Eight Years After Malefor's Fall

The time of the next generation of dragons comes around but once each hundred years. However, the dragon race is also a highly magical one, and the mystical forces that swirl through their very blood know when something is amiss. When a great calamity makes dragons scarce in the world, the magic in their veins ignites, and their century long dry spell is brought to an immediate end. This is how it came to be that, along with many other dragons, Cynder laid an egg. She and Spyro, her husband, were only twenty-three, still children themselves by draconic standards. As the average life span of a dragon was a thousand years, it was not recommended that a couple conceive a child even on their first mating season at the age of a hundred.

But in a time of great need for more dragons, the young couple's desire for a family was overlooked by most. Only Yarrow, Grand High Elder of the council that presided over Warfang, stated his objections. He claimed that they were far too young to handle a youngling properly. But he could not sway them, and they had their wish.

The young couple couldn't have been happier, but when the egg hatched something was wrong. It was common knowledge that every dragon's element was depicted by the color of their scales, but their hatchling had dull, lifeless, grey scales. They took the child to the elders to see what it could possibly mean. When they said that nothing like it had ever been recorded in dragon history they maintained a positive perspective. "We'll just have to wait and see what happens during the Great Awakening when the young dragons' powers start to form," said Cynder with optimism.

Spyro nuzzled the infant and said, "Whatever happens, I know we'll be proud of him."

Meanwhile, far away from these strange happenings in Warfang, Ignitus, the Chronicler of the new age, began new books for all the young dragons being born in the next generation. He was studying the new books when he saw the tome that belonged to Spyro and Cynder's son. With a large smile, he called the book to him, opened it, and began to read. As he flipped through the pages the smile on his face slowly disappeared. He turned page after page and his faded smile was quickly exchanged for a furrowed brow. His eyes grew wide and he leaned in expectantly, flipping through the pages frantically.

He held a paw out to the large hourglass that dominated the middle of the Chronicler's personal study. Several tiny particles floated up from the bottom of the enchanted timepiece and back into the upper half as he drew upon some of the power of the Chronicler he had saved up over the years to read the boy's future. Ignitus could only catch glimpses here and there, as he had to use extreme caution when picking and choosing. It would be highly irresponsible to use all of the precious little clairvoyance he had stored up on a curious whim.

After several minutes and a few more motes of Chronicler magic than he was happy with, he closed the book and put it back on the shelf. "The poor lad," he said to himself. "Such an outstanding burden he bears. And of course he is Spyro and Cynder's boy. Who else would be given this opportunity? And here I thought we had at last achieved peace. Who would have ever guessed that Malefor was only a warning of what's coming?" The Chronicler looked over once more at the book that was as grey as the dragon it belonged to. He read the name on the spine and said a prayer for the boy. Then, after a few moments he returned to his work, chronicling everything that was happening in the world; and for a time he paid no more attention to the dull book that contained the life story of the dragon named Wither.