Chapter Text
The sun bled gold and crimson across the horizon of Skylands, painting the undersides of the floating islands in hues of fire and fading daylight. For most, it was a time to wind down, to gather for supper and share stories of the day. For Snowy, it was the loneliest hour.
From her perch on the windowsill of the Bright Meadow Orphanage, the small, four-foot Kittigon watched the other children in the yard below. A boisterous game of Skystones was underway, the clatter of the pieces and the triumphant shouts echoing up to her. Mabu children with nimble fingers flicked their stones, while a young Greeble excitedly hopped up and down, his long ears flapping. They were a kaleidoscope of shapes and sizes, all united in their fun. All united in their complete ignorance of the blue and cream-furred cub watching them with a heavy heart.
Snowy sighed, her breath fogging the glass for a moment. Her round, freckled face was reflected back at her, her large, curious yellow eyes looking far more melancholy than they ought to. She tried to join their games, she really did. But her boundless energy, her tendency to narrate every action as if it were part of an epic saga, and the fact that she walked on four paws while most of them walked on two, created an invisible wall. She was “weird.” She was “too much.” She was the geeky cub who’d rather talk about the legendary battles of the Giants than the latest gossip from Skylander Academy.
A small, worn book lay open on the sill beside her, its pages filled with illustrations of heroic Skylanders. Her favorite was a detailed drawing of Knight Light, his crystalline armor shimmering. She traced the outline of his Traptanium lance with a clawed paw, her mind a swirl of fantasy. To be a hero… to have a grand destiny, a place where her oddities were not just accepted, but celebrated. Where being a headstrong, quick-thinking cat-dragon was an asset, not a social hindrance.
“Snowy! Supper time!” The call came from Matron Gildwing, a kindly but perpetually flustered bird-like creature whose feathers ruffled with every minor inconvenience. “And get your nose out of that book! It’ll rot your brain, all that nonsense about magic and monsters.”
Snowy’s ears drooped. Nonsense. To her, it was everything. She pushed the book gently under her small cot and padded toward the door, her tail tuft dragging slightly on the wooden floor. Supper would be the same as always. Loud chatter she wasn't a part of, shared jokes she didn't understand, and the crushing weight of being utterly alone in a crowded room.
Tonight, something snapped. A quiet, determined little spark ignited in her chest. Flash, her best and only friend, was visiting his father, Blasthorn, for the week. Without the calm, rational presence of the gentle manticore to ground her, Snowy's impulsive nature took the wheel. She wasn't going to sit through another lonely meal. She was an adventurer. And adventurers, she knew from her books, didn't wait for adventure to find them. They sought it out.
Her plan was simple, born of a fourteen-year-old’s blend of cleverness and recklessness. She ate her stew quickly and quietly, ignoring the lively conversation around her. Then, feigning a headache, she got permission from Matron Gildwing to retire to her room early.
“See? Too much reading,” the matron clucked, though her eyes were soft with concern. “Get some rest, dear.”
Once the dormitory was empty, save for the rhythmic breathing of sleeping orphans, Snowy made her move. The Whispering Woods bordered the orphanage grounds. It was a place of legends, of ancient trees that were said to murmur secrets on the wind. The other children were terrified of it, a fact that only made it more alluring to Snowy. With the skill of a character from one of her stories, she nudged her window open with her head, squeezed her short, round body through the gap, and landed with a soft *thump* on the perfectly manicured lawn below.
Freedom. The air tasted different out here—thicker, sweeter, scented with night-blooming moonpetals and damp earth. She cast one last look back at the warm, glowing windows of the orphanage, a place that was both her prison and her only home. A pang of guilt twisted in her gut, but the thrill of the unknown quickly squashed it. Tonight, she wasn't Snowy the orphan. She was ‘Snowy the Intrepid,’ charting the unknown territories of the Whispering Woods.
Her four paws padded silently across the grass, the soft ground a welcome change from the hard wooden floors. She easily slipped through a gap in the old stone wall that separated the orphanage from the wilderness, and instantly, the world changed. The manicured lawn gave way to a tangled undergrowth of ferns and gnarled roots. The gentle evening breeze became a series of distinct, rustling murmurs that seemed to flow from the trees themselves. The air grew cooler, carrying the scent of pine and decay. It was magnificent.
“Okay, Snowy the Intrepid,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely disturbing the quiet. Her yellow eyes, now wide with excitement, darted everywhere. “First expedition. Objective: locate the mythical Sunken Glade of the Glimmering Moss. According to legend, its glow can reveal one's true destiny.”
There was, of course, no such legend. She’d just made it up. But saying it aloud made it feel real, made her feel like a real hero on a real quest.
She trotted deeper into the woods, her natural curiosity overriding any sense of caution. Her busy mind, so often a source of social awkwardness, was now in its element. She saw a strange, twisting vine and cataloged it as a ‘Constrictor of the Gloom.’ A patch of glowing mushrooms became ‘Fungal Lanterns of the Elder Fae.’ She was so engrossed in her world-building, so focused on the fantasy swirling in her head, that she failed to notice the ground becoming steeper, the moss beneath her paws slicker with evening dew.
Her front paw slipped first.
“Whoa!” she yelped, scrabbling for purchase. Her claws scraped uselessly against a wet, smooth stone. Her momentum carried her forward, and the gentle slope she’d been traversing abruptly became a steep, treacherous hill. The world became a dizzying, terrifying blur of green and brown. She tumbled head over paws, a flurry of blue and cream fur rolling uncontrollably downward. Branches whipped at her, leaves stuck to her mane, and the grand adventure suddenly felt very, very real and incredibly painful.
*Thump.*
She landed hard at the bottom of the hill, the wind knocked out of her. For a moment, she just lay there, a dazed heap of fur and bruised pride, blinking at the canopy of leaves far above. Stars were beginning to prick the darkening sky.
“Okay,” she groaned, shaking her head to clear it. “Note to self… Adventurers should probably watch where they’re going.”
She pushed herself up, wincing as a dull ache throbbed in her shoulder. She seemed to be in a small, shadowy clearing. The air here was thick and stagnant, carrying a cloying, sickly-sweet smell, like rotting fruit. Strange, pulsating pods, the size of her head, littered the ground, connected by a network of thick, thorny vines.
A low hiss slithered through the air.
Snowy froze. Her ears swiveled, trying to pinpoint the source. Another hiss answered the first, this one closer. One of the pods near her feet trembled, then split open with a wet tearing sound. A creature made of writhing green vines and tipped with a maw of razor-sharp thorns unfolded itself, its form a grotesque mockery of a Chompy. It fixed two glowing red spots, its eyes, on her.
Snowy’s heart hammered against her ribs. This wasn’t a ‘Constrictor of the Gloom.’ This was real.
All around the clearing, more pods burst open. One, two, then five, then a dozen of the plant monsters, which she would later learn were called Vine Snappers, rose from the earth. They rustled and hissed, their thorny bodies twitching as they began to close in, forming a hungry, contracting circle around the terrified Kittigon.
“Uh… nice… nice plant doggies?” she stammered, backing away slowly. Her back bumped into a large, un-hatched pod. “I’m, uh… a friend to all things green! I'm a big fan of photosynthesis!”
One of them lunged, its thorny maw snapping shut inches from her nose. She yelped and scrambled back, her heroic bravado evaporating into pure, undiluted panic. Her mind raced. *Ice powers! Do something!* She took a deep breath, puffed out her chest, and blew as hard as she could.
A pathetic little cloud of frost, barely enough to chill a glass of water, drifted out and dissipated harmlessly on the monster’s vine-hide. A few sparkly snowflakes fluttered down and melted. The Vine Snapper just hissed, seemingly annoyed.
“Okay, new plan,” she squeaked, her voice trembling. “Run!”
But there was nowhere to run. The circle was complete. They were shuffling closer, their rustling vines sounding like a thousand knives being sharpened. The air crackled with their malevolent energy. Snowy squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable. This was it. This was how the grand adventure of Snowy the Intrepid ended—not with a heroic last stand, but as a midnight snack for a bunch of killer salads.
Suddenly, a voice, smooth as silk and sharp as obsidian, cut through the tense air.
“Well, now. This simply will not do.”
Snowy’s eyes snapped open. Standing on a low-hanging branch just above the clearing was a figure silhouetted against the rising moon. He was sleek, cat-like, and dressed in a dark purple thief's ensemble. A bandit's mask covered the top half of his face, but there was no mistaking the smug, predatory grin or the piercing light-blue eyes that seemed to glow in the gloom.
“An audience of uncultured vegetables preparing to devour the only spectator?” the figure continued, his tone one of theatrical disappointment. He leaped down from the branch, landing in the center of the clearing with the silent grace of a falling shadow. “The sheer lack of showmanship is appalling.”
It was Nightshade, the infamous Doom Raider of the Darkness element. Snowy had read all about him. A villain. A master thief. A performer of criminal artistry. The Vine Snappers shifted their attention to the newcomer, hissing with renewed aggression.
Nightshade paid them no mind, his gaze still fixed on Snowy. “No, no, this is all wrong. The lighting is dreadful, the stage is a mess, and the extras are painfully unconvincing.” He gestured dismissively at the plant monsters. “Honestly, who did your casting?”
One of the larger Vine Snappers charged, its thorn-maw wide. Nightshade didn’t even flinch. With a lazy flick of his wrist, a fan of what looked like solid shadow blades shot out, slicing the creature into a pile of wilting vegetation that dissolved into purple dust.
“See?” he said to Snowy, as if giving a lecture. “No dramatic tension. No witty retort before the inevitable demise. It’s just… crude.”
Snowy could only stare, her jaw hanging open.
“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Nightshade sighed, stretching theatrically. “The premiere of my latest heist is later this evening, and I simply *must* make an entrance.”
What happened next was not a fight. It was a performance.
Nightshade vanished. Not run, not jump. He simply dissolved into the shadows, leaving the Vine Snappers hissing at empty air. A moment later, he reappeared behind a cluster of them, a dark-glowing scythe of solidified shadow in his hand.
“Encore!” he declared, sweeping the scythe in a graceful, devastating arc. Three monsters disintegrated.
He moved through the horde with an arrogant, unhurried ease. He’d taunt them, disappearing mid-lunge only to reappear perched on a different monster's head, tipping an imaginary cap before delivering the final blow.
“Really, is that the best you can do?” he quipped as a thorny vine whipped past his ear. He caught the vine, and the shadow magic seemed to creep up its length, turning it brittle and black. It crumbled to dust in his paw. “My great aunt Mildred knits with more aggression.”
Snowy watched, utterly mesmerized. This wasn't the brutish, snarling villainy she’d read about. This was art. It was elegant, precise, and breathtakingly cool. Her fear was slowly being replaced by a star-struck awe she usually reserved for the top Skylanders. He moved with the grace of Trap Shadow and the flair of Star-Strike, all wrapped up in a package of condescending charm.
Within moments, it was over. The last Vine Snapper lunged, and Nightshade simply held up a paw. A perfect circle of shadow appeared on the ground beneath the creature. It fell through, vanishing without a sound. Nightshade brushed some imaginary dust off his tunic, the shadow circle sealing itself as if it had never been there.
The clearing was silent, save for the gentle rustling of the un-awakened woods. The sickly-sweet smell was gone, replaced by the crisp scent of night air and something else… a faint, electric smell, like ozone after a lightning strike.
Nightshade struck a final, dramatic pose, one paw on his hip, the other held out as if accepting applause from an unseen crowd. He held it for a beat, then turned his light-blue eyes on Snowy.
The little Kittigon finally found her voice. “That… that was… AMAZING!” she burst out, her yellow eyes shining with unfiltered admiration. She scrambled to her paws, forgetting her aches and her fear. “You’re incredible! The way you vanished, and the shadow blades, and the—the thing with the hole! Are you a new Skylander? I haven’t read about any Dark element heroes who fight like that! You have to be!”
A visible shudder ran through Nightshade’s frame. The smug grin on his face faltered, replaced by an expression of profound, comical horror. He took a step back, as if she had physically struck him.
“A… a *Skylander*?” he sputtered, his voice cracking with indignation. “*Me*?” He placed a paw dramatically over his heart. “Oh, you wound me, kitten. Deeply. To the very core of my artistic soul.”
Snowy tilted her head, confused. “Wha—? But you saved me! You beat all the bad guys! That’s what Skylanders do!”
Nightshade let out a short, sharp laugh, a sound like breaking glass. “My dear, misguided furball,” he said, his composure returning, now layered with a thick coating of condescending amusement. He began to pace in front of her, his movements lithe and deliberate. “Comparing my work to the clumsy, brutish hammering of a Skylander is like comparing a masterfully composed symphony to a toddler banging on a pot with a spoon. Both make noise, I suppose, but only one is *art*.”
“Art?” Snowy echoed, still not understanding. “But… they were going to eat me!”
“A minor, albeit distasteful, plot point,” he waved a dismissive paw. “You misunderstand my purpose. I am not a ‘hero.’ I am a performer. The world is my stage, and my chosen medium is the audacious, the impossible, the art of the steal. Those… *things*,” he gestured to a lingering puff of purple dust, “were hecklers. They were interrupting a perfectly good moonlit reconnaissance with their tacky, uninspired brand of villainy. It was aesthetically offensive.”
He stopped pacing and leaned in closer to Snowy, his light-blue eyes seeming to pierce right through her. His grin was back, sharper than ever. “I am Nightshade. And I, little one, am a Doom Raider. The undisputed star of this, and every other, show.”
The name clicked in Snowy’s brain, pulled from the pages of her books. The Doom Raiders. The most notorious villains in Skylands, second only to Kaos himself. She was standing face-to-face with one of them. Her hero… was a bad guy.
A thousand questions bubbled up inside her. Her headstrong curiosity completely overrode any remaining fear. “But… if you’re a villain… why did you save me?” she asked, her voice small but insistent.
Nightshade straightened up, looking slightly flustered for the first time. He cleared his throat. “As I said. They were an eyesore. An artistic crime. Their demise was a matter of professional pride.”
“But you called me your ‘only spectator’,” Snowy pressed on, her quick mind latching onto his words. “And you said the show was for me. So you saved me because you wanted an audience?”
The sleek Mabu’s pointed ears twitched. He averted his gaze for a fraction of a second, looking up at the moon. “A performance is meaningless without someone to appreciate its brilliance,” he muttered, his voice losing some of its theatrical boom. “And those troglodytic weeds were a thoroughly unappreciative audience.” He seemed to be wrestling with the words, as if admitting to any motivation beyond pure, selfish artistry was physically painful.
“So… you do have a code? Of honor?” Snowy asked, her eyes wide with fascination. This was better than any storybook. A complex villain with layers and motivations!
Nightshade scoffed, but it lacked its earlier conviction. “Don’t be ridiculous. Honor is a concept for fools and… well, Skylanders. I have standards. There is a difference.”
“But you still saved me,” Snowy said, a small, genuine smile spreading across her face. For the first time all day, she didn't feel lonely. She felt… seen. Even if it was by one of the most wanted criminals in Skylands. “Thank you, Nightshade.”
He looked down at the small Kittigon, at her earnest, beaming face, and for a moment, the master performer seemed at a loss for a script. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. The calculating, cunning gleam in his eyes was replaced by something unreadable, something almost… soft. It vanished as quickly as it appeared.
“Hmph. Don’t get sentimental,” he snapped, turning away with a flick of his stub tail. “It was a one-time engagement. Do try not to get eaten in the future; it’s terribly cliché.”
He took two steps toward the darkest part of the clearing, his form already beginning to blur at the edges, melting back into the shadows from which he came.
“Wait!” Snowy called out.
He paused, a mere silhouette against the darkness. “What is it now? I have jewels to liberate, you know. My public awaits.”
“Will I… will I see you again?” The question tumbled out before she could stop it, small and hopeful.
Nightshade was silent for a long moment. The shadow around him seemed to deepen. Then, his silky voice drifted back to her, laced with its familiar, infuriating amusement.
“Only if you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be, watching something you shouldn’t.”
And with that, he gave a final, mocking "tip of the cap," and dissolved completely, leaving nothing behind but the scent of ozone and a very confused, very grateful, and very, *very* star-struck little Kittigon alone in the moonlight. Snowy stood there for a long time, replaying the entire encounter in her head. She had met a real villain. And he was the most heroic person she’d ever seen. The world, she was beginning to realize, was far more complicated and wonderful than her books had ever let on.