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Chapter 6: Remembrance
"Regard your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valleys; look on them as your own beloved sons, and they will stand by you even unto death"- Sun Tzu
The purple dragon stood to the left of the group, flanked on his left side by the Fire Guardian. He along with all the other dragons stood stoutly, level-headed and unflinching. Spyro only moved his eyes as he lightly flexed his toes to ease his strain; they had all been awoken before sunrise and, as practiced, moved to their positions in the lower garden with the Guardians and the Mole Honor guard. The early hour was cold and deceivingly dark but it was a ritual well practiced every year for as long as he could remember. Together they had all stood in silence and stillness as the sun had slowly risen and in its own time begun to illuminate the golden monument atop the staircase. It was part of the ceremony that all in attendance rose before dawn and stood before the memorial statue, observing its transition from darkness to light, symbolically representing the spirits of the fallen rising from the afterlife and beckoning them to come forth and pay their respects. Only once the sun had risen enough for the monument to be bathed in its light could the next phase of the dedication begin.
Spyro inhaled a heavy breath of the cold air through his nostrils, his eyes pointed upwards at the golden image of Pyra the battle squire and the loyal Mole at arms fighting until the bitter end. By now the sunlight was creeping down over the feet of the image of the dragon, half illuminating the first pair of Mole soldiers. It was a trying process to stand ridged for hours in the early morning but he never had complained or failed to see it through and today would be no different. It was a cruel irony that Remembrance Day was coincidentally his birthday as it was for his three friends, all born on the same day within hours of each other. It seemed especially poignant therefore and truthful to the notion that the fallen had given there today to give future generations a tomorrow to live for. In Spyro’s mind, it was hard not to take the notion literally, as if the life essence taken that night had then been reincarnated through them and all the other dragon eggs in Warfang that had hatched in the aftermath of that night. The sunlight finally draped over the entire monument, illuminating it brilliantly as Spyro’s eye caught the Mole soldier with the flute stiffen his back and begin marching forwards up the stairs. The large steps required him to pull himself up onto them with his free arm, but this he did diligently and still with a sense of formality. Upon reaching the top, he stood to attention once more and performed a brisk about turn, looking back to the attendees below. The Mole drew in a deep breath as his hands raised the flute to his mouth and a moment later began to play.
The solemn, heart wrenching melody of ‘My Pledge to Thee’ began to fill the garden air, instantly putting a lump in Spyro’s throat as he felt a chill in his spine that was no fault of the morning air. The sudden emotional response nearly put him off his train of thought which was focused in rehearsing the stages of the ceremony to ensure his part would be flawless. His eyes swung left to Ignitus as he began to walk slowly forward, then to the right to Terrador as the other Guardians followed alongside them as they stepped forward to the base of the stairs. The four young dragons behind them quietly drew sharp breaths in preparation of their part of the ceremony as the flute continued to play reverently;
My Pledge to Thee, so humbly,
my strength and resolve,
To ensure and guard your memory,
‘Till that void my soul hath crossed,
Those who have left us early,
Those who have outshone the rest,
Paid with life to give life,
The bravest and the best,
Thy Pledge you gave, so gallantly,
Now mine to hold and own,
Your Pledge fulfilled, free of duty,
Ancients welcome them home,
The hymn, written in the aftermath of the attack on the temple and the Battle of Warfang, expressly commemorated both events in its two main verses. The small statue of the Mole flutist and his modest instrument in no way lessened the impact of the music he played as at last the Guardian crested the staircase while the playing continued. There was not a rustle among the attendees or seemingly the world as they approached the monument. Spyro and the others watched them carefully as the pairs they formed broke into singles as each Guardian moved to his place at each side of the memorial before each of the misty crystal balls. Ignitus stood facing the memorial head on as Volteer faced it from the left, Cyril from the right and Terrador at the rear.
As soon as all four were in place, Spyro sighed readily as he and Cynder, Flame and Ember stepped forward in unison and together walked towards the stairs. All four checked their peripherals to ensure they were not stepping ahead of the rest, but well-rehearsed practise made it second nature to them, especially since they had been performing the ritual since the age of five. As they mounted the first step, the feeling of the stone beneath Spyro’s feet sent a jolt of anxious exhilaration through his body as they took each step in concert with each other, the flutist’s hymn filling their ears as they climbed over the last step and passed him by. The words to the second verse played in Spyro’s mind as he and the others approached the memorial,
There still stands our home, our bright city,
Centre of all our world,
Warfang, your light, your folk, your dream,
Hope of all land and sea,
May her walls never falter,
Never may her towers fall,
Her fortress never breached nor cowled,
While her folk heed her call,
‘Tis my pledge to thee, Dragon City,
I stand guard on her wall,
Warfang, her light, her folk, her dream,
Ancestors bless her and all,
Staring straight ahead as the flutist played on, the four young dragons began to separate, breaking away orderly. Spyro and Cynder came to a halt just on either side behind Ignitus as Flame and Ember walked onwards, splitting up and walking around either side of the monument around the Guardians. As they passed around to the other side, Spyro and Cynder walked past Ignitus, the purple dragon coming to a stop between the Fire and Electric Guardian while Cynder stood to the right between Ignitus and Cyril. Flame took his place between Volteer and Terrador and Ember between him and Cyril. All eyes slowly lifted in unison upwards at the golden statue, the carved names of the fallen seeming to bulge out as the eyes passed over them.
The synchronised movements of the Guardians and their students was done without a word or prompt, the belief being that the ceremony’s sensitive nature and focus on the uncommon virtue of the remembered called for unusual self-discipline as a gesture of gratitude. The dragons young and old observed the memorial in silence as they waited for the flutist to complete his dedication. When finally, the last note was played, Spyro, his friends, the Guardians and the Moles all closed their eyes and bowed their heads in a minute’s silence.
As he stood with his head bowed, Spyro inhaled a long, calming breath as he mentally counted the down the seconds to the next part of the ceremony. The statue looming overhead and the two large Guardians beside him made him feel insignificant, like a leaf falling helplessly into a raging torrent. As he counted down to thirty, he tilted his head slightly to the right as he heard the heavy breathing of Ignitus beside him, causing him to slightly unfasten his eyes and glance toward him. His breathing thinly veiled his sorrowful groan, the image of the Fire Guardian’s act of mourning last night filled Spyro’s mind as the silence was broken by the memory of hearing his weeping in the night. The pang of guilt returned to Spyro’s heart, making him question whether he should have tried to reach out to him instead of going back to bed. He wondered why he had never taken such notice before, was he simply not observant or thoughtful enough in the past or had his mentor simply never reacted to this degree before? If so, why?
The sound of the flute resuming shook him out of his trail of thought, remembering his obligations. Spyro lifted his head slowly as did all the others except for the Guardians who remained with their heads low. The tune played by the flutist was noticeably more uplifting yet still sombre, the melody to ‘Valorous Hearts’ now filling the air. As the music began to swell, Spyro heard the sound of footsteps around the other side of the memorial, telling him the next phase had come. Relying on sound and his muscle memory, he kept looking straight on as Flame and Ember began to step back around the memorial.
He remained still as Cynder across from him turned to face the staircase, waiting for her fellow companions until they passed around the monument. Spyro turned his head slightly to her, seeing her eyes lock onto his and give him the faintest of nods as she, with Flame and Ember, walked as a group back towards the top of the stairs. Though now out of sight, he knew they would stop just short of the flutist and look upon the soldiers below before turning back to face the monument. He imagined the dozens of beady eyes of the Moles all turning on him as frightfully as if they were arrows ready to be unleashed.
‘Do they really look up to me?’ Spyro wondered as he kept imaging their faces. Without the presence of his friends he felt marooned and vulnerable even with the Guardians beside him. Now was the final act of the ceremony, the Guardians remained as they were left, still bowing their heads to the monument as ‘Valorous Hearts’ played dutifully. Unlike ‘My Pledge to Thee’ the piece had no lyrics as it was purely instrumental, but was intended to alleviate some of the sorrow bought on by the earlier parts of the ceremony, instilling those in attendance a sense of pride not just in the fallen but in themselves for carrying on their legacy. This point was further made in what was about to commence. Spyro felt as if spiders were crawling around inside his belly as the Guardians suddenly lifted their heads and slowly took a step back from the grey crystal balls planted in front of them. He held his breath for a moment of anxiety before he clamped his teeth hard against each other and mentally told himself,
‘This is it.’
He turned stiffly to his left and walked a few steps to the side of the memorial, turning left again to face Volteer. He stepped over to the crystal ball that sat between them, meeting eyes with the yellow dragon. His expression was comfortingly humble as he bowed his head to the young purple dragon. Spyro returned the gesture, on the way back up he paused level with the misty grey orb, starring into its centre. Up close a tiny ball of white light could be seen floating in the middle of the orb amid the smoke like grey haze. After a moment’s pause, Spyro opened his mouth and forth with came a sizzling fork of yellow lightning no wider than a blade of grass that projected into the orb. The web of electricity hooked onto the white ball in the centre and turned the grey orb into a ball of solid, flashing yellow lightning, sizzling and crackling silently inside the crystal sphere.
Spyro closed his mouth and lifted his head, turned to the right and marched to the backside of the memorial before turning to face Terrador and his grey orb. He perhaps took these ceremonies more seriously than all the rest, he in fact being one of the main authors of this particular ceremony and its practices. The Earth Guardian bowed formally and rigidly to him to which Spyro returned and eyed the orb. He opened his mouth again, a sound like a prolonged exhale accompanied it as a wavy green vine of Earth energy reached into the orb. This concentrated funnel of green magic was drawn from the essence of the surrounding plant life; the grass and soil beneath them, the giant mushrooms and the roots and flowers of the garden. The vine wrapped itself around the inside of the orb, curling in on itself until it formed a coil before fading into a shimmering green mist that filled the orb. The beam shut off as Spyro closed his mouth, Terrador lightly nodding to him before the young dragon turned towards Cyril. He repeated the short walk and left turn towards the Ice Guardian, his piercing blue eyes watching him judgingly as he approached. Spyro knew he did not mean to be harsh, but he was a perfectionist by nature and so as to avoid one of his long-winded critiques, he intended to not leave a single thread for him to pull at.
He stood before the hollow orb, waited for Cyril to bow stoutly to him before he proficiently did the same. Lifting his head to the orb, he inhaled through his snout before opening his maw. He exhaled a glistening blue mist like a cloud of blue stars that drifted over the orb. The cloud of Ice began to swirl and was drawn into the crystal orb like sand in a gale. A misty white tail followed the ice cloud as Spyro slowly closed his mouth, the glistening blue magic filled the baren orb with beautiful shimmering energy. Ice crystals swirled around the white centre as the cold mist of Spyro’s breath faded into the air. He glanced up at Cyril’s eyes briefly, narrowly resisting the urge to smile boastfully at the Guardians look of uncertainty of anything needing to be nit-picked. Keeping his composure, he turned and walked for the final time back to the front of the memorial, turning left to face Ignitus.
The Fire Guardian looked as stoic as he had ever been, eyes forward directly level at the monument, looking over Spyro as though he were not there. The young dragon felt his chest tighten and spiders in his belly scurry wildly about. He walked the few steps and stood before the last crystal ball, yet Ignitus did not bow to him right away like the others. Spyro kept his eyes forward as barely a few seconds had passed before he prematurely lifted his head questioningly. Only then did Ignitus acknowledge him, snapping his head down as his eyes seemed to pop out as if surprised to him. Spyro kept his composure regardless, the Guardian then bowing his head like the others. It was only minute, but the frantic way in which he did so was not unnoticed by the young dragon who bowed all the same like he hadn’t noticed Ignitus behaving like he had just broken from a trance. Spyro put these thoughts aside as he eyed the final orb and felt the spiders in his belly vanish as the fire stirred inside him.
Breathing in through his open mouth, he leaned forward slightly as a crown of flickering orange Flame drifted out in a single cloud of burning embers straight over the grey orb. His heart jumped as he feared the short burst was not enough, but just like the cloud of Ice it swirled and glowed brighter as the orb inhaled the burst of fire. The sparks and embers intertwined and grew into a raging firestorm that glowed like the sun at dusk, giving the impression the orb would be hazardous to touch.
Relief washed over Spyro as he eyed the final orb satisfactorily, glad his most important part of the ceremony was nearly ended. The next phase began to instil excitement in him as what he knew was coming next. He locked eyes with Ignitus once more, the red dragon lowered his head by only a fraction, staring back with only a single deliberately long bat of his eyes before Spyro sidestepped to the left and began walking around him back towards his friends.
‘Did I do something wrong?’ was all that went through his mind as he walked with a dejected expression over to where Cynder, Ember and Flame stood. He took a spot beside Cynder and faced with her and the others towards the Guardians still standing around the memorial. A jolt of surprise crept up on him as he felt Cynder’s tail lightly brush against his own, a subtle act of reassurance less obvious than anything else she could have tried. For a moment he contemplated giving her a thankful touch with his tail in return, but a sudden influx of bashfulness stopped him dead. The flutist standing behind them continued his playing unabated as ‘Valorous Hearts’ sounded loudly behind them. As if moved by the music, the glowing of the orbs intensified, casting their elemental colors against all sides of the memorial despite the overbearing sunlight.
The four young dragons watched eagerly as the colors of the orbs went from shimmering to a solid, bolder shade of their respective element. Suddenly from each of them there was a sound like a wave crashing against a rock as the four orbs simultaneously rose swiftly from the stone bowls to above the heads of the Guardians. Hovering in the air, the crystal balls seemed to burst as the elemental magic consumed them. The Fire orb transformed into a ball of red flames, the Lightning orb became a fizzling ball of yellow electricity, the Earth orb a shining jade sphere that dripped magical leaves and the Ice orb changed to a frozen boulder leaving a trail of artic mist. The sight was literally breathtaking as the four young dragons gasped, forgetting themselves and watching in wide eyed, open mouthed awe at the spectacle.
The floating orbs began to move slowly in an anticlockwise direction, circling around the monument after each other like a group of fireflies. They began to speed up, swirling faster and faster around the statue, leaving a blazing elemental trail behind them like meteorites as they gained speed. The trails of each orb grew brighter and longer the more they spun until the red, yellow, green and blue wakes touched each other. Like a heavenly halo the four colors flashed into a gold ring before flashing again and changing to a deep, rich violet; the color of Aether. It flashed repeatedly as it continued to spin then slowly began to close in on itself, the purple belt of magic shrinking down gradually above the statue. Spyro and all the others held their breath as the ring finally shrunk down to a single, pulsing orb of purple magic suspended right above the memorial, the orb encased in a violet, flame like haze that trailed just beneath it. The golden statue was bathed in its luminance as the orb, floating still above it for several moments before it began to descend slowly down onto the statue. It lowered in front of the face of Pyra, sinking down into the gold sculpture, waves of purple energy washing over it like water from a fountain. The statue began pulsing with the power of the orb, the runes on the base of which it sat began to project with purple light.
Every eye watched in astonishment as the idle figures of the memorial suddenly came to life. The gold models of the Mole at arms changed from their fighting stance to standing to attention like their living counterparts watching from the lower garden. The likeness of Pyra lowered his raised paw and his second paw lifted off the sculptured egg it had been protecting and turned towards Ignitus and the four survivors, arousing a most uncanny feeling within them as they stared into the eyes of the now animate figure. Spyro wished he knew what was going through Ignitus’s mind right that moment, what this enchanted imitation of his loyal battle squire meant to him and how it did or didn’t pay him proper reverence. These thoughts didn’t distract from his overall feeling of mind blown astoundment that came with each time they had watched this final act of the ceremony.
The shimmering likeness of Pyra bowed its head to the attendees as the Mole at arms figures held their weapons up in the air as the Honor Guard snapped their right hands into a salute to them. The dragons bowed their heads to the Pyra effigy as its metal wings fanned out and as they raised their heads again, the possessed figure took flight. The Guardian’s heads followed the spectacle as it launched upwards with a great thrash of its wings, swooping overtop of Ignitus and straight over the four young dragons who couldn’t help but duck on reflex. Spyro felt his breath be swept from his body as the shimmering figure flew over him, leaving a purple, translucent wake trailing behind like an elemental cloak. It flew over the ranks of the Honour guard before banking right and sweeping around the garden in a tight loop. It soared back around towards the pedestal before pulling upwards and performing a loop to loop over the watching dragons.
The likeness of Pyra swooped a final time before it reared back in the air, hovering above the pedestal before spinning back around to face the four young dragons watching in wide eyed exhilaration. It gently hovered down back onto the statue, bowing its head one last time before the all of the figures of the monument began to resume their usual poses; the Mole at arms at the front lowered their spears while the second pair held their swords up in preparation to strike. The dragon, the effigy of the heroic Pyra, placed his right paw back upon the dragon egg and held up his left paw to slash at his foes as he opened his mouth to unleash the power of the fire in his belly and in his heart as he and his eternal comrades became still as before as the shimmering purple magic faded and vanished.
The playing of the flute ceased, the Honor guard returned to standing at ease as Spyro and his friends remained frozen in wide eyed amazement as if having become statues themselves. As the flutist began hopping down the steps to re-join his rank, Ignitus about turned to face them as the other Guardians each turned to their left, the Fire Guardian beginning to walk from the memorial as the others followed around the statue in single file. With the final act about to close, Spyro, Cynder, Flame and Ember turned about, wincing at the sunlight as they moved in unison to the edge of the first step, standing in line with each other as the Guardians approached behind. Spyro shut his eyes for the duration of the relieved sigh that escaped his mouth as the heavy steps of the Guardians paused just behind them, their looming shadows helping to block the sun that was now rising sigh above the temple. The Honor guard stood to attention once more, beckoning them onwards as the four survivors began to clamber down the stairs, the Guardians giving them a short head start before they too began to descend. As the four young dragons reached the bottom, they marched in line with each other and with military discipline snapped their heads to the left as they passed the ranks of the Mole soldiers.
Being closest to them, Spyro felt his earlier unease return as he looked into the faces of each of the Moles who stood to attention out of respect for him. True, it was not only he that they did this for, his companions and of course the Guardians were being shown the respect they were entitled, but still he felt like he didn’t belong. He felt like someone more worthy should be standing where he has; someone like Pyra. He eyes had begun to soften as they passed by the end of the last rank, snapping his head forward with the others as they marched through the door back into the temple. The Honor guard remained at attention as the Guardian dragons passed them by and followed through into the temple. Only once they were out of view did the Mole at arms follow, turning to the left and marching back into the temple, officially ending the remembrance ceremony.
Later that day…
The dragon temple slowly faded from view as the ‘Doxantha’ airship slowly drifted through the sky towards the mainland, the glistening sea stretching out endlessly beneath her as her shadow projected across the open water hundreds of feet below. High above the ship the four dragon Guardians flew in a diamond formation with Ignitus at the lead skimming just below the cloud cover. The fair weather and the overhead cover provided by the Guardians ensured that, as unlikely as it was, no attacker would get close to the ship without first being spotted well before they arrived. Standing on the foredeck looking towards the horizon were Flame and Ember, excitedly gazing out towards the ships bow as the wind and the power of magic propelled the timber behemoth through the air.
Sitting and watching them from behind was Cynder, who seemed to have lost something as she looked to her left and right before looking over her shoulder towards the back of the ship. She stood on her hind legs and twisted herself to the left to better look at what she saw, a light frown creasing her forehead as she did. She looked back to Flame and Ember who remained as they were like puppies watching passers-by hoping one would stop to take them home. Seeming to take to take advantage of her friend’s distraction, she dropped to all four and turned around to start walking towards the stern. She hopped down to the main deck, passing by the numerous Moles as they tended to their duties about the ship, scrubbing the decks, inspecting the riggings and so on. She did her best to not get in their way, even though they usually were happy enough to make room for her. She reached the stairs to the poopdeck and scurried up the portside as she neared her query.
The Helmsmole whistled cheerfully as he stood at the ships wheel, standing on top of a wooden podium like ladder to see over the wheel as well as steer it. Behind him, looking at the island they had just left which was now little more than a haze in the distance was Spyro. He was standing on his hind legs with his front paws clenching the top of the wooden railing of the poop deck. He did not hear the sound of the black dragoness’s claws lightly clapping against the deck as she wandered over to him. He seemed to be trapped in some kind of deep philosophical psychosis or so she assumed as Cynder slowly stood up beside him and placed her claws on the railing.
“So you still going to tell me it’s nothing?” she asked sarcastically though not uncaringly. Spyro blinked and turned to face her, his expression not one of surprise. If anything, he looked as though he had been expecting her. He stared back out to the fading island as he sighed thoughtfully. Then he turned his head up and stared at the sky and the Guardians soaring above them, his eyes inevitably settling on the crimson silhouette of Ignitus as if afraid that he might hear him.
“Cynder,” he said plainly as he kept staring upward, “Do you think Ignitus hates me?”
The earnestness of his question shocked the dragoness just as much the question itself.
“What?” she asked incredulously, “What in the world makes you think that?”
“Do you think…” Spyro continued as he lowered his gaze, “I mean, maybe he doesn’t want to but do you think that some part of him… blames me?”
“Blames you…?” Cynder shook her head confoundedly, “He’s never been anything but kind to you, Spyro, to all of us. You are like a son to him.”
“Like Pyra?” he asked pointedly as he turned to her, his eyes stirring emotionally. Cynder raised her eyebrows in surprise. Her mouth opened to speak but she could find no words as she looked at the purple dragon befuddled. He sighed wearily and dropped down to all fours and turned his back, curling his tail around himself. Cynder dropped down and strolled over to his side.
“Is that what this is all about? Why you were sulking last night? You think he blames you for what happened to Pyra?”
“It’s not just that,” he replied gloomily, “It all the fuss that everyone makes about me. Everyone talks about me like I’m some kind of great hero but I’ve never done anything heroic. Look,” he said sharply as he stood up and walked with Cynder to the top of the stairs overlooking the main deck where the Moles were working. Spyro held up his right paw and swept it in front of him to gesture to them,
“They are all soldiers. They all actually fought against Malefor. They all deserve more praise than me. And Pyra? He was a real hero. All I did was be born purple. What have I done to deserve their respect?”
“Why so serious all of a sudden?” asked Cynder, “I can remember this time just last year you were flying rings around the ship you were so excited.”
“Maybe it just finally hit me,” he replied with a shrug, “That I’ve been lapping up all the attention and not really thinking about what’s expected. But it’s like I’ve already done what they say I will one day and I’ve never had to prove that I can.”
“You think Ignitus doubts you?” Cynder asked gravely. He glanced upwards again past the towering mast of the ship at the Guardians flying overhead. His mind flashed back to the awkward moment in the ceremony when Ignitus seemed to have awoken from a dream and finally taken notice of him. What was it he had been thinking? Had he deliberately snubbed the purple dragon or had he simply been distracted by the memory of his fallen friends?
“I think maybe I haven’t done right by him with my training,” Spyro said finally.
“Don’t you think he would have told you that if you weren’t shaping up? He’d cancel the holidays for you if he was that concerned.”
“I don’t know…” he said wonderingly.
“Which means it would be cancelled for me too,” she replied with a smirk. Spyro’s left eyebrow rose as he turned to her.
“Well, you’d be pretty resentful if we were all out having fun while you were stuck in temple, wouldn’t you?”
Spyro scoffed, “You’d rub it in my face all day,” he said tersely.
“But I wouldn’t want to make enemies of the legendary purple dragon, would I? Not like that poor courier, Finnbar!” Spyro smiled and laughed steadily, feeling his spirits lifted somewhat,
“I’m going to have to find that guy and pay him what he’s owed.”
“But it was an honor, remember?” Cynder reminded slyly.
“No, it was extortion,” he chuckled, “Maybe I should talk to Hunter about reimbursement.” Cynder leaned toward him and bumped him with her shoulder,
“Come on, Spyro, take a break. You haven’t saved the world yet but you haven’t let it be destroyed either,” she said casually. He gave her an unimpressed stare in response to which she rolled her eyes irritably.
“Why don’t you just ask him about it then? Why not tell him about how much its troubling you?” Spyro stared back out across the deck as his eyes widened,
“Because I’m afraid of what he might say. That maybe I’m right,” he confessed dismally.
Cynder wore a flat expression as her sigh was muffled by her closed mouth. She took a breath of the salty air even so high up and looked to her companion once more.
“Come up the front with us, Spyro. We’ve got four days just to have fun with. Just let your worries rest a while, okay?” she smiled cheerfully. Spyro turned his head away but could not hide the blush that reddened his cheeks. He was caught off guard as Cynder suddenly leapt from the stairs and glided onto the deck, looking back at him expectedly. He tilted his head as he sighed in surrender.
“Aw, alright,” he said mockingly as he spread his wings and leapt from the stairs and glided easily down beside the black dragoness.
“First to the top!” she exclaimed and took off in a gallop, catching him off guard again as he grinned competitively and ran to catch up to her. The Moles working on deck unwittingly became obstacles in their game as Cynder ran across Spyro’s path to the starboard side of the deck and leapt over a Mole while he was blissfully ducked down rummaging inside a crate. Trying to catch up, Spyro remained on the portside and leapt over a bucket and miraculously kept his footing as he skated across the slippery, soap covered patch of deck that several Moles were working on, winking to one irreverently as he swept between them with their shouts and exclamations following him.
Cynder ducked down as she ran under a crane swinging a bag of crates across the deck, leaping like a cat up to the base of the mainmast and propelling off it with her back feet towards the starboard staircase to the foredeck. At the same time, Spyro leapt from his impromptu ice rink as an upcoming tall stack of crates blocked his path, a soapy cloud washed off his feet as he bounced to the left atop a deck cannon and skipped across to another as he took a final great leapt towards the portside staircase to the foredeck.
He landed only a moment before Cynder and rushed up the staircase with only half a step making the difference, but it was a difference nonetheless as he crested the top of the stairs with Cynder cresting her side only a moment late. He grinned boastfully to her as she huffed in disappointment. He kept watching her as he held out his tongue and licked the air in front of him, referring of course to how she had licked in the dojo the day before. She deridingly gave a twisted smile in retort.
“Now we’re even!” he cried victoriously as he trotted towards the bow.
“What are you guys doing?” asked Flame as he eyed them queerly over his shoulder while he sat on the deck. Ember had still been peering in wonder over the front railing when she looked behind and saw her companions approaching.
“Just playing around,” Spyro replied lightly.
“Is she getting you in trouble again?” Ember queried bitterly, apparently still sore over Cynder escaping punishment the previous day. The black dragoness scowled at her crossly.
“Come on, lets let bygones be bygones,” reasoned Flame as the group gathered together. Seated around in a circle, tempers cooled as the group silently gathered their thoughts for a moment. Flame unusually spoke up first,
“So, are we still going along with the same idea?” he asked brightly.
“Yes, Flame,” Spyro nodded assertively, “We spend today in Warfang and at sundown we go to Avalar and stay with Hunter.”
“What about the Dam?” asked Ember, “I know some of the other dragons are planning on going there over the holiday.”
“Not if it’s more of those puffed up Ice dragons,” Cynder remarked scornfully, “Heck, it doesn’t matter what they breath, they all treat me like a voodoo doll to stick pins into.”
“We’re not all like that!” Ember retorted hotly.
“Come on, Cynder, you know they aren’t all like that,” Spyro concurred gently.
“Well, that’s often what it feels like!” Cynder remarked moodily. Spyro and Flame grimaced as they knew how easily her hot headedness often resulted in spontaneous, brooding mood swings that it was unhealthy to be on the wrong side of. Almost always it was from other dragons teasing her about ‘only’ being a Wind dragoness, but her loss of the race she had initiated seemed to be the trigger of the latest.
'And she just made me feel better!’ Spyro thought humorously.
Truthfully, he did not take kindly to anyone who had bullied her, but he always preferred to avoid conflict with the other young dragons whenever possible, which usually meant just avoiding them altogether. It was one of the reasons they tended to spend more time in Avalar with the Cheetah tribe than Warfang when they had free time. The Cheetah’s, in particular the cubs, were always enthralled when the visited, the sole exception being Chief Prowlus who seemed only ever to tolerate their presence for the sake of diplomacy.
“We’ll think about it,” Spyro declared cautiously, “The last two days are kind of up in the air right now. We’ll decide as it comes, okay?”
“Yeah!” nodded Flame.
“Sure!” Ember bobbed.
“Okay,” Cynder replied dryly. With that, Spyro stood up and wandered towards the bow with the rest of the group in tow. He stood on his hind legs and peered over the railing towards featureless horizon that would in time give way to the mainland. His friends all lined up beside him and stared anxiously towards the invisible line that separated sky from sea, both impressive sights singularly let alone together. The heat of the sun was tempered by the wind racing over and around the airship as the ‘Doxantha’ sailed through the sky. Spyro glanced upwards one last time at Ignitus leading the Guardians flying overhead, immediately stirring mixed emotions at the sight of his mentor. He levelled his gaze back towards the horizon, trying to put those feelings down with the excitement of the coming holidays and the prospect of carefree leisure for four straight days. He glanced to the right where his companions were lined up beside him, thinking mostly about what Cynder had told him as he turned back and dropped his chin on top of the railing.
‘Just relax for Ancestor’s sake,’ he told himself mentally, ‘The world isn’t going to need saving in the next four days.’
An hour later…
“Land-ho!” came a shout from the crowsnest. On the foredeck, Spyro and Flame looked up from the chess game they had been playing as Cynder and Ember paused mid conversation. As the lookout announced his sighting once more, the four young dragons sprang up and rushed to the front of the ship as the crew on deck cheered to the news. Lined up alongside each other, the four survivors stood peering over the railing out towards the horizon. A few hours before it had been naught but a featureless line, but now it took the form of a distant green haze as the mainland came into view. To an untrained eye it was indistinct, but to those who had made the voyage repeatedly and beheld this sight many a time, it was clear as crystal in memory. As the Doxantha soared on, the haze began to take shape, in the far distance snow capped mountains rose above the lush green landscape of rolling hills and tall forests. Sitting between the peaks of the mountains and green base of the land was a jagged, yellowish haze of towering shapes that rose and fell like a mountain range itself. From a distance it looked like a work of impressionism that graced an artist’s canvas, but the closer details began to take finer form. Spyro gasped as the tallest spire of the City of Warfang became clear in his eyes.
His eyes traced down the spire as the airship closed the distance to the city. The orange dome resembling that of the temple was that of Castle Hill, aptly named for it being built upon the highest point of the city; a rocky plateau on the western half of the city that occupied nearly a quarter of the city’s space. Sprawling out from beneath it were the golden-brown square buildings and rounded towers that typified Warfang. The city was built close to the sea, the shoreline marked by a few shallow beaches and ragged grey cliffs that intermediately spanned the shore. To the southwest outskirts of the city a great river flowed from far inland and spilled over a moderate waterfall down into the ocean. From the west a colossal viaduct stretched for a few miles outside the city, connecting many of the rolling hills into a single highway that continued on through the centre of the city, through a tunnel dug through the Castle Hill Plateau and all the way through the eastern side of the city.
The viaduct passed through another tunnel through a second, smaller grassy plateau whereupon a tall white tower was standing. The red domed building sported an enormous telescope pointed towards the sky; the Warfang Observatory and Science Centre. The tower rose equal in height to the castle so as to have an unobstructed view of the sky. Several hundred feet to the right of the observatory was another, wider plateau rising up like a small mountain where a large rectangular building was built upon. The two were connected by a stone bridge as the viaduct stretched on across and outside the city where it went on a few miles before crossing a steep ravine out into the countryside. Surrounding the entirety of Warfang were the enormous bulky walls that protected those within; more than a hundred feet tall and close to fifty feet wide, they had never been breached in the city’s history.
Despite often being called “Dragon City,” its architecture and indeed whole existence was not solely thanks to the dragons. Its founding and construction had been a collaboration between the moles and the dragons in honor of the long friendship the two races had shared. A common saying, though not entirely accurate but acknowledging the meshing of the mole’s brains and the dragon’s brawn was,
“The moles invented this city, but the dragons built it.”
It had stood for nearly two thousand years and seen many sieges and had never been successfully sacked. However, despite this it had not escaped destruction throughout its life. Though its walls had never fallen, I t had been razed once in its history, not by the Apes but by one of its former citizens. After Malefor had been exiled, he had returned now infused with his new dark powers and taken his vengeance upon the city. Referred to as the Night of Burning Tears, he had reduced the city almost entirely to ruin, most of the population perishing with it before the then Dragon Guardians, those who came before those currently holding the title, arrived to challenge him and eventually fight him off.
The Doxantha now crossed over the ragged cliffs of the shoreline, on course to pass almost directly over the centre of the city. Across the cityscape, passing over and between the cities many towers were countless flying dragons as well as several smaller airships and gondolas, ferrying passengers and cargo in and out of Warfang. The four young dragons quivered with excitement as the airship passed over the southern wall of the city, entering the air above the glorious city. Even from so high up it was possible to see the masses of figures, dragons and moles, moving through the streets like ants scurrying from the nest. Spyro with his friends in tow moved around the side of the bow, peering at the city below. He soon jumped down onto the main deck with the others following as they peered over the railing of the portside as the massive expanse of Warfang spread out beneath them.
End of Chapter 6
Note from the author:
The hym I wrote for this chapter 'My Pledge to Thee" is based off the British patriotic hym "I vow to thee, my country" and as such in my mind uses the same "Thaxed" melody that is also used in a number of hyms and songs. Links to examples of these will be in the description.
The second "Valorous Hearts" is not really based off anything in particular and personally I just imagined the track "Under No Flag" from Battlefield V when writing this. Again, if you want to listen, links will be provided.
"I Vow to Thee, my country" basis for "I Pledge to Thee" : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQ6e7SrGR8k
"Under No Flag" Battlefield V soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txXuWbjIpXc
"Regard your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valleys; look on them as your own beloved sons, and they will stand by you even unto death"- Sun Tzu
The purple dragon stood to the left of the group, flanked on his left side by the Fire Guardian. He along with all the other dragons stood stoutly, level-headed and unflinching. Spyro only moved his eyes as he lightly flexed his toes to ease his strain; they had all been awoken before sunrise and, as practiced, moved to their positions in the lower garden with the Guardians and the Mole Honor guard. The early hour was cold and deceivingly dark but it was a ritual well practiced every year for as long as he could remember. Together they had all stood in silence and stillness as the sun had slowly risen and in its own time begun to illuminate the golden monument atop the staircase. It was part of the ceremony that all in attendance rose before dawn and stood before the memorial statue, observing its transition from darkness to light, symbolically representing the spirits of the fallen rising from the afterlife and beckoning them to come forth and pay their respects. Only once the sun had risen enough for the monument to be bathed in its light could the next phase of the dedication begin.
Spyro inhaled a heavy breath of the cold air through his nostrils, his eyes pointed upwards at the golden image of Pyra the battle squire and the loyal Mole at arms fighting until the bitter end. By now the sunlight was creeping down over the feet of the image of the dragon, half illuminating the first pair of Mole soldiers. It was a trying process to stand ridged for hours in the early morning but he never had complained or failed to see it through and today would be no different. It was a cruel irony that Remembrance Day was coincidentally his birthday as it was for his three friends, all born on the same day within hours of each other. It seemed especially poignant therefore and truthful to the notion that the fallen had given there today to give future generations a tomorrow to live for. In Spyro’s mind, it was hard not to take the notion literally, as if the life essence taken that night had then been reincarnated through them and all the other dragon eggs in Warfang that had hatched in the aftermath of that night. The sunlight finally draped over the entire monument, illuminating it brilliantly as Spyro’s eye caught the Mole soldier with the flute stiffen his back and begin marching forwards up the stairs. The large steps required him to pull himself up onto them with his free arm, but this he did diligently and still with a sense of formality. Upon reaching the top, he stood to attention once more and performed a brisk about turn, looking back to the attendees below. The Mole drew in a deep breath as his hands raised the flute to his mouth and a moment later began to play.
The solemn, heart wrenching melody of ‘My Pledge to Thee’ began to fill the garden air, instantly putting a lump in Spyro’s throat as he felt a chill in his spine that was no fault of the morning air. The sudden emotional response nearly put him off his train of thought which was focused in rehearsing the stages of the ceremony to ensure his part would be flawless. His eyes swung left to Ignitus as he began to walk slowly forward, then to the right to Terrador as the other Guardians followed alongside them as they stepped forward to the base of the stairs. The four young dragons behind them quietly drew sharp breaths in preparation of their part of the ceremony as the flute continued to play reverently;
My Pledge to Thee, so humbly,
my strength and resolve,
To ensure and guard your memory,
‘Till that void my soul hath crossed,
Those who have left us early,
Those who have outshone the rest,
Paid with life to give life,
The bravest and the best,
Thy Pledge you gave, so gallantly,
Now mine to hold and own,
Your Pledge fulfilled, free of duty,
Ancients welcome them home,
The hymn, written in the aftermath of the attack on the temple and the Battle of Warfang, expressly commemorated both events in its two main verses. The small statue of the Mole flutist and his modest instrument in no way lessened the impact of the music he played as at last the Guardian crested the staircase while the playing continued. There was not a rustle among the attendees or seemingly the world as they approached the monument. Spyro and the others watched them carefully as the pairs they formed broke into singles as each Guardian moved to his place at each side of the memorial before each of the misty crystal balls. Ignitus stood facing the memorial head on as Volteer faced it from the left, Cyril from the right and Terrador at the rear.
As soon as all four were in place, Spyro sighed readily as he and Cynder, Flame and Ember stepped forward in unison and together walked towards the stairs. All four checked their peripherals to ensure they were not stepping ahead of the rest, but well-rehearsed practise made it second nature to them, especially since they had been performing the ritual since the age of five. As they mounted the first step, the feeling of the stone beneath Spyro’s feet sent a jolt of anxious exhilaration through his body as they took each step in concert with each other, the flutist’s hymn filling their ears as they climbed over the last step and passed him by. The words to the second verse played in Spyro’s mind as he and the others approached the memorial,
There still stands our home, our bright city,
Centre of all our world,
Warfang, your light, your folk, your dream,
Hope of all land and sea,
May her walls never falter,
Never may her towers fall,
Her fortress never breached nor cowled,
While her folk heed her call,
‘Tis my pledge to thee, Dragon City,
I stand guard on her wall,
Warfang, her light, her folk, her dream,
Ancestors bless her and all,
Staring straight ahead as the flutist played on, the four young dragons began to separate, breaking away orderly. Spyro and Cynder came to a halt just on either side behind Ignitus as Flame and Ember walked onwards, splitting up and walking around either side of the monument around the Guardians. As they passed around to the other side, Spyro and Cynder walked past Ignitus, the purple dragon coming to a stop between the Fire and Electric Guardian while Cynder stood to the right between Ignitus and Cyril. Flame took his place between Volteer and Terrador and Ember between him and Cyril. All eyes slowly lifted in unison upwards at the golden statue, the carved names of the fallen seeming to bulge out as the eyes passed over them.
The synchronised movements of the Guardians and their students was done without a word or prompt, the belief being that the ceremony’s sensitive nature and focus on the uncommon virtue of the remembered called for unusual self-discipline as a gesture of gratitude. The dragons young and old observed the memorial in silence as they waited for the flutist to complete his dedication. When finally, the last note was played, Spyro, his friends, the Guardians and the Moles all closed their eyes and bowed their heads in a minute’s silence.
As he stood with his head bowed, Spyro inhaled a long, calming breath as he mentally counted the down the seconds to the next part of the ceremony. The statue looming overhead and the two large Guardians beside him made him feel insignificant, like a leaf falling helplessly into a raging torrent. As he counted down to thirty, he tilted his head slightly to the right as he heard the heavy breathing of Ignitus beside him, causing him to slightly unfasten his eyes and glance toward him. His breathing thinly veiled his sorrowful groan, the image of the Fire Guardian’s act of mourning last night filled Spyro’s mind as the silence was broken by the memory of hearing his weeping in the night. The pang of guilt returned to Spyro’s heart, making him question whether he should have tried to reach out to him instead of going back to bed. He wondered why he had never taken such notice before, was he simply not observant or thoughtful enough in the past or had his mentor simply never reacted to this degree before? If so, why?
The sound of the flute resuming shook him out of his trail of thought, remembering his obligations. Spyro lifted his head slowly as did all the others except for the Guardians who remained with their heads low. The tune played by the flutist was noticeably more uplifting yet still sombre, the melody to ‘Valorous Hearts’ now filling the air. As the music began to swell, Spyro heard the sound of footsteps around the other side of the memorial, telling him the next phase had come. Relying on sound and his muscle memory, he kept looking straight on as Flame and Ember began to step back around the memorial.
He remained still as Cynder across from him turned to face the staircase, waiting for her fellow companions until they passed around the monument. Spyro turned his head slightly to her, seeing her eyes lock onto his and give him the faintest of nods as she, with Flame and Ember, walked as a group back towards the top of the stairs. Though now out of sight, he knew they would stop just short of the flutist and look upon the soldiers below before turning back to face the monument. He imagined the dozens of beady eyes of the Moles all turning on him as frightfully as if they were arrows ready to be unleashed.
‘Do they really look up to me?’ Spyro wondered as he kept imaging their faces. Without the presence of his friends he felt marooned and vulnerable even with the Guardians beside him. Now was the final act of the ceremony, the Guardians remained as they were left, still bowing their heads to the monument as ‘Valorous Hearts’ played dutifully. Unlike ‘My Pledge to Thee’ the piece had no lyrics as it was purely instrumental, but was intended to alleviate some of the sorrow bought on by the earlier parts of the ceremony, instilling those in attendance a sense of pride not just in the fallen but in themselves for carrying on their legacy. This point was further made in what was about to commence. Spyro felt as if spiders were crawling around inside his belly as the Guardians suddenly lifted their heads and slowly took a step back from the grey crystal balls planted in front of them. He held his breath for a moment of anxiety before he clamped his teeth hard against each other and mentally told himself,
‘This is it.’
He turned stiffly to his left and walked a few steps to the side of the memorial, turning left again to face Volteer. He stepped over to the crystal ball that sat between them, meeting eyes with the yellow dragon. His expression was comfortingly humble as he bowed his head to the young purple dragon. Spyro returned the gesture, on the way back up he paused level with the misty grey orb, starring into its centre. Up close a tiny ball of white light could be seen floating in the middle of the orb amid the smoke like grey haze. After a moment’s pause, Spyro opened his mouth and forth with came a sizzling fork of yellow lightning no wider than a blade of grass that projected into the orb. The web of electricity hooked onto the white ball in the centre and turned the grey orb into a ball of solid, flashing yellow lightning, sizzling and crackling silently inside the crystal sphere.
Spyro closed his mouth and lifted his head, turned to the right and marched to the backside of the memorial before turning to face Terrador and his grey orb. He perhaps took these ceremonies more seriously than all the rest, he in fact being one of the main authors of this particular ceremony and its practices. The Earth Guardian bowed formally and rigidly to him to which Spyro returned and eyed the orb. He opened his mouth again, a sound like a prolonged exhale accompanied it as a wavy green vine of Earth energy reached into the orb. This concentrated funnel of green magic was drawn from the essence of the surrounding plant life; the grass and soil beneath them, the giant mushrooms and the roots and flowers of the garden. The vine wrapped itself around the inside of the orb, curling in on itself until it formed a coil before fading into a shimmering green mist that filled the orb. The beam shut off as Spyro closed his mouth, Terrador lightly nodding to him before the young dragon turned towards Cyril. He repeated the short walk and left turn towards the Ice Guardian, his piercing blue eyes watching him judgingly as he approached. Spyro knew he did not mean to be harsh, but he was a perfectionist by nature and so as to avoid one of his long-winded critiques, he intended to not leave a single thread for him to pull at.
He stood before the hollow orb, waited for Cyril to bow stoutly to him before he proficiently did the same. Lifting his head to the orb, he inhaled through his snout before opening his maw. He exhaled a glistening blue mist like a cloud of blue stars that drifted over the orb. The cloud of Ice began to swirl and was drawn into the crystal orb like sand in a gale. A misty white tail followed the ice cloud as Spyro slowly closed his mouth, the glistening blue magic filled the baren orb with beautiful shimmering energy. Ice crystals swirled around the white centre as the cold mist of Spyro’s breath faded into the air. He glanced up at Cyril’s eyes briefly, narrowly resisting the urge to smile boastfully at the Guardians look of uncertainty of anything needing to be nit-picked. Keeping his composure, he turned and walked for the final time back to the front of the memorial, turning left to face Ignitus.
The Fire Guardian looked as stoic as he had ever been, eyes forward directly level at the monument, looking over Spyro as though he were not there. The young dragon felt his chest tighten and spiders in his belly scurry wildly about. He walked the few steps and stood before the last crystal ball, yet Ignitus did not bow to him right away like the others. Spyro kept his eyes forward as barely a few seconds had passed before he prematurely lifted his head questioningly. Only then did Ignitus acknowledge him, snapping his head down as his eyes seemed to pop out as if surprised to him. Spyro kept his composure regardless, the Guardian then bowing his head like the others. It was only minute, but the frantic way in which he did so was not unnoticed by the young dragon who bowed all the same like he hadn’t noticed Ignitus behaving like he had just broken from a trance. Spyro put these thoughts aside as he eyed the final orb and felt the spiders in his belly vanish as the fire stirred inside him.
Breathing in through his open mouth, he leaned forward slightly as a crown of flickering orange Flame drifted out in a single cloud of burning embers straight over the grey orb. His heart jumped as he feared the short burst was not enough, but just like the cloud of Ice it swirled and glowed brighter as the orb inhaled the burst of fire. The sparks and embers intertwined and grew into a raging firestorm that glowed like the sun at dusk, giving the impression the orb would be hazardous to touch.
Relief washed over Spyro as he eyed the final orb satisfactorily, glad his most important part of the ceremony was nearly ended. The next phase began to instil excitement in him as what he knew was coming next. He locked eyes with Ignitus once more, the red dragon lowered his head by only a fraction, staring back with only a single deliberately long bat of his eyes before Spyro sidestepped to the left and began walking around him back towards his friends.
‘Did I do something wrong?’ was all that went through his mind as he walked with a dejected expression over to where Cynder, Ember and Flame stood. He took a spot beside Cynder and faced with her and the others towards the Guardians still standing around the memorial. A jolt of surprise crept up on him as he felt Cynder’s tail lightly brush against his own, a subtle act of reassurance less obvious than anything else she could have tried. For a moment he contemplated giving her a thankful touch with his tail in return, but a sudden influx of bashfulness stopped him dead. The flutist standing behind them continued his playing unabated as ‘Valorous Hearts’ sounded loudly behind them. As if moved by the music, the glowing of the orbs intensified, casting their elemental colors against all sides of the memorial despite the overbearing sunlight.
The four young dragons watched eagerly as the colors of the orbs went from shimmering to a solid, bolder shade of their respective element. Suddenly from each of them there was a sound like a wave crashing against a rock as the four orbs simultaneously rose swiftly from the stone bowls to above the heads of the Guardians. Hovering in the air, the crystal balls seemed to burst as the elemental magic consumed them. The Fire orb transformed into a ball of red flames, the Lightning orb became a fizzling ball of yellow electricity, the Earth orb a shining jade sphere that dripped magical leaves and the Ice orb changed to a frozen boulder leaving a trail of artic mist. The sight was literally breathtaking as the four young dragons gasped, forgetting themselves and watching in wide eyed, open mouthed awe at the spectacle.
The floating orbs began to move slowly in an anticlockwise direction, circling around the monument after each other like a group of fireflies. They began to speed up, swirling faster and faster around the statue, leaving a blazing elemental trail behind them like meteorites as they gained speed. The trails of each orb grew brighter and longer the more they spun until the red, yellow, green and blue wakes touched each other. Like a heavenly halo the four colors flashed into a gold ring before flashing again and changing to a deep, rich violet; the color of Aether. It flashed repeatedly as it continued to spin then slowly began to close in on itself, the purple belt of magic shrinking down gradually above the statue. Spyro and all the others held their breath as the ring finally shrunk down to a single, pulsing orb of purple magic suspended right above the memorial, the orb encased in a violet, flame like haze that trailed just beneath it. The golden statue was bathed in its luminance as the orb, floating still above it for several moments before it began to descend slowly down onto the statue. It lowered in front of the face of Pyra, sinking down into the gold sculpture, waves of purple energy washing over it like water from a fountain. The statue began pulsing with the power of the orb, the runes on the base of which it sat began to project with purple light.
Every eye watched in astonishment as the idle figures of the memorial suddenly came to life. The gold models of the Mole at arms changed from their fighting stance to standing to attention like their living counterparts watching from the lower garden. The likeness of Pyra lowered his raised paw and his second paw lifted off the sculptured egg it had been protecting and turned towards Ignitus and the four survivors, arousing a most uncanny feeling within them as they stared into the eyes of the now animate figure. Spyro wished he knew what was going through Ignitus’s mind right that moment, what this enchanted imitation of his loyal battle squire meant to him and how it did or didn’t pay him proper reverence. These thoughts didn’t distract from his overall feeling of mind blown astoundment that came with each time they had watched this final act of the ceremony.
The shimmering likeness of Pyra bowed its head to the attendees as the Mole at arms figures held their weapons up in the air as the Honor Guard snapped their right hands into a salute to them. The dragons bowed their heads to the Pyra effigy as its metal wings fanned out and as they raised their heads again, the possessed figure took flight. The Guardian’s heads followed the spectacle as it launched upwards with a great thrash of its wings, swooping overtop of Ignitus and straight over the four young dragons who couldn’t help but duck on reflex. Spyro felt his breath be swept from his body as the shimmering figure flew over him, leaving a purple, translucent wake trailing behind like an elemental cloak. It flew over the ranks of the Honour guard before banking right and sweeping around the garden in a tight loop. It soared back around towards the pedestal before pulling upwards and performing a loop to loop over the watching dragons.
The likeness of Pyra swooped a final time before it reared back in the air, hovering above the pedestal before spinning back around to face the four young dragons watching in wide eyed exhilaration. It gently hovered down back onto the statue, bowing its head one last time before the all of the figures of the monument began to resume their usual poses; the Mole at arms at the front lowered their spears while the second pair held their swords up in preparation to strike. The dragon, the effigy of the heroic Pyra, placed his right paw back upon the dragon egg and held up his left paw to slash at his foes as he opened his mouth to unleash the power of the fire in his belly and in his heart as he and his eternal comrades became still as before as the shimmering purple magic faded and vanished.
The playing of the flute ceased, the Honor guard returned to standing at ease as Spyro and his friends remained frozen in wide eyed amazement as if having become statues themselves. As the flutist began hopping down the steps to re-join his rank, Ignitus about turned to face them as the other Guardians each turned to their left, the Fire Guardian beginning to walk from the memorial as the others followed around the statue in single file. With the final act about to close, Spyro, Cynder, Flame and Ember turned about, wincing at the sunlight as they moved in unison to the edge of the first step, standing in line with each other as the Guardians approached behind. Spyro shut his eyes for the duration of the relieved sigh that escaped his mouth as the heavy steps of the Guardians paused just behind them, their looming shadows helping to block the sun that was now rising sigh above the temple. The Honor guard stood to attention once more, beckoning them onwards as the four survivors began to clamber down the stairs, the Guardians giving them a short head start before they too began to descend. As the four young dragons reached the bottom, they marched in line with each other and with military discipline snapped their heads to the left as they passed the ranks of the Mole soldiers.
Being closest to them, Spyro felt his earlier unease return as he looked into the faces of each of the Moles who stood to attention out of respect for him. True, it was not only he that they did this for, his companions and of course the Guardians were being shown the respect they were entitled, but still he felt like he didn’t belong. He felt like someone more worthy should be standing where he has; someone like Pyra. He eyes had begun to soften as they passed by the end of the last rank, snapping his head forward with the others as they marched through the door back into the temple. The Honor guard remained at attention as the Guardian dragons passed them by and followed through into the temple. Only once they were out of view did the Mole at arms follow, turning to the left and marching back into the temple, officially ending the remembrance ceremony.
Later that day…
The dragon temple slowly faded from view as the ‘Doxantha’ airship slowly drifted through the sky towards the mainland, the glistening sea stretching out endlessly beneath her as her shadow projected across the open water hundreds of feet below. High above the ship the four dragon Guardians flew in a diamond formation with Ignitus at the lead skimming just below the cloud cover. The fair weather and the overhead cover provided by the Guardians ensured that, as unlikely as it was, no attacker would get close to the ship without first being spotted well before they arrived. Standing on the foredeck looking towards the horizon were Flame and Ember, excitedly gazing out towards the ships bow as the wind and the power of magic propelled the timber behemoth through the air.
Sitting and watching them from behind was Cynder, who seemed to have lost something as she looked to her left and right before looking over her shoulder towards the back of the ship. She stood on her hind legs and twisted herself to the left to better look at what she saw, a light frown creasing her forehead as she did. She looked back to Flame and Ember who remained as they were like puppies watching passers-by hoping one would stop to take them home. Seeming to take to take advantage of her friend’s distraction, she dropped to all four and turned around to start walking towards the stern. She hopped down to the main deck, passing by the numerous Moles as they tended to their duties about the ship, scrubbing the decks, inspecting the riggings and so on. She did her best to not get in their way, even though they usually were happy enough to make room for her. She reached the stairs to the poopdeck and scurried up the portside as she neared her query.
The Helmsmole whistled cheerfully as he stood at the ships wheel, standing on top of a wooden podium like ladder to see over the wheel as well as steer it. Behind him, looking at the island they had just left which was now little more than a haze in the distance was Spyro. He was standing on his hind legs with his front paws clenching the top of the wooden railing of the poop deck. He did not hear the sound of the black dragoness’s claws lightly clapping against the deck as she wandered over to him. He seemed to be trapped in some kind of deep philosophical psychosis or so she assumed as Cynder slowly stood up beside him and placed her claws on the railing.
“So you still going to tell me it’s nothing?” she asked sarcastically though not uncaringly. Spyro blinked and turned to face her, his expression not one of surprise. If anything, he looked as though he had been expecting her. He stared back out to the fading island as he sighed thoughtfully. Then he turned his head up and stared at the sky and the Guardians soaring above them, his eyes inevitably settling on the crimson silhouette of Ignitus as if afraid that he might hear him.
“Cynder,” he said plainly as he kept staring upward, “Do you think Ignitus hates me?”
The earnestness of his question shocked the dragoness just as much the question itself.
“What?” she asked incredulously, “What in the world makes you think that?”
“Do you think…” Spyro continued as he lowered his gaze, “I mean, maybe he doesn’t want to but do you think that some part of him… blames me?”
“Blames you…?” Cynder shook her head confoundedly, “He’s never been anything but kind to you, Spyro, to all of us. You are like a son to him.”
“Like Pyra?” he asked pointedly as he turned to her, his eyes stirring emotionally. Cynder raised her eyebrows in surprise. Her mouth opened to speak but she could find no words as she looked at the purple dragon befuddled. He sighed wearily and dropped down to all fours and turned his back, curling his tail around himself. Cynder dropped down and strolled over to his side.
“Is that what this is all about? Why you were sulking last night? You think he blames you for what happened to Pyra?”
“It’s not just that,” he replied gloomily, “It all the fuss that everyone makes about me. Everyone talks about me like I’m some kind of great hero but I’ve never done anything heroic. Look,” he said sharply as he stood up and walked with Cynder to the top of the stairs overlooking the main deck where the Moles were working. Spyro held up his right paw and swept it in front of him to gesture to them,
“They are all soldiers. They all actually fought against Malefor. They all deserve more praise than me. And Pyra? He was a real hero. All I did was be born purple. What have I done to deserve their respect?”
“Why so serious all of a sudden?” asked Cynder, “I can remember this time just last year you were flying rings around the ship you were so excited.”
“Maybe it just finally hit me,” he replied with a shrug, “That I’ve been lapping up all the attention and not really thinking about what’s expected. But it’s like I’ve already done what they say I will one day and I’ve never had to prove that I can.”
“You think Ignitus doubts you?” Cynder asked gravely. He glanced upwards again past the towering mast of the ship at the Guardians flying overhead. His mind flashed back to the awkward moment in the ceremony when Ignitus seemed to have awoken from a dream and finally taken notice of him. What was it he had been thinking? Had he deliberately snubbed the purple dragon or had he simply been distracted by the memory of his fallen friends?
“I think maybe I haven’t done right by him with my training,” Spyro said finally.
“Don’t you think he would have told you that if you weren’t shaping up? He’d cancel the holidays for you if he was that concerned.”
“I don’t know…” he said wonderingly.
“Which means it would be cancelled for me too,” she replied with a smirk. Spyro’s left eyebrow rose as he turned to her.
“Well, you’d be pretty resentful if we were all out having fun while you were stuck in temple, wouldn’t you?”
Spyro scoffed, “You’d rub it in my face all day,” he said tersely.
“But I wouldn’t want to make enemies of the legendary purple dragon, would I? Not like that poor courier, Finnbar!” Spyro smiled and laughed steadily, feeling his spirits lifted somewhat,
“I’m going to have to find that guy and pay him what he’s owed.”
“But it was an honor, remember?” Cynder reminded slyly.
“No, it was extortion,” he chuckled, “Maybe I should talk to Hunter about reimbursement.” Cynder leaned toward him and bumped him with her shoulder,
“Come on, Spyro, take a break. You haven’t saved the world yet but you haven’t let it be destroyed either,” she said casually. He gave her an unimpressed stare in response to which she rolled her eyes irritably.
“Why don’t you just ask him about it then? Why not tell him about how much its troubling you?” Spyro stared back out across the deck as his eyes widened,
“Because I’m afraid of what he might say. That maybe I’m right,” he confessed dismally.
Cynder wore a flat expression as her sigh was muffled by her closed mouth. She took a breath of the salty air even so high up and looked to her companion once more.
“Come up the front with us, Spyro. We’ve got four days just to have fun with. Just let your worries rest a while, okay?” she smiled cheerfully. Spyro turned his head away but could not hide the blush that reddened his cheeks. He was caught off guard as Cynder suddenly leapt from the stairs and glided onto the deck, looking back at him expectedly. He tilted his head as he sighed in surrender.
“Aw, alright,” he said mockingly as he spread his wings and leapt from the stairs and glided easily down beside the black dragoness.
“First to the top!” she exclaimed and took off in a gallop, catching him off guard again as he grinned competitively and ran to catch up to her. The Moles working on deck unwittingly became obstacles in their game as Cynder ran across Spyro’s path to the starboard side of the deck and leapt over a Mole while he was blissfully ducked down rummaging inside a crate. Trying to catch up, Spyro remained on the portside and leapt over a bucket and miraculously kept his footing as he skated across the slippery, soap covered patch of deck that several Moles were working on, winking to one irreverently as he swept between them with their shouts and exclamations following him.
Cynder ducked down as she ran under a crane swinging a bag of crates across the deck, leaping like a cat up to the base of the mainmast and propelling off it with her back feet towards the starboard staircase to the foredeck. At the same time, Spyro leapt from his impromptu ice rink as an upcoming tall stack of crates blocked his path, a soapy cloud washed off his feet as he bounced to the left atop a deck cannon and skipped across to another as he took a final great leapt towards the portside staircase to the foredeck.
He landed only a moment before Cynder and rushed up the staircase with only half a step making the difference, but it was a difference nonetheless as he crested the top of the stairs with Cynder cresting her side only a moment late. He grinned boastfully to her as she huffed in disappointment. He kept watching her as he held out his tongue and licked the air in front of him, referring of course to how she had licked in the dojo the day before. She deridingly gave a twisted smile in retort.
“Now we’re even!” he cried victoriously as he trotted towards the bow.
“What are you guys doing?” asked Flame as he eyed them queerly over his shoulder while he sat on the deck. Ember had still been peering in wonder over the front railing when she looked behind and saw her companions approaching.
“Just playing around,” Spyro replied lightly.
“Is she getting you in trouble again?” Ember queried bitterly, apparently still sore over Cynder escaping punishment the previous day. The black dragoness scowled at her crossly.
“Come on, lets let bygones be bygones,” reasoned Flame as the group gathered together. Seated around in a circle, tempers cooled as the group silently gathered their thoughts for a moment. Flame unusually spoke up first,
“So, are we still going along with the same idea?” he asked brightly.
“Yes, Flame,” Spyro nodded assertively, “We spend today in Warfang and at sundown we go to Avalar and stay with Hunter.”
“What about the Dam?” asked Ember, “I know some of the other dragons are planning on going there over the holiday.”
“Not if it’s more of those puffed up Ice dragons,” Cynder remarked scornfully, “Heck, it doesn’t matter what they breath, they all treat me like a voodoo doll to stick pins into.”
“We’re not all like that!” Ember retorted hotly.
“Come on, Cynder, you know they aren’t all like that,” Spyro concurred gently.
“Well, that’s often what it feels like!” Cynder remarked moodily. Spyro and Flame grimaced as they knew how easily her hot headedness often resulted in spontaneous, brooding mood swings that it was unhealthy to be on the wrong side of. Almost always it was from other dragons teasing her about ‘only’ being a Wind dragoness, but her loss of the race she had initiated seemed to be the trigger of the latest.
'And she just made me feel better!’ Spyro thought humorously.
Truthfully, he did not take kindly to anyone who had bullied her, but he always preferred to avoid conflict with the other young dragons whenever possible, which usually meant just avoiding them altogether. It was one of the reasons they tended to spend more time in Avalar with the Cheetah tribe than Warfang when they had free time. The Cheetah’s, in particular the cubs, were always enthralled when the visited, the sole exception being Chief Prowlus who seemed only ever to tolerate their presence for the sake of diplomacy.
“We’ll think about it,” Spyro declared cautiously, “The last two days are kind of up in the air right now. We’ll decide as it comes, okay?”
“Yeah!” nodded Flame.
“Sure!” Ember bobbed.
“Okay,” Cynder replied dryly. With that, Spyro stood up and wandered towards the bow with the rest of the group in tow. He stood on his hind legs and peered over the railing towards featureless horizon that would in time give way to the mainland. His friends all lined up beside him and stared anxiously towards the invisible line that separated sky from sea, both impressive sights singularly let alone together. The heat of the sun was tempered by the wind racing over and around the airship as the ‘Doxantha’ sailed through the sky. Spyro glanced upwards one last time at Ignitus leading the Guardians flying overhead, immediately stirring mixed emotions at the sight of his mentor. He levelled his gaze back towards the horizon, trying to put those feelings down with the excitement of the coming holidays and the prospect of carefree leisure for four straight days. He glanced to the right where his companions were lined up beside him, thinking mostly about what Cynder had told him as he turned back and dropped his chin on top of the railing.
‘Just relax for Ancestor’s sake,’ he told himself mentally, ‘The world isn’t going to need saving in the next four days.’
An hour later…
“Land-ho!” came a shout from the crowsnest. On the foredeck, Spyro and Flame looked up from the chess game they had been playing as Cynder and Ember paused mid conversation. As the lookout announced his sighting once more, the four young dragons sprang up and rushed to the front of the ship as the crew on deck cheered to the news. Lined up alongside each other, the four survivors stood peering over the railing out towards the horizon. A few hours before it had been naught but a featureless line, but now it took the form of a distant green haze as the mainland came into view. To an untrained eye it was indistinct, but to those who had made the voyage repeatedly and beheld this sight many a time, it was clear as crystal in memory. As the Doxantha soared on, the haze began to take shape, in the far distance snow capped mountains rose above the lush green landscape of rolling hills and tall forests. Sitting between the peaks of the mountains and green base of the land was a jagged, yellowish haze of towering shapes that rose and fell like a mountain range itself. From a distance it looked like a work of impressionism that graced an artist’s canvas, but the closer details began to take finer form. Spyro gasped as the tallest spire of the City of Warfang became clear in his eyes.
His eyes traced down the spire as the airship closed the distance to the city. The orange dome resembling that of the temple was that of Castle Hill, aptly named for it being built upon the highest point of the city; a rocky plateau on the western half of the city that occupied nearly a quarter of the city’s space. Sprawling out from beneath it were the golden-brown square buildings and rounded towers that typified Warfang. The city was built close to the sea, the shoreline marked by a few shallow beaches and ragged grey cliffs that intermediately spanned the shore. To the southwest outskirts of the city a great river flowed from far inland and spilled over a moderate waterfall down into the ocean. From the west a colossal viaduct stretched for a few miles outside the city, connecting many of the rolling hills into a single highway that continued on through the centre of the city, through a tunnel dug through the Castle Hill Plateau and all the way through the eastern side of the city.
The viaduct passed through another tunnel through a second, smaller grassy plateau whereupon a tall white tower was standing. The red domed building sported an enormous telescope pointed towards the sky; the Warfang Observatory and Science Centre. The tower rose equal in height to the castle so as to have an unobstructed view of the sky. Several hundred feet to the right of the observatory was another, wider plateau rising up like a small mountain where a large rectangular building was built upon. The two were connected by a stone bridge as the viaduct stretched on across and outside the city where it went on a few miles before crossing a steep ravine out into the countryside. Surrounding the entirety of Warfang were the enormous bulky walls that protected those within; more than a hundred feet tall and close to fifty feet wide, they had never been breached in the city’s history.
Despite often being called “Dragon City,” its architecture and indeed whole existence was not solely thanks to the dragons. Its founding and construction had been a collaboration between the moles and the dragons in honor of the long friendship the two races had shared. A common saying, though not entirely accurate but acknowledging the meshing of the mole’s brains and the dragon’s brawn was,
“The moles invented this city, but the dragons built it.”
It had stood for nearly two thousand years and seen many sieges and had never been successfully sacked. However, despite this it had not escaped destruction throughout its life. Though its walls had never fallen, I t had been razed once in its history, not by the Apes but by one of its former citizens. After Malefor had been exiled, he had returned now infused with his new dark powers and taken his vengeance upon the city. Referred to as the Night of Burning Tears, he had reduced the city almost entirely to ruin, most of the population perishing with it before the then Dragon Guardians, those who came before those currently holding the title, arrived to challenge him and eventually fight him off.
The Doxantha now crossed over the ragged cliffs of the shoreline, on course to pass almost directly over the centre of the city. Across the cityscape, passing over and between the cities many towers were countless flying dragons as well as several smaller airships and gondolas, ferrying passengers and cargo in and out of Warfang. The four young dragons quivered with excitement as the airship passed over the southern wall of the city, entering the air above the glorious city. Even from so high up it was possible to see the masses of figures, dragons and moles, moving through the streets like ants scurrying from the nest. Spyro with his friends in tow moved around the side of the bow, peering at the city below. He soon jumped down onto the main deck with the others following as they peered over the railing of the portside as the massive expanse of Warfang spread out beneath them.
End of Chapter 6
Note from the author:
The hym I wrote for this chapter 'My Pledge to Thee" is based off the British patriotic hym "I vow to thee, my country" and as such in my mind uses the same "Thaxed" melody that is also used in a number of hyms and songs. Links to examples of these will be in the description.
The second "Valorous Hearts" is not really based off anything in particular and personally I just imagined the track "Under No Flag" from Battlefield V when writing this. Again, if you want to listen, links will be provided.
"I Vow to Thee, my country" basis for "I Pledge to Thee" : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQ6e7SrGR8k
"Under No Flag" Battlefield V soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txXuWbjIpXc
Category Story / All
Species Dragon (Other)
Gender Any
Size 50 x 50px
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