So, I'm back, again, hopefully for good but that's only if life doesn't interfere. Anyway, I know that all of you really want to see the end of Forgotten Ones, but, to be honest, that story went so far out of control that I can't tell left from up in it and the amount of characters to keep track of is staggering. So, I made this in the hopes of satiating all of you. Basically it's a retelling of Forgotten Prophecy, but more refined (hopefully) and with several changes, mostly having to do with the removal of the other worlds for the moment and a few other things that you'll all probably catch onto. I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I, in no way shape or form, own any of the copyrighted things I use. I do, however, own my characters that appear in this story. (May or may not make a list when more are introduced)

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New Heroes, Old Legends

Prologue

A lone dragon limped through the slums of Warfang. After fending off several attackers, he was left in a terrible state, but no one thought of helping the young drake. Not that he'd want their help anyway. He told himself that he was perfectly content to walk unaided in the rain.

His scales were a dirtied silver, likely due to the muck and blood that covered him, while his underbelly was a midnight black. His four horns would have been like polished ivory if they were clean, one pair curling upward while the other pointed forward parallel to his jaw. His eyes were a tired brown, blood-shot and partially lidded as he began to stumble as he walked.

Finally succumbing to his injuries, he collapsed to the ground and landed in a puddle, causing a small splash. The dragon couldn't stop from gasping as he found breathing getting harder. His vision started getting blurry and he felt his usual defiance fading fast.

'This is how it ends, huh?' he thought to himself resignedly, 'In a puddle in the slums. I guess an orphaned, weak, powerless dragon can't ask for much better.'

Just as darkness started closing in, a black paw landed just in front of his eyes. He heard a voice, but it sounded so far away that he couldn't tell what it was saying. He felt himself being lifted before oblivion took him.

"...you want to help him, but we don't know a thing about him!" the dragon heard as he slipped back into consciousness, "We came here on business for the Temple, not to pick up strays!"

"I couldn't just leave him to die, Cyril!" a feminine voice said indignantly, "Besides, all of the Guardians are supposed to have at least one student they found themselves. I haven't found mine yet."

"Your Guardianship is still under CONSIDERATION," the male voice pointed out, not aggressively but as a simple statement of fact, "You and Spyro have done much for the Realms, no one would dare question either of your loyalties, but finding a replacement for Ignitus is pressing enough without adding two more Guardians."

"You've been saying that for almost twenty years, Cyril!" Cynder said pointedly as the young dragon opened his eyes to see who they were and where he was, "You're the only one who-"

She stopped herself as she noticed that he was awake and watching them. He knew that the names were familiar, and now he knew why; standing just a few feet from where he was were the Ice Guardian and ex-Terror of the Skies themselves.

Cynder looked much like how he'd heard she did, though most of the stories were from when she was younger and she'd grown considerably since then. Her green eyes regarded him with concern and surprise, neither of which he was sure he liked.

Cyril, on the other paw, had finally been caught by age and was starting to look it. A few of his scales were muted in color and his eyes had a wise, and proud, look to them. The young drake felt that he would hear why soon enough.

"You're awake," the black dragoness said happily, a warm smile on her lips, "Now, can you tell us-"

"I didn't ask for help," the drake interrupted bluntly, eyes narrowed, "I don't need it."

Cynder's eyes did the same as she took a step closer to him, her grin turning into a frown as she spoke again, "It didn't seem that way when you were dying in an ally. I didn't need you to ask before I kept you alive."

"I can take care of myself," he grumbled, looking away, "I have ever since I hatched on the streets and never needed help before. I still don't."

He tried to stand and get off the cushion he was on to prove his point, but his legs gave way under him and he sprawled to the floor in a heap. Both the Ice Guardian and the black dragoness went to help him, but he growled fiercely and they backed off.

He tried again and managed to stand, though his legs quivered as though there was an earthquake, and spoke almost challengingly, "See?"

"Your wounds have reopened," Cyril said calmly, and the young dragon noticed the blood dripping from his cracked scabs and leaving droplets of scarlet on the wooden floor.

"I'll be fine," the drake said through gritted teeth, "Where's the exit?"

"You'd be a fool to leave in your state!" Cynder said in disbelief, walking over to him, "I insist you stay, at least until your wounds are healed."

"No," he growled up at the dragoness that towered over him before limping around her and stumbling. He fell flat on his face and slipped back into unconsciousness.

"He...knocked himself out?" the Ice Guardian spoke, shocked, "He won't pass any of the trials if he's this weak, Cynder. Give up this foolishness of bringing him to the Temple, it's no place for a dragon like him."

"Don't lecture me, Cyril," the green-eyed drake told him coldly, picking up the comatose dragon like a mother cat would its child and placing him back on the cushion, "The Temple is dedicated to teaching the brightest minds of the new generation of dragons, and I know that this one is going to do great things there."

"You don't even know his name."

"Then I will ask him when he wakes up," Cynder said simply, curling up around the young dragon, "After all, we did put him in my bed."

Cyril was silent for a moment before he quietly spoke, his voice resigned, "This dragon will not replace your and Spyro's son. And neither will smothering your daughter."

"Don't, Cyril," she warned him, a blaze behind her eyes as she looked at the older dragon, "Just don't."