TLOS: Four Pillars of Aether Book II, Chapter 3
Chapter 3: Cold Reflection Dante’s Freezer, three years later…One could not simply describe the desolate arctic expanse that was Dante’s Freezer as ‘cold.’ To say it was only ‘cold’ was to say that the sea was ‘only’ deep or that the sun was ‘only’ hot. The temperature was especially chilling as a blizzard swept over the land as the blanket of grey clouds swallowed up the moons this particular evening. While many parts of the realms experienced snowfall during the winter months, Dante’s Freezer remained forever in a state of winter, even when other seasons supposedly past through its frigid lands. It existed in the northern most reaches of the realms, far beyond the mainland and the capital of Warfang. It was a land whose coastline was riddled with gigantic glaciers and colossal icebergs, a formidable natural barrier that warned outsiders of the character of the land they dared to approach. It was the ancestral home of the Ice dragons, a fact that had been constantly bought up by the Ice Guardian, Cyril, though he had seemed to always duck the question of why most of them chose not to live there anymore, despite being so proud of hailing from there. The frozen land was, as expected, perpetually covered in a blanket of thick white snow, with great pine forests reaching into the sky and covering huge swaths of the countryside. Icy mountains rose into the clouds and stretched from horizon to horizon like great walls of rock, making traversing to the freezing plains beyond them nigh impossible. Standing out amidst the frozen tundra of trees and craggy peaks was the dark, black stone walls of centuries old forts and towers that were concentrated close to the southern coastline. In the haze of wind and swirling snow they were barely visible in the night, but their worn yet resolute presence commanded respect by any who saw them. The fortifications had been built by the Ice dragons long ago, back in a time when they as a race and culture had chosen to live isolated from the rest of the world, regarding anyone from outside their realm as a danger and threat to their society. Such ideals had, mostly, died out centuries ago and the fortifications had long since been abandoned by their original creators. They had not been the only creatures who dwelled in the frozen expanse, however. Dante’s Freezer was also home to a race of undead Trolls who haunted the now abandoned ruins. It was believed they had been resurrected by Malefor during his time, the Dark Master possibly seeking to create an army of the undead to compliment or even replace his own army of Apes during the decline of his reign. Yet the Trolls had never been since outside of Freezer, suggesting his attempts had not been totally successful. Since then, with no master to lead them other than a rumored king that no one had ever seen, the Trolls had taken over the ruins and fortifications as their own, steadfastly defending against anyone foolish enough to enter their domain, the dark magic that kept them in a state of undead not allowing them to perish naturally. Since then, no one had reason to venture near the ruins and Dante’s Freezer had only a sparse population of Ice dragons who remained in isolated settlements, the majority choosing to live in the more friendly climates of the mainland.That was then. But three years on since the outbreak of war between the Apes and the Dragons and their allies, Dante’s Freezer had been the sight of battles once again. The Apes had invaded these lands once more, as indeed they had all the lands of the realms once Warfang had fallen. Given the sparse population and the remoteness of its location, Dante’s Freezer had only a small garrison defending it when the war broke out. The garrison had spent most of its time policing the old ruins and ensuring the Trolls did not make any attempt to reach the populated areas outside the ruins. When the Apes came, they had little hope of holding out for long. Those that survived fled into the wilderness, hoping that relief might come. But even the proud Ice dragons could not allow their pride to cloud their judgment, for although this was their ancestral home, the war on the mainland took priority over all else. For this reason, most action taken against the enemy in the frozen tundra was usually little more than raids and scouting parties, making it one of the least contested warzones. The Trolls had regarded the Apes as they would any invader and attacked them whenever they ventured into their domain. It seemed the even the Apes had learned it was better to leave them alone, the old ruins not being considered worth the fighting it would take to seize them, even after three years. Nothing had been the same since then. The whole world had changed on a single day three years ago. The day Warfang was attacked. The day Spyro and Ignitus had died. The wind let out a monstrous howl as the snow was whipped into the air like leaves in an autumn gale, the land of Freezer far and wide shrouded in the blinding haze of the snowstorm. Several miles out from the edges of the old fortress, there were more fortifications that had been built well after those along the coast and more recently had come under new management. A huge wooden palisade wall of an outpost, riddled with the frozen arrows and spears of previous attacks, cut across the opening to a valley that led towards the mountains, a barrier between the old ruins and the most accessible route to the outlaying wilderness of Freezer. The outpost was one of several that spanned across the countryside, each one connected by the ever-expansive palisade that stretched for miles and miles to form a barrier between the troll infested ruins and the rest of Freezer. There were towers built at intervals across the whole expanse of the wall and in peacetime were patrolled and manned by Dante’s Freezer militia, mostly older and reserve mole at arms led by dragons. These outposts had all been captured by the apes after their invasion, most of them being partially or completely destroyed during the fighting before the defenders had either retreated or been overrun, forcing the apes to rebuild them. Each outpost was virtually identical, built in a large square with watch towers on each corner and a reinforced, rectangular Keep in the center of the fort that towered well above the rest. On a clear day, it was possible to see the Keeps of nearly every other outpost positioned around the outskirts of the ruins, each outpost built about five miles part and able to sustain a garrison of around a hundred soldiers for six months, but most had been well below half strength when the invasion began. Behind the palisade of the outpost guarding the entrance to the mountain valleys were dozens of crimson square tents of various sizes barely standing against the wind, the blackened ground where numerous campfires had been burning disappeared beneath the shifting snow. Shivering in their lookout towers on the corner of each fort were the unlucky Ape lookouts who remained freezing at their posts despite the thick layers they wore over their uniforms. A lowly Ape soldier lifted his head from his chest and gazed across the blinding gray white where beyond lay it the ruins he could no longer see, where the Trolls lurked in their undead state, surely wanting to tear the flesh from their bones if given the chance. He looked across at the next tower on the line, barely visible in the blizzard as was the other poor Ape soldier on guard duty, hunched down trying to avoid the wind as he was. The soldier gritted his chattering teeth in displeasure, glaring down scornfully at the larger tents of the Ape Commanders and Lieutenants that were fast asleep in their snug tents while he was freezing in the blizzard. The disgruntled soldier stood up in his freezing tower, grasping his steel crossbow in his hands and aiming at the nearest tent, visualizing himself taking the shot and making them pay for making him be on duty that night. He grinned savagely as the thought warmed his black heart, before it suddenly jumped in alarm as he released to his shock that he couldn’t put the crossbow down. The cold had frozen his hands to it!As the blizzard swirled around and over the frozen landscape, one of a million snowflakes flew through the outpost as the howl of the wind was joined by the desperate shouting of the lone Ape soldier trying to pry the freezing crossbow from his hands, stirring some of the others from their slumber as the snowflake swept onward through the camp towards the other wall, destined it seemed to break apart against the other palisade. As it floated helplessly towards its doom, the sudden appearance of a small vortex of snow crossed its path, drawing it into its swirling ballet and propelling the snowflake high into the air. Another timely wind draft caught it and carried it over the wooden fence, saving it as the snowflake carried on flying among the millions of others far away and into the wilderness.For an hour or more the snowflake danced in the air, passing over or around trees, sweeping over rocks and never once touching the ground as the storm continued unabated. It and its millions of siblings passed over the increasingly rocky terrain, the valley growing more and more treacherous on the way as the base of the mountains closed in, funneling the wind down a tighter corridor. Through the haze of blinding snowflakes were the exposed, black rock faces of the craggy cliff face of the Dante Alps. In the clear daylight it was possible to see them from the ruins of the old fortress and vice versa, but the storm obscured everything to within a few feet as the hapless snowflake continued its aimless jaunt through the air. It passed by underneath a lone fallen tree as countless numbers of its siblings dashed themselves against its skin, the lucky snowflake catching the hand of another updraft that carried it up, up towards the mountains, leaving the valley behind far below it. The hapless snowflake twirled in the air like a glittering star, sweeping over the lower of the jagged peaks before it began to fall down the other side, gliding over a slope in the ground before it headed towards another blackened rockface. As it swept down the side of the icy crag, a long black scar appeared ahead below the side of the rock like an open wound in the earth. Barely visible in the haze, it streaked down the slope some fifty or so feet, wider at the top then at the bottom, shapes loosely like a keyhole. The snowflake, now slowly dwindling towards the ground was swept up by one last gust of wind before it fell into the crevice. Falling into the rocky slit, the opening to a cavern was revealed as the snowflake slowly twirled downwards. The walls of the cavern were black as pitch as the snowfall covered the bottom of the mouth of the cavern. Two separate caves were revealed as the snowflake danced its way down, one was front on to the entrance and continued onto into the unknown dark while the second one appeared just up and off to the left of the first, the snow and wind mostly passing it by in favor of the first, but the one snowflake as if by its own desire wandered off to the left, heading in the direction of a crouched silhouette beside a small campfire crackling away to the sound of the wind. The figure, wrapped in a heavy scarlet coat, slightly lifted his head, his green feline eyes locking onto the little flake as it came towards him. Taking his paw out from beneath his coat, he extended it outwards towards the little flake as it swished through the air, slowly and finally coming to rest within the white fur of his palm. For a few precious moments, he kept his palm out flat as he let his eyes trace over the edges of the little flake, one among millions yet this one had come to him as if by desire. Shaped like a star, its six arms protruded with what looked like tiny branches growing out, the center a little hexagon with a wheel in the heart of it. The fingers of the hand began to slowly creep inward; a gust of warm breath came forth like a spirit carried by the wind, the heat making the snowflake glisten as the paw slowly, sadly, closed over it. Hunter pulled his paw under his coat again as he leaned closer to the fire, a worn sigh escaping his mouth as he looked into the flames and then out again towards the howling storm blowing into the cavern he and the others of his party had sheltered in. The Cheetah warrior pulled his longbow in close to himself, taking his paws out and holding them over the flames as he shuddered uncomfortably. He flexed his paws to stimulate the blood in his arms to keep moving, his mouth opening into a wide yawn as the night rolled on. Looking over to his left into the cavern, the darkness of the interior was occasionally broken by a few other isolated fires like the one next to him, illuminating the short, hairy figures of some of the sleeping mole at arms under his command. From where he was, he could also see two of the other Cheetahs that were part of the group, both lying beside each other and the fire they had made for themselves, weapons laid out beside them should they be needed in a hurry. Hunter looked back to the flames of his own fire before gazing once more towards the entrance, rubbing his sleepy eyes as he struggled to remain alert. Though the blizzard told him that no one would be out searching for them, much less closing in on their hideout, he found no excuse would do to convince himself to be any less ready should the unexpected come about. Everything that had happened in the last three years had been unexpected; nothing surprised him anymore. Pulling his paws together into fists and holding them in front of his mouth, Hunter, for the hundredth and thousandth time, mentally evaluated everything that had bought him to this moment, to this place and for what purpose. Taking a seat on the cold ground and looking down to his side, Hunter reached over and picked up a large, worn leather satchel that he usually carried with him, resting it on his lap as he brushed off the snow that smeared the golden sigil that it bared. He continued to brush his fingers gently over the sigil that bore the image of the Prowlus tribe, the flaming red paw that represented those who were his family, the members of the tribe he was born into and was duty bound to serve until death. It was the insignia of Avalar, the land of his fathers and their fathers before them. The place that was no longer his home. The tribe that was no longer his family. His mind went back to the day it all happened; the day that the world changed forever. The day Spyro and Ignitus died. On that day, he had been sitting in Meadow’s hut, watching over his friend as he still lay in a state of unconsciousness even days after his ordeal. One of Hunter’s and Meadow’s shared regrets was that the herbalist had never been able to thank Spyro personally for his heroics that day, saving him from Gaul at the Mountain of Malefor. The event had created bitter divisions among the members of the tribe, personified best between Hunter and Chief Prowlus. While they were all grateful for the return of Meadow, they also feared what this would mean for the tribe going forward as it seemed that war was once again imminent between the dragons and the apes. And, as before, the Cheetahs would find themselves in the middle of it, drawn into another conflict they had no interest in being in. At least that was how Prowlus had seen it, using those words almost verbatim during the heated exchange that had occurred before then, when Hunter had been selected to go to Warfang to represent them at the peace conference that was supposedly to prevent another conflict. While he had been waiting for his courier to arrive, he had sat watching Meadow as Roaraya had tended to him, using her charms and medicinal knowledge to help expediate his recovery, but not enough that Hunter had been able to see him awake before the courier finally arrived. He had peaked outside the hut and seen it was Finbarr the green and orange dragon once again, of course, who had the duty of delivering him to Warfang for the conference. Even from inside the hut, Hunter remembered how clearly, he saw the anxiety running through the dragon like a rampart disease. He had exchanged a few words with Roaraya, given the unconscious Meadow a reassuring pat on the head, and then left the hut to see Finbarr. “This is a diplomatic mission, sir,” he recalled the courier dragon saying in a jittering voice, “So no charge this time!” “I know,” Hunter had replied with a smile, recalling how Spyro and his friends had ‘intimidated’ Finbarr into not charging Hunter for the return trip to Avalar when he had been supervising them at the temple. Of course, Spyro had then made up for it a couple of days later and paid the fare and then some to the over excited courier, a demonstration to the young purple dragon’s innate goodness and generosity. How he missed that. How he missed Spyro so much, but he was certainly not the only one.He had climbed onto Finbarr’s saddle and the two of them had set off for Warfang, the Cheetah Warrior proving to be less than talkative as his courier had barely been able to keep his mouth shut during the flight, another symptom of his pervasive nervousness. Although the journey from Avalar to Warfang was one he had made many times before, Hunter keenly remembered just how much more of an interest he had taken in the mountains and hills that they passed over in the flight, perhaps a sixth sense that something was going to happen that day. Once the mountains were behind them, the green fields and rolling hills and forests were rolled out beneath them. It was indeed lucky for them that sky was so clear that day, as being so high up gave them enough warning to do what happened next. “That looks like smoke coming from Warfang, sir!” Finbarr had announced frightfully as they beheld thick plumes of inky black smoke high in the air on the horizon where they knew Warfang would surely be. Hunter had his spyglass in his satchel that day and had used to gaze ahead of them as they flew on. Though it was still too far way for them to make out anything of the city clearly, the sheer volume of smoke on the horizon was enough to tell them all was not well. “Take us down low and follow the coast!” Hunter had instructed him instinctively, “I have the feeling we should not make ourselves easy to spot!” “What do you think is happening, sir?” Finbarr had asked cautiously, the green and orange dragon quivering from more than the cold air. The answer he had given haunted Hunter to this very day, “I think peace just bid the rest of us goodbye.” Snapping off his recollection like snuffing out a flame, Hunter mentally returned to the present, to the frozen cavern he was sheltered in with a huff, the Cheetah warrior unfastening the satchel and throwing open its cover, hiding the sigil from his eyes as he carefully but quickly withdrew a rolled-up scroll from the satchel and rolled it out across his lap. He seemed desperate to put his mind to something else other than the past, anything beside the later events of that fateful day. Scratching his nose, he flatted his paws out across the scroll and busied himself in its details, drawing in a mournful sigh as he reflected on the fact that it was all an act on his part, trying to keep up the appearance of being dedicated when he was really trying to fight off the uncomfortable facts of the last three years. But they remained all the same.On that day, he and the courier Finbarr had done as he suggested and followed the coast, flying just above the treetops to hopefully avoid being spotted from far off, as well as having somewhere to duck into cover if the need arose. It was during that time that Hunter had come so close to ordering Finbarr to turn back for Avalar, sure that if Warfang was under attack then his own village and people would surely be attacked also. Every day since, he had questioned how else he might have acted, how things might have changed if he had done so rather than continuing on course for the Dragon city, desperate to learn what was happening. Using the spyglass, he was able to observe the ever-growing clouds of smoke rising from Warfang and swarms of dragons and Dreadwings fighting in the air above it. It was a sight he never believed he would see with his own eyes; the great city of Warfang burning. Only in his nightmares and the story visions conjured by Roaraya had he ever seen anything like it, hoping it was the only time he would see anything like it. “It’s Gaul!” he had exclaimed in despair to Finbarr, “His armies are attacking the city!” “What are we going to do, sir?” the courier had asked him desperately, watching the little specks above the city clashing and fighting amidst the fiery smoke. “We must try and find the Guardians,” Hunter had answered almost automatically, unthinkingly, dutifully, “We find them and help them!” “The two of us?” Finbarr had asked in horror, “What can the two of us do against an entire army?” “Whatever we can,” the Cheetah warrior had replied as though he had rehearsed, “We find them and we find Spyro.” “Of course,” Finbarr had said with some new hope in his voice, the memory of which dragged through Hunter’s gut like a knife, “He’ll stop them, won’t he sir?” Hunter had not given him a verbal reply, only a nod and pat on the shoulder so then he could tell himself that he hadn’t lied if the worst came to pass, if they lived to see that happen. Unfortunately for them both, they had. Through what Hunter thought must have been sheer luck, he and Finbarr had avoided being spotted the closer they came to the battle, it soon becoming clear how dire the situation was. He had learned after the fact that the battle had been raging for nearly two hours by the time they had arrived, well after the venerable Doxantha had made her sacrificial plunge into the western viaduct and, for a while at least, stemmed the flow of apes pouring into the city from outside. The after effects of the airship’s last charge he had seen through his spyglass after he had instructed Finbarr to fly inland away from the coast to avoid the raging fires that by then were consuming great swaths of the forests outside of Warfang. At the time they had no idea that somewhere behind those flames was where Ignitus and Spyro were said to have made their last stand together against the infamous Masked Assassin and his squadron. Hunter had cursed himself so much after learning that, wondering what might have happened if he and Finbarr had stayed on their original course and confronted the flames. Might they have been able to intervene and save them? It was question he knew did not pay to be asked, no matter how many times he did, in spite of his own advice. After flying inland, they had ducked into the forests to the northwest a few miles outside of Warfang, observing the calamity as it unfolded. Hunter had felt like a coward watching the battle from afar, but he knew that any foolhardy attempt to dive straight into the fray would have been suicide for him and Finbarr. The dragon was only a courier, after all, not a warrior. Crouched on one knee and watching from the edge of the trees through his spyglass, Hunter looked in dismay at the burning wreckage outside the city walls, knowing it was all that was left of the once mighty Doxantha. Along with that, he had observed the streams of ape soldiers pouring out of the exit of the underground tunnel on the far side of the western viaduct. The damage to the viaduct caused by the Doxantha had stopped the apes from flowing easily through the gates of the city, but by then they had constructed siege ladders and escalades to scale the walls. He could not understand why he saw so few of the dragons using their elements; not having been there to see the great flash of green magic that had swept through the city and drained all the dragon’s mana and destroyed most of the Spirit Gems.“How can this be happening?” Finbarr had asked in disbelief at the sight of his home under siege, “Twelve years ago they never even made it past the wall!” “I think,” Hunter had told him gravely as he continued looking through his spyglass, “That they took harsh lessons from that. Maybe we should have too.” “Can you see Spyro or the Guardians?” “No,” the Cheetah warrior had said, for the first time feeling truly afraid for them, “I can’t see anything of them.” He scanned across the ramparts of the city, seeing nothing but apes upon them as the ground shook with the impact of the huge barrel bombs being dropped into the city. Hunter and Finbarr watching forlornly as one of the cities many towers, its upper floors engulfed in flames, let out a crumbling roar as it suddenly leaned on its left side, breaking apart like a long loaf of bread and falling out of view, a great dust cloud erupting into the sky as the tower disappeared. Across the cityscape was a scene of raging fires and billowing smoke amidst the carnage of war, Hunter slowing lowering his spyglass as his eyes seemed to shrink from all they had seen. “Are we really going into all that, sir?” Finbarr had asked him anxiously, Hunter keeping himself composed despite how utterly helpless he remembered feeling, being unbale to give an answer to his companion right away as he stared at the burning city. “Sir? Hunter? What are we going to do now?” As fate would have it, the answer was already decided for them by then, probably only a few moments before. That was because Hunter had noticed a few Dreadwings that had been flying above the city suddenly turned around and began to fly way from Warfang, flying straight in their direction. “Get back, stay low,” he had instructed the courier, more as a precaution as he thought it unlikely they would have been spotted from so far off. He and Finbarr had moved back from the edge of the trees, hoping the approaching Dreadwings would pass overhead, but to their shock, it was not to be. Hunter peered up through the trees as best he could as the sounds of the monster’s wings grew louder, followed a terrible, shrill whistle that plummeted towards them.“Run!” he had cried, the Cheetah warrior and dragon courier breaking into a sprint just before the spot where they had been moments before erupted like a volcano, a Dreadwing barrel bomb smashing through the trees and exploding on the ground, the blast throwing Hunter and Finbarr off their feet. He remembered streaks of burning shrapnel whizzing by him as metal splinters imbedded in the tress around him, flames quickly erupting and catching onto the trees around them. Looking around, he saw that poor Finbarr was alive also, having escaped with only a few scratches on his wings. Looking back, the only explanation Hunter had come to for how they had been seen was that the sun must have reflected off the lens of his spyglass and given them away. Other than that, he could not think of how. “Are you alright?” Hunter called across to Finbarr after the noise of the blast had settled. “I’m okay! But what are we going to do?!” There had been no more thinking to do after that close call as the Dreadwings continued to howl and screech above them, trying to find their prey. “We need to get out of here!” Hunter shouted as he had run towards him, “Come on!”Back in the present, Hunter rubbed his eyes as he shivered against the cold, sighing wearily and he kept trying and failing to keep his thoughts off the past, off that terrible day. Of what happened not long after he and Finbarr were attacked. “Are you alright, sir?” asked a voice from behind, Hunter lifting his head and looking over his shoulder to see the short stature of a mole soldier holding up a burning torch in his right hand, standing a few feet from him. The Cheetah warrior rubbed his paws overtop of his head as he replied, “Yes, I’m just…. tired…just tired.” The mole shuffled a few steps closer to him, “You want me to take over for you, sir? I can find someone to take over for me.” Hunter looked down at the map rolled across his lap, his head sinking back as his weariness made it heavy. With a weak nod, he began rolling up the map as he said, “Yes, I think I could use some rest, thank you.” “Very well, sir,” the mole soldier nodded, turning about and making to walk back into the cavern when Hunter stopped him. “Wait,” he said as he slid the map back into his satchel, “You can take over right here. I’ll find someone on my way back to take over your duties.” “Oh, okay, sir,” the mole solider replied brightly as he turned and walked back, Hunter closing his satchel and standing up, brushing off the snow that had settled on his coat. As the mole soldier stood next to him, Hunter looked down and gave him a curt nod and smile of thanks, the mole smiling back in kind as he handed the torch to Hunter as he slowly passed him by. The mole settled down by the campfire and sat watching the snow twirling into the mouth of the cavern, Hunter taking one last look at him before he turned and began walking back through the cavern’s interior. He stepped softly, watching that his feet did not tread on any loose or sharp rocks that might awake his comrades or simply hurt him. The cavern was dark except for the campfires the others were asleep beside and around, spaced intermittently apart and forming a loose trail of light the deeper he went. The ceiling at times hung low, requiring him to duck his head down to traverse it. He passed by the first pair of campfires without disturbing those beside them, settling on the two other Cheetahs he had looked upon earlier. Their fire was placed almost in the center of the cavern with both sleeping cheetahs on either side, a cooking pot left suspended over the flames. Hunter stepped up to and knelled beside the she cheetah on the right, gently putting his hand on her shoulder and rocking her. “Eliza? Eliza, wake up,” he said firmly but softly, the orange furred she-cheetah's blue eyes opening quickly as she turned and looked sleepily up at him. “Hunter? What is it?” she asked, the disturbance generating a groan from her partner, Leofwin, a light-yellow furred Cheetah who groggily opened his eyes as Hunter said, “I’m turning in now. I need someone to take over the night watch. Can you?” “Of course,” she replied sleepily as she rubbed her eyes, pushing herself up on her elbows. Leofwin looked across to Eliza and then to Hunter, lifting his fingers in a short wave as Hunter nodded back to him. Leofwin then asked the she-cheetah, “You sure you don’t want me to take it?” “I’ll be fine,” she said lightly as she leaned over and fetched a ladle next to the pot, scooping a handful of leftover soup into a bowl, “I’ll wake you two hours from now.” “Alright,” Leowfin replied satisfactorily, rolling on his back and closing his eyes again as Hunter gave Eliza one last pat on the back before he strode on. She smiled at him before she threw the soup back in one gulp, standing up and stretching her limbs in preparation for the coming watch. Hunter walked onwards through the cavern, looking over his shoulder to Eliza and Leowfin a last time before looking ahead as the passage curved around to the left and the ceiling dropped down, causing him to hunch down as he moved on. He came to a thin spire of rock hanging from the ceiling, splitting the passage in two like a doorway. As he passed it by, the ceiling drew up sharply, allowing him to stand his full length as he came to the next area. The cavern opened up to a wide space with high ceilings, the ground ahead giving way to a drop of a few feet into a vaguely rectangular space where five more campfires were lit and more warriors were asleep. Hunter carefully stepped down into the space, looking between the sleeping faces of the several other mole at arms that were under his command, some of them being survivors of the garrison that had fled into the wilderness when the war started and who had ultimately led them to this place of refuge; somewhere well enough hidden and reasonably close to their objective; the very reason they were there in the first place.As Hunter passed by the last of the moles, he looked ahead to a single fire burning alone beside the right-side wall on the other side of the dip in the ground; his own campsite. He clambered up a stumpy rock like a step and onto the raised ground once more, sighing as he saw a tiny pair of golden-brown eyes staring back at him. Placed among his other belongings next to the fire was a small wooden cage where the eyes looked out from, the head of the Falcon tilted with interest at the sight of Hunter as he approached. The cage was only just tall enough for the bird to stand at its full height, a pair of leather straps allowing the cage to be carried on the Cheetah’s back. Hunter finally reached his camp, the Falcon keeping its soulful eyes fixed on him as he took a knee in front of the cage. Hunter drew a breath as he reached forward and untied the simple strap that kept the lid of the cage down, lifting it up over top of the cage and carefully moving his left wrist forward. The Falcon stepped forward readily, hopping up onto his wrist with a soft chirp, fluffing its tail feathers as Hunter and the bird stared at each other, near nose to beak. Hunter looked into the eyes of the bird, observing how well and clearly the flames of the campfire reflected in its eyes, matched only by the gold edged medallion worn around its neck. His eyes wandered down to it inevitably, the triple ying-yang symbol that was his own personal sigil, used as a means to identify whom the bird and the message it carried originated from, the symbol colored in black, bronze and white. It was, officially, still the property of the Prowlus tribe as well as the Falcon itself, but for the one time in his life he had been guilty of theft, Hunter had no remorse except for the circumstances that had led to it. He lifted his right paw gently, squeezing his fingers together as the bird expectantly lowered its head as he petted it. Hunter let out a soft, contented sigh at the little relief the touch gave him, stroking the bird’s head softly as it tilted and turned itself to get the best from it. He smirked faintly at the delight the Falcon took in it, wishing there was something he had in his life that could make him as eager and pleased. He turned his gaze to the fire and the simple bed roll and blanket, feeling his body longing for its touch with the eagerness of a groom for his bride on their wedding night, his weary body almost ready to shut itself off already as he stared at it, his mind numbing itself in preparation for sleep.“I think it would do us both some good, Boyden,” Hunter said to the bird, Boyden, a name which aptly meant ‘Sky,’ letting out a soft chirp as if in agreement as the Cheetah drew his finger softly down the Falcon’s back. He then carefully dropped his wrist back down to the cage, the Falcon turning around and stepping off into its box, turning back to look at Hunter as he slowly closed the lid over. Reaching over by his rucksack, he drew a blanket that was noticeably too small for him and carefully placed it over top of the cage, thus explaining its purpose to give Boyden the darkness he needed to sleep. As he fitted the blanket over the cage, Hunter turned to his own bedding and prepared to settle in for the night. However, a sound caught his attention that caused him to turn his head to the left and look further up the cavern and pause. He saw a moving shadow against the wall lit by the last campfire of his group, seeing it move off into the darkness ahead where the cavern tightened to a narrow passage and leave its two other companions asleep by the fire. Hunter stood in silence as he watched where the shadow had gone, knowing full well who it belonged to and wondering whether to follow or give the owner time to themselves. Hunter looked to his own campsite, his feet almost about to take command and make him go there, but his heart was not in agreement with his feet, as difficult as it was. He looked back at the other fire, rubbing his eyes again as he sighed and walked slowly towards it, treading carefully as he approached the two sleeping dragons. There was the young red dragon, Flameaus, never called anything other than ‘Flame’ as far as he knew, who was curled in a ball closest to the wall while the other was the pink Ice dragoness, Ember, laying on her side with her back to the fire, the golden choker and heart shaped jewel that the red dragon had bought for her still worn around her neck, somehow still immaculate after three years of turmoil. Hunter could not stop himself from seeing them as children, even if they had proved themselves far more than that to his own eyes. It happened most often in times like now when they were asleep, when he could fool himself for a moment about the reality they now faced and remember what it was like before now. As he stood over them, watching them as they slept, he could hear the laughter and joy that was once so prevalent in them, when the worst thing they could experience was a verbal dressing down from the Guardians or whomever was in charge of overseeing them, himself included. Their youthful innocence that was infectious to nearly all who witnessed it, be it in the valleys of Avalar or the streets of Warfang, was worn away by the oppressions of the new world. The memories that it rekindled did bring a faint smile to the Cheetah’s face; the antics and the banter of they who were once known as ‘The Four Who Lived’ or the ‘Four Survivors,’ now reduced to just three and, for the moment, just two. Hunter shook his head at the resemblance the young fire dragon had to his old purple friend, the two might have been mistaken for brothers were it not genetically impossible, as far as they knew, for there to be more than one purple dragon born at any time. Flame was, as were his companions, aged fifteen now and their appearances had changed to match it. He was stockier and longer, his scales a deeper red and his once soft looking underbelly now resembled yellow armored plates that ran down his chest and stomach, though they did little more than protect him from scrapes should he stumble while landing. His wings, which three years ago looked to Hunter too small to carry his weight yet somehow still allowed him to fly, had truly grown out into fine appendages and performed as well as they looked. His feet had grown out to support his new, larger body and his claws were now well defined and no longer barely visible three years earlier. The dragon he once was had always looked docile and flighty, almost like a deer, ready to run away in fear at the faintest hint of danger. Even if Hunter had not seen the actions that long proved this to be a false assumption, his appearance alone spoke to that there was nothing docile about Flame now. Much of the same could be said about Ember, who to a dragon such as Flame Hunter would assume could be called especially beautiful. Her scales had darkened but retained a distinctly pink hue, her overall shape was rounder and softer than that of her companion, though they shared the same overall size. Her snout had grown out and her legs were lean and long, her tail spike lengthened but curiously still shaped like a heart, though there was little love to be shown by the foes who had been struck by it. Her salmon-colored wings were folded around herself like a blanket, her front paws crossed over as her chest expanded and deflated soundly. The golden choker and its heart shaped jewel glistened in the light of the torch Hunter held, a beautiful artifact that, had it been bought for anyone else, would be seen for what it was; a declaration of love and adoration by the purchaser to the receiver. That was, it seemed, obvious to everyone but Ember who, although she adored it, seemed to regard it as merely a gift from a close friend. Hunter never understood how it seemed she was the only one who didn’t see how Flame really felt about her, or that even now the red dragon had mustered the courage for seemingly anything except telling her how he felt. He could perhaps understand it when Spyro was still around to be the center of her world, but Flame seemed doomed to go on without revealing the secret that everyone but her seemed to know. Hunter shook his head at her as she slept, but he knew that unrequited feelings were the least of their problems in the grand scheme of things, especially tonight as he looked across at the spot where there had been the third member of the group who had slinked off into the darkness. He turned towards the place the shadow had gone, Hunter holding out the torch out in front as he prepared wander into it, knowing full well what he would find, yet feeling anxious all the same. “Where are you now, Cynder?” he asked himself deeply just before he took a step forward, leaving Flame and Ember behind as he strode off into the dark. Further ahead in the cavern, a small opening in the high rock ceiling let in gusts of the blizzard outside into the underground chamber, flakes of snow dancing in the air as they fell and glittered in the unexpectedly bright light of this particular room in the cavern. Icicles streaked down from the edge of the high opening as the walls of the cavern were decorated with the glowing husks of numerous Spirit Gems, blue, green and red, alongside many numerous, unmagical crystals that naturally grew in places such as this. The chamber formed a wide, pine cone like shape with the gems lining around the inside as the snow drifted down in a spiral. As it wound its way down, it was revealed that in the center of the chamber was one gem that bested the rest. Growing out of the hard stone floor was a large clump of blue crystal, bigger, brighter, and bluer than any of the others in the chamber. The clump shimmered like there was water inside, proving its magical properties. Its light shone across the walls of the chamber, blending with that of the other gems as they formed a glittering, magical lightshow. On a clear night the moon may have shone down and made the scene more spectacular still, but it would have made no difference either way to the lone dragoness standing in the midst of it. The lightshow glimmered in Cynder’s emerald eyes as she stood before the large blue Spirit Gem in the center of the chamber. Her eyes shimmered with their reflection as they stared blankly into the flowing center of the blue gem. Her own image appeared in it as clearly as though it were a mirror, staring back at her as she starred into her own eyes. They traced down the face of the gem, the smoothly edged, triangular face and rounded beak like snout. Upon that face was a low, glum expression that seemed worn from overuse as her nostrils released a puff of warm air into the freezing chamber, vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared. Her wings, large and elegant, dropped down limply as she lowered her head, the six once stubby horns on her head were now longer and pointed, catching the light as she lowered her head. The spines that had grown on the back of her neck had matured and risen into three individual spikes that now protected the back of her head, now resembling the white horns that grew elsewhere. The distinctive markings atop her skull no longer appeared to stand out like armored plates, but now blended in with her scales more like tattoos, a symptom of her changing physicality. This trend continued elsewhere, for upon her now grown out shoulders were new markings that stretched down close to her lower front legs. They consisted of seven separate diamond shapes, six grouped together in a pattern matching each other’s shape like a puzzle waiting to be put together. The seventh part sat just below the rest, shaped more like a triangle and to the imagination could be a torch and the other marking a symmetrical depiction of fire. This same pattern also appeared across the hump of her back as if by intelligent design, the midsection that connected the two halves of her body was slim and taught. The tip of her chin touched the ruby red of her soft looking chest and underside, her chest protruding out into a soft curve shape reflected more in her overall appearance. Her back legs had become lean from more than adequate exercise over the last three eventful years alongside her natural growth process. Her black, snake like tail swayed faintly behind her, the now longer scythe like blade looked sharp enough to cut through the very rock that surrounded her, the once immaculate edge now dotted with faint chips from frequent use, no longer just on the training grounds, but in the mortal combat she had been exposed to nearly constantly since that day three years ago. The day Spyro and Ignitus had died.Cynder lifted her head and opened her eyes, staring back into the crystal where her reflection had been, only that was not what she saw this time. She knew it was only her imagination, but she allowed herself to indulge in her delusion, taking a few slow steps towards the large blue gem as what felt like the first genuine smile she had worn in so long lit up her once dreary face. She now stood with the tip of her snout almost touching the gem, Cynder’s mouth lifting into an open-mouthed grin as she gazed into a pair of eyes that were not of her reflection staring back from within the gem; but a pair of warm, amethyst eyes. The new face within the gem was not her own, but it was still familiar nonetheless. The black dragoness stared longingly into the imaginary likeness, that being all it could be, as it did the same it seemed for her. “Spyro…” she whispered, the name for the first time in years conjuring feelings of relief and happiness, not sadness and loss as he stared back at her. The outside of the blue gem seemed like it was all that stopped them from touching physically as Spyro remained inside like it were an egg. Cynder’s heart fluttered at the sheer detail of the illusion, losing herself in it as she saw how he seemed to mimic her every move from every blink to every twitch as they looked into each other with utter fascination. It was the not the same Spyro that she remembered from their last day together, the day Warfang was attacked, but how she thought he might look now if he had lived to grow like they had. He was taller, his pudgy muzzle having grown a bit longer and his build more masculine. His purple scales were far richer in their color, his stout chest layered like plate armor and his orange wings, like hers, seemed more suitably sized to carry him through the air. Somehow her imagination did not go off the leash, the likeness of Spyro staying close to what she remembered without overidealizing what she might like. He was fit but not overladen with muscle like she was sure Ember might have thought of if she had been in her place. In the back of her mind, Cynder knew she was probably using her friend Flame’s appearance for the model of this imaginary Spyro she pretended was real, but it did not make him seem any less believable.Cynder gasped softly, as did the image in the gem as he or it reacted the same. Letting her mind slip even deeper into the fantasy, she closed her eyes and leaned the last inch forward until the tip of her snout was faintly pressed to the gem, against that of the image of Spyro. She lifted her right paw, pressing it against the outside of the gem as the image of Spyro lifted his left paw to meet it. Again, mirrored in their actions, Cynder held her breath as her paw pressed into the gem, imaging that she could feel the warm touch of the dragon inside it. Though her eyes were closed, she knew the image of Spyro was doing the same as her, longing and reaching for her as finally, she lifted her eyelids to see her imagination live out before her. Cynder’s eyes widened as the image of Spyro was gone, replaced by the horrified expression of her own face in her own reflection. “Cynder?” a voiced asked quietly behind her. The black dragoness jumped in surprise as she gasped sharply, looking over her right shoulder to see Hunter with a torch standing back in the tunnel that led to the gem cavern. She calmed her breathing somewhat when she saw him, turning back to the blue gem once more, perhaps hoping that the vision she had imagined would return. But all she saw was her own reflection once again, her glum expression returning with a new hint of embarrassment of having been discovered. “I’m…” she stuttered, “I’m sorry, Hunter. I just… couldn’t sleep…” “It’s alright,” Hunter nodded calmly as he stepped into the cavern, taking a moment to look around at the colors floating around the walls and the snow drifting in from above. As he stepped towards her, Cynder sighed gloomily as she took a step backwards from the gem as she saw the Cheetah’s reflection moving in beside her own to her right. There was an awkward pause as they both stood beside each other staring into the gem, Cynder blushing as she thought of all that he must have seen while she had been lost in her imagination, perilously avoiding eye contact with him.Hunter turned his head towards her, seeing her eyes shut as soon as he did as she tried to hide her embarrassment. He wiped his paw over his face as he knelt down beside the black dragoness, keeping the torch up high as its flame shimmered in the large blue Spirit Gem. Cynder’s eyes remained stubbornly closed, the Cheetah warrior reaching out to delicately place his left paw on her shoulder, the touch making her flinch and forced her eyes to gradually open. “Do you know what today is?” she asked softly, tilting her head slightly towards his paw on her shoulder. Her voice was grave but frail, barely keeping the lid on the emotions that were stirring in her chest. Hunter did not have to think hard, knowing full well what she meant and that it was the cause of her peculiar behavior. “I do,” he replied solemnly. Cynder turned her head back straight ahead, looking back into her reflection where she had imagined Spyro. “It was three years ago today, Hunter. Three years since we lost them,” she remarked in a dull, woeful voice. Hunter nodded slowly as he patted her shoulder but stared off into the side of the chamber as much of the same emotions as hers rocked inside his chest. “I know, Cynder. We all do.” “Then why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t anyone else?” she asked scornfully as she snapped her steely gaze towards him. Hunter sighed tiredly, though he understood her vexation. He removed his paw from her shoulder and laid his arm across his knee, eyeing the dragoness squarely as he answered pointedly, “There is the urgent matter at hand, Cynder.” Cynder only replied with a huff, “So we just don’t mention it then?” “No, that’s not it,” he answered calmly, “Nobody has forgotten. We all remember that day, none better than you and Flame and Ember.” “We seemed to be the only ones talking about it,” she replied tersely, “There should have been something; an announcement, a moments silence, anything!” “We remember them how we remember all the comrades we have lost,” Hunter said carefully, “We honor them by carrying on the struggle that they paid with their lives for. So that when this is all over, we may take all the time we wish to mourn for them.”Cynder let out a moody sigh, staring away from Hunter as she tried to prepare a retort to him, but her heart did not have the strength to be snarky to him, even if she wanted to. The adolescent dragoness turned her head back around to him, eyeing Hunter apologetically. “I’m sorry, Hunter. I know what you mean, it’s just… we were very close. All of us.” “You still are,” he told her warmly, “There was no other group like you anywhere in the land. Spyro still makes up that group, even if he is no longer here.” Cynder smiled weakly, for although Hunter meant well with his words, there was an underlying, more self-centered truth beneath her words. “That may all be true, Hunter, but… it’s not really what I meant.” “Pardon?” he asked strangely. Cynder sat down on her haunches, her tail swishing across the snow on the ground as she sighed thoughtfully. “You were watching me, weren’t you? You don’t think I’m in love with my own reflection, do you?” Hunter let out a short chuckle as he mildly shook his head and looked down, shivering as the cold bit against his fur. “No, I… I know what you mean,” he nodded, lifting his head to level his eyes with hers, adding softly, “I know that they were both dear to you, but Spyro… I know what he meant to you especially.” Cynder looked up at him sorrowfully, her emerald eyes blinking slowly as she for a moment held her tongue, unable to think of anything worth saying that would not at once be predictable. It did bring something to mind though, a moment from the past when the four who lived were whole, the day they had set out with Meadow before he had been captured and Spyro had insisted on going to his rescue. She remembered Flame’s overreaction to the bee sting he had received and the way they had all played into it and tricked him into believing the fictitious ‘Leper Bee’ had stung him and that his limb would need amputation. How cruel it had been to play such a trick on Flame back then. And funny.Her thoughts then turned to the conversation she and Spyro had shared, discussing the young red dragon’s apparent crush on Ember that now everyone besides Ember seemed to know about. The sound of his voice and the younger voice of herself played through Cynder’s mind like a pleasant tune."Do you think Flame maybe… likes Ember?" Spyro had asked. "Likes her? What do you mean?" Cynder remembered asking. "You know…. He likes her, like has a crush on her?" "Ha! No, I think he's just being his usual awkward self. Besides, Ember has only got eyes for you, Spyro." "What?!" "Come on, Spyro, don't pretend you've never noticed how much she fawns over you.”She remembered his reaction, his contorted face of horror, the way he stuck his tongue out in his childish disdain for the very idea of romance, especially between himself and Ember. She found it humorous to think of now, but at the time she had actually felt disappointed, reflected in her response to his show of disgust, the hint flying over his big purple head. "Well, it’s not like you are already spoken for or anything.” Cynder let out a soft laugh that sounded more like a grunt, “I think Meadow knew it back then, too,” she said. “You think so?” Hunter asked curiously. “I think he might have said something about it to Spyro, but he never mentioned it,” Cynder explained, “I never got to ask Meadow about it. Of course, that was before…. Well, you know what happened that day.” Hunter gave only a low groan in response, pushing himself to his feet as he breathed in the cold air, brushing away several lingering snowflakes from his face. Cynder watched him as he stepped towards the large blue Spirit Gem in the center of the chamber, holding the torch away to indulge in the natural reflection of all the other gems in its mirror like surface. He reached up and touched the gem delicately, not allowing the claws of his paw to scratch its surface. After a moment, he stepped back and gazed up at the other gems lighting the chamber. “It’s fascinating,” he said admirably, “How your kind draws strength from these crystals. I’ve never said it before, but it is a remarkable feat. Dragons are a truly remarkable species.” Cynder smiled thankfully to him, but it didn’t last long as another thought popped into her mind, something she suspected might be bothering the Cheetah warrior for the day marked not just the loss of the purple dragon and Fire Guardian, but much more personally to him. Her eyes were drawn to the symbol he still wore on his tunic, even after it had seized to represent who was. “Is that why you sided with us?” she asked tepidly. Hunter turned his head stiffly towards her, his eyes wide open and caused the black dragoness to flush with embarrassment as her veins surged with regret. “Sorry,” she muttered, “I shouldn’t have asked.” “Its fine,” Hunter told her as he turned back to the gem, his strained tone of voice giving away that it was not. He let out a flustered sigh as he placed his paw back against the gem, holding it against its surface as he began to slowly step around it, letting the torch hang down low to rest his arm, but not enough that the flames risked touching him. Cynder only watched as he walked around the back of the crystal, Hunter’s image becoming blurred and distorted when seen through it. As he came back around the other side, he didn’t meet her gaze but came to a stop on the gem’s side as he starred into its blue brilliance. After a few moments of reflection, he pulled his paw back and slowly rubbed it down his face as he groaned weakly.“You know,” Hunter confessed soberly, “That very same question has been riding in my head all day long. I’ve just,” he said as he began twirling his finger in a spin, “Been going over that decision over and over.” Cynder eyed him sympathetically as he put his paw back against the gem, seeing his almost glowing jade eyes gazing deeply back to himself in the magical stone. “You are not the only one who made that choice, Hunter,” she told him in an effort to console him. “That may be so,” he replied glumly, “But taking nearly half the tribe with me did not ease my conscience. Even if all but Chief Prowlus had come, my heart would still be torn. Those who choose to follow me all left half their hearts in the village that day, including me.” Cynder grimaced as she looked down at her front paws pensively, drawing comparisons to the heartache that she had felt ever since that day Spyro had left them. She wondered what might have happened if he had stayed with her and Flame and Ember, or if they had been stubborn enough to resist his pleas and go along with him in aid, regardless of his protests. The four of them together might have made a difference, though that difference might only have been that all four of them would have perished together rather than leaving the three of them to carry on in Spyro’s name. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’d like having Chief Prowlus around here anyway,” she remarked lightly. “If he could see things any other way than his own, he would be a great asset to the Legion,” Hunter replied with a hint of criticism at the black dragoness’s words. By ‘Legion’, Hunter meant the group that he, Cynder, even the former courier Finbarr, and all those with them in this freezing expanse of misery were apart of; The Legion of Liberation. The Legion was the main source of resistance to the iron rule now imposed by the Apes across the realms, formed in the aftermath of the fall of Warfang and the defeats suffered by the dragon and mole armies that had seen reduced to scattered remnants across the realms. It had by no means been an easy ride for the Apes even after Warfang had fallen, a feat that took almost a week of hard fighting to clear every building and hiding place of the determined dragon warriors and mole at arms who fought on even after the news of Spyro and Ignitus’s death, initially presumed as nothing but propaganda.Initially, the Legion was meant to act as a guerrilla force that operated in the conquered territories in support of the main armies battling the apes across the islands and territories not yet under Gaul’s control. Over the last three years, however, with those armies destroyed, captured or forced into isolated strongholds where they could do nothing but hold out, the Legion of Liberation had become the de facto source of organized resistance to Gaul’s forces, with groups operating in nearly every corner of the realms. The Legion could claim very few true victories in the face of their limited numbers and resources in comparison to those of the Apes over three years of fighting, but it was a struggle they knew they could not afford to give up. However, recent events had presented the Legion with a rare opportunity to gain a major advantage over their enemy, which was why Hunter’s troop had spent the last two days making their way slowly through the icy wilderness, miraculously avoiding detection as they made their way towards the old fortress which, were it not for the blizzard, was now in their sight. “Would you expect any different from him?” Cynder asked dryly, though cautiously in reply to the earlier hint of reprimand in Hunter’s voice. The Cheetah warrior locked eyes with her, but the harshness she expected to see in his gaze was not there, even if he meant it to be. She thought perhaps he was just trying to play the role of the leader he was expected to, or perhaps it was that he was just too tired to muster the energy for it. Hunter then sighed, turning himself away from the gem and began walking towards her. “No, I wouldn’t,” he conceded lowly, holding his paw over his mouth as he yawned, which proved to be instantly infectious as Cynder was reminded of her own drowsiness and yawned herself only a few moments later. Hunter stood just to her left in front of her as he mused, “We have more than enough worries about our present situation than to think about those of the past, even if they brought us here,” he said cynically. Cynder frowned grudgingly, gritting her teeth as she sighed heavily, knowing full well he was right. The black dragoness rather forlornly admitted to herself that she seemingly only had time to do two things when she was not fighting for her life or carrying out some other duties for the Legion; worry about the present and worry about the past. There seemed to be little else to do since the day she accepted, albeit long after everyone else had, that Spyro was not just missing and soon to return to save them, but that he was gone along with Ignitus. She lifted herself back onto all fours, her tail swishing a cut across the layer of snow on the floor of the chamber. Her eyes then turned to the satchel that Hunter was wearing, the glint of the medallion adorning it flashed in the many gems about the room, knowing what was inside it and that it was the reason why they were here now, that it supposedly gave them the chance to strike a true blow to their enemy. “We should get back now and try and get some rest for tomorrow,” Hunter told her firmly, her eyes snapping back to his and nodding silently in agreement. With only a short nod back, Hunter stepped around past her and moved towards the dark passage that had led him to her, Cynder turning around slowly as her eyes lingered on the large blue crystal where, for a moment, she had forgotten about the troubles of her past and present and thought only of the one thing she missed more than peace; Spyro, the purple dragon.When she finally did turn fully around, she saw Hunter was waiting for her a short distance ahead, holding the burning torch above his head and watching her wander towards him. Her claws clicked against the cold surface of the cave as she made to catch up to him, Hunter waiting until she was right before him before he silently turned around and began to lead the way back through the cave. Cynder stayed only a few feet behind, her eyes moving back to the satchel she saw rocking against his side as the light flickered against the black walls of the tunnel. Soon the lights of the gem chamber had vanished behind them, the Cheetah and dragoness existing in a narrow bubble of yellow light in a seeming void of pitch darkness. “Hunter?” Cynder asked suddenly from behind him. “Yes?” he asked without stopping. “Do you really think he’ll be there? I mean, do you really think they will all be where that map says?” Hunter came to a stop, Cynder pausing mid-step behind him. Her eyes widened with concern as she opened her mouth slightly in surprise, thinking she had finally earned his reprimand. For a few moments he only stood still and stared ahead into the darkness, still no sign ahead of the light of the campfires he had passed by when he had set off in pursuit of her shadow. He turned his head to the right, his eyes shifting to the edge of their sockets in her direction. He reached down and slapped his hand on the side of the satchel, saying, “For all the risks that were surely taken to get it, and for all it could mean for the future, I surely hope so. I have to.” With that he looked ahead and started walking again, Cynder moving to catch up as he seemed to take a quicker pace than before. The black dragoness kept her thoughts to herself, speaking them only in her mind, ‘I know you have to, Hunter. But do you really believe it?’She then asked herself the same question. Cynder trotted on after Hunter, eventually seeing the light ahead that would bring them back to the cavern with the others. They stepped over and around the uneven terrain of the tunnel until they reached the left-hand bend where the light was shimmering against the wall, Hunter swiftly disappearing around it as Cynder followed behind. She came around the bend and saw the campfire with Flame and Ember still sleeping beside it, Hunter walking briskly past them as he checked over his shoulder to see that she was still coming. She gave him a polite smile for his apparent concern, to which Hunter gave barely a nod as he strode onward to his own camp. Cynder’s smile quickly faded as she turned towards her sleeping companions, Flame and Ember. She eyed them both fondly, though her face showed no emotion as she stepped up to the edge of the campfire to the spot she had made her own before she had felt the need to wander off into the gem cavern to collect her thoughts. She then looked up to see Hunter slipping off his bow and setting it down beside him as he sat down on the blanket he had laid out for himself. He kept the satchel on though, tucking it close to himself as he settled in front of his campfire, only taking his hold off the satchel to warm his palms. Looking away, Cynder moved her eyes between Ember on her left and Flame on her right before she looked across the fire to the empty patch of ground on the other side. She looked at the spot that looked as though it had been left bare for someone to soon join them, something that only deepened the hole in her heart.The black dragoness finally settled down on her stomach, laying with her right side to the fire as she let out an exhausted sigh while trying to make herself comfortable. The heat of the fire was comforting, but the hard, cold ground was irritable. She shuffled around some for a few moments, but gave up when she realized it would not get any better, eventually rolling on her left side to let the fire warm her belly. Her eyes were drawn back to Hunter as he too settled down, pulling himself into a ball with the satchel clutched around his stomach as he tried to retain warmth. Cynder could not help but have a strange, lingering curiosity about the way Hunter was so protective of his satchel. Of course, she knew what it contained was important, but they had all been shown the map that he carried in it of where they were going before they had set off on this venture towards the old fortress of Dante’s Freezer. She thought maybe it was because it was one of the few things Hunter had left of his old home, or maybe it was more acting on his part, taking the responsibilities of a leader far more seriously than he had before now that the stakes were so much higher. Now that they had reason to believe that Terrador was not the only survivor of the Dragon Guardians, and indeed was the one who had ordered this mission be undertaken. The Earth Guardian was now the leader of the Legion of Liberation, having done so in the absence of the other Guardians who had been missing and presumed dead ever since the day the war started. It was that event that Cynder found herself unable to quash in her mind as she tried to settle down to sleep, still watching Hunter across the way as she now knew it was to be a restless night. As those memories began to swirl in the mind of the black dragoness, Hunter was himself in a similar state, tucking himself tightly into a ball as he clutched the satchel close to him. With his back to the others, they could not see that his eyes were wide open as the earlier memories began to play over on his mind, starting right off where he had left them at the moment he most wanted to forget. The Cheetah warrior groaned weakly, closing his paws over his face as he tried to force his eyes closed, hoping he might fall asleep before he remembered too much. Unfortunately, his mind was not merciful to him.End of Chapter 3.Next Chapter: Days of DarknessNote from the author: If you are reading this, I hope you have enjoyed what I have posted so far. Once more I will reiterate that it will unfortunately still be a while before I begin regular posting again. While I do have more chapters than this complete, I don't yet feel satisfied with what I have to post regularly. When I do , I will return to the one chapter a month routine I started with Book I. I'm sorry for this, I really feel I have let down those who enjoyed and left reviews for Book I. I hope what I do deliver eventually will be worth the wait.Thank you.
Blazcowitz
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