A day late due to having a migraine on the first day (what bad luck), but I’m back for another attempt at Fictober (and as before, the previous years’ I’ve attempted I’ll write for fics for eventually because I keep the prompt lists).
We’re starting with a fic set in my Destiny of Cynder universe, a Legend of Spyro Roleswap AU where Cynder is a Purple Dragon and Spyro is a Black Dragon. I should note, though, that it’s more than a simple Roleswap AU, and that there’s a plot heavily inspired by a Lot Of Stuff, chiefly Fire Emblem Awakening, so uh, there’s that.
I haven’t written or edited for this fic series in awhile, so this is a way to ease myself back into it.
For some further context, this fic here takes place during my version of Dawn of the Dragon. Cynder and Spyro are both adults in this version, and that’s all I’ll say without too many spoilers.
Cynder’s eyes slowly slid open, blinking from the harsh light that cut through the canopy of darkness. The ground beneath her was cold and jagged, nothing like the warm stone of the Dragon Temple in the swamp. The light itself, a sickly green that was all too familiar, danced across the black rock as the poisoned water flowed over the edge. Dark clouds blocked the sky, the twin moons’ light barely visible from behind them.
It reminded her of the Well of Souls, but it wasn’t. She had the sights of that cursed mountain burned into her memory, like an iron nail stuck inside her skull. She didn’t know where this was. Perhaps another part of the Mountain of Malefor, carved out of rock with malice.
She didn’t know how she had even got here, but she couldn’t remember where she was supposed to be, either. She didn’t dare call out for someone; wherever she was, she knew that she wouldn’t find help in a place such as this.
She rose to her feet, her claws scraping against the stone with each step, too loud for her ears. Nothing stirred within the darkness, the green river beside her bubbling and churning. She saw a shadow cast on the dimly lit wall in front of her, recognizing the fleeting shape as another dragon. It looked like…
“Spyro?” Cynder whispered to herself, trying not to feel too hopeful. The Mountain of Malefor and the lands around it were cursed by the unholy might of Malefor’s Dark Aether, and the Sea Of Knives and the Shattered Vale on the other side had been corrupted after Malefor’s awakening. The curse’s hold played tricks on the mind. It made you see things, hear things, feel things, and believe things.
It gave you what you wanted most in that moment, like a siren’s call, so that you might be ensnared.
She followed in the direction of the shadow regardless, her breath visible in the cold air. This is a bad idea, she thought to herself. She didn’t have any better ideas.
She traveled down a craggy road, seeing more glimpses of her friend’s shadow, if it was him at all. She thought she heard his voice, low and fearful, echoing against the bubbling river streams and the hisses of steam from small geysers that dotted around the landscape.
And then she caught up to him, his black scales and golden horns shining from the touch of the river’s light. His purple eyes stared into her blue ones, like he couldn’t believe she was real. And she couldn’t believe it was him, either. But she wanted to. She wanted to believe it.
“Spyro, what are you doing here?” Cynder dared to ask, unwilling to look away from him, afraid if she did he’d disappear… or worse, if it wasn’t him.
“I have to go,” Spyro hurriedly responded, a flicker of something dark across his face before he turned to run, disappearing into the vast shadow.
“No, come back!” Cynder rushed after him, her previous caution forgotten. She saw flashes of gold against the pale moonlight that seeped through the wall of clouds, wind picking up and a cold rain beginning to fall. “Spyro, wait!”
She found him standing at the edge of a cliff, but his wings weren’t opened to fly. He stared down at something, and she risked stepping beside him to look.
Warfang, bathed in fire. But it didn’t make sense… Warfang was well beyond even the Shattered Vale. How did they get here?
She looked over at Spyro -and screamed.
“Remember me?” Cyrus snarled, Spyro’s face twisted into hatred and rage as he took over, poising to strike Cynder.
“You’re supposed to be gone!” Cynder leapt back, wings flared out and her teeth bared.
“I’ve always been here,” Cyrus growled, his voice guttural and unfamiliar. “I’ve always been here, and I always will be.”
And then his face morphed before her eyes, horns growing where they weren’t any before, eyes turning yellow, teeth sharpening.
He leapt at her, and they tumbled over the cliff and into the fire.
Cynder’s eyes snapped open, her mouth open in a silent scream. The warmth of the fireplace touched her scales, bringing her back down to reality. She looked around the room. Sparx, Hunter, Elora, Pyra, Bianca, but most of all, Spyro himself. All asleep. All safe.
Warfang wasn’t a crumbling ruin of embers yet.
It was only a dream… Cynder lowered her head back to the floor. Only a dream.
I’ll be back with Day 2 of Fictober as soon as it’s done and I decide to fight this editor again.