The Anvil of Dawn, Chapter 13: Fading False Dawn
#13 of The Anvil of Dawn
A funeral upon a silent, autumn hill. So quiet, so lonely.
The soil, cold, wet, and hard, crushed beneath his claws. The sleet from the previous night clung to the ground like a tick, wetting the earth below and creating a chilly, damp surface. Despite the chill, it did nothing to halt the young dragon's march, his breath steady and his stride unyielding.
The autumn sun reflected off his pale purple scales, its heavenly glow painting his otherwise faded scales, a pleasantly rich mixture of warm orange and fiery red. The shadow of the woods beside him drenched one side of his body in murky darkness, the shadows contrasting the warmth of the sun with the cold obscurity of the woods.
An earthy smell hung in the air, its stench colored by the tinges of dirt and wood, the smell of rain. Winds brought the smell to the forefront of his mind, the natural odor of life and the wild wilderness making his breathing hitch and his heart hammer ponderously. It smelled like her.
A soundscape decorated by the chirping of birds and the croaking of frogs echoed lightly around the swampy landscape, his claws squishing in the cold, muddy dirt. He paid no mind to the dirty mud painting his vibrant scales a muted grey, mind elsewhere. The horizon, so far off, shone with autumn glory.
His violet eyes gained some clarity, the glazing effect vanishing. The dragon cast his gaze over his shoulder, the rustling of leaves gaining his attention. Slowing his stride to a near stop, the dragon focused his hardened gaze upon the brush to his rear. Nothing moved, only the wind, brushing over the reds and oranges of falling leaves and contorting branches.
It was of no expense to him.
Resuming his slow pace, the purple dragon trudged along, running a paw over the thick reeds and brushing the tall grasses. Ever slowly the sun continued to sink below the horizon, flowing rivers of gold coloring the fall leaves in a dense haze. Reflecting off his eyes, the sunlight gave him pause.
Turning his eyes upward, he closed them for a moment, basking in the heat of the wheel of fire that began to fade, enjoying the warmth as though it was to be the last sunset he would ever see. The dragon took a deep breath, crisp air flowing into his lungs. Wincing at the roughness of his throat, the dragon let a tongue of flame escape his maw, the fiery orange warming his face for the briefest of moments before it fizzled out into a tiny plume of black smoke.
The wind brushed over his wings, carrying the scent of light smoke, along with the more overbearing smell of earth and crisp air, holding the scent of cinnamon and fallen leaves. It smelled like a place he had once known. Home.
Opening his eyes with a small, bittersweet smile on his face, the male resumed his walk, spreading his wings, letting the pleasant breeze blow over them, the cold air soothing his aching muscles with just the right amount of tenderness. Over the next few minutes, the skyline became gradually more diluted by orange and red. The final twilight had approached.
Spreading his wings wide, the dragon took to the sky, a tuft of disturbed grass teasing off the ground with the light force of his spring. Catching a quick shift in the wind, the male pumped his wings, soaring high up into the air. Just on the precipice of where the clouds met sky did he dwell.
The coldest of breezes blew by him, making him shiver, along with a chill racing down his spine, one that contrasted the warm glowing sun.
Below, the land was painted in a hue of red and gold, its color saturating the greens and browns of the earth to the point of near opaqueness. Eyes glowing, he glided along the current, wings catching both the gales of wind and the bright hue of gold and burgundy sunlight.
Usually, the cold may have convinced him to land and walk among the warmth of the earth. However, today was no ordinary day, and he planned to take his time. He was going to remember this day, for better or for worse.
His vision was momentarily clouded by a beam of light, one that he shifted a paw to cover, this brought the attention of his mind to the numerous intense layers of scarring around his arms, jagged cuts and rough patches of scaled hide, crushed and smashed into paste.
Unpleasant memories flooded to the surface, days of pain and blood surrounding his powerful mental barriers. Inside each memory was a figure, now blurred and malleable to the current of each vision.
In one the figure lay bleeding, shadows obscuring its features. Another portrayed a much different light, with him gazing to the side at it, a content and happy expression present, while the figure was blurred and hard to understand. His chest became tight, and he brought a paw to it, clenching it over his scarred plates with a grimace.
It did not matter, his destination was already in sight. A large hill, desolated and lonesome, overlooked by the sunset, painting the greens and browns in an overbearing orange. He gazed upon it, an unreadable expression on his face as his eyes glistened.
A tree, a single lonely occupant sat atop the mound. Painted in red and splotched with both orange leaves and golden light, its shade sat underneath, undisturbed. Even from a distance, he could just barely make out the faintest movement in its leaves and the swaying of the trunk in the gentle wind.
With a shaking first step, he began the ascent up the gentle slope of the hill, heart beating faster with each step. That sound, it was familiar to him, from a place far away, locked inside memory and forgotten by time.
Crickets chirped, birds sung, and the last noises of twilight descended into those of night. Visions of waterfalls, of peaceful nights and longing stretches of silence. He could almost see a pair of emerald eyes staring right back at him.
Step by step, he climbed. He could hear it now, the gentle laughter and lightest clinking of slightly loose metal against scales. It lingered, just upon the faintest of crickets, out of sight. He did not stop his ascent, he knew he would not be able to resume otherwise.
It was visible now, the spot at the top of this seemingly isolated hill. Calling to him in the faintest of whispers, he looked behind him, an expression mixed with a surreal sense of both terror and longing.
Cloaked in shadow, the forest called to him. He slammed his eyes shut, heart hammering. Just in the faintest of lights, where she had stood, just a shadow, those piercing emerald eyes looking at him longingly. He clenched his paws in the dirt, cold, wickedly unyielding.
The dragon heard her whispers, pushing against his skull, drowning him in her presence. With a paw clenched tightly over his muzzle, covered in dried mud and caked red, he lowered his head. There she had once stood, in this very spot.
She had spoken to him here, right before they had been chased into the clutches of death. It was here that she had spoken her last actual words to him. It was here where she would remain.
A monument to his best friend, his life-mate, and his most fantastic accomplishment.
He could still hear the whispering words, "When this is all over, I want you to promise me something."
The dragon dug his paw into the earth, it glowing a faint green. With a hint of exertion, he let the earth clump around his claws. Forming a fissure in the ground just before him, the dragon allowed the glow dissolve into a much darker green. In the space of the cleft, a near black substance of rock filled the void.
A claw rested against his shoulder, yet he did not turn, "We never let them control us again. For better or for worse."
Under the shadow of the tree, he let a trickle of flames run along his claws, pressing them deep into the tar. With a sound like the gentlest of crunching leaves, the fire ignited. They were a vibrant red, undisturbed by the surrounding cold.
A wing ran along his back, "Never let the world do this again, we'll run free of the past."
Forming a mound of dirt, he willed the cold, damp earth to rise. It morphed slowly, contorting around the edges of the flames. As if with a mind of its own, the fire gently flowed against the hardening stone.
A tail intertwined with his own, "We can finally be free of this war, finally enjoy a life of our own."
With a final, soundless clamping of stone and dirt, the spiral-shaped mound surrounded the flames. Lifting a claw, he poked a few holes along the surface of the clay, letting just the lightest of flames seep out. As he shifted his stance, the clicking of something in the light bag he carried between his wings made itself known.
A paw ran over one of his own,_ "We'll find somewhere, somewhere so far that nobody will know our names."_
He lifted the tiny piece of crystal in his paw, a gift from Twilight. It shone like the brightest diamond, yet its color was of the darkest coal, an iridescent shade of dark red coloring where the light would run along its surface. It was perfect.
The wind blew over his body, yet he shivered not because of this light wind, but because of something much colder. Taking a shaking breath, he committed the gem to the stone structure, a place it fit perfectly.
Raising his claw, he slightly scratched a rune into the front of the spiral fountain. Simple and unassuming. A one letter rune, the word for 'wind'
Her ghostly breath blew over his cheek, "Never again would we have to bleed for others."
A tear slid down his cheek, a slight smile appearing on his face. Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead against the gem, a powerful sense of longing compelling him, one like no other. For the first time in hours, he made a sound, the slightest of whimpers sliding out of his as he held the gem like a child he would never see again.
His body shook, and tears freely slid down his cheeks, impacting the fountain with barely audible taps, illuminated by the fiery sunscape. Pulling away with a shaking set of paws, the dragon gave one last look at the fountain, before trudging over to the tree, where it overlooked both the setting sun and the Everfree forest.
Laying down against the thick trunk of the tree, he gazed at the sun as it nearly vanished beneath the horizon. Closing his eyes for a few moments, the dragon lay his head back against the bark, his horns digging ever so slightly into it.
"I would like to live and die by your side, my best friend."
He opened his eyes, meeting her ghostly gaze as the phantom stood just at the edge of the forest. Spyro held the phantom's gaze for a long time. Eventually, the warmth of the sun faded below the horizon, it's light gone. It was then that she disappeared from sight, her emerald irises no longer visible.
Sighing dismally, the dragon gave a look to the glowing fountain beside him. The gem sparkled under the moonlight. A small grin graced his muzzle, and he closed his eyes, bittersweet and longing. Under the moon, under her watchful eye, the dragon let himself slip away, the stress catching up with him.
As the stars came out, as the sun faded to darkness and tranquility, he felt his mind wander. Images of the past and the future, indistinguishable from each other, flitted around in his head. Pictures of her, thoughts of the memories he had shared. Visions of the future, a life spent honoring her legacy.
He knew in his heart that he would never honestly lose her presence, but the thought of losing her image, of losing the very soul of that dragoness to the unyielding flow of time was a thought that petrified him to the very core. However, he knew one thing for certain.
Spyro knew that she would keep him alive just as he had her. The memory of his best friend, the one who had become his companion through the harshest winters and most blistering summers, he knew, deep down, that she would be proud of him wherever he went.
Just maybe it would be enough.
Spyro breathed lightly, his words nearly lost in the nightly breeze.
"I would love that, my dear friend."