FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 36

The days started to get very long and his job very tiring, with a heavy sigh he leaned over one of the stony walls of his city, spitting out the bowl he had in his mouth.

He retched when the last touch of vermin stench pulled at his nose.

The bowl clattered, his whole body quivered to the rhythm of the shrill noise. The jerks pulled one of his legs upwards, he didn't want to look at it, yet the demand of his eyes was stronger than his will.

Palm was full of dried blood, dirty fur and other splashes of green guts of all sorts of bugs, it made him sick.

A Guardian prowling the sewers in search for vermin to stuff the ever hungry gullet of the parasite he was growing. It was a torture for everyone included.

How low he has fallen.

Being up here, in the city in the middle of the night, to finally get a breath of fresh air, all of it was far more important than the philosophical fight he was battling with his conscience about what is right and what is wrong.

Right now he just didn't care.

All he wanted was to go to bed and at least for a little while feel like an old dragon again, in moments like these he really believed that he was getting too ancient for all of this. This constant pressure, plotting and expectations where _you_as an individual no longer mattered, your every action motivated by the outcome for the many.

Like a hive.

All this buzzing was getting on his nerves, he cared for his people and for his city still, but the longer he spent time with that murderous monster in the dungeons the more he became deprived of this attachment.

He was becoming just like his prisoner, the only difference being in the amount of souls his depravation actually influences. At least for the time being since escalation was unavoidable in the future.

It was worth it though, it must be.

He tried to peel his body off the cold, inviting walls of a building, yet during this time he forgot about his wounds. He quickly cringed under the uncomfortable stretch he felt across his belly. He hissed through clenched teeth paw impulsively reaching there to comfort the pain.

Turned out he only intensified it by touching it with the dirty leg. He cursed his name and the names of every citizen he could remember when his nerves fought off the shot of pain. He was glad that his eyes were no longer as good as they used to, the lights of Warfang were too weak for him to get a proper look at the condition of his body.

Good.

It would only make the gnawing doubts and hesitations worse.

Still, each wound he takes was a cruel, yet necessary reminder with who he was dealing with here, his methods perhaps weren't praise worthy but they were still just. Nobody ever said that justice must be served under the appeal of many, an individual is capable of committing justice as much as any official court.

Sadly murderers also have a sense of it from their own perspective and they also have the right to strive for it. And Flare has a way of inflicting wounds that hurt as hell and healed even longer, the burning cuts eventually disappeared but the ache remained, as if the muscles still remembered the trauma.

It was hard to set things right. Sometimes he really wished that he would hatch with purple scales, how life would be easier then.

He swung his tail, at the end of it rattled an armor, as a proud dragon he was a supporter of presenting yourself only with scales before your enemy, armors were only a needed equipment on the battlefield where a strike can come from every direction.

Yet it was not uncommon for the Guardians to wear some ceremonial garbs as a sign of authority, it was generally accepted that if a Guardian shows himself in an armor he is there for official, serious business. He personally didn't care much for this social games, he always took what he wanted and made sure that whoever he deals with knows that there is no room for games here.

The social etiquette however was quite useful in his current situation, putting up this armor not only would cover his wounds but also make sure that he won't be bothered by some souls that find his behavior strange, having people come up to him asking if everything is alright is the last thing he needed right now.

With a hiss of pain he slipped into a nearby alley, keeping the armor close and his personal thoughts even closer. He thanked the pain that it distracted his tongue, there was a high risk of the entire world hearing his full of curses litany otherwise.

He threw the armor onto his back, the forced stretch causing the muscles to relax, the pain on the white chest gripped his nerves tighter, paralyzing the limbs.

Cyril slammed his head against the wall, breathing heavily, he didn't allow himself to rest however, he was a dragon after all. He might not have felt such pain for a long time, but he still considered himself a proud beast and he will be damned first than allow age to control his life.

There was enough of whiners in this world as it is.

He clicked a strap in place around his shoulder, then moved to another one on his next leg, it was enough to cause a part of the armor to already press against his body, the plates touching the recent burn mark.

Pain exploded with renewed strength.

His eyes shut tightly with tears building up in the corners, the bolt of agony reminding him once more that this was not some ordinary scratch. His flesh was hurting so much that he had to bit into his paw to prevent himself from screaming, between the heavy panting flashes of the burning monster Flare turned into kept blinking in into his darkened vision.

Volteer told stories about the origins of their magic, supposedly there was a time before reality as he knew it now where there was no sentient, breathing life as they got used to. Back in the ancient days the world was supposed to be ruled by wild magic where the elements battled against each other, locked in a prime and feral struggle that eventually gave birth to Creation which eventually ended with a peace between the forces, with each of the elements taking a part of the Creation as their Realm.

And whatever the thing was that Flare turns to looked like a champion of the Fire Realm, where scorching, blazing flames devoured your essence to the last drop. He never had a creative mind, imagination was never his strong side, but if he would have to guess he would say that Flare was an embodiment of whatever remained of that destructive Realm of scorching heat.

Ready to devour you.

And the blazing wound was a clear reminder of that, it kept on bursting and pulsing like magma from a recently erupted volcano.

It was definitely not natural, it really felt like having a hungry, blazing mouth of an oven stuck to your flesh that kept constantly wagging its long, blazing tongue around, slapping it against the nerves, driving you insane.

He didn't have to a mirror but he could feel himself being pale. This damn wound was as sickening as it was painful.

His legs wobbled, the forehead that was pressed to the wall slipped on the sweat, making him topple and fight for balance. He slammed his forepaws into the building, digging his claws deep in between the cracks, stopping his unwilling descent.

He growled, annoyed.

"You weak, old fool!" Cyril cursed himself, with a soft roar he pulled himself back up and without a moment of hesitation snapped another strap in place

He let out a short, quickly silenced scream when the armor tightened against the cut even further. His elemental magic kicked in instinctively, covering him in a layer of frost that immediately began to hiss, locking itself in a battle against the blazing cut, set up on cutting off its flaming tongue.

In pair with the unspeakable pain the constant drain on his elemental force was too much to bear right now. He silenced his magic, the chilly relief was short lived and it caused more mess than assistance in the end, creating so much mist around him that someone would easily take him for a walking cloud.

Drawing attention was not what he wanted.

The hungry wound fed in his flesh, slapping its fiery tongue in an unending, unsatisfied desire for carnage.

With a shaking paw he reached in between his legs, stretching it down the underbelly to get a hold of the contraption that people recklessly called a zipper to adjust and lock the armor in place. It was a flap that you had to tug in order for the mechanism of the armor to lock itself on its own around your waist, an invention from the moles that allowed the dragons to dress themselves up on their own.

Today most of the heavier garbs had a mechanism like that, of course among his mind were those that still believed in hierarchy of old where the young ones dressed the more respectable for battle. He was a proud dragon but even he wasn't stubborn as much to cling to outdated tradition when progressive and more comfortable solutions were at paw's reach. He might have made fun of Volteer one time too much but that didn't mean he wasn't aware that advancement in technology is essential for every society to move forward.

He roared quietly when the armor attached itself to his body fully after the tug. Tears wailed up in his eyes.

He only wished that technology would learn what gentleness means at some point.

He pushed from the wall with a grunt, before he dragged his head back up his eyes locked themselves on the darkened ground where a small pool of blood gathered, squeezed from the irritated wound. It hissed and bulged, spitting small tongues of flames as if many tiny candles would flicker within.

His plan didn't include himself getting burned. It spread too much.

Fire is a destructive weapon.

Brutal and wild, avatar of which he keeps locked in a cell.

What if it can't be controlled?

He spotted his hesitant reflection in the pool, behind his meek head there was a tower stretching, tower of a city.

A burning city.

His city.

He shook his head furiously, there was no time for doubts now, it has to be done. Besides he found a way to control that burning thing, his paws still reeked with the stench of vermin and his memory was still fresh with the images of the burning monster growing scales and becoming pitiful in the shape of Flare.

It is possible to control it, he saw it with his own eyes.

Speaking of eyes, they again looked at the pool but this time the expression no longer resembled an ancient elder tired of life, but an experienced dragon that knew what determination means. The tower behind that dragon was strong and pristine, clean of any foul influence.

Fire was a destructive weapon, yes, but all it required was a pointer in the right direction.

In Flare's case also worthless souls.

Luckily Brill was the fattest of them all.

*

The massive door of the City Hall creaked loudly, rumbling like thunder in the encroached by silence of the night Warfang. An armored blue leg hit the marble floor, the click of claws chiming with the sound of thousand bells across the massive, quiet hall, the noise making some of the flames on the magical braziers stretch out intimidatingly.

The obscured in shadows guards perked up in attention, their hulking figures embraced by the auras of the flames, thickening their shadows, twisting them into visages of huge, terrible monsters that at first glance were more intimidating than any weapon.

A second blue paw hit the floor with so much force that it seemed to prop up the first one in the air, taking advantage of the boost the leg stretched out, opening its clawed palm, rising it to the light in the familiar gesture of peace.

The lights calmed themselves and with them came the serenity to the shadows, allowing them to sink into their normal shapes, even though the armored figures casting them still remained alarmed.

The flames after all couldn't see what the eyes did.

And the eyes of the royal guards could clearly see how their Guardian was dressed and how much difficulty walking caused him.

"Take the night off" Cyril announced, his voice ringing with praise for his guards despite their fact they had seen through his disguise, competent specialists deserved competent treatment

The rattling of armor clearly indicated that the loyal dragons didn't expect such an offer and were confused whether they should even take it seriously considering their duties.

Good boys. If only all of his race would bare themselves with such dignity.

"You have until my tail crosses the doorstep, as an ice dragon I have a very fickle mood. Only Ancestors know what can I come up with later, but I can already assure you that it will be an offer from the opposite spectrum of pleasant"

The guards looked at each other again.

Cyril smirked, remembering his own youthful years where he too valued duty, yet he also recalled that one aspect of the rebellious spirit demanding to be somewhat chaotic, alive, telling that duty can wait when the chance to live presents itself before you.

You are only young once after all.

And there is a huge difference between taking a permissible leave and abandoning your post.

A leave that a young spirit is unable to ignore.

The armored guards sprinted past him, each of them taking him on his offer, and there were more of them than just the two he could see. The guards threw the dragon grateful, yet still anxious glances, making sure for the last time that it was no trick.

But Cyril was real as he could be and the young guards came very quickly to the same realization. They disappeared faster into the night than one could close the door behind them.

The energy of the youth, how little it is necessary to stir it awake.

It made him content however, it was exactly as it should be, the old like him work for the young like them, to build a future where they can flourish to eventually become elders themselves and lead another generation towards social advancement

He only hoped that they won't have to carry as strangling burdens like he has to.

He stepped into the empty hall of his home, the tranquility of the place washed over him, bringing relief and offering reprieve from royal pretense. He relaxed his strained muscles, with the welcoming numbness came a quiet growl of anguish when the strained scales released their clench over the wound and allowed it to breathe freely.

He pushed forward, step losing vigor, making him limp. He despised weakness, but right now, when nobody was watching, finally acting his age seemed somewhat freeing. His first intention was to reach the Quarters, maybe even check out on Volteer, he irritated him most of the times, but right now he sensed that this was exactly what he needed, no one else could drag his mind away from the current troubles so effectively like his electric friend. With each taken limped step however those plans fell farther and farther into the line of postponement. His tired body demanding respite right here and now, spreading its hysteria like a whiny brat.

The main hall was a place of meetings, besides a table with some chairs where plans are laid out there was also a corner where more personal business could be conducted, among them was one piece of furniture that he would gladly meet if he can't reach the bed right now.

A couch.

He slumped on it with a tremendous sigh of relief that shook his bones, glad that after so many years, a thing as trivial as this made him feel alive. Everything could wait, all of the troubles and worries were exhaled in that single breath. Desire to rest was a force people tend to ignore, but its power could easily match that of the Ancestors.

He wasn't even aware when his eyes closed and the welcoming embrace of slumber wrapped its arms around him.

"Cyril? What are you doing here?"

The voice hit him like a hammer, his eyes popping open, throat taking a shocked breath of surprise, the unexpected pressure popping the vessels in the freshly opened eyes, painting them red. He opened his eyes to the sight of Terrador standing over him, he had a large bag thrown around his shoulder with rolls upon rolls of papers sticking out from it.

"What?" Cyril rumbled, his voice deep and devoid of emotion, mind unable to comprehend the words that woke him up, trying to tie his senses into a knot first

"I haven't seen you in days, you've been running around constantly, slinking back and forth like a shadow. Is everything alright my friend? You look sick"

Cyril snorted.

"I'm a dragon, I don't get sick. I-" he groaned when he jerked his body in what he thought to be only a simple rearrangement of his sitting position

Instead he realized that he was lying and the jerk pulled his body from a prone position so forcefully that the strained neck that had to deal with the discomfort of him basically loosing consciousness screamed in protest.

He really fell asleep it seems.

"Shit" he massaged his sore neck, gazing past his friend and onto the window behind him, it was still pitch dark outside

"Take a break Cyril, you're not young anymore"

"My age has nothing to do with it" the ice dragon growled angrily "I've been working my ass off and just wanted to clear my mind to piece things together. What you don't understand?"

Terrador sighed heavily.

"Suit yourself. Speaking of work you might be pleased to hear that you're not the only one running errands around here" green paw patted the stuffed bag "I went through all the deceased and finished the necessary paperwork that grants the families some kind of compensation for their losses. It won't put their minds at rest but it will help them to deal with the stress a little better. We lost a lot of good citizens Cyril and with the passing time people start to realize that too. They are getting restless and I'm afraid that if we don't do something soon they might look for a scapegoat on their own. It is a really difficult situation. Are you making any progress in finding the culprit for the previous crimes? Some of those deaths aren't related to the crystal at all, it won't be enough, but if we could find the one responsible for the disappearances it might give the people a feeling that we are really on their side on this matter"

"I'm working on it" the ice dragon grumbled

"I can see that you're taking things seriously, you even put on the big boy's pants"

The armor he was wearing became even more uncomfortable than it already was.

"Spare me your dry humor Terrador"

The Earth dragon allowed himself to smirk weakly, annoying Cyril was always his small, guilty pleasure. He wasn't the biggest jester, probably his rather rough attitude of an earth dragon has something to do with it, yet whenever his meager jokes managed to hit the spot it felt quite good.

This was the closest he could ever get in feeling a brotherly relationship without having any siblings by blood of his own.

"Sorry" he cleared his throat, adopting a more serious expression which in his case was actually his daily one "I worry about you Cyril, you seem tired, hurt even, not to mention that you keep your distance from everyone for the last couple of days"

"I'm doing my job daddy" Cyril rolled his eyes "Or did determination became a flaw when I wasn't looking?"

"No, but as thinking creatures we tend to blur the lines out and there is a really thin one between determination and ardor"

"I know what I'm doing"

"I don't doubt that" green head shook from side to side "You always knew how to get things done, what you lack my friend is the vision for the consequences, especially long term ones"

"I appreciate the word of confidence. You really know how to pump up the morale" Cyril snorted "I'm not stupid Terrador so spare me your fatherly preaching"

"I'm not saying you're stupid, I'm saying..." he sighed, realizing that battle for arguments is pointless with a dragon like Cyril "...Just be careful alright?"

He didn't have any evidence to support his suspicions of course, Cyril might actually be doing what he was meant to do and most likely he does. The problem with his friends however is that he doesn't let a grudge go, especially when in his opinion the fate of dragons is at stake here. Seeing him so tarnished and uncooperative brought him back to the day when Brill visited him, speaking about dangers, armies, and just how he should make a decision who to trust.

He never had the opportunity to do anything, or he simply ignored it, it was hard to say right now. However after that day he had a feeling that the old mole knew more than he was letting on, or perhaps the priest was just as confused as the rest of them.

Point is that whatever Brill was doing brought his downfall, he failed and deserved punishment for his actions, whether the presence of that crystal was of his doing or not doesn't change the fact that he knew about it and didn't inform the authorities. Trusting his own capabilities and false sense of judgment.

He feared Cyril was going the same way.

Just like Brill he forgets that actions have consequences, Brill's faith influenced the populace and despite it all that influence is still there. Perhaps Cyril was right to believe that the mole was a rotten force, still it doesn't change the fact that even if he is to be believed to be a wound on the soul of the society, it is still better to treat it in his opinion than to amputate the sick limb.

"Don't turn this into your own, personal vendetta. Brill wanted to do things his way and we all know how it ended"

"Don't compare me to that filth!" Cyril snapped angrily at his friend "You wanted the culprit Terrador? You will get one, so stop throwing logs under my paws finally" he snarled, clutching his side, the unnecessary jerk causing the fresh wound under the armor to stretch "And you can sleep easily, my claws won't be touching that stinking mole"

"That's good. Whether we like it or not our people are a religious sort and Brill is as close to the Ancestors as people can get. He lost some of his influence, but I've been walking around the temple and saw people still visiting him, there were many souls there Cyril"

"Can we change the topic?" Cyril groaned irritated "It's late and I have enough work for today, with you talks always are about one thing"

"We are Guardians, our entire lives are basically work"

"Even if you don't have to be all serious about it all the time. Ugh. I can't believe I'm saying it, but you might learn something from Volteer, he's a Guardian too but somehow he knows how to smile once in a while. Speaking of Volteer" the ice dragon craned his neck, looking around the empty hall "Where is the old coot anyway? I haven't seen him for days"

"He's in his lab, he hasn't left it much after Cloudas' visit. He had some new insight or whatnot and he's revising some of the books from scratch. It's supposedly very important" green shoulders shrugged "But you know how it is"

"So what? Volteer evades the responsibility of studying the crystal and I'm the one being lectured? You should work on your standards friend or I might think that you're having favorites"

"Don't be childish Cyril" Terrador grunted in disdain "You know our friend's mind just as well as I do, no matter what I would say I would not be able to divert him, he's mind was already set. But if you don't believe me go down there and check for yourself if he's privileged or if he's doing actual work and then start to accuse me"

"Don't get your tail all twisted up Terrador" Cyril lifted himself up with a soft grunt, trying as best as he could to make it all look like he was only tired

It worked to some degree, he pulled himself without much effort, the pressure of someone else's eyes on you had wondrous effects, losing against a real dose of adrenaline only due to the fact that this specific pressure was very short lived.

"I go check out what's going on with our jerky friend, his nonsensical blabbering is therapeutic, puts to sleep quicker, surely more effective than your constant, incessant grunting"

The ice dragon pulled himself off the couch, his throat creating another displeased rumble.

"Look who's talking" Terrador commented bitterly, watching his friend slug away towards the stairs

Cyril commented his observation with a mocking snort.

The eyes of the green dragon returned to the couch, not by mistake, but guided by certainty of a trapper after his prey. It took him only a while to find what he was looking for.

There was a small splotch of blood, sizzling like a boiling pot, slowly eating through the skin covering the couch. His experienced by warfare heart immediately recognized that Cyril wasn't merely tired, he had seen many souls pretending to be fine despite their wounds to recognize the signs.

Determination was commendable, but too much of it can be harmful.

He only hoped that Cyril knew what he was doing.

*

More stairs, more underground gloom, why on earth scientist and all sorts of alchemists cannot make their rooms on an attic or something, near the Ancestors as many of them believe to be, instead majority of them preferred to huddle in a basement like damn rats.

He had enough of basements for a lifetime.

Rats too in fact.

His eyes kept darting around, eying the walls expecting one of them to drop suddenly and pop a blazing, howling beast at him. His wound burned harder throughout the way, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that there are no hidden walls with deadly surprises hidden here, the gods forsaken cut kept reminding him that he believed it to be exactly so in the dungeons where he held Flare.

Despite the pain his paws picked up the pace, heart speeding up its beats, as he sprinted through the hall he cursed himself for his weakness, he was a battle hardened dragon, he had caused and seen more death than an entire cheetah's village combined, it is impossible that a little kid had traumatized him so.

He has to be getting senile.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself his mind still projected the noise of grinding walls behind him as they slid down one by one. Spitting out red scaled draconic boys, versions of Flare from totally normal to wholly consumed by flames, the sounds they were making ranging from cries of anguish to monstrous, bloodthirsty howls. Each of those versions cracked by an icy whip held by his paw, splitting the oblivious boy into the flaming horror.

If this was trauma then why his heart seemed to split with each crack of the whip?

The answer was simple dear dragon, criminal or not, you tortured the kid and turned him into a monster. What he was seeing was not trauma, but conscience, its depressed howling.

Even a heart as cold as his knows what emotions are.

The noise of the grinding walls together with the cacophony of cries and noises grew into a force so powerful that he could its fingers trying to get a hold of his tail. He sped up his pace even further, to the point that his quick walk turned into a sprint, the force grabbed his tail, a chilly bolt shot through his spine.

There were the door to Volteer's library, just a couple more steps.

The presence was about to jerk his soul into the flaming embrace of the whipped monsters.

Two more steps.

The force tugged him backwards.

He felt his soul leaving his body.

He reached the door, the ray of candlelight seeping through the crack under the door felt like sunlight.

The noises and the pressure died down instantly.

Breathing heavily Cyril glanced at the corridor he just sprinted through, there was nothing there.

His heart calmed immediately.

And then pain exploded across his flank, forcing a prolonged groan from his throat, paw instantly clutched his side, the most restless claw sunk under the frame of the armor, slouching across something hot and thick.

Without looking he knew that it was blood.

"Shit" Cyril grunted "You imbecile" with an angry punch he pushed the door to the library open

He strolled inside as if he would own the place, guiding himself to the usual spot where Volteer would always sit, his surroundings irrelevant to him as last year's rain.

And then his paw got tangled into the carpet.

With a surprised gasp he struggled for balance for a while, paws slipping and kicking away many tossed on the ground books. Only when his claws met with the surface of the rough cover and eventually recovered their footing he gave the room a quick once over.

It was a mess. As if a very clumsy robbery would happen here.

The shelves, usually neat and tidy looked like a tornado would pass over them, toppled books, with many empty spaces in between, some of the tomes that were supposed to fill the spots were scattered on the ground while the rest was nowhere to be seen. None of those fallen books were closed however, all of them at least skimmed through, their bent pages speaking about the fervor with which they were handled with.

He started to worry, it really looked like a fight would ignite here. His head however continued its observation and it was then when he noticed that many of the other shelves were untouched, remaining tidy as ever. It was only that one aisle that was messed up. He looked up at the shelves, noticing the nailed signs.

History and Chronicles.

His heart calmed its racing beat, this was no robbery for sure, all of it was of Volteer's doing, he remembered that as a kid his friend had those phases of fascination where nothing else mattered but his point of focus, usually when a new book came out, it was very difficult to get him at least talk about something else than the topic of each new tome he devoured.

It's been a very long time since Volteer acted this way, by now he read every book that was to read and honestly speaking each new, worthy one is coming out from under his paw today.

So what could excite his friend so much? Especially in the history topic?

People didn't really take him for the curious type, or even a smart one, but he wasn't stupid enough to simply ignore Volteer. He acknowledged his brilliant mind and whenever it sparked like right now it also awoken his own curious, childish heart craving for adventure and discovery. He might not have the brains to solve riddles and puzzles, but that didn't mean he wasn't interested in the events of his world.

After all it was the decisions of dragons like him that shaped the reality of today, many were noted on the pages of several of these tomes.

And he was at the brink of creating history himself, maybe in the long future readers will reach for his story with similar fascination to Volteer's.

He sighed, wishing only that the one that would write it would somehow work around with some pretty words about the weight his actions bring upon his conscience.

He followed the trail of fallen books, there was no point wondering where his friend could be when he left a track that even a practically blind mole could follow. Not that he needed the directions anyway, if Volteer couldn't be found with his nose in the books then the lab was the only place he could be in.

The sound of a hectically moving quill could be heard echoing in the air as he got close to the laboratory, which was quickly supported by the sound of clicking claws and restless bumps of a scaly tail.

When Cyril stopped in the doorframe he had no troubles locating his friend who was busy jumping around in front of a massive board of vellum, one that he hasn't still filled with his scribbles that is. Below it he could see many more vellums marked by a differently colored stamp. The entire canvas Volteer worked on was like a huge writing board attached to a machine that looked like a painter's easel, whenever his friend was finished with a sheet he pulled on a small lever to start the machine which by the use of rollers and gears, stamped, pressed and flipped the page to reveal another empty one. How many stamps and what color they should be were decided solely by the user from the palette of buttons which were on a lid also similar to the one that artists use. From the side of the machine protruded a small dispenser with a knife attached to a spring that when pushed cut off all of the used vellums before bouncing back into its original position.

The inspiration was evident yet even though he had no troubles wrapping his mind around that one particular machine he still was getting a headache. The invention's of the moles always caused him pain, he never had and never will have a knack for the technical stuff and even though he deciphered the special easel he had no intention of trying to identify all the rest of the devices scattered around the lab.

The missing books from the library were pilled up around the easel, all sorted on even, big towers of paper, it seemed like Volteer went through them all already, and from the looks of the lab, it seemed that he barely touched anything besides the vellums.

"Is this a writer's or a teacher's career you pursue now my friend?" Cyril asked coldly

The electrical dragon balked, quill falling from his paw, tail springing, cracking a small bolt of electricity when it dropped on the floor again.

"Cyril? You?" he spun around, his eyes wide and body tense with genuine shock

The ice dragon shrugged "Someone has to put you back in line, while the rest of us works our tails off I see that you are having quite the fun around here. How's the new book titled?"

"Book?" Volteer's brilliant mind was in shambles, unable to recover from the shock and read the obvious sarcasm it forced the yellow head to turn at the board

"This is work, not a process of allotting personal merriment" the dragon blurted out apologetically before turning back to his cold friend where he noticed a sly smile playing on the lips

The startled, purple eyes flared up with cleverness and attention once more, seeing through the guile.

"Something you have erudition and discernment of"

"Of course I was pulling your tail. Still, in your case, one doesn't exclude the other, you always enjoy yourself when working anyway while the rest of us either yawns our teeth out, or head bang a wall in frustration" a cold flash swiped across the dragon's eyes "It's irritating"

Volteer took a good look of his friend, something was out of place, he didn't remember when was the last time Cyril visited him and what's worst, he couldn't at all recall when Cyril joked with him where he didn't feel insulted after his quips. Most of the times what Cyril considered a jest was plain mockery in his direction.

His friend looked sick and older, almost on his death bed, his back was bent as if he would be carrying an invisible, obese rider on top of him and was finally giving under his weight"

"You are subjected to a period of sickness affecting your rationality or physique, or an instance that stymies your motion Cyril"

"Another one" the ice dragon rolled his eyes "I'm fine, see this armor?" he knocked at the plates which let a hollow thud "That means I've been working, seriously working so I'm tired, that's all there is to it" he waved his paw dismissively, finding a spot in the laboratory where he could sit comfortably "Quit with the sickening pity and tell me what these doodles are all about. I'll fall asleep far more quicker with you boring me than having Terrador groaning over my head"

Volteer cocked his head.

"You really want to know?"

"That's what I said"

To say that he was taken aback by the request wouldn't properly justify the bewilderment he just felt, even when he would put aside the shock caused by his friend's unexpected visit the overall atmosphere of surprise would still remain on a very high level. It's been many years since Cyril took an honest interest in his work, until all of them found their place in the world his icy friend was a curious young dragon. He learned eagerly and there were even times when they studied together.

He even used the same excuses about being tired and seeking the final push into boredom while keeping his mocking, callous attitude like today. Cyril wasn't a guy who opens up, he had a specific way of showing emotion and care, what many believed to be a frozen icicle, was actually a beating heart, a chilly one perhaps, but a heart, and it was in the right place.

He had no idea why Cyril decided to bond after so many years, why nice, it was suspicious and he couldn't help himself but to fear that if he turns around for even a second Cyril will be gone, forever. Especially now when he looked so beaten down.

"You forgot how to wag that tongue all of a sudden?" Cyril hissed in irritation

Volteer nodded, reaching out for the vellum and flipping all the pages to the first one. Cyril's eyes immediately grew wide when he noticed the pictures, in the corners there were small images of some unknown to him markings that at first glance looked like geometrical figures, but only when his eyes landed on the core of the page he began to recognize some of them.

And all because the images covering the page looked a lot like drawings of Cynder.

She was presented from all sides, several times even, only once looking like her normal self while in all the others carrying all sorts of different markings on her. Some of the drawings focused on her snout, putting big eyes on her with all sorts of different tattoos all around while others didn't even bother catching the features of her snout, merely opting for an faceless head while putting more focus on other aspects of her figure.

Some of those drawings had the rump enlarged where one big or several small ones markings were stuffed in the frames, there were plenty of shots of her back where she had her original tattoo, each of those pictures carrying a different mark like the many heads.

Every other piece of the body where the dragoness had her glyphs shared the same fate until eventually all the pieces were put together to form all sorts of Cynder's drawings, with only one having the real marks on them. The drawings of her in her original form were the largest, stretching from the top of the page and running through the middle all the way down.

There was plenty of text all around, but he didn't care about that at all, Cyril laughed heartily, even if his wound was irritated, laughter was a perfect cure for the pain.

"My friend, I believe you're too old for this, explains the mess though, you must have really gone wild with your erotic fantasy. You freak" another dose of laughter escaped his throat "Who else you got drawn there? I just hope there are no pictures} p}} of me there, it would really put a wedge in our relationship"

Volteer sighed tiredly like a scientist excepting ridicule of his work.

"This is not related to solicitous pursue of another's regard of someone as cardinal or beguiling"

"Of course, hundreds of drawings of our loving black dragoness by your own paw has nothing to do with romance"

"Science is a process of the same objective with only individual features transmuted until an elucidation is furnished with an effect greatly divergent from the base one"

"Of course it's a loop! Though on the streets we don't call it science but masturbation" Cyril exploded with another sinister laughter

Volteer shook his head.

"You're a lost cause"

"I'm sorry!" Cyril raised his paws defensively "No more stupid quips! Honest! All serious now" he cleared his throat, puffing out his chest and straightening his back, supporting his declaration with his posture

The electric dragon stepped to the side, revealing the velum in its full glory, he sat down, reaching for long pointer that he will use to tap on the pictures to draw the attention of his sole student precisely in the place where he wants it to be.

The rod fallen on the picture of Cynder right in the middle of the canvas, there she looked precisely as she did in real life and despite his childish jokes Cyril had to admit that Volteer knew how to draw, not only that, but he also caught each of the details, like the choker or bracelets for example. He saw the girl many times and he forgot that she wore the latter. How his friend can pack all that knowledge in his head without shoving his name out he had no idea.

"Cynder" Volteer announced loudly, his voice slow and suspiciously clear "We both are familiar with her story so you'll allow that I avoid that part of my lecture" each word came out of his mouth greatly emphasized and even though his tongue flapped uncharacteristically quickly for the tempo of his pronouncement his tone was so clear and easy to understand that it caught Cyril aback

Volteer was speaking plainly, dropping his usual façade of using too many words to describe a single adjective.

"What are you doing?" a blue brow raised in surprise

"Speaking"

"Why so slow as if someone would just stick a broom up your ass?"

"Congregations where students convene to listen to one elder speaking must arouse scrutiny and be perspicuous to all. Science requires amelioration in the current endeavor, otherwise state of being enervated and apprehensive due to lack of interest together with dissatisfaction creeps in. The statement demanding notice you provided has only one answer" the electric dragon swallowed, emphasizing the importance of his sizzling words "We existed in failure to fathom our fate appropriately for so long" his eyes sadly turned towards the pictures on the velum "We didn't even descry the sand Fate cast in our eyes. We are re-writing the interpretation of past conjunctures, and to recall it, we must be versant with a single variation, without one's personal pieces added because he didn't comprehend the lecture"

He looked at the pile of books, his draconic face reflecting from a nearby glassy set of vials, purple eyes remained hanging there for a while, taking note of the advanced in age yellow snout.

"We wasted so much time" he spoke up plainly, his tongue articulating each word with intense seriousness

"Alright" Cyril threw his paws up in defeat, Volteer's torrent of words still buzzing in his skull where they couldn't form coherent meaning "Forget I asked! Just speak slow, history, time or whatever is your reason for it, I don't care. My brain doesn't have enough space today to filter through all the nonsense that comes from your mouth. Slow down Volteer and I'll pretend like this is the normal way you talk, if I like it I might even force Terrador to pass a resolution to teach all electric dragons the dialect of civilization"

Volteer smiled.

Even though it was clear that his friend liked the joke seeing him like this, without his usual, almost childish energy was very troubling. Of all the Guardians he should be the one to lift some weight off Terrador's shoulders, Volteer should always remain the juvenile, carefree aspect of hope.

But he was serious and seemed to be as beaten down as him even though out of the two of them he was the one actually bleeding.

What have you found in those books my friend?

"Cynder has one prominent characteristic" the pointer clapped on the girl's drawn shoulder "Markings. We never paid any attention to it, we know after all that dragons aren't hatched with traits like that, we can have birth marks, like you and I, but that's all. The conclusion was simple then, those markings were created by a sentient claws. Knowing Cynder's past we all condemned the tattoos to be either a specific war paint her corrupted form decided to wear, or a branding developed by the Apes, none of us ever considered it to be anything else but a wish of a capricious mind"

Volteer took a deep breath, his whole body shaking with a held back jolly excitement.

"I have suspicions Cyril, bordering on certainty, that the nature of the markings is magical"

An awkward silence had fallen on the room.

"So?" the ice dragon shrugged "I need more than that if you want to hear me gasping. Finding magical trace in a trinket is hardly worth nothing when magic flows in our veins"

"Look" the pointer kept bouncing over the different images of Cynder, each of them carrying a different mark "Different shapes, forms and curves, each line representing something else. If Cynder would have a different marking than she has now their magical potential would be something else entirely"

Volteer's eyes sparkled with fascination, his mouth was shut after pronouncing the words yet the tongue hidden behind the shut lips kept bouncing against the cheeks, unable to cope with the tempo.

"You really need to work on tension building my friend" Cyril sighed "Before telling they're magical maybe you should start with the information just how did you find about it in the first place? Begin with the adventure first before you go to the boring theory"

Yellow head nodded eagerly.

"Noted" he flipped through the canvases, stopping on the one where there was a picture of a wind dragon with thousands of dates and letters filling the rest of the page. The pointer struck the drawn dragon fervently.

"Cloudas. Cloudas suffered from an affliction that drained his elemental energy, stopping right when it was about to kill him. A deadly parasite under control which I believe was not a defect of birth, but a trap set on purpose, someone poisoned our dear dragon, but that part is unimportant for us now, what matters is the fact that when dealing with parasites you must either find a cure or a way to contain it"

The dragon took a deep breath, clearly struggling to hold back his tongue from waggling freely.

"So using my knowledge about protection and elemental influence I've came with an idea to paint several warding glyphs on our young friend. It is enough to say that it worked and our wind dragon will live, however it is what happened later that is shocking. Cloudas recognized the glyphs" he whined, biting on his claws, telling stories and theories seemed to lift the ugly spirit of despair from his soul

Cyril cocked his head.

"A dragon from the past recognized glyphs you've learned from books, interesting and a huge coincidence perhaps, but not impossible"

"He also recognized Cynder's marks, not only that but he also saw the same marks on the dragons of his time. Every black dragon had tattoos. The chances of Apes perfectly mimicking glyphs of magic for a brand are absolutely slim, also mercenaries aren't know for their fondness of literature, only a brilliant mind would discover the secrets of the glyphs and possess enough knowledge how to use it"

"Okay, now it begins to sound really interesting" Cyril straightened up in attention "The Apes were the only hostile force left in that time, they must have figured it out somehow, or someone gave them hints, but the only brilliant mind I know is in front of me and you were on our side"

"There was also Malefor"

"Malefor was locked up in Convexity before Gaul invaded the temple"

"There was no other dragon clever enough that would work with the Apes, he must have left them directions"

"That's insane Volteer" Cyril shook his head "First of all Malefor was defeated long before Cynder was hatched, even if he knew about the glyphs, how exactly did he knew that a black dragon would hatch in that specific year, what egg to choose, and most importantly, how would he know of that in the first place without looking into the future? Seems too far fetched for me, especially when we both know how power hungry that creature was. He didn't care about his mercenaries at all, he used them as tools and nothing else"

"Yes" Volteer nodded thoughtfully "But both of us also know that Malefor wasn't always like that"

"That doesn't matter. He wanted to break the world apart Volteer, what was the point of all this planning if in the end all he wanted was to kill everyone? Also, it was ultimately Spyro that stopped him, looks to me that, if he really did plan it all, Malefor bet on the wrong egg"

The electric dragon nodded respectfully.

"I do admit that your argument is sound and I have no evidence nor ideas why Malefor would change his plans so drastically, which puts a seed of mistrust in my claims. However, due to the lack of any other ideas I will maintain Malefor as a mastermind for my theory, while his motives might be the final piece of the puzzle, it doesn't change one crucial fact about Cynder. Her markings are a ward and their shape tells us exactly what she is being protected from"

"And what is that?"

Yellow paw flipped back the pages where Cynder was present, he stared at it for a prolonged while and with each passing second more and more gloom was dawning upon his snout.

"Sadly, I do not know"

"Oh come on Volteer" Cyril growled "All of this just to say that you don't know?"

"I do not know what force is the ward supposed to protect from, I've managed to deduce several warding patterns, most of them were focused on different element, how to revive it, how to prevent it from seeping too much strength. All that I've managed to recognize spoke about control and I see the exact same symbol for control on Cynder's shoulders. The most known managed to prevent Cloudas from dying, but among them are shapes and patterns that I couldn't deduce the meaning of. Besides the ones I recognize, the rest of Cynder's markings are unknown to me"

Cyril scratched his icy beard.

"I don't recall seeing Cynder drained, if there would be something eating her from the inside surely she would have some symptoms?"

"Perhaps the asleep ingredient in her blood is what made her corruptible in the first place. Maybe this is the curse many consider black dragons to be afflicted by"

"Don't spread that word around Volteer, remember that we have now two black dragons to deal with it, and out of the two only Cynder has wards"

Volteer nodded gloomily.

"Yes, Danox is a variable that questions my theories. It requires more intensive research and observations"

Cyril sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead.

"You know, some days ago I would call this bullshit, but...let's say that lately I've had a change of heart and I'm willing to believe in everything"

After all it is hard to believe in a weeping dragon turning into a burning elemental that has to be fed for it not to devour everything around it.

He shook his head, discarding the thoughts.

"I'll send Terrador to get what he can out of Ignus, he is the kid's willing guardian, if there was anything going on with Danox, he must have seen something. The guy is weird and arrogant though, so I suspect it will be hard to discern what is unnatural and what is an narcissistic ego"

Volteer reached for the vellums, caressing their edges gently.

"And this is only a single puzzle my friend, if my theory will be proven correct it will only sow more questions. The lore of our world, our history, everything we know today might not be true in the end. A ploy in a play"

"Because my friend, one thing is certain, whoever created those glyphs knitted them to last the end of the world. A part of a loop, a scientific project with the goal still in pursuit, the cage of glyphs awaiting its victim"

"If there is a trap then there has to be a predator" Cyril stated coldly, his breath leaving a faint mist on the corner of his lips

Volteer looked up at his friend, eyes burning in dreadful support for this simple, yet ingenious conclusion.

"And if my assumptions are correct it means that it is still somewhere out there and the world we know is a stage for forces that span their influence throughout time"

"I'm not even sure anymore if Spyro's effort to stop the world from breaking apart was a good thing"

The electric dragon smiled.

"A scientific progress sometimes involves unplanned consequences and I believe that our reality is the ingredient that might sway the tide of the experiment"

"And that's good?"

Youthful excitement cracked in the electric dragon's eyes.

"A sudden, unexpected explosion throws every plan in shambles"