Tears of an Oracle: Chapter 1

The sunrise was the first thing they saw when they returned to the surface world. It spread its golden fingers across the sky, lighting every cloud it touched in soft pastel gold. Every beast, from dragon to mole to cheetah, raised his eyes to the sky to behold the warming light. Awe graced their faces as they gazed at the beautiful earth, restored and mended to what it should have been. It was clear then, to their eyes, that the mighty heroes had succeeded.

"Woo! Yes! Hah-ha!" the shouting yells of a yellow dragonfly broke the awed silence. "They did it! Way to go, Spyro buddy!"

Just like that the trance that had fallen over everyone seemed to break, and whooping yells of joy filled the morning air. Sparx punched his tiny hands in the air, his laughing almost lost in the noise of stamping feet as the dragons signalled their approval to their purple saviour. The cheetahs clapped wildly as the moles performed peculiar little victory dances around their feet and waved their tiny paws in the air.

The trees were green, the sky was blue, and the world was perfect and serene. And they all had two dragons to thank. Sparx hoped that wherever they were, Spyro and Cynder could hear the joyful yells of the lives they had saved. Wherever they were, Sparx hoped they were enjoying the sunrise just as much as everyone here. Ancestors only knew how much they deserved it.

---

"They're back! They've returned!" the lookout dragon hollered as loud as he could, tugging on the bell cord and sending deep knells resounding throughout the city of Warfang.

Sparx looked up instantly, his eyes alight with surprise. He had been leaning against the windowsill in what should have been Spyro's room, gazing glumly out into the mockingly cheerful sky. It had been nearly a week since he and the whole population of Warfang had returned to the surface world to find that Spyro had somehow managed to restore the earth.

Sparx had been waiting for his adoptive brother's return ever since that day, but as each day passed without a single sign of Spyro or Cynder, his lingering hope had begun to wane. There had been neither sight nor sound of Spyro, Cynder or Ignitus since they left for the Belt of Fire, and Sparx was getting worried. But the tolling bell reached his ears and hope sprang anew into his heart.

"They're back?" Sparx shot out of the room and headed for the lookout tower as fast as he could fly. "No way!"

He passed several dragons in the hallway, and it took all his skill to weave around them without crashing headlong into a scaly snout. Most of them stopped as soon as the tolling bell reached their ears, and soon Sparx was leading a whole group of excited dragons out to the front of the city. He strained his wings as hard as he could, desperately hoping it wasn't a false sighting.

"Please…" he whispered. "Please let it be them."

The tolling bell became louder as Sparx neared the lookout tower. Dragons from all over the city, cheetahs at their sides and moles at their heels, were running for the battlements and the surrounding wall, eager to get a glimpse of the returning heroes. Sparx angled upwards and shot towards the lookout dragon and his perch on top of the lookout tower. From up here he had a brilliant view of the surrounding countryside for miles. But Sparx had eyes for only one thing, and that was the approaching speck in the distance.

Shielding his eyes with his hand, Sparx saw that there were in fact two specks in the distance and they were coming fast in the direction of Warfang. It wasn't until they were fully in sight that Sparx recognised them, and the hope that had been rising in his chest burst into the strongest feeling of joy he'd felt in ages. There was no mistaking them. Flying homewards, their heads held high and their scales glistening like gems in the sunlight, were two returning heroes.

Sparx shot towards them without a second thought, fighting back tears of joy. Never had he been so happy to see his dragon brother in his entire life. Even the sight of Cynder, who he had once feared and despised, made his heart swell with happiness. Spyro's lilac eyes lit up at the sight of Sparx and a grin spread across his muzzle. Sparx spread his arms wide and flew straight into Spyro's face, hugging the dragon's nose with all he had.

"Spyro! Spyro, buddy!" Sparx sobbed, burying his face in Spyro's purple scales. "You crazy, stupid, lump of a purple thing! You did it! You did it, Spyro!"

Spyro hovered in midair, laughing and unable to stop a tear from leaking out of the corner of his eye, "I missed you, too, Sparx!"

Cynder chuckled, covering her mouth with her paw as she hovered beside Spyro.

Sparx let go of Spyro for a moment and slapped his muzzle sharply, "Who said I missed you, you purple lump?"

Spyro and Cynder both laughed as Sparx spread his arms to the black dragoness.

"Cynder! You're back! I knew you could do it!" he grinned. "I knew I could entrust you with the safety of my fat lump of a brother."

A blush spread across Cynder's cheeks and she turned her eyes bashfully away from Spyro, "We did it together."

"She's right," Spyro smiled at her and her blush deepened, before turning back to Sparx. "We couldn't have done it without each other."

The sound of cheering reached their ears, causing all three of them to look down at Warfang. It seemed the whole population had gathered on the wall to welcome the heroes home, and their cheers filled the midday sky. Spyro felt his heart swell with joy and he turned triumphantly to Cynder, whose ecstatic expression was identical to his own.

"We're home, Cynder. We're home."

Upon landing, Spyro and Cynder were instantly flocked by the citizens of Warfang, all eager for a chance to thank and congratulate the two dragons. They were pushed aside, however, as a golden-furred cheetah cleared the path for a large, stocky green dragon. Spyro recognised the two instantly.

"Hunter! Terrador!" he called, overjoyed at the sight of the cheetah and the guardian.

"Spyro," Hunter knelt down before him, relief evident in his eyes, "it is good to see you alive and well. Some of us have been fearing the worst."

"Yes, you gave us quite the scare when you neglected to return for almost a week," Terrador's deep voice washed over the crowd, strangely calming. "But, come, we can talk more once we are away from this impatient horde. Volteer and Cyril are waiting for you."

Spyro didn't argue, following Terrador out of the crowd with Cynder beside him and Sparx trailing behind. Hunter took the lead, ushering dragons and cheetahs out of the way as the small entourage headed for the large building that took up nearly a third of the western wall. This was the Grand Atrium, a meeting place for a council that didn't exist. There were less than sixty dragons in all that inhabited Warfang, far too little than what it should have been. The mighty dragon race had suffered greatly at the claws of Malefor. With so few dragons, there were little to no candidates for members of a council.

Spyro found himself gazing in awe at the colossal columns of sandstone that lined the walls of the circular atrium, rising from floor to guttering. Two large doors that gleamed of polished oak were set into the stone, adorned with brass knockers in the shape of dragon's heads. Terrador led them forwards, setting his broad shoulder against the magnificent doors and pushing them inwards. They creaked slowly open, revealing the dark interior of the atrium's entrance hall, allowing the earth guardian and his entourage entrance.

The doors closed independently once all five of them were inside, and instantly the hall was granted light. Set into the arching roof above them was a series of domed, orange gems that bathed the hall in an almost golden light. Spyro and Cynder turned their eyes to the walls and the painted patterns that decorated them. The tiles beneath their paws were white; however, in the light, they appeared to be made of molten gold.

Terrador led them onwards without a word, until the hall opened out into a vast circular room so large it could have comfortably housed over fifty dragons. The room far above them curved delicately into a dome, depicting a glorious painted scene. Painted dragons looked down upon the chamber and its inhabitants, their eyes seeming to twinkle in the light as though they were real. Spyro gazed upwards in awe, barely aware of Cynder doing the same beside him. Their awed trance was broken however, by a call from across the room.

"Spyro! Cynder!" a large yellow dragon was hurrying towards them. "Simply marvellous to see you alive and well!"

"Volteer," Spyro greeted, pleased to see the electricity guardian once more. "It's good to see you again."

"And you, young dragon," interrupted another voice as the ice guardian made his way towards Spyro, "it gives all of us great pleasure to see you again."

Cyril turned his eyes on Cynder, "And of course, young Cynder, let us not forget the part you played. To see you both again, amongst us once more, is more than we could ever have hoped for."

Cynder and Spyro couldn't help but smile in the face of the guardians' gratitude. Hunter was nodding in agreement, his arms folded as he regarded the two heroic dragons with soft eyes. Sparx patted Spyro's horn gratefully.

"Way to go, bro," he said softly, grinning.

"Thank you," Spyro murmured, his voice heavy with emotion. "Thank you. It's great to be back again."

He felt Cynder move closer to him, her warmth tingling through his scales as she rubbed against him. He tried to no avail to stop himself from blushing, averting his eyes to the side. Cyril nodded slowly, smiling down at the young dragons.

"Of course, it is wonderful to have you back with us…" the ice dragon murmured.

"But where might Ignitus be?" Volteer asked, finishing Cyril's sentence for him.

Spyro froze as though ice had just coursed through his veins. Even Cynder's warmth felt as though it could no longer reach him. A horrible heaviness descended on his heart and the world seemed to melt away around him. Everything had happened so fast. After the gruelling fight with Malefor, the strain of exerting all his power to restore the world, and the flight back to Warfang, Spyro had almost forgotten about the fire guardian and his fate. But just hearing his name again was enough to make Spyro feel as if he was breaking into pieces. Like delicate glass, Spyro felt his heart fall and smash into thousands of shattered shards.

Spyro didn't need to speak. His expression said it all, and the other guardians felt their spirits sink as though a deadweight had just been set upon them. They exchanged glances, each hanging on a lingering hope that Spyro's silence didn't mean what they thought it did. Cynder curled her tail around Spyro's, nudging his cheek gently in an attempt to raise his bowed head. He looked up at her with moist eyes and she gave a gentle reassuring nod that encouraged him to look up into the eyes of the three guardians.

"Ignitus…" Spyro began, his voice shaking as he forced himself to look his mentors in the eyes. "Ignitus…isn't coming back."

Their reactions were somewhat mixed. Volteer bowed his head with a mournful moan, Cyril looked as though he'd been slapped and merely stood looking dismally stunned, while Terrador closed his eyes for a moment as though to will away the unwanted pain. The earth guardian reopened his eyes seconds later, looking solemnly down at the young dragons.

"How did this happen, Spyro?" he prompted gently, breaking the heavy silence.

Spyro turned his face away from Terrador, unable to stop the hot tears that were escaping from his eyes, "H-He…he gave his life to save us. In the Belt of Fire…I couldn't save him…I couldn't do anything. He did everything he could for me and I…I couldn't even save him!"

"It wasn't your fault, Spyro," Cynder insisted, blinking tears away and draping a wing across Spyro's back. "There was nothing you could have done. It was Ignitus's choice. He did it for you."

Terrador nodded slowly, "Cynder is right, young dragon. Do not blame yourself for the decisions that Ignitus has made. In saving you, he has saved us all."

"Well said, Terrador," Cyril agreed, trying to appear supportive although the news had mourned him greatly.

"Yes, I'm sure Ignitus wouldn't want us mourning his heroic entrance into the next life," Volteer raised his head, eyes unusually bright. "Let us not think of it as an ending, but as a beginning! A beginning for a new age of dragons!"

But Spyro merely bowed his head, shame and grief weighing him down. Hunter stepped forwards, kneeling down in front of the purple dragon and raising his head with his paw. Spyro found himself gazing into the cheetah's solemn, yet kind eyes.

"Listen to the guardians, Spyro," he insisted kindly, but firmly. "You cannot blame yourself for everything bad that has occurred in this war. You were, and still are, the hope of the dragon race. Even my own race looks up to you as our revered saviour. Everyone will look to you in times of darkness, hoping you will light the way with a reassuring smile. Never look down, never dwell on past mistakes, stand strong in the face of danger, and give hope to the world. You cannot lose yourself to despair. If not for your own sake, then for the rest of this world be strong."

Spyro nodded slowly, but his expression was hesitant, "You expect me to be happy in the face of others, even if I feel I am breaking up inside? If this is what it means to be a hero…I don't know if I can do it. I don't know if I can stand alone in front of the whole world."

"You won't be alone," Cynder cut in, staring him firmly in the eye. "I'll be beside you. Always. And so will everyone here."

Spyro looked at her in surprise, feeling his cheeks burn. He looked away as she smiled and let his eyes wander over the faces of those who looked upon him. The guardians, Hunter and even Sparx; they were all there, beside him. And they always would be. Spyro felt his heart warm, new strength drawn from the smiles of his friends. Yes, Ignitus was gone, but Spyro wasn't alone. He smiled gratefully at Cynder and nodded.

"I understand. Thank you. All of you. You are the ones who always gave me strength to go on. I couldn't have come this far without you."

"Nor could we, young dragon," Terrador replied, "nor could we."

---

Spyro was glad to crawl into his room and sleep that night. It had been a long day, tiring both mentally and physically. After meeting with the guardians, Spyro had been ushered to the top of the western wall to give a victory speech to the waiting crowd. In front of a sea of expectant faces, Spyro had almost lost his nerve. But Cynder had been beside him the whole time and somehow he'd managed to get through it, proudly ensuring the citizens of Warfang that the war was finally over. That had been followed by much stamping of feet and cheers from the crowd.

But the celebration had been postponed in order to hold a small memorial service for the late fire guardian, Ignitus. Spyro again had stood up before the crowd to speak of his mentor's selfless sacrifice. It had been hard to remain strong and not break down in tears, but somehow he had managed. After that, the celebrations had commenced, lasting well into the night. Spyro had managed to escape the enthusiastic crowd and was now settling down in his room for a well-earned sleep.

The purple dragon curled up on a large yellow cushion in the corner of his room, ignoring the noise from outside as dragons continued to celebrate. Sparx hovered down to rest between Spyro's horns, folding his arms and closing his eyes. Half asleep, Spyro vaguely wondered if Cynder was still out celebrating. However, all his thoughts seemed to evaporate as he slipped into the peaceful realm of slumber, Sparx snoring away on his head.

When Cynder finally came looking for him, she found him fast asleep in his room with a peaceful smile on his face. She sat and watched him for a while, listening to his steady breathing as he slept on, undisturbed by the noise of the celebrations outside. Only when she became too tired to keep her eyes open did Cynder retreat to her own room to rest her weary body. Outside, the last stragglers finished their celebrations with a final, triumphant roar and the city of Warfang delved into the realm of slumber.

Spyro woke up late the next morning. The sun was already high in the sky by the time he rose from his slumber. Sparx was nowhere to be seen and sunlight was pouring through the windows, lighting up the room. Spyro yawned widely, shaking sleep from his head before looking around his room. It had been prepared for him before he and Cynder had returned to Warfang, but this was the first chance he'd had to inspect it.

There were three cushions laid out along one side, all a yellow colour, including the one he was lying on at that very moment. A stone archway led out to a small balcony, and it was through that archway that the sun was now streaming. Across the other side of his room were a large silver chest and a wooden bookshelf with a sparse array of books.

Spyro looked at the chest curiously, wondering what could be inside. Deciding to check, he heaved himself to his feet and wandered over to it. The silver lid was lighter than it looked and Spyro flipped it open easily, gazing down at the glimmering contents of the chest. Armour. He blinked in surprise, lifting a glimmering black helmet from the chest to inspect it. This was a piece of armour he'd found himself, during his many adventures.

Looking back at the other pieces, Spyro noted that most of them were indeed the pieces of armour he'd collected in his travels. Someone must have gathered them all together and placed them in this chest. He was just wondering whom it might have been when the door was pushed open and Cynder poked her head into his room.

"Ah, you're up, Spyro!" she greeted, smiling. "I was just about to come check on you. Why don't you come down for breakfast? The guardians have all been waiting."

'They were all waiting for me?' Spyro wondered, looking sheepish.

Cynder beckoned to him, turning around and looking back over her shoulder at him, "Come on."

"Coming," he said quickly, snapping the chest shut and hurrying after the black dragoness.

Sure enough, when Cynder led Spyro into the main hall, the guardians were indeed waiting. Spyro felt the blood rush to his cheeks as they all turned to look at him, embarrassed at having spent half the morning fast asleep. He dipped his head quickly, hiding the blush and bowing to his old mentors.

"Forgive me! I didn't realise I had slept so late!"

But Cyril reassured him with a soft chuckle, "Nonsense, young Spyro, you're not the only one sleeping late today. Most of the city has yet to rise from their slumber. It is expected though; they were up half the night celebrating." He snorted, and added disapprovingly, "Vagabonds."

Spyro laughed and sighed with relief. The guardians weren't angry with him, after all. He looked around the hall, noticing the complete absence of any other dragon, mole or cheetah. There was no noisy chatter from the streets outside, either. Warfang had indeed gotten off to a sleepy start.

"Are you hungry, Spyro?" Cynder asked, nudging him with her shoulder.

"Y-Yes," he stuttered in surprise, looking at her, "I guess I am."

"Forgive us, Spyro, we forgot you have yet to eat," Terrador apologised, before guiding Spyro towards a door on the far left of the hall. "The kitchen is through there. I'm sure the moles will cook you up something. They, at least, were up at the crack of dawn."

Spyro nodded gratefully and trotted off towards the kitchen, leaving the guardians and Cynder to wait for him. Hesitantly, Spyro pushed the door inwards and found himself peering into a pristine room of glimmering, polished white. There were about seven moles in the kitchens, some barely visible over the bench tops, and all with large, white chef hats that almost obscured their eyes. Spyro gazed curiously, forgetting for a moment why he was there, until a mole sporting the largest chef hat of all addressed him.

"Master Spyro!" he crowed, almost toppling off the stool he was standing on that allowed him to reach the bench top. "Such an honour to have you in our humble kitchen."

He hopped down from the stool and tottered over to the purple dragon, dusting off his paws, "What can we get for you?"

Spyro thought for a moment, "I'm not sure. I've never been in a kitchen before. What kind of food do you prepare?"

Indeed, back in his childhood days in the swamp he had eaten mostly bugs, fungi and other various insects. Even on his travels his diet hadn't been much different, although as he had gotten larger he'd been able to snag the occasional lizard or mouse for his supper. Never had someone prepared his food for him.

The mole scratched his head, jilting his hat and causing it to sit lopsided on his furry skull, "Hmm, been living in the wild a lot, haven't you? Not surprising that you've never eaten civilized food before. Don't you worry, we'll whip something up for you."

Spyro nodded slowly and watched the mole turn to berate his fellow chefs.

"Quit sitting around, you lazy moles," he ordered, clapping his paws together in a business-like manner. "We've got a dragon to feed! Now hop to it!"

The moles didn't argue. In fact they moved faster than any mole Spyro had ever seen in their hurry to serve the mighty, purple dragon. Moments later, the kitchen was filled with tantalising scents the likes of which Spyro had never smelled before. He felt his mouth watering and the tip of his tail twitched in anticipation. His stomach grumbled impatiently, but it only had to wait a few more moments before Spyro was presented with a dish. He stared at the contents laid out of the silver platter, wondering just what it was and why it smelt so good. The mole who had first addressed Spyro, obviously the head chef, waved an inviting paw.

"Go on," he prompted, "give it a try."

Spyro needed no more invitation than that and dipped his head to delicately bite off a piece of what was obviously meat. His eyes widened in pleasant surprise and it took everything he had not to wolf it down without restraint. Regardless of how much he attempted to restrain himself, the meal was gone in a rather short amount of time and he sat licking his muzzle feeling particularly satisfied. The moles dashed forward and carried the empty platter away, leaving the head chef to address the purple dragon again.

"I trust it was to your liking?" he asked, an amused glint in his eye.

Spyro nodded quickly, "Yeah, it was great! But, uh…what exactly was it?"

The mole chuckled. "Never had this sort of meat before? It's deer, roasted with our very own herbs and spices. Our specialty."

"Deer?" Spyro asked, thinking of the graceful animals he had once seen somewhere in the valley of Avalar. "I never would have thought of eating one of them. How do you catch it?"

"As you can see, we moles are much too small for hunting such creatures. The dragons hunt them for us and bring them back. Lately the cheetahs have been helping out too. Their bows and arrows can take deer out from a distance. Very skilled, those cheetahs," the mole explained. "Will that be all today, master Spyro?"

"Yes," Spyro smiled, "thank you."

"Any time."

Spyro paused just as he was about to pull the door open and turned back to the chef curiously. The mole looked back inquisitorially.

"One more thing. What is your name?" Spyro asked politely.

The mole looked shocked that Spyro had even asked. It wasn't very often a dragon asked his name, let alone a famous purple dragon at that. He whipped off his hat with a flourish and bowed low.

"Such an honour! To have the famous purple dragon ask for my name!" he crowed, embarrassing Spyro. "I am called Quin!"

Spyro smiled gratefully, "Thank you, Quin. I'll remember that name."

He turned and left the kitchen, letting the door close softly behind him and leaving a flustered Quin feeling very honoured. For the next week, Quin would boast to anyone who would listen how the great purple dragon had actually asked his name.

The guardians didn't hesitate to get straight to the point as soon as Spyro returned from the kitchens. Friendly banter was forgone for the moment, and Spyro and Cynder listened in silence as the guardians spoke in turn. Terrador, as usual, was the first to speak.

"I won't beat about the bush, Spyro," he gazed solemnly down at the younger dragons. "We've been waiting far too long for you to return. Although I would prefer to allow you to rest, I'm afraid it wouldn't be wise in this instance to procrastinate."

Spyro gazed up at the earth master, not entirely sure what Terrador was getting at. He exchanged a curious look with Cynder, who seemed to understand no better than Spyro did. Terrador beckoned to him, turning his back and guiding him over to one of the large, arching windows that lined the walls of the hall. Spyro followed him curiously and found himself gazing out over the streets of Warfang. The sun was quite high in the sky, and by this time most of the citizens had risen from their sleep. And yet, somehow, the city still seemed empty.

"You see this, Spyro?" Terrador asked softly, turning his eyes from the purple dragon to the view of the city. "This is our city. The great dragon city of Warfang. Tell me, what do you see?"

Spyro stared, taking in the buildings all crafted from yellow stone, the streets lined with cobblestones, the mighty wall and battlements in the distance. But there was one thing that stood out to him the most.

"Where are all the dragons?" he murmured. "If this is the great dragon city, there should be hundreds of them. But it all seems so…empty."

Terrador nodded slowly, "Yes, you are right. And that is just what we need to discuss."

He shepherded Spyro away from the window with his wide, brown wing, turning to face the other guardians and Cynder. The purple dragon moved swiftly to her side, giving her a strained nervous smile that she returned instantly.

"As you have seen, Spyro," Cyril began, taking over from Terrador, "the dragon population of Warfang, and perhaps, too, of the whole world, has suffered greatly. With so few dragons there is the fear they we will become an endangered species. If our species is to survive, something must be done to remedy this situation."

He gave Volteer a quick glance, telling him to take over, which he readily did.

"In light of the recent cataclysmic hostilities, it is expected that the dragon population be significantly decreased," the lightning guardian spoke swiftly, always sounding as though he'd been over-charged and needed to deplete his energy amount. "However, as powerful as Malefor was, it seems near impossible that he could have extinguished the entire population of our race. There is a large possibility that members of the dragon race are still living somewhere on the outskirts of civilisation."

"In other words," Terrador cut in, noticing Spyro's slightly confused expression, "we don't believe that the citizens of Warfang are the last surviving members of the dragon race. Somewhere, beyond the borders of our city, there must be other groups of dragons who have been in hiding since the war escalated. Wherever they are, we believe it best for our race if we find them and bring them to Warfang."

"So you want us to go out and find them!" Spyro asked triumphantly, catching on.

"You among others," Cyril nodded. "There are a few able-bodied dragons in this city that will be willing to assist you."

"The plan is to send at least three search parties out in different directions," Terrador explained. "Search long and hard. They must be hidden well for Malefor to have overlooked them."

Spyro nodded swiftly, eager to be on the way now that he was refreshed, "So, when do we go?"

Terrador looked out of the eastern window, looking towards the bell tower that rose far above the other buildings. From this distance it was impossible to tell if the lookout dragon was at his post or not.

"At midday, the bell will toll three times. That means that a meeting will be called out in the main courtyard. Make sure to be there, Spyro, Cynder. From there, you and the assigned search parties will have one hour to prepare yourselves before you begin your journey."

"For now," he turned his warm, brown eyes on the adolescent dragons, "go and enjoy yourselves. You deserve it, after all."