//------------------------------//
// Special Chapter: The One With Spike In It 
// Story: The Nightmare Knights Become A Band 
// by SwordTune 
//------------------------------//

“Once we’re in, you can’t use your fire. At all. Not a spark. Understood?”
Ember held the Bloodstone Scepter above her head, its reddish light bathing the mouth of the cave so that the stone appeared like flesh. The maw of stone, though immobile and waiting, threatened to swallow the two dragons whole.
“Are you sure this is the right cave?” Spike stepped back. “When you said it had historical importance, I was thinking it’d be more like a museum. The small and manageable kind.”
“You’re an ambassador, aren’t you?” Ember quizzed him. “I thought it was your job to go on crazy adventures like these.” 
“I prefer quiet meetings and reviewing reports.”
But he was still here to do a job. Spike eventually swallowed his fear and followed Ember through the mouth of the cave. He thought it would be a simple mission to go to the Dragonlands and help Ember prepare reservoirs to collect rainwater. He blamed himself for forgetting what dragons were like. Nothing came easily.
The volcanic soil in the Dragonlands made the perfect farmland. The catch was that they had nowhere to store their water. There were plenty of lakes and rivers of lava, but that was also the problem. The land itself was in constant motion. Bubbling gasses trapped under the surface constantly cracked through the rocky surface. And a single fight over a horde of gemstones was enough to send stone pillars crumbling down.
The land was flat, barren, and cracked apart. As Ember put it when Spike arrived, the choices she had left felt like picking a number between one and two. According to her, the cave they were entering was the only place big enough, and more importantly stable enough, to become a reservoir.
“Spike, can I ask you a question?” Ember turned to him as they flew deeper into the cave.
“Sure, anything to forget about how dark and deep this cave is.”
“Have you heard of the Six World Eaters? Are there books about them in Equestria?” 
“World Eaters?” Spike quivered, staying close to Ember and relying on the Bloodstone Scepter’s light. “I don’t think so. And I’d remember something like that.”
Ember clicked her tongue with disappointment. “That’s what Twilight said too in her letters.”
“Why do you ask?” Spike checked over his shoulder. “They wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with this cave, would they?”
“Well…” Ember said, dragging out her voice. “Maybe? Do you remember the story of Dragonlord Scintilla?”
Spike nodded and recounted what he still knew. “She led dragons to the Dragonlands after signing a peace treaty with Prince Ulysses and the yaks. And she was the first creature ever to be an Honorary Yak.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Ember said. She stretched out the sceptre, following the faint light it cast on the cave walls until they reached a bend in the tunnel. It curved but luckily did not fork. “But it might not be the whole story.”
“Twilight made me read a lot of history books,” Spike said, “and that’s usually the case with history.”
“Dragons don’t have a good record of our history, not the way ponies do for theirs,” she admitted. “Dragons live for a long time. My father was already an adult by the time Equestria united into a single kingdom. Writing history down seems a lot less important when you were there for it a thousand years ago.”
“Twilight would have a heart attack if she heard that kind of thinking,” Spike chuckled. 
Ember somberly continued gliding. “The story of Scintilla was one of the oldest ones we remember. For the longest time, we thought it answered all our questions of how we got here. But after all the questions Twilight keeps sending me to learn more about dragons, I’m starting to think that’s not true anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“She sent me books about comparative mythology. She wanted to know if dragons have any myths. And we do.”
“The Six World Eaters?”
Ember nodded. “They’re named after the first of their kind, Djormunsormir, the Great Serpent that surrounds all of Equestria. Each of the World Eaters has their own stories, but in the end, they all make their resting place in a far off land. And in each story, that land is prophesied to become the homeland of dragons.”
She paused, stretching her wings out to catch more air and flapping hard to stay in one place. “Before we go on, I should be clear about this. I need to know if this cave is one of those resting places.”
Spike was stunned. “Like a grave? We’re searching for a dragon grave?”
“Not exactly.” She waved the sceptre above their heads, pointing to the walls of the cave. Spike couldn’t see what she was showing him at first, but as his eyes adapted to the darkness, he saw the pattern of dragon scales embedded in the sediment and the shadows of impressions left by bone. “According to the myths, we’re inside a dragon grave.”





“The World Eaters are part of old myths that predate everything about dragons, even Scintilla. For the longest time, dragons believed it was Scintilla that discovered the Dragonlands, along with Prince Ulysses. But based on the books Twilight sent me, creatures in Equestria knew about the Dragonlands thousands of years before Scintilla is even mentioned.”
“That’s all very interesting. I’m sure Twilight would love to hear more.” Spike was flying around in panicked circles. “But I’m not Twilight! Why are we in the fossilized remains of a mythical dragon?”
“Is it mythical?” Ember asked, her tone growing frustrated. “Because I’m stuck on a big question. This grave has been a beacon for our people. We used to believe she made this land our home because she realized it was the land from the prophecies. But if ancient history has known about this place before Scintilla did, then how can we be sure the myths aren’t just stories about big dragons who happened to move here before Scintilla did?”
She sighed and pressed her claws up to her temples. “Do you even know the name of this cave?”
“Twenty minutes ago, I didn’t even know this place was important!” Spike threw his claws up, giving up in trying to rationalize his position. 
“We call it Nithogir’s Rest,” Ember crossed her arms. “I’ll cut out the details. The gist of Nithogir’s myth is that he laid himself to rest as a sacrifice, using his blood to release all magic into the earth. Eventually, the prophecy said a powerful magical tree would sprout from his blood, accumulating power and feeding Nithogir until he could rise again and conquer the world.”
“So he sacrificed himself… to himself?” Spike gawked. “Hold on, the magical tree, that almost sounds like—”
“I know what it sounds like,” Ember snapped. “That’s not the point. Nithogir’s story is important to our people, Spike. Dragons can’t use magic like unicorns, but we knew it existed and Nithogir was how we explained it.”
She pointed her claw to the cave’s ceiling. “What I need to know is if this is really him. If that story is wrong, then this mythical cave might just be a cave. One big enough to hold all the water we’d ever need.”
Ember breathed heavily, both from getting so worked up and being so deep underground. She slowed her wings and descended down to a ledge on the cave walls, setting her sceptre down. She cupped her face in her claws and released a long, croaking sigh into them. Spike thought she almost sounded like a boiling teapot with too much pressure built up inside.
“Are you okay?” He sat down beside her.
Ember nodded. “You’re the only one I can say all this to. Twilight wouldn’t understand, ponies don’t know what the World Eaters represent to us. And dragons can’t even agree over it. Conservationists want to protect our culture, but the Progressives want to forget about our past and build something new.”
“So, we’re just looking for something that will tell you if this cave was made by Nithogir’s…” he paused and shuddered. “Something made by Nithogir’s remains, right?”
Spike steeled his nerves, flapped his wings, and hovered before Ember, wearing a big grin on his face. “I might not be good at being a dragon, but if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s finding things. Books, gemstones, you name it.”
Ember lifted her head and smiled, picking up her sceptre and slowly flying ahead of Spike again. “I don’t know what I’ll do if it turns out this thing is the real deal. But I have to try, at least. I have to know its true value before I decide. Come on, we gotta pick up the pace if we want to find any clues.” She waved the sceptre around. “By the looks of it, I’m pretty sure we haven’t made it out of the throat yet.”
“Seriously?” Spike gawked. “Just how big was this dragon?”





Nithogir’s Rest, whether or not it could be called mythical, was definitely marvellous. Spike still recoiled at the sight of the impression it had left behind, but he couldn’t help but be impressed at the same time. Where the ribcage would have pressed into the ground, deep gutters had formed. The scales had long decayed and crumbled into dust, but not before leaving their pattern in the pumice and obsidian.
“What are we looking for, exactly?” he asked. “How are we going to find anything that will tell us if this is really Nithogir?”
Ember waved the sceptre around her, holding it inches from the cavern walls. “It’s called the Bloodstone Sceptre for a reason. Legends say the first Dragonlord captured a unicorn magician and forced him to perform his alchemy, transmuting a powerful gemstone using the blood of the World Eaters. I’m not a magic expert, but I think the sceptre should react to the blood it was made from.”
“I thought it got its name from the colour.” Spike stared at the sceptre with a great deal of disgust and a little awe mixed in.
“There are many versions of the legend,” Ember said. “Who knows? Maybe it is just a red rock.”
Spike did his best to look for signs in the stone walls. Not all of the cave was made from the body of the dragon. Stalactites dangled from the ceiling, while puddles of naturally formed acid had gradually eroded divets and holes in the bottom of the cavern. Despite the sunless depths, there was still life in the cave. Small insects, nearly unnoticeable because of their pale forms, skittered across the stone walls. They gathered around acrid-smelling slimes, festering on the bacteria moulds that managed to survive without sun or fresh air.
The grand and the decrepit, the marvellous and the putrid, their clashing made Spike unsure what to think about the landmark. For Ember’s sake, he didn’t want to find anything. It would be easy for a few big dragons to start smashing in the top of the cave, collapsing it and using the remaining space as one giant lake. But the possibility of uncovering a true dragon legend was just as exciting. What that would mean for dragons and dragon heritage, he had no idea. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to find out.
They finally stopped once they reached about where the lungs would have been. Below them, the cave sunk even deeper, the stomach of the dragon seeming to double the cavern’s size.
“No fire,” Ember reminded him. She held out the sceptre, but wherever the bottom of the cavern was, it wasn’t remotely close enough to catch the red glow from the gemstone. 
Spike nodded. He had been around Twilight long enough to guess why. Nithogir or not, the dragon’s body had been around for thousands of years. Countless centuries of decomposition by bacteria, gradually building up more and more natural gas. They had no way of knowing how much, or how violent the reaction could be. But at the worst, a single spark could rupture the entire cavern and bring hundreds of tonnes of volcanic stone crumbling down on them.
With no other source of light, Spike followed Ember down into the bowels of the cavern.
“Tell me more about our myths. Who were the other World Eaters?”
“Interested? Guess you’re still a dragon at heart.” Ember smiled.  “Well, my favourite story is the one about Gandr. Her true name isn’t known, so ‘Gandr’ is more like a title or a nickname, and it meant ‘monster’ during the time of the ancient yaks.”
“She was a monster? That’s not very inspiring.”
Ember shrugged. “Maybe to a yak or pony. But dragons tell her story so much we even have other names for her. She’s the Pale Dragon, the Trickster Queen, or the Iron Gatekeeper.”
“Of course,” Spike sighed, but he let her continue.
“She was actually the smallest of all the World Eaters, somewhere between you and me, in terms of height. Worse still, she was born disfigured. Her scales were thin and nearly colourless, her tail was crooked and her bony wings were like paper. The legends say she looked like a frosted glass window and was just as fragile.”
“If she was so weak, what did she do to get a myth?”
“At first, not much. Even as an adult, she was treated like a child among the other dragons. She was an outcast for being born weak, but at least no one paid attention to her. That was until the dragons realized they weren’t winning their wars. In the story, after a long string of losses, one of the dragons got the idea that Gandr was a curse, like a bad luck charm or something, and they needed to get rid of her.” 
The Dragonlord paused her searching, holding the sceptre up to Spike so that they could see each other clearly in the cavern. “The other dragons were desperate, so they agreed,” she said. She spoke quickly now, caught up in her retelling. “They put her in a cage, but she melted the locks. Then they trapped her in a cave with a boulder, but she was so small she slipped through the cracks. On the third try, they were so frustrated that they just threw her into the deepest hole they could find.”
“I don’t think I’m going to like the next part,” Spike leaned back, bracing himself.
“Probably not.” Ember chuckled. She grabbed a pebble off the ground and tossed it into a puddle of acrid water to illustrate the tale. “After escaping their prisons, the dragons became convinced Gandr was a curse. They feared and hated her just for how she was born and so they imprisoned her in a hole so deep she could never fly out no matter how hard she tried.”
“What kind of hole is that deep?”
Ember looked at Spike with a funny expression.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing, I just thought you’d figure it out since it’s in Equestria,” she told him. “That hole was Tartarus.”
Spike’s face turned pale. “Oh.”
“But Gandr refused to die. Hated by her kind, treated like a monster by every living thing, her madness and anger manifested into something impossible. In the depths of Tartarus, she learned the secrets of harnessing the spirits of the damned. Whenever an earthquake happens, that’s Gandr trying to claw her way out. Whenever a child thinks they see a ghost, that’s Gandr’s will taking form, sent to the surface to collect the dead for her army of revenge.”
Spike eyed the Dragonlord with mild concern. He didn’t know what to expect, but he never imagined that dragons would have a myth for death itself. “Wait, you said the World Eaters all ended up in the Dragonlands in their stories,” he noted. “Tartarus is in Equestria.”
“Well, the entrance to Tartarus is in Equestria,” Ember said, “but doesn’t it stretch all the way down?”
Spike shrugged. “No one really knows much about the place. Celestia just used it to put away monsters and villains.”
“Well, most dragons believe Tartarus is underneath the whole world, so by being in Tartarus, she’s also under the Dragonlands. Every volcano eruption is her rage, every earthquake is her getting closer to the surface to reclaim what is hers.” She probably did not realize it, but Ember’s eyes were wide and gleaming from the light of the sceptre, with an excited grin from horn to horn. “Gandr might have been born with nothing, but in her hollow home she swore that eventually, everything would belong to her.”
Spike took a deep breath, which was hard to do so deep in the cave, trying to process everything he had heard. It seemed like every time he visited the Dragonlands, he was reminded of how unlike a dragon he was. He had no clue what dragon culture was like. Like a pony, he thought that most dragons had a one-track mind. Eat gems, fight, and sleep.
But myths made up a culture. His people’s beliefs and views of how the world worked were completely alien to him. Spike kicked around a loose stone, lost in thought now and barely searching for any trace of Nithogir. Did it even matter? He touched the rough pattern on the cave floor. Even with sediment deposits building up, he could still see the impression left by the leathery belly of the dragon. Whoever it was, World Eater or not, it was an important place. Was it worth it, to replace a place of heritage with a reservoir just so the Dragonlands could be more like Equestria?
“What is it, did you find something?” Ember raised the sceptre over Spike’s head and looked around. The red glow reflected off the rocks, where water had condensed against the cold surface, but there was no real reaction to the sceptre’s magic.
“It’s nothing,” Spike said. “I just realized that I might want to be more like a dragon.”





Spike grunted as Ember pulled him up, back to the surface. His wings were totally spent after hours of searching, and he realized he had forgotten what fresh air smelled like. Even the Dragonlands’ air, choked with volcanic fumes and ash, smelled better than the acrid, stagnant chambers.
He felt as though he’d never be clean. He had just combed over every crack and crevice of a dragon’s grave, and worse still, they had nothing to show for it. Ember seemed lighter, however. The Bloodstone Sceptre never reacted to anything in the caves, let alone some supposed piece of a legendary World Eater.
Still, Spike couldn’t shake the feeling that it was still an impressive resting place. He imagined the former Dragonlord standing beside them. Ember’s father was a behemoth of a dragon, but he was still dwarfed by Nithogir’s Rest. 
“Ember,” he started, “I was wondering—”
A roar cut off Spike as a pair of wings blocked out the sun, violently kicking up a gust of ash from the rocks around the cave. A brown-scaled dragon, a fully grown adult and at least ten times bigger than Ember glided down and perched on a crag of obsidian. A small host of smaller dragons, younger adults, followed suit and stood beside him.
“Dragonlord!” the brown one boomed. “What are you doing here?”
“My job, Stoneplitter.” Ember stepped forward, facing the dragon’s challenge with the Bloodstone Sceptre tightly clenched in her claws. “You should be doing yours, back in the Ash Citadel. I’ve already heard all about your complaints, but I still need to survey Nithogir’s Rest in the event we do bring it down.”
“That option is not on the table, whelp.” The dragon’s voice dimmed from a roar to a hiss as his head, affixed to a serpentine neck, lowered down to glare at Ember in the eyes. “Your father respected our traditions. He should have taught you better.”
“I know the stories, but they’re just that,” Ember responded immediately. “If Nithogir was ever real, he lived too long ago to even matter. No dragon alive can even remember a shred of the truth.”
“The Bloodstone Sceptre...” Stoneplitter began.
“Did nothing,” Ember said. “If Nithogir’s Rest was so important, the Bloodstone should have reacted to something that he left behind. But there’s no magic here. No legendary artefact. It’s just a sad, empty hole in the ground. The Progressives are right, this place is a monument to nothing but our own stagnation.”
“You snivelling brat! The Progressive are a collection of upstart whelps. They think they have the respect of the world, but the ponies have us in their pockets. You’ve neutered us by banning our raids for gemstones. We pawn off our scales and our labour, doing business like common ponies toiling in the mud. And now you’re destroying our heritage to appeal to a bunch of ponies! A dragon doesn’t get given respect, he takes it for himself.”
“It’s a good thing this dragon is in charge, then,” Ember replied, flying higher to establish her position over Stonesplitter. “And she says it is time to move on and become a part of the world. We won’t survive on might alone.”
“You won’t,” the brown dragon growled. 
Spike decided the snarling of the two dragons was a good sign that it was time for him to step in. He jumped between them, his claws outstretched to push them apart, though he was barely larger than a pebble compared to the adult. 
“What is this?” Stonesplitter smirked. “That pony-loving whelp? This is a matter of dragon heritage, boy. You do not get a say.”
“I’m a dragon too,” Spike said, ignoring the insult, “and I agree with you.” 
“You… what?” Both Ember and Stoneplitter flashed their fangs at Spike, more out of surprise than anything else.
“I know I wasn’t born here, but hearing the stories about the World Eaters, and then seeing how big Nithogir’s Rest is, I can’t help but feel connected to it. This place might not have the magic powers from the legends, but it does have a power. I can’t explain it, but it calls to me like it’s telling me this is what it means to be a dragon whenever I look at it.” 
He gestured to Ember. “But the Dragonlord is also right. Being able to grow crops and export them to Mount Aris and Equestria during their winter seasons will make the Dragonlands an essential part of the world. You’ll actually have an economy and be able to buy all the gems you want from the Crystal Empire.”
“Spike, what are you trying to say?” Ember asked. “We can’t grow crops without a reservoir for rain.”
“But it does just have to be a reservoir, does it?” Spike suggested. “What I’m saying is that Nithogir’s Rest doesn’t have to be destroyed, it can be transformed. You can make it a reservoir, but you can also make it a national monument at the same time. It’ll be something creatures all over the world will come to see to learn about dragon culture and history. I can’t think of anything more respectful than making Nithogir’s story more well-known.”
The Dragonlord and Stonesplitter both fell silent, and then looked at each other. There was still tension between them, but it seemed diminished now. 
“You want to make this place into some kind of museum?” Ember asked.
“That sounds like what a pony would do,” Stonesplitter said. “And it can go wrong in a dozen ways. There’s no telling what might happen to the caves if you mess with it. It could all come down and be destroyed anyway.”
“Enough,” Ember said and raised her Sceptre. “If this is what Spike thinks is best, I will take his advice and consider the new option. For now, this discussion is settled.”
“Settled? Ha!” The brown dragon barked a fierce laugh. “I’m not the only Conservationist in the Dragonlands. I hope Caldera gives you an earful when she hears about you sniffing around here.”
“That’s for me to deal with, Stonesplitter. For now, go back to the Ash Citadel and do your job.” The Bloodstone Sceptre glowed, and suddenly the grown dragon, confident in his stance and power, shrunk away.
“As you will it, Dragonlord,” he grumbled disgruntledly.
The dragon took off, the confident beating of his wings now reduced to a humble fluttering. The other younger adults looked at their leader, and then among themselves as if questioning whether they should follow or stay and try to make their own arguments. Eventually, they all flew off, trailing behind Stonesplitter.
“Do you think we can do it in time?” Ember asked Spike. “Can we really transform Nithogir’s Rest into a monument and a reservoir?”
“If enough dragons agree to work on it, I don’t see why not,” Spike said. “We can keep part of the caves intact, maybe the head and neck, and have kiosks by the entrance with information pamphlets. Oh! And maybe we can have boat rides down the tail once it turns into a river. ”
Ember chuckled at his enthusiasm. Even though he was sent just as an advisor, she felt reassured seeing Spike take such an interest in his heritage. She was glad he found a compromise. Pushing for the reservoir made sense to Ember, but she still couldn’t deny that feeling Spike described, as if just by looking at the imprint left behind by a dragon made her feel like she belonged in the Dragonlands.
Like a dog leaving its mark on its territory. Ember fought to control a snicker. It sounded so basic, but it was powerful. Dragons didn’t have many symbols to call their own.
“I have a question, though,” Spike asked, his voice pulling Ember out of her thoughts. “That thing you mentioned, what’s the Ash Citadel?”
“That? Oh, it’s nothing special,” she answered. “Just a small dragon colony I’m trying to build out in that desert south of Equestria.” 
“A dragon colony?” Spike stood stiff, eyes wide at Ember. “Since when did dragons have a colony?”
“Months ago? Maybe a year?” Ember shrugged. “I don’t know and I’m tired, Spike. I’m just going to have to explain it another time.”