He thinks often of his youth, of his parents, and he sometimes wonders how different his life would have been had he not allowed his sire to pollute his mind. He doubted he would have grown to be so racist, a murderer of anything different, if he had stayed with his dam. Yet he cannot dwell - he has lived his life how he has, and would not change it for anything. He was forced to grow up fast with his father's teachings, and perhaps that aided him throughout the following years. He dreams often of his mother, but more often than not it transforms into a nightmare, where the woman is screaming as a unicorn stallion has his way with her. He always wakes in a cold sweat, but once the fog of unconsciousness lifts, he wonders if it was wishful thinking rather than a nightmare - it hurts far more that Soleil gave herself willingly to the horned beast.

Cynder rests on his back, asleep - she only ever sleeps on him or near him, lacking the aloof side that some dragons possess. He enjoys the heat of her scaled body against his flesh, but winces occasionally as her hanging flame-tail rustles against the tender underside of his leg, leaving scorch marks in its wake. His massive hooves clop gently against the hard ground, echoing through the tunnels to preceed the leviathan's movements. As he walks he hears a voice, one that sets his blood to freezing and his heart fluttering like a newborn bird in his thick chest; it's her. His mother. After nigh on six years without her, she is here - and, judging by the lonely warbles of her voice, she is alone. He doesn't recognise the names she mentions, save for Paladin's and his own - he wonders if they are her children, her mongrel offspring, and the thought fills him with an emotion he cannot process.

At the sound of his troubled thoughts, Cynder snaps awake, and scurries up Tyradon's muscular neck to play with his mane in a way she knows comforts him. After eight years with her bonded, she is aware of the turmoil he has faced with his family, and he knows without her saying that she is there for him. Slowly he walks towards his dam, until his eyes can rest on her - she looks just like she did when she had him, although she must be older than a decade now. "Cael," he says, his voice booming through the caves. How could she have forgotten her secondborn son, the beast's oldest and closest brother? He approaches her tenatively, noting that he is now taller than her - it seems like just yesterday that he was a colt barely reaching her knee. He reaches out his scarred muzzle, blowing softly out of his nostrils as he seeks to touch it to her own. "Mother," he greets, a sudden expression of warmth taking over his handsome features to replace their normally stoic facade. "It's been too long." Cynder peers between his ears, humming gently.