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They walked in silence. Uncomfortable, awkward, so-thick-you-could-cut-it-with-a-claw silence. Flame had realized very suddenly that he didn't feel like talking about Spyro at all. That the story of how they grew up as hatchlings, and then grew apart as dragonets, would just lead to more questions from Ashes. Nor did he feel he owed her any sort of explanation as to why he didn't want to talk about Spyro, and even if he tried to explain it, what would he say? Spyro had bounced back and forth in his life like a purple yo-yo, and whenever Flame had allowed himself to think that he might get to keep him, some cruel twist of fate had pulled them apart.

How would he explain how a single, misguided attempt by Flame to disable a few forcefields in Red's Cave had almost ended their friendship completely, or how an embarrassing episode involving a mud-filled well in Crocodile Swamp had brought them back together again?

Ironically, they were just passing that very cave, Red's Cave, where it had all started. The forcefields were long gone, but the cave opening still remained, as deep and dark as he remembered it. The cave itself was not outwardly different from any of the other caves that permeated the valley between the village and Crocodile Swamp. What made it special is that the outcast and fallen elder Red had taken up residence there, and that's how it had gotten its name. Red was a diabolic red dragon who, using his dark gems, had tried to take over the entire realm. But it wasn't because of Red the sight of that cave made Flame's stomach turn. In fact, he had never even met the dragon.

He stopped at the cave opening to stare into that damp, dark hole, and the familiar odor of musky water and dead fish reached his nose. He winced, not because of the smell, but because of the memories it brought with it. The memories of one of the most embarrassing moments in his life - the first time Spyro had saved him.

He had been sixteen years out of the shell. The summer had been as bright and peaceful as any summer in Dragon Village, and Flame and Spyro weren't hatchlings anymore, but dragonets. But what he remembered the most is that he couldn't breathe fire.

At sixteen summers, a young dragon was supposed to gain his fire-breath - the true mark of a dragon. Flame's sister Ember could jet out a formidable gout of flame, which had impressed Mother so that she liked to do it all the time just to show off. And of course, Spyro had been running about setting fire to things since he was six. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, the best Flame could do was cough out some black smoke.

"Could be underdeveloped fire sacs..." elder Magnus had suggested with a shrug when Mother had brought the issue to his attention. He had inspected Flame's gullet, and asked him to cough a couple of times, but found nothing wrong with the young dragon.

"Flame, my dear, I wouldn't worry about it at all," he had assured him with a wave of his claw. "Some dragons bloom a little later than their pairs. Why, I didn't get my fire breath until I was well into my first century!". Magnus laughed heartedly but his anecdote did little to ease Flame's worry, and even less so his mother's.

For her part, the comparison just seemed to worry her more; Elder Magnus, pink, wide and soft-spoken, had as little in common with the other elders as he did with dragon ideals in general. So the idea that he should have anything in common with his son made her wince. (Flame could never understand why the older dragons seemed to dislike Magnus so. He was by far the nicest of the elders!).

In Any Case, Magnus had given him some throat exercises that might help, and prescribed him some of his herbal tea (to relax the cricopharyngeal muscle). And Flame had started practicing his fire breath as soon as he got home, and continued the next day. He'd spend his evenings outside, trying to produce at least the tiniest bit of flame until his throat was sore, but still, there was no fire.

"I'm sure I'll figure it out soon," he croaked to his mother when she had come outside one night to check on him. "after all, if Ember can do it, it can't be that hard!"

His mother sighed. "I'm sure you will, Flame," she said, her forced smile telling him that she was anything but certain. Then she had left him to practice. She did not say she was disappointed in him, or that she wished Spyro would have been her egg instead, but she didn't have to. Flame could feel it. She could feel it in every sigh, or the way she looked at him when she came on to find him curled up inside with a book instead of playing outside with the other dragons.

He wasn't good at any of the things a dragon was supposed to be good at, the all-important dragon abilities like fighting gnorcs, finding gems, performing charge attacks or horn dives, nor did he feel that need to explore the other realms and build up his hoard, or whatever it was exactly a dragon was supposed to do out there. He couldn't understand why breathing fire was so important anyway, as if somehow being able to combust flammable objects would drastically improve his life. But for some reason, it was important to mother.

And maybe his inability to breathe fire wouldn't be so bad if at least he was a better glider, but sadly, his fear of heights, that the elders had been sure he'd grow out of, had only gotten worse over the years. His instructor Astor had near ripped his horns off when Flame's crippling acrophobia had kept him from jumping off even the lowest platform. And he had trouble learning all of elder Tomas's different attacks, like the charge-attach or the all-important headbash, and didn't share the other dragonets passion for fighting either.

So for all of these reasons, it seemed especially unfair to Flame, that he was already a poor fighter and a worse glider, should also be bad at the one thing that, apparently, all dragons needed to be good at.

Flame liked other things. He liked to work with his claws and loved Magnus' sculpting class, so much so he had taken up the practice himself and had could now carve out a pretty good looking dragon out of a block of wood. He had kept his claw-painting up, and liked to think he had become a pretty decent artist. He enjoyed reading and had taken a liking to that chamomile tea Magnus had given him. But all the things he did enjoy didn't seem to matter to mother. His artwork or sculptures got only the most bare-minimum, obligatory hum of approval, and all she wanted to know about was his gliding lessons. Nor did she approve of his newfound tea-drinking, because apparently, "dragon's don't drink tea".

And then, of course, there was Spyro, the type of dragon Flame ought to have been. He continued to be effortlessly perfect at everything he tried his claws at. At thirteen summers, he had already saved the village from more gnorc attacks than anyone could count. And unlike Flame, he wasn't afraid to try his growing wings: there wasn't a peak or tower on the island that he hadn't soared from. He held all the speedway records and infuriated Astor by skipping all his lessons and still being the best glider in the class.

"I wish I could be more like you," Flame sighed one day, flopping down next to his purple friend. Spyro was supposed to be training in the temple, but had snuck out to spend some time with Flame.

"You don't want to be like me," Spyro chuckled. "If you were, Tomas would make you guard the dark gems as well, and keep the borders safe, and everything else those old hens can't seem to do themselves."

He laughed, but Flame knew Spyro loved his quests to the other realms. He loved that the elders trusted him enough to give him "portal privileges", and could use the many gateways scattered across the island. Spyro would disappear for days, even weeks, to Avalar or the Artisan Homeworld or even The Forgotten Realms, missing his tutorage and returning home with thousands of gems. And none of the elder dragons seemed to have a problem with it, and Spyro wouldn't care even if they did. That's how things were now. Spyro just sort of did whatever he wanted and he never got in trouble for it and things always worked out in the end, like he was the main character in a story where Flame was at best an extra. And Flame wouldn't have minded so much, if it wasn't for the fact that he barely had time to hang out anymore.

"Well, if I were more like you, maybe mom would..."

He stopped himself, but Spyro was already looking at him. And Flame cleared his throat. "Do you think that, I mean, sometimes I wonder if my mother doesn't like me very much."

Spyro turned to him, confused. "Why wouldn't she?"

"No particular reason...," Flame looked down, dragging his claw through the grass and picking at some straws. "But let's say, theoretically, that I couldn't breathe fire yet..." Spyro blinked. "Of course you can't breathe fire. Everyone knows that."

Flame gasped. "They do?"

"Or well..." Spyro sat back and brushed a claw through his frills. "I mean, it's kind of obvious since you never use your fire-breath. Because if you had it, you would be breathing fire all the time because it's so awesome!" he continued, beaming at Flame.

"Yeah, right..." Flame took a breath. "But do you think that would, theoretically, be a good reason for my mom, or any dragon, to dislike me?" Flame's voice was quiet and he pretended to be more interested in furrowing little circles in the grass.

"Well," Spyro brought a claw to his chin, deep in thought. "In that theoretical case, I'd say your mum is being silly. Everyone gets their fire breath sooner or later. And there's more to being a dragon than just breathing fire, you know."

"Like what?"

"Like, you know, fighting gnorcs, flying, all that stuff!"

Flame's heart sank a bit. He wasn't good at any of those things.

"And even if you don't get your fire-breath, we're still friends," Spyro continued, smiling. "So don't worry so much!"

Flame nodded and gave a small smile back. Spyro said they were friends, and Flame wanted to believe him. But friends were supposed to spend time together, and he and Spyro rarely ever did. Maybe he could come on one of Spyro's quests some time, he thought to himself. Then at least they could hang like they used to. But before he could ask Spyro, the purple dragon jumped up on all fours.

"Oh, shit, I gotta go!" Spyro sat up and turned his nose to the elder's temple. "Tomas had something he wanted to talk to me about. Something important!"

He was just about to rush off when Flame grabbed his tail, then quickly let go of it and felt his cheeks, unaccountably, heat a bit. "Wait... I mean. We're still on for tonight, right?"

Spyro gave him a blank stare. "What happens tonight?"

Flame gulped nervously. "You know, you said you'd go with me to Dragonfly Falls, catch Red Nestor." The comet would be visible tomorrow, around midnight, and the hill near Dragonfly Falls would be the best place to see it. Flame was hoping to paint it - and he wanted to have Spyro too, and Spyro had agreed over a month ago. Since then, he'd made sure to remind Spyro as often as he dared without being overbearing.

"Oh, that! Yes, of course. You can count on Spy!" He flashed him a lopsided smirk then ran off.

Flame's heart did a happy jump because at least see Spyro again tonight. But when he had gone to the hill near the waterfall, where they were supposed to meet, Spyro wasn't there. And Flame waited and waited, and it got dark, and Red Nestor came shooting through the sky, as bright and red as he had hoped, but Spyro never showed.

He later found out that Tomas had sent Spyro back to Avalar, to return some stolen eggs. And Spyro had apologized, of course he had, and happily promised that they'd catch Red Nestor next time. Flame had just nodded, sadly. He didn't feel like reminding Spyro that The Red Nestor comet was visible every 40 years.

And so it was. Spyro was away exploring the other realms. Flame was home, because he didn't have his fire breath and couldn't fight gnorcs. But there has to be more to do in the other realms than torching things and fighting gnorcs, Flame felt.

But there were many things Flame could do! He wasn't as big as most dragons his age, but he was fast. And thanks to all the exploring he and Spyro used to do, he knew every inch of the island, and in difference to Spyro, he had memorized the tunnel systems, and the portal gateways, since usually, when the two got lost, they had to rely on Flame's maps to get back anyway.

And then something absolutely amazing happened. A gift from the ancestors, Flame was sure. A chance for him to prove himself.

Flame had been out gathering mint leaves Flame had seen the elders gathered in the town's center, and sneaking closer, had heard them discussing what's to be done about the fallen elder Red.

Of course, Red had been banished by the counsel before Flame was even hatched and he knew precious little about the red dragon, or why he was banished to begin with. He did hear, however, that he had taken up residence in the cave system near Dragonfly Falls, which he used for his dark gem experiments. It was all anyone in the village ever talked about.

And it just so happened that Spyro was in Avalar.

"We're simply gonna have to wait until he gets back," Thomas had declared, to a murmur of agreement from the council. Spyro was the only one small enough to sneak in and disable the force fields, after all, and Flame suspected that none of the older dragons were particularly keen on facing Red themselves, even if they were able to.

But Flame knew the cave-system. He knew it like the back of his claw, and more importantly, he knew where the forcefields were. Last time he and Spyro had been through, he had marked them all on his map. A map which he still found, a little dusty under his bed. And with that it was decided.

Flame would disable the force fields himself, proving to his mom, the elders and Spyro that he wasn't so useless after all. And then, the elders might even let Flame follow him on his quests.

How he found the courage to venture into Red's dark lair all alone, had been a mystery to everyone, not the least to Flame. But he quickly scribbled down a note for Mother explaining where he was going, then ran off into the cave. And at first things had gone well. The tunnels were dark and wet, and many of the compartments were flooded and stank of tidewater and dead fish. But even so, he had managed to locate most of the dark gem generators and had disabled all forcefields but one, but he must have forgotten a generator somewhere, because just as he was about to return that last force field powered back on trapping poor Flame inside.

He had tried to smash through the forcefield repeatedly, only to get zapped and fall back on the ground. All he could do was lie there and wonder how long it would take the elders or Ember or his mother to realize he was missing. But the elders didn't come, nor Ember, nor his mother or anyone else.

And who would come to his rescue if not Spyro?

He had come in, exhausted, but brimming with typical heroic energy, and disabled the forcefield to let Flame out. And while it was an embarrassing state to be found in, Flame had been overjoyed to see his purple friend.

"Thanks for coming for me!" he sighed with relief. "I was starting to think they had forgotten about me up there!"

But Spyro wasn't as happy to see Flame as he had hoped. "You shouldn't have come here," he said, shaking his head. "It's dangerous!" Nor did he want Flame along for his fight with Red. "I got this, bud. I'll see you back at the village!" he said then charged off before Flame had any chance to protest. And he hadn't even thanked Flame for disabling the force fields.

Flame didn't feel like a very heroic dragon walking up that day, wet and smelling of dead trout. And Mother had been furious.

"What on earth were you thinking, Flame, going into Red's Cave all alone? You know better than to risk your life on such foolish nonsense!" she roared, pinning the smaller dragon under her gaze.

"I'm sorry..." Flame stammered, making himself as small as possible. "It's just that Spyro..."

"Spyro is trained for these things and you aren't! And even if you were, you're just not..." She had stopped herself before saying whatever it was she had intended to say. Then she composed herself, sighed deeply then left with a low "I'm needed at the council."

The story of Red's defeat by Spyro's claw spread like wildfire, and by next morning, the whole village was buzzing about it. Flame couldn't walk through the town center without hearing Spyro's name a dozen times, often associated with the most hyperbolic exclamations imaginable. "Spyro had defeated Red with a single burst of fire!" "He had saved the village from near-certain doom, single-handedly!". "No, he had saved the village AND disabled all those pesky force fields". It was all quite silly, for Flame, when all Spyro had done was torch an elderly old dragon a couple of times, and anyway he had been the one who disabled the force fields!

And if Spyro had been busy before, it was nothing compared to now. Because on top of running errands for the elder, now Spyro had to contend with a fan club of dragonets, swarming over him wherever he went, wanting to hear again and again about how he kicked Red's butt, or his trips to Avalar and the tricks he knew. And Spyro clearly enjoyed the attention too. He loved to tell the story of how he kicked Red's butt, or his gem collections and speedway records, and was seen more and more with a pair of black sunglasses on, which just looked silly on him. They'd barely said three words to each other since that day in Red's cave, and now that he was surrounded by his adoring fan club wherever he went, approach was impossible. Flame had never liked the other dragons his age, and they never seemed to really like him either. A few of them like to tease him for being a little smaller than the rest, and while Spyro didn't know that, the truth was that his sudden popularity had relegated Flame to the background.

As if all of that wasn't bad enough, he would start seeing Ember and Spyro together more often now. Ember had never shown much interest in Spyro before, so seeing her follow Spyro around with the rest of his "fan club" just seemed like blatant opportunism to Flame. A desperate attempt at a slice of Spyro's attention, just because he was popular now, even though they were never very close as hatchlings, and certainly not as close as he had Spyro had been.

One day he had seen the two, alone, talking by the town center statue, and even though he wasn't the type of dragon to go eavesdropping on his sister and friend, he had snuck closer. Close enough to hear Ember's talking about ... about something to do with ... dark gems? And then he heard Spyro chuckling like she was saying something particularly funny.

Spyro had been looking for dark gems he needed for some purpose, probably something to do with Tomas, and Ember being Ember had suggested Spyro should smash it and turn it into an engagement ring. It was definitely meant as a joke, of course, but the way Ember had been winking at Spyro had been completely serious, or how she just accidentally brushed up against him as they talked, and inched closer and closer with every word. Spyro hadn't given her any ring that day, but Flame had gone home with a sinking feeling in his chest, a deep sort of sadness like he had swallowed a dozen rocks and even doing the things he liked, like painting or reading, was hard.

And he didn't even know why seeing the two together made him feel the way he did. But the feeling only got worse as he had to watch Ember hover over Spyro wherever he went. And Spyro, who Flame felt couldn't possibly be interested, just seemed to be leading her on, winking and leaning in close as he bragged about his trips to Avalar.

And it had gotten to the point where Flame could barely see the two together without feeling jealousy coil within him, and he'd go home sizzling in anger. This wasn't Spyro, he knew that much. The Spyro he knew didn't roll around on a skateboard and act like he was the hottest shit just because he had kicked some senile, old dragon out of a cave. Or forget about Flame just because, suddenly, he was the most popular dragon on the island.

Unless, of course, he was ignoring him. And Flame supposed, it made sense if he did. He knew he was anything but popular in the village. He knew he was a runt, and his failure in Red's cave had only cemented that reputation. Could it be that Spyro was intentionally avoiding him?

He was acutely aware that he wasn't exactly one of the most impressive dragons on the island either. This was around the time little dragonets crest and horns were supposed to grow out, and their wings should be big enough to let them glide, but somehow, Flame's body had never gotten the memo. His horns didn't grow out as long as the other dragons, and the same was true for his frills. His paws were too big and he kept tripping over them. Could that be why Spyro didn't come by his cave anymore, and was always so busy with his new adoring friends?

Flame realized that he had to talk to Spyro, and in private too. He had no choice. He had to confront him.

It was a warm evening in Dragon Shores and Flame had found Spyro where he usually spent his evenings, sitting in one of those fold-out beach chairs on the beach "catching some rays" as he called it. There was no sun out though, so instead, he was soaking up the attention from Ember and a few other dragonesses. He had been talking about which levels, in his opinion, had the best charging ramps or something similarly uninteresting. At some point, he had waved his sister and the other dragons away to take a nap. That's when Flame got his opportunity to confront his friend.

He had charged up to Spyro, brimming with determination, sat himself down right in front of him and asked what he had wanted to ask for years:

"Why are you ignoring me?"

Spyro, wondering who was blocking his sun, had taken off his shades and looked up at Flame, blinking, and Flame was suddenly aware that this is the closest the two had been together since they were hatchlings.

"Flame?" he asked, staring at him, head tilted like a confused dog, as if he didn't quite recognize the other dragon. Then his eyes widened, and a wide grin crept onto his muzzle. "Flame! I haven't seen you in ages!"

"What are you talking about? I've been right here! We even have flight practice together with elder Astor!"

"Oh? I usually skip those," Spyro smirked as if it was something to be proud of. "Besides, those are for dragons that don't already know how to glide, right?"

Flame, who struggled just to keep up with Astor's classes, felt a stab of embarrassment with that, but ignored it and simply said "you must not have noticed me."

"Well, you are kinda quiet," Spyro said, as if it was any form of excuse. "Anyway, what have you been up to all this time? Me, I've just been busy gathering enough gems to unlock..."

"Spyro," Flame interrupted, not the least bit interested in Spyro's gem-collection. "Why don't we ever hang out like we used to? You could at least say hi every now and then, or maybe we could go and explore the homeworlds, or maybe..."

Spyro's confused expression made him trail off. The purple dragon was just staring at him blankly, as if he had sprouted an extra horn. "I don't understand... Why would I be ignoring you, buddy?" his shades were off, and the confusion in his violet eyes seemed genuine. "We're still totally best buds!"

"But we've barely talked in years! And now you're spending all your time with Ember, for some reason, even though you were close, not like we were..."

"What are you talking about? We were building sandcastles on the beach, like, just the other day."

"That was two summers ago..."

"Oh," Spyro sat back, claws brushing over his frills awkwardly, and he didn't seem to know what to say to that. But Flame knew he had heard enough anyway. So before he could say another word, Flame turned his tail and hurried back up the beach, leaving the confused purple dragon alone.

It was worse than Flame thought. Spyro hadn't been ignoring him like he thought. Spyro had forgotten he even existed.

It was a bad time to be Flame the Dragon.

"Hello!? You there?"

Flame looked up, and in front of him stood, not Spyro, not his mother, but Ashes, looking at him apprehensively. She looked not as much impatient as worried.

"You seemed pretty zoned out."

"I was not that zoned out..." Flame turned back towards the cave, and a gold gust of wind brushed over his scales and he shivered. It brought with it a fresh whiff of that dead fish stink, and his paws were wet and cold, and he realized that Ashes was probably right.

"Are you okay?" she asked, stepping closer to him.

"I'm okay. Let's just go," Flame muttered and walked past Ashes. She gave him an odd look, but, thankfully, didn't ask.

They walked in silence along the gravel road which leads through the wetlands. For once, Ashes didn't stare at him or ask him questions, although Flame almost wished that she did. He'd be happy for any distraction, anything that would keep his thoughts from going back to his misadventure in Red's Case, or how different he and Spyro had been as dragonets. Specifically, he didn't want to think about how different Spyro might be now, after ten years. He was afraid of meeting him now and realizing that he had always been a self-obsessed jerk, stupid dragon with stupid sunglasses who liked to talk about his speedway records or how far he can glide.

Maybe after ten years, all the worst parts of Spyro would have taken over, leaving behind a dragon he would barely recognize. The same kind of dragon who would ditch him on this island and disappear for ten years. Maybe he was better off just going home and remember the parts of Spyro that he had liked, the dragon who jumped with him from Autumn Plains and who once snuggled up next to him in Dusky Woods before falling asleep. Not the Spyro that rolled around on a skateboard and looked at Flame like he didn't recognize him.

Maybe meeting Spyro wasn't such a good idea after all. It wasn't too late to turn back. Maybe he could say he felt sick or something, then spend the remainder of his evening at home, in his cave, drinking the chamomile tea elder Magnus had brought him.

He was getting more nervous with every second, until every step was a struggle and he had to fight himself not to run back to the safety of his cave.

They were walking along the creek that flowed from Dragonfly Falls, except to say that it flowed would be an overstatement since the stream was blocked up since last monsoon season. Flame stopped by the tranquil water and looked down at the shimmering reflection of himself.

The red dragon looking back at him through the watery mirror was an adult. His bright red scales had darkened with the year, into a deep crimson he liked much better His round face had morphed into the long nose and the distinct jawline of a male dragon while his once humble, whelpling form had sprung over the years, giving him a lean body with a long tail and neck. His horns had grown out, and frills now adorned his neck, and he was especially proud of his wings which were strong and wide enough to let him take to the sky and soar great distances. And while he still wasn't quite as tall as his peers, he was every bit as fast, especially in the air. To everyone's surprise, he had become an excellent flier once he had gotten over his fear of heights. Nor was he quite as muscular as the other males, but this didn't bother him either. He liked to imagine it made him a better flier.

Would it bother Spyro? Would he take one look at Flame today and remember why he ditched him all those years ago?

"Are you always this weird?"

He looked up and there was Ashes, staring at him again.

"Oh, I don't know," Flame snorted at her. "Do you always sneak up on people?"

"Look, I realize this is none of my business," his gray companion started, and Flame agreed, but then she continued as if it was anyway: "You've barely said a word since I brought up Spyro, and then you stand outside that cave for several minutes all spaced out, and now you're just staring at your own reflection..."

"So what?" Flame snared at her. He was getting quite fed up with this dragoness obsessing over him and Spyro like it was somehow her business.

"Sooooo.... I thought you wanted to actually meet Spyro today. But instead you're dragging your claws like you don't even want to get there!"

"I'm not dragging my claws," he shot back at her. "I'm walking exactly as fast as I want to. And anyway, I'm just tired because it's been a long day, so let's just drop it, okay?"

"Look..." Ashes stepped closer to Flame, who turned away from her. "I just want to know what he was like," She spun around to his other side and dipped her nose low to his. "Wasn't he kind to you? You clearly miss him, yet you act like you don't - it's just a little weird!"

"And what do you care, exactly? You don't even know the guy," Flame muttered without looking up, taking instead to staring very intensively at the mud under his claws.

"So what if I don't know him? He's the greatest dragon in living memory! He saved Avalar, he found all the dark gems, he defeated Red, and Gnasty Gnorc, and he...he..." she flailed her wings as she went on to list all of Spyro's great deeds, and Flame rolled his eyes.

"...He's Spyro the Dragon and I would give me left wing just for a chance to talk to him! In fact..." She hesitated, a faint small forming on her snout. "I was gonna ask him if he'd take me with him, you know, when he returns to The Forgotten Realms."

"Oh, is that so?" Flame chuckled dryly. "I'm sure he'll be delighted to bring you along."

"Really?" Ashes gasped, staring at Flame with hopeful, pale blue eyes.

"No..."

The dragoness gave him an odd look. "Why not?" she demanded. "Is it too far to The Forgotten Realms?"

"Seriously? You're kidding me, right?" Flame snorted, frills bristling. "Tell me you're kidding. You can't be that naïve".

The gray dragon just stared blankly at him. Flame brushed his frills back, took a deep breath, sighed demonstrably and set himself down to the other dragon. "Because Spyro had starstruck dragonets like yourself on his tail like a dime a dozen, all clambering for a chance to be his sidekick or tag along on his next big adventure. And you wanna know how many of them ever go to come along?"

The gray dragon nodded slowly, a glint of uncertainty in her eyes.

"Zero. Nada. Zilch. And does Spyro even know you exist? I doubt it."

"Yes, he does!" Ashes countered, tail whipping the ground. "We met and he seemed... nice. Like he'd let me come."

"Figures. Yeah, that was his way, making you feel special. Trust me, he's forgotten all about you."

But the dragoness just shook his head. "You don't know that."

"Because that's what he does, don't you get it!?" he growled, jetting off his feet. "He goes around, making promises and makes stupid dragons like yourself feel special!" he yelled, right at her stupid wide-eyed face, and it was oh so satisfying, to finally watch that childish, hopeful glint in her eyes that he'd had to contend with since they first met disappear. How could she believe that Spyro would bring her when he hadn't even brought him?

And he was just about to tell her that too, but the words got stuck in his throat when he saw her.

He had hardly seen such a miserable dragon in his life, her wings sloped low, her characteristic curiosity gone. She didn't even want to look at him, nearly hiding her nose behind her wings, and her gray cheeks were flushed up red.

He felt a sting of guilt grab hold of him. Cold, heavy remorse settled in, unwelcomed, since he would have loved to tell him how wrong she was to trust a dragon like Spyro, but he couldn't.

Instead he sighed, deeply.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." He stepped closer to Ashes but she shied away.

"No, it's alright." she said. "I was probably hoping for too much."

There was a long, uneasy pause and Flame looked at their reflections in the stream. Through the watery mirror, the two of them appeared like two wobbly blobs, not too dissimilar. "Well, you're not the only one," he whispered.

Ashes looked up at him, confused. "But you were friends for so long, weren't you?"

"I don't know..." Flame scraped the dirt under the talons. "We grew up together, and for a while he was the only one on the damn island that cared about me. I thought I was special to him, but maybe I wasn't...."

"And yes", he added. "I realize how pathetic that sounds."

Ashes regarded him, that trademark curiosity back in her eyes. Then a soft smile crept on her muzzle and she stepped closer. "I think you're still special to him. I really do."

"Th...Thank you..."

There was another pause, with neither of the dragons knowing quite what to say. It drizzled, and the rain made little drops in the river. Flame looked around, at Ashes, at their reflections in the water, and then his eyes fell on something he remembered very well from his past. Further down the creek stood a familiar well, laid in dark brown bricks.

He got up on all fours, shook some rainwater off his wings and walked over to the well. The mud here was extra wet and slick, since the creek seeped into the earth.

Ashes regarded him with a quizzical look. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I did promise you the story of how we first met, and when I think about it, I guess you could say the first time we really met was right here."

"Here?" Ashes looked around, confused. With nothing but swamplands around them, her confusion was understandable, if a little amusing.

"Or more specifically, down there...." he pointed at the old well. It had been there long before Flame was hatched, and he couldn't remember it was ever filled with water either. Elder Tomas had at several points tried to drain the filth away, which had proved to be a pointless endeavor, since more filth would just leak in from the swamp again.

The sight of it still made him feel sick, not because of the stench but because he remembered so clearly what it had been like to sit deep down in that dark pit, sharing the claustrophobic space with dung-grubs and glow worms and other disgusting things with the muddy water reaching up to his wings. The day that had amped up his fear of heights and fear of dark places both at once. Yet Spyro had turned the memories of that day from bitter to bittersweet.

"That's where he found me, deep inside that very well there."

"That well!?" The female's gray snout curled in disgust, "That doesn't seem really romantic."

Flame had to chuckle. "It wasn't. But he pulled me out, brushed me off, since I was covered with this really icky slime you know, and then we just ran around and played all evening."

"So what in all the realms were you doing in that well?"

It was a good question, and Flame's gut twisted at the memory of that day. He looked down into the dark abyss and was immediately struck with a vision of his younger self trapped in that well, with the mean laughter from a dozen or so other dragonets echoing down from the world outside.

He shook his head, as if to rid himself from those visions, and instead turned to Ashes, who was flopped back on her haunches again and looking at him with anticipation. It was weird. Somehow the dragon made him feel like he could talk to her, despite her being one of Ember's friends and a stranger at that. He didn't make much sense, but he realized he had been aching to talk about this for so long, and right now, it seemed like Ashes could be that someone.

"I wasn't a very popular dragon back then. I'm still not. But it was worse back then," He explained, looking at his claws. "So, I was on my way home when some dragons spotted me and thought it'd be a fun idea to throw me into that well there."

A vision of the dragon responsible, a big brute with bronze scales, and a vile grin who would never leave Flame alone. He and his friends picked on him constantly because of his shorter than average horns or diminutive size or because he sometimes talked to himself and liked claw-painting. They always found a new reason to make Flame's life a living hell.

Ashes looked at him warily, her smile was gone. "Continue..." she said softly. "If you want to."

"It wasn't a big deal. I wasn't down there for very long."

That was a lie. He had been down there for hours. He remembered sitting down at the bottom of that dark hole, more scared, helpless and weak than he had ever felt in his life. He'd remember the mean laughter, and clawing on the wet stones trying to climb out, only to fall back down, and hear even more laughter in response. He remembered crying and wondering how just being smaller and weaker than the other dragons meant he deserved to be treated like that.

Then suddenly, the laughter had been replaced by a startled yelp followed by a heavy thud - then more yelping, more bangs. He might have even heard a flame attack up there. Then someone had dropped a rope down so he could climb up. As he pulled himself out of the well, shivering and covered in mud, he had been greeted by a purple paw, and when he looked up, there he was - the last dragon he had expected in the entire world: Spyro.

"Hey, what are you doing down there, little dude ?" he joked, smiling. Then he had brushed some mud off Flame's wings and pulled the sniveling dragon into a tight hug.

"If they touch you again, you let me know," he whispered, and Flame just nodded mutely.

The other dragons had never bothered him again. And even though Flame stank from his dip in the sludge well, they had spent the whole afternoon running around Dragon Village chasing sheep.

It was like they were hatchlings again.

Flame had assumed his day with Spyro would be a one-time thing, just something Spyro did because he was feeling sorry for Flame. To his surprise, Spyro had knocked on his door the next morning, asking if Flame wanted to search for gems over at Crocodile Swamp. Flame actually didn't, not being particularly fond of neither crocodiles nor swamps. But something about the purple dragon's hopeful smile had made him say "yes," even though it was a terrible idea, and before he knew it, he and Spyro were trudging through the foggy wetlands in search for gems.

Spyro seemed to know the way, and Flame followed behind warily, wondering when Spyro would get bored of him and ditch him, or reveal that it was all a prank and push him into the swamp. Spyro had done neither of those things. Weirder still, even though he could glide effortlessly from platform to platform, he always waited for Flame to catch up. And it didn't even seem to bother him either.

He was happy to just dart back and forth and collect gems, and let Flame catch up when he fell too far behind, and to both of their surprises, Flame even found a few gems of his own. And when Flame, exhausted after all the running about, had accidentally sat his butt down in a sinkhole, Spyro had leapt into the swamp, grabbed his tail and pulled him out. And instead of scolding him for being clumsy like his mother would, or stare at him in silent disapproval like the elders, Spyro had just laughed and helped dry the muck off his butt with some leaves. "You sure love to get stuck in places!" he had giggled, but it was meant as a joke, and oddly enough, it had made Flame feel a little less bad about being so clumsy.

And nothing seemed able to penetrate Spyro's optimism. At some point, the sky had gotten dark with clouds, and before long, rain was beating down on them, making the swamp even more wet and dreadful. But Spyro remained just as cheerful, despite the weather. He hopped along, taking extra joy in splashing all the muddy puddled along the way until his scales were more brown than purple, and still without missing a gem. His purple friend didn't need any sun to be happy. All he needed was a few gems to collect, puddles to splash in, and a boring, old swamp to explore, to light up his own little world. And Flame realized with a smile that he hadn't changed one bit since they were hatchlings.

And all the while, he was talking constantly. He talked about the last time he had completed the level with the double-jump move elder Tomas had taught him, and other levels he was going to "one-hundred-percent," which, apparently, was Spyro's term for collecting all the gems. On his list were Cloudy Domain, Sunken Ruins and Watery Tomb and a whole bunch of other places that Flame would never think to visit.

Once all the gems were collected, and they were finally on the way back from the village, Spyro had turned to Flame with a wide grin on his snout. "I never thought I'd find another dragon as into gem-collecting as I am!" he said, wings fluttering excitedly. "Most I go out with just want to go home after a while..."

Flame, who was so exhausted after all the running around he could barely stay on his feet and was covered in mud from head to tail, had no problem imagining why.

"I was thinking about going to Dark Mine. Since you're so good at collecting gems, you should tag along!" he said to Flame.

Flame rubbed his frills nervously. He did not particularly want to visit a place called Dark Mine, and besides, he had barely collected a single gem himself. But then Spyro did something really weird. He nudged Flame's cheek with his nose and the red dragon's heart skipped a beat. And suddenly without permission, his head nodded vigorously.

Spyro had shown up at his door the next day like he had promised, and then the day after that, and then the day after that. What followed was the scariest, most exhausting, most exciting time in Flame's life as Spyro brought him along on his gem-collecting explorations that took them all over the island, far from Dragon Village.

As a sidekick, Flame wasn't much help, at least not when it came to fighting gnorcs or rhinocs, and he stayed far away from the supercharge ramps and turned down any glide unless absolutely necessary. He starchily refused to jump from anything higher than twenty feet, which excluded most glide shortcuts, and they had to take long detours because of it. And he had to rely on Spyro to save his life around two to three times per trip, usually from a charge of attacking gnorcs or some trap or pitfall of which they were plenty.

But Flame had found his own way to help, like bringing canvas from home to draw maps on as they explored, and after a while, they had a pretty useful collection of mostly accurate maps. It helped them find their way back and even find new places to search for gems.

And while Flame remained smaller than the other dragons, with Spyro around, it didn't much bother him. He put a swift stop to the bullying and didn't seem to care what hanging out with the village runt would do to his reputation. To Flame, the dragon realm was a big scary place and he felt safer with a fearless friend by his side. And Spyro was fearless; fearless in ways that Flame could only hope to be. Fearless and adventurous and heroic but despite being faster than Flame, stronger than Flame and more experienced than Flame, Spyro actually wanted to spend time with him. It was incomprehensible.

The jealousy and resentment he had felt for Spyro had vanished, to be replaced with an admiration he had never felt for another dragon before. An admiration that soon grew into fondness, to the point where just thinking about Spyro could make him grin stupidly, and he'd spend the evenings thinking about exploring the island with Spyro the next day. And while his mother was too busy to really notice what was going on with Flame, his sister had started to notice him sneaking out now and then, and was giving him a few suspicious looks now and then. But he was too busy to care. He and Spyro were friends again.

It was a good time to be Flame.

"So Spyro rescued you, then? From the well, I mean."

Ashes talons on his shoulder brought him back to the now, and she saw him staring at him with eager blue eyes.

"Totally! He sent those bullies limping off with their tails between their legs then pulled me right out! We just sorta stuck together after that. We did everything together. I couldn't get rid of him if I wanted to."

"And you grew closer? And then you smooched?"

Flame cheek flushed up, but he nodded. "Well yes, but that was much later," he said, a lopsided smile springing to his muzzle before adding, "Maybe I can tell you more later. You know, after the party."

"I knew he wasn't a bad dragon!" Ashes smiled and jumped in place. "Plus, he must have really cared about you since he got those bullies off your tail."

Flame nodded. "I hope so." At least he meant a lot to me.

He let out a surprised gasp when suddenly Ashes nuzzled him without warning. "Hey, cheer up, Flame. I know for sure you're still special to him now."

"You think so?"

"I'm positive." she smiled back at him without a hint of doubt in her eyes. "He's probably hoping to meet ya too, so we should hurry up. He's probably there, asking for you already!"

Flame forced a strained smile. It was a nice thought, one that made his scales all warm. He was certain that Spyro actually liked him. All the time they spent together, it must have been more than just Spyro feeling sorry for him.

And Flame wanted to believe she was right. And maybe she was, but in the end, Spyro had still left.

---

Oh Wow, thanks for giving my story a read! If you liked it, give free to give me a fave or let me know what you think in the comments.Feedback, whether positive or negative, is great because it helps me improve!It usually takes me between one or two chapters to finish one of these so expect the next part out either this weekend or the next! (I always post on weekends!)