Flaming Restaurant

There’s one little often overlooked truth about Realm-Jumping that, granted, isn’t that big of a deal. But when you are doing it over and over again for days on end, it becomes a serious problem. Actually, there are two truths that are overlooked, but one is quite easily solved. The first problem is that by constantly Realm-Jumping you are going to end up monstrously famished.

The second and actual real problem was that magic-users, whatever their specialty, talent, use, or field of expertise, their powers tended to begin acting randomly for a time. It wasn’t quite like going haywire, for those mishaps were, most of the time, small enough to be overlooked or insignificant enough to not be noticed in the first place.

“Can you believe that Hunter is going to be a father already?” Spyro asked his companion the moment they walked past the portal connecting the Dragon Shores and wherever Cynder had invited him to.

“I have a hard time imagining mini-Hunters running around all over Avalar. I hope they get Bianca’s brains at least,” Cynder replied, using the moment of peace to stretch. “Is it just me or is saving all the realms more tiresome than usual?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cynder. I feel amazing, it’s not like we’ve been running around without stopping for nearly a week, right?”

“Oh har har, use your sarcasm, you idiot. Really, that suuuure helps,” with an audible pop of her joints all over, she shuddered. “That hits the spot just right,” she said ending with a pleased sigh.

The two dragons stood next to each other for a moment, both standing nearly the same height. Spyro had truly grown over the past years, bulking up but avoiding the pitfall of becoming a muscle-bound brute. He was lean and tough, with an agile build and athletic form. He wore a red scarf hanging from his neck, a saddlebag, and a pair of googles.

At his side, the equally developed Cynder stood proudly, showcasing her attractive and feminine form that was the envy of every dragoness (and a lot of non-dragons as well!) in the Dragon Shores and beyond.

The two began walking side by side after a few moments of contemplation, Spyro allowing Cynder to guide him.

“So… where are you taking me, exactly?” He finally asked.

“Just to a shady, crappy place that smells like something died in it. But I’ll be damned if they don’t sell the best damn steaks I’ve ever tasted. Waaaay better than eating sheep, that’s for sure,” she replied.

“Hey, I like sheep! Buuuut I have to admit they can get a bit stale from time to time. And this place sells meat, legally? Where are we?” Spyro asked, looking around and failing to recognize where he was.

“As I said, shady, crappy place. I stumbled across by accident and I thought it’d be the perfect spot for our date,” she replied.

He gasped. “Cindy! You do care!” They chuckled at his antics before he got more serious. “Hey… I’ve been meaning to ask you. Are you sure you’re cool with what I have with Elora?”

“Oh my gosh, seriously this again? I was the one who pushed you to confess to her in the first place! I think I might be a tad more than ‘cool’ with it,” reaching for his hand, she leaned against him and kissed his cheek. “She’s totally into you, you’re totally into her. What’s wrong with that?”

“But we’re mates?” He pointed out, unsure.

“Hah! Like we ever followed the rules and traditions in the first place!” Using her free hand, she grabbed his chin and looked at him in the eye. “So don’t worry about, Spyro. We can be happy together!”

“Okay, okay, I get it now,” he smiled. “I must be the luckiest dragon alive to have two girlfriends at the same time and they are totally cool with it!”

“Hey, I’m amazing like that, aren’t I?” She replied with dripping smugness. “But I do wonder if you’ll be able to handle us at the same tiiiiime~”

Spyro smirked. “You’re such a tease, Cyndi! I don’t know if Elora taught you that or if it was the other way around,” suddenly, a loud growl was heard. Spyro flinched, placing both hands on his stomach. “Yikes, looks like I’m more hungry than I thought. I could eat three whole sheep right now.”

Another growl was heard, this one coming from Cynder. “You and me both. Damn, why does Realm-Jumping make one so damn hungry?”

Spyro shrugged. “I am neither a scientist nor a wizard, so beats me. But, hey, look at the bright side, we get to eat more!” He laughed, which made Cynder laugh, too.

“I guess you’re right, smartass. Oh! There it is!” She said breaking off into a run. She jumped with the aid of her wings and landed atop a small hill a few dozen meters away from Spyro. “Come take a look!” She shouted.

Spyro followed suit and landed next to his girlfriend. “Wow…” was all he could mutter at first glance.

“Ain’t I right? Is it not the shittiest place you’ve ever laid your eyes upon?” She asked, a grin spreading across her lips.

“That steak must be the best damn thing ever, Cynder,” he replied. No matter how much he looked at the fairly large rectangular shaped tube resting against a forest line, he couldn’t find anything appealing about the place. It didn’t have any sharp angles, it was smooth all over, it was dull, and had an enchanted banner over it that changed colors every few seconds with the words ‘Dinner’ engraved on it. “It’s like looking at Hunter trying to be brave and funny: sad and pitiful.”

“Come on, Spyro. Give it a chance, for me? I promise you’ll love the place! Sure, it looks like a heap of junk, which it is, mind you, but it’s not trying to look pretty. You just eat and you’re done!” She encouraged.

He sighed. “Alright, alright. But only because I love you,” they shared a short-lived kiss before spreading their wings, soaring their way downhill.

When they reached the entrance of the dinner Spyro remained unimpressed. If anything, his already low opinion of the place got lower. As they entered there was a chime to indicate their entering. “At least it looks cleaner than my den,” he complimented as he looked around the place. Dull black and white checkered floor, a few tables organized along the length and with walls of the dinner could be seen, a long service bar occupied most of the centerpiece of the place and it had a row of stools alongside it. It offered generic decorations, a small glass casing that contained pastries, and finally a see-through window behind the service bar where a few people could be seen cooking for the, surprisingly, many customers. There were a few faun does dressed with pink outfits tending to the diners.

One of them approached the couple. “Why hello there, handsome. What brought you and your lovely companion here?” Before any of them could answer, their stomachs made their presence known. She giggled. “Ohhhh right, I see now! Come on, come in! First time visiting us?”

“For me, yeah. My mate here has come a few times already, supposedly,” Spyro answered.

“We’ll take two stools, we ain’t planning on staying for long,” Cynder interjected while holding her stomach tightly. “Sorry for cutting pleasantries short, but I’m starting to feel like my stomach is gonna try to eat itself.”

“Not a problem, ma’am. Please, sit wherever you like, I’ll be with you in a moment,” the waitress indicated to the plenty free stools before rushing to another diner calling for service.

The couple moved to the most secluded part of the service bar. “What did I tell you, not so bad, eh?” Cynder asked after sitting on their stools. “And just smell at that,” she practically moaned before taking in a deep whiff. “You’re going to love it, Spyro.”

“I think I’m already in love,” he said with half-lidded eyes. He had to fight back to prevent drool from escaping his mouth. “Fat, greasy, unhealthy, and flavor rich. Is this what the afterlife really smells like?”

“Hey, you should know~” she teased causing him to chuckle.

“I guess you’re right.” The waitress that had welcomed them returned running from the interior part of the service bar.

“Four big, fat, juicy steaks, please! The bigger and meatier the better!” Cynder ordered before the waitress could open her mouth.

“Cynder, honey, please, you’re drooling,” Spyro pointed out not out of embarrassment but to poke fun at his girlfriend.

“Four big and juuuuicy steaks. Anything else?” She asked.

“Any recommendations?” Spyro questioned.

“Since you’re dragons, and we don’t get many of your kind ‘round these here parts, I think… the hamburgers might be to your liking. We also have beef stew and sprinkled roasted pork,” she offered.

“Ham-bug-gear?” Spyro tried to repeat. “Never heard of them.”

“I’ve never tried them myself, though they’re pretty popular here,” Cynder pointed at a few diners eating hamburgers. “They’re two pieces of bread with meat and some vegetables in between, right?”

“We also have non-meat hamburgers, but yes,” the faun answered.

“Blerrggh, I hate bread. It gets stuck in between the fangs and it's impossible to get it out without fire,” Spyro complained. “Buuuut I’m also curious. Bring me one, please. And a beef stew.”

“Then I’ll also have a hamburger and--aaahhh---aaachhooo!” She sneezed loudly, but thankfully managed to turn away in time. “That was a woozy!” She chuckled and the waitress offered her a fresh handkerchief. “Thanks. Eherm, as I was saying. I’ll take a hamburger and pork ribs, please.”

“Four steaks, two for each one?” They nodded. “Two hamburgers, beef soup, and roasted pork ribs. Anything to drink?”

“Grape juice or anything not water for a change,” Spyro ordered.

“Orange juice for me, please,” Cynder said.

The waitress nodded, writing everything down on a piece of parchment, then left into the kitchen.

While they waited for their food to arrive, the couple talked about various topics until their waitress returned with their drinks, Spyro’s soup and Cynder’s ribs. Just as Cynder was about to dig in, she felt another sneeze coming, but now armed with her handkerchief she was able to cover her snout just in time. Unlike the first time, purple flames came out of her nostrils, seemingly burning the handkerchief in an instant.

Unseen by all, a tiny, nearly imperceptible flame floated through the air, unmolested by anything around it. The waitress nearly hit it, but at the last second turned around when a diner called for her; the sudden shift moving the air just enough to influence the flame to dance its way to the counter window. It moved and swayed around almost graciously. As it was about to land on a bowl of soup, its path was once more forcefully shifted, this time by a hand clinging against a bell. Floating inside the kitchen proper, it made its way to an unsuspecting chef working diligently on a steak plate.

“Where’s the lamb sauce!?” A girl called loudly. “I need the damn lamb sauce for the steak!”

“Here it is, Chef!” An assistant passed him the aforementioned sauce. “Can you believe we’re actually serving Spyro!? THE Spyro!?”

“I didn’t know he had such low standards regarding food~” another faun chef teased.

“I don’t care if he eats his own claw nails! To me he’s another diner and these steaks need to be served pronto! Chop chop! Where are the carrots!?” The first chef replied.

“Boiling good, Chef. They still need two minutes,” another assistant called.

“I know dragons eat a lot, but damn, even for dragons their size isn’t all they ordered a bit too much?” The faun chef asked.

“Hey, watch your mouth. That’s Spyro and his companion Cynder! Heroes of the Realms and beyond! They deserve all theeeooOUCH!” The assistant yelped suddenly, slapping against the back of his neck when something bit him. But when he retrieved his hand, there was nothing there. “Damn mosquitoes.”

“Mosquito season is sooooo fun,” his fellow assistant said with dripping sarcasm.

“Keep working. The night is almost over and I really want to get home and get some shut eye,” the chef argued.

Suddenly, one of the waitresses came rushing from the back. “Hey, need some help here! A boar got inside the fridge and it's getting crazy!”

“What in Ripto’s ass did you say? A darn boar got into the freezer!?” The other chef asked, incredulously.

“Yes! And it might break something if we don’t get it out first!”

The Chef stepped away from the stove and sighed. “Sylvan, come here; take my place. We’ll get the boar out.”

“Are you sure, Chef? I mean, I’d love to finish preparing the meals of such great heroes, but you’re the Chef.” Sylvan asked, failing to hide his excitement.

“They’re almost done. Just make sure they don’t burn, move them to the plates, and dress them. Simple. Now, get over here!” Sylvan nodded as he readjusted his little hat. The Chef then rushed after the waitress followed by the rest of the present staff. 

Only seconds passed for Sylvan to hear the faint cries of the boar and the voices of his companions struggling to catch it. Taking a deep breath to stabilize himself, he slapped his cheeks moments later for further focus. “No biggie, no biggie! The food is basically cooked already, so no need to do anything but put in the last touches,” taking a few steps back to the doors, he peered through one of the windows to see Spyro and Cynder finishing up their first courses while they chatted. “I am so going to ask for their autograph once I finish their steaks!”

Returning to his post, he swiftly armed himself with a spatula to check on their steaks and their burgers. Getting creative, he reached for a spoon and used the boiling fat of the steaks to further enrich the flavor of the burgers. “Oh, they are going to love it!” He clamored, putting the spoon aside, only for it to fall to the ground. Confused, he kneeled down for it. “Strange… I swear I put it back correctly. Eh, who cares.”

Seconds passed and he suddenly felt a bit woozy. “Woah… I think I’m more tired than I thought,” he looked up and chuckled. “Even the ceiling looks a little further than always.” Resolute to make the best dish his heroes deserved, he diligently focused on their meals. The carrots were done and he served them on the plates, followed by preparing the buns, cheese, and lettuce bed for the hamburgers. When he moved to move the meat, he found the stove was closer to his face than before. Not only that, but the spatula felt heavier and his tight, easy grip now felt looser and difficult to maintain.

Preparing the burgers took not much time whatsoever, but he found it strange that by the time he finished the burgers, he was almost the same height as the dressing table.

Great, I’m so tired I’m starting to hallucinate. Well, screw you, brain, because Spyro and Cynder are counting on you to get the best damn meals you can give them! He chastised himself before the smell of perfectly cooked meat finally reached his nostrils. He knew what it meant, but now he could hardly see past the edge of the table. Letting out a disgruntled groan, he flexed his legs and jumped onto the table, disturbing nothing on it. He then moved carefully next to the stove to pull out the steaks using his spatula.

“GGgggrrrr!” He growled as he huffed and puffed, but try as he might, he couldn’t lift the steak using a single arm, not when he could barely maintain a proper hold on the increasingly heavier and larger spatula. Grabbing it with both hands, he was finally able to lift the first slab of meat out of the frying pan and move it to the plate. He turned back to transport the last steak and did so, but with increased difficulty as everything around him got progressively bigger.

When the last piece of meat was served, he tried to move the spatula out of the way, but he found it was way too big and too heavy for him to control normally anymore, so he dropped it. It hit the plate and then fell to the table in between the plates. Wiping his forehead, he suddenly let out a worried cry. “The parsley! Shit, shit, shit!” He then rushed to the crystal container where the dressings were kept. Fortunately for him, the lid was open and he could easily pull one out. “Come on, you!” He cried, his mind focused on finishing his duty and nothing else, yet he struggled to carry the parsley stalk that was half his size over to the first plate.

When he reached the border of the porcelain plate, he tossed the green dressing with all his might, missing the center of the steak by mere centimeters. Satisfied with the result, he rushed back for another stalk. This time he found it much more difficult as now the stalk was as big if not slightly bigger than himself, but light enough for him to carry it until he reached the other plate.

There he found himself with a conundrum. He didn’t have enough strength to toss it like the first one, and the stalk was getting heavier by the second whilst he began to lose his grip on it. He found his solution quickly as he jumped on the spatula’s handle, from them leaping on the plate and using his momentum to do another jump that brought him on top of the steak.

“Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot!” Sylvan yelled as he rushed over to the center of steak. Setting the parsley down, he prepared to run back but what at first looked like a short run through fire now looked like a marathonic sprint. With his legs under the threat of burning, he did the next best thing and jumped onto the parsley, oddly finding refuge on its green stalks now easily the size of a big tree compared to his current size.

Only then did he notice his rather peculiar predicament. “...I must be dreaming!” He shouted, but then he felt the vibrations of steps coming close to him. Looking to the possible source he saw his colleagues returning. The Chef was frowning while the faun chef laughed and his companion shook her head. The waitress said something, but all he heard were boisterous rumbles without meaning, but he could imagine what they were saying. About him, specifically. “HEEEEY! DOWN HERE!” He shouted with all his might and waved his arms around but it was pointless.

The waitress approached and picked up the plates, putting it on the service window. The impact made him fall on his ass before his whole world turned into pain as the bell rang. “AAAAAAAHHHH!” He screamed as he curled up and covered his ears as much as he could. Moments later he nearly fell from his green heaven and onto the scalding hot surface of the cooked meat.

When his senses finally returned to him and the pain of the ringing bell was gone, he opened his eyes to find himself staring up to his heroes, both of them oblivious to his presence. “Spyro! Cynder! HHHEEEEEY! Help! I need some help down here!” He shouted with all his might, but it was all in vain. The two veritable titans in front of him didn’t hear nor noticed him in the slightest. He flinched when Cynder lowered her head to take deep whiffs at her plate. He had to grab onto the parsley for dear life to avoid being sucked by her nostrils, but as quick as she came she pulled back. 

He watched her pick up her fork and knife, but then she sneezed into her hands, the thunderous sound echoing into his ears before, impossibly, a set of toy-sized (from his perspective) fork and knife landed in front of him. He looked up and down between Cynder and the now shrunk utensils, all the while Spyro guffawed at her expense.

“The stung…,” he muttered, realizing what was going on. “It wasn’t a mosquito… was it her magic? W-What happened to me!?” He yelled nearly entering into a panicked state. His line of thought was interrupted by Spyro driving a claw down into the steak, easily cutting through it with his deadly diamond-cutting digit. The heroic dragon then used that same claw to lift a small piece of the steak up and feed it to Cynder.

Sylvan blushed as Cynder not only accepted the gesture but licked and sucked on his finger before she began chewing the meaty treat. Spyro chuckled and took a bite off one of his steaks, salivating as his mouth was flooded with the rich, fatty flavor of the meat. Cynder said something before going for some pepper and salt.

“Hey, it has enough as the recipe says, it doesn’t need anymore!” He shouted, his cooking instincts kicking through the cloud of fear around him. But said fear returned when he saw pepper flakes, easily his size and some twice or bigger than that rain down all over the steak. Not only that, but the salt, baseball-sized grains of death also came down, one striking his left shoulder. “Gaaaah!” He cried, clutching his injured shoulder before rushing for safety under a parsley leaf. “Watch it! What are you trying to do, kill me!?” He snapped angrily.

While the couple continued through their meal, Sylvan was both amazed and terrified at their ravenous appetite. But his problem was only getting larger. Mainly speaking, because he just kept on shrinking with no discernable end to it. “Fuck… a-as long as I don’t get eaten… or hurts too much,” he gulped at the somber thought. “Oh man… oh shit, oh fuck… I’m going to get eaten, aren’t I? Well… at least I’m going to get eaten by Cynder,” he said as he slumped down, tossing his hat away.

He watched as a waitress handed Cynder another set of knife and fork, the two now much bigger and nearly perfectly usable for him and his shrinking size. With little to do other than awai for the inevitable, he decided to watch them eat and have a good time. That thought made him smile. “I couldn’t marry and have kids, but I got to live a pretty good life until now. So I guess this isn’t the worst end possible. I’d rather be eaten by any of you than live under the rule of that asshole Ripto,” he spat the name.

He felt the entire plate rumble as Cynder cut a large, island-sized chunk of meat using the knife and then lift it to her mouth with the fork. He couldn’t help but smile upon seeing her chew it with pure delight and satisfaction. But he was more than miffed when he saw her reach for more pepper and salt. “Either you have no taste buds or like your meat really, really spicy!” He shouted, then looked at Spyro and grinned. “Though, considering who’s your date, I shouldn’t be surprised-OH FUCK!”

His shout came quickly the moment he saw the now tower to castle-sized flakes of pepper drop everywhere around him, his only salvation being the parsley. Shortly thereafter a hail of house-sized boulders of salt landing everywhere. From his newfound unique perspective, he watched as the boulder of salt was quickly eroded and consumed by the juices of the meat and quickly integrated into it.

“So that’s how it works, fascinating,” he whispered to himself. He watched her cut another chunk of meat, equally as big or bigger as the previous one. “I wonder how small I am now. Judging by the grains of salt alone, I must be an ant to an ant right now. But I don’t think I’m getting any smaller. I sure hope I get bigger, though.”

As he finished that line of thought, he watched the jagged and titanic monoliths of the fork running down and pierce the last island of meat he was on. The violent jerk of motion and the sudden change in movement almost made him faint, but he managed to both stay away and cling tighter to the parsley for dear life. The moment he saw the vast maw of Cynder open to reveal her mountain-sized fangs, he knew his time had come.

Just as she was about to close her maw, however, she pulled it out and hope filled his heart. That same hope was destroyed a moment later when he saw Spyo’s colossal face and his maw opening to know what was happening. “It would be so romantic were it not for the fact that I’m here!” He shouted.

Still, he felt a surge of joy spring from his heart. His greatest hero, Spyro, would be the one to unknowingly eat him. To be so close to his idol at a level he couldn’t fathom was a liberating experience. Enough for him to embrace his destiny as his marvel-white mountains closed in around him to deliver him to… not complete darkness, as he’d expected.

Instead, he noticed that Cynder had not completely fed Spyro the whole slab of the steak, or maybe Spyro had been impatient and bit off before time. Regardless of the reason, his mountainous fangs had cut mere inches away from him. With a sudden jerk from below, most likely belonging to his tongue, he was tossed away from his sole lifebuoy up until that point.

After a few seconds of flying, he impacted against one of his mountain-sized fangs and he began sliding down across its surface. This would be fun, kinda like a waterslide, were it not for the fact that I’m being eaten alive! He thought in a panic; every notion of accepting his fate thrown out the window. “Fuck! If I’m going to die, at least I’ll do everything in my power to remain alive for as long as I can!” He promised.

As he slid down the wet polished fang of his hero, he could do little else but stare at the spectacle of his fangs tearing and rending the meat apart. His tongue, surprisingly, swirled around mashing up the chunks of sliced meat into smaller, more manageable sizes. At the same time he found out that despite the strong smell of meat and other cooked scents, he could identify the ash-filled scent of his inner organs. Not to mention his hot and oddly comfortable breath. “It’s like I’m inside a sauna,” he muttered, marveled at his discovery.

It took him a few seconds, given his size, to reach the gums of his fang. Moving in between two fangs he found a temporary refuge while he admired Spyro eating his food. How he sliced it up, mashed it, moved it around to better taste it. How he gulped it down, how his tongue lashed greedily to taste more of the delectable meat dragons treasured so much. He could hear his rumbling stomach and the strain of his powerful muscles with each mouthful he gulped down his gullet.

Sylvan watched, enthralled, for minutes on end, finding refuge on his hiding hole, while Spyro continued to eat. First the steak was gone, followed shortly by a second. Then came the hamburger, their ingredients mashing together and the meat preventing the meat from getting stuck between his fangs, much to his relief. Finally, it was toppled by the gooey texture of a cheese pie, which he was lucky to avoid once more by sheer luck.

But his luck ran out when Spyro opened his maw and a torrent of purple juice, flooding his mouth akin to the wrath of a vengeful God, hit almost everywhere at the same time. That, unfortunately, included him and his hiding spot. The juice hit him and instantly sent him flying back, enraptured in the midst of the lake’s worth of liquid filling his maw. Sylvan swam up, desperate to find that precious air he longed for.

Making it up to the surface, he witnessed a scene that only the most hardy of sailors could endure. Crashing waves, flying pieces of mashed food the size of castles clashing in violent dances, and his tongue acting like a monster; a sea serpent, furiously making the sea angry with its coiling and twisting. He swam to a floating piece of carrot and grabbed onto it. Sadly for him, he’d forgotten where the only possible exit was heading. He was reminded of that all too clearly when he heard the bellowing sound of a cascade.

Laying sight to the black depth of his hero's throat, he saw the lake quickly diminish in a swirling tide that pulled everything down without any hope of escape. He knew swimming was futile. He was doomed. And so, clinging ever harder to his piece of carrot, he closed his eyes a moment before taking a huge mouthful of air. 

The whirlpool of juice caught him a moment after and flung him around a few times before being suddenly pulled down his gullet.

Sylvan awoke moments after the fall. He couldn’t remember much of the actual fall other than that it had been long, dark, and that it smelled like ash and sirloin steak. The moment he hit the ‘ground’ his world turned black. He spent a few minutes going in and out of consciousness until he could finally bring himself up and stay lucid.

The first thing he noticed was where he was. “Whoa… this is unreal. Looks nothing like a stomach. Then again, an ant is a giant to me right now,” he sighed and checked himself quickly to determine he wasn’t fatally injured. He sighed in relief to find nothing more than a few sore spots. After making sure he was okay, he turned his attention to the landscape again.

The gigantic chamber that was Spyro’s stomach was a red, pulsating, oozing dome that housed quite the unique sight. Maybe it was due to his size, but he could see noxious gasses emerging from the vast ocean of stomach acid strong enough to melt bones, gems, and magical beings and artifacts with ease. Unlike the normally yellow or green stomach acid he knew about, Spyro’s was purple like his scales, if not just a notch darker. It gave his stomach chamber a dark, pleasant, and almost welcoming feel to it.

The walls and the ground moved and shifted on their own, slowly producing mucus to protect itself from the acid. He watched, amazed, as every bit of food was dissolved within seconds of contact, breaking it down and opening space for more.

“No wonder they eat so much!” He exclaimed, happy to discover the secret behind their prodigious appetite. Feeling curious, he approached the edge, took off his cooking coat and tossed it to the ocean of acid. It melted almost instantly, leaving nothing behind. “Ooohkay, so exiting that way is a big no-no,” he said, walking away from the edge and going as far as he could. “Damn… now what do I do? I could just jump in and end it… or maybe I could climb?” He asked himself before looking up to the, to him, kilometers high climb. “Maybe not.”

As the night went on, he could vaguely feel the motions of Spyro, his hero, as he walked. He always imagined that travelling inside something much, much larger than yourself would be chaotic, but it turned out to be rather pleasant. “Ha! I bet that’s going to change the moment he starts fighting. It’ll be like having a front row! Wish I could see the actual fight, though.”

Minutes turned into hours with the slow clicking of time. He tried climbing the warm, pulsating stomachal walls and found it surprisingly easy to do despite the mucus coating it. Sadly, after reaching a certain altitude that for him was a few hundred meters above ground, he couldn’t climb any further. The texture of the mucus changed and it became much more slippery. He slipped down along the wall until he reached the ground. Bereft of ideas to escape, he sat and watched Spyro’s internal ocean.

Sylvan couldn’t manage to sleep, his mind was focused on one thing only: his survival.

“Well… it looks like I’m stuck. I can’t escape that way, I can’t go back up. What the heck am I going to do now?” He sighed. Suddenly, the sound of grumbling and the hallowing sound of something falling caught his ear. Looking up, he saw pieces of pancakes the size of small islands and houses fall over the place. Most landed on the ocean, but some bits landed all over the place. It was soon followed by pieces of what was once a sandwich and blueberries.

Sylvan stood up, determined. “If I can’t get out, then I might as well survive. Maybe I can find a way to escape or wait whatever Cynder’s flames did to me fades out of my system. Maybe if that happens Spyro will let me out before anything bad occurs,” he shuddered at the many, many gruesome ideas coursing through his mind. Going to the nearest pile of mostly intact pancake, he pridelessly began eating from it.

Surviving was going to be difficult, but he was confident he could manage it. And if not, then his end would be, at least, fairly quick. And there was also his inner fanboy, happy at the thought of being closer to his hero in a literal sense than anyone could ever even imagine.

***********************************************
-One year later-

Sylvan awoke to the sound of falling food. Breakfast had been served and he was hungry. Slipping open the pouch of flesh he’d carefully fashioned over his stay, he descended down the warm, smooth, and vibrating flesh of his hero with practised ease. His clothes had eroded away and his entire body was covered in a sheet of mucus to help protect him. It also acted as a fantasting isolating solution to keep himself clean.

He had changed a lot during that last year. He was bigger, not in size, but in musculature. Turns out that when it comes to surviving with not many places to travel and things to do, the biggest threat is boredom. But he had done it. He’d adapted to live inside Spyro’s stomach, nestling himself high above ground, away from the ocean, inside a carved patch of flesh many times his size in which he could sleep safely and hide whenever things got agitated.

It wasn’t a bad life nor a good life. He was surviving and he longed for freedom, but until that day arrived, he’d endure.

Whilst he feasted on a delectable piece of sandwich, ham, some surviving cucumber and lettuce, he failed to notice the scales slowly growing all over his body.

The end.