Aimless

by The Silent Insomniac

Joshua Renalia finds himself lost in the Dragon Realms with nothing but his sleeping clothes, his knowledge of Spyro lore, and a power beyond his understanding. Cut off from all he knows, the human discovers Spyro's world is alien, unforgiving, brutally shattering his naive expectations. How long can he live here before going insane? Is there a way back home? Why is he even here?

42. (Settling In) (41D) Convention End

Author's Notes:

Direct continuation of the previous chapter. The whole thing clocks in at 12K. Whew! Not too long.

Stryker has a message for y'all too: Strykeruk here, hello again everyone. Still here helping to keep Silent's grammar on point, mostly. I know that sometimes the chapters can seem disconnected and random but fear not! There is indeed a greater plan at work and it will start to slot together as time advances. Enjoy the chapter :D

There is one indeed, Stryker. But… you do realize you haven't seen it yet, right? XD And the outline doesn't cover much of the slice-of-life stuff I've got mapped out.

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.

Enjoy!

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Settling In

Chapter 42: Convention 2 (Final)

"A goal without a plan is just a wish."

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

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[41D/EA]

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For what it was, Conillion Hollow was enormous. The group already passed similar establishments of its kind, along with other restaurants and taverns, and they were all, well, quite small.

Cynder was neither an architect nor a merchant but she did have more common sense than her mate. So while she couldn't exactly get a rough estimate of the exact space, she knew the other places was designed for other bipeds.

After all, the space normally allotted to one adult dragon reclining on a cushioned platform could seat a table of six to eight bipeds. At a glance, Cynder sensed these places would, at best, fit about thirty—maybe forty adults when utilized to its full capacity. Once she peered through the gaping window of a tavern that doubled as a luxury inn and saw a mixed crowd, which only had ten fully-grown dragons among them.

Conillion Hollow, on the other paw, was built for dragonkind.

As Cynder and Volteer approached the establishment they saw a few lounges of dragons—small families—relaxing in the garden, basking in the afternoon sun as though they were cold-blooded ferals. Scattered amongst them, seated on the grass, were small groups of the other species, some entire families and others just groups of friends, a few of which included dragons in their middle or late adolescence.

Many of them looked at Cynder, Volteer, and their entire entourage when they walked along the stone path, claws slowly bringing the whole group of high-flyers and their knights to the door—a huge slab of wood leading into the building, easily double the size of the doors in Warfang Temple's Residential Area. Cynder concentrated her gaze, refusing to look at the people relaxing in the front yard. Fortunately for her, her powers did not have Joshua's empathic ability.

Emerine scurried to the door and slid it open. Cynder failed to hide her surprised expression as she ogled Conillion Hollow's interior.

It was full of people, and the majority were dragons.

Every reptile in sight rested on stone platforms elevated as high as Volteer's and Emerine's ankles, the pedestals decorated with inert, non-magical jewels that shone lustrously thanks to the bright, glowing crystals in the ceiling. Marble slabs of rock rested in between groups of these platforms. They were tables, Cynder realized while she watched one of the dragons reach for a wide plate on their slab. It was topped with seasoned meat, cooked to a delicious golden brown. Cynder could already perceive the tender, juicy cuts just waiting to be eaten. Its odour mixed in with the rest of the food, mingling with all the wonderful smells trapped inside Conillion Hollow. Sweet, savory, delectable.

The scene repeated itself everywhere she gazed, even in the areas allotted to the bipeds, in their smaller tables but larger groups. There were even small platforms made for bipeds, as though the owner thought it was better for them to mimic the dragons and lay down. Cynder estimated roughly one-third of the available space was taken up this way.

Only when her eyes acclimated to the organized chaos inside Conillion Hollow did she discern several Moles scuttling about the floor. Plates of seasoned meat rested on their hands and forearms, masterfully distributed to each table with well-practiced efficiency. Gavinus had even employed a few bears to work for him, who roamed around the qawa house. Some had quills, taking orders on strips of paper. Others were servers just like the moles, and curiously they had fancy-looking saucers with ceramic bowls large enough for adult dragons to cup between both forepaws.

A kind of varnish made the bowls glossy, and the extra shine served to accentuate the dark brown liquid within them.

"Here you go, esteemed friend!" said a bear to one of the rhynocs seated next to the open window. The rhynoc wasn't as bulky or muscular like those Cynder's seen at the Temple, but this one was accompanied by another—a female—and both looked affluent enough to fit in Lodestar District. "A bowl of our signature qawa, dragon-sized as you requested."

"Where are flowers?"

The server saw a mole coming his way, who had a jar and a pair of tongs in his paws. The bear took the tongs, reached into the jar, and drew out dried, blue flowers from within. Two or three were bundled together with what appeared to be a dark stem, perhaps from the same plant. "Here they are," he said before dropping it all in. The bundle sank like a stone. "Remember, steep the blue colimen flowers for about three, five minutes to infuse maximum sweetness." He gestured to a wooden spoon placed on the saucer. "And don't forget to swirl it around, to spread the taste." He gave the rhynoc couple a bow. "We hope you enjoy our qawa."

The Savior eyed the bowl. Almost every patron in Conillion Hollow was drinking this dark brown liquid. Even the ones outside had bowls (or cups) of this drink. She sniffed, knowing she could smell them from the door. Its bitter and tangy odor permeated the dining hall in its entirety. Her earholes also caught the sound of liquid boiling, bubbling in a saucepan held above a hot fire behind a counter on the far end of the hall. A Fire Dragon was sitting nearby on his haunches, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth quivering, as though struggling not to yawn.

Cynder ran her gaze from right to left. On the other side of the dining hall were stairs leading up to the second level, as well as a couple doors flanking the counter at the back. The walls were almost bare, as though highlighting the few paintings on the wall (each depicting a mythical ancestor) or mechanical ornaments that, Cynder assumed, were related to making the dark, brown liquid served in this place. The wood was shiny, free from dust and cobwebs. Whoever managed this place may not have put much emphasis on decor, but the attention to cleanliness was on par with the Temple.

Volteer inhaled the air. A content sigh left his maw. "Ahhhh, the smell of freshly brewed qawa. Mm, mm!" He smacked his chops. "It's been many red cycles since my last bowl."

A dragon passing by a few platforms noticed them. He trotted over, a smile on his muzzle. "Oh, if it isn't Lady Cynder and Master Volteer!"

Cynder eyed his features. His scales matched the varnished wood making up Conillion Hollow. She studied his snout; that smile appeared sincere. If this Earth dragon had problems with the "Terror of the Skies" being there like the other guests, it didn't show.

"Clear skies!" he trilled. "We've been expecting you."

"Steady winds," Volteer replied. "You know, for the life of me I simply, utterly cannot recall how difficult it was to find Conillion Hollow."

"We wasted half an hour looking for this place," snapped Emerine, looming above server. "You could've sent someone to show us the way!"

For a split second, the server revealed his true emotions and blanched. His tail shot upwards and stiffened. The Dragon Knight loomed above him, a mere adolescent with absolutely zero life experience. Cynder wouldn't be wrong if she guessed the little whelp was raised within the bubble of safety that was Warfang, for the Apes had never, even once, came close to touching this city.

Though they might have, had it not been for Spyro.

The dragoness returned from her thoughts upon noticing a shift in movement. She realized she had missed Emerine's exchange with the server, who had somehow managed to calm the irritated knight.

"A-alright," stammered the server, the twitching of his muzzle painfully obvious. He evaded Emerine's, Volteer's, even Cynder's eyes whenever possible. "The r-r-rest of your group is waiting for you in our priv, o-our private courtyard." He skipped ahead and craned his neck back, beckoning them to follow, entourage and all. "Please, p-please follow me."

The Earth dragon led the way. It wasn't hard; his brown scales were a stark contrast to the brighter colors of Conillion Hollow's patrons, and the person who designed the layout of the common room made sure it was easy to navigate around the stone platforms. The many tails and wings sticking out in the open could've made the trip a bit trickier than expected, but with the scene they caused simply by being such a large and conspicuous group, every reptile in their path curled their limbs inward to avoid the unlucky, if humiliating, scene of having the city's high-flyers breathing hellfire down their scaly hides.

Cynder matched the Guardian's pace and asked Volteer, "What did she say to him? He's staring at tornadoes!"

"It was simple persuasion," he said. "She says they ignored our status for the mere reason that Terrador and Gavinus are close friends and made several unacceptable assumptions concerning our visit. I am in total, complete, absolute concurrence with her assertions, albeit I do not condone her veiled statement of possibly escalating this instance of conflict resolution to physical violence—

"I'm sorry for interrupting, Master Volteer. You may fly in circles all you want," spoke Emerine, who made sure her armuor clanked and shifted as loudly as they could with every step. "But it is indisputable that fear is an enormous motivator for respectful treatment."

"Perhaps," Volteer answered back. "Though I prefer inspiration. It is far more authentic, more permanent—

"More difficult," Emerine added.

"That too," he said. The dragon smirked at her. "You know, I've never met a dragoness who can keep up with me like this."

A deep, rumbling chuckle flew out her throat. "Heh. Erudition isn't exactly something you use to pull in the common dragon, Master Volteer. Maybe you should fly out more, instead of staying in the Temple all day, red-eight to black? You aren't the only Guardian and Joshua's safety is guaranteed with all the protocols we set up around him."

Volteer sighed. "I, I will... I'll deliberate on it."

"Please do. So, I take it you're flying with me on the use of fear and discipline as a tool of motivation?"

"Ancestors, no! Emerine, the fear of loss mustn't exceed the joy of victory! Inspiration can provide what fear absolutely, positively cannot. Otherwise, the Apes would have long overrun Markazia with their barbaric way of life..."

Cynder snorted. Poor Volteer. If he could only stop thinking so much, the old dragon might just realize the opportunity hovering so close to his talons.

Dissociating her mind from the conversation between the two, Cynder focused on her surroundings as the server led them past the many platforms erected in the common room. She stuck her muzzle towards the bowls of this dark liquid sloshing in those beautiful, luxurious bowls whenever the opportunity presented herself. She took deep, probing breaths. There was something about its unique smell that enraptured her.

The dragoness shoved her way beyond Volteer and Emerine. She followed the server closely. Her mouth watered at the sight and smell of the dishes laid out in the middle of each group. Her eyes wandered even to the bipeds sitting uncomfortably on chairs carved from solid rock or hard wood, hunched over their cups and plates. That the patrons reclining on the cushioned platforms were treated considerably better than those seated at the tables never touched Cynder's mind. Never broke through the barrier of curiosity stemming from deep within, slowly but surely transforming into want. Into desire...

"You look like you've never had qawa before, Lady Cynder," the server voiced.

Cynder hissed. "I, uhm... I, well... that's true." She sniffled in the hopes of hiding her embarrassment.

"Azeroth's cloaca! You? The Savior? Hero of the Dragon Realms? I can't believe it; you're pulling my tail!"

"I'm not lying! I've never had kwa-wa—

"It's kwa-hua," he enunciated. "Kwa-hwa. Be a little slower on the second syllable."

"Qawa," Cynder verbalized. When she repeated the word again, she smiled. Finally got it. But Ancestors help her, this word didn't roll off her tongue easily.

"Hmm, so you're wondering what qawa is, are you?"

"Not only that," she replied. "I want to know why everybody's drinking this thing too. How does it even taste? Why are they all putting flowers in it?"

"Steeping blue colimen flowers in qawa removes the bitterness and has a transformative effect on its taste," the server said. "According to Master Gavinus, qawa is a bitter liquid made from wild berries the atlawa gather in Tall Plains. It is roasted in fire for a few hours before it is crushed and milled into a fine powder." His tail pointed to a door on the wall, opposite the stairs to the left of the counter. "He hires mercenaries to bring cartloads of qawa powder into Warfang every few cycles. We keep boxes of them in there."

As though rehearsed, a Mole emerged from the door, a box half their size in their hands. The laborer lugged the thing a couple wingspans to the back of the counter. They laid it next to the Fire Dragon watching over the heated saucepan and, before returning to wherever they worked, inspected a large barrel by climbing a step ladder and opening the lid. Cynder noticed the Mole nod to themselves before scurrying along.

"The qawa powder is mixed with water in a pan. We heat it up and, once the temperature's right, we stir that until the powder completely dissolves. Fiamme over there"—he gestured to the dragon behind the counter, who had just inserted his tail into the saucepan—"is in charge of all that. He also keeps the qawa heated; the stirring he's doing every now and then ensures the heat is spread evenly throughout the mix."

"That sounds like a very involved process."

"It is! Otherwise Master Gavinus would have opened qawa houses in the outer districts long ago!" The server laughed. "He'll say it's for 'spreading the joy of qawa to everybody in the city', but if you ask me, he's as shrewd as a bear."

"Do you have to heat it?" asked Cynder. "If you had an Ice Dragon you could have this chilled."

"We discussed iced qawa with him before. He detested the idea! He insists qawa tastes better when hot. I find it strange; he's an Ice Dragon himself..."

"Do people always put the, the, uh, colimen, flowers in their qawa?"

"Most, but not all. I've seen a few patrons who apparently enjoy the bitter flavor." He shuddered in distaste.

"Is taste the only reason they're drinking this?"

"No, Your Grace. Many of our daily patrons swear qawa helps them soar through the day with tailwinds pushing their wings. They say it wakes up the senses—improves focus—enhances mental alertness. I'd say it's like magic, but Conillion Hollow hasn't had the opportunity of serving a spellcaster..."

Cynder hummed. A drink she hadn't heard of before in the four years she's lived in Warfang. The effects it had on other people sounded miraculous to her ears, seemingly replicating a few spells known only to magicians with pure physical phenomena. She licked her chops. Hopefully she'd get to try a bowl today.

The Earth dragon tittered. It broke her thoughts. "You are drooling, Lady Cynder," he said.

Cynder blinked. "N-n-no, I didn't! You saw nothing!"

"Ha!" he barked. "Whatever you say, Your Grace. I doubt Master Gavinus will let you out of Conillion Hollow without your tongue tasting a single drop of his qawa, but if he ever forgets, I'll definitely get you a couple bowls."

"Two bowls? Isn't that a bit too much?"

"You think we flavor our qawa with just blue colimen flowers? You have many options, Lady Cynder, like sea salt..."

As the server listed a few more flavoring choices for her, Cynder's eyes locked with those belonging to the Fire Dragon watching over the qawa brewing over the fire pit behind the counter.

The reptile was glaring at her. His orange spheres bore in her direction. He did not say a word, yet his anger—his hate—his contempt was palpable from this distance. Only when Cynder felt his spiteful glower tickle her black, ebony scales did she realize he was not the only one staring.

So were the other guests in the qawa house.

Her eyes fluttered around the common room as the Earth dragon led Cynder and the rest of her group closer to the door to the right. Three out of every four pairs of eyes ogled her with the same intensity as the Fire Dragon's. The mood became more somber the longer she lingered here.

Cynder didn't know how many would have actually tried something, but the fact she wasn't alone gave the Savior relief, knowing none of these stupid eggs had the liver to cause trouble with so many of her friends and allies nearby. That not everybody ogled her with the same intensity and revulsion consoled her too, if just a little.

"This way," the server said, arriving at the door beside the stairway. Designed for dragons, like the wooden doors in the Temple, the server raised his paw and inserted his talons into the slot at breast level. The door not so much slid as it glided sideways silently, revealing a hallway carved from stone and two columns of armored knights standing guard beside the walls.

Cynder recognized their muzzles. All were knights from Talonpoint Keep, and all formed part of Cyril's, Terrador's, and Councilor Tuconsis's security detail.

The passage ahead led to tall, wide double doors made from ebony wood. Lacking the wide-open windows of the common room the tan walls were illuminated by glowing crystals, much like the subterranean hallways of the Temple.

Columns jutted out from the walls, appearing just large enough for bipeds to hide behind. Cynder suspected it was a deliberate feature, meant to house archers or swordsmen in the event of an assault. Many places in the central districts were like this, and it wasn't surprising at the very least. Warfang's bitter, centuries-long war had only ended four years ago and its marks ran deep.

The key difference between the underground halls of the Temple and the inner passage of Conillion Hollow was the austerity of the former. Little thought was given to the aesthetics of the Temple, with the Moles and Bears running the place accentuating function over form. Gavinus, the master of this qawa house, had installed a bit of grandeur over the years he's lived in the City of Dragons.

Curtains ran along both corners of the ceiling, going from column to column, guiding Cynder and her fellow visitors along the way. The crystals lighting up the walls were not only set on pedestals beautifully crafted from the finest wood harvested from Summer Forest, but also sculpted themselves by an expert craftsman, for each jewel had the same image and likeness of the green dragon statue that greeted every patron of Conillion Hollow.

"This place looks fancy," muttered Cynder in passing. Volteer's and Emerine's voices followed in after her, doubtlessly still engaged in some hypothetical argument. She paid no attention to them. Being in front meant her annoyance shouldn't be obvious to them.

The server heard her. "To make the place feel more like a home," he replied.

"Is it for visitors like us?"

"Partially. Master Gavinus lives on the second floor, but the other workers tell me duty often pulls him down here."

She chuckled. "Guess he can't stand it if the place feels too much like the Temple."

"Precisely." The server stopped before the double sliding doors. "Anyway, here we are." He waited for the rest of their group to catch up with them. Once Volteer settled next to Cynder—Emerine had apparently recognized the situation and promptly held herself back—the Earth Dragon guiding them through Conillion Hollow stomped his tail.

"Lady Cynder, Master Volteer, wait while I let them know you're here."

Without saying another word, the server faced forward once more. Cynder expected the dragon to put his paws on the doors and slide them open, as he had done when they entered this passage. Instead, his brown scales momentarily took on a green shine as light enveloped his body for a split second. The Savior couldn't figure out what he did; in a fit of curiosity, she turned her head sideways to the left and right and saw the halls going further ahead. Perhaps the length of six adult dragons, before they turned the corner to Ancestors knew where.

Only when scratching sounds and the telltale clicks and cracks of some mechanism being undone did Cynder realize what the server did. She faced forward and quietly waited for the ebony doors to slide open. She felt as though she stood before a cliff in the middle of the night. Who knew what lurked for her beyond? Who knew how the winds would push and pull at her wings? The flight plan, wrought with uncertainty, as the darkness hid everything from sight.

The Savior gulped. Calm down, she urged herself. Joshua's depending on you. This flight's got to be done right.

What felt like one full nerve-wracking minute passed before whoever fidgeted with the doors from the other side finally met success. Both doors slid open with an ear-splitting shriek. One to the left, and one to the right. A bulky Ice Dragon stood in the doorway, his orange wings and golden underbelly practically blocking the view of the courtyard, with both arms outstretched. Cynder's eyes dilated at the size of their forearms. They were huge! Ripped with muscle, perhaps as hard as literal boulders.

"Ancestors' Rumps! This stupid door!" the big dragon grumbled. Those powerful arms of his flexed once, and the doors were literally forced open. They fell off whatever held them at bay. Someone would come and fix this later, Cynder belatedly realized while she watched the Ice Dragon fall on all fours. She had only begun studying the intricate patterns painted—no, carved right onto his scales when she forced herself to pry her eyes off of them and look at the dragon welcoming them.

The nose ring clamped onto his muzzle was the first thing she saw. Cynder opened her maw. "Hi—

Only for the server to beat her to it. "Clear skies, Master Gavinus," he said with a respectful bow. The Earth Dragon sidestepped and raised his left forepaw to gesture at Cynder and her group. "Presenting our Savior Lady Cynder, the Electric Guardian Master Volteer, and their escorts."

Gavinus rounded his eyes on them. He approached them, paws thumping noticeably on the carpet running along the floor. Cynder might have marveled at the fabric's resilience, at having resisted scratches, if she hadn't seen the round, wooden... something embedded in his horns.

Are those... are those plugs?

Cynder's thoughts only had a couple of seconds to process the very first horn plugs she's ever seen in her life—the things people pull from the air nowadays!—before the master of Conillion Hollow hummed. "Well... I'm glad I'm not the one fixing that!" Gavinus crooked his head at their server-turned-guide. "Lupad! Steady winds. Thanks for guiding our high-flyers. I'll take it from here. I need you more in the common room."

"Yes, Master Gavinus."

As the Earth Dragon turned and briskly walked back the way they came, the Ice Dragon called, "Get Karsten to come and fix the latches!" He erupted into a fit of laughter. "Tell him Gavin broke another stubborn door in this old fortress!"

"He'll be mad, you know."

"So what? Gintomyr the Prosperous, the old bear's getting paid for it! What kind of ursine shirks away from easy coin?"

Lupad plodded back to the door without saying a word. Once he was beyond earshot, Gavinus gyrated to face Cynder, Volteer, and the rest of their lounge. Cynder couldn't help noticing the saddlebags hanging over him. They were full. They even had a couple more sacks tied to the straps.

"Sorry you had to watch that," said the master of the house. "This place has been in my family for a generation and repairs aren't always perfect. I just hate it whenever the doors get stuck."

His thick tail slapped the floor. Gavinus fluidly leaned back then sat on his haunches. He coughed. "Ahem. Esteemed guests of Conillion Hollow, clear skies to all of you." He gave the party a deep, reverent bow. "I am Gavinus, master of the best qawa house in Lodestar District—no, in all of Warfang!" He smirked at Cynder. "Cynder, Terry tells me you hate formalities. Like me! So, you can call me Gavin and I hope everyone else follows your lead."

The dragoness was unused to the cordial, if respectful, approach. "Uhm..." She felt everyone's eyes tickling her black and maroon scales. Even Volteer stayed quiet. Alona, he had to make this awkward. She smacked her chops. "Then thanks for the welcome, Gavin. I hope we aren't that late. We got lost at Meredy Square and had to ask around for directions before we finally found your qawa house." Yeesh, that word didn't come out right.

If Gavin was offended by her mispronunciation, he didn't show it. "I knew it!" He blurted. "I knew I should've sent someone to wait for you." One of his wings popped open as the burly Ice Dragon stepped aside and gestured at the group waiting further inside the compound. Cynder had just enough time to see the detailed carvings on Gavin's wings before she caught the familiar figures of Terrador, Cyril, and Councilor Tuconsis sitting in the middle of the courtyard. "But Terry insisted none of you would get lost, on account of Volteer's past visits and the indisputable fact my qawa house is the best in the city!"

A snort gushed out of Volteer's snout. "Past visits? I haven't been here in many cycles. Astute reptiles like myself may have excellent memory recall, but Mother of Knowledge, you can't possibly expect me to remember every little detail. My scales might fall off from the mere attempt alone!" He then asked, "Besides, who exactly is this 'Terry'?"

"That's Terrador, Volteer!" Gavin remarked, looking utterly surprised that the old dragon even asked the question to begin with. "You didn't know? I always thought all you Guardians were close. Like this." He raised a forepaw for emphasis, particularly how two of his claws almost met each other at the tip.

"Ah! That's right." Volteer sighed. "Lifebringer help me pay more attention to these matters. While it is true my fellow Guardians and I are all friends, we aren't exactly so close as to warrant intimate knowledge and familiarity typically associated with close personal ties. Even more so now that I am at an impasse with Terrador and Cyril."

"Over the furless ape, right," Gavin said. "I have a few talons sunk into the airstreams—thanks to the nature of my work—and let me just say, I've been hearing many things about your test flight this morning."

Cynder gaped at the dragon. "You're pulling our tails! The wind whispers don't fly THAT fast!"

Gavin chuckled at her. "Never underestimate information brokers, Cynder. Remember, people are always watching." What he said next sent chills down through her tail. "I wouldn't be surprised if someone's watching this very meeting. Every person you see here, every patron you passed on your way here, might just leak the news later, to those with the coin to pay for it. Joshua Renalia is an exceptionally special topic of interest for certain parties. He is, as they say in Avalar, food for predators in the forest."

The last thing Cynder needed was a reminder that the local high-flyers weren't the only ones watching their every move. She felt her black scales itch. She lifted her hindleg and scratched at her cheek, to stave off the nervousness surely churning within her heart. Thankfully, Gavin felt like he'd said enough. He slapped his tail on the floor once again and straightened his posture. "At any rate, we are wasting precious seconds in this cramped hallway. No need to worry yourself to death over things beyond your control. We can only do the best we can. Now, I'm sure you're eager to meet the rest of your lounge." He got on all fours—oh dear, the way his muscles bulged kept drawing her attention. She couldn't decide between either gawking at him in astonishment or simply cringing from distaste. "So come! Can't keep them waiting forever. It's your time to fly!"

The master of Conillion Hollow led them out the double doors. Cynder fervently trotted after him, ahead of Volteer. She couldn't wait to get out from under the cold stone foundations of the qawa house and bask her scales beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun. Sending a fleeting glance at the ebony wooden panels leaning on the tan walls—at their broken latches, the dragoness followed Gavin out into the courtyard. Her paw pads touched down on the grass that blanketed the entire space. Her paws appreciated the soft, smooth feel.

The courtyard was a garden, much like Conillion Hollow's front yard. A few trees rose from the ground, with trunks as wide as two atlawas. Their verdant green canopies towered over the grass and blessed visitors to ample, natural shade. Cynder saw spots enclosed with smooth stones, which housed shrubs with a variety of beautiful flowers of all shapes, sizes, and bright colors that a dragoness like her—a dragoness raised by Apes—would never recognize.

Situated in the very center, beneath the overhanging shade of a massive tree taller than the four surrounding walls, were dark, ebony platforms half as high as Cynder's breast. She counted about ten of these arranged deliberately around an even taller platform, with soft, comfy mattresses placed on top. All were made from the same wood as the double doors, and all were marvelous works of art in themselves, carved in the image of leaves, of dragon eggs, and of dragon paws.

Given time, Cynder might have glimpsed more miniatures of the crystal dragon outside watching them from the roofs. She might have also seen the one placed in the middle of a flower bed at the corner, surrounded by spirit gems and available for extensive scrutiny.

Cynder did not have that time.

Neither did she have the luxury.

Never did she lose herself in the grandiosity of Gavin's courtyard.

Barely registering all the Talonpoint knights loitering on the fringes in the courtyard, Cynder looked ahead. Her emerald gaze passed over the people occupying three of the eight platforms, upon which they rested, gazing at her and her lounge, half-empty bowls of qawa beside them.

Two adult dragons—Terrador, Guardian of Earth; and Cyril, Guardian of Ice—and one huge gnorc. A biped big enough to match them both.

Tuconsis, Warfang's Councilor of Defense.

"Now the lounge is FINALLY complete!" Gavin exclaimed. He turned around and addressed the new arrivals. "Cynder, Volteer, you can sit wherever you want. Be comfortable and more importantly, be respectful."

He motioned to leave. Cynder couldn't help asking, "You're just going now?" Normally the average person would try to curry favors with people in power, their requests masked by skillful sleight of hand.

"And leave my new visitors without a bowl of Warfang's best?" replied Gavin. "Never! I'll be right back." He turned to the other group. "Terry! Your bowl's half-empty—

Terrador suddenly clutched the ceramic thing, lifted its rim to his snout, and dumped the contents into his mouth. The dark qawa spilled over on his dark green scales and stained them. That the Guardian didn't mind it surprised Cynder as much as the sight of a fully-grown dragon taller—larger than her lapping up what little remained in the bowl like a thirsty hatchling. She had never seen Terrador act so... so...

Egeria, she couldn't think of a word to describe it.

"—completely empty then," Gavin reacted without stuttering. He spoke as if he'd seen this scene thousands of times. "All right, one replacement for you." The Ice Dragon walked up to Terrador, took the bowl he just emptied, and stashed it in one of the sacks secured to his flank. Oh so that's what they were for. "How about the rest of the lounge?"

"You can ask them yourself, Gavin," answered the Earth Guardian. "You know I only speak for myself."

"True words, my friend! Alona bless you!" He eyed the other two. "Master Cyril, Master Tuconsis, anything I can help you with?"

"Another bowl of qawa, please," said Cyril.

The gnorc raised his hand. "No. Thank you. Just, give me water. A cup of water." He spoke far more eloquently than the average individual of his species, a trait befitting one of the few gnorc councilors in Warfang. "Your drink is good. Refreshing. But I think it, speeds up my thirst."

"You're not the only one who thinks so," Terrador remarked. "You've gone to the lavatorium a couple times already, haven't you?"

"So did you," Cyril chuckled.

Gavin took Cyril's and Tuconsis' bowls and, nonchalantly tossing the remnants into the nearby flower bed, thrust them both in his sack. "Very well. I'll see to it that Fiamme and Lupad get what you need. I'll return in a few minutes."

On his way out, Gavin nodded at the newcomers. "Cynder. Volteer."

His departure seemed to signal the start of their convention. The Talonpoint Knights escorting them both dispersed in the courtyard garden, taking spots much like Cyril's, Terrador's, and Tuconsis' guards.

Cynder felt small. A young dragoness on the brink of adulthood, everyone here was taller than her by at least one head. Even the gnorc sitting on the platform had a bulky figure to match—to surpass Gavin's.

That feeling didn't last long. Cynder had faced far worse in the War. None of the people here could compare to the Dark Master himself. Certainly fighting required a different skillset from politics. Even then, it demanded determination all the same.

Determination was something Cynder possessed in exceeding abundance.

"Clear skies," Cynder started. She stepped forward, giving the three a bow. "Master Cyril. Master Terrador. Councilor Tuconsis. Good afternoon to you all."

Tuconsis grunted. He muttered a friendly "Hello", unfamiliar with dragonkind's customary greeting.

However, Cyril all but preened at the mention of his name, his title, and the respectful tone of her greeting. "Steady winds, Cynder. A good afternoon to you, too."

Terrador snorted in disapproval. "Steady winds, Cynder. Come now, this isn't Court. We aren't at a formal hearing. Loosen your wings a little and fly free. I also feel like we haven't seen each other for a very long time, too."

"Only because you and Cyril aren't flying on the same level with Volteer and I." Cynder strolled over to one of the empty platforms. She picked a spot closer to Terrador and laid down on it, forelegs splayed out and head raised in (what she believed) was a relaxed but dignified position. One that depicted her black and maroon scales with splendor, she also hoped. "But you're right. I should relax a bit more. There are"—Cynder paused. She felt reluctant to share her feelings after arguing with his side over Joshua's manual scavenging job. Eventually she decided there was nothing wrong with sharing a little bit.—"There are many things weighing down my wings lately."

Cynder overheard Volteer give the other three his own greetings before choosing the platform beside Cynder's. As he laid down he eyed the food on the massive table next to them. Gavin had put everything Conillion Hollow could make on top of it. An expensively special treatment only for those with the privilege and the power to back it up. She continued, "Joshua, Spyro, the situation in December, the way people look at me when I fly around Warfang... you should've seen Conillion Hollow. Almost everybody in the kawa—I mean qawa house was glaring at me. I could feel their hate on my scales." She sighed. Her gaze went to the only crystal dragon in the garden. To the cerulean pillar gleaming in the sunlight. If only she could talk to the Ancestors. "I'm just thankful they didn't do anything while I was walking here."

"Because you weren't alone perhaps," offered Volteer.

"Thank you for the reassurance, Volteer, but aside from veiled schemes like the one that almost caught me last cycle, I can drive off anyone who tries to cause trouble. I fought the Dark Master too."

"Only after Spyro brought you back from the brink," scoffed Cyril. Terrador's tail slapped reproachfully on his own platform, the sound clear to everyone around the table. "What? It's true! He turned you into the Terror of the Skies again. I don't even know how it could happen to begin with, when the only thing either of you can say is that he never fought back."

"Enough!" snapped Volteer. "We promised we wouldn't speak about this again."

"Just as we promised we wouldn't discuss the possibility Malefor might just come back in the future?"

"That scenario has an unlikely, remote, negligible, inconsiderable probability of even occurring to begin with! Why are you even changing the subject? Don't be such a Gromble."

Cyril snarled. He stood up and bared his fangs. "What did you call me?"

Volteer laughed. "Look at you, you old fart! Losing your scales over one silly word. Ha! Do you realize I don't even know what it means—

"That Ancestors-damned Ape you and Cynder are protecting called me that! I don't care what it means! I know an insult when I hear it, you rotten egg. To listen to you spout the same exact thing—

"Stop it!" A discordant sound of metal and thunder banged in their ears. Cynder swiveled her snout and saw Tuconsis, who looked like he'd be breathing hellfire if he had been a dragon. He had his weapon drawn. A gold hammer, to match the golden hue of his armor. It rested beside his legs. If she craned her head slightly she saw his platform now had cracks on its side. "You two, acting like children. Completely disgraceful to dragons of your station! If the rest of the city knew..."

Volteer and Cyril sulked at the Councilor's words. Neither said a word, aware of the implications. Cynder felt his warning was many, many years too late. Gavin had just told her people were always watching. Everybody who commanded a certain level of economic or political influence in Warfang probably knew about this already.

"Cynder," Terrador called out to her.

"Yes?"

"Where's Spyro?"

The question jolted Cynder back to Windvale Arena. She recalled the pride that uplifted her spirits when she watched the apprentices swarm Joshua, almost overwhelming his guards in their eagerness to get close and let the human place his fingers on their arms. A sense of relief and vindication nestled in her heart.

Relief the apprentices proved open-minded enough to accept help from him.

Vindication that her decision to side with Joshua, to oppose even her mate, turned out to be correct.

Yet Cynder also felt jealousy. Jealousy at Joshua easily pulling people over to his side. Envy at how his power was practically designed to help others. Flexible, versatile, and potent. It wouldn't be unrealistic to think it was only a matter of time before others finally saw him for what he was worth.

If only she could say the same for herself.

Cynder was submerged in these thoughts when Spyro shook his head at the sight of Temple apprentices lining up in front of Joshua. "No," he uttered. "No!"

Briefly, the dragoness wondered if he finally saw what she and Volteer had been seeing this entire time. Would the fights, the arguments, the debates—would they all finally come to an end? Would they sleep together on the same cushion once again? Cynder glanced at her partner expectantly.

"Why're they all reacting like that?" he was asking himself. "He used that devilish power on only two of them! I felt it! He couldn't have brainwashed the entire lounge, or I would've known..."

The drake still sided with his intuition, apparently. "Spyro, when will you let this go? Volteer and I have been telling you, multiple times, Joshua isn't—

"That's not possible!" Spyro snapped his purple eyes at her. "I can use all the Elements, but I can't control another dragon's Element even if I tried, and I'm thePurple Dragon!"

A loud whooping stopped him and drew their attention to the arena below. Cynder watched another apprentice out of many skip and hop away out of Windvale Arena's doors, their buoyant howling and the yellow arcs dancing around their body betraying their enthusiastic mood over a newfound affinity with their own powers.

Cynder watched Joshua place his hand on another reptile, another young apprentice. Her eyes squinted. Every time he did this, the dragon would squirm and wiggle for a few seconds and shoot the human with an indecipherable look. Strange... was there something about his hand...?

"This is too dangerous. I need to stop this."

Cynder whipped around and, with a burst of Wind, put herself in front of Spyro. "You're losing your scales! He isn't harming anyone!" She popped a single magenta wing open to gesture at the inconceivable sight below. "Volteer and several guards are beside Joshua right now and look at them. Look at them!" All stood by for any sign of trouble, but not one dragon, not one knight so much as glanced at Joshua's direction. They anticipated problems from the apprentices, not him. "How is that dangerous? You're not making any sense!"

"I know it doesn't, but I'm telling the truth! It feels dangerous! We know next to nothing about his Element! For all we know, your flight will lead us into stormclouds!"

"Use your damn eyes, Spyro! Even Skylands wants Joshua for itself!"

Spyro groaned. He warbled, practically hissing out his frustrations.

"Just admit it, you've been wrong about Joshua all this time. I don't know why you keep saying he's dangerous when you have no proof and all I keep seeing is evidence he's not." Cynder dared to place one paw over his. His scales were smooth. His digits trembled on the floor. What was he feeling right now? What was he thinking?

She wanted him to talk. To let this go and finally talk things out like two adult dragons.

"Please, Spyro. Come back to me. I miss you..."

.

.

.

A few seconds passed. They locked eyes with each other. The world turned silent when their gazes met, as though Azeroth the Infinite himself was watching them this very moment.

Spyro flicked her paw off. "No. I'm right. I'm definitely right. I can't accept this!" He glared at Cynder. "I know what I felt!"

How disappointing. She straightened her posture and frowned. She felt like breaking down. Though she couldn't let him see weakness, she couldn't stop her lips from quivering, her tears from trickling out of her eyes. "This is reality, Spyro," she said. "You can't deny this any longer."

"I can't be wrong!" He shuffled back on the platform until he hit the wall. "He's dangerous! My instincts never fail me. They never have!"

Even with the evidence right below his snout, the great Hero stayed true to his flight to the very end. When Sparx decided to intervene, reluctantly saying he supported Cynder, something inside Spyro just broke. Then he left, flying out and away from Windvale Arena through the nearest window.

Cynder had not seen him again after that. She had hoped he would be here in Conillion Hollow—hoped for another chance at conversation, at rebuilding the relationship they've had for the last four years.

"I don't know, Master Terrador," she answered the Earth Guardian. "I was expecting him here."

"We were also expecting him with you," he replied back. "Talonpoint Keep dispatched a few messengers at midday, but nobody could find him."

"Master Terrador, I've been looking for him myself. I went through the utilidors, the upper floors of the Residential Area, everywhere in the Temple."

Volteer hummed. "Young Spyro must have hidden himself then. I postulate he's undergoing a severe case of mental shock, simply unable to process the reality that Cynder and I have proven ourselves correct after one red cycle."

Cynder's snout dropped. "I hope he's okay," she said. She was angry with him, yes—divided, even, but she wouldn't want him wallowing in anguish that long, for he was still her mate, her dear beloved. "I long for the day he comes to his senses and returns to me..."

Cyril uttered, "That depends on your latest findings on the furless ape—

"He's human, Cyril!"

"Shut it, you old lizard! I'll call him however I want." Cyril glowered at the dragoness. "Cynder, I've heard plenty of things about him in the airstreams, and I don't like it."

"Don't like it?" Councilor Tuconsis interjected. "What makes you say that? I've heard nothing but good things about him! Over Steward Hoffbar has scrolls exemplifying his good behavior; he's gotten acquainted with the Professor's nephew. There was also an incident a few weeks ago involving him and that little girl Master Volteer keeps doting over like a mother hen. You should hear what some apprentices have said about that."

"That's just dragon dung! Who cares about all that?" Cyril's tail tapped on his platform. He balled his forepaw into a closed fist. "He defied authority! He went against the terms we gave him last cycle! The furless ape is absolutely shameless! Let him rot in that room past the Long Winter. He can go fly in a volcano for all I care."

Terrador raised his voice. "Calm down, Cyril. We really should hear Volteer and Cynder first before making any judgments—

The familiar voice of Gavin interrupted them. "And I'm BACK!" Cynder swept her head back and saw the master of Conillion Hollow returning to the courtyard, his tail wrapped around the handle of a cart laughably double his size. Lupad trailed beside him. His brown scales shone under the sun, slick with oil just like his employer's.

"Did you all miss me?" Gavin cocked his snout at the cart. "Your refreshments have arrived!" Cynder finally paid more attention to its contents and noticed a couple ceramic jars, each half the size of the guild barker earlier. Stacked onto the cart were empty plates and bowls like the ones she saw on her way in, as well as plates decked with skewed meats, all grilled, and freshly baked pastries.

The whole ensemble looked heavy for just a single dragon.

That Gavin opted to drag the whole thing himself surprised her. Why didn't he have Lupad assist –

When Gavin joined their lounge at the center of the courtyard, the muscular hulk of an Ice Dragon tugged at the cart one last time to rotate it and lay it to rest before them in the most revealing way possible. "Lupad!" He hollered. "All right, get to work!"

"Yes, Master Gavinus," the dragon barked back and focused on his duties. Cynder stopped watching Lupad when he began clearing the wide table between all their wooden platforms while Gavin hobbled over to Cynder, one paw lifting up a bowl of dark liquid.

"Here you go, Cynder. One freshly brewed bowl of qawa, flavored with blue colimen flowers and a bit of honey." He said, smirking as he set the bowl directly in front of Cynder, within reach of her forelegs. She looked at it. Oh my, it has a wonderful aroma. "Lupad's recommendation," Gavin added.

Lupad called out to her. "It isn't exactly two bowls, Lady Cynder, but a promise is a promise! Enjoy your qawa."

Terrador said, "Demonstrating your strength again, Gavin? That cart looked heavy. Why didn't you ask your help for assistance?"

The dragon chuckled. "And miss a chance to impress a beautiful dragoness? Ancestors, you must be joking!"

Volteer pointed out, "That 'beautiful dragoness' is already called for, Sir Gavinus."

"True. But! I can certainly teach the Purple Dragon a thing or two about bulking up. Where is that drake anyway?"

Cynder watched Lupad set a plate down on the table, placing the meal before her. She licked her chops, the smell emanating from the skewered meats making her mouth water. "Our house specialty, Lady Cynder."

"Thank you," said the dragoness. Distancing herself from Gavin and the other Guardians, Cynder picked up a stick and, just noticing it came with a dipping sauce, took a bite. The meat was soft, tender. Her sharp teeth made quick work of the morsel. Juices burst from within and savory and peppery taste filled her palate. She let it spread over her tongue and noticed a subtle sweetness from a slice of something gave balance to the taste.

Cynder hummed joyfully. The marinated meat tasted sublime, and she hadn't had it with the sauce yet. But that can wait, she told herself as she set the half-eaten stick back down on her plate, cupped the bowl in her forepaws, and lifted it as Terrador had done.

For a moment Cynder hesitated. She worried about ruining her impressions with disappointing reality, something that occurred several times in her life before. The dragoness quickly realized she was being ridiculous. With that, she took a breath before gulping down the steaming liquid.

It was difficult to describe as anything but addicting. The bitterness Lupad mentioned earlier was there. Had it been any other bowl, and any other dragon, perhaps that was that. For Cynder, there was more.

So much more.

Rich, complex flavors flowed into her mouth. Unable to discern each one in separate, Cynder noticed the way they complemented the taste of spiced meat, like a carefully choreographed dance. A bright and nutty flavor took the first act, followed by light tones of smoked wood. A minuscule bit of spice fought back, its appearance cut short by an earthen taste that matched the smell of the jar it came in.

Cynder lost herself in gustatory symphony, vaguely feeling though paying little attention to the few drops of the aromatic qawa that spilled out of her flews.

Before she knew it, a fifth of the bowl was gulped down, settling in her stomach with the rest of her meal. Cynder couldn't help but burp in satisfaction.

When she set the bowl down, an electrifying feeling came over her. Her body filled with energy; mind with mental clarity. Her objective today resurged in Cynder even as Gavin's voice soared into her ears.

"And so our city's heroine finally had a sip of CULTURE!" He exclaimed. "Well? How was it?"

"Amazing!" Cynder said. "I've never had anything like it before."

"Heh, when I tell people I brew the best qawa in all of Warfang, I mean it!" He raised a paw and ordered Lupad. "Lupad! Give Lady Cynder another refill before we go take care of our other guests."

"You're leaving?" Terrador asked. "Why not stay a bit longer?"

Gavin answered, "I have other mouths to feed, old friend." While Lupad took the cart and hauled it back to the common room, he went on. "The endeavour of trade is cutthroat, and Gintomyr's hoard, I just can't let those greedy bears win!" He turned to follow his loyal server, only to stop and face the group of high-flyers before he, a mere civilian.

"Before I go, let me just say one thing," Gavin said. "The furless ape is unique, one-of-a-kind. I greatly doubt we'll come across something like him ever again."

Cyril slammed his bowl of qawa on the platform. "Were you listening to us?" A horrified expression appeared on his muzzle. "How much did you hear?"

"Plenty! Enough to know the furless ape isn't really what the wind whispers make him out to be, as I have long suspected."

"We ought to put you in detention, you—

"Ground yourself, Cyril," Terrador said. "Don't mind him. Qawa houses like Conillion Hollow swirl with news all the time. Same with the taverns and inns all across Warfang. The airstreams circulate through many more establishments just like them."

"Y-you mean you knew? Terrador, you KNEW this would—

"Master Cyril," Gavin interjected, "maybe you aren't aware of the saying: tongues flap as much as wings! Having information on the highest topic soaring across the city is a tremendous opportunity for me to pull in HUNDREDS of guests over the next week." He grinned at them. "People don't just come for my qawa, you know."

Volteer turned Terrador. "This is the reason you set up our discussion in Conillion Hollow, didn't you? To spread a few words about Joshua?"

"Unofficially," the Earth Guardian replied. He gulped down a mouthful of qawa from his bowl. "You know how much fake news proliferates in the airstreams."

Cynder grasped his intention. Anything that leaked out of this courtyard mixed in with everything being said about the human. Depending on the news, it might influence the public enough to tolerate Joshua's continued existence, like they continued to do with Cynder herself.

"Now that I've said my piece, I need to go help my drakes up front." Gavin bowed to the entire lounge. "Terry, let's talk in my private kitchen when this is over. I've got a new recipe I'd like you to try."

"Looking forward to it."

.

.

.

As soon as Gavin left, Cyril scowled. "We should just have the furless ape executed already. He's caused enough trouble as it is."

Cyril's severe position had always irritated Cynder, and his apparent nonchalance instigated her. "He's innocent and you know it!" she hissed.

"I'm not discounting the possibility," Terrador rebutted. "But if his Element remains a threat we can't ignore, then his life will simply become a tragic footnote in our long history." He faced Volteer and ignored the way Cynder bristled at his gesture. "What news for us do you have regarding the Unknown Element, Volteer? You"—he glanced at her—"and Cynder, just had the test flight you've been fighting for the last few days. How was it?"

"Joshua is, hmmm... how do I articulate this properly... well, we corroborated some interesting, if miraculous, facts about him."

"He can control the apprentices' channeling," Cynder preempted the old reptile. "Master Volteer and I watched him do it multiple times today."

The entire table fell silent. They weighed the implications on their minds.

Eventually, a voice Cynder did not hear too often spoke. "Does this mean," Councilor Tuconsis asked, "the furless ape can wield the other elements?" The armored gnorc displayed unusual fluency in his speech in spite of his rough, accented voice.

Volteer preened from intellectual pride. "There is a very good reason why I've been calling Joshua's Element miraculous, extraordinary, preternatural, unimaginably—

Cynder resisted the urge to palm her own snout in her paws. "Flight plan as a whole, it's a yes," she said, having noticed Cyril's brows and lips twisting inward and downward into a look of irritation. "Sorry, Volteer," she quickly whispered.

"No concerns."

Cynder's affirmation had their opponents' faces going through various expressions of astonishment and shock. She raised her voice before they regained their composure. "I won't expect you to believe us from the point of takeoff, so I think you're all better off hearing it from direct observers." Luckily, two of them were here. She thrust a forepaw high in the air, emerald eyes trained on two knights sitting on their haunches not too far away from the broken doors. "Emerine! Seriphos! Come here please!"

Both Earth dragons presented themselves before all five high-flyers laying (in the gnorc's case, sitting) down on the wooden platforms.

Emerine's armor couldn't conceal the unique pattern of her green and black scales. She stood on all fours, hours of discipline and effort exuding from her straight, rigid posture. On the other paw, Seriphos was a bit more relaxed. He chose to sit on his haunches, his armor's more illustrious shine (relative to the other knight) giving his selection a more dignified appearance.

"At your command, Lady Cynder," they both said in unison.

Cynder addressed them at once. "Thank you." Her tail swung around, as though gesturing to Cyril, Terrador, and Tuconsis. "My friends here won't believe Joshua's apparent—

"And hypothetical," Volteer interjected.

"Joshua's apparent and hypothetical ability to control the other Elements, in spite of direct support from Master Volteer and myself. Can you please tell them what the two of you reported to us before?"

Both Earth Dragons muttered amongst themselves for a few seconds. Eventually Emerine mumbled something below their earshot and slapped at Seriphos' hindleg. The dragon knight in question unfurled his tail, returned to all fours, and stepped forward.

"What I'm about to relay happened three or four days after we brought Joshua to his room on the third floor," he began. He narrated how he suspected him of foul play and an intent to gravely abuse the trust and privilege given to an unofficial prisoner. Without the human and his adopted sister knowing, he observed Joshua floundering around in the traditional game of "boop". Hopelessly outclassed by Kilat's speed and prowess, somehow he inadvertently triggered some part of his ability and neutralized the little girl's Volt Tackle, at the same time absorbing it into his own body and invoking the move himself.

"At first I thought I was seeing things; that I was going crazy," he continued. "But the night after that Portal Master came to visit"—everybody present scowled at the mere mention of that incident with Submaster Kaos—"we heard something like an Electric Orb go off. I didn't see anything firsthand, but the little prodigy he's with told us they were practicing."

"Practicing what?" Volteer asked. Cynder guessed he wanted the knight to explicitly erbalize it.

Seriphos replied, "Practicing an attempt to get control of her Electric Orb. Basically a repeat of what they did on their first week."

Volteer leaned back, all smug. "Adequately stated," he noted, his eyes on Cyril for a half-second.

"Your turn, Emerine," Cynder heard Seriphos tell his fellow knight. He returned to his spot and watched the Earth dragoness saunter ahead.

"What I've got to say happened more recently and it's a more, hmm, direct observation than Seriphos's. You remember that incident when an apprentice was caught sneaking around on the third floor?"

Cynder and Volteer stayed quiet. Both of them already knew the intimate details of this story. Neither of them shared the little pieces that connected one incident to another, so that their opponents could draw the same conclusions they did.

"I can recount the times that blasted ape caused or instigated an uproar in the Temple," Cyril boasted. "A dragon of my stature naturally makes time to pore through the scrolls Over Steward Hoffbar sends us every Valorem."

Sure you do, Cynder thought to herself, unconvinced with his preening. Keep telling yourself that, you old fart. If the Ice Guardian really had time to "pore through the scrolls", he would have also read the appendices accompanying the main document. He would have known that Vara was the same dragoness Spyro caught Joshua with in Alona Hall, and that a full 27-hour day hadn't even passed when she decided to go looking for him on her own initiative. He would have also known that Joshua stood his ground and resisted the knights' intent to punish Vara and start her process of expulsion from Temple apprenticeship.

Cyril wouldn't be so haughty right now, if he was really doing what he just said he was doing.

For Terrador's and Tuconsis's sake, Emerine flew through a concise summary of the incident, ending on a positive note where the apprentice spent a few hours that evening with him and his sister in their room, practically unsupervised. "I dropped in later to check on them," she said. "Maybe drag that reptile back down to the second floor. Claytor, the Earth dragon for that shift, told me the furless ape was 'training' the apprentice with her Element."

Looking a little flustered, Emerine hesitated to continue with the story. She craned her neck down, not wanting to lock eyes with her audience. The body language shrieked of shame and embarrassment.

"I... I apologize for this, but I, I-I indulged in my own curiosity. What I did was unbecoming of someone trained at Talonpoint Keep, though it isn't—i-it wasn't a direct violation of the Code."

Terrador exhaled loudly. "Carry on, Emerine. I—we won't fault you for that."

She swallowed her saliva. The knight raised her head and resumed, "I slid the door ajar, just enough for me to peek inside. Kilat was already asleep among the cushions, so it was just the furless ape and this apprentice on the other side of the room. I watched her form an Ice Breath at his encouraging. She struggled, but all she managed was harmless snow." She added, "Poorly done compared to most apprentices her age."

"And?" Cyril pushed. "Don't leave us in suspense now. Out with it!"

Emerine took a deep breath. "I don't think the apprentice saw anything because the effort exhausted her, but I saw—I swear I saw the last of her snow move on its own volition and roll itself into a floating ball above the ape's hand. He couldn't quite control it himself; it melted in a few breaths' time. I very nearly revealed myself out of shock. I... I had to go somewhere else and, a-and process what I saw."

"...Do you swear this is real?" questioned Terrador.

"I've had time to think about it, Master Terrador, and yes. I swear an oath, to the Talonpoint Code, that it is true and factually correct."

Councilor Tuconsis spoke next. "How about you, Seriphos?"

"The very same, Councilor. My report is true and factually correct. I have your necks."

Cynder glimpsed Cyril mumbling to himself. "Unbelievable," she heard him mutter. "Preposterously unbelievable..."

"Do you two have any thoughts about Joshua?" the Earth Guardian inquired.

"This matter is above me," refused Seriphos.

"Doesn't matter. Your input will be considered regardless."

Seriphos was reluctant to speak, but soon he managed to find his last words on the subject. "I've got nothing to say about Joshua's Element. I can at least attest to his character. The furless ape... I still cannot believe I'm saying this, but, he is kind. Joshua tends to have this unpleasant attitude about him, but I've watched him enough to know his heart is always in the right place."

"I can say the same thing," Emerine supported him. "He protected the apprentice from expulsion. I don't necessarily believe they were friends before this, but I'm sure they are now. I believe his actions reflects much about his personal values and I don't see any need to explain anything beyond that."

Silence fell on the lounge again. Cyril, Terrador, and Tuconsis all exchanged looks with each other. Volteer chose this time to prod the knight, "Don't you have anything to say about Joshua's power?"

"Master Volteer, I'd prefer if my thoughts stays between you and me. I told you already, I don't know anything substantial about this new Element and I refuse to—

"Please, Emerine," he requested. "Do it for me."

She sighed, probably disliking the fact being friends with the Guardian meant an occasional foray into politics. Cynder could empathize with her, if that was the case. "I'm not aware what Joshua's really capable of, but the way I'm viewing his flight, I believe his power can help thousands. He's no Purple Dragon, so I wouldn't put him on the same level as Lord Spyro. I would, nurture him as the Guardians have done with our Savior. It is a shame Joshua is marked by all the deaths he caused last cycle. That stain won't leave his hide for a very, very long time." Emerine made eye contact with the Cynder. "As I've observed countless times with Lady Cynder."

Volteer bowed. "Thank you! Thank you both so much for your commentary."

Understanding where they stood now, Terrador gave the command. "Emerine, Seriphos, you are hereby dismissed. Return to your posts." The two knights gave deep, respectful bows before departing. Once both dragons had settled themselves in the background, the Earth Guardian reopened the discussion... after gulping down half of what was left in his bowl.

Cynder looked at her meal in response. It astounded her to see that the food and drink were more than halfway empty. Slight embarrassment coursed through her. Had she been eating all this time? She never noticed.

"What everybody heard confirms a few things," Terrador said, once more drawing her attention. "Joshua Renalia can wield the other Elements. Based on what we already know of him, he is definitively a threat. At the same time, he has immense potential."

Volteer retorted, "The risk you're pointing out isn't there. We have evidence—very strong evidence indicating Joshua doesn't want to repeat the tragedy at the eastern gates again. He wishes to control his Element and go home, wherever that is beyond the known world. I also have a scroll in my office containing survey results from the apprentices who stayed at Windvale Arena until the end. Every single dragon in that cavern believes Joshua's Element can save them from failure, perhaps lift them to new heights."

"I still have my doubts. How are you sure Joshua isn't simply manipulating us all?"

"Fasten your wings! How can you insinuate that from our entire discussion? I've had my fair share of interactions with the human and he never—not once did I think his reciprocations were ingenuine."

"He can direct someone else's channeling, can't he?" Terrador sternly rejoined. "I wouldn't preclude the possibility—no, I suspect he's been manipulating your senses in every meeting you've had with him. Joshua has every reason to do so. His continued existence depends on it."

Councilor Tuconsis chortled. "And I thought I was cautious! I might've agreed, Master Terrador, if not for Emerine's tale." He continued after taking a moment to confirm he had the Earth Guardian's ears. "The furless ape put himself at personal risk to save that apprentice, correct? That knight was going 'all gnorc' on him and he still didn't back down like a, a... a 'smushed egg', as you dragons say?"

"That means nothing," Cyril dismissed.

"It does! What he did, I'd expect from friends, not someone pulling the strings."

Terrador rose to his haunches, hind leg scratching the spot behind his horns. Cynder felt the need to act, seeing even Tuconsis's remark didn't faze him.

"I have to say something here," Cynder reentered the conversation. She brought a paw to her breast. "I feel... I feel this talk is flying in the same direction as the time when Spyro returned from Concurrent Skies carrying me. Look where we are now. Years ago I used to be the Terror of the Skies. Today, I'm having bowls of qawa among the highest flyers in the Allied Territories." Cynder remembered the citizens in Meredy Square who smiled when they glanced in her direction, who waved at her when they locked eyes with each other.

Though comparatively few to those who detested her, there were still people who looked beyond her past and saw her for who she was: someone struggling for atonement, for redemption. Not all were dragons; in a way, she had gained some acceptance across all species. It was one of the few things in Warfang that buoyed her heart. "Warfang as a whole does not accept me right now, I know. Little by little, I am changing hearts and minds."

"Pfft!" Cyril snorted. "That's just Spyro's dumb luck! Left it to Gintomyr, he did." He grunted, "Don't get too emotional, Cynder. We discussed this before. Your case is different from Joshua's."

She rose to her feet. "You wanted me executed too!" Cynder growled out.

"And I don't regret my vote! We may be friends now, but my words bear repeating: Spyro's, dumb, luck."

Cynder wanted to yell at him. She yearned for more than that. A painful nip. A scratch on his shoulder. Even a headbutt, with all six of her horns aimed for his snout. Before she could act on her impulses, Tuconsis had drawn his weapon and smacked the wooden platform he sat on, again.

The loud sound quieted them both instantly. "We know your meaning. Give the furless ape a chance. He's worked very hard to get where he is now, and the events this morning mean much for his future. Let's say I agree with you. We, agree with you. What are you two proposing?"

She swiveled to Volteer, who tended to explain things better. "Cynder and I propound we uplift Joshua from dung scraper to a teaching assistant. The new role suits his talents better and shall allow him to directly challenge the false, sinister things being whispered about him in the airstreams."

"Turning the furless ape into a teacher's pet!" Cyril scoffed. "Why? Because a few dragons are already calling him a novitiate? That'll be the start of our downfall."

"Maybe, maybe not," Volteer acknowledged. "Whether it goes in either direction, I think the risk is minimal if we go about this carefully, tentatively, conscientiously—

"Listen to yourself, Volteer! What about the citizens? The apprentices will talk, and their parents will know—

"It isn't like we're setting him loose," Cynder replied calmly, showing tremendous self-restraint. "We'll trickle it down in stages. First we can move Joshua to the lower floors. At the same time, reduce his security detail by three-fourths and allow him to freely move about Temple grounds like any other apprentice."

"That sounds like a monumental drop down from room arrest, don't you think?"

"I disagree. The Temple is the most heavily guarded location in this entire city! It's perfect. This will give Joshua the space and opportunity to rub wings and tails with other people, make friends. He's already doing that on his own without our permission. We may as well make it official."

Volteer added, "Later on, we can start dangling limited outings to the central districts as rewards for exemplary behavior." He raised his forepaw and gestured to the courtyard they're in. "Warfang has plenty of culture. Doubtlessly Joshua will find it lacking compared to wherever humanity resides. Still, I'm certain he will be more strongly incentivized to behave properly if he knew the breadth of activities we offer here. Given current public opinion such excursions shall be permitted only occasionally, and under heavy guard."

"Master Volteer and I drafted the entire flight plan in his office, Master Cyril," said Cynder. "If everything goes well, I believe we can start dialogue on Joshua's official exoneration later this year. Maybe, after the Long Winter?

She looked at Cyril.

The Ice Guardian was struck dumb by their proposal. He couldn't talk straight. "I, I-I-I, you... that's, t-that's, that's the"—he snarled. Cyril roared with anger. His tail slammed the platform ferociously. "That's the stupidest thing I've heard today! NO! I firmly reject this!"

"On the contrary, I think you're just being a querulous Gromble. From my perspective, it's sensible. Audacious, yet, sensible."

One for, and one against. Cynder's gaze fell on Tuconsis and Terrador as they conferred in hushed tones. The vote rested on them both. If they tied, they would have another round sometime in the near future, maybe tomorrow, or maybe in the Audience Chamber.

If they voted negative...

Cynder shuddered. She and Volteer flew here expecting to secure a win. Neither of them even considered defeat a possibility, or at least she didn't. That they haven't discussed the outcome of a negative vote weighed heavily on her.

Feeling a tightness in her breast, the dragoness clasped her bowl of cold qawa and downed what little remained. The energizing feeling and that complex dance of flavors served to cool her nerves a bit.

"We've made our decision," Terrador and Tuconsis spoke together.

Cynder gripped her platform tightly, watching both dragon and gnorc with bated breath...

.

.

.

.

.

.

"You have my vote, Lady Cynder."

Only Terrador remained. He lifted his bowl of qawa to his snout and gulped everything down his throat, down to the very last drop. The bowl echoed when he set it down on his platform. He licked his chops, relishing the taste, and directly looked into Cynder's eyes.

"As you also have mine. We will need to review the details in your flight plan, but yes, we are moving forward with it." The Guardian smiled at her. "Congratulations, both of you."

---

Author's Notes:

Fun fact: The word "qawa" exists and it is pronounced exactly as Cynder was taught. It is actually the name given to coffee in Arabic (written as قهوة), which was then appropriated by the Ottomans ("kahve"), then the Dutch ("koffie"), and finally, the English ("coffee").

Which means... yes. Y'all just read Cynder having coffee for the first time.

Written history for the pastime of drinking coffee can be traced as far back as the late 15th century, when a Yemeni importer imported coffee cherries from Ethiopia to Yemen, where it would be brewed for ingestion as an aid to concentration and a kind of spiritual intoxication. Coffee houses started spreading throughout the Islamic world then eventually reaching Istanbul by the 16th century. In time, coffeehouses became popular meeting places and were colloquially known as "schools of wisdom" since they attracted smart, intelligent, or informed customers and permitted free, honest discourse.

Interesting world we live in, huh?

Aside from that, did you spot the Spyro Reignited references? I threw some in here and in the previous chapter, too. Also, I really, REALLY hope I did Reignited Gavin justice with my take on him. The guy only had one line for me to work with…

Replies to reviews:

Chaoscontrol108. Try reading the chapter again. Maybe you'll figure out how she knows about Joshua. :D

And yes, majority of people are either impassive towards Cynder or hate her guts. I wonder how she'd go about changing that...

Hehe, I hope you liked how the meeting played out. ^^

Guest #1 (Guest). Dark Spyro? Yeah, we will, but not in any of the slice-of-life stuff though.

Djax80. ...I know you already explained your one-word review and everything via DMs, but... dude, one word! Even I don't do that when I leave reviews. XDDDDD

Sigmar. Thanks for the advice, man. Been practicing it religiously to the point my dad is shaking his head at the sheer frequency I wash my hands or douse it with alcohol.

Derick Lindsey (Guest). Hello, good to see you again!

This chapter directly continues from the previous one (if the title didn't make that more obvious than it already is), and once again it is from Cynder's point of view. It makes sense, doesn't it? Best of all, she's aware of it too. Though sometimes she does come across as a little biased...

Ahhh. yes, the guild barker. She's a sweet girl, yes she is. :P I can't comment on that anymore because spoilers.

Yeah, this coronavirus shit sucks. I'm stuck at home and worse, I'm not feeling very well. Thankfully not to the point that I gotta go to the hospital (that's a cesspool of microbes I do NOT want to go to in the country I work in), but I'm on like four different meds through Saturday. Oof.

Velocicopter. Hi again!

Joshua rubs off on people around him in weird ways and the poor kid doesn't realize it.

Ah, yep! Two possible reasons why people treat her so badly are: they don't know what she went through OR they feel their losses so much that they absolutely cannot forgive Cynder no matter how many years have passed. Cynder continues to interact with members of the public here in this chapter. She's even given a brief look into Warfang culture. Poor girl's too busy working. She needs to enjoy some more. Frolicking in Dragonberry Cove or Dragon Shores with Spyro just isn't enough.

As for the guild barker... how about you read Convention #1 again and tell me your thoughts about her then? The Fridge Brilliance might just hit you. :P But yeah, none of the guards took her sudden approach seriously. Then again, Cynder and Volteer are both combat-capable.

Good luck with you too! Lockdowns are happening worldwide. Take care, man.

See you in the next update!

(BTW, you gonna draw another pic of Serenya again, if ever? Hehe I liked what you made before XDDDD)

Callofz. But... but... diversity!

The story's not just about Joshua, too.

Bolt Thrower (Guest). In a typical fantasy story with the Hero and their supporting characters, I would argue that the supporting party members (like the tank, the mage, the thief, the healer, etc.) are heroes themselves.

She reacted like that because she had been doing everything she can to make up for her (unconscious) actions during the war for the entire four-year period between Dawn of the Dragon and Joshua's arrival. Perhaps you don't feel that way because I didn't delve into that at all.

Spyro doesn't feel like he's done anything wrong either, too, actually.

I didn't want Spyro and Joshua to be "oh hey I like you! We gonna be best friends forevveeerrr" like most writers do with their own human OCs. There is a plot-related reason why he's naturally repulsed by Joshua, but I'm not gonna disclose it. Best to just let it unfold naturally as the story chugs along.

As for that scene with Kaos... *goes back to CH31 and rereads* OHHHHH. Whoooops. You have a good point there. My bad! I... normally don't overlook details like that. *cringe* I was too damn focused on that egghead.

Bizzleb. Oof... forgot to give you my reply... ah well. Can just do it here.

So... here you go! Another Cynder chapter! :D

Yeah, just imagine how his voice actor would've done it right? *looks up voice actor* OMG Captain Hook! Dale! and lol, he even did ANSEM. Ahhh the things you don't know 'til you google the right topic.

The chapter's pretty much the same, except you get to see it played out instead of, well, being mentioned and forgotten. I had fun writing this one, especially the part with Gavin. I can only hope I portrayed him well. Re: the barker, well, you're not the first one to take a stab at what she wants or what she's up to.

I DID mention in my A/N that coffeehouses are considered "schools of wisdom" when they first proliferated 500 years ago.

Yeah, I hope all is well for you too. Stay safe!

DiabloPProcento. Yes, the guild barker's sweet that way. :D

Ugh I keep forgetting to put up "Jelly". Dammit.

Thanks for the review!

BronzeHeart92. And I forgot to reply to you too. Sorry, man. Been very busy with work and this lockdown shit.

The slice of life continues, bro! And another Artisan dragon appears... and he has screentime. :P

Nobody uses that word anymore, so I'm not surprised. It's really antiquated so you won't find it in any regular dictionary. Try looking it up with reference to Middle English. I also saw it on Quora.

As for Spyro, ah, his reaction to Joshua. He's starting to realize he's pegged him wrongly, but as Volteer mentioned in "Teacher's Pet #2", Spyro has a ways to go before he completes his new, if spiritual, journey. There's a good reason why he acted that way towards Joshua and judged him like he's been doing so far in Aimless; I've only been hinting at it, really. :D Hope you figure it out. XD

Piston24. You're confused? I'm surprised. I thought I was pretty clear. "Convention #1" and "Convention #2 (Final)" take place almost directly after "Teacher's Pet #2", so you can take a guess what Cynder and Volter were doing.

I hope you like the stuff I pulled out in this chapter and the previous one. XD I wonder how much you've figured out though...

See you in the next chapter.

LoNeWoLf (Guest). This chapter answers your question then. :D

And I put in a lot of details in my story for people like you XD You (and Piston) aren't the only ones parsing through my story, so of course I'm gonna throw stuff in for the people who really takes the time to go through the writing. Hehehehe. ^_^

Thanks for following! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and see you in the next one.

Re: Cynder. I'd like to think she wanted to do just that... but it's such a nice day...

Guest #2 (Guest). It would be weird and awkward, I'm sure.