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Panting from exhaustion and struggling to see in the dark through his watery eyes, Spyro clawed his way forward as the trench kept going under the canopy of the forest. Clouds of burning embers continued to drift down and the risk of marauding Dreadwings kept him from simply flying upward. That and a macabre sense of self-loathing did not allow him to help himself, just to drag himself through the narrow gorge with the forlorn hope he would live to see if anyone else he cared for was still alive. What did that it matter that he was the purple dragon? It was nothing more than a curse now; a bane that bought death to everyone it seemed but himself; the supposed prophesized savior of the world. He would have given up the mantle right that moment if he thought it would reverse everything that had happened that day. One single word kept cropping up in his mind; why?
Fought by your side,
Ashes still burning,
I proved my worth,
So tell me why?
Through the increasing dark Spyro pushed himself on, the trench narrowing and becoming more cluttered with rocks and roots the further he went. The orange sparks had long vanished behind him as the trench turned into a cave and the open ceiling closed up. Now he was stumbling through almost total darkness with the odd crystal clusters giving some vague sense of direction. He had no idea if he was heading for an eventual dead-end, but the fear of what he may find if he turned back was enough to keep him moving on, no matter how pointless and hopeless it seemed. Spyro wondered about Cynder, Flame and Ember. What would have happened of they had stayed with him, if they had faced the Assassin together? Maybe Ignitus would never have been struck down by the fireball, maybe everything would have changed…
“Ancestors, forgive me… Ignitus forgive me…” Spyro whimpered as he squeezed under a low root, forcing himself through the narrowed passage, the hard rock walls scraping against his weathered body. He could hear nothing now but the sound of his own hobbling steps through the empty cavern, the sound of the flames burning on the surface and the hissing of the spiders or the distant battles in Warfang were all gone except for his mind. It was an unnerving, crushing silence, like Spyro was now a lowly worm digging his way through the earth to avoid the light of his guilt and failure.
In a half growl and half sob, Spyro turned to a cluster of dull grey crystals poking out from the rocks and slammed his head against it, his horns shattering the crystal into a thousand pieces. He lifted his head with a furious snort and shook it violently, throwing off the pieces he had collected in the process. He sat on his haunches and wiped his face with his right paw, as he did so he touched the empty leather strap around his neck that he had entirely forgotten about. In the haze of his anger, he gripped the strap and tore it from his neck, throwing it carelessly at the shattered remains of the gem cluster. He stood up and stormed onward through the dark, ignoring the resulting headache, not caring how much pain he was in. Not caring about anything in the world anymore.
I’ve lost my way,
Your voice is silent,
I need you here,
To remind me,
The darkness carried on as Spyro trudged onward, wishing for any sign of progress. If he met a dead-end, he would at least know to go back, but it seemed fate would have him sulking in the dark forever, a puppet to its cruel will. He saw more of the crystals and narrowly avoided the temptation to destroy them too, too tired and miserable to exert himself. Just then he bumped straight into something he couldn’t see, bringing him to a halt. He snarled in vexation as groped ahead and felt a tangle of roots blocking the way in front of him which his eyes finally adjusted enough for him to vaguely see. He looked up to try and make out the ceiling, unable to tell if it was ten feet high or one hundred through the blackness as the crystals seemed to have all but vanished.
Impatiently, he felt the top of the roots, realizing it was barely higher than his head and hopped up, mercifully not banging his head on the ceiling he couldn’t see as he pulled himself over the barricade. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he felt a splash of water against his paws and underside, making him pause as he lowered his head and sniffed. He cautiously stuck out his tongue and tasted it, recognizing the taste of sea water.
“Sea water?” he asked himself curiously, “I must be close to the shoreline then.”
This news at least told him that his walking through the dark should soon be over, but then opened the door to his next challenge; finding his way to the temple without being spotted. He had not the strength for a fight if he were, perhaps not even the strength to make the flight at all. But Spyro knew he had to try. He moved at a slightly faster pace now, his eyesight tuning to the dark much more finely as his feet plopped through the thin layer of water. The cavern slithered tightly the further he went, the total darkness beginning to seep away as a distant light accompanied the sound of crashing waves. Squeezing through the narrow corridor, Spyro walked towards a glimmer of light he saw casting down ahead of him up to the right, illuminating the narrow passage ahead. The light showed he had much more headspace than he thought, but it was much too tight he imagined for any adult dragon to squeeze through, much less the spiders or Dreadwings.
Reaching the light, Spyro turned to the right as the tunnel exit changed to a slim ‘V-shaped passage barely wide enough for him to squeeze through, but the light of the sun and the sound of waves was just beyond it. Breathing in, he stretched himself as much as he could to slip through the slit in the rocks, pulling his back feet and tail through as he finally stepped into the open sunlight.
At once a wave crashed ahead and sent water splashing towards him, Spyro gazing outward towards the sun blazing through the open entrance of a dome shaped cave. The interior was wet from the sea, Spyro guessing that the tide would eventually rise and fill most it, thus explain the puddles of water he had travelled through so far back. He walked forward over a floor of slimy rocks covered by moss and loose seaweed bought in by the tide, looking towards the open ocean outside the cave. It was only a short walk before the ground dropped away a short distance to a large open lagoon inside the cave, forming an almost perfect circle inside the cave. The seawater sloshed against the bottom of the lagoon and over the edge of the drop, splashing onto the young dragon as he tried to let his eyes readjust to the light.
Shaking the water from his face, Spyro gazed around the interior, surprised that this little hideaway was unknown to him. It was the sort of place he would have loved to share with his friends, assuming they were still alive. Holding that grim thought, he peeked over the edge towards the foamy water, unable to tell how deep it was, but assuming it wouldn’t be too deep as inland caves usually weren’t. He looked up again towards the sunlight beaming into the cave, seeing only the clear sky and hearing no signs of danger outside, but he knew he cold not afford any risks. There was no way to walk out of the cave, swimming or flying being his only option. The daunting prospect of trying to fly across the sea now hit him with its full force; Spyro wondering if he even could make it in his physical and emotional state. He considered trying for Avalar again, but as before he had to assume it too would have been attacked by the apes.
As Spyro groaned woefully at his plight, he suddenly felt a great deal more exhausted than he had just a few moments ago. His head began to feel heavy and eyes seemed to fight his will to keep them open. Thinking it was the pain and exhaustion he had been staving off most of the day, Spyro inched closer to the edge as the waves prepared to crash again, thinking another splash of cold seawater would help enliven him for the next life-threatening challenge he was poised to undertake. The wave crashed hard and its crown sprayed over him, but alarm overtook him as his brain seemed to disconnect with his body, Spyro feeling his legs crumple under his weight. He could only gasp as his paws slipped and he fell forward, staring fearfully at the water as he fell, his body going limp as he felt like he had been sedated. His mind told his body to react, but it seemed to shut down on its own as he plunged into the water, paralyzed it seemed except for his eyes. At once he started sinking, not even able to close his mouth as he found himself staring up at the surface helplessly, drifting down into the cold water that it seemed was far deeper than he thought. Spyro’s eyes darted around in a panic as the air escaped his lungs, his vision growing darker as his eyes finally lost the battle to stay awake.
As the light above faded from view, the purple dragon bluntly accepted his fate; that this was his last moment and his last failure. The only consolation was that he felt no pain, closing his eyes over as he felt his conciseness fade away as he sank. He remembered feeling a great wave of bubbles swirl beneath him, even a faint thud as he presumed his body finally reached the bottom, weighed down the water flowing through his broken soul.
Show me now,
How to find my home,
All I am,
Surrender,
Tell me that you can forgive
Won’t you tell me?
Bring me peace that I may live,
Feeling the caress of clear air on his body, Spyro’s eyes shot open in an instant and his mouth gulped huge breaths as he realized, he wasn’t underwater anymore! In place of the fading watery surface he had last seen before he blacked out was a sky of intertwining blues and purples, and all along his left side he felt a hard stone surface that he was laying on. He felt complete refreshed, at least physically, his body not aching from any of the trauma it had been subjected to the last few days. He then realized that all of this had happened before. Spyro lifted his head, gleeful that he could, up from the platform and cocked it over his shoulder, staring at the grey building and twin dragon statues that looked so much like the Dragon Temple. He blinked quickly and touched his chest and flexed clenched his toes, checking that he did indeed have full control of his body again. The same eerie silence pervaded once again as Spyro calmly assessed that he was still alive and back in the mysterious dreamscape that apparently existed in his mind.
“So I’m back here…” he muttered greyly to himself, pushing himself up into a sit as Spyro crossed his forelegs over and clenched his paws together, reveling in the feeling of self-control again. But as he sat there, the thought that his conciseness was removed from his body as it sank into a watery abyss filled him with panic. If his mind was here, where was his body? What was happening to it while he was essentially stuck inside his own head.
“Chronicler!” he yelled frantically, jumping up and bounding to and fro in front of the temple lookalike like a dog on alert, “Chronicler, are you there? Where are you?”
“I am here, young dragon. You do not need to yell,” said that voice he had heard in his head the last time he had found himself in this strange place. Though relieved to hear the voice again, Spyro was understandably preoccupied with the question of what was happening to his physical form while he was summoned in this surreal illusion.
“Chronicler, you’ve got to send me back! I was drowning! I don’t know how long I’ll last before…”
“Calm down, Spyro. You needn’t panic about your physical form,” The Chronicler said gently, “I have been careful to summon you only when it is most needed and when it is safe for you to be here away from your body.”
Spyro’s expression became abhorrent, gazing around the empty sky as if it were where the voice had come from, “Careful?!” he cried furiously, “I fell into the ocean! My body is drowning right now!”
“Your body is safe, Spyro, I assure you. You may look in the pool of visions inside if it will sooth your concerns. See for yourself.”
Not waiting for another invitation, Spyro turned and ran inside the building, seeing the pool of visions in its center just like it had been before. He skidded up to the edge of the pool, gazing into its mystical waters anxiously, the same white light shining beneath the murky surface. As soon as he stood over it, the light began to expand and swirl like it had last time, the water churning into snow white particles as an image began to take shape.
“Something terrible has happened,” Spyro said ruefully as he stared into the changing water, “So much has gone wrong! Warfang is under attack! The Guardians are missing, I don’t know where my friends are, and Ignitus… Oh, Ignitus…” he whimpered as he hung his head low, his wings drooping over his back as he rocked his head miserably.
“I know, young dragon, I know,” The Chronicler answered regretfully, “It pains me to see you suffer so much. But I’m afraid what has happened today is not the only trial you will face. This is, in truth, only the beginning.”
Spyro froze as a cold thought took over his mind. He raised his head and gazed up at the open ceiling as the words of the voice in his head sank in.
“You knew!” he exclaimed angrily, “You said that dark days were ahead, that great events were coming! This is what you were talking about! You knew this would happen! Why didn’t you just tell me?!”
“I could not,” the Chronicler replied plainly but with a hint of guilt, “What I told you was the most I could do. I had not intended to contact you so soon, but my own unease got the better of me. Otherwise, this would have been the first you had heard from me.”
“So you did know this would happen!” Spyro snapped viciously, “I could have warned them! We could have stopped it!”
“There was no stopping it. It was already written,” The Chronicler explained bluntly, “I could not have told you without exposing my existence. Who would have believed you had you told them what I know?”
“Ignitus would have believed me,” Spyro answered coldly, “He believed me when I told him what I saw in Gaul’s fortress. Maybe that’s all it would have taken…”
“But he could not sway the Warfang Council, could he?” The Chronicler said pointedly, Spyro gazing angrily at the sky and forgetting about the image forming in front of him. It was only when he heard a whoosh sound like a gust of wind under his chin that he looked down again, his eyes widening at the vision that had appeared in the pool. The image he saw played like a memory he didn’t recall having; seeing what looked like a bird’s eyes view of some giant sea creature moving swiftly along the ocean’s surface. The image did not reveal its whole form, only a portion of its shell-like back. Standing out from that was a tiny purple shape laying on its back, the foamy sea splashing over it as Spyro recognized himself. He was laying on his left side, completely dead to the world and oblivious to the unusual ride he was being given while unconscious.
“That’s me!” he said in a startled cry, “But how did I… And what is that thing and where is it taking me?!”
“Sometimes I require assistance in my work,” the Chronicler explained simply, “And I have a certain connection with some of our sea dwelling inhabitants. They can live for over five hundred years, you know.”
“Okay, but where is it taking me?” he repeated impatiently.
“Away from danger. Somewhere you will be safe. Somewhere where you will stay until the right moment comes.”
“You mean to you?”
“No, not yet,” The Chronicler said carefully, “But in time I will…”
“But I can’t go anywhere!” Spyro interrupted, “I’ve got to find the others! They’re waiting for me at the temple!”
“Spyro, that is precisely why I have intervened at this moment; to stop you from doing that. You cannot go to the temple. Gaul’s forces will be waiting for you there. You cannot hope to fight them in your current state.”
“How do you know that? And if that’s true, my friends will be walking into a trap! I’ve got to help them!”
“You cannot help them, Spyro. It is already too late,” The Chronicler said glumly.
“What do you mean ‘too late’?” Spyro demanded hectically, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying….you cannot save your friends, Spyro. Even if you could it would only result in your own death. That is certain. That is why I have taken these measures, to ensure you do not meet a premature end.”
Spyro’s heart filled with horror at what he as being told, masking it behind an increasingly cantankerous anger as he raged at the unnatural night sky.
“You’re saying my friends are going to die and you expect me to do nothing? How do I know any of this is true? How do you know it is? How can you be so certain?”
The Chronicler sighed heavily, “I take no pleasure in telling you this difficult news, Spyro, but you must understand that I have been studying the past and the future for many millennia. I have borne witness to almost all our written history. It is through this, through study and through meditation, that I have been able to see glimpses of the future. Sometimes it is not the future that will be, but the one that may be if certain paths are followed.
Ever since Malefor strayed from his intended path, I have made it my mission to ensure that the next purple dragon would be steered to the path that would lead to Malefor’s ultimate defeat. I cannot offer you any proof right now beyond my solemn word, but I can tell you this; I have seen enough of these many futures to know that if you do return to the temple, you will surely die. In some you save your friends, others you do not, but either way, Spyro, you always die.”
The young purple dragon was speechless, dropping down heavily on his haunches as he stared blankly at the wall in front of him. He found himself pulling his legs and tail close together as if he were shivering from a winter storm, his blood running cold.
“And Ignitus?” he asked tensely, “Did you know what would happen to him today? What about his fate?”
“I cannot see all events that will or may happen for every individual,” The Chronicler explained shortly, “But I fear the worst for him.”
“But you knew it would happen,” Spyro growled as he looked up to the sky again, “Why couldn’t you tell me? Maybe I could have done something different. Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up stuck in those roots, maybe I could have…”
“Some things cannot be controlled or changed. Some events must occur if it is set up the course for future events. Everything that has transpired today has occurred so that you may arrive at the edge of the lagoon, where I chose to intervene to keep you from making a fatal mistake.”
“You talk like this is a game or a play…” Spyro remarked in anguish, dropping his head down as he thought of the madness of it all. He heard the Chronicler sigh in bitter sadness, whomever he was apparently holding his tongue for him to digest the feeling of powerlessness that was sitting over him like a heavy storm cloud waiting to unleash its hailstorm upon him.
“I’m so very sorry, Spyro,” The Chronicler said lowly, “But you must believe that I have only your best interests in mind. I’m telling you this and taking these actions for the greater good. Your fate and the worlds fate are one and the same.”
“I never asked for this…” Spyro whimpered scornfully, “All this responsibility, all this pain and death. It’s too much…”
“I won’t pretend to understand your burden, Spyro. But it is one Ignitus wholeheartedly believed you would carry through to the end. That was the strength of his faith in you; that is why he sacrificed so much for you. Please, Spyro, you must not give up.”
His tears falling into the pool of visions, the purple dragon stared at the now featureless waters, the image having vanished long before. He looked at his own reflection, staring into his shimmering amethyst eyes overflowing with despair. He looked at the colour of his own scales, for the first time hating the sight of them and everything they had come to mean; pain and loss. Now here he was, being asked to abandon his friends to their untimely fate for the sake of a future he had less and less personal investment in. What life was he to have if it were only dictated by the will of others?
But the future meant the fate of the whole world and every living creature on it. This was what he had spent his whole life training for. Perhaps he had thought it would be more of a fun adventure; he and his friends vanquishing evil like it was some great heroic tale. Spyro saw nothing heroic in his own reflection, only despair.
“Is there…”he began uneasily, looking up at the open ceiling as he sensed the Chronicler’s invisible eyes looking upon him, “Is there really no other way?”
“I only wish there was,” The Chronicler replied woefully. Spyro clamped his eyes shut and lowered his head once more, his paws clenching into fists as his claws dug into his palms. His body shuddered as the emotional lightning strike rippled through his body, drawing a sharp breath through his mouth. His face tightened like he was straining to pull some great load, which emotionally he was. He made not a sound and neither did the Chronicler as he allowed the distraught young dragon to vent his feelings however he needed to, unable to imagine how anyone could have a heart strong enough for all he had told him. Yet Spyro was supposed to be that dragon.
After a minute or so, his body stopped shaking, but Spyro remained as still as a statue for minutes after, his eyes neither opening nor shedding anymore tears. Perhaps his heart was hardening or perhaps it had died with his innocence, but whatever the case, silence prevailed inside the grey temple as the purple dragon battled his feelings. Then, after what may have been an hour or five minutes, Spyro slowly unclenched is fists and lifted his head, his eyes opening slowly as he sat rigidly in place. He blinked for a single, drawn-out moment, a pair of tears quickly streaking down the edge of his eyes as he breathed in deliberately.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked in a firm but reluctant voice. The Chronicler’s answer did not come right away, Spyro wondering if the author of the mysterious voice had perhaps having left him while he had been brooding. A few moments later, he heard a resigned sigh in his head telling him the Chronicler was still there.
“Ride out this storm, Spyro. You must keep yourself from the world. You must remain hidden until the time comes for you to emerge. You must remain isolated from everything you know. The world must believe you are gone so your enemies will not seek you out. Live for the day that you are called upon. When that day comes, I will summon you. But until then, you must become but a memory.”
Spyro showed no emotion as he was told this, taking a sharp breath as his chest expanded and retracted thoughtfully.
“Hide? That’s it?”
“And wait,” The Chronicler added.
“For how long?”
“Until the time is right. Are you ready to go back?”
Spyro hated the vagueness of these answers, but he was too exhausted to press it any further. He gave a slow, wordless nod, seemingly accepting that his fate was out of his own grasp.
“Very well. Just as before, look into the pool and you shall be returned.”
Spyro cautiously took one last look around the room of the mysterious realm he was in. His hardened exterior masked the uncertainty and melancholy that was bubbling inside him. Swallowing tepidly, he looked down into the pool as the light within it began to swirl again. He watched as the waters became bright white as before, glowing and rising towards him in a blinding aura that consumed him and everything around him.
“Goodluck, young dragon,” he heard the Chronicler say just as the white light enveloped him, a moment later hearing the sound of waves as he felt an uncomfortable layer of pebbles beneath his right side.
Show me now,
How to find my home,
All I am
Surrender,
Spyro opened his eyes with a sudden gasp of breath, the pain that had vanished during the trip inside his mind returned as well. He lay still for a moment as he found himself staring across the pebble covered expanse of an unfamiliar shore. He rolled his head up to the sky, seeing the dark of night and a million glistening stars. He turned his head forwards and looked inland, finding himself staring into a darkened tree line beyond the shore. Huge brown oaks and lush green plants formed a perimeter while the soft purple glow of giant mushrooms were dotted in-between them. They were not towering like the ones near the temple, but they were still larger than him and coupled with the moonlight gave the scene an eerie atmosphere.
He stared deliriously for a moment, listening to the strange calls and chirping insects that he hadn’t heard before, not seeing any other life part from that. A cold dampness touching the tip of his tail made him look around towards the sea that was gently lapping against it. He saw the Celestial Moons high above him as he looked across a shimmering flat sea colored by the moons and not a hint of the creature that had apparently bought him here.
“Where am I?” he asked himself, rolling gingerly on his back, shuffling the pebbles beneath him as he scanned across the other side, seeing more pebbles strewn beach stretching off as far as his eyes could reach. The salty air was course in his lungs and on the bruises his body had accumulated. The purple dragon scanned the distant shore as it turned to the right and headed out before tapering off some distance away and going who knew which way. Spyro rolled back on his right side to not agitate his injured foreleg, straining to lift himself as he planted his feet onto the pebbles beneath him. The gazed at the unknown forest in front of him apprehensively, wondering why the Chronicler had chosen to send him here. For all he knew it was the other side of the world for the passage of time didn’t seem to matter when he was in that strange world inside his head. It could not have been much later than midday when he collapsed into the lagoon, and he had spent no more than ten minutes in the Chronicler’s realm.
Yet it was now the middle of the night on what he presumed was still the same day. Had he actually accelerated through time somehow, or was the Chronicler controlling when he would wake up? Whatever the answer, it only added to his conviction that nothing about his existence was in his control.
Now Spyro found himself alone on the shore of some land he knew nothing about because of the interference of a mysterious voice that barely told him enough to understand why. He slowly hobbled around and faced the water that he had been delivered from, the waves gently petering out across the pebbly shore like a metaphor for everything he had known his whole life. He gazed across the sea, feeling a painful knot in his stomach as somewhere beyond the horizon was the world he had grown up in, now collapsing and burning under the might of a tyrant he was always taught he was sure to beat. He thought back to Warfang, imagining what was becoming of it. Had the city fallen or had the invaders been repelled?
When last he saw it to seemed nothing could stop the apes, but perhaps his idea, his notion of destroying the viaduct had helped stem the tide. The fiery images of the stricken Doxantha cursed his mind, only tightening the knot in his stomach. What had happened to the other Guardians? What about Hunter and the Cheetahs? What about Remy and his crew? What about Mason and the mole soldiers he had helped and who had helped him that day? What about Cynder, Flame and Ember who he had promised he would meet up with again? But then he knew what the answer was for them was; the Chronicler had said that going to the temple might save them, but would invariably result in his own death.
Now that he was stuck on the edge of the unknown, no longer coming to their aid, their fate was all but assured. They were dead. They were his friends, his family, the closest he had known to brothers and sisters, and he had let it happen. Along with them the only father he had ever known, Ignitus, had been left at the mercy of vicious bulb spiders. Spyro now stood alone not only on this beach, but the whole world.
With heavy eyes, Spyro lifted his head to the sky and looked at the stars above, feeling like every single one was an eye judging him for what he had failed to stop. For failing to protect what he cared for most. He felt ashamed at the fact that he had already wallowed in aguish so much that now he couldn’t even muster anymore tears for them. For his family.
“I’m so sorry, guys…I’m sorry Ignitus…” he whispered faintly, imaging that somewhere, wherever they were now they could hear his words, “Please forgive me. Ancestors, please look after them. Give me the strength to carry on for them.”
He stood there as if he were expecting an answer, the only sound he heard being that of the waves and the sounds of the forest behind him. With a sorrowful sigh, Spyro turned his back on the sea and faced towards the new world in front of him. He looked across the towering forest and its ominous glow and noises, not knowing what awaited with in it and not caring either. All that he cared about was behind him and gone, all in one day. This place, until whenever the Chronicler decided was the ‘right’time, was his cruel new beginning. With sunken shoulders, the purple dragon began to walk slowly forward towards the forest, hanging his head low as he stepped of the pebbled beach and onto the thick grass of the forest floor. As he passed through the outer layer of trees, he stopped and took a final glance over his shoulder at the sea and the world beyond it that had been everything he had ever known. Still fresh out of tears, Spyro turned his head back and with it hanging low he journeyed onward into the dark forest. To where and why, he did not know….
Oh, sweet rest,
Find me at my home,
Stay with me,
Forever,
Let the water flow right through this broken soul.
End of Chapter 18.
Next Chapter: Sparx in the Night
When I thought up this chapter, I certainty wanted to invoke the spirit of "This Broken Soul" which we all know plays at the end of the Legend of Spyro: The Eternal Night, but didn't think I'd just go ahead and include the lyrics in the chapter like writing music into a screenplay. I know that it doesn't really make sense to include them in the context of the story since Spyro is not thinking them in his head, though I did consider writing it as him remembering the lyrics of a sad song he once heard and could not get it out of his head while all this sad stuff is happening, but I thought that would come across as goofy and forced.
So I just decided that I hope the readers can suspend their disbelief and think of it more like a scene from a movie where the song is playing over the drama as it unfolds, but in the end I don't think many people will mind.
Fought by your side,
Ashes still burning,
I proved my worth,
So tell me why?
Through the increasing dark Spyro pushed himself on, the trench narrowing and becoming more cluttered with rocks and roots the further he went. The orange sparks had long vanished behind him as the trench turned into a cave and the open ceiling closed up. Now he was stumbling through almost total darkness with the odd crystal clusters giving some vague sense of direction. He had no idea if he was heading for an eventual dead-end, but the fear of what he may find if he turned back was enough to keep him moving on, no matter how pointless and hopeless it seemed. Spyro wondered about Cynder, Flame and Ember. What would have happened of they had stayed with him, if they had faced the Assassin together? Maybe Ignitus would never have been struck down by the fireball, maybe everything would have changed…
“Ancestors, forgive me… Ignitus forgive me…” Spyro whimpered as he squeezed under a low root, forcing himself through the narrowed passage, the hard rock walls scraping against his weathered body. He could hear nothing now but the sound of his own hobbling steps through the empty cavern, the sound of the flames burning on the surface and the hissing of the spiders or the distant battles in Warfang were all gone except for his mind. It was an unnerving, crushing silence, like Spyro was now a lowly worm digging his way through the earth to avoid the light of his guilt and failure.
In a half growl and half sob, Spyro turned to a cluster of dull grey crystals poking out from the rocks and slammed his head against it, his horns shattering the crystal into a thousand pieces. He lifted his head with a furious snort and shook it violently, throwing off the pieces he had collected in the process. He sat on his haunches and wiped his face with his right paw, as he did so he touched the empty leather strap around his neck that he had entirely forgotten about. In the haze of his anger, he gripped the strap and tore it from his neck, throwing it carelessly at the shattered remains of the gem cluster. He stood up and stormed onward through the dark, ignoring the resulting headache, not caring how much pain he was in. Not caring about anything in the world anymore.
I’ve lost my way,
Your voice is silent,
I need you here,
To remind me,
The darkness carried on as Spyro trudged onward, wishing for any sign of progress. If he met a dead-end, he would at least know to go back, but it seemed fate would have him sulking in the dark forever, a puppet to its cruel will. He saw more of the crystals and narrowly avoided the temptation to destroy them too, too tired and miserable to exert himself. Just then he bumped straight into something he couldn’t see, bringing him to a halt. He snarled in vexation as groped ahead and felt a tangle of roots blocking the way in front of him which his eyes finally adjusted enough for him to vaguely see. He looked up to try and make out the ceiling, unable to tell if it was ten feet high or one hundred through the blackness as the crystals seemed to have all but vanished.
Impatiently, he felt the top of the roots, realizing it was barely higher than his head and hopped up, mercifully not banging his head on the ceiling he couldn’t see as he pulled himself over the barricade. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he felt a splash of water against his paws and underside, making him pause as he lowered his head and sniffed. He cautiously stuck out his tongue and tasted it, recognizing the taste of sea water.
“Sea water?” he asked himself curiously, “I must be close to the shoreline then.”
This news at least told him that his walking through the dark should soon be over, but then opened the door to his next challenge; finding his way to the temple without being spotted. He had not the strength for a fight if he were, perhaps not even the strength to make the flight at all. But Spyro knew he had to try. He moved at a slightly faster pace now, his eyesight tuning to the dark much more finely as his feet plopped through the thin layer of water. The cavern slithered tightly the further he went, the total darkness beginning to seep away as a distant light accompanied the sound of crashing waves. Squeezing through the narrow corridor, Spyro walked towards a glimmer of light he saw casting down ahead of him up to the right, illuminating the narrow passage ahead. The light showed he had much more headspace than he thought, but it was much too tight he imagined for any adult dragon to squeeze through, much less the spiders or Dreadwings.
Reaching the light, Spyro turned to the right as the tunnel exit changed to a slim ‘V-shaped passage barely wide enough for him to squeeze through, but the light of the sun and the sound of waves was just beyond it. Breathing in, he stretched himself as much as he could to slip through the slit in the rocks, pulling his back feet and tail through as he finally stepped into the open sunlight.
At once a wave crashed ahead and sent water splashing towards him, Spyro gazing outward towards the sun blazing through the open entrance of a dome shaped cave. The interior was wet from the sea, Spyro guessing that the tide would eventually rise and fill most it, thus explain the puddles of water he had travelled through so far back. He walked forward over a floor of slimy rocks covered by moss and loose seaweed bought in by the tide, looking towards the open ocean outside the cave. It was only a short walk before the ground dropped away a short distance to a large open lagoon inside the cave, forming an almost perfect circle inside the cave. The seawater sloshed against the bottom of the lagoon and over the edge of the drop, splashing onto the young dragon as he tried to let his eyes readjust to the light.
Shaking the water from his face, Spyro gazed around the interior, surprised that this little hideaway was unknown to him. It was the sort of place he would have loved to share with his friends, assuming they were still alive. Holding that grim thought, he peeked over the edge towards the foamy water, unable to tell how deep it was, but assuming it wouldn’t be too deep as inland caves usually weren’t. He looked up again towards the sunlight beaming into the cave, seeing only the clear sky and hearing no signs of danger outside, but he knew he cold not afford any risks. There was no way to walk out of the cave, swimming or flying being his only option. The daunting prospect of trying to fly across the sea now hit him with its full force; Spyro wondering if he even could make it in his physical and emotional state. He considered trying for Avalar again, but as before he had to assume it too would have been attacked by the apes.
As Spyro groaned woefully at his plight, he suddenly felt a great deal more exhausted than he had just a few moments ago. His head began to feel heavy and eyes seemed to fight his will to keep them open. Thinking it was the pain and exhaustion he had been staving off most of the day, Spyro inched closer to the edge as the waves prepared to crash again, thinking another splash of cold seawater would help enliven him for the next life-threatening challenge he was poised to undertake. The wave crashed hard and its crown sprayed over him, but alarm overtook him as his brain seemed to disconnect with his body, Spyro feeling his legs crumple under his weight. He could only gasp as his paws slipped and he fell forward, staring fearfully at the water as he fell, his body going limp as he felt like he had been sedated. His mind told his body to react, but it seemed to shut down on its own as he plunged into the water, paralyzed it seemed except for his eyes. At once he started sinking, not even able to close his mouth as he found himself staring up at the surface helplessly, drifting down into the cold water that it seemed was far deeper than he thought. Spyro’s eyes darted around in a panic as the air escaped his lungs, his vision growing darker as his eyes finally lost the battle to stay awake.
As the light above faded from view, the purple dragon bluntly accepted his fate; that this was his last moment and his last failure. The only consolation was that he felt no pain, closing his eyes over as he felt his conciseness fade away as he sank. He remembered feeling a great wave of bubbles swirl beneath him, even a faint thud as he presumed his body finally reached the bottom, weighed down the water flowing through his broken soul.
Show me now,
How to find my home,
All I am,
Surrender,
Tell me that you can forgive
Won’t you tell me?
Bring me peace that I may live,
Feeling the caress of clear air on his body, Spyro’s eyes shot open in an instant and his mouth gulped huge breaths as he realized, he wasn’t underwater anymore! In place of the fading watery surface he had last seen before he blacked out was a sky of intertwining blues and purples, and all along his left side he felt a hard stone surface that he was laying on. He felt complete refreshed, at least physically, his body not aching from any of the trauma it had been subjected to the last few days. He then realized that all of this had happened before. Spyro lifted his head, gleeful that he could, up from the platform and cocked it over his shoulder, staring at the grey building and twin dragon statues that looked so much like the Dragon Temple. He blinked quickly and touched his chest and flexed clenched his toes, checking that he did indeed have full control of his body again. The same eerie silence pervaded once again as Spyro calmly assessed that he was still alive and back in the mysterious dreamscape that apparently existed in his mind.
“So I’m back here…” he muttered greyly to himself, pushing himself up into a sit as Spyro crossed his forelegs over and clenched his paws together, reveling in the feeling of self-control again. But as he sat there, the thought that his conciseness was removed from his body as it sank into a watery abyss filled him with panic. If his mind was here, where was his body? What was happening to it while he was essentially stuck inside his own head.
“Chronicler!” he yelled frantically, jumping up and bounding to and fro in front of the temple lookalike like a dog on alert, “Chronicler, are you there? Where are you?”
“I am here, young dragon. You do not need to yell,” said that voice he had heard in his head the last time he had found himself in this strange place. Though relieved to hear the voice again, Spyro was understandably preoccupied with the question of what was happening to his physical form while he was summoned in this surreal illusion.
“Chronicler, you’ve got to send me back! I was drowning! I don’t know how long I’ll last before…”
“Calm down, Spyro. You needn’t panic about your physical form,” The Chronicler said gently, “I have been careful to summon you only when it is most needed and when it is safe for you to be here away from your body.”
Spyro’s expression became abhorrent, gazing around the empty sky as if it were where the voice had come from, “Careful?!” he cried furiously, “I fell into the ocean! My body is drowning right now!”
“Your body is safe, Spyro, I assure you. You may look in the pool of visions inside if it will sooth your concerns. See for yourself.”
Not waiting for another invitation, Spyro turned and ran inside the building, seeing the pool of visions in its center just like it had been before. He skidded up to the edge of the pool, gazing into its mystical waters anxiously, the same white light shining beneath the murky surface. As soon as he stood over it, the light began to expand and swirl like it had last time, the water churning into snow white particles as an image began to take shape.
“Something terrible has happened,” Spyro said ruefully as he stared into the changing water, “So much has gone wrong! Warfang is under attack! The Guardians are missing, I don’t know where my friends are, and Ignitus… Oh, Ignitus…” he whimpered as he hung his head low, his wings drooping over his back as he rocked his head miserably.
“I know, young dragon, I know,” The Chronicler answered regretfully, “It pains me to see you suffer so much. But I’m afraid what has happened today is not the only trial you will face. This is, in truth, only the beginning.”
Spyro froze as a cold thought took over his mind. He raised his head and gazed up at the open ceiling as the words of the voice in his head sank in.
“You knew!” he exclaimed angrily, “You said that dark days were ahead, that great events were coming! This is what you were talking about! You knew this would happen! Why didn’t you just tell me?!”
“I could not,” the Chronicler replied plainly but with a hint of guilt, “What I told you was the most I could do. I had not intended to contact you so soon, but my own unease got the better of me. Otherwise, this would have been the first you had heard from me.”
“So you did know this would happen!” Spyro snapped viciously, “I could have warned them! We could have stopped it!”
“There was no stopping it. It was already written,” The Chronicler explained bluntly, “I could not have told you without exposing my existence. Who would have believed you had you told them what I know?”
“Ignitus would have believed me,” Spyro answered coldly, “He believed me when I told him what I saw in Gaul’s fortress. Maybe that’s all it would have taken…”
“But he could not sway the Warfang Council, could he?” The Chronicler said pointedly, Spyro gazing angrily at the sky and forgetting about the image forming in front of him. It was only when he heard a whoosh sound like a gust of wind under his chin that he looked down again, his eyes widening at the vision that had appeared in the pool. The image he saw played like a memory he didn’t recall having; seeing what looked like a bird’s eyes view of some giant sea creature moving swiftly along the ocean’s surface. The image did not reveal its whole form, only a portion of its shell-like back. Standing out from that was a tiny purple shape laying on its back, the foamy sea splashing over it as Spyro recognized himself. He was laying on his left side, completely dead to the world and oblivious to the unusual ride he was being given while unconscious.
“That’s me!” he said in a startled cry, “But how did I… And what is that thing and where is it taking me?!”
“Sometimes I require assistance in my work,” the Chronicler explained simply, “And I have a certain connection with some of our sea dwelling inhabitants. They can live for over five hundred years, you know.”
“Okay, but where is it taking me?” he repeated impatiently.
“Away from danger. Somewhere you will be safe. Somewhere where you will stay until the right moment comes.”
“You mean to you?”
“No, not yet,” The Chronicler said carefully, “But in time I will…”
“But I can’t go anywhere!” Spyro interrupted, “I’ve got to find the others! They’re waiting for me at the temple!”
“Spyro, that is precisely why I have intervened at this moment; to stop you from doing that. You cannot go to the temple. Gaul’s forces will be waiting for you there. You cannot hope to fight them in your current state.”
“How do you know that? And if that’s true, my friends will be walking into a trap! I’ve got to help them!”
“You cannot help them, Spyro. It is already too late,” The Chronicler said glumly.
“What do you mean ‘too late’?” Spyro demanded hectically, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying….you cannot save your friends, Spyro. Even if you could it would only result in your own death. That is certain. That is why I have taken these measures, to ensure you do not meet a premature end.”
Spyro’s heart filled with horror at what he as being told, masking it behind an increasingly cantankerous anger as he raged at the unnatural night sky.
“You’re saying my friends are going to die and you expect me to do nothing? How do I know any of this is true? How do you know it is? How can you be so certain?”
The Chronicler sighed heavily, “I take no pleasure in telling you this difficult news, Spyro, but you must understand that I have been studying the past and the future for many millennia. I have borne witness to almost all our written history. It is through this, through study and through meditation, that I have been able to see glimpses of the future. Sometimes it is not the future that will be, but the one that may be if certain paths are followed.
Ever since Malefor strayed from his intended path, I have made it my mission to ensure that the next purple dragon would be steered to the path that would lead to Malefor’s ultimate defeat. I cannot offer you any proof right now beyond my solemn word, but I can tell you this; I have seen enough of these many futures to know that if you do return to the temple, you will surely die. In some you save your friends, others you do not, but either way, Spyro, you always die.”
The young purple dragon was speechless, dropping down heavily on his haunches as he stared blankly at the wall in front of him. He found himself pulling his legs and tail close together as if he were shivering from a winter storm, his blood running cold.
“And Ignitus?” he asked tensely, “Did you know what would happen to him today? What about his fate?”
“I cannot see all events that will or may happen for every individual,” The Chronicler explained shortly, “But I fear the worst for him.”
“But you knew it would happen,” Spyro growled as he looked up to the sky again, “Why couldn’t you tell me? Maybe I could have done something different. Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up stuck in those roots, maybe I could have…”
“Some things cannot be controlled or changed. Some events must occur if it is set up the course for future events. Everything that has transpired today has occurred so that you may arrive at the edge of the lagoon, where I chose to intervene to keep you from making a fatal mistake.”
“You talk like this is a game or a play…” Spyro remarked in anguish, dropping his head down as he thought of the madness of it all. He heard the Chronicler sigh in bitter sadness, whomever he was apparently holding his tongue for him to digest the feeling of powerlessness that was sitting over him like a heavy storm cloud waiting to unleash its hailstorm upon him.
“I’m so very sorry, Spyro,” The Chronicler said lowly, “But you must believe that I have only your best interests in mind. I’m telling you this and taking these actions for the greater good. Your fate and the worlds fate are one and the same.”
“I never asked for this…” Spyro whimpered scornfully, “All this responsibility, all this pain and death. It’s too much…”
“I won’t pretend to understand your burden, Spyro. But it is one Ignitus wholeheartedly believed you would carry through to the end. That was the strength of his faith in you; that is why he sacrificed so much for you. Please, Spyro, you must not give up.”
His tears falling into the pool of visions, the purple dragon stared at the now featureless waters, the image having vanished long before. He looked at his own reflection, staring into his shimmering amethyst eyes overflowing with despair. He looked at the colour of his own scales, for the first time hating the sight of them and everything they had come to mean; pain and loss. Now here he was, being asked to abandon his friends to their untimely fate for the sake of a future he had less and less personal investment in. What life was he to have if it were only dictated by the will of others?
But the future meant the fate of the whole world and every living creature on it. This was what he had spent his whole life training for. Perhaps he had thought it would be more of a fun adventure; he and his friends vanquishing evil like it was some great heroic tale. Spyro saw nothing heroic in his own reflection, only despair.
“Is there…”he began uneasily, looking up at the open ceiling as he sensed the Chronicler’s invisible eyes looking upon him, “Is there really no other way?”
“I only wish there was,” The Chronicler replied woefully. Spyro clamped his eyes shut and lowered his head once more, his paws clenching into fists as his claws dug into his palms. His body shuddered as the emotional lightning strike rippled through his body, drawing a sharp breath through his mouth. His face tightened like he was straining to pull some great load, which emotionally he was. He made not a sound and neither did the Chronicler as he allowed the distraught young dragon to vent his feelings however he needed to, unable to imagine how anyone could have a heart strong enough for all he had told him. Yet Spyro was supposed to be that dragon.
After a minute or so, his body stopped shaking, but Spyro remained as still as a statue for minutes after, his eyes neither opening nor shedding anymore tears. Perhaps his heart was hardening or perhaps it had died with his innocence, but whatever the case, silence prevailed inside the grey temple as the purple dragon battled his feelings. Then, after what may have been an hour or five minutes, Spyro slowly unclenched is fists and lifted his head, his eyes opening slowly as he sat rigidly in place. He blinked for a single, drawn-out moment, a pair of tears quickly streaking down the edge of his eyes as he breathed in deliberately.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked in a firm but reluctant voice. The Chronicler’s answer did not come right away, Spyro wondering if the author of the mysterious voice had perhaps having left him while he had been brooding. A few moments later, he heard a resigned sigh in his head telling him the Chronicler was still there.
“Ride out this storm, Spyro. You must keep yourself from the world. You must remain hidden until the time comes for you to emerge. You must remain isolated from everything you know. The world must believe you are gone so your enemies will not seek you out. Live for the day that you are called upon. When that day comes, I will summon you. But until then, you must become but a memory.”
Spyro showed no emotion as he was told this, taking a sharp breath as his chest expanded and retracted thoughtfully.
“Hide? That’s it?”
“And wait,” The Chronicler added.
“For how long?”
“Until the time is right. Are you ready to go back?”
Spyro hated the vagueness of these answers, but he was too exhausted to press it any further. He gave a slow, wordless nod, seemingly accepting that his fate was out of his own grasp.
“Very well. Just as before, look into the pool and you shall be returned.”
Spyro cautiously took one last look around the room of the mysterious realm he was in. His hardened exterior masked the uncertainty and melancholy that was bubbling inside him. Swallowing tepidly, he looked down into the pool as the light within it began to swirl again. He watched as the waters became bright white as before, glowing and rising towards him in a blinding aura that consumed him and everything around him.
“Goodluck, young dragon,” he heard the Chronicler say just as the white light enveloped him, a moment later hearing the sound of waves as he felt an uncomfortable layer of pebbles beneath his right side.
Show me now,
How to find my home,
All I am
Surrender,
Spyro opened his eyes with a sudden gasp of breath, the pain that had vanished during the trip inside his mind returned as well. He lay still for a moment as he found himself staring across the pebble covered expanse of an unfamiliar shore. He rolled his head up to the sky, seeing the dark of night and a million glistening stars. He turned his head forwards and looked inland, finding himself staring into a darkened tree line beyond the shore. Huge brown oaks and lush green plants formed a perimeter while the soft purple glow of giant mushrooms were dotted in-between them. They were not towering like the ones near the temple, but they were still larger than him and coupled with the moonlight gave the scene an eerie atmosphere.
He stared deliriously for a moment, listening to the strange calls and chirping insects that he hadn’t heard before, not seeing any other life part from that. A cold dampness touching the tip of his tail made him look around towards the sea that was gently lapping against it. He saw the Celestial Moons high above him as he looked across a shimmering flat sea colored by the moons and not a hint of the creature that had apparently bought him here.
“Where am I?” he asked himself, rolling gingerly on his back, shuffling the pebbles beneath him as he scanned across the other side, seeing more pebbles strewn beach stretching off as far as his eyes could reach. The salty air was course in his lungs and on the bruises his body had accumulated. The purple dragon scanned the distant shore as it turned to the right and headed out before tapering off some distance away and going who knew which way. Spyro rolled back on his right side to not agitate his injured foreleg, straining to lift himself as he planted his feet onto the pebbles beneath him. The gazed at the unknown forest in front of him apprehensively, wondering why the Chronicler had chosen to send him here. For all he knew it was the other side of the world for the passage of time didn’t seem to matter when he was in that strange world inside his head. It could not have been much later than midday when he collapsed into the lagoon, and he had spent no more than ten minutes in the Chronicler’s realm.
Yet it was now the middle of the night on what he presumed was still the same day. Had he actually accelerated through time somehow, or was the Chronicler controlling when he would wake up? Whatever the answer, it only added to his conviction that nothing about his existence was in his control.
Now Spyro found himself alone on the shore of some land he knew nothing about because of the interference of a mysterious voice that barely told him enough to understand why. He slowly hobbled around and faced the water that he had been delivered from, the waves gently petering out across the pebbly shore like a metaphor for everything he had known his whole life. He gazed across the sea, feeling a painful knot in his stomach as somewhere beyond the horizon was the world he had grown up in, now collapsing and burning under the might of a tyrant he was always taught he was sure to beat. He thought back to Warfang, imagining what was becoming of it. Had the city fallen or had the invaders been repelled?
When last he saw it to seemed nothing could stop the apes, but perhaps his idea, his notion of destroying the viaduct had helped stem the tide. The fiery images of the stricken Doxantha cursed his mind, only tightening the knot in his stomach. What had happened to the other Guardians? What about Hunter and the Cheetahs? What about Remy and his crew? What about Mason and the mole soldiers he had helped and who had helped him that day? What about Cynder, Flame and Ember who he had promised he would meet up with again? But then he knew what the answer was for them was; the Chronicler had said that going to the temple might save them, but would invariably result in his own death.
Now that he was stuck on the edge of the unknown, no longer coming to their aid, their fate was all but assured. They were dead. They were his friends, his family, the closest he had known to brothers and sisters, and he had let it happen. Along with them the only father he had ever known, Ignitus, had been left at the mercy of vicious bulb spiders. Spyro now stood alone not only on this beach, but the whole world.
With heavy eyes, Spyro lifted his head to the sky and looked at the stars above, feeling like every single one was an eye judging him for what he had failed to stop. For failing to protect what he cared for most. He felt ashamed at the fact that he had already wallowed in aguish so much that now he couldn’t even muster anymore tears for them. For his family.
“I’m so sorry, guys…I’m sorry Ignitus…” he whispered faintly, imaging that somewhere, wherever they were now they could hear his words, “Please forgive me. Ancestors, please look after them. Give me the strength to carry on for them.”
He stood there as if he were expecting an answer, the only sound he heard being that of the waves and the sounds of the forest behind him. With a sorrowful sigh, Spyro turned his back on the sea and faced towards the new world in front of him. He looked across the towering forest and its ominous glow and noises, not knowing what awaited with in it and not caring either. All that he cared about was behind him and gone, all in one day. This place, until whenever the Chronicler decided was the ‘right’time, was his cruel new beginning. With sunken shoulders, the purple dragon began to walk slowly forward towards the forest, hanging his head low as he stepped of the pebbled beach and onto the thick grass of the forest floor. As he passed through the outer layer of trees, he stopped and took a final glance over his shoulder at the sea and the world beyond it that had been everything he had ever known. Still fresh out of tears, Spyro turned his head back and with it hanging low he journeyed onward into the dark forest. To where and why, he did not know….
Oh, sweet rest,
Find me at my home,
Stay with me,
Forever,
Let the water flow right through this broken soul.
End of Chapter 18.
Next Chapter: Sparx in the Night
When I thought up this chapter, I certainty wanted to invoke the spirit of "This Broken Soul" which we all know plays at the end of the Legend of Spyro: The Eternal Night, but didn't think I'd just go ahead and include the lyrics in the chapter like writing music into a screenplay. I know that it doesn't really make sense to include them in the context of the story since Spyro is not thinking them in his head, though I did consider writing it as him remembering the lyrics of a sad song he once heard and could not get it out of his head while all this sad stuff is happening, but I thought that would come across as goofy and forced.
So I just decided that I hope the readers can suspend their disbelief and think of it more like a scene from a movie where the song is playing over the drama as it unfolds, but in the end I don't think many people will mind.
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Dragon (Other)
Gender Any
Size 120 x 86px
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