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Chapter Text

Always the lava. Every angry takeover bid had to end with lava, thought Spyro, and dipped a wing to swing a hard right as a fireball shot down in front of him. It hit the lava with an explosive spray of liquid stone, and Spyro beat his wings and banked sharply to avoid sailing through it. The last orb he'd tapped into was coursing through him like a supercharge, making him stronger, faster, fierier - but he had no way of knowing how long it would last, and the fight was, pun unintended, starting to drag on.

Patterns, though. He was good at spotting patterns, and everyone had them, from a lowly Artisan sheep to a big, bad-tempered lug like Gnasty Gnorc. Ripto didn't seem to realise he was falling into one, and Spyro had been using that to his best advantage, taking turns chasing and fleeing around the Winter Tundra castle and forcing Ripto, shepherding him into a neat little patterned route.

He wheeled around towards the sound of creaking metal and took a breath, gathering some of that powerful orb-granted firepower into his mouth and loosing it in a controlled blast towards Ripto. The dinosaur-like sorcerer was too close to the castle's wall to turn around, and Spyro knew this because he'd been trying to put him there for the past thirty-eight seconds.

There was an angry squawk and Ripto pulled up at the last second, too late to dodge out of the way, but at least in time to turn the underbelly of his metal pterodactyl towards the blast. It connected with a bang, and a couple of metal plates were knocked loose and spiralled past the dragon as he flapped hard, pulled up, and performed a well-practiced loop-turn away from the mess. Not for the first time in this fight, Spyro was glad the Speedway challenges had kept him sharp.

A cheer rose from somewhere on a castle balcony behind him, then was abruptly cut off as (he knew without having to look) Elora clapped a hand over Hunter's mouth.

It didn't matter how much noise they made. Ripto's machine was, he figured, one solid fireball away from exploding into metal splinters. Sparx buzzed frantically by his head, which meant incoming, and Spyro rolled. Not the easiest of moves, and the fireball skimmed his tail, but as he recovered from the spin he swept upwards again and lurched down into a dive. The next attack missed by a mile, and when he pulled up sharply enough to make his stomach turn, so did the one after that.

"Hold still!"

Despite his shortness of breath, Spyro couldn't help but snicker. He waited for a break between Ripto's conjured fireballs and gulped down a breath, turning to call over his shoulder.

"Come on! You know I was kidding about that, right?"

"Rraaagh!"

Always a good sign when someone lost the ability to form sentences. That meant they were getting sloppy. Spyro seized his moment, looped upside-down again and spiralled towards the fake pterodactyl that was now sparking and smoking ominously. The sudden move caught Ripto off-guard, and with an enraged shriek he wrenched his mount sideways and began to flee.

The back-and-forth chase-and-retreat could have been almost amusing under other circumstances, but Spyro hadn't fought, puzzled, raced, and swam all the way through every world in Avalar just to play games with the tyrant. He gave chase, locked Ripto firmly in his sights, and gathered a shot of magical flame in his jaws.

The shot couldn't have been lined up any more perfectly.

Ripto dared to turn and peer back at the dragon just in time to see a magical fireball bullseye itself into the rocket booster on the back of his mount. The metal ruptured, and as the entire engine instantly twisted into shards and red-hot sparks, the shockwave from the explosion sent the pterodactyl into a nosedive as its rider tumbled away.

There was a half-scream, half-roar, as Ripto tended to do whenever something had gone horribly wrong. As Spyro beat his wings hard to right himself and stay airborne, it occurred to him that now Ripto had no such buoyancy. He hovered, scales and spines still thrumming with orb energy, and watched as the dino-sorcerer dropped like an unwieldy brick.

The shout was abruptly cut off in a spray of lava. Spyro sucked in a breath of air through his teeth in a sharp hiss.

This wasn't exactly how he'd pictured Ripto's defeat going.

But, he reminded himself, neither was Gnasty's. Maybe these things ended not with a bang, but a little dose of fire and brimstone.

Ripto would be back. He had a feeling that was just how it went.

Spyro glanced up to the castle balcony, looking for approval.

His Avalar friends were gone. Yes, maybe the balcony had been a little unstable and a little too hot overlooking the breaking battlefield and bubbling lava, but come on, couldn't they have stayed to watch the finale?

Spyro could feel the orb energy starting to ebb, but he had a little time, and it seemed a shame to leave without one final sweep. If nothing else, maybe the metal staff was heatproof? At least he could say he got something cool out of this! Even a shard of robot pterodactyl would do. Something to put in the Guidebook and show off to Nestor later, if Elora and Hunter and the Professor weren't impressed first.

The dragon beat his wings gently and settled into a slow, easy glide for one last ring around the arena, scanning the surface of the lava carefully. For a few long, disappointing seconds, there was nothing but lava bubbling and the soft whisper of wind under his wings.

Then, just as he was about to turn and head back to the others, there was a sudden shift in the lava near the centre of the pool. Something was raising itself up and out of the viscous liquid, and for a second Spyro's heart leapt into his mouth - surely not a Round Four, come on, that wasn't fair - and then the soft pink glow of the power crystal rose gracefully upwards, dripping glowing red molten stone as it went.

He relaxed.

It occurred to Spyro much later, after the reunion and the return of his rightfully-earned treasure (and the discovery that the currency of Dragon Shores was largely orbs), that if Ripto did return someday, it seemed likely everyone would look to him for a repeat performance.

In the end, he decided it didn't matter. One more ring around the Dragon Realms for Gnasty Gnorc much equated to one more ring around Avalar for Ripto, if it came to it. It was nice to have that confidence - knowing that if Ripto came back, if anyone came back, he could handle it. You couldn't get that from listening to one of Astor's stories, as much as the old dragon seemed to think so.

Elora, in the moment, had leaned down and planted a kiss on his head, and Spyro did not know what to do with it.

"I suppose you have to go now?"

"Yeah, I better," he'd said, knowing it was true, because dragons did not belong to Avalar. (And yet he wanted to stay. Just for another look around. Just for the kicks. For the unknown. For another race around a Speedway.)

He reminded himself he'd always have the Guidebook, and that made it a little easier to step through the Super Portal.

Dragon Shores was great, really - Spyro couldn't fault it, because it was exactly what he'd hoped for when he first set off. This vacation should have been excellent. It always had been before.

And yet, lounging in a deck chair with a pair of the snappiest sunglasses he could find resting on the bridge of his snout, Spyro couldn't help but feel like now there was something else he should be doing.

He found the straw without looking, and took a sip of what might easily have been the eighth glass of berry juice they'd offered him since he arrived. On his lap sat the Guidebook, its pages heavy and partly wedged open by the talismans he'd collected from Avalar. Spyro idly turned the pages.

"Hey, Sparx," he called. "Remember Aquaria Towers?"

The dragonfly, who was reclining on the tiniest beach chair Spyro had ever seen (had they been expecting dragonfly guests?), lifted his own miniature pair of sunglasses and gave a buzz of recognition.

"I was just thinking. Do you think Nestor can swim?"

The dragonfly looked thoughtful, but didn't seem to have an answer.

"Underwater, I mean. Have you ever seen anyone in the Dragon Realms take a dive?"

"Zz."

"Yeah... I never thought about it before. I guess we just never had any reason to. Maybe the Beast Makers can swim? You know, since they made those cool fish a few years ago." He reclined in his seat and glanced up from the Guidebook for a moment, idly flicking through pages as he stared out to sea. His claws brushed another talisman, and his gaze strayed back down. Skelos Badlands. "I never thought I'd walk on lava, either," he muttered. "You ever wonder how much more there is out there to see, Sparx? Stuff we never even thought of before?"

Sparx gave a sleepy, slightly-disgruntled fizz of his wings in reply. He'd been building up to an excellent nap in the sunshine, and this conversation was doing a bang-up job of delaying it.

"I guess Dragon Shores is just less exciting than I hoped."

"Zzwz."

"I know it's supposed to be relaxing." A beat. "But what am I supposed to do once my vacation is over? Go home and stay home?" He raised his claws in frustration and let them fall heavily back down to the chair on either side of him. A gentle breeze rustled the pages of the Guidebook, and Spyro let out a sigh. "I didn't even know Avalar existed! The Dragon Realms are going to feel so... small. "

The dragonfly didn't reply. A soft, occasional flicker of his wings in his sleep was the only sign he was still there unless Spyro looked, but he supposed Sparx deserved the break. They both did.

And he'd enjoyed it, at first. But it had taken - what, an hour? Maybe a little more than an hour, and he'd finished all of the attractions in Dragon Shores with flying colours and record times. He got the feeling the Showman Gnorcs were starting to lose their patience with him.

It wasn't his fault he'd just come back from somewhere that challenged him ten times as much. This, after all that, was hatchling's play.

Spyro plucked his sunglasses off his face and shut the Guidebook with a thoughtful snap. The power crystal that had stuck itself to the front cover shone his pink-tinged reflection back at him, and it looked uncertain.

"Sparx, what if I don't grow up to be an Artisan?"

A long, disappointingly unbroken pause later, and Spyro glanced down at his friend to be reminded quite suddenly the dragonfly was asleep.

"...Yeah, okay. We'll talk later, pal," he murmured quietly, and arranged himself back on the deck chair. He slipped the sunglasses back over his eyes and held out his claws, snapping once. "Hey, Gnelson! Another berry juice. And go easier on the ice this time."

By the main gate, Gnelson rolled his eyes - and then he managed to answer with a similar (if somewhat ruffled) grace to the first time the dragon had arrived. "Yes, sir. And might I say what an honour it is to have such a distinguished orb mogul here at Dragon Sh-"

"Yeah, yeah. When's the next movie playing?"

A beat. The faintest of sighs. "Five minutes, Mr. Spyro. 'Gone With The Whirlwind' ."

"Great! Actually, cancel the berry juice. Let Sparx know I'm going to the theatre if he wakes up."

Spyro left the Guidebook on his seat and hopped down onto the warm sand, cantering towards the main park entrance and bypassing the gatekeeper without even looking up.

Gnelson watched him head inside with a raised eyebrow. For all the generations of Gnorcs that had played caretaker to Dragon Shores, he often seriously wondered whose idea it had been.

He let out a deep, long-suffering sigh, and took a sip of the berry juice he'd just finished mixing, then looked out to sea.

Dragons were strong, clever, resourceful, and adaptive. They'd tell you so, if you so much as stood still for a moment. For this reason they were also overconfident, but everyone had flaws.

One large, meaty hand patted an enchanted pocket of his vest jacket and jangled the collection of orbs he'd taken from the dragon upon arrival.

In the end, he decided, it didn't really matter. It was very, very generous of the dragons to keep paying in whatever magical artifact Dragon Shores demanded each year, and honestly, it was surprising they hadn't cottoned on sooner - but that was dragons for you. Treasure, magic, and power meant so little to them. All currencies they could generate just by living. Which made them excellent clients.

Gnasty and his goons could eat worms. The civilised fellows among the Gnorc population would be sitting pretty on a magical treasure trove-cum-arsenal for a very long time thanks to this little summer job.

Really it didn't matter whose idea Dragon Shores had been, because catering to dragons paid dividends.

Gnelson leaned comfortably back against the wall and gave his gem-topped cane a cheerful spin, swirling the glass of berry juice in his other hand.

Maybe next season they'd ask for magical sceptres. There seemed to be an abundance of those going around lately.

It was Delbin who saw him first.

No sooner had Spyro scampered to a halt out of the portal than he heard his name being called, and the next thing he knew, he was being swept up in an excited spiral and held triumphantly in the air like a newly-crafted doll.

"Spyro! Welcome back, boy! How was the holiday?"

Delbin tossed him upwards just a little, caught him, and cheerfully set him down. Sparx buzzed excitedly and flew in a couple of neat rings around the larger dragon's head, eliciting a deep chuckle from him as he waved the little dragonfly off.

Spyro shook himself off and gave a lopsided grin, one foot lifting from the floor as his head quirked to one side. "Oh, it was great! But Dragon Shores wasn't as great as I remembered."

Naturally, Delbin looked confused, but any Artisan worth his salt was forever curious about anything that didn't make sense, and he twiddled a small paintbrush in his claws thoughtfully. A flick of blue paint spattered the scales on his chest unnoticed. "Something happen while you were there?"

"Not really." Spyro whisked his tail for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then just launched into it. "Actually, this Professor guy pulled me into a place called Avalar before I got there, and then there was this bad guy called Ripto with a magic staff trying to take over, and Elora said I couldn't get home until I defeated him, so I did - but then they wouldn't let me into Dragon Shores until I had enough orbs, so I had to double back and-"

Delbin let out a bark of surprised laughter and flagged his claws at the younger dragon to shush him. "Whoa, there, settle down, Spyro! This sounds an awful lot like Astor's department. He should be here to write all this down. Let's find him, shall we?"

Spyro hesitated, his eyes lighting up. "You mean like a record?"

"Official as anything! Sounds like you've lived what Astor calls an 'epic'." Delbin grinned encouragingly and stuck the paintbrush bristles-up into the pouch at his waist as if sheathing a sword. "Come to think of it, it's been a while since I painted something like that. Why don't we find Alban and see if we can't get all this written down? I'm sure the other dragons would love to hear the details about how you torched this Ripto fellow."

For a moment, Spyro wasn't sure quite how to react. Having your tale officially recorded by a storyteller was… momentous. The first (and last) time he'd related a story to Alban had been the incident with Gnasty Gnorc, and despite his short patience, his penmanship was second to none. There was now a neatly-bound book somewhere in the archives of Dark Hollow with his name on it, and as Spyro understood it, the story would be read and re-told for centuries to come.

To have a second adventure written into history was an exciting prospect!

...And yet.

"Actually," Spyro heard himself saying, shuffling his front claws in the grass with unease, "have you seen Nestor? I was hoping to ask him something first."

Delbin regarded the young dragon with a thoughtful look. His bright grin settled down into a warm smile of approval, and he nodded.

"Yes, I think he said he was going to Stone Hill. I'd check the beach, if I were you." He tapped his nose conspiratorially. "Good place for a little one-on-one."

Spyro raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind. Go, go! I'll tell Alban to fill his inkwell. Tell us everything whenever you're ready, Spyro."

"Uhh… Thanks! I'll be back soon!"

Delbin gave a rich, rasping chuckle and rested one muscular arm on the easel he'd been working at, his claws fiddling idly through the painting utensils in his waist pouch as he watched Spyro scamper hurriedly away. A glance down at the canvas, then back up at the Artisans castle, and a little mistake in the brickwork presented itself. He picked out a fine-tipped paintbrush and got to corrections. Alban could wait - he had a feeling Spyro might need some time.

Delbin was an artist, and all artists had an eye for detail. The little dragon was a prodigy, there was no doubt about that - but that kind of weight could easily pull one off-balance. Perhaps it was a slow process for creatures who lived so long, but the young dragon was growing up before their eyes, and it wasn't as if no one had noticed that so far there hadn't been a craft that caught Spyro by the horns.

At least, no craft that the Artisans had a name for.

It was a good thing Nestor always knew what to say.

Chapter Text

Hunter didn't know dragons. He knew one dragon, and even then, he only knew him a little. But the dragon he did know was a far cry from the Professor's book.

Spyro was formidable in his own way, there was no question of that. He was sharp, and he was resilient, though Hunter didn't pretend to understand how much of that was down to his little dragonfly friend.

Yes, Spyro's claws really were like that. His teeth really were like that, too, if you caught him yawning. He really could spit fire like that - puh! - and in the end, he really had been more dangerous than Ripto.

But Spyro was his friend now as well as everything else. When you were friends with someone, you noticed a lot more of the little things that a book couldn't tell you. Like how Spyro's tail waggled from side to side when he saw something he wanted (usually jewels in hard-to-reach places), and how he stretched himself out like a lazy cat before a big task, and how sometimes he'd nod and pretend to understand something even it was obvious none of the words were sinking in.

Spyro wasn't scary. He was kind of like a little brother in some ways. (A really annoying one with a big mouth and a knack for beating his speedway records.)

The other dragons, though? They were scary. 

"So! You're the Cheetah young Spyro was telling us about."

No sooner had he stepped out of the portal from Dragon Shores than one of the residents made himself known. Spyro did say he'd told the others he was bringing a guest.

This one had to be a warrior, definitely, with that build! His horns were probably wider than Hunter's arms, and the spaded tip of his long tail waved behind him like a rudder... Except a belt was slung around his middle, and there was an array of tools in the pockets of it that Hunter realised had very little to do with combat and quite a lot more to do with building a chair.

This huge, powerful, magical beast wasn't even one of their warriors.

"Welcome to the Dragon Realms!" the huge dragon offered, opening his arms invitingly after a moment or more of no response.

Someone small and purple smacked his tail quickly into Hunter's leg. "Hunter," said Spyro carefully, "this is Nestor. Nestor: Hunter." He nodded his head between the two as he introduced them.

"Oh! Right!" The cheetah managed to force a smile, which to his unease was mirrored toothily by the larger dragon. "Great to meet you! Uhh..."

Other tall, intimidating shapes closed in, as if by speaking Hunter had somehow signalled to everyone that he was volunteering for an examination.

A tall, moustachioed dragon with a beret gave him an evaluative look up and down. "Hunter, eh? Is that your name, or your profession?"

"He doesn't look much like a hunter to me," declared a stripy one in a turban. "More like a runner."

Hunter chose to take that to mean he looked fast.

A tall, soft-blue dragon decorated with belts and timepieces leaned in close, the shiny black lenses of his brass goggles making Hunter flinch before they were pushed up and out of the way to reveal a much more friendly set of blue eyes. "Oh, I don't know. He looks a lot more like one than Alban does."

"Psh! I'll have you know-!"

"Alright, everyone, give Spyro's friend some space." The big green one - Nestor - opened out his wings for a moment, signalling to the others to back off a little.

With that simple gesture, it was effortless for these huge creatures to make themselves look even huger. And yet when Spyro did it, it just felt like a friendly gesture - like he might wave an arm.

He wondered if Spyro would be this intimidating-without-trying someday. The little dragon probably hoped so. Hunter privately hoped not.

Nestor addressed him again. "This must be quite a culture shock for you, but don't mind us. We're quite friendly." A beat. "Perhaps you'd like a tour?"

Hunter managed to get a hold of himself in time to respond. "...Uh, sure! Spyro said there's a Speedway here. Could I see that?"

"Speedway?"

"He means Sunny Flight," Spyro chimed in. "I tried telling him it's not for runners, but-"

Nestor cleared his throat to cut him off. "What lies behind our waterfall is not for first-time guests, Spyro," he scolded gently. "No offense taken, I hope."

Hunter shook his head, masking his disappointment with a friendly grin. "Nah, it's okay! Didn't know it was supposed to be a secret."

"We have many. No doubt Spyro has told you all of them in advance," cut in a large, navy dragon with a purple scarf. He toyed with the end of it thoughtfully. "How about I play tour guide for now? I've a few burning questions about Avalar, if you don't mind."

There was a scattered muttering of disappointment from the other gathered dragons, but no one dissented outright. It occurred to Hunter that he may be somewhat of a novelty.

"Nestor?" the large blue dragon prompted.

Nestor nodded approvingly. "As you like, Argus. Does anyone have any requests?"

"Dark Hollow is off-limits for now, as well, I'm afraid," piped up the dragon in the red turban. "I'm sure you're trustworthy if Spyro thinks so, but Alban, Darius, and I have agreed the library should wait until we're more acquainted." He gave Hunter a polite bow of the head, indicating that this - in the same vein as Sunny Flight - was simply a kind of trust he'd have to earn.

Spyro's eyes were burning two holes in the side of his face. Hunter felt this was as good a time as any to try and make a good impression.

He squared his feet and gave a quick salute, grinning awkwardly. "Yup! No complaints here. I'll stay where you can see me."

The large blue dragon stepped past him with a one-handed beckoning motion.

"...Uh, great to meet all of you! I'll catch up with you guys later!" He began jogging in place, suddenly nervous. "Thanks for the welcome!"

Hunter turned tail and ran to catch up with his tour guide, and the crowd reluctantly began to chatter and disperse.

Spyro got about four steps after him before a clawed foot firmly rested itself on the bony tip of his tail, pinning him in place.

"Ah-ah-ah," chided Nestor. "I believe Thor has some homework for you. You didn't forget what we discussed, did you?"

"What if I'm not an Artisan?"

Spyro had been dancing around some topic or other for most of the conversation, and Nestor supposed on some level he'd been expecting things to get weird. Big adventures tended to put one's perspective into question, and he knew when Spyro began to tell him of talismans and orbs and ice rinks and water realms that this particular adventure had been further afield than most.

Still, this exact question had taken Nestor completely off guard.

He regarded Spyro with a strange, evaluative look, and the little dragon shrank back slightly under the weight of his gaze.

Here they were on the tucked-away Stone Hill beach, where the brisk breeze met the sea, and it was easy to feel like this little cove was where secrets could be spoken aloud and kept tidily out of everyone else's way. Nestor was a good listener, but this kind of doubt wasn't something he'd expected from Spyro at all.

"I mean - I know I was born here, but what if I can't do any Artisan stuff?"

Nestor gave a hum, trying to be delicate. When carving, you could never put back what you cleaved off, and he maintained this applied to conversation as well. Words could help you take shape, but you had to be gentle with them.

"Like what?"

Spyro pawed at the beach restlessly, smushing his claws into the sand so that the finer, drier grains spilled up between his toes. "Like you. Like Lindar and Gildas. Everyone! You're all really good at something. And you do that all the time. But I can't."

"You're skilled at many things, Spyro," he said gently, sweeping some wood shavings off his lap. "You'll have to pick something specific."

"No... not like that," he replied carefully, and without looking up, Nestor knew the young dragon's eyes were locked on him. "I just can't get stuck into anything. Everyone tried to teach me - and it was really cool! I liked everything! ...A little." He looked away. "But…"

Nestor patiently nicked out a little detail, the tiny piece of wood flicking away and landing in the wetter sand ahead of them. He liked to whittle between projects - it was something to keep his mind and claws loose, and right now it was keeping him sharp.

"But none of them feel like a calling," Nestor finished. "Is that right?"

"Yeah, exactly!" The young dragon slid his front forwards, his claws leaving long grooves in the sand, and when he reached his limit he flopped onto his belly dramatically as though he'd fallen from a great height. "It's always great at first! I like trying new stuff. But then I mess up, or I get bored." A beat. "And everyone's really nice about it… but what if it keeps happening forever?"

Nestor smiled to himself. "Does being an Artisan feel like such a restriction?" he enquired, and there was a teasing tone in his voice.

Spyro reacted as he expected. "No! No, not at all! That's not what I meant..." His chin wagged against the sand, and he sat upright and shook himself. Some of the grains found their way into the grooves on Nestor's carving, and the older dragon raised an eyebrow. "I want to be an Artisan. Like you!" He hopped into a restless, splayed stance in the sand, and looked quizzically up at Nestor. "But what if I never find something like you did? What if I don't have a thing? What if all I'm good at is... chasing sheep?"

Nestor eyed him, then blew a huff of air into the carving, forcing the sand out of the gaps. He gazed out to sea.

"Then you'll be a sheep chaser, and an Artisan still."

Spyro settled back on his hindquarters and stared at him. "...What?"

He chuckled. "Spyro, whatever made you think being an Artisan had anything to do with what you choose to do?"

"Huh?" The tail wiggling stopped.

He flashed a warm smile down at the young dragon and sat back in the sand, closing one of his hands around the small carving and resting it on his lap. "Think back to those rare times you listened to Astor's stories. What does 'artisanal' mean, Spyro?"

"Someone who can…" He paused. "...Who can do something no one else can?"

"No."

"But that's what it is!"

The young dragon was squaring himself, his body language reacting as if this were a real stand-off. Wings raised, claws splayed.

Nestor gave a soft smile. "An Artisan is someone who does something artisanally, Spyro. That's all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't have to produce a fine statue or a moving poem to be an Artisan," he explained calmly, and held up the little carving so that Spyro might see it. The half-finished wooden dragon might become a pencil, once he finished it, or else just a totem to be given away. It didn't matter. Spyro was staring at it like it meant something, and of course that meant it did. "We do what calls to us, and the feeling of a job well done is reward enough." He winked. "Although a few gems for our trouble never go amiss."

Spyro flicked his tail from side to side restlessly, sweeping the sand aside and creating a little divot. He frowned, thinking hard.

"...So… I could do anything, and still be an Artisan? What if - what if I beat Titan in an axe fight?"

"If you were to best all of the Peace Keepers in the realm, you would only make us prouder. And I'm sure you'd pull it off artfully." He reached over and scruffed his claws over Spyro's head, the little dragon's yellow spines prodding into his palm - and chuckled when Spyro flailed and batted his hand away. "You're already an Artisan at your heart, Spyro, and you always will be. One day you'll find your calling, I have no doubt in my mind." He fixed the young one with a steady, reassuring gaze. "Whatever you do, Spyro, always bring your best."

Spyro tilted his head.

"Huh."

"...And these towers were built as a kind of practice arena," explained the dragon, who had introduced himself as Argus shortly after they'd left the crowd behind them. "Something for young dragons to practice their jumping and gliding in… relative safety."

Hunter nodded impatiently. He'd been hoping to see everything Spyro had told him about, but he'd sort of imagined starting with the cool stuff. Weren't there realms of ice and floating castles and really elaborate Supercharge runs? This was a little underwhelming.

If Argus sensed his impatience, he didn't call attention to it. "Note the whirlwind. We called in a favour from the Magic Crafters a while back and had it installed just in case, though of course few of us ever use it." He flapped his wings once, the small gust of air ruffling Hunter's fur. "Have you whirlwinds in Avalar?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, we have whirlwinds everywhere. Say…" Hunter seized his chance. "What about that big stone head we passed by? Can I see behind there?"

"Everywhere," Argus tutted, and he looked slightly irked. "You'll have to forgive me for leaving some questions unanswered, Hunter. The Dragon Realms have remained hidden for a long time, and for good reasons. You must excuse us for being so guarded."

Hunter backpedalled, realising he might be thinning the dragon's patience. He scratched behind his ear with one claw, fidgeting. "Oh - no, I get it. It's just…"

Argus gave a curious smirk. "You were hoping to run off to the Dream Weavers world the first chance you get, and see all of those weird and wonderful topsy-turvy worlds Spyro told you about," he quipped, and it hit the nail straight on the head.

Hunter's ears flicked back slightly. Okay, maybe.

The dragon leaned back and stuck a hand jauntily on his hip, his gold bangles clinking. "You're an easy one to read, friend. And Spyro's enthusiasm for all things unfamiliar is as much a culprit as any. But there are things you'll need to know before we can let you run off and explore."

"...Like what?"

Argus gave a quiet hum as he arranged the words in his head.

What came out was not what Hunter had been expecting.

"For example… Like how there will be dire consequences if you were to let anything happen to Spyro while he is in your company."

Hunter froze.

Some part of him really wished Elora hadn't been too busy to come along.

Argus gave a warm, rumbling laugh and clapped him on the back. "Be at ease, friend! Allow me to explain. We've all heard straight from the drake's mouth all about you and Elora and that strange Professor of yours. Why, he could hardly stop talking about all of you once he started!" Despite the thinly-veiled threat, it felt like Argus was treating the conversation lightly enough. "We can't stop him from following his gut, and it looks like young Spyro's gut is telling him to trust you."

Hunter perked up. "That's… cool of you to say-!" he began, but whatever else he'd been planning died in his throat when Argus spoke again.

"Ah-hem. I'm sure you've realised, but Spyro does need a little guidance now and then. Unfortunately, the little scamp is a terror to keep up with - especially when he's running off to who-knows-where to pick fights with every two-bit tyrant to pick up a magic stick. And a dragonfly helper is one thing, but responsible advice is quite another." He gave Hunter a jovial nudge that almost sent the cheetah careening off his feet. "You, however, featured prominently in his little Avalar story! I'd say you've been giving him plenty of pointers already, if you catch where I'm going with this."

The cheetah planted his feet a little more firmly, digging his claws into the grass in case Argus decided to 'nudge' him again. His stiff stance had the added effect of making him stand a little taller, but the dragon still towered over him in a way that could easily have been menacing if it wasn't for the amused grin on his face.

"You, uh…" He swallowed nervously. "You want me to keep him out of trouble."

To his surprise, Argus just laughed again. "Oh, really! I'm not asking you to do the impossible! No, no, just keep doing what you're already doing. Stand by him! Give him a nudge in the right direction now and then. You've proven to be quite good at it so far." A pause. The laughter faded, and Argus peered over his glasses at him in a most unsettling way, and the fins framing his face seemed to stick out just a little more boldly than they had before. "But do understand… We aren't asking."

Hunter fidgeted with his claws for a second or two. When Argus didn't move, he nodded so quickly he was pretty sure he'd shaken out a piece of his brain. "Yep - yeah! I hear you loud and clear, uh, sir! Roger that. And stuff."

Argus nodded firmly in response, and a tense moment passed between them as their mutual gaze held just a little longer.

Then the dragon cleared his throat in a harrumph kind of way that suggested this part of the conversation was over. He went right back to educating Hunter on the tower brickwork, and that, it seemed, was that.

When Argus eventually returned him to the others, and Hunter found himself offered everything from slices of cake and cups of coffee to an invitation to a free dinner at a poetry reading, it became clear that they'd all been hoping to have the exact same conversation with him. Now that it was out of the way, the dragons were making their world his oyster.

Dragons really could be just like they were in the books. They really did spit fire, and had claws like knives, and their wings could - and often did - blot out the sun.

Hunter was more interested in the details the book left out.

Dragonfire was a very convenient way to char a steak. Sharp claws really helped with all those fiddly little details in a cat-shaped marzipan cake topper. Wings big enough to keep the sun off one's iced frappé was a gift in and of itself, and this Gavin guy was thrilled to hear his thoughts on caffeine and racing.

By the time Spyro returned from his errand, Hunter was stretched out in the grass in the centre of the homeworld with one leg folded over the other, chatting animatedly about Avalar as a scattering of dragons basked around him. Every now and then, after a round of questions from the others, Devlin would jab a stick into a bag of marshmallows, toast one with a huff of fire, and pass it over to the cheetah.

For a moment, Hunter almost didn't notice him. Spyro considered coming back later.

And then Hunter sat upright and waved at him. "Hey, Spyro! Where are you headed?"

He trotted a little closer, careful not to step on anyone's tail. He'd been scolded for that before. "Thor ran out of ideas," finally was the unspoken word, "so I'm going to go practice my charging at the High Caves. You know, since it's something I'm actually good at." A pause. "You can stay here if you're busy."

Hunter enthusiastically jabbed his thumbs towards his chest. "Me, miss out on a good run? No way!" He picked himself up and dusted himself off. Spyro tried to keep his eyes off the small blob of melted marshmallow at the corner of his mouth. "Besides," he added, falling into step with Spyro and ushering him away from the other dragons, "isn't that the place with the giant spiders? Maybe we should spot each other… Do you think we could make up some challenges there?"

"Hey, yeah! ...But I am not collecting any more orbs."

As the duo hurried off towards the dock, Gildas gave a low, amused whistle.

"You really scared the whiskers off him, Argus," he remarked. "Looks like he really got the point."

Argus paused in the middle of toasting a marshmallow and broke into an amused grin. He rolled lazily onto his side and propped his head up on his free hand, waggling the stick at his friend. "Well, don't you blame me. If I hadn't volunteered, I'm sure Darius would have been next - and wouldn't that have been a production." He popped the marshmallow into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "If I'm honest, though… I don't think he needed much of a push. He seems to be good people. Er, cats."

Astor sighed a curling plume of smoke and shook his head. "Eh, well, in my opinion, you're all worrywarts. In my day, young dragons charged into danger horns-first, and if you came out the other side, you missed your target and your dragonfly would make you go back in." He shifted around so that he was facing the other way, claws wiggling their way under his feathered hat and scratching idly. "Honestly. Dragons these days. Practically domesticated…"

Gildas, Argus, and Devlin shared a look, and barely avoided snickering loud enough for the old dragon to hear.

Chapter Text

Magic was dying, and she would be the one to save it.

The Sorceress, that is. Bianca wasn't foolish enough to think she herself might have anything to do with saving anything - that was for real magicians and their real magic, not - as the Sorceress called her - a bunny with a borrowed book.

But still, she'd always wanted to try.

Since she was small, Bianca had dreamed of magic - and as she grew up and saw it ebbing away like sand through an hourglass, it only cemented her determination.

At first, her experimentation was embarrassingly simple. She'd run her fingers through the space where a portal had fizzled out a day before, wondering if she was supposed to feel something - hoping she would, like that would prove she had some kind of affinity for magic, and found herself repeatedly disappointed.

She explored every realm she could, keeping journals and notes about what she found, who relied on magic, and how they used it - and of course, how badly their routines crumbled when the fading magic could no longer support them. The floating realms worried her the most.

Here and there she asked questions, and those inevitably led her to the one other person in the Realms who seemed to be trying to fix what was happening.

Bianca put herself in front of the Sorceress, explained that she had seen the Realms' magic disappearing, and declared she wanted to become her pupil. Together, they could fix this. She knew it.

The Sorceress laughed in her face.

"Why would a rabbit think she had any hope of being useful? Hop along, you silly little creature! You don't know the first thing about magic."

"Well, I know it came from Dragons!" declared Bianca, and the laughter stopped.

"...Do you, now?"

The Sorceress regarded her with a sharp, curious look. Back then, Bianca hadn't thought of it as predatory. She'd been too thrilled that she found her chance.

---

Rabbits weren't meant to use magic. Few creatures were, and even fewer were impressed when one began waving its paws around and muttering half-baked incantations. She didn't have the Sorceress' size or scales or sharp teeth to give her image a boost.

This, as with everything else, annoyed the Sorceress to no end.

"Of course the fairies wouldn't tell you anything! You tried to intimidate them, didn't you? Foolish little thing. You're a rabbit. Who pays attention to the demands of a rabbit?" She raised a claw to her chin and scratched, peering down at the rabbit standing before her throne. A satisfied grin curled her mouth. "Perhaps if no one sees what you really are, you'll blend in enough to get me some real information."

"But I was just doing what you…"

"Yes, I like that," she interrupted. "Here! Stand still."

The Sorceress twirled her staff, and with a blur of smoke and sparks, a long, purple robe materialised above Bianca. For a second it seemed to hang in the air, and then gravity caught up and it dumped itself unceremoniously over Bianca's head.

She gingerly lifted it off, gave it a shake, and held it up to her chest experimentally.

"It's not very… flattering," she mumbled, belatedly hoping it wasn't loud enough for the Sorceress to hear.

She heard.

"Excuse me?" That was the first time she pointed the wand at her, though not the first time Bianca had flinched. "Wretched, ungrateful girl! I gave you a gift! Do you want to be a sorceress, or don't you?"

Bianca winced. "Y-yes, Your Highness. Of course I do…"

The Sorceress leaned back in her chair. "Then you had better follow my instructions, or else you'll be back to spying on the Cat Witches in Charmed Ridge."

That hurt just a little, but that was fine. Dreams were hard to follow. She'd been prepared, hadn't she?

She swung the cloak around her shoulders and pushed her arms through the sleeves. They were much too long, but a gift was a gift. Bianca turned slightly to the side to demonstrate how it looked, only to look up and realise the Sorceress wasn't even looking at her any more.

"Hood up, little witch," she grumbled from behind a spellbook. "Those ghastly ears stand out like a sore thumb."

Bianca silently thumbed the edges of the material, then reluctantly pulled the hood up and over her head.

As she left the throne room, she heard one of the Rhynoc guards snicker.

---

Rabbits were not meant to do magic.

Cheetahs were not meant to fly, either, but apparently Hunter was really good at it.

"Yeah, I actually held most of the Speedway records back in Avalar," he continued, oblivious to the fact that Bianca was facing away from him and had her nose firmly in her spellbook. "So when I heard Spyro was trying 'em out, I grabbed my flight pack and headed straight over to see what all the fuss was about. Turns out he's pretty fast."

Bianca let him talk. The Sorceress had warned that their captive might try to play tricks, but so far all Hunter had done was boast - and, of course, save her life. The least she could do was let him go uninterrupted.

Still, she'd been reading the same four words over and over for five minutes now, and if she wanted to make any progress she really ought to move somewhere quieter. She turned back a page and started again.

"I beat him the first few times, but as soon as he got used to the course, wham! I was knocked down to second place." He chuckled to himself. "I was really mad at first. Then I realised, hey, this just means I have a good opponent for next season! I dunno if you can tell, but I'm pretty competitive."

She really should go and study somewhere else.

"What about you? What are you good at?"

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," she reminded him over her shoulder.

There was a floomph noise from the cage behind her as Hunter slid down the bars and landed on the floor. "But it's so boring in here. Besides, I feel like I've only been talking about myself."

You have, thought Bianca with a private smirk, and registered that she'd stopped reading again. Sighing, she closed the spellbook and turned around, putting on her best shadowy glare from under her hood.

"You talk too much," she growled, trying to sound at least a tiny bit as formidable as the Sorceress.

"Do I?" Hunter looked unfazed. Perhaps the effect was lessened by the fact he was looking at her from the ground. "Maybe you just don't talk enough. Have you thought about that?"

There was a teasing note to his voice that Bianca had to remind herself very firmly that she did not care for.

"That's none of your business," she said firmly, hoping a blush wouldn't show through her pale fur. "Just because you can't seem to be quiet doesn't mean everyone is like that, you know."

"Alright, alright. Just being friendly." Hunter rested his arms on his knees and settled his head on top. His long tail curled over his feet and flicked every now and then, the only thing aside from his running mouth to show he was restless.

It was a shame to see anyone locked up, but a caged racing cheetah was probably the saddest thing Bianca had ever seen.

"Magic," she said quietly. "Magic is my hobby. Or, was."

Hunter perked up, uncurling a little. One hand grasped the bars and he leaned closer to them, peering up at her with a curious smile. "Magic, huh? Is that why you're hanging out with that Sorceress?"

Bianca braced her hands against the desk and hopped up to perch on it, letting her feet dangle. "Something like that."

"Maybe when all this is over, I can show you some of Avalar's? There's a place with all these cool wizards - they like books and wands, too! Cloud something-or-other."

She reached under her hood and flipped one of her ears over the front of her shoulder, fidgeting with it guiltily. His optimism was kind of sweet, but Bianca found it hard to imagine things would just go back to normal after they got rid of the little dragon. Besides - she'd caged him. How was he so sure they'd be friends?

His brow furrowed. "Actually, I haven't been there in a while. Maybe that's where I left my running shoes." He grinned, his other hand grabbing the bars as well, and he poked his nose between them. "Hey, I bet you could help me find them. Got any spells to conjure lost items?"

The sight of Hunter's face smushed between the bars with that goofy grin was the beginning of the end, and the kicker was the realisation that this cheetah cared more about shoes than whose fault it was that he was trapped.

Bianca pressed a hand to her mouth, but it did nothing to quiet the laughter that bubbled up behind it.

"What's so funny?"

The rabbit grabbed her spellbook and ducked out of the room, muffling herself with an oversized sleeve.

Hunter watched her go, his confused expression melting into a dazed smile.

"O-kay," he murmured. "'Til next time, then."

---

"You want to do what?"

"Community service," Bianca repeated. "It's where-"

Spyro's lip curled and he waggled his claws to quiet her. "Yeah, yeah - I know what that is. But why?"

Hunter's hand found Bianca's and gave it an encouraging squeeze, which Spyro observed with a disapproving quirk of his eyebrow. "She wants to make up for all the stuff with the dragon eggs," he explained. "You think you can give her something to do?"

"Even if it's difficult. Especially if it is," she emphasised, hugging her spellbook tightly to her chest. "I feel terrible for what almost happened, Spyro - I really do. I want to try to make things right."

They had agreed to meet in the Professor's laboratory after a carefully-composed letter from Bianca found its way to the Dragon Realms. It was the most convenient place now that the Professor had recalculated some up-to-date coordinates for portal travel. Spyro had made a point of emphasising to the others that yes, the Forgotten Realms really are safe again, and no, he did not need a big, strong bodyguard "just in case", thank you, Gavin.

Despite Agent 9's distracted efforts, however, the machine room still had the faint but pungent aroma that an infestation of wild birds tended to leave behind. It was for this reason that Spyro had insisted they speak outside.

"Well…" He trailed off, then flagged his wings in a half-shrug. "Why don't you help clean up the mess here? I mean - the Sorceress and all those Rhynocs of hers really did a number on some of the worlds. You could start with that."

"I have," she said softly. "But Sheila, Sgt. Byrd, and the others all seem to have everything well in hand. And I keep thinking about all those baby dragons. If the Sorceress got her way… I can't believe I was helping her."

When Bianca went quiet and looked away, Hunter flashed Spyro a grimace and cycled his free hand, trying to prompt him to think of something.

Spyro cleared his throat.

"Well, uhh, if you really feel that way, I guess I could ask the other dragons. They might have some errands for you to run."

"Would you, Spyro?" Bianca gave an apologetic smile and shuffled her foot in the sand, absently drawing a figure-eight. "I know I shouldn't be asking you for favours, but I promise, if they really don't have anything for me to do, I'll leave you alone. All of you."

Spyro grinned and cocked his head to one side.

"Who said anything about that? I bet you'd love it in the Dragon Realms. I already told everyone about how you helped out. Besides," he added, "Argus said he wants to give you a tour."

Hunter went very stiff. "Oh," he ground out through a forced grin. "I should probably go talk to him first."

Nonplussed, Bianca just gave a relieved smile, one hand touching affectedly to her chest.

"Thank you, Spyro. That really means a lot to me."

---

As it happened, no one seemed to blame her at all.

"Ah," a bespectacled dragon had said, trying to wipe some still-wet paint from his cheek and mostly succeeding, "you're that little magic rabbit who was supposed to be coming today, are you?"

Bianca nodded softly and gave a nervous smile. "Well, I don't see any other magic rabbits running around."

To her relief, he gave a lighthearted chuckle and patted her (very gently) on the shoulder, leaving a yellow print of paint on her cloak. "Funny little thing, aren't you? Alright, then, let's see…"

The dragon turned away and adjusted his glasses (leaving a yellow smudge on one lens), and began searching the room. Despite his size and the breadth of his wings, he was quite delicate in the way he stepped between the many cans of paint that littered the floor of the tower room, which had apparently become his latest workroom.

By the wall he was painting, he stopped, made an evaluative noise, then plucked a baby dragon out of an empty can by the tail. It chirped out a greeting, its little claws dipped to the elbow in pink paint, and held out a squashed-looking paint tube it had been chewing on.

The older dragon gave an amused tut and took the tube, setting the little one on his shoulder where it peered down at Bianca with a wide-eyed stare.

"Now, don't be daunted, but this will require a bit of travel. You don't mind a hot air balloon ride, do you?"

He made his way back to Bianca and held out the empty tube, which now that it found its way into her hands, she realised was a lot bigger than it looked. The tube was blank, except for a glittery sigil daubed on the cap.

She eyed the sigil, then shook her head. "No, sir. Not at all."

"Good! Well, go and speak to Marco. You'll find him by the docks - er, Hunter knows where it is, you can take him with you." The dragon gave her a kindly smile. "When you get to the Magic Crafters world, take that straight to Boldar and tell him I need more of that glow-in-the-light paint. Tell him Gildas sent you."

Bianca looked confused. "Don't you mean glow-in-the-dark?"

"If I had meant glow-in-the-dark," said Gildas, his claws finding purchase in a white sheet hung over the window and giving it a tug, "I'd have said glow-in-the-dark."

As the sheet billowed to the floor and sunlight streamed in through the window, Bianca's breath caught in her throat. On the walls of the castle tower was a mural, big and bold and bursting with colour. It depicted a lush meadow, dotted with flowers, that was filled with dragons of all shapes and sizes. Some she recognised as those she'd seen on the way in; others were strange and unfamiliar. She'd noticed the little purple smudge that was Spyro when she had first walked in.

What she hadn't seen were the tiny, glittering flecks that decorated each dragon in turn with detailed highlights on their scales. Now that the sun was hitting the walls, these were lit up like tiny mirrors, refracting the light and bringing a lifelike sheen to the painted dragons.

Bianca turned in a slow circle, gazing in awe around the room. "...It's beautiful," she breathed.

"It's magic," corrected the dragon softly, holding up a claw, "and it's not finished." He watched Bianca admire his work with a gentle smile, and leaned on the large paintbrush he'd been using to daub white clouds onto the higher bricks.

"It looks finished. What's left?"

Gildas reached up to his shoulder and tickled the chin of the little dragon clinging there.

"There are more of us now," he explained patiently, and fixed Bianca with a mischievous look. "And I have a couple of new friends I'd like to paint, too. Do come back with that boyfriend of yours sometime."

Bianca went very still. It felt like her heart was beating in her ears. "Oh, I… I don't know if I deserve..."

"Nonsense," chimed Gildas before she could object. He ushered her to the door with a hand on her back, as if they were old friends, and gave a knowing chuckle. "Dragons live very long lives, my friend. I've learned there's very little difference between forgiving someone now and forgiving them in a hundred years. So, that begs the question: would you rather be remembered for your mistakes, or for what you did to fix them?"

Bianca felt her eyes watering, and quickly turned to look up at him, searching his expression for any kind of mirth or spite. Unlike with the Sorceress, she found none.

"For… for the latter. Sir."

"Good! In that case, I think you'd better go and get that paint!" finished Gildas firmly, and gave her a gentle push out of the door.

With one hand on his hip, Gildas waited until the rabbit's footsteps had disappeared down the spiral stairs, and then made his way to the window. He planted his claws on it and leaned out.

"Argus! Stop terrorising the cheetah! His girlfriend is taking him on a date!"

Two distant, mortified faces whipped round to stare up at him.

Even from this distance, he could see Hunter put his face in his paws to hide his embarrassment. Argus, meanwhile, just spread his arms defiantly and let them drop to his sides, looking miffed at being caught in the act of giving the cheetah yet another lecture on responsibility.

Gildas let out a roar of laughter and retreated back into the tower room, the baby dragon on his shoulder squeaking merrily in tandem.