Blurred Veils

Author's note: Hey guys, I know it's been way too long, I'm sorry. I know that for those of you who read my previous story, some of you might be upset about the discontinuation of it. The fact of the matter was: I rushed into it. I thought I was ready to take my obscene amount of ideas and put them into a plot and story; I was wrong. However, I'm glad because from it, came this one. It's more well written, paced, cinematic, and immersive. At least in my opinion and from what I've heard from my friends.

(Shoutout to Goldengriffiness, Dardarax, and of course 4Dragons. As well as many others for support.)

I'm not going to tell you it's the exact same but better because it isn't. The plot has been worked on, I have a general idea of where I want it to go and how it progresses so in a sense, it's more sturdy. Last but not least, I've have found inspiration from the "Blood Souls" series. Expect to see similar qualities as well as music. Credit does not fall solely on me. I'd rather not get called out for copyright infringement but I do want to keep a little pride for myself. ;P

PLEASE READ:

I have a recommended song for the first portion of this chapter. I'd recommend listening to it as you read until the first scene transition. If you're reading this on an iOS or Android device I'd recommend downloading the FREE app "Musi" It allows you to play any video from YouTube while still able to use other apps so that you can read and listen. Just type in the name of the video I give you and you can play it as you read. Put them on replay if you like. :D The songs really do add to the story.

(Not sponsored by Musi.)

Song: Dark Souls III Extended, Unused, DLC Soundtrack: Prologue (Cycled) by Yuka Kitamura
UnreleasedGameMusic

(Start playing song here.)

Beginnings are mere specks in a timeline; all start small and all end small. When a dragon dies, they never truly leave the world, they live on in the fabric of an existential plane that can never truly be understood. A thin veil divides one plane from another. On one side, lies a world ravaged by grief, hate, greed, and loss.

A world linked by fire.

Mountains of ash and rubble rose to secure the remnants of a once great city and castle, lost to the dark aspirations of past lives long set to rest. Broken cobblestone cathedral walls, dilapidated and disconnected, hung loosely along towers that rose high into the orange and darkened grey sky. Broken pillars protruded lazily from the prominent rises of grey, umbral ash. Below the ruins lied a vast expanse of ashen land wrought with ethereal bodies.

Souls drifted through the ember filled air, throwing the glowing lights to the side in elegant dances that flickered across the ground, casting Dark, long shadows. Faint sounds of wind and ash moving against the soft, grey and loose soil along with echoes and whispers of elegant choirs that chance the empty and vast expanse.

Spirits passed, dancing in ghostly unpredictable patterns, others slept quietly as they hung effortlessly in gentle wisps of wind; they worshipped their eternal oblivion and loss. Death is a sudden exchange that leaves many with shifted paradigms, finally seeing the error of their ways.

Except one.

One soul rose and fell restlessly, staring, glaring at its surroundings. Ash and glowing ember flowed around it with every gentle breeze, disturbing its solitary thoughts.

Hunger for vengeance ran through it like a river. It had to swallow failure, defeat, and humiliation. It swung in a fit, sending wafts of ember and ash into the air to begin a long and faceless trance in the wind.

As it sat brooding, the choir rose above its previously gentle and quiet tone, gracing the expanse with deep, sorrowful, and meaningful music that swam in the open expanse. Ethereal bodies swarmed into a spiraling gust that lifted up ash, dust, and burning embers, forming a winding and dramatic display that offset the undisturbed plane.

More song filled the air, now a chorus of beautiful voices and gentle violins to match the rhythm of the dancing spirits.

The vengeful spirit sat in awe of the choreography. The act was joyless, rehearsed yet spontaneous. It spoke volumes of remembrance and solitude in this forsaken world.

Forsaken by whom? A higher deity? No. A god did not exist in this world of solitude, only ash and ember.

It was once a god; mighty, strong, upheld… feared. The once mighty had fallen, left to be forgotten and abandoned. There was no peace or solace to be found here. These souls hadn't moved on, only accepted defeat. It was alone, angry, and vengeful. The rest simply grew complacent in their eternal laziness. It could sense a hollow fire within all of them, the lack of ambition, everything belonged here not for a reason but for the lack of one.

It's concentrated gaze fell on a fire set in the middle of the entropy, eternal and sorrowful. For fire did not resonate belonging or depict hope; it carried burdens. No warmth could be collected from it, it was unnecessary and blistering.

It watched as a soul drifted haphazardly, drawing close to the fire. It's wisps of grey and white matter hung aimlessly on the wind like hundreds of tiny grey leaves floating together.

The oblivious spirit unknowingly crept closer. A long shadow swimming behind it; a shape. Flickers of orange, red and yellow danced around the dark figure; a serpent with wings.

A dragon.

It grew nearer

Nine feet, seven feet…

A flash of blinding light and the soul was enveloped in a blanket of fire, eating away at every particular and fabric. Additional ash and ember fell into the air, shadow gone.

The vengeful soul watched from its distance before looking down to see a shadow of its own, a reflection of its past life lost; a reminder of its failure.

It returned its thoughts to the fire, regarding it carefully. There was power to the flame, ancient and dangerous. Souls wandered aimlessly but doing their best to never draw too close to it for fear of losing themselves to its eternal wealth and sorrow. What was its purpose? Why was it here? Fire was always dangerous in the wrong hands but this… was dangerous on its own. It was raw, disturbed, carnivorous… eternal.

It drew him closer, flames growing hotter with every inch. Entranced, the soul continued, growing closer until the sounds of footsteps on hot dry ash filled the vacant expanse and drew the attention of every soul. The footsteps grew heavier with every step, the gaze of every soul locked onto the form of a dragon; embers and ash falling deftly on its scales. Red eyes sat firmly on the small bonfire, orange, red, and yellow flames dancing within them.

The footsteps stopped.

Talons twitched, reaching out, sweat decorating the rest of its body. The flames grew hotter, hungrier. Wisps of grey spirited clouds hung vigilantly in the breeze, silent and grotesque, drawing closer until heat seemed to scream at them, urging them to keep their distance. All watched as flame enveloped him, climbing and flowing across shimmering scales. The souls retreated as they grew hotter, the dragon collapsing on soft grey umbral ash.

The flames faded, all was quiet.

Cold and darkness now crept in the extensive plane. Souls sank sorrowful, feeling themselves slowly succumb to the bitter air. They had lost themselves again, their hope extinguished like that of their life. They did not move for fear of losing themselves to the empty abyss. They grew hollow, aimless, mad with insanity and solitude.

The dragon coughed, talons twitching before tightening. Scales heaved and shifted as he took a deep and longing breath, slowing staggering into a standing position. A distant warmth filled his breast, the flame reduced to a flicker. The sound of stone grinding disturbed the forlorn silence. All turned to see a great archway protruding from the ash, fog drifting down from the top to boil and bubble against the ashen soil. Waves of souls marched toward the the archway, oceans of grey ethereal bodies turned undead, empty and wandering.

The dragon watched, smiling.

(Stop playing song here)

The sky held the remnants of a storm come to pass, dark clouds boomed with thunder and flashes of white light around the high solitary peaks of the Cather mountains. The range was older than most would care to learn, leaving history unspoken and enigmatic. A maelstrom of clouds was considered an omen by many species, mostly bad omens.

Spyro didn't see it that way. He valued the freedom of a storm, the audacity it takes for something to move freely without ties. The feeling of wind on one's back was more than refreshing, it was reliable and assuring. He may not be confined in the normal sense but he was far from free. Visions of the guardians, staring down at him proudly left him… haunted; He was idolized by so many.

Cold wind washed against his face as he came in to land on the precipice of a great peak, causing rocks to tumble underfoot and break. Icy rains drops flicked against his scales as he looked in the distance, a great city of dragons he'd once called home. Perhaps he still does. A deep breath filled his chest as he sat, his scales heaving together like heavy armor.

The war against Malefor was long past, spreading peace across the the lands. He'd been glad to see it end, to see the suffering end. He'd just never expected it to take his purpose, to leave him… lost. What was he left to do? Where would he go?

He may not be confined but he was far from free. There is a difference between freedom and aimlessness.

He's become a war relic, a hero who's stayed past their welcome. Was that all he was, a tool? He'd grown used to the excitement, the fulfillment, the danger. He'd lost a part of himself after the guardians passed. It never occurred to him that old age could take someone that he loved, let alone a dragon. Cyril, Volteer, Terrador, Hunter...

Sparx.

He shuffled his feet against the frozen stone of the peak, each sound echoed in the distance. The storm had grown quiet, the random putter patter of sparse raindrops filled the silence. The final rays of sun on the horizon began to fill the sky. To the right, the sea glistened the vibrant colors of the sun. To the left, the city of warfang glowed as the rays cascaded against the towers and wall of the great megacity.

They would be proud to see it this way, to hear the sounds of city life, the hustle and bustle of dragons, panthers and moles living peacefully in the great city that they had come to call home.

The rain began to fall more steadily, the tugging of memories on his heart growing less forgiving. He didn't want to remember but he couldn't bring himself to forget; He'd never felt so alone in his life. He could practically hear the flutter of Sparx wings as he hovered over his shoulder along with the complaints about the cold.

A sad laugh escaped him.

The storm began to grow heavier, every drop turning into icy arrows that cracked against his scales. He watched as dragons flew around great spires and towers of warfang, the warmth of the city could put a smile on anyone's face except his.

He remembers the brief time after the war, when he'd gone to search for his mentor, Ignitus. He searched for decades until he had found the white isle. He remembers the joy he felt when he saw him again, and the sadness when he had to leave. He tried looking for the white isle again, only to find it missing. He'd never heard from ignitus again.

It felt worse than when he thought he'd lost him to the flames. He felt… utterly alone.

The storm pelted at his scales, each frozen raindrop stinging more than the last. He eyed the great city of dragons, talons scraping against the rock as his heart thrummed in his chest. He watched as a long line of dragons that extended over hills marched through the front gates, eager to enjoy themselves.

Perhaps he could be one of them again. Perhaps he could be someone they could trust.

His tail curled and swayed, the muscles in his feet and shoulders tight with anxiety.

He stretched his wings and flew.

The sun dimmed as it rested upon a horizon of calm peaceful waves, evening light glistening off the surface. Vibrant shades of yellow, orange, red and purple filled the sky along with the distant sound of gulls chattering could set almost any mind to rest. If only that were true for hers.

Cynder sat on the far reaches of warfang, the city still visible but far enough away to keep her from being seen; she had to think. It had been centuries since the last time she'd set foot in the great city of warfang, centuries since she'd last seen her… friend.

Her eyes fell to the frothing water crashing against the cliff side, watching as each wave rushed against the wall of solid rock before pulling away; the scene was rhythmic. To think this cliff hadn't always been here, would be think back to a time when darker powers threatened the land; Malefor. She had fought against his tyrannical virtues, clinging to hope that it would make a difference. It had, but at a cost. Parts of the planet had been torn apart from the rest, creating majestic floating islands that decorated the sky. Entire cities fell between the cracks, homes and loved ones… lost. It was a cruel past, one that many could learn from and eventually come to appreciate. For her… it brought sleepless nights.

Perhaps if she had tried harder, done more to help with reparations, it could have prevented the guilt. Now she stood on the border of one of the greatest dragon cities of the age, eyes glossy as they stared back at the cities great walls. Those walls signified the attributes of what it took to be a dragon; they used to give her pride. Now… she wonders if she's fit to merely look at them. She had abandoned them, cast them aside as she let herself be consumed by her own guilt. She'd cast the citizens aside, the guardians… Spyro.

Tears threatened to roll from her eyes, she didn't care, no one was here to see them or to comfort her. Why did she come back? All this brought her was pain and doubt. She wanted to come back but she couldn't. After the war, Spyro found word that Ignitus could still be alive, stuck between life and death. He had asked her to come with him, to help him find his mentor and friend.

She left the night before they were scheduled to leave, not speaking a word to anyone.

She remembers she'd flown south until she reached the great swamp, the mushrooms toppled and crumbling, dragonfly houses crushed under the wreckage. Small sticks protruded from the ground, signifying a small cemetery. Spyro had been relieved to know his family was safe but distressed to see his home destroyed. She finally got to see why.

After, she'd flown west until she came across a string of islands known as the jade isle. Sacred altars crumbling and destroyed, parts of an entire culture lost to the griefs of war. She remembered that as she walked through the remnants, Moles would look up at her with gratefulness on their faces but haunted sorrow in their eyes. The guardians had done everything they could to reach out to the far villages of the land, helping rebuild civilizations. She knows they helped but nothing could get rid of those memories; she's been ruined by war…

She remembers the days and years she'd received word of a guardian's death, the death of someone she fought alongside, the death of a friend. Each death was as painful as the last. She spent those days in a cave… weeping and mourning their loss. She'd never learned how they died, she'd never gone to any of the burials, she'd never said goodbye… She had gone to the outskirts of the city, fighting to bring herself to terms with everything, always losing.

Her head hung low, tears trailing down her cheeks and snout before dripping onto the already dewy green grass. The memories felt worse than the experiences, haunting and unforgiving. She looked up to the sky with tear filled eyes, dragons soaring above warfang in the distance, only small blurry specks.

Would her return be cathartic? Would they remember her betrayal? Could they forgive her? Her claws twitched and paws shifted shakily, tail hung low as she stood up, turning in the opposite direction. Perhaps they would be better off without her. She slowly began to distance herself from the city.

She stopped.

What of spyro? He deserved a reason for why she abandoned him. What she did wasn't easily forgiven, she knew, but it was something that needed to be done at some point. She turned back to warfang, taking small awkward steps toward the place she once called home. She looked back to the cliff she had stood on for so long, the sun resting perfectly on the crest. A small smile tugged at her lips, gracing them with a smirk that she hadn't felt from herself in so long.

As Cynder closed in on the gates of warfang, her stomach lurched, the spoils of her lunch tickling her throat; there were so many people. They wandered, talking and roaming just on the other side of the archway. She slowly crept off the side of the path and into the thick wood that grew there.

The city seemed to have become much busier since she left.

She sat there alone in the thicket for several moments; things had just became much more difficult. Was it too late to turn back? Perhaps it would be easier for everyone; she knew she meant herself. Why couldn't this be easy? She should leave...

No…

This feud with herself needed to end. She turned back to the path just beyond the turmoil of branches and leaves, her talons clenching beneath her to knead the dirt under them; she closed her eyes. Twitching paws, she set herself back on the path, the scraping of her sharp claws on cobblestone echoed in her mind; she opened her eyes.

She looked up, the archway looming over her; her heart fluttered. A deep breath. She strode through.

Author's note: I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter. Please follow and leave a review if you want. Any criticism is good criticism. Please feel free to PM me any questions you might have as long as they don't require spoilers to answer. Writing this story took a lot of trial and error as well as help from a beta. I put 110% effort into making sure this chapter was exactly as I wanted it. I'll see you guys in the next chapter.

Yours truly.