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Legend of Spyro: Gifted Curse

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CHAPTER 1

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"Mmmm...Oh Spyro~"

"Gonna fill you again..."

"Do it!"

The sun peeked its pale gold morning rays through the window to once again find Spyro and Cynder finishing up an all-nighter of passionate lovemaking, his heavy testicles grinding against her swollen clit as he bottomed in her and then lightly bit her neck with a loving growl as he unloaded into her womb. The black dragoness purred, eyes rolling back and body quivering in climax as her swollen belly expanded just a tad more with his volume, his fleshy barbs squishing back and forth through her cervix with the light bucks of his orgasmic bucking. Finally spent, for now anyway, Spyro gently laid down atop her and licked the indents in her scales from his teeth, the ebon girl purring louder and closing her eyes.

"Morning again already..." he rumbled, letting his softening shaft flop out of her to add yet another stain to the bedsheets.

"Unfortunately..." she grumbled back, craning her neck around to kiss him. Smiling at his tired face in the growing morning light, she licked his cheek. "Better nap I guess."

"Some night we'll have to spend apart just to get some sleep," he replied as he rolled over, forelegs curled in the air and wings folding to his sides. Cynder licked her lips as she eyed him, craning her neck around to lovingly lap at those pendulous orbs and the seed-slicked gold and purple cock that had added more to her belly. Wincing from post-coital sensitivity, he allowed a small purr to vibrate in his chest, his paw wandering to her burgeoned middle and pressing in her cummy pudge. She giggled and arched her back a bit to press back, letting him feel something more solid in there. He smiled and sighed to himself, tenderly patting at two swells against his paw inside her.

"Are you sure you counted right?" she asked, dragging her tongue from behind his sack up and over it, down along his sheath, and teasingly across his urethral bulge up to his penis tip to give it a tender suckling kiss, getting the last few drops of his deliciously salty-sweet cream.

"I mean, my penis isn't exactly designed to count inside your womb. But I'm...pretty sure, yeah."

"Could've fooled me," she churred, wiggling her brows at him with a smirk as her eyes pointedly traced his glorious length which reached up to halfway along his ribcage as it rested atop his belly. "Still though...six eggs! I can't wait for the matron to officiate it!"

He smiled wearily at her little squeal. Sleep was tugging at his eyes, his body, his mind, but her "eggcitement" was infectious. Rolling to face her, he pressed up against her, cradling her belly with his paws as he curved his back so as not to squish her middle too much. Cynder purred happily and nuzzled at her mate, coiling his tail with hers as he laid a wing over her. "I love you, Cynder..." he whispered, stifling a yawn.

"I love you so much, Spyro..." she replied, kissing him deeply. "Sleep." With her pregnancy, she had been napping while he was out doing stuff through the day, so she wasn't as exhausted. It gave her the opportunity to quietly groom him to sleep with gentle licks and nibbles, something he'd done for her before to help her sleep against her nightmares of her past, now long gone with his affections and attentions. Only a year ago had he finally fully claimed her as his mate, Cynder quickly growing almost addicted to his nightly fillings. Any chance they got to mate, they took it eagerly. It was no surprise she'd gotten pregnant, much to her delight upon finding out. Her life-swollen form and subtly growing curves only incited her mate's love and lust even more, and she loved every second of their amorous romps, never tiring of time spent under him. As his soft snore started rumbling in the room, Cynder smiled and lightly traced her paw along his cheek. "Ancestors, Spyro, you mean so much more to me than life itself," she whispered, touching her nose to his. She giggled as she felt his generous endowment starting to firm up and poke her lower belly. Carefully using the curve of her tail she guided him to slip into her netherscales, sighing happily and shivering in delight as she let him erect into her depths yet again. This time, however, instead of riding him, she simply laid there and let him slide ever deeper, content to just snuggle his penis with her tight passage. Using her tail again, she gently stroked his testicles, guiding them off the curve of his thigh to dangle just behind his leg so his potential shifting wouldn't harm them. Feeling his tip poke her cervix, she wiggled more firmly against him and then stifled her squeak of pleasure as he slipped into her womb once more, nudging a few eggs aside in the sea of seed. With almost his entire length contained in her most sacred inner chamber, she relaxed against him and closed her eyes, starting to drift off a bit as her post-orgasmic fatigue finally settled in.

"Hey lovebirds, might wanna, y'know, untangle someday," came a voice that grated on her nerves. "The old farts are callin' for ya Spyro. Hey bud, you gonna wake up?"

An annoyed purple tail flicked out and bapped the voice away with the fin at the tip. "Was finally starting to sleep..." he grumbled, growling internally and rolling over, slipping out of Cynder's tight tunnel and making her squeal in mixed pleasure and disappointment as his flexible nubs rubbed at her sensitive nerves on the way out.

"Sheath the sword and get movin' already."

"Go away, Sparx, I'm not in the mood..."

"Sure seem to have been in a mood already, bow-chicka-bow-" Sparx retorted, flitting aside from a tossed pillow. Cynder hissed at missing him.

"Sparx, if you're gonna summon us for the Guardians, don't be an annoying prick about it," she snarled.

"They just want Spyro for now, you get to laze around again." With that he zipped out the window, the two mates looking at each other and then rolling their eyes.

"Guess I've gotta go," he grumbled, rubbing his eyes and then rolling onto his paws to stretch on the bed. Cynder sighed and nodded, unable to help watching that generous maleness swaying under him and his balls bobbing just out of view around his thigh.

"Guess I'll be here then, unless they call me for the matron."

"Yeah..." Butting his head lightly to hers, he breathed deeply, then they locked tongues for a bit. "Love you."

"Love you. Better get going before they come in here themselves."

"Why, afraid they might see me balls-deep in you again?" he asked with a smirk as he plodded over the edge of their bed.

"They can look at that all they want," she replied, swaying her hips at him with a wink. "You're performing your duties as my mate, as they told you to do."

Rolling his eyes with a humored grin, Spyro nudged the rolling door open, blinking and groaning at the bright light of the world swathed in morning glory. Built not too far from the levitating island of the Dragon Temple and its surrounding Mushroom Forest, their home was a small little cozy thing with room for expansion...which would likely be needed soon with six eggs incoming, he thought to himself with a proud, weary grin. They'd only just finished constructing this house and it was already almost time to build more. Stretching again and shaking himself off, he breathed deeply to try to rouse himself from sleep's grip, though not bothering to sheath his penis. If the Guardians wanted him at their beck and call, they'd have to get him in whatever shape he was at in the moment, and right now all he wanted was to be sex-snuggling with his mate in dreamland. Their chunk of land floated serenely in the cool wind rising up from the ground below, a bridge of magically floating rock connecting to the Temple island. Deigning to walk rather than fly, he yawned as he trudged along, wincing a little at the chill on his phallus swaying nonchalantly under him. Passing a floating mushroom blossom, he nipped at a small cap, chewing thoughtfully on it while his mind wandered.

What did the Guardians want this time?

Passing through a portion of the Mushroom Forest, he came to the garden, then breathed fire on the Temple door, watching it briefly glow and then move aside for him. The halls were still dusty and gloomy as ever, yet a somewhat comforting gloom after having lived there for a while before the Destroyer War. Trodding through the halls and past the Pool of Visions, he finally sighed to himself as he paused at the final door. Flexing his wings and rolling his shoulders, he puffed some electricity at the stone, the elemental sigils on it glowing as it moved aside to reveal the Dojo. No longer was that ominous visage of the young Dark Master in the center, the statue permanently repealed and the room left open. Green, icy blue, and yellow scales were illuminated in the light wafting in through the glass tiled ceiling. Terrador gave Spyro a disapproving glare, the mace on his tail scraping against the floor irritably, a sentiment Spyro pointedly ignored as he shuffled in, putting on more of a tired air than he'd had walking here.

"Good of you to respond to our call," Cyril grunted, giving a similarly disapproving look as Spyro stood nearby them, his prodigious length still dripping with Cynder's fluids in plain view. Sparx fluttered in, shifting this way and that in his usual dragonfly way.

"Lemme guess," Spyro grunted back. "There's another problem, the Guardians can't to anything about it, Spyro's gotta go fix it, right?" he asked.

"Yes to the first iota, yes to the second, but the third remains to be seen," Volteer replied, surprisingly nonchalant about the younger male's indecency.

"Come again?" Spyro asked in surprised confusion.

"If you still can after that all-nighter," Sparx shot back, the Guardians all rolling their eyes. Volteer cleared his throat and sat down, sitting up on his haunches with wings spread. The Dojo darkened and various holographic magical images appeared in the air between them, dioramas of the conflicts he and Cynder had gone through to save the world from the Dark Master's terrible grip of wanton destruction.

"It appears we...may have all been taken for fools by dark magic designs laid in bygone ages," Cyril began, "And the Matron's visit to Cynder and affirmation of her pregnancy is not as simple as this, for we have suspicions that must be investigated."

"What are you insinuating about my mate?" Spyro growled, Terrador shaking his head.

"At ease, boy." Spyro growled a little at the term. "We are not insinuating, but trying to clarify." He gestured to some images, and Volteer moved them around by gesturing with his outstretched paws. "The Dark Master was not as single-minded as he may have seemed in your final battles. There were many facets to his earlier rule that we did not discuss with you, as they were not important to your quest against him. In fact, there may not be anything we could have done even if you did know of it."

Spyro squinted at an image of him cowering behind his wing from Cynder's possessed attacks up at that horrible throne in the sky. "What did he do to Cynder?"

"Perhaps nothing...and perhaps something of great import," Cyril continued, shaking his head. "But the greater question is, what did he do to the world Or...what did he do to you? Spyro, in his final moments, we fear something was unleashed from him, something that, by accident or...evil design...used your miraculous power to spread across the world and infect it as you reshaped the planet after the Ring of Fire. This is what we are investigating. But think, young chap...in your travels to help undo the damages, how many eggs, pregnant dragonesses, or hatchlings did you see?"

Blanking at that, the purple dragon mentally recounted his last few journeys. His spine tingled uncomfortably as no memory of young children or even pregnant girls came up. "Wait...so...you're saying he...he did something to prevent us from breeding?" He suddenly felt sick to his stomach at the notion, not even believing the words as they rolled hesitantly off his tongue.

"It's...possible," Terrador acquiesced with a shake of his head. "Malefor was a divisive, manipulative horror upon the world. There were some ancient rumors whispered among the Guardians, ideas and suspicions that he was studying fertility magic under the Apes. At first, they believed it was for his own purposes of raising armies and supplying them with ample food... but a few held tightly to the fear that he was researching magic to create his own form of an even more ancient curse. You see, Spyro, the Ape Lords long before Gaul wished to subvert Dragonkind not by war, but by waiting us out. Gaul's distant ancestor attempted many rituals and spells by which he desired to siphon the virility of male Dragons and grant it upon himself and his kin, so that they would not only become breeders and overtake us by sheer numbers, but that we would no longer be able to procreate."

Spyro gulped at what he feared was coming up in this discussion, his shaft already having tucked itself away in its fleshy gold-scaled pouch from the adrenaline rush of trepidation. Volteer brought his paws together and merged the images into a simulated one of Malefor sitting smug upon a throne. It was much like when he and Cynder had first entered the evil dragon's lair for the final showdown, yet this graphic contained a great many depictions of females as well.

"Verily, it's entirely within the realm of possibility that the Dark Master initially desired to subvert all Dragonkind to his control by eradicating male virility, thereby commanding sole breeding capacity and foisting complete world power upon himself by way of turning all eligible female dragons into a worldwide harem! The implications are astonishing and nefarious, odious to the extreme and yet subliminally cunning!" He stood up and flung his wings out, showing images of Spyro and Cynder and Malefor struggling in the Core. "And what's more, lad, be it oversight on his machinations or a deliberate ploy to harass your quality of life should he be felled, hypotheses abound wherein your proximity to his utmost ending moment perchance migrated the umbral hexform upon your figure! And then, borne upon your outburst of Convexal willpower manifested as a Time Fury to reconstruct the planet, the spell portion by which all males would be rendered sterile was uniformly cast and then retrieved to your physique, thereby potentially appointing you as a supreme patriarch!"

"Is he...excited by the topic or by rattling off those words, or by his own ideas?" Sparx whispered to Cyril, the icy elder pointedly looking away from the electric Guardian's prominent excitement throbbing in the air as he practically danced on his hind legs.

"I deign to entirely avoid the consideration," he whispered back.

"Decency, Volteer," Terrador growled, earning a harrumph of irritation as his companion landed on all fours and the images faded, the room slowly lightening again.

"So...what did he say?" Sparx asked, rubbing his ear in a show of ignorance. Spyro sighed.

"He said that, because Cynder and I were the closest beings to him when he died, his self-virility spells probably cursed us...and then...I guess I ended up cursing everyone when I tried to repair the planet."

"Why didn't he freaking say so!" the dragonfly groaned, flitting around in frustration.

"He did, you just don't pay enough attention to suss out his meaning," Cyril retorted, hoping to shut the bug up.

"Hard to pay attention to so many words when you can just sum it all up and be done with it," Sparx shot back, crossing his arms and sticking his tongue out at them.

"Sparx..." Spyro growled, the Dragonfly ducking behind his purple brother.

Terrador stood up and flexed his wings. "That, Spyro, is why we summoned you. There is...a very strong possibility that Malefor's power migrated to you, or he intentionally cursed you in his final moments so that his slayers would be miserable for life and take down the world with them. However, you must not discuss this with Cynder until we have more or less verified this suspicion, as that is all it will be for now and we do not wish to cause undue stress to her in her condition. Which is, sadly, part of the proofs that are stacking up in favor of this idea."

"Why is that?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Hers are the first Dragon eggs in the world in four years. And if this news comes to light to the public, there could be riots of jealousy and rage, sourced in desperation, despair for the future, impotence... most male dragons do not take lightly to being shown as impotent or otherwise lacking."

"And what does that mean, exactly? My small little insect brain isn't seeing this stacking well," Sparx replied.

"It means Cynder and I could be number one public enemies just because we're having kids," Spyro groaned back, facepawing, heart sinking. To have to spell it out so simply really put it into perspective, not that he needed it strengthened any further. Golden buzzing paused, Sparx slowly turning to face him with a slack-jawed stare.

"Wait...you're joking, right?"

"What?"

"Cynder's pregnant?!" Sparx almost shrieked.

"Technically, the term is 'gravid'," Volteer interjected, "but yes, Sparx, Cynder bears Spyro's eggs."

"I thought it was- I thought- y'know, all that- I thought it was your-"

Spyro laughed despite the heavy atmosphere of the information. "You thought it was my seed?" Sparx hid his face in his hands, not wanting to admit it. Cyril coughed in discomfort.

"Yes, yes, but...as uncouth a subject as it be...therein also lies another facet pointing to supporting this ideation," he continued once more. "While young male dragons are...quite productive in volume, yours is, by all accounts, physically impossible, and yet consistent across these last four years of your...couplings, with your mate."

"Well, technically, just the last one year or so," Spyro muttered. "I was wondering about it though, because it did seem to get...well, 'more' as I got older and we did it more often." He couldn't help an internal smirk at the obvious discomfort from the elders at the subject.

"Quite..." the ice elder growled.

"I'll save you Volteer's prattling," Terrador said pointedly, his tone making both Spyro and Sparx pause from the metaphorical gravity. "Your frequent breeding with Cynder may have triggered a patriarchal response in your body. It is an extremely rare occurrence in dragons, Spyro, and has mostly been lost to history due to its importance to those rumors of the Dark Master's fell magic intentions, but sometimes, just as a purple dragon may be born once every ten or so generations, here and there a Patriarch, or a Matriarch, may be born as well. They are dragons born with unnaturally high breeding potency. Patriarch dragons have barely any refractory period, allowing them to nigh-continuously mate with females, and their seed production, given enough water and food, is abnormally high as well, ensuring better chances of impregnating females. They also exude pheromones that can force nearby females to go into heat, and some have shown ability to control this. Matriarchs are dragonesses that not only can get pregnant much more often, but bear larger clutches than the average dragoness, and are essentially in perpetual heat. Some can even...what was the term..."

"Superovate," Volteer grumbled.

"Yes, thank you. In easier words it means they can be fertilized with more eggs even while bearing a clutch already, staying constantly gravid. The average clutch size for a normal dragoness...is two eggs. Cynder bears more than that."

If Spyro's heart could sink any lower it probably would've been in his scaly scrotum by now, which at this point was drawn tight against his body from the tension of all this news. "So...so you're saying that...not only might I be a Patriarch by force...but Cynder...might be a Matriarch?"

"Yes," Cyril replied lowly with a glower, but this time it was a righteous anger at the subject and not disdain. "There is every possibility that you two were infected...and the implications are dire. We only have reason to believe that male dragons have lost their virility. Females, as you have no doubt experienced in your travels, are still going into heat, so the curse has not affected them in the slightest...and we fear they were gravitating to you not only due to your reputation and rarity...and physique...but also because you may have already been beginning to exude pheromones to excite females. Cynder may have been immunized to your unknowing physical charm due to exposure to this curse, or to you in general, or just by virtue of potentially being a Matriarch...but she never formally went into heat when she should have, and this was not due to your...frequent...activity together. Even during the months you were away she should have had her first heats, yet never did, which may also implicate a Matriarch curse...or...potentially and possibly more beneficially...heritage. There is a slim chance that if Cynder is a Matriarch, she was born this way and the curse did not affect her, if it is a curse to begin with. The Matron will be checking her for these signs as well."

"But...dire implications..." Spyro's breath was getting a little shaky, with mixed rage at Malefor and trepidation at what these implications might be. "I...might be the only male dragon in the world capable of fathering more eggs, is what you're saying."

The collective hesitance was all he needed, but Volteer punctuated it with a "Yes" of restrained anxiety and excitement.

"Ancestors damn it all, I thought we were finally done with all his shit..." Spyro snarled, stamping the floor with a paw and his tail.

"Still yourself, boy," Terrador grunted. "We are only informing you of the idea, and have not verified anything yet. There is still the possibility that, while the curse existed, perhaps it did not fully affect the world and might wear off. Or, it may be a shift in the world's ethers after the world's destruction and we have yet to adapt. A male's sperm is, after all, extremely sensitive, which is why the testicles dangle the way they do."

"Alright, yes, enough on the subject please," Cyril finally almost snapped, recomposing himself swiftly, though Spyro smirked internally again at the peek of silver from his sheath. "We felt it best to inform you so that you are aware of the possibilities ahead of a reveal of verification, rather than simply cascading the full brunt upon you later. But we would not have told you of this if it was easily dismissed, either. You must steel yourself for the possibilities."

The more they discussed it, the more Spyro felt a dead pit in his stomach festering as it sank to unimaginable lows of existential nervousness. "Y-yeah...I..."

"Take some time to consider, but again, do not discuss this with Cynder yet," Terrador ordered. "We do not want her fretting this early in her pregnancy as it could severely affect her eggs. While the matter is very heavy...for her case, timing is crucial, and it may yet be a few months before we know for certain whether any of this is natural, magic, or cursed. And after a few more months your eggs will be developed enough that she can...more or less, safely, receive the news."

"I...I understand...I think I'm feeling sick..." His hind legs were starting to vibrate a bit and his balls hurt from the tension of his gut butterflies tumbling around. His tail and wings felt like solidified stone as well, he was so tense.

Spyro didn't really remember taking his leave of them, or his walk to the garden. when he finally snapped out of his funk he found himself staring at a weathered old stone head of a distant Guardian, the bust silently staring back at him with its unseeing granite eyes. "What kind of cruelty is this..." he grumbled. "It's not fair! We won, that should've been the end of it!!"

Buzzing caught his attention and he whipped around, spotting Sparx trying to hide behind a leaf nearby. The bug knew he was seen though, sullenly gliding out into view. Spyro opened his mouth to snap, but then realized the usual smugness was gone from his tiny golden brother. His antennae were sagging and he seemed loose all over, loose with...depression? That was a first. "You...okay there?" he asked, wringing his hands together and looking away.

"I..." Spyro huffed and looked away as a surge of anger at the situation welled up in his gut. "Fuck..."

"Answer's no then, if you're swearin'."

"No, I'm...I'm not okay, Sparx, I don't- how am...how am I supposed to take this? That I have to cheat on my mate to keep our whole race from dying out?!" There was no witty retort, which only aggravated the purple dragon even more. "Fuck! This is so wrong! Why the fuck?! We won!! It should've all ended!!"

"Yeah...it should've. But, y'know, you did tell me on our adventure that 'nothing worth having is ever easy' or something like that."

"I remember that but this! This is completely different!" He flared his wings and his claws sank into the ground as his hackles raised. "This is just wicked cruelty! Pointless, evil! I can't even-" he started choking on his own words, then roared out in rage, his scales flickering black for a split second as a gout of blue-hot fire shot into the sky. Sparx flinched and hid behind a stone, wincing against the sudden heat. "ARGH! This is too much and the bastard's already dead and gone! What are we supposed to do to right this?!"

Hesitantly leaving the shelter of the stone, Sparx floated over to Spyro as he stood there panting and bristling. "I wish I knew what to say, bro...I got nothing for this...I'm sorry. Sorry for this morning too..."

The apologies were so out of character, Spyro couldn't help looking up at him. Sparx was hugging himself and looking away. Something was gnawing deeply at him. "Is there something else going on, Sparx? You're acting weird."

He just remained hovering in the air, deliberating an answer as Spyro's rage mellowed into concern, at least for now. The poor purple dragon was roiling inside with all sorts of mixed emotions all seeking escape. Sparx could almost feel it, which made his problems feel pointless.

"Sparx...what's going on?"

Finally, the dragonfly turned to him. "I...don't...I don't think I'm going to stick around here. N-not because of all this new news!" he added quickly, waving his hands as if to dissuade anger, "It's just...I don't have a place here, it feels like. Imma be real, Spyro, what's a bug like me supposed to do around dragons? I just get swatted around or blown aside for my awesome wit."

A frown creased the violet male's muzzle. "Sparx...what do you mean? You're my brother, of course you have a place here..."

Shaking his head, Sparx shrugged, trying to revert to his usual smug self. "You've got Cynder now. And...a family on the way."

"And family here too."

"Spyro...bud, be real, what am I gonna do? I can't babysit your hellspawn with the Terror of the Skies." That nickname bore nothing of the insulting or occasional playful bite it normally did when he said it this time. "They'd squash me or roast me alive on their first firebreath, you almost did yourself. I'm no use to anyone in the Temple either. I've got nothing to do but bum around eating moths all day and night, and I ain't pest control."

Spyro couldn't refute any of it.

"B'sides, Cynder needs you more than I do anyway. You're holed up with her so much now...as you should be if she's really a Matriarch in perpetual heat. She has needs and you're fulfilling them. I can't be getting in the way of that."

"Sparx..."

"I don't have a place here. You found yours and...I just kinda...tagged along. Became a god for a bit, helped save the world...but I don't really have a purpose, not here."

Giving a nasal sigh of resignation, Spyro frowned sadly. "Then...where are you gonna go?"

Shrugging again, Sparx rubbed his neck with a huff of frustration. "Iunno, dude...kinda wanna see if there's a girl out there for me, or...go check in on mom and dad after all this craziness. Talk 'em into movin' out to Tall Plains with me, get some godhood goin' ya know?"

"Tall Plains. With all the wild Dreadwings and other jungle critters that would love a glowing dragonfly snack."

"Eeeehhh but the villages are protected, don't think the Atllawa would let their god get eaten."

"Alright, yeah, fair point."

"It's not like I'm goin' away forever either, bud, it's just...I'm goin' nuts here with nothin' to do and surrounded by your fame that I...well, I just helped with. Somewhat, I guess."

"Geez, Sparx, that's really gotta hurt for you to not try to take all the credit."

Sparx shrugged with a half-hearted smirk. "That's the trouble...it doesn't hurt like it should for me. I gotta get out and find myself...like you did. Gotta...grow up, I guess. B'sides, you an' Cynder have a lot of shit ahead if this stuff is real. Don't worry about me. It's probably time I stopped harassing the old farts."

Nodding sadly, the knot of emotion in the purple dragon's gut only twisted further upon itself. "Hey...Sparx? Keep in touch, alright? At least let me know you're staying safe in your travels."

"Yeah. I mean, the Swamp shouldn't be all that far from here, yknow? You kinda did just walk there from home with Ignitus. I might just bum there for a while and catch up regaling my awesome tales of heroism and world saving with the folks."

"Yeah, yeah, ham yourself up to mom and dad, got it."

"Nah...ham you up to them. They were more concerned about you because of...well...bein' a dragon and all."

Spyro reached up with a wing and caught the bug, pulling him to his face. "Sparx. Don't discredit yourself like that. You're not in the way, you're not useless, and you're just as important in that tale as I am. You kept me going and supported me through it all. That's not nothing. I couldn't have done it without your presence."

"Yeah yeah, lemme go already, dragonbreath," he grunted, waving his hands in front of his face and mock-gagging. Spyro pulled his wing back and teasingly blew at him, making Sparx tumble head over tail a few times. "Jerk."

"Be safe out there and send messages, okay? And if you need help...don't be a stranger. Alright? I promise Cynder won't bite you. Again."

"Yeah...well...cya..." the golden insect dismissed himself awkwardly, flitting away and stopping a few times to hesitantly look around before barrelling off into the summer daylight. Spyro's forced smile reversed and he sighed heavily.

Part of him felt like his relationship with Cynder was now straining everything else in his life.

Sparx was right, he was technically in danger hanging out around dragons so much, especially baby dragons.

But...had all that time spent with the love of his life really damaged his bond with his adoptive brother? It was so hard to tell sometimes with that bug.

Pawing at his face, he flinched when he felt wet drops on his paws, looking down to find trails of tears smeared on his scales. That affirmation of his emotions welled up that knot to a bursting balloon in his gut, butterflies and deep gnawing cramping tension hitting all at once and bubbling into a froth of confusion, and a hint of despair and existential crisis.

He wanted to cry, to throw himself at the ground and scream his heart out and beat at the stone until it cracked.

He wanted to rage, to throw himself into the sky and tear it apart in recompense for the unfairness of his life circumstances.

Even if all this was just possibilities, the ramifications hurt even more with tremulous uncertainty and almost certain doom. His heart hurt worse than the anxiety of setting foot in Warfang and being on the precipice of all-out war. Worse than the gut-wrenching fear that had eaten at him moments before setting paw through the doors of the throne room and confronting his mortal nemesis with his eventual girlfriend.

Spyro was scared, and rightly so, and having to hide it from Cynder was what he feared most of all.

She would know.

She somehow always did.

As if they were tuned to each other by their very souls, Cynder could tell immediately when Spyro was disturbed by something, and he could likewise feel her emotions. But the knowledge that such crushing stress could literally harm their unborn babies...Spyro felt like a potential murderer. He and Cynder had so deeply longed to have a family together, he feared the worst if Cynder were to miscarry, how crushed she'd be...how crushed they would be together. If he slipped something so dire and drastic to her, he'd be responsible for the potential deaths of their kids before they even had a chance at life. And that thought made him so sick to his stomach with paranoia that he almost threw up. And that heaving sickness ripping through him only served to worsen his mental state, hurtling him deeper into that despair of potentially being the last one standing that could save their entire race and that time was of the...essence.

Ugh, that phrase and double entendre when he needed it least.

If it was true, and he really was a Patriarch now, every day spent not impregnating dragonesses the world over was another day closer to his kin's extinction. But was it even true? Was it more what Terrador had said, some sort of world power imbalance that had to be adapted to? But even then he still had a breeder's responsibility in the interim until other males could pick up again. The fact remained that his eggs with Cynder were the first in four years, and other females could still go into heat...and were probably panicking with their mates, unable to conceive. His inner helper personality couldn't let that go, he felt guilty now that he knew this possibility, yet he also couldn't just go seeding other girls. He was committed to Cynder, after all, and if all this was just a rumor, he might screw up other mateships if he acted on it now.

The indecision and uncertainty were tearing him apart.