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It’s popular to portray couples in an “us against the world” light; everyone’s against them and all they have is each other. The crux is that it very rarely works that way, even as a fictional plot. Romeo and Juliet had their friar (though in their case it might have been better if they hadn’t). Roxeanne and Christian had their Cyrano (and Cyrano and Roxeanne had Christian, but that’s another story). No truly great love is without some outside link. Or, as I heard a preacher say it once, “Every successful marriage is a duet with a lot of backup singers.”

               Spyro and Cynder are ultimately no different. At every time in their bond they had at least one ally urging them on, from the moment Spyro risked his life to rescue Cynder from the jaws of destruction to that climactic moment when she admitted her love as he stopped a bursting planet.

               There are a few possible contenders for their top supporter, but I’m going to go with the fairly obvious pick of Ignitus. Yes, the Fire Guardian made his share of mistakes looking after the two young dragons, and when it came to acting in loco parentis, it’s only fair to say he was a questionable father figure. I won’t debate how much of that was really his fault in light of factors like having his powers stolen and being a more noticeable, less agile, and easier-to-capture target, not to mention a strong chance of suffering PTSD. but it was clear throughout that he wanted to do what was right for them. Yes, he failed as a warrior, but he trained the ultimate winner. Yes, he failed to protect all the eggs, but he also taught loving defense and care. Most powerfully of all, he taught Spyro how to love his enemy and pity her, rather than seeing her as an irredeemable monster. That single point may have been his most shining moment, more so even than when he sacrificed himself to ensure Spyro and Cynder’s survival and hope of victory. If he hadn’t told Spyro the whole “there but for the grace of God go I” truth about Cynder, she might have been lost or raised anew as an enemy to beat once more. There’s no disputing that throughout the Legend of Spyro games, Cynder was ultimately vital to Spyro’s final victory against Malefor. He may not have been physically present, but the moments when the two young dragons pulled each other out of the dark, the moment when Cynder found it in her heart to love someone she’d once tried to kill, and the moment the two of them literally saved the world were all as much Ignitus’ moments as theirs. They were three, and they could not be broken.

               There’s a distinct trend in heroics of triune heroes. From the classic Three Musketeers and the JLA “trinity” of Batman, Wonder Woman, and Superman to The Last Airbender’s founding trio and My Hero Academia’s unlikely posse of Midoriya, Bakugo, and Todoroki, there seems to be a consistent truth in the idea that three is a magic number. Nor is this limited to heroics. In families, the default structure is a father, a mother, and a child or children. Native American farmers used the power of symbiosis to grow better crops of corn, beans, and squash; “The Three Sisters,” as they called them. Even in architecture, the triangle is nearly always the strongest possible shape; just look at the pyramids. (Talk about “Even the rocks cry out,” right?)

               Solomon echoes this point in pictoral terms, painting one of the brighter points in the mostly tragic and cynical book of Ecclesiastes. As the wisest king who ever reigned on Earth observed, two are better than one. Two laborers can help each other. Two bodies can warm one another. Two under attack can defend each other. On this last, perhaps because it is the most dramatic, he adds herein that “A cord of three strands is not easily broken.” Sometimes, rather than a crowd, three is a recipe for triumph.

               There’s a parable of a father whose sons were always fighting among themselves, trying to prove who was best. One day he presented them with a bundle of large and small sticks, and challenged them to break it. One by one they tried, and even though some elicited a crack, none could break the bundle. When they had all given up, the father took up the bundle, untied the strings, and snapped the sticks one by one with ease. “Alone you are all weak. Some more than others, but all vulnerable. Together, you are strong.”

               Jesus had to deal with much the same problem. His disciples repeatedly tried to work angles and come out on top. James and John wanted the top seats of honor in His kingdom. Peter even tried to win an argument with Jesus Himself. Judas complained against gifts to Jesus wishing to line his own pockets. It’s no wonder, given that the different disciples came from diverse walks, occupations, and even political factions. Jesus’ answer to the squabbles was a simple one, but potent: where two or more come together in His name, He’s there with them, in their very midst. Alone we snap easily, like the sticks in the bundle, but together we are strong – and we have the ultimate backup besides. Our bundle of sticks has a rod hidden inside of solid adamantium. So whatever the relations around you in the family of God, band together. We are the cord of three, and he who would break us has a fight on his hands.

Description

It’s popular to portray couples in an “us against the world” light; everyone’s against them and all they have is each other. The crux is that it very rarely works that way, even as a fictional plot. Romeo and Juliet had their friar (though in their case it might have been better if they hadn’t). Roxeanne and Christian had their Cyrano (and Cyrano and Roxeanne had Christian, but that’s another story). No truly great love is without some outside link. Or, as I heard a preacher say it once, “Every successful marriage is a duet with a lot of backup singers.”

               Spyro and Cynder are ultimately no different. At every time in their bond they had at least one ally urging them on, from the moment Spyro risked his life to rescue Cynder from the jaws of destruction to that climactic moment when she admitted her love as he stopped a bursting planet.

               There are a few possible contenders for their top supporter, but I’m going to go with the fairly obvious pick of Ignitus. Yes, the Fire Guardian made his share of mistakes looking after the two young dragons, and when it came to acting in loco parentis, it’s only fair to say he was a questionable father figure. I won’t debate how much of that was really his fault in light of factors like having his powers stolen and being a more noticeable, less agile, and easier-to-capture target, not to mention a strong chance of suffering PTSD. but it was clear throughout that he wanted to do what was right for them. Yes, he failed as a warrior, but he trained the ultimate winner. Yes, he failed to protect all the eggs, but he also taught loving defense and care. Most powerfully of all, he taught Spyro how to love his enemy and pity her, rather than seeing her as an irredeemable monster. That single point may have been his most shining moment, more so even than when he sacrificed himself to ensure Spyro and Cynder’s survival and hope of victory. If he hadn’t told Spyro the whole “there but for the grace of God go I” truth about Cynder, she might have been lost or raised anew as an enemy to beat once more. There’s no disputing that throughout the Legend of Spyro games, Cynder was ultimately vital to Spyro’s final victory against Malefor. He may not have been physically present, but the moments when the two young dragons pulled each other out of the dark, the moment when Cynder found it in her heart to love someone she’d once tried to kill, and the moment the two of them literally saved the world were all as much Ignitus’ moments as theirs. They were three, and they could not be broken.

               There’s a distinct trend in heroics of triune heroes. From the classic Three Musketeers and the JLA “trinity” of Batman, Wonder Woman, and Superman to The Last Airbender’s founding trio and My Hero Academia’s unlikely posse of Midoriya, Bakugo, and Todoroki, there seems to be a consistent truth in the idea that three is a magic number. Nor is this limited to heroics. In families, the default structure is a father, a mother, and a child or children. Native American farmers used the power of symbiosis to grow better crops of corn, beans, and squash; “The Three Sisters,” as they called them. Even in architecture, the triangle is nearly always the strongest possible shape; just look at the pyramids. (Talk about “Even the rocks cry out,” right?)

               Solomon echoes this point in pictoral terms, painting one of the brighter points in the mostly tragic and cynical book of Ecclesiastes. As the wisest king who ever reigned on Earth observed, two are better than one. Two laborers can help each other. Two bodies can warm one another. Two under attack can defend each other. On this last, perhaps because it is the most dramatic, he adds herein that “A cord of three strands is not easily broken.” Sometimes, rather than a crowd, three is a recipe for triumph.

               There’s a parable of a father whose sons were always fighting among themselves, trying to prove who was best. One day he presented them with a bundle of large and small sticks, and challenged them to break it. One by one they tried, and even though some elicited a crack, none could break the bundle. When they had all given up, the father took up the bundle, untied the strings, and snapped the sticks one by one with ease. “Alone you are all weak. Some more than others, but all vulnerable. Together, you are strong.”

               Jesus had to deal with much the same problem. His disciples repeatedly tried to work angles and come out on top. James and John wanted the top seats of honor in His kingdom. Peter even tried to win an argument with Jesus Himself. Judas complained against gifts to Jesus wishing to line his own pockets. It’s no wonder, given that the different disciples came from diverse walks, occupations, and even political factions. Jesus’ answer to the squabbles was a simple one, but potent: where two or more come together in His name, He’s there with them, in their very midst. Alone we snap easily, like the sticks in the bundle, but together we are strong – and we have the ultimate backup besides. Our bundle of sticks has a rod hidden inside of solid adamantium. So whatever the relations around you in the family of God, band together. We are the cord of three, and he who would break us has a fight on his hands.