Chapter Text
Mushrooms released their spores into the wind, catching on the breeze and floating idly by. Purple bioluminescence glowed faintly within their gills, illuminating the marshy ground beneath. Thick carpets of yellow-green moss harbored tall sporophytes that rustled gently as two pairs of wings glided down past them.
Two sets of talons dropped down onto the earth. Bright eyes scanned the landscape, one filled with hope, the other trepidation.
Spyro trotted forward, taking in the sights of his old home. The bog looked almost exactly the same, with the addition of a few paths he knew hadn’t been there before.
Cynder followed behind him, silent. She didn’t share his excitement; so much had transpired since they had been here. So much had been lost. For both of them, this place was bittersweet; perhaps more for her than him.
They followed along the new path beside the Silver River, listening to the quiet lick of waves against the marshy shores. Cynder found herself staring into the water as they walked, several steps behind her beloved companion. The water was murky, but untainted.
“Cynder?”
She jolted, snapping her head forward. Spyro had stopped walking, looking back over his shoulder at her. His sore wings were pressed tightly to his sides, but she could still see them trembling faintly.
“I’m okay,” she said with a forced smile. She plodded forward until she was standing beside him, staying nearest to the river. “It’s… I never really got a good look at this place. We were always cooped up in the Temple. It’s…”
“A swamp?” Spyro said, shouldering her playfully.
“A swamp,” she replied, her muscles relaxing. “Yeah, Spyro. It’s a swamp. You really grew up here?”
“You bet,” he laughed, regaining his stride. “Me and Sparx… I can’t believe it’s been two years. We’re… we’re really going to see them again, Cynder.”
His voice wavered, and she flinched.
“Yeah… yeah, we are. I hate to admit it, but I was starting to miss Sparx’s… Don’t look at me like that! And don’t tell him I said that.”
Spyro laughed, picking up his pace. Cynder jogged alongside him, down the recently formed path along the Silver River, up to the Temple they had left long ago. Its walls were renewed, cracks mended, and its doors—by the Ancestors!—they were open!
The two dragons skidded to a stop before the entrance, eyes wide as their wonder finally quelled into sobriety. They were… home.
Spyro was home.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Cynder watched his expression slip from giddy to… something more even. His eyes narrowed, and he moved to take a step forward, but stopped.
Spyro turned to Cynder, giving her a reassuring smile.
“We’re home, Cynder.”
She could see the emotion welling up in his eyes, how overwhelmed he was. He looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment. And she wouldn’t have blamed him.
But she didn’t feel the same way.
“They’re waiting,” she said, gesturing with her horns towards the Temple. Spyro nodded eagerly, having all the permission he needed to get moving again. He all but hopped into the Temple, Cynder following dutifully behind him.
Something stopped him. Cynder almost bumped into his tail as the purple dragon came to a halt, his talons tense against the stone floor. He swiveled his head, listening for something.
Cynder bristled. Her wings tensed, and she readied herself. Even after two years of relative peace with Spyro, she still felt on edge. Now more than ever; the Temple hadn’t been a place she had loved, even back then.
But her body relaxed as she realized what Spyro had heard. Talons on stone… flapping wings… chatter…!
“Are those…?” Cynder didn’t dare ask it aloud.
Spyro didn’t answer. He crept further into the Temple, pressing himself against the left wall until he reached the first opening. He peeked around the corner, followed shortly by Cynder, who hopped up onto his shoulders to get a better look. Spyro didn’t even flinch, too enraptured by what he saw.
A wide circle of brick encased a courtyard, speckled with small, well-kept mushrooms and stones. It did little to keep out the wildlife, but that didn’t seem to be an issue; a bulb spider was presently being chased around by a few of the Temple's new inhabitants.
“They’re…” Spyro said.
“Dragons!” Cynder finished in shock.
A smattering of young dragons played, dozed, and chatted amongst themselves in the courtyard. The group chasing the bulb spider in circles accidentally ran it over a sleeping dragon’s tail, jolting them awake and joining the chase, pursuing the group rather than the bulb spider. Others laughed and joked, one standing on their hind legs and appearing to speak regally, perhaps mocking someone. The surrounding dragons giggled and clapped their talons, while still more gathered at the edge of the courtyard to whisper between one another.
Spyro and Cynder couldn’t believe it.
“They… they must have hatched during the war…” Spyro muttered, unable to bring his voice above a whisper.
“So there are still… more dragons…” Cynder said, her voice choked. Her eyes welled up with tears; she had been the one forced to slaughter the remaining dragons, several years after Malefor’s army had decimated the Temple and the eggs. She had picked them off, and though her memory of it was foggy, she knew she had taken many lives.
Terror of the Skies…
Cynder pulled away, unable to contain herself. She dropped off of Spyro, leaned up against the wall, and sobbed into her talons. Spyro jerked back, whirling around to face Cynder and wrapping his wings tightly around her.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said, doing all he could for her. “It wasn’t your fault. Cynder, you know that. It wasn’t your fault. And look! Look how many dragons are here! At the Temple! To train here… Cynder, it’s okay. It’s over now. We can start again.”
It took her a moment to compose herself. She leaned heavily into Spyro’s embrace, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to dry her tears. Her composure had broken, but she was doing her best to piece it back together as soon as possible.
“No… I know, I know, but…”
“But nothing, Cynder! We saw them when we were at Warfang… when we went underground. There were more dragons than just the guardians. That means there’s still dragons everywhere. They were all hiding—and now… and now it’s safe…” Emotion clogged his throat, but he swallowed it down. “It’s safe to come back now, Cynder.”
Cynder nodded against him. She was about to say something when movement caught her eye, just over Spyro’s wing. She jerked upright, shaking the remaining tears from her eyes as Spyro whirled around.
Two young dragons had crept around from the courtyard, and were presently standing before them in silent shock. Cynder thought they might have been her and Spyro’s age when they first met.
Spyro turned around fully, stepping slightly in front of Cynder. While she appreciated the gesture, she didn’t enjoy being perceived as someone who needed protecting. She stepped up beside Spyro, tears forgotten for the time being. Her resolve returned, and her expression evened.
The dragons stared at each other for a while, too stunned to speak.
Cynder glanced at Spyro, who kept his eyes on the two younger dragons. Their wide eyes flitted about the newcomers, though they were noticeably focused on Spyro. In particular, his bright purple scales.
“Are you…?” The slightly taller dragon spoke first, his own scales reminding Cynder of the blues deep within Dante’s Freezer. “Are you… a purple dragon?”
Spyro looked back at Cynder. She shrugged.
“…Yes,” he nodded. Cynder wondered if Spyro felt as awkward as she did. While Spyro had grown up with Sparx, and had the guidance of the Guardians, she had never quite pinned down the whole “social interaction” thing. She had no peers, no mentors, no family…
“You’re a purple dragon… No! You’re the purple dragon…!” The taller one said, his eyes lighting up with glee. “You… you’re Spyro! You’re Spyro, aren’t you?!”
He started hopping around, his wings quivering and his tail waving frenetically. Spyro made a calming gesture with his paw, but it did nothing to quell his excitement.
“By the Ancestors! The—no one is going to believe this! The Guardians said you were alive, but to think you’d be HERE, NOW, RIGHT NOW—“
His excitement was ebbed slightly by the reassuring talons of his friend, a dull-green dragon with a hammer-like clubbed tail. He eased his friend back into a standing position, though he failed to keep his mouth from running.
“And you’re barely older than us!” The blue dragon stood on his hind legs, putting him at eye-level with Spyro. “The Guardians—“
“We’re looking for the Guardians, actually,” Spyro interjected. “Um… do you know where they are right now?”
“Yes, yes of course! But first, you have to come with us!” The excited dragon leapt forward, biting onto the tip of Spyro’s wing and beginning to tug him towards the courtyard. Spyro, unsure of what to do, looked frantically toward Cynder.
Cynder wasn’t sure what to do either. She tried stepping between Spyro and the energetic younger dragon, but she didn’t want to seem like she was threatening him. It ended up being a sort-of step forward, hesitating, then shaking her head.
“We really need to talk to the Guardians first,” Cynder said, her tone leaving little room for argument. She thought she was being polite, but apparently not; the blue dragon let go of Spyro’s wing and stepped back in surprise. She felt her heart clench as she saw a flash of fear in his eyes.
“Oh…” He shrank back a bit, suddenly uncertain. His companion stepped up beside him, then sat down on his haunches.
“It’s important, Isfrid. Let them go.”
“I-I suppose it is…” Isfrid said, still a little taken aback.
Cynder flinched. She hadn’t meant to freak him out. They just… this was a lot. This was a lot. To be back here, to see these dragons, to know the Guardians—Spyro’s mentors and friends—were here… How was she supposed to act?
Spyro seemed to have it covered.
“It’s okay… Isfrid, right? What about you?” He turned patiently to the other dragon, who perked up.
”Adao. Um… sorry about that. The Guardians are at the Pool of Visions.”
“Quite right,” Isfrid said, nodding eagerly. “They’re at the Pool, having a meeting… Y-you sure you don’t want to come and…?”
“We will, but not yet,” Spyro said, his tone patient. “We just got back from a long journey. Once we talk with the Guardians, and rest up, we’ll come out and meet everyone. Okay?” Spyro looked towards Cynder, smiling. He must have known how much harder this was for her than for him.
“Right. Yeah. After that,” Cynder said, not quite looking at the two younger dragons.
“The others will not believe this!” Isfrid said, beginning to hop in place again. “The legendary heroes! Alive, and here! At the Temple! Wait ‘til they hear this!”
Already he was rushing off, vanishing around the entryway and back into the courtyard. His excited yammering could be heard from a distance; Spyro and Cynder’s cue to get moving.
Adao still sat in front of them, his head tilted quizzically toward them.
“Um… the Temple was rebuilt after…” he began, choosing his words carefully. “Things are… do you want me to take you to the Pool?”
Spyro and Cynder glanced at each other.
“Sure,” Spyro said, before Cynder could tell him no. He gave her a sympathetic look as he allowed Adao to get up. He stepped forward, glancing back to make sure they were following, then started walking them to the room that housed the Pool.
It was slow, but Cynder didn’t have a problem with that. It gave her a bit more time to prepare. She tried to even out her breathing, only to be startled when she felt Spyro’s wing rest against her back. She smiled at him, trying to let his presence soothe her anxiety. It was difficult; after everything, being here felt… strange.
The Temple had been rebuilt, just as Adao had said. It wasn’t quite the same as it had been; it looked brand new, with more rooms and longer halls. Cynder got the impression that the moles had helped with its reconstruction, if the unique patterning on the Temple walls was anything to go by. Pictures of dragons, moles, cheetah… And etchings of two easily recognizable figures, flying high above them all.
It was almost too much.
Adao led them to the closed doors of the Pool of Visions without fanfare. He turned around to look between them, his green eyes filled with uncertainty.
“They’re in here. Th… thank you for letting me walk you here.” He bowed his head respectfully.
“No, thank you for leading us.” Spyro said, nodding to Adao. “The Temple looks… different.”
“It was destroyed in the… The Guardians rebuilt it right away, once everything was over.”
Spyro tensed, and Cynder wondered what he must be thinking. Maybe about his family? They had lived along the Silver River after all. Two dragonflies that hadn’t been present in Warfang when everyone took shelter. She couldn’t imagine what he must be feeling.
“Thank you. For coming back.” Adao said suddenly, his head still low. “For what you did for us.”
Before she or Spyro could answer, the younger dragon had already begun walking off. They looked between each other again, then to the doors.
“This is it.” Spyro said under his breath.
“Sure is,” Cynder answered. She didn’t feel as confident about this as he did. The last time she had seen the Guardians, they were in the midst of Warfang’s collapse. Her last real memory of them was sneaking past them as they slept, desperate to find her own way in the world. Unable to accept theirs—or Spyro’s—generosity.
She closed her eyes, taking a breath in through her nose. When she opened them again, they met Spyro’s. Both gave a small nod, and together, they pushed open the door to the Pool of Visions.