CHRONICLES OF THE NORTH: Darkar and the Armor of the Shadow Dragon
The chamber in Alfea was silent save for the crackle of ancient magic lingering in the air and the low, rhythmic hum of Spyro’s breath. Bloom stood by the massive arched window, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the shadows of an unfamiliar horizon stretched long and deep. Sixteen years. Sixteen long years since she had first learned the truth of her birth, since she had walked the halls of this school as a bewildered girl from Earth, and since the magical realm had narrowly averted total ruin. She turned back to face the gathering. Faragonda leaned heavily on her staff, lines of deep fatigue etched into her wise face. Laila—Layla, as her friends from Earth called her—stood beside the table, her expression grave as she reviewed the glowing fragments of parchment and crystal scales they had recovered from the outer rim. "After a close examination of the evidence brought forth by Laila and our tiny friends," Bloom began, her voice steady though it carried the weight o...