. When would this end?

"Where were you?" Mother asked. "You just vanished on us!"

"Sorry," Vara answered. "Someone asked about my scales."

"Again?" growled the Electric dragoness. She looked like she was about to breathe hellfire on her. "I've told you so many times, don't pay them any attention! Why didn't you stay close? Your father and I could have chased them away for you."

"But motheeerr!" she complained. "I can't keep up with you two. These bags, they're too heavy! They're straining my wings and they're giving me a backache and they're always sliding out of place and—

Mother snapped, "Stop it! What have I told you about whining?"

Vara shrunk back. Her tail curled in on itself. "That it's disgraceful," she said, dejectedly. "And it's ugly to watch…"

"Especially when it comes from you!I didn't raise my child to be some pathetic whiner. Fly through the stormclouds; don't get your wings all tied up poking your own scales."

"I'm sorry, Mom, but really, I couldn't keep up. You and Dad put a lot of stuff into my bags—

"And that's our fault?"

"H-huh?"

The Electric Dragoness loomed over her. Vara wilted at the sight of her yellow scales, her scarlet dorsal fins, and those angry, angry red eyes. "How dare you! Is it our fault you're almost failing your apprenticeship at the Temple? Is it our fault you're not physically fit enough to carry two bags of meat and vegetables? You can't even channel Ice properly!"

Vara backed away. In her peripheral vision, she noticed people were watching. Some of them were even shopkeepers. "Mother, you're, y-you're causing a scene…"

"Azeroth can go tear their horns off!" Mother yelled. "Don't give me any of that dragon dung again, you hear me?" Vara slunk low to the ground and cowered, unable to reply. She saw the ferocity in her mother's glare and recoiled when she watched the adult raise her paw. "No more stupid excuses. Just suck an egg and deal with it!" Then it descended in a broad, sweeping arc.

Vara shut her eyes and braced for the slap.

.

.

.

"Aiiiee!" She screamed the instant Mother's paw slapped her muzzle. Her claws tore through skin, easily slicing past the scars from wounds long healed. Tiny orchid scales were as shards of broken glass and only Vara could hear them tinkling when they fell and struck earth. A massive force sent the dragoness airborne, and every person in sight watched the adolescent crash on the dusty gravel. Vara's head snapped to one side when she fell, and her mustard eyes saw bright crimson glinting in the sunlight.

She was bleeding.

Heavily.

Thanks to her own mother.

Vara's legs quaked when she pushed herself up. She dug her claws into the dirt. It always hurt when Mother whacked her on the snout. So many times she wanted to fight back, to stand her ground. But she was too powerless, too weak. She couldn't do anything to someone several times her size. Tears welled up from her wide eyes as she threw her gaze around.

Why weren't those people doing anything? Didn't they care? She was barely into her teens. Just a child! They should call the guards!

Mother glowered at her. "Who in the Realms do you think you are? Your father and I have been taking care of you since you were an egg, and now you blame us for your problems?" The dragoness shoved the adolescent to the ground, the yellow paw on her flank not even giving Vara the air to squeak. "You ingrate! What are you, an Ape?"

Vara had long tuned Mother out. Nobody could—nobody would quell her outbursts. She sought out Father. Where was he? Why wasn't he stopping this? Ancestors, this was happening in Roughneck. Roughneck, the largest public market in Warfang! What would the people around them think? Everybody who knew her, her family, they, they would—

Vara recognized her father's ashen scales. Her hope grew when she saw him looking their way. She could see all four horns sprouting from the back of his head, along with the biggest ears she's ever seen on any dragon. Vara raised her paws, reaching for him. Please… help me…

But help never came.

The Wind Dragon had dressed his muzzle with apathy. He acted like nothing was wrong; as a matter of fact he stood back, watching from a distance like all the other strangers.

An indescribable chill shot through her heart. He always did this. Ancestors, Father never did anything, never defending her every time Mother beat the wind. It shocked her to see the coward even allowed this in public! Father never had her neck. Never! Had this happened inside their home, the thought would have brought Vara to tears. But she couldn't show weakness out here. She mustn't show weakness. The other apprentices in her group would learn about this. They all would, and the bullying she got would just get worse when word reached the airstreams.

She gritted her teeth and fought back her sobs. "I'm sorry," she buried her nose in the gravel, ignored the stinging on her bleeding cheek, and pleaded. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. Please, please don't hurt me anymore!"

Vara heaved a sigh of relief when she felt Mother lift her paw from her body. Usually she would hit her or torment her some more until whenever she felt like Vara had suffered enough. Being out in public must have helped. "Exactly what I wanted to hear," the Electric dragoness said. She turned away, not caring a bit when her thick, muscular tail struck the adolescent's snout. "Now get up and fix your saddlebags. We're flying home."

Heading home? Now?

Vara stared up at the sky. The blue sun was roughly a third of the way to the zenith. She paled. Ancestors, she couldn't go home now. The speedway home went away from the Temple. She would miss today's session if she went with her parents.

She couldn't afford that. Her entire future depended on it.

"…No."

Mother whipped around fast, as though she was a Wind Dragon herself. "What, did, you, just, say?"

Vara flinched. "I-I said no, Mother." Fear of being struck on the snout again made her stutter. "I won't, I-I won't, fly home with you." The orchid dragoness inhaled deeply. She had to get the next part out before Mother did something. "There's something I need to do at—

"You thankless piece of dung. Do you want me to hit you? Huh? Huh?" Mother lowered her snout enough for a mole to see the two green bands on it—Ancestors, she forgot it was almost as tall as her!—and shoved her daughter with it, body and all.

The move came with a painful jolt of electricity. It brought her to the brink of capitulation. Don't hit me; don't hit me; please don't hit me!

"Nnn, n-no-no-no! Nuh uh!" She shook her head wildly.

"Then why?" Mother snarled. "What is so important that you won't help your own parents carry the grocery home?"

"I-I-I-I-I-I-have-to-leave-for-the-Temple-now! Th-th-there's going to be re, remedial training soon and-and-and-and I can't miss it. It'll be held by the Pur—

"Flying through that crevice again? Forget it. It's just a waste of time!"

"No it's not! Even the regular apprentices are going. It's different this time!" Vara channeled Ice on the tips of her wings, forming a layer of frost. Spyro himself was going to host the morning sessions. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Egeria's answer to all her prayers! She'd be crazy to let this go without a fight.

Mother raised her muzzle. She flared her wings, and they popped open with a frightening crackle of electricity. "That's what you said last time and you have absolutely nothing to show for it! You're going home with us and that's—

"She's telling the truth."

Both mother and daughter turned to the male voice that finally intervened. It astounded Vara to watch Father break away from the small crowd of observers that had formed around them and close in.

Mother folded her wings and leveled a glare at the intruder. "Don't stop me, Remi. She needs another whack on the snout."

Father narrowed his blue eyes. "I heard Skydancer saying the Purple Dragon is hosting the remedial training today. You know what that means, do you, love?"

His mate remained silent.

"Given everything Master Spyro is balancing on his wings, it's an extremely rare opportunity." The Wind Dragon spoke in a commanding tone. It wasn't something Vara saw often. In fact, this happened no more than once in a red cycle. "Let her go."

A gentle breeze swept their surroundings during this tense moment. "Hmph! Fine." Mother brought her snout down on Vara's saddlebags and picked them up by the strap. She tossed them at him with abandon. "But you're carrying her things, got it?"

"Of course."

Mother turned around and walked past Father, going right through the onlookers as though what just happened was nothing of importance. The crowd dispersed as everyone returned to their business, and the silence the orchid dragoness perceived retreated as the loud, disorderly noise characteristic only to markets like Roughneck returned.

Vara sauntered over to her father, who had already spent the last few seconds rearranging the things in his own saddlebags to make space for hers. A laughably easy task considering one pouch was twice her size.

"Thank you," she said. "I don't think I could've won that one." Vara leaned into her father's chest and wrapped her wings around it. As much as her body allowed.

"I have your neck," he replied. "But you better do well, okay, sweetheart? There's a lot riding on you."

Vara felt numb.

The underlying meaning did not escape her. She knew what that meant. If this desperate gamble of hers failed, Mother would make her pay and Father had no intentions of taking her side.

She choked. "I, I will, Dad," the dragoness said. Emotionlessly.

"You remember where you're supposed to go?"

"Alona Hall."

"Ah, right at the top of the northern spire. The view up there is wonderful." He gave her a stupid grin. If it wasn't for her past experiences with that smile, she couldn't have known how well it masked his true feelings. "Go on, Little Wing. You're running late."

Vara did not need another prompt. She bolted as soon as she heard the words. Dashed in the opposite direction. She ran, away from her father, away from her mother. Her legs and tail ached as she sprinted, maneuvering her sleek, threadlike body through the gaps in the crowd. The throng of people thickened when she approached the brown canopy that harbored the center of Roughneck. The market center was a disorderly maze of narrow aisles lined by stalls of grocers, butchers, and spice vendors, with one overcrowded avenue penetrating straight through the entire arrangement.

But that did not stop Vara's momentum. The adult dragons were easy to spot in the crowd. Their large, lumbering forms were obvious, making it easy to circle around them and avoid their thick, wayward tails. The few gnorcs that were there rivaled the dragons in height, but Vara found it even easier to skirt past them. She ducked under a feline's arm, but at her speed the dragoness barely cleared it, and she felt—faintly—the paper bag they carried brush the tips of her dorsal fin.

"Great Hunt! Watch where you're going, dragon!"

Vara's eyes glimpsed several moles ahead, three-quarters of the way through the market center. They weren't that hard to miss, not with their brown fur, their wide bodies, and most especially their most phlegmatic walking. This was far from the first time the adolescent made a hasty rush from the middle of Roughneck to the Temple, and until now she considered each and every mole an annoying obstruction that couldn't even be vaulted over with wing-assisted leaps. It was illegal after all. The Warfang Council and the city guard made sure of that.

She slowed down to a walk when she fell in step behind them. Vara leaned left and right, looking for a way past them. It was impossible. Free space was scarce under the canopy. People opportunistically snatched it the instant it became available. Vara attempt to circle past the moles more than once, only to be forced back by someone heading in the opposite direction or another pedestrian faster and quicker than her. She let out a frustrated growl. These moles had the pace of a turtle! They should just go back to their own market and stay there. Ancestors, even the Atlawa were faster.

An opening presented itself, appearing between a pair of furry bodies. Vara took it immediately, before someone else could. She dove into the slight opening and squeezed through.

"Eek! My spices!"

"Get back here, you street rat!"

Vara needed to get out of Roughneck, before Mother changed her mind. She may have given her permission with Father's intervention, but who knew what she thought? She was crazy! For all she knew, she could be following her into the market center this very second. And when culture dictated people to give adult dragons a wide berth, the last thing Vara wanted was Mother's easy access to her.

The narrow space, the various body odors mixing in together, all of them pushed Vara to keep going, to keep running. A frown appeared on her muzzle when she felt her pawpads touch water. It was cold. It was grimy. It was also a terrible waste of what should've been drinking water. Disgusting.

Sunlight descended on the dragoness. She was finally out in the open. The Temple loomed in the background, a massive white structure in the very center of Warfang. Vara's wings itched when she saw the open sky. She yearned to snap them open, take off into the air, and soar, for freedom itself beckoned.

"Pricklies! Geeeet your pricklies 'ere!"

"Yeah, they're all screaming for love!"

Vara restrained herself. "Common" dragons like her were not permitted to fly above crowded streets and marketplaces, except in times of war or great distress. It was a privilege given only to dragons bestowed with civil or military authority. All others had to go to a designated VTOL point to take off, and even then, they would all have to follow a fixed flight path denoted by rings, arches, crossbars, rails, lampposts, and other things. Nobody could just deviate from this speedway unless they went so high there was absolutely no chance they would hit anyone by accident.

"Nobody's buying… let's just give up."

"Not until the guards chase us out!"

Vara allowed a small smile to appear on her snout. The queue at her VTOL point was not very long—a handful of dragons at most—and, better, there weren't that many flyers on the speedway. Good timing! She resumed her sprint. Almost out of here. Vara anticipated the wonderful feeling of the wind in her wings, in her fins, caressing her orchid scales. The sanctuary of the open air called for her so many times it was a wonder she wasn't born a Wind Dragon like her father.

"C'mon, people! Why wouldn't you want 'em? They're green, spiky, sturdy—

"LOOK OUT!"

A distracted Vara had little time to acknowledge the Fire Dragoness or the wagon of tall, spiny cacti suddenly appearing in her way. She didn't even notice the peddler's friend until their warning shrieked in her ears.

Vara gasped. Unable to bring herself to a stop, she made a sharp turn instead. Not turning into a pincushion today. Nope, nope, no— "AGH!"

She struck the Fire Dragoness headfirst, crashing into her serpentine body with a loud whump. The leather cords attached to the peddler's body creaked for an instant, almost tipping the wagon before they snapped and popped their buckles off.

Vara got to her feet. Her astonished eyes stared at the peddler and her bright, crimson scales. She appeared to be a monoscale, with five beautiful, ivory horns curling up from her head. Another pair of horns—a metallic, lustrous gold—jutted out from her jaw. Vara quavered. This "cacti dragon" may have been a monoscale, but judging by her healthy figure and the spotlessness of those seven horns—the obvious, painstaking effort put into their care—she might be from a prominent family here. How else could this obviously underage reptile peddle useless garbage like cacti and get away with it? Egeria, she even looked like she could be Vara's age!

And why not? A sinister thought whispered. Blowout is one of Warfang's richest districts...

"By the Ancestors!" She whipped her head around and stopped her jaw from dropping at the sight of a grayscale ogling them from behind the wagon. An 'elementless' dragon cursed by Lifebringer Alona herself. It was the first time Vara ever saw one in her life.

The grayscale raced to his friend, practically shoving the orchid dragoness to the side. "Hey, are you all right?" He nuzzled the peddler's flank. "Talk to me. Come on, get up. Get up."

"H-huh...?" She stirred. "What just, hit me?"

Anxious, Vara backpedaled. For all she knew, she had just struck down the stupid kid of a well-connected family. The last thing she needed was the attention of Warfang's ruling class. She'd never hear the end of it from her parents! Her family wouldn't let her live this down. Nobody would. "I, I, I, I-I-I, I'm really sorry!" Her mind went blank. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!"

"Hey! Don't just leave!"

Vara scrammed to get out of there before the peddler fully recovered or that undragon studied her face and scale color. She ducked her head, unwilling to let even one bystander take a good, long look at her muzzle.

"Come back!"

Vara snubbed the grayscale. She closed her eyes to him and continued her mad dash for the VTOL point. She arrived at the bottom of a long flight of stone steps. She ran upstairs, paying no heed to the worsening ache in all four of her legs. Her tongue dangled out her mouth by the time she arrived at the wide, circular platform on top. She almost sighed from relief, seeing she had it all to herself.

Panting, Vara forced herself to move in spite of her exhaustion. She unfurled her wings, ran, and, holding her breath, kicked off into the air. The wind lifted her high, high above Blowout's tallest structures, until she was level with other dragons on the speedway. Here she could see the Warfang's famous Temple in its full, resplendent glory. Enchanted by magic and built atop the tallest hill in the very center of the city, it was a massive fortress that merged architecture and nature, sporting four domed spires that reached for the faint, green moon hovering in the bright, blue sky of the Dragon Realms.

The dragoness was just about to relax when she remembered what she just absconded from. Worried, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure the grayscale or the City Guard weren't chasing after her. To Vara's relief, they weren't. Thus she soared through the speedway, beating her wings while she trained her unwavering gaze on the Temple's highest tower.

Vara closed her eyes and breathed deep. She savored the weightless moments between every flap of her wings. There was comfort in the way the wind whistled as it passed her dorsal fins. Adventure seemed just around the corner, with the smells of city life—a blend of nature's fragrance and decaying refuse—all mixing randomly together in the air in an odd microcosm of life in general.

Vara thanked the Lifebringer for being a dragon. Blessed with an Element or not, flight belonged only to dragonkind, and many believed it was one of the best gifts Azeroth the Infinite had given their species. Vara would agree with that. Something about being up in the air made every problem in her life as tiny and as insignificant as the world appeared at this height. From here, even adult dragons were smaller than a toe, claw and all. Up here, no one could reach her. Up here, she was safe from Mother's abuse, safe from Father's apathy.

Up here, the expectations unfairly put on her shoulders did not matter.

Vara brought a paw to her muzzle. It stung at her touch. She twitched. The wound had stopped bleeding, but the flesh around it was tender. Raw. It was a grim reminder that she still had problems to face, no matter how much or how high she flew.

Thinking about the abuse she suffered under her parents brought tears to her eyes. Not one day passed without Mother screaming at or hitting her. Father never did anything, always taking Mother's side and cowering at the side like a stranger, a coward.

Yet, even with the ache in her heart, she just couldn't blame both of them. Vara couldn't find it in herself to resent her parents; she understood where they came from.

A long time ago, her family was a household name in Markazia. They were wealthy, with many influential leaders in their long, millennia-old history. During one of her sane moments, Mother once described their family line with such detail that she traced it back all the way to Vulcan the Sunburst Dragon. An Ancestor still remembered—still revered for his mastery of Fire. It was even said that he blew flames with the same color and intensity of the Realms' blue sun.

The War destroyed it all. The city her family called home for centuries, the wealth they had for many generations, and the influence they wielded in Markazia, military and political. Like many other noble families of the time, that all vanished into smoke when the Dark Master rose to power.

A bygone history was all that remained of their family heritage, yet it was the only reason they weren't living in the poverty-stricken districts near the Walls with the other refugees. It also explained the disappointment that flickered in Mother's livid gaze every single time she put her through hell.

Her throat rumbled. If only they understood what it was like to have the fate of the family line rest on their shoulders, and to constantly fail these expectations. Life wouldn't have been so terrible if they were just a bit more supportive!

Ancestors, the remedial training with the Purple Dragon better be worth it. This was her last shot. If she failed her shaping exercises again, it would spell the end of her apprenticeship. She would be personally responsible for giving her distinguished bloodline that last, final push into obscurity. Vara narrowed her eyes. A determined glare. That wasn't happening, not when she still had a chance.

The Temple was close now. When Vara passed over the White Steps a few seconds later, she separated from the speedway. Beating her wings, above the glowing crossbars she climbed. Higher and higher, until only the four towers of the Temple remained in sight. She had her eyes set on the tallest of them all, trailing behind a few other dragons. They were troubled apprentices desperate for a miracle, just like her.

A VTOL point awaited Vara at the very top. It was a flat platform that jutted out the tower, as fully exposed to the weather as a stuck-out tongue. She circled the tower for a few minutes, until it was her turn to land.

The currents up here were wild, unstable. It took some skill to touch down without making a fool of herself. Her claws scraped the platform from the momentum alone, and thankfully she had folded her green wings before a gust of wind came and blew her right off.

Vara ambled inside, through the large, open hole at the edge of the tower. It was wide enough for two adults could stand side by side. Howling gusts buffeted her tail and fins, sweeping them to the side. Stone rails ran down the edges of the path, but Vara doubted they could stop someone from literally being blown back into the air.

The wind did not relent. It in fact strengthened just as she went past the supporting columns. Vara released the breath she'd been holding, her eyes panning the room ahead. The rails spread out from the edge of the path to line the cavernous opening. Clearly a measure to prevent the so-called "lesser species" from accidentally being blown right off to their doom. From her experience just now Vara had a feeling it wouldn't work, but she figured the politicians thought that was better than nothing.

The path she was on sloped downward from where she stood. It was a ramp. A runway for dragons rushing to take off in strict, military fashion. The ramp led to a flat, open area, much like Proudtail's arena, but without the walls or the many-sided crystal that summoned the golems. And just like in Proudtail, raised seats with headrests and walking space hugged the walls and gave anyone seated there a good view of Spyro the Dragon giving his lecture.

Once the Legend himself arrived, of course.

Many pairs of eyes ogled Vara when she walked in. No doubt many of them still wondered if she was a purple dragon (how annoying). From what she could see, she counted a little less than twenty dragons loitering in Alona Hall. The majority waited for the Savior, patiently lying down in the middle of the floor. Some rested on the raised seats, engrossed in their own business. She glimpsed a pair of dragons at the back nuzzling and rubbing bodies together, blind to the world.

Vara's eyes swept the hall a few more times. She welcomed the relief that came from seeing only pairs upon pairs of indifferent stares. No condescending sneers were sent her way. Nobody approached her with the intent to put her down. In fact, she couldn't recognize anybody here. Sure, there was vague recognition of the few dragons who were in the same batch as her, but nobody she personally knew.

That was a good thing. Vara did not have any bullying to worry about after she picked one of the seats in the farthest of the back rows (and naturally as far away as possible from the two lovers) and glided there. The dragoness walked in a circle out of habit before laying down. Vara couldn't help but ponder what sort of things they would do later as she stared passively out the cavern and the landscape beyond.

Shaping exercises were definitely a given. Everybody in Warfang looked up to the Purple Dragon for his deeds, for his natural mastery in the Elements. Vara doubted he was going to touch down and shoot out lectures on social etiquette or combat strategy for a group of struggling apprentices. The idea of doing shaping exercises terrified the dragoness. While just about any dragon her age and current level of progress could conjure blades of ice from mana, Vara could barely create frost, let alone spit out sharp icicles with her breath. She had very little talent for her Element. The theories that governed elemental magic and their channeling actually interested her far more than the act of channeling itself, even though their practical value was limited. Not surprising, considering people would rather become knights over scholars. The entire system was even structured this way, with those who could fight and dominate rewarded with leadership and positions of great authority.

Vara sighed. Pushing her family line back into relevance seemed impossible. Maybe it would be easier if... if she focused on getting better? On not being the family disappointment? Maybe Mother would be less abusive when she got better?

...yeah. That was right: small steps first. Aim for the most immediate goal she can achieve, and worry about the rest as she flies along. Vara felt her confidence coming back. She could do that. She could definitely do that.

"He's here!"

"The Savior's here!"

"Ancestors, finally!"

Vara looked up from her seat. Her gaze focused on the adult dragon touching down on the VTOL point jutting out from Alona Hall. His scales were a rich, vivid purple. It shimmered, radiating with enough power that it gave the dragon an overwhelming presence that drew Vara's—that drew everyone's full attention. It was nothing like Vara's orchid scales.

"So that's the Purple Dragon," she murmured. It was different, seeing him up close and personal. From below, from her insignificant point of view, he was unreachable. Untouchable. A fallen noble like her would never, ever cross paths with the great hero of the War.

The Savior stood tall on the landing pad. He did not move. The horrific winds out there were as a gentle, tickling breeze to him. He padded over towards them, his posture possessing all the regality of a king and his gaze, the dignity of a legendary hero. Vara's eyes hardened from jealousy. If only she was like that. If only she had even a bit of his talent!

The apprentices assembled together in rigid discipline the second they all realized Spyro was walking in.

"Clear skies," he greeted from the top of the stone ramp.

They replied, "Steady winds!"

"You're all that excited to see me, huh?" The Savior chuckled. "I can't blame you for feeling that way. All of you must think I'm an unreachable existence and that you'll never be able to meet me in the eyes."

He sauntered down. "But that's not true. My life began in a swamp; I didn't know what the Elements were, let alone how to channel one. I did not even know how to fly. I only started figuring it all out when I turned twelve and found out a lot of people wanted me dead for reasons I didn't understand back then."

Vara's attention trailed off as Spyro continued on his little speech. She knew what it was all for and did not care for it. Because inspired or not, the truth was that everything still depended on individual ability. It was an inescapable fact. The dragoness's interest instead centered on something else.

Something she had just noticed.

The Purple Dragon was alone.

That was unusual. Weren't both Saviors together all the time? The two were practically inseparable. As a matter of fact, every morning anyone in Warfang would see Spyro and Cynder patrolling the city. Black and purple streaks, crisscrossing each other in the sky.

Spyro did not give Vara any time to ponder this. A loud, whooshing sound interrupted her thoughts and she—with everyone else—looked up at the great hero. The dragoness couldn't figure out what Element he used. "Now that I have everyone's attention." His gaze panned Alona Hall; Vara shivered when they briefly made eye contact. "As I was saying, we will focus on channeling." She cringed; she was hoping he wouldn't say that. "Knowing the theory of elemental magic is all well and good, but if you cannot channel your Elements properly, you won't be able to apply it in practice. You may not even survive when life demands it of you.

"It goes without saying that channeling requires shaping exercises." A loud groan emanated from the group. Vara couldn't help joining them. "Complaining won't change facts. Each and every use of your Element requires you to tap into your core, reach for your mana within, and draw it out. If you can't do the exercises right, you'll never make progress with your Element." The Savior paused and took in all the frowns, grimaces, and pouts being thrown at him from all sides. "I understand it takes a lot of work, but think of it this way: we are lucky to be dragons. Just like flight, Elemental magic is deeply connected to our instincts. Theory is less important for us; shaping is more a tool for refining your ability than it is a way to understand the Element you were hatched with.

The adult dragon asked the group, "Any questions?"

Vara had words fly up her tongue. Why was it so important to master an Element? That had nothing to do with leadership, with studying, with things normal people did. Couldn't someone be terrible at their Element but respected for something else they're good at?

Vara couldn't make those questions take off. How could she? Nobody dared to question the Purple Dragon. That would be stupid! He was one of the most cherished people in the entire continent... in all the Realms! Even Skylands wanted him to join the Skylanders Corps. Vara? She was a nobody. She knew her place.

That did not stop the others from trying to satiate their curiosity.

"Master Spyro, is everything all right with Lady Cynder? I don't see the two of you together—

"—can't believe the Furless Ape still lives, and he's here in the Temple! Why haven't you or the Guardians killed—

"—by a highflyer from Skylands! And it's a Portal Master. A Portal Master! Visiting the Furless Ape! Master Spyro, please tell us that isn't—

Alona Hall suddenly rumbled. Everyone went quiet as the earth shuddered and stopped the assault. "QUIET!" Spyro growled. "I know Warfang is flying through turbulence these days, and I don't blame you for poking your snouts into this, but Ancestors, stop! We're not here to waste time on pointless speculation on things that have nothing to do with any of you in the first place. Is that clear?"

Nobody replied.

"Good. Now, does anyone have questions related to what we're doing this morning?"

"…No, Master Spyro," chimed the apprentices. They presented a single, united front.

Spyro nodded. "Right. Everyone, spread out and work on the standard exercises for your Element. I will approach you one by one and assess your ability in some simple techniques."

The apprentices scattered all over the clearing in Alona Hall as soon as he made that announcement. Several dragons, Vara included among them, raced for the very edge, just before the stone seats. After all, nobody wanted to be first! They would barely have any time for prac—

Spyro chuckled, "Look at you all! I'm giving you a few minutes to practice. No need to lose your scales! Just don't think I'll slowly work my way out to the back." He grinned.

Vara did not like that grin. She gave up her "prime position" at the opposite end of the open area to a very enthusiastic apprentice. That enthusiasm would die minutes later when Spyro chose him first for his assessment. But for the moment, the dragon was happy with his luck while the dragoness who relinquished her place picked another spot at random. It wasn't that close to Spyro, but it wasn't that far in the back either.

Hopefully she would have enough time.

Author's Notes:

Another chapter of world-building. God I love this stuff.

Replies to reviews:

Hextor (guest). Gibberish! XD

389898 (guest). Thanks. I wouldn't know. Ask someone on dA to commission her anthro form for you. Don't forget to tag it properly so I can check it out. XD

Captain Caboose (guest). They already know what sort of position Joshua held in his old life on Earth (which is pretty insignificant, to say the least). Volteer probably wouldn't care until Joshua actually got one of humanity's inventions to work, even on a primitive level. I can see Joshua and Kilat doing something like this together at some point. It's been hinted at, anyway.

Draykat the half-dragon mage. Welcome back and thanks for the review! Actually, I don't know! Seriphos isn't my OC. He's Riverstyxx's character. You may have seen her works Firelight and Balefire, or if you've been around long enough, you may have also come across Residual Darkness or Tears of an Oracle. Check 'em out – especially Firelight and Balefire. They're awesome.

Bioshock reference felt forced to me… thanks for liking it though!

No comment on Getsuga's "offer". It's intended to be hazy; I'm just having fun with y'all here. I don't want to spell things out until I feel like it's the right time to do so. I enjoy seeing the speculation, and I'm always torn whenever I see someone call out something correctly.

SnickerToodles. Wow! So many reviews! I'm not gonna summarize my replies here. They're all in our PM conversations anyway. :P But still, thanks a lot! Really! I appreciate it. Oh, and congratulations on finishing your story! It was a great ride through and through.

Vulpix's flame. Have you read The Interloper yet? What do you think of it?

TheKingOfGames1001. You're probably reading too deep into it. Thanks for the review, still.

Verdauga. Thanks for the review. You… weren't expecting to still like this story in the later chapters? *confused*

LoNeWoLf (guest). Well… given that SnickerToodles and I are friends and my OC happens to be a (closet) fanfiction reader, it makes sense to throw out references. And yeah, Joshua's partially disabled since the arm's barely functional even though it's still alive. It requires… extensive physical therapy to get it back to shape again, but Joshua won't have the luxury of having something like that done for him, not for a while.

Fanfiction Scrutinizer. Thanks. I hope this one was a treat too! And you're totally right! The golem does not have a life force.

Da Thinker. Thanks for the review. Yes, it does react to attacks like those.

Anon 1 (Guest). Sorry to disappoint you then. XD I'm still exploring Joshua's first month in Warfang, sooooooo I'm moving from thing to thing.

StarRay1000. Thanks so much for the review!

Some Random Guy (Guest). Thanks for the review! Heh, nobody else picked up the Flintstones reference. We're old! F*CK.

Edmonton58. Correct, there. Dragons rely on their instincts to control the Element (Spyro stated it himself in this chapter), the way driving becomes instinctive after a few months of doing it every day. The Unknown Element is the complete opposite and instead requires focus all the time.

Piston24. Ooooh never played any of 'em? Hope you started on your playthroughs after the last chapter. How's your progress? Always aim for 100%! The game is more fun that way. XD Thanks for your review!

Guest 1 (Guest). If that's what you think, then, m'kay. To each their own! Ba-bye. Just wait for the next human-in-the-realms story to come along. There'll always be another one. Maybe that one will be the kind of story you (probably?) want. :D

Somas35. Uhm… in case you haven't noticed, I've been doing a lot of world-building lately, which means OCs, unnecessary subplots, nice-to-know trivia, and other stuff. The story's just entertaining, and honestly, that's what I'm trying to do. Sure, there is a level of progression to all this (there is a timestamp after all), but it's a bit slow. However, I do try very, very hard keeping the stuff here "feeling real". A lot of fics have disappointed me that way.

Yes, the story is real. The other reviewers have mentioned it and the author of that story has left reviews here herself. It's The Impossible Sky by SnickerToodles.

Keyblader Zen. Thanks for your comments re: Getsuga. I was afraid she would be OOC in my hands. And yep, Volteer knew he messed up there. The High School AU bit was a reference to every HS AU I've had the misfortune of reading. SuperMutant!Joshua sounds hilarious. XD

Hitler's Moustache. If there's something you should focus on, it's the absolute certainty that Joshua is and always will be the only human being residing in the Dragon Realms. :D

Re: The Interloper. I know, right!? I didn't really take Aimless that seriously until I saw the review/visitor count go up and eventually surpass The Interloper. Still pisses me off, honestly. I have been wanting to update that story, but I keep getting writer's block whenever I have the Word file open on my computer.

Djax80. …I don't even see him ever attaining "max level" on a permanent basis. LOL

Bizzleb. Thanks for the review again, bizzleb! I hope you liked this chapter too, seeing as how we literally have a new perspective through another Warfang dragon.

Can't deny Kilat those points! Just too cute~ aww