1. The Tapestry of Kindling
Dragon Lord Ember landed with a thumping crack as her knee splintered sedimentary rock. Another awesome landing, she thought to herself. She still had it after all these years, even if the dangers of pulling off a landing increased exponentially as she grew older. After dusting herself off, she walked toward her intended destination, a cave. The cavern was irrelevant; its significance lay with the dragon that inhabited it and the special day he was to face.
“Spike!” she called. Wandering into the cave's crevice, she found the purple drake anxiously pacing back and forth before a dirty mirror, one of the few in the Dragon Lands.
Spike seemed intent on checking his scales for any form of blemish. He grinned into the mirror, his prominent teeth on display, his eyes scanned vigorously for stains. Even though Ember was still some steps away, she could hear the increasingly hurried intake of his breathing.
Spike was no longer the whelp she had met in her youth. He had blossomed into a handsome young dragon, broad-shouldered with burly arms, though his wings were still comparatively small for his now quite sizeable frame. He was also taller than Ember now. Something that continued to be surreal to the older drake, albeit a feeling Ember did not particularly find unwelcome. Aside from his physical changes, Spike now acted as the right hoof of the Princess and was an Ambassador of Friendship.
But most important was what had not changed, that he remained a good friend.
Still, Ember could not stifle the amusement of seeing Spike be consumed by anxiety like some hatchling before meeting their first crush. With a sly look, Ember crept up delicately near her fellow dragon, Spike still utterly oblivious to her presence. When she was within touching distance, she struck, grabbing at his back, causing the larger drake to squeal uncharacteristically in a most undragon-like fashion. Spike spun red-faced as Ember threw herself back, laughing heartily.
“Ember, you scared the Tartarus out of me!” Spike snapped.
“You should see your face,” Ember chuckled. Her laughter eventually subsided before she addressed the still-embarrassed Spike. Dragons don’t get scared, Spike, and they certainly don’t make whatever that noise was.”
“I, uh, w-well,” Spike stammered.
“I don’t mind,” Ember said with a shrug. “It was rather cute, as the ponies say.” Much to Ember's continued amusement, this led to another furious round of blushing and stammering from her younger opposite. “So, you ready?” Ember asked, finally returning to why she had arrived in the first place. Spike rubbed the back of his head in discomfort.
“I mean, not really. I have never heard about this whole ceremony before. It all seems a bit alien. No offence.” Ember waved her hand dismissively.
“Well, you were raised with ponies. Figures, you didn’t pick up our customs.”
“But is this–” Spike stopped and grimaced, afraid he may say something distasteful. “You know, necessary?” Ember proceeded to hit Spike in the shoulder playfully.
“In case you’re forgetting, you’re a dragon, Spike. This is part of being a dragon. Besides, you’re also a big-shot ambassador now. Learning about these things about other cultures is more important than ever. Can’t have you forgetting your roots.”
“You’re right, I guess,” Spike grudgingly accepted. “It’s just bizarre that Equestria has no record of this ceremony in all the hundreds of years that ponies have been aware of the Dragon Lands.”
“Well, other than that, ponies and dragons have never really seen eye to eye,” said Ember with a smirk. “It’s not exactly advertised to the world. It is highly personal. But all young dragons go through with it just like the moult.”
“To gain the fire of the world,” Spike intoned, repeating the ceremony’s name.
Ember nodded. “To bind you fully to the Dragon Lands. Think of it as a formality to bring you into the family.”
“The family?” Spike asked, cocking his head to the side.
Ember seated herself on a nearby rock facing Spike. “Yes, to be part of the wider dragonkin. It’s what distinguishes us from wild dragons. Gives us a form of what you would call civilisation.” Ember snorted in derision. “’ A membership bound by codes and beliefs, ’ my father would say. I know Twilight often lectures me about the independent nature of dragons, but this connection stops us from constantly fighting each other.” Ember looked momentarily sheepish. “Well, more than usual.” She shook her head. “It should have happened years ago, shortly after your moult. But I can understand Twilight’s reluctance to let you go.”
“I’m not going to lie, if I said I wasn’t the tiniest bit nervous,” Spike said. “How exactly is this personal for most dragons?”
“Spiritual would be a better term, and all the baggage that comes with that,” Ember answered. “As Dragon Lord, I am bound by its tenets, one of the few limits of my position.” She then shot Spike a quizzical look. “Doesn’t Equestria have things like this?”
“Equestria has no official religion,” Spike said. “Someponies worship the princesses, but Celestia had always deeply discouraged it. Many ponies worship Harmony as a deity. I could honestly spend hours explaining and still get nowhere. To put a long story short, it's complicated.” Spike chuckled to himself in resignation, indicating that this was not the first time the topic had come to the forefront. Ember decided to try a different track.
“What does Twilight think about her potential deification?”
“Oh, it drives her up the wall,” Spike laughed. “Of course, I think Twilight doesn’t believe in those sorts of things.”
“Really? You would think with the Elements of Harmony?”
Spike nodded, understanding Ember’s point. “Twilight is a complex pony. She believes in Harmony, but I don’t think she thinks of it as a god with a capital G or anything,” Spike explained. “More of a reflection of the collective spiritual consciousness of creatures of Equestria or something along those lines. It’s quite the theory when you dig into it.” Ember scrunched up her nose in befuddlement. “I’m losing you, aren’t I?”
“That sounds weird,” she said.
Spike shrugged his shoulders. “Eh, when your sister’s a science nut and you are as close to the ruling princesses as family, you tend to see her point.” Spike looked to the mirror to continue checking his scales.
“Don’t mention that before the Elders,” Ember said seriously. “They’ll skin you alive.” The nature of Ember’s tone took Spike aback. She was never one to speak with a degree of what he could only describe as reverence. He turned from the mirror to look at Ember again.
“You’ve told me this whole thing is spiritual. So, what do dragons believe in?”
“I keep forgetting you’re not from here,” Ember sighed. “Dragons believe in the All-Father, the great dragon that created us.” Ember gestured to their surroundings. “During creation, the All-Father sacrificed his physical body and became the earth we stand upon. The fire beneath the earth is his blood, and the mountains are the scales upon his back.”
“Woah, that’s pretty metal.”
“What does metal have to do with anything? I’ve never heard that word used like this.”
“It means–ah, it will take too long to explain.” Spike shrugged and chuckled. “So, you believe we are sitting on this All-Father?”
“Of course! All things that live upon the land are the fruits of his sacrifice. This is known.”
“Oh, neat,” Spike said. Ember grunted angrily at Spike’s words.
“It’s not neat. Dragons don’t do neat.” A loud, piercing cry echoed, reverberating around the cave. Ember glanced up in the direction of where the noise came from. She raised herself from her seat, motioning for Spike to follow her to the cave entrance. “Come on, you big lump, they are waiting for you.”
“Ember, are you sure about this?” Spike asked. “I want to get in touch with my dragon side and culture, but I’m not committing to anything with this.” Ember rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Spike, trust me.” Her expression took an earnest turn as she gave him a small smile. “It helps.” Spike nodded and walked up to Ember’s side as they exited.
“What’s it like?”
Ember was silent momentarily, contemplating how she should answer. Spike almost spoke again before she responded. “It’s passionate, chaotic,” she said. There was a glimmer of introspection in her eyes as she considered her words. “It’s, well-it’s, alive. It tends to differ between each dragon.”
Spike placed an inquisitive claw under his chin. “Explains why Smolder didn’t want to talk about her ceremony. I thought she was going to hit me when I asked her!”
“As I said, it’s highly personal,” Ember said with a shrug. She shot him a cocky smile. “Once it’s done, you truly become one of us.” Spike uneasily looked at his friend.
He sighed deeply. “Okay, Ember. I trust you.”
Away from where the cave Spike was staying, Ember’s flight path took him eastward. There was little to take in but the shining of the evening sun against his scales, the heavy breeze that often encompassed the Dragon Lands buffeted against him and the innumerable geysers shooting out fumes and ash clouds into the sky. The land was the typical fare Spike had become accustomed to, rocky, lava-dotted bands of small volcanoes and flowing molten lakes that cut through the landscape, creating clusters of little islands.
To Spike’s surprise, they spun lower to the left, coming beneath some nasty-looking clouds, thick and black with ash. Where these clouds emanated soon became apparent. Before him, a giant volcano as tall as the greatest of mountains stood like a colossus against the horizon, spewing its smoke into the sky, covering the sun’s warm glow.
Spike had seen many a volcano in the Dragon Lands, but this dwarfed all others. It hummed with a power evident through its consistent angry rumble, which shook the surrounding terrain. Spike almost stopped mid-flight as he took it in. There was a sense of life to it, some unseen aura pulsating intermittently like the inhalation and exhalation of breath. Spike felt tingles across his scales; a virulent energy throbbed deep with his core like the call of the Dragon Lord, but surprisingly gentler. It could almost be described as nostalgia, which was surreal since this was his first time beholding the mountain, a fit of longing ingrained into his soul.
“Spike quit gawking,” Ember yelled below him, delighted by the sudden awe that had enraptured Spike’s attention. He shook his head, rousing himself from his reverie. But as Spike pursued Ember, his attention quickly caught another unique characteristic of this place, a tall castle glimmering in the afterglow of the volcano’s discharge.
Spike would never have thought he would see a building crafted with architectural intent in the Dragon Lands, a fortress of polished obsidian dotted with piles of ash pooling on its various buttresses and terraces. Thick walls a hundred feet tall curtained around a massive, rounded tower keep, domed except in the centre where a thinner section of the building extended like an outstretched finger. A tall, curled horn sat visible between several pillars supporting a pointed roof atop this protrusion. It shone like a beached white spotted whale before the midday sun. Its pale white surface speckled with gold.
To see such things in the Dragon Lands was as strange as seeing the moon without the shadow of the nightmare dotted across its surface for the first time. Dragons did not usually build. To Spike's knowledge, the extent of their experience was the careful moulding of a cave den.
Spike was about to ask Ember what this was all about, but she descended before the words could escape his lips. Spike followed closely behind as Ember stood between two great stone doors to the central bailey. Though, to his surprise, the whole keep was deathly silent, like a grave monument, his awe mingled with a degree of unease. Into the depths of the keep, they plunged; high walls towered each side of them, leading to twisting steps so wide they could fit thirteen of them abreast. Yet the silence was the only constant.
To defuse the feelings within him, he whistled. “Pretty sweet place.”
Ember chuckled. “It’s a bit more than that.” She waved a claw towards him, beckoning him on. “They are waiting.” Ember entered. Spike picked up the pace beside her. They followed another set of stairs, which seemed to carry on forever; Spike's legs were aching when they ascended the thirteenth set.
“Where is everyone?”
“The Elders sit alone. There are no permanent residents except them and a few of their attendants.”
“Is this where the ceremony will be held?” he asked. He stared up at the inlets of the ceiling; gold and silver shimmered in carved etchings. “Who built this place?”
“The gift of the fire of the world isn’t held here.” She inclined her head toward the direction of the volcano, which Spike knew lay a decent distance from whatever this structure was. “This is merely where you will be judged as worthy or not. The Elders are the guardians of the mountain, and it is their gift to grant access or not. The ceremony is yours alone within old Ignis.” She winked at him, “Though I feel you already know that. Even I still get chills around him even though it’s been years since I felt his call.”
Spike had barely noticed the volcano's presence within the quiet, large halls, but now that Ember drew his attention to it, it dawned on him that it had been an ever-present feeling at the back of his mind. What strange power did it possess to make him feel so? Perhaps there was more to this whole thing than mere superstition, as he initially believed. But then again, magic works in mysterious ways.
“The dragon who built this palace for the Elders was Daeron the Builder. He lived in ancient times. Like super ancient times. My father says even his father could not remember a dragon who lived before it was raised.” Ember admired the fine stonework and wall sconces that lined the halls. Intricate patterns were cut into the polished stone, and some tongue Spike could not understand. Ember trailed her claw against them, mouthing words she did not share with him. “A dragon that could make things instead of destroying them. Can you imagine? Maybe dragons were once more like ponies than we believed?”
“It's beautiful,” he whispered. He was still taking in the enormous halls when Ember stopped him with an outstretched arm. Before him was the opening to a sizeable conical room, their destination, he guessed. In the centre of the room stood great high stone seats, like thrones, lined in a semi-circle, upon which ragged figures donned in shimmering and multi-coloured robes, albeit rough and ill-formed, raised their crowned heads upon their entrance. Milky white eyes stared absently in their direction. Spike suppressed a gasp.
They were blind.
He had never seen such odd-looking dragons before. Shorter in stature but visibly bowed by the years, no doubt many of them could barely come up to Spike’s chest, yet the way Ember gingerly moved before the withered husks, they may as well have been as tall as mountains. Wyverns was their name, Ember had said. Dragonkin but not Dragons, and for that, they existed to service dragons in pursuing things that most dragons found cumbersome or not worth their time. In this case, the governance of their faith.
Ember bowed, which elicited a gasp from Spike. Ember was never one for formalities. Not in the many times she had visited Equestria or dealt with other foreign dignitaries. He had thought she was incapable of such a thing.
The centre-most wyvern decamped from his throne, staff in tow, and slowly approached Ember. The thud of the cane banged loudly against the obsidian floor. Empty eyes stared through Ember and piercingly settled on Spike. He knew the creature was blind, but something in the dead gaze had an unexplainable sway to them.
Spike presumed this diminutive creature was the leader of the assembled synod. Ember had never told him Spike’s name, only that he was referred to as the High Elder. He was so ancient that if he had once had a name, it was long forgotten by history, for it is doubtful the Elder himself could even recall it.
“Elder, I am humbled by your presence,” Ember intoned. The High Elder raised a palm.
“Dragon Lord, you are welcome,” the wyvern wheezed weakly; Spike half expected the Elder to spit up dust from the look of him. The dragon-like head spun towards Spike, causing him to jolt. “Who is this you have brought before us? Have you finally chosen a mate?” Ember abruptly jerked out of her bow, and Spike tensed up. He mumbled something unintelligible while Ember sported bright crimson across azure cheeks.
“N-No,” she coughed. “Spike is a friend.”
The High Elder snorted dismissively. “Friend? More of this pony nonsense, bah,” He shrugged. “I do not know why you continue to indulge in these heretical beliefs.”
“I already told you, Elder, the world is changing, and even the Dragon Lands are not exempt from it.”
“If you say so, Dragon Lord,” the High Elder sniffed, his intonation making clear that he was sceptical. Ember gestured towards Spike, who the High Elder strangely took in, eyes unfocused, but clearly, there was some understanding that the old wyvern had a perception beyond mere sight.
“I have come to ask that Spike be granted the blessing to face great Ignis so he may become a true dragon,” Ember said solemnly. A mummer went out amongst the other seated Elders, hushed whispers exchanged in a tongue that Spike could not determine. The High Elder raised a claw and silenced the group. He took a step forward, turning his head from side to side as he did so. He slowly circled Spike, humming inquisitively.
“He certainly has the look, though far too old,” The High Elder said. “Yes, old, and then some. But there is more to a dragon than mere appearance.” He banged his staff against the floor. “Come closer!” Spike took a few tentative steps towards the smaller creature, copying Ember in, bowing slightly.
“I am honoured by your summons,” Spike said.
“Hmmm, at least you have manners,” the High Elder snorted. “I have not appraised you previously, and the Council knows all dragons that live upon the Great Serpent. Your judgement should have been done many moons ago. So, tell me, who are you? Who was your nest mother and father?” Spike’s eyes widened, and he struggled to find appropriate words. An awkward silence descended before Ember attempted to answer for him.
“Elder, Spike–”
“Only he may answer,” the High Elder interrupted. “You have presented this pup before me. Judgement must now be passed.” Ember complied and stood dumbly in place.
“Apologies, Elder.”
“Now,” the High Elder clapped his claws together. “I ask again. Who are you?”
“Well, my name is Spike,” he responded. He bit his lips, unsure what else to say, before sighing. There was no denying it any longer, except to embrace the truth. “I don’t know my dragon parents.”
The High Elder hummed deeply in reply. “A stray? It is commendable to be so young and survive in the wild. Many ferals are little more than beasts.”
“No, you don’t understand. I have parents,” Spike corrected him. “Twilight Velvet and Night Light.” Spike noticed, out of the corner of his eye, Ember visibly cringing.
“Those are not dragon names I am familiar with,” The High Elder said.
“Well, it’s because they are not dragons. They are ponies.”
The only sound that could be discerned was the defeated sigh Ember uttered. The High Elder went stiff as if living flesh had been suddenly substituted by stone. The strange and alien feelings returned tenfold to Spike, now with an edge of hostility. Empty eyes pinned themselves on his being and, with withering disapproval, made their feelings apparent.
“Ponies raised you,” the High Elder echoed, the contempt barely kept out of his voice. He turned his head towards Ember, a sneer evident upon aged features. “Now I see it how it is.” Spike attempted to speak, but the Elder merely pointed his staff at Ember.
“You bring some pet to me, Dragon Lord?” he boomed. “I have tolerated your decisions concerning ponies even if I have not agreed with them, but to discredit our sacred traditions? Do you jest with me? You go too far!”
“I am no pet,” Spike growled, physically placing himself between Ember and the High Elder. It was Ember’s whole idea to bring him here, but he would not let them talk about him as if he was not there.
“A well-fed slave is still a slave,” the High Elder snapped as he emphasised the motion with a flick of a dismissive wrist. “No true dragon bows before ponies.”
“They are my family,” Spike said harshly, no longer caring about the occasion’s propriety or sanctity.
“Careful boy,” called a seated Elder. “Your words are blasphemous.”
Another Elder to the right then spoke in turn. “I would not be so quick to pass a sentence. I sense a fire, wild and strong. Chained but present, nonetheless. The Dragon Lord vouches for you. Does the sovereign’s word not count?” The High Elder scowled, clearly unhappy at the prospect that there was any contrition towards Spike, but he nodded his head as if to agree with the views of the wider group.
“Very well,” he said in a loud voice of command. “In light of the word of the Dragon Lord, your…faults may be overlooked if you take the virtuous steps towards penance.” The High Elder paced toward Spike, slamming his staff against the ground again. “Renounce your name and kneel. Cast aside the identity your captors have branded upon you, and you shall be granted blessing to go before the flame to be born anew with a proper title befitting of a real dragon.”
The words were a hammer blow—a physical strike straight into his gut—yet they were so casual that they seemed little more than a trivial exercise in genuflection.
Renounce his name? he thought. The idea was ludicrous and not because of his grave misgiving with the ritual itself.
Twilight had given him his name.
When she cuddled with him during his youth, his sister often giggled at the spikes along his back that tickled her. That, in itself, meant more than whatever hypothetical blessing the dragons could offer him. It was the only name he had ever known. If he gave up his name, what else would he concede? Spike shook his head. There was nothing worth that. No roots worth exploring came at the expense of that to which lay upon his principles of self. The singular-word response came as natural as breathing.
“No.”
“No?” the High Elder repeated. There were further disgruntled murmurs from the remaining Elders. Ember moved forward and took Spike by the shoulder, her voice an urgent whisper.
“Spike, what are you doing?”
He shrugged her off and stood taller this time. “I said no. My name is my name. It’s the only one I know.”
“You would keep your slave’s name?” the High Elder demanded.
“I told you they are not my captors. They are my family,” he declared. “My name is Spike. I’ve always been and always will be Spike.”
“If you do not renounce, you shall never be a true dragon,” shouted a seated Elder.
“You will forever be a hobbled creature borne out of ignorance,” cried another.
“This is sacrilege,” said one incensed Elder. “It shames the council how debased this one acts.” The standing High Elder said as he turned to Ember again.
“Your father would be most disappointed.”
“Elder, I know his unusual circumstances, but Spike helped me become Dragon Lord,” protested Ember, her tone fluctuating between pleading and insisting. “He has aided the dragons throughout his time here. I joined in battle with him against the Demonic Three, who threatened all life on the Great Serpent. He is the Vizier of the Princess of Equestria and has saved our world many times. Few dragons of legend can compare.”
“That may be so,” the High Elder said. “But our traditions cannot be so easily discarded. He has rejected our gracious compromise, and his belligerence has revealed his true nature. We will not bless this false dragon, even for the Dragon Lord.” The remaining Elders shouted their agreement at the words, making Spike’s anger bubble to the surface once more. “The ceremony shall not go ahead!” The High Elder pointed his staff into Spike’s chest, shoving him roughly.
“Elder, I would ask clemency,” Ember roared in disagreement above the cacophony. “He has the soul of a dragon. As Dragon Lord–”
“You are Dragon Lord, but you have no authority on these matters,” The High Elder said. “He is no true dragon. Now begone.”
“Glady,” Spike replied. He turned without a second glance and left the obsidian hall. Ember could not even get a word out before he was gone. Ember looked back at the Elder, but his back was already turned, his angry mutterings the only sound, leaving her dumbfounded.
Ember was a fast flyer, more so than Spike. It came with the experience. So, it was little surprise that she caught up quickly with him. “Spike, wait!” He turned his head, seeing Ember and sighed. He descended, stopping at a nearby rock formation. They stood opposite each other. Spike’s breaths were heavy and strained. There was a strange anger in his eyes. Ember had seen it often amongst the dragons of her kingdom. But to see it from Spike? The happy-go-lucky dragon raised by ponies? Something felt wrong seeing such rage encompass him.
“Ember, why did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie to you,” she snapped. “I told you to watch your words. The Elders are ancient, even amongst dragons. They are an institution. This is how it is.”
“They want me to give up my whole identity!”
“They are just words, Spike. They mean nothing. You say whatever makes them happy and go on with your life—like everyone else!”
“You don’t get it?” Spike asked. It doesn’t matter that they’re just words; it’s wrong.”
“Spike tradition–”
“I don’t care about tradition, Ember,” he yelled. “You know that. I did this because you insisted. Because you are my friend.” He spun away with a huff. “Maybe I was mistaken. Perhaps this whole learning to be a dragon was a mistake. I should have never let you convince me.”
Ember was still angry, but seeing Spike look sad made her pause. She breathed in heavily and reined in the desire to snap back at him. She knew better; he had taught her that. It seemed those silly pony values had rubbed off on her. She sighed before grudgingly speaking. “Spike, I didn’t mean for things to go like that.”
“I know that, Ember,” Spike said tiredly, his shoulders slumped. “Being a dragon comes naturally to you. I never had that. But that doesn’t make me less of a dragon than you.”
“I didn’t say–”
“Do you know how long I’ve been told I don’t belong in either world?” Spike asked, throwing up his arms in a huff. “For most of my life, I’ve been treated as some exotic stranger in the pony world, and when I come here, I’m treated as if I were some pony dressed up as a dragon.” Spike approached Ember. “Do you know why I stuck with Twilight and the girls? Because they treat me like who I am. Twilight looks at me as a brother. That’s good enough for me. And because of their trust, things in Equestria are finally beginning to change.” Spike’s jaw snapped shut, and he hissed before continuing. “I don’t need your traditions or their approval. I know I’m a dragon and a better dragon than those old rotting corpses you grovel to.”
Ember moved to reply, the fire in her chest renewed again, but Spike had already left, the heavy beat of his wings taking him away into the sky.
Ember stood where he had left her, a part of her demanding to follow and another part ashamed that she had hurt her dearest friend. So she stood and thought, no longer confident about what to do.
This was a bad idea, Spike thought.
It hadn’t been Spike’s intention to return to Mount Ignis. When he arrived at the cave after his argument with Ember, he was ready to take whatever he had, return to Equestria, and forever forget this crater-blasted land.
But as he paced furiously back and forth, his thoughts turned to what would inevitably come next if he just gave up. It wasn’t just that Twilight would be disappointed; she would understand, of course. She may even write a scathing letter to Ember when all was said and done. Then Spike would return to his job in Equestria, and his life would continue as usual.
However, his time in the cave did little to douse the damnable itch within him, the ever-present siren call of his natural curiosity, inflamed by the passionate manner in which Ember spoke of the experience. It was another annoying Sparkle family trait that he had embraced to the full. A smaller, more petty part of him desired to show those vile Elders how wrong they were. Compounding it all was Ignis itself. Its strange magnetism ever called him; even fleeting thoughts of the mountain resulted in his mind becoming a maelstrom of strange feelings. It would not let him go.
Not yet, at least.
That ever-present tingling practically dragged him to the side of the mountain, like some strange dream occurring in the waking world. Minutes and hours passed with a few blinks, and before he took a heavy breath, he was before the side of Ignis’s jagged surface, claws shaking as the mountain rumbled. So, he moved slowly between the rocks of Ignis’s surface, crawling to an opening in the side of the volcano. Occasionally, he hopped between pairs of overhanging rocks, hiding beneath their shade when he could. From his preliminary scanning of the mountain, the crack in the surface was the only entrance. With each step, it came closer into view and taking in its appearance and the implications of where it did lead, a discordant thought suddenly struck him.
Perhaps the blessing was a prerequisite of the ceremony? Which meant that when he entered Ignis, he would see nothing. The ground shook violently as if to agree with him. He stumbled, kicking up piles of rocks down the slopes of Ignis’s face.
This was a very bad idea.
He had been running on pure emotion for the past few hours, and only now, standing in the heart of the dragon belief system, did he realise that perhaps he hadn’t thought this through.
What if I’m caught?
Spike eyed the sky warily to content himself that any passing drake had not spotted him. From above, the black rock formations proved a formidable cover for any would-be interloper. He then considered how he had flown to the mountain. He had gone low, retracing the path that Ember had led him. The land that was Ignis’s domain gave the impression of being devoid of life. But what was to say that there were eyes other than dragons that watched this sacred place? His anxiety could not be quelled no matter how often he tried to reasonably explain to himself that all was alright. The very idea that someone would see him and thus haul him before his fellow drakes positively terrified him. Even his friendship with Ember may not be enough to stave off whatever punishment awaited him for the desecration of a holy shrine. Spike hissed through his teeth at the thought. Dragons were not exactly the forgiving type. However, the rush of fear was quickly overcome by his redoubtable stubbornness. He had come too far to stop now.
The entrance he found was high up the surface of Ignis but unmistakable in a yawning pitch-black fissure. He threw himself in quickly, the rapid beating of his heart quelled somewhat by the safety of being out of sight. In the dark he pushed through pure feel. He tripped and caught up on rocks and slag deposits. The ceiling was low, and jagged rock occasionally painfully prodded against his side. He squirmed and slid awkwardly, padding his way in the uncomfortable dark. He supposed he could try and use his flame breath to get through, but before he could further consider such a course, a dim light became evident straight ahead. He quickly moved toward it, breathing a sigh of relief as the oppressive darkness gave way.
Spike descended a series of cracked steps before arriving at a large opening that emanated great heat. He used an outreached arm to block it as he stumbled into the opening of the volcano’s centre. There was a dip in the path before it rose in a great rising bridge that featured a large dais, molten stone upon jagged rock spiralling up and up before a bubbling lake of lava. Spike ascended the angular platform until the vast body of boiling liquefied pools stood before him, illuminating him with their orange glow.
At that moment, he stood as still as a ghost. The very walls of Ignis buzzed with power older than the foundations of the same earth, and he now stood at its epicentre. His chest tightened, and all his thoughts were directed to a singular action. To him, it was as loud as the roar of the wind but as soft as the whisper of friends close in counsel.
Breathe.
It repeated until Spike found his jaw parted without his input. The summoning of the flame within became as natural as the wind whistling within the cone. Flame spilt from his mouth, and a great sense of peace encompassed him. The flames’ green spirals grew further until a localised tempest surrounded him. The lava lake churned and roiled until all Spike could perceive was a wall of crimson blaze; the inside of the volcano subsumed beneath its vast form as if the thing had never existed in the first place.
Spike stood stupefied. His body was lit up with the whisp ends of the whirlwind as they twirled with him. His eyes widened as the drumbeat of the storm seemed to bring him into some unknown dance, which an instinctive part of him recognised but to which he was blind to his role.
Spike could see him.
The tremendous luminous form of flame. A wreathed shape with wings encompassed the horizon of Spike’s vision. The noise was deafening, a thunderous roar akin to the grinding of capstones of the plates of the very earth. Within the partition of the flare, two lighter patches formed, and the oval outline of the eyes windows into an endless raging void. The great shapes of wings slowly circled Spike until the malleable form blotted out the very skies until only that orange-tinged light remained. Spike stood as a purple and green flickering candle barely visible, backing away from the dragon's outline that stared out at him.
“Woah,” Spike whispered.
The flames opened their great maw, parting like two roiling seas. Yet no words exited, only the hiss and roar of the volcanic magma pooling and sloshing around with vigour. Instead, a voice called to him just as before, within his mind, and it pushed out all external noise or notice with confident authority yet with an underlying softness.
‘I see you.’
Spike was stunned. When Ember said the experience was…intense, she had indeed understated the matter. He felt no longer constrained in thought and could speak a few words between dry lips.
“Who are you?” The form coalesced around Spike; its weighty gaze settled on him solely.
‘I am you. I am dragon.’
The words hammered rhythmically through his skull. Spike could barely stand, yet he knew if he felt the urge to collapse, he was bolstered into place by an unseen force. “It’s really you. The All-Father.” Spike stumbled back in awe. The remarkable coalescence of flame tilted what could be considered its ‘head’ to the side.
‘Do you carry the flame, child?’
“The flame?”
‘The flame within.’
“I don’t know what that means,” Spike exclaimed. The All-Father moved, or rather slinked like a great snake, moving in constant motion with the flow of whatever current had possessed the storm, great obscure wings beating in non-existent flight across the strands of orange and black churn. “The Elder says I can’t claim it because of how I was raised.” Spike dipped his head in shame. “That I’m a false dragon.” The creature made a noise like the crackling of thunder. It almost sounded like a laugh.
‘The flame cares not for dogma. It is self-evident.’
“But how do I know? Spike roared above the din, his feet constantly moving to keep the ever-moving giant in view. “How can I prove it?” That great and terrible laugh returned twofold.
‘Sing!’
Spike stood befuddled. Sing? As in, like a song? Was this part of the ceremony? Ember had never mentioned anything about signing. The All-Father stared back, that limitless void, and though odd as it sounds, with what Spike almost considered a pseudo-parental look. There was an intangible…sympathy within those great yawning pits.
“I’m not that talented,” Spike admitted. “Eh, vocally, that is.”
‘With your flames, Let it be thy piece.’
Spike instinctively took a deep breath, compelled to comply with the All-Father's command. As he took in a breath, he found his stomach clenching. Doubt overcame him, and Spike struggled to summon his flame in that nestling of fear. A sputtering stream of flames escaped his lips, twirling briefly before being snuffed out.
‘More! Look within. What is it that drives you? What is it that makes your flame? What makes you a dragon?’
Spike tried once to put forth a stream of flame. He felt himself choking, that the presence of the All-Father would crush him for his unworthiness. Spike closed his eyes, preparing to feel it all collapse around him. He was a fool, he thought. Wrapped up in things he could not comprehend, he was a pretender, just as the High Elder judged. His flames sizzled and hissed. Their size soon reduced to little more than sputtered flares. The words of the All-Father reverberated again.
‘Who makes you a dragon?’
In the darkness of his closed eyes, he envisaged the meaning of those words. The space of his thoughts laid out before, no storms or great dragon gods were dancing in the flame; rather, it was a great white lake, undisturbed by that which lay external. But the space was not empty.
The surface of this ethereal place was a tapestry of memories, family, friends and love woven into the fabric of his being. Afterimages imprinted before him reels replaying over and over. Each layered upon one another, stretching back like a grand parade of everything that meant something to him.
One was when his mom gave him his first blanket.
Another his Dad showing him how to work a telescope.
Before he could consider it, another stood up to take its place.
Shining Armor taking him to a comic store and buying his first PowerPonies comic.
He spun around and around, taking in each moment that made him, well, Spike. He stopped at one in particular.
A visage of Twilight tightly hugged a younger version of himself as she whispered sweet reassurances to him.
He recognised the moment as shortly after his false ‘father’ fled. This conclave of moments acted as a story unfolded. Each chapter a foundation for what made him, well, him.
He opened his eyes.
The storm that was the form of the All-Father no longer blinded him. He did not choke on the lack of air. His limbs surged with renewed strength; his blood burned as it passed through him like a fever run amok; adrenaline flowed through every muscle fibre. The flickering flame that had popped in his mouth burst forth anew, spewing from his open jaw. The green, fluorescent colour grew greater and greater until the coils of the flames touched the spiralling inferno, mixing and melding in a blend of colours not unlike the shining rays of a descending sun across a clouded landscape sky. The All Father roared in approval.
‘Yes! Sing with me, my child. Let them see your flame, each person a scale on your back to fortify your soul, each memory a gust of wind beneath your wings. Let their love be the fuel that shines in the dark. For the fire within must be greater than the one that which consumes all around it. Sing!’
Doubt had left him, with each piece of him playing forth, the flame did not die but was renewed in strength, and the fire burst forth in his chest, dousing him in a green embrace as all turned to light.
‘Carry the Flame.’
Ember brooded at the foot of her throne, tapping the dragon sceptre against the floor. She had not moved for some time, nor had she wished to. Her thoughts ever drifted to Spike.
He had not returned that night to his cave, and no one had seen him for several hours. She didn’t like to admit it, but she was concerned. Perhaps a pony would even dare say that she had an anxious demeanour. She cursed herself; dragons should not be burdened by emotional frailty; it was unbecoming of a Dragon Lord. The feeling made her want to lash out, but at whom she could not say.
Ember just hoped that Spike was okay.
That was until the rumble of old Ignis shook her out of her funk. The mountain had been roused to furious activity if the tremors indicated its temperament. To feel its aftershock here at the seat of her throne was highly unusual. Ember did not begrudge the interruption; in fact, she was grateful in some part to be given a reason to be free of her brooding, so she decided to investigate.
After a swift flight to the foot of the volcano, Ember discovered, much to her surprise, that she was not the only dragon drawn to the commotion. Before the slopes of Ignis, a crowd of dragons had assembled, staring up at the volcano's vent, the great plumes of smoke bursting into the night sky. Even Ember found her eyes drawn to the discharge. Within the black shroud of smoke, a swirling storm of green flame pulsated above the vent's rim, causing small streams of lava to dribble down the volcano’s flank.
“What is the meaning of this?” Ember boomed, tearing her eyes away from the spectacular display. She pushed to the centre of the gathering. Several dragons looked at her as others continued to stare and speak in hushed exchanges.
“A ceremony, Dragon Lord,” one of the dragons answered. “And a wild one at that.”
“At this time of night?”
“Dragon Lord Ember!” called a new entrant behind her. Ember turned to find the Elder Council had disembarked from their castle home and moved to the plateau before the volcano, carried on litters with fellow dragons' aid. The High Elder disembarked and hobbled toward Ember as fast as his withered form could allow. The other dragons stepped aside before his approach. He stuck a bony finger, wagging it contemptuously in Ember’s face. “I demand an explanation! A drake has entered the ceremony without permission! I will demand the harshest measures to correct this trespass.”
“Elder, I have no clue what is going on?” Ember answered honestly. “If someone had broken our customs, I’ll deal with this intruder, rest assured.”
“I would not worry, Elder; Old Ignis will churn them up to bits if they ain’t ready,” chuckled a young drake, who soon was joined by a chorus of laughs from his friends, just in time for the lights of Ignis to cease in a final pulse. A collective ‘ah’ came from the crowd at the wild display. But soon after the last lights flickered out, the grouping stood in somewhat awkward silence, awaiting whatever would come next. The volcano’s slight hiss permeated the night air, though the hearty boom of Ignis had ceased, and all had returned to normality.
The Elder grunted. “Perhaps you’re right. It seems Ignis has made his views cl–”
“Hey, look,” cried a drake, pointing towards the mountain's slopes. A small figure could be seen through the haze of the mountain’s thick smoke, lazily flying down from Ignis’s slope. Gasps of astonishment overtook the crowd to see a drake emerge unharmed from the roils and vigour of Ignis’s great embrace, let alone one that had not been blessed before the Elders. Ember could only stare slack-jawed as the recognisable form descended amongst. The purple and green colouring of his scales were still apparent through the heavy layers of soot that sat upon his broad shoulders but otherwise unharmed.
“Spike!” Ember exclaimed as the familiar dragon smiled down at her. Spike beamed a broad smile as if he had just been told the best joke he had heard in years. The easy way he gathered himself aglow with self-assuredness, Ember had not seen before in the drake. Before she could say more, the High Elder pushed his way forward.
“You!” the Elder screeched. “I thought you some buffoonish hick, but now you actively participate in desecration? Is there no end to your debauchery?” Spike surveyed the crowd; surprise and shock adorned their faces, and Ember looked deeply concerned.
“Spike, what have you done?”
Her question caused him to pause before he began to laugh so vigorously that many of the crowd assumed he was mad. But Ember could see the deep and evident relief in his eyes. “You were right, Ember. That was intense.” A shocked gasp swept through the fellow dragons, and the High Elder stood stunned, his face a mask of thinly veiled rage. The other Elders looked not dissimilar. “You never told him he would be like that? Gotta say he was pretty intimidating.” Spike waved his arm back and forth to emphasise the creature’s size.
“What do you speak of?” One of the Elders asked sharply.
“The flame dragon that asks me to carry the fire?” Spike responded, somewhat unsure, though that quickly abated into shock as the crowd erupted into a flurry of noise. “You know the–”
“He has been blessed!” one dragon cried.
“Incredible,” whistled another.
“Old Ignis does it again.”
“This means nothing,” the High Elder barked, repeatedly examining the gathering, trying desperately to hush them. He slammed the butt of his staff authoritatively against the ground. His grey sunken eyes settled on Spike. His tone was a shrill shriek that caused Spike to cover his ears. “You are lying! How could you possibly know? The Mountain answers to us alone!” As eyes around waited for his response, Spike stuck out his chest and stood tall.
“I declare before all the dragons and on the sceptre of the Dragon Lord that I have borne witness to the All-Father. I have received the blessing of flame.” He inhaled and let forth a roar that echoed amongst the plains of the Dragon Lands. From his mouth, he let forth a mighty gust of dragon’s breath that burned brightly into the evening air, much to the awe of the bystanders. Ember at his side looked at him in wonder.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” He nodded. “Oh, Spike, I knew you had it in you!” Spike suddenly found himself enclosed in a warm embrace from the shorter dragon, who laughed as she squeezed him. He gently returned the gesture. The moment was brief, as within a blink, Ember seemed to have realised what she had done and awkwardly extradited herself from him; crimson tones danced upon azure cheeks as she coughed to clear her throat. “Sorry about that. Don’t know what came over me.”
“This isn’t possible,” the High Elder said breathlessly. “You have no dragon blood in you.” He pointed his staff directly at Spike. “Y-you’re just a mongrel!” But before the Elder could rant, one of his peers cut him off.
“Perhaps we have misjudged him.”
“What?” the High Elder cried.
Another shrivelled form entered the fray. “He has passed the trial and been brought before the All-Father himself. He is a true dragon.” Soon, all the other Elders were a flurry of affirmatives and issuing blessings in a strange tongue that Spike could not discern.
The High Elder recoiled as if struck. “No! Th-this is some pony trick. It must be!”
“You may govern who is worthy, but I rule the dragons,” Ember declared, and the Elder sank back and soon hid behind his courtiers. She took his hand and raised it aloft. “I hereby declare that Spike has been accepted through the passage of fire, he who carries the flame of the world. We welcome new kin this day!” The fellow dragons roared in approval, and soon they crowded him, slapping him on the back in congratulations and offering praise for a ceremony unlike the Dragon Lands had seen in an age.
Spike gathered his things in his cave. Not that he brought much in the first place. He had been gone too long anyway. Twilight would begin to worry, no doubt. If it weren’t for the fact that Spike had explicitly asked her not to send letters, Spike would probably have been inundated with worried correspondence.
Spike laughed slightly at the mental image of Twilight pacing back and forth in excited worry. He took the bundle in his arms and placed it into an old backpack he brought.
Ember stood against the cave wall, watching him as he collected the items from his home. She had been quite taciturn since the plateau, and for a while, he was worried that she was mad, but every time he looked at her, she gave him a wide smirk. Spike was no expert on body language, but he was generally a good judge of creatures, and Ember seemed to be, well, proud. That made Spike’s chest tingle. He had not done anything worthy of merit but break into the most sacred dragon shrine in all the world and sit there as some…thing talked to him. He didn’t remember much else. It was all such a whirl.
Spike turned to Ember, who was still holding some personal items. “So, was it really him?” Ember nodded. “Did you see him too?”
“Probably not in the same way you did,” she answered vaguely. “It depends on the dragon.” She collected the bag pack from the side of the room and handed it to Spike, who took it from her. “Some see abstract concepts. Others lost relatives or ancestors. You must be pretty exceptional to see the All-Father in the flesh.” She gave him another brilliant smile, which made him feel all strange inside. Ember should have smiled more often; she had a beautiful smile for a dragon. “Then again, considering everything you’ve been through, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Lucky me, I guess,” Spike laughed. He must admit he had quite an eventful life. This was just another strange episode amongst a series of surreal events that he had gone through over the years. Perhaps Twilight was wrong that there were no such things as destiny and fate, for Spike and his friends and family had often seemed to be weaved into strange threads.
“So, you are heading back to Equestria?”
Spiked nodded and carefully placed his remaining personals into the bag. “I think I’ve had my fill of the Dragon Lands for a while.” He paused his packing away, stopping on an old photo of him and Twilight. He was still a baby dragon at the time of taking the picture. He and Twilight were side to side, faces pushed together with broad smiles. Spike remembered it well. It was the day he had gotten his wings. Pinkie threw a party shortly after. The photo was taken soon after Twilight had burst into tears. She hugged and kissed him and told him how proud she was of him.
That was a good day.
Most days at Twilight’s side were. He gently trailed a claw over the photo. “Besides, I think I got some guidance on what to do next.”
Ember cocked her head to the side. “And what would that be?”
Spike closed the bag and placed it on his back. “He asked me to follow my flame.” Spike glanced down at the photo still in his claws and smiled. “And I think I now know where that lies.”