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A dragon looking out from on top of Dragonfly Falls, by the cliff edge commonly referred to as "the ramp", could be forgiven for thinking that the world was flat and that it ended right at his feet.

Before Flame remained a few feet of grass, safe, normal familiar grass, which then gave way to smooth rock forming a ledge, and beyond the ledge was a great nothingness. Just a pale blue sky and thin air.

Flame gulped. He shivered, his talons digging into the grass. He looked over his shoulder where the rest of the class were gathered, staring at him in anticipation, and he realized with a sinking heart that there was no turning back now.

"He's not gonna do it!" one of them snickered. It was the big bronze dragon, the very same dragon that had thrown Flame into that well by Crocodile Swamp - Flame could recognize that ugly snout anywhere. Spyro had kicked his scaly ass that day and sent him and his friends limping home, but now Spyro was gone and his tormenter seems to have mustered enough courage to pick on Flame again. Well, Flame wasn't going to let himself be bullied anymore. I'll show them...

He laid flat against the ground and crawled the last few feet to the edge. He grasped the curb with his talons and carefully, very carefully, peered down.

It took a few seconds for him to realize what he was looking at: The waterfall that gave Dragonfly Falls its name appeared like a misty column on his right, a blue ray of water that faded into fog somewhere far below. The cliffside itself was so flat that it looked like it had been sliced off by a giant's claw. It seemed to stretch on forever before his eyes, disappearing into the mist far below.

Once his eyes had adjusted, and he had blinked a bit, he could see the rocks. A thousand razor-sharp peaks, waiting to receive any falling dragon. He could see the waterfall crushing itself against those rocks, turning into mist and reappearing as a gentle creek further down the valley. It would be a quick death.

Panic struck him before he could even realize he was afraid - like an icy dagger twisting into his stomach that made him lose his breath and gasp for air, that made his muscles freeze and his vision blur and the roar from the waterfall disappear and all he could do was stare into those sharp rocks while his body refused to move.

Then he felt a sharp pinch on his tail.

He howled, jerking backward so fast that his claws slipped on the smooth rock. His paws finally found purchase and he pushed himself away from the edge with such force that he fell backward through the line of onlookers. He rolled into a ball, panting and shivering.

They laughed at him, of course. And when he looked up, he could see that blasted bronze dragon again, with his smug grin, and the fear quickly morphed into anger. That prank could have killed him! But before he could say or do anything else, Astor's old mug appeared in his line of sight.

"Flame, you're a poor excuse of a dragon, but at least you know how to entertain your classmates," the elder said, pulling Flame up to his paws. "Come on now. Enough fooling around. Go stand with your mates. I'm trying to teach you fledglings how to fly!"

Flame glared at the elder but did as he was told, sitting down as far away from the rest of his class as possible. Some of them still sniggered, some stared and sighed in annoyance - as if it was his fault that the dragon had pinched him.

He spotted his sister's pink nose at the back of the line and saw her looking away as quickly as possible. Even your own family is ashamed of you...

Elder Astor continued his lesson and all the little dragonets gathered around him to listen as he went through what kind of wind resistance they should expect, recommended glide techniques, and how fast one should run to get an optimal takeoff from the ramp. He marched back and forth in front of the group like a General in front of his squadron, only stopping to demonstrate optimal wing beats, flapping and waving his staff around with such enthusiasm that the closest dragonets had to duck to not get hit. The elder even had his old aviation goggles on for the occasion, but Flame happened to know that Astor couldn't actually fly anymore. He doubted any of the elders could.

Flame had always hated Astor. He especially hated how the elder liked to scare his class with horror stories about arrogant dragons who fell to their deaths because they flew too fast or too far or forgot about the dangers of pressure differences or lactic acid. He always had an anecdote or two about young fliers who didn't heed his advice and met their fate in the ocean or against a rock wall, and liked to remind the class that any dumb dragon can take flight, but that it takes a true flier to stay in the air. He seemed particularly keen on frightening Flame, he never missed an opportunity to remind Flame how unworthy of a dragon his fear of heights made him.

Flame, who had always struggled to even get into the air to begin with hadn't worried much about what to do once up there - but now all of those horror stories made his stomach knot with worry. Involuntarily, he started thinking about what he had seen below that cliff; the little creek looking like a little golden hair. How were they supposed to follow that all the way to the village? And the sharp rocks! He shuddered.

But that was the path they had to take and Astor had assured them that if they just followed the creek everything should be fine. Somewhere further down the valley, the cliffs made way for rolling, green hills which the creek snaked between on its way back to the ocean. Should the worst happen, a flier could always land on one of the hills and let the lush jungle stop your fall. However, you still had to reach the hills... So far, no fledgling had ever died on First Flight Day, but Flame could always be the first.

He saw a few nervous faces among his mates, but most of them seemed all too eager to try their wings for the first time. Of course, they all had their wingmates. He imagined that most of them had paired up months before today, mostly males and females, as was tradition. But there were a few exceptions...

A female couple, two dragons, both with scales as blue as the sky itself, stood next to him. He recognized them both. They were skilled fliers, perhaps even better than Spyro according to some. And Lestor, a little dragon who used to follow Spyro around, seemed particularly proud of his wingmate; a tall, dark drake from the Artisan Homeworld.

Ember had paired up with some poor dragon she had grabbed from a neighboring village, a brown, bulky fellow who didn't seem like he'd be able to run fast enough to take off from "the ramp", let alone stay in the air. But the two had trained non-stop and apparently had become pretty decent fliers both of them. Flame was the only one without a mate.

If only Spyro was here...

But Spyro wasn't here. Spyro had been gone for two weeks now. He had forgotten all about his promise, about First Flight Day, about Flame. Just like Ember and mom had said he would. But maybe it was for the best.

Flame had already decided that he wasn't going to fly today.

If he made it back to the village in time, Astor would just assume he flew there like everyone else. He'd never miss a single dragon out of fifty. All he had to do was sneak off before the lesson ended and...

"Flame!? Wake up, you whelp!"

Flame jolted to attention. He looked around and saw that all the other dragons had assumed their positions along the rock wall. Astor stood in the middle looking even more annoyed than usual. "I said it's time for a horn-count. Now, get in line, Flame."

Dammit...

Flame scrambled to his feet and quickly lined up with the other dragonets. His chance was gone. There was only one option left, to tell the truth. Astor couldn't make him fly if he didn't have a wingmate.

Astor marched along the line of dragonets, inspecting all pairs, counting to himself. Flame swallowed hard when the elder got to him, his chest filling with icy dread. Astor looked at him, and the empty spot beside, him then with a voice that seemed lace with disdain, asked: "Where in all the realms is your wingmate, Flame?"

"I... I'm afraid I don't have one." Flame replied, honestly.

"You...you don't have one!?" Astor's expression was a mix of anger and bewilderment...but mostly anger... "Flame. The instructions were very simple: have a wingmate ready for First Flight."

He towered Flame, who held his wings in tight, making himself as small as possible. "It's not my fault!" he stammered. "I had one before... but..."

"But she was too embarrassed to show!" Someone from the group of dragonets called out. When he looked in the voice's direction, he saw that big, bronze dragon again, with a nasty grin plastered on his fat snout.

Stifled giggles erupted along the line of dragonets and Astor went back and forth trying ineffectively to hush them down. Flame wished he could sink through the earth and disappear, and he felt like throwing himself off the cliff to avoid the humiliation. As it was, he just blushed and hid his face under his wing.

"Quiet down, fledglings! Flame needs a wingmate which means someone is gonna have to fly trio. Does anyone want Flame in their team?"

The giggles disappeared and there was a deafening silence. Not a single dragonet said a word.

Then Astor turned his hawk-like snout to his sister. "Ember? Why don't you and Umber fly with your brother?"

"But I've already practiced with Umber!" Ember pleaded. "Besides, we wanna win and Flame hasn't practiced at all!" There another wave of snickering coming from among the dragonets.

"Wait... I didn't mean it like that..." she looked around at the other dragons, but the words were already out. She then looked at Flame, eyes flashing with guilt. Flame returned it with a poisonous glare.

But she was right. Flame hadn't practiced. Of course, they weren't going to win with him on their team. It didn't stop him from hating her. But at least now, Astor would have to let him go home, and the horrible day would be over.

But then Ember's damned wingmate spoke up. "Ehm, it'd be okay with me if Flame wanted to fly with us...." he said, anxiously, eyes shifting between Ember and Flame. Eyes full of pity. The stupid dragon probably thought he was helping Flame! He decided that he hated him too.

"Well, then, go and stand with your new wingmates, then," Astor said, waving his staff. "Hurry up, now. No more delays."

"No..."

The elder gasped, looking at Flame like he had sprouted a third horn. "What did you say, youngling?"

"I said I'm not doing it!" Flame repeated, a little louder. "It's a stupid tradition and I'm not gonna fly with two dragons who are just doing it because you're forcing them to. To hell with your first flight day! I just want to go home!"

Astor just gaped. So did the rest of the class.

But Flame didn't care. He turned around and started walking back towards the trail, but Astor wasn't about to make it that easy for him.

He shoved his staff in the ground in front of the young dragon. "Stop right there, whelp. I haven't had a student skip out on Flight Day yet and you won't be the first!"

"I don't care," Flame said, calmly. "I'm not doing it."

"The impudence!" Astor scoffed, his spines bristling. "I'm not gonna let you worm yourself out of this, Flame! Or do you want me to tell your mother that her son is too much of a coward to fly? That he's the only dragon of his generation to remain a fledgling forever?"

Flame's heart froze. He hadn't thought about Mother. As he looked up at the elder's face and saw anger but not a smidgen of empathy. He had let the other dragonets laugh at him all day, and now the elder wanted to throw him off a cliff too. Flame felt a sudden rage roil up in his chest, a rage that was close to winning over his fear of the elder.

He opened up his muzzle to tell Astor just where he could shove his First Flight, Mother and tradition be damned, but was interrupted by a series of surprised gasps coming from the class. They had all gathered by the ramp and were looking at something in the sky.

And then Flame saw him. A distinct purple dragon came gliding down through the clouds, doing a back-loop through the air before landing gracefully on the ramp. In front of the core of the surprised dragonets.

"Sorry I'm late guys," he smiled, folding his wings in and padding up to the group. "I was busy saving the Dragon Realms and sort of lost track of time." There was another series of gasps coming from the core of dragonets.

"By the ancestors..." Astor's eyes fixed on Spyro, Flame completely forgotten. He pressed through the dragonets, walked right up to the new arrival and pointed his staff in his face. "You're not supposed to be here, Spyro! You have business in The Forgotten Realms!"

"That business is all taken care of," Spyro said, dismissing the elder with a wave of his paw. "And I wouldn't want to miss your First Flight ceremony for anything!"

"Well tough luck, you purple squirt. You're too late and you missed orientation."

"Well, maybe you can cut me some slack?" Spyro smiled at the elder, unfazed. "The Forgotten Realms is a long flight. You know how it is. Or, well, maybe you don't! I suppose it's been a few centuries since you flew anywhere!"

More giggles erupted from the class and Astor glared at Spyro with smoke coming out of his nostrils. If looks could kill, the young dragon would be hung, gutted and crisped.

"Well, you can wipe that jovial grin off your face, Spyro, because I'm still not letting you fly. I'm sure you haven't practiced my wing-beats and I bet you haven't arranged a wingmate either,"

"Wingmate..." Spyro stopped in his tracks. He looked over the crowd of dragonets. "Actually I..."

But he didn't get to finish his sentence before he was surrounded by dragonets: "Pick me Spyro!" "No, me!" "Spyro, I'm the fastest!" They pushed and clamored for Spyro's attention and almost buried him in the process. Everyone wanted a chance to fly with the legend himself. Astor had to step in to calm the young dragonets down, shouting and waving his staff, trying, and failing, to get them back in line. Spyro just snickered, happy with the chaos he had caused.

A few dragons remained standing in line, staring bitterly at their former wingmates surrounding Spyro. But to most dragons, the chance to fly Spyro seemed to overshadow any previous arrangements.

Meanwhile, Spyro was just sitting on his haunches, chuckling and enjoying himself. "Well, this is all very nice but... Wait, what was that? Tell you about my trip? Well maybe later... And wow... is that you Lestor! And Ember!" He hugged the pink dragoness. "Nice to see you. No hard feelings, huh?" He was so surrounded by dragons it was hard to get a glimpse of him.

Flame's first instinct was to run right up to Spyro and push the other dragonets aside. But he didn't want to. He didn't want to put Spyro in a position where he had no choice but to diss him. He didn't want to see Spyro pick another wingmate. Instead, he glanced over the trail, now unguarded. With a sigh, he started walking away from the others, wings hanging low. But then someone grabbed his tail-tip.

"Hi there, Flamey..."

He swiveled around and, to his surprise, saw Spyro's familiar purple snout and keen eyes looking straight at him.

"I'm sorry I'm late, dude. Do... do you still wanna fly with me?" he asked, with hopeful eyes. "I mean, I'm sure you have another wingmate already but..."

"I ehm..." Flame's eyes flicked between Astor and the other dragons who stared at them with shock and then back to his friend's "I mean... If you want to..."

Spyro's face lit up and his wings flapped excitedly. "Awesome!" Before Flame had time to respond, Spyro pulled the smaller dragon against his chest. The hug was so sudden and warm that he almost forgot the class of dragonets glaring at him.

Spyro slowly let go of Flame but didn't go anywhere. Instead, then sat himself down beside Flame and draped his wing over the red dragon. "Found my mate!" he announced to the elder, a defiant glint in his eyes.

Astor glared at them for a few seconds before recomposing himself and his hanging jaw. "Oh, I see...The misfit and the runt, almost fitting really..." he mumbled and rubbed his chin. "Well, fine. You can fly. But no more interruptions, and that goes for all of you fledglings!"

The class quieted down as Astor continued with the horn count and marked down everyone's names. While everyone kept quiet, many dragonets were still staring at him and Spyro.

Spyro, who still had his wing draped over Flame, didn't seem to mind the stares. Quite the opposite, he seemed to enjoy the attention. He brought his nose in against Flame's again and the red dragon felt his cheeks heat up and his eyes flicked worriedly to the other dragonets. Didn't Spyro worry about what the others would think? If he did, he didn't show it. If anything, he seemed to feed on it, all the stares and the attention.

Then he turned to Flame and smiled. "I'm really glad I made it in time."

Flame wanted to ask him what in all the realms happened in the Forgotten Realms, why he hadn't told Flame that he would be gone for weeks. But he pushed those questions away. Spyro was here now. That was all that mattered. Flame would never let him leave again. Not without him. "Me too..." he said.

"Now before we line up by the ramp, I'll just run a few safety tips. I promise, I'll be quick," Astor said to the class who let out a unified sigh in disappointment, knowing the elder was never quick about anything.

Astor droned on about the flight ahead of them, what to do if they got stranded along the way and had to find their way home, and other things that were probably at least somewhat useful to know for the flight ahead. But Flame found it hard to focus with Spyro by his side. The other dragon had a way of making the entire rest of the world seem less important, to appear perfectly gray compared to his amethyst scales and bright smile.

It was hard not to stare. Luckily, Spyro was way too focused on Astor to pay attention, which was actually a little weird since Spyro never paid much attention to Astor's classes.

"He's a real asshole," he suddenly said, out of nowhere.

Flame was taken aback. "Who? Astor?"

"Yes, he and all the elders. But it doesn't matter. I'm done taking orders from a bunch of boney old hens."

"Spyro, what are you talking about?" Flame whispered. He wished his friend would lower his voice so that Astor wouldn't hear them.

"That thing he said, calling you a runt and me a misfit," Spyro continued. "He shouldn't have done that. He just wanted to see if he could get those other brats to laugh at us."

He turned to Flame, and his eyes shone with an intensity that Flame hadn't seen before. "But did you see how silent they all got? Nobody dared to even cough. That's because they know I'm better than them, and after our flight today, they'll know that you're better than them too. We'll show this entire village."

"I thought you liked the other kids?" Flame couldn't make sense of it. Spyro hung out with the other dragonets all the time, smiling and high-fiving and telling his stories.

"They're pathetic. I have real friends in the Forgotten Realms. Better friends."

Spyro must have noticed Flame's worried expression, for he stopped himself, and his warm smile came back. "Nevermind that. I don't care about them. I got here in time for our flight. That's what matters. And it's going to be epic!" His tail whipped the ground as if to really emphasize just how epic it was going to be.

Flame swallowed nervously. He suddenly remembered the view from that cliff edge, the waterfall that disappeared down into infinity, and he felt sick again. He had decided over a week ago that he wouldn't fly. Spyro showing up changed everything.

"It's not a race," he quietly pointed out.

"What are you talking about, Flamey? Of course, it's a race! And we're gonna win! I know the fastest route down the village, one that none of the other dragonets will dare to take. And don't worry, bud. I'm gonna be with you all the way, just like the glide in Autumn Plain!"

Flame looked at his friend and realized with a sinking heart that he wasn't going to tell Spyro that the flight wasn't happening. He had to fly, for him. His heart started beating again, and his breath came harder, but he told himself that at least he had Spyro by his side. Spyro would never let him fall.

He felt his wingmate's tail spike brush against his own sleek tip. He moved his tail, just in case it had been by accident, but Spyro's tail followed and wound itself with Flame's. It wasn't an accident, and the realization sent a fresh shiver down his spine. He turned to Spyro, who flashed him the warmest most reassuring smile he could have asked for, and it levitated some of the anxiety gathered in Flame's chest. For better or worse, they were together now. Together until the end, which he prayed to the ancestors wouldn't be too soon.

"Well, that's really all you fledglings need to know for a safe flight," Astor said in front of them, ending his lesson. "Now, line up by the ramp and we can start!"

Flame's heart froze. It was time. His legs felt weak, his heart started pounding in his chest, and he couldn't remember a single safety tip. He tried to keep himself calm. He didn't want Spyro to see it, but he was already panicking.

If he sees that you're still afraid of heights, that you're not ready to fly, he'll never want to bring you to the Forgotten Realms...

There was a great rustling of wings and clicking of talons as the dragonets got in line before the ramp, some tittering excitedly and others glancing anxiously at the edge or their wingmates. He saw the bronze dragon snapping and hissing at the other dragons so that he and his wingmate, an equally scary-looking red dragoness, could get to the front of the line. He would have probably pushed past Flame as well had it not been for Spyro there.

He and Spyro were pretty much right in the middle, which was good because at least they wouldn't be among the first to launch. Next to him, Spyro was beaming. "Exciting, huh?" Flame nodded vigorously. "Ah yes,... ehm very exciting." He looked at the ramp and gulped, happy that he had skipped breakfast this morning. If it wasn't for their intertwined tails, he might have fainted.

"Two at a time, please!" came Astor's voice from the end of the line, loud and hoarse over the buzz of the excited class. "Make sure you gain enough speed before you reach the ledge, then spread your wings and soar like true dragons!" The elder pointed his staff at the closest pair of dragonets who exchanged a worried glance before dutifully hunkering down, ready to take off.

Now it was time. It was happening.

When Astor waved his staff, the two dragonets took off as if launched by a pair of slingshots. Flame watched them run the distance from the rock wall to the edge, then out "the ramp" and into the air. For a moment, it looked like they had dropped off into the gorge below, but then Flame saw the fast flurry of wings as the pair appeared behind the cliff, not falling but flying.

Spyro bounced next to him. "Wow! Did you see that!?" he pointed, his tail freeing itself from Flame to wag back and forth behind him. "Look at the speed! The winds must be extreme! It wasn't even that good of a takeoff, though. We can do one way better, easy."

Flame felt his chest tighten so hard he could barely breathe. He didn't have much time to think about it before the next pair of wingmates took off, then the next, and the next after them. Each pair took off without a second's hesitation, and while some didn't quite make the launch from the ledge, to Flame's relief, they always managed to level out with just a few wingbeats.

There were only a few pairs left now, then there would be his and Spyro's turn. Oh, how he wished he had snuck off when he still had the chance. But it was too late. Spyro had picked him, in front of everyone, and he couldn't leave his friend without a wingmate. He had to do this, Flame told himself. For Spyro.

He glanced at his wingmate. Spyro followed every launch with keen eyes, and Flame could see his claws scratch the rock every time another dragon took to the sky. His tail twitched behind him, and he looked just like that time they had jumped from Autumn Plains, like a coiled-up spring, only a thousand times more intense.

Then he realized Flame was looking at him and he turned to his friend, a wide grin on his purple snout. "This is gonna be awesome!" he said, wings flapping behind him. Then seemed to notice Flame's disposition, and his smile dropped, and there was a flash of concern in his violet eyes. "You're okay, right?"

"I'm fine," Flame said. "Just you know... very excited, hehe..." He forced his snout into a weird, uneven smile. But Spyro didn't smile back. He tilted his head, confused. "Is something wrong, Flame?"

"If it's not terribly inconvenient to you lovebirds, maybe you could consider flying while the sun's still up?" It was Astor, of course, and when Flame looked up, he realized not only that it was their turn, but that the entire rest of the class was glaring impatiently at them.

But then Spyro fixed his eyes on the elder, and he heard a low growl emanating from his friend, a sound so dark and threatening that it surprised even Flame. The other dragonets quickly looked away, and even Astor cleared his throat awkwardly: "Err, I mean.... take all the time you need."

Then Spyro turned back to Flame. His smile was all gone now, and he regarded Flame, the shaking mess that he was, with concerned eyes. What he said next were words Flame would have never expected to hear from his muzzle. "Maybe we shouldn't fly today."

"What?" Flame just blinked. "But...the ceremony? Your first flight?" He knew how much the flight meant to Spyro.

"I'm not stupid Flame. I can see you're not well. You're shaking. You're more white than red." He sighed deeply. "Look," He nudged Flame's cheek, gently. "This mountain isn't going anywhere. Our First Flight Day can be whichever day we want. Whenever you're ready."

"But... what if I don't know when that'll be?"

"Well, I'm not going anywhere, either," Spyro said, calmly.

Flame looked at him, studying him, trying to tell if it was real. If he meant it. There was no dishonesty in those violet eyes. This wasn't a joke. He wasn't just saying it. He didn't care that he was holding up the entire class and that everyone was looking at him. And a great weight was lifted from his shoulders. He felt the tension in his body unwinding.

There was a silence. Only the faint roaring from the waterfall could be heard. Flame looked at Spyro, his wingmate, who had just promised he'd wait for Flame, despite it all. He looked at their audience, the remaining dragonets staring at them. He saw Ember and her wingmate. He saw the bronze dragon with his ugly mug, staring curiously. He looked at Astor, who was stamping his feet and looking at the lowering sun.

Then he looked at the trail which led down the mountain, back to the village. And he realized very suddenly that he didn't want to go home anymore. He didn't want to go home at all.

"No. We're flying today," he said.

Spyro looked at him very closely. "Are you absolutely sure?"

Flame nodded. He was.

The big, happy grin that sprung to Spyro's muzzle was its own reward. He embraced Flame, transferring a fresh surge of courage to him, which blocked out the class, elder Astor, and even the vertical cliff wall they were about to throw themselves off of. Nothing else mattered but Spyro. If he thought he could do it, he would do it.

He slowly let go of his wingmate, trying to hold on to every last shiver of that courage as he looked back to the ledge. He still remembered those razor-sharp cliffs so clearly. But he wasn't shaking like before. Not as much at least. He was going to do this. By the ancestors, he was going to fly today. And then later tonight, he would tell his mother about how Spyro, his beautiful, perfect wingmate, taught her son how to fly. His chest filled with pride, pride and butterflies.

His wingmate crouched down with his chest against the cliff, tail shooting up behind him like a cat ready to pounce. "I'll go first, just like in Autumn Plains! Just let me know when you're ready."

Flame imitated his wingmate, crouched down in the same way, and fixed his nose on "the ramp" ahead of them. He took a deep shuddering breath, then gave Spyro a claws-up. He was ready, or at least as ready as he was ever going to be.

Spyro leaned in and brought his nose against Flame's cheek, right in front of everyone. The touch was at once calming and electric. "I'll see you in the air, wingmate," he said. And then he took off.

He had never seen the purple dragon move so fast before. He closed the distance between them and the ledge in a second, and then he launched himself out into the air. He reappeared in the blue sky as a bright flurry of golden wings. He was flying, and his purple scales were glimmering in the sunlight.

He was so transfixed by the sight of his wingmate in the air that he almost forgot that they were supposed to take off together. He crouched down low, closed his eyes, sank his claws into the air and pushed off towards the cliff.

He ran as fast as he could. He felt the wind getting stronger as he neared the cliff, felt grass turning into rocks under his paw. He opened the eyes and saw the clouds, the blue sky, the mountain ridge in the background and the cliff getting closer and closer. And beyond the cliff, nothingness. Thin air. A thousand wingspans drop and than sharp rocks. And Spyro was somewhere in the air above and Flame was alone.

Suddenly his muscles froze. He skidded to a stop half-way to the ramp. When he tried to move again, it was like he was moving in slow-motion, everything around him sped up and dragons were taking off to the left and right of him now.

Then something heavy and scaly bumped into him from behind. His snout was pushed into the smooth rock and when he looked up, he saw the bronze dragon from before. "Get out of the way, runt!" he shouted at him. "Some of us are here to fly!" Then he sprinted off to the ledge and took off.

More dragons took off on his left and right, but Flame remained on the cliff. Once the coast was clear, he pulled himself back to the rock wall. His shoulder hurt a bit when he moved, but he didn't care about that. All the other dragonets were already in the air. The race had started and when it really counted, Flame had frozen.

He heard wings flapping, then heard talons clink against the rock. When he looked up, there was Spyro, and he had never seen him so worried before.

"Are you okay!?" he asked, skidding to a stop next to Flame. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"I'm okay." Flame slowly rose to his paws, but he could barely bring himself to look at Spyro. He had ruined their launch. He had definitely, completely ruined their chances of winning the race, too. And since Spyro was here with him and not in the air like he should be, he had ruined his flight as well.

"It was that bronze dragon, right? I saw him smash right into you! I'll rip that fatsos wing's off for that, I'll toast him, I'll..." Spyro's tail twitched and smoke coiled from his nostrils as he paced back and forth, describing all the violent ways he would get back at the dragon.

"It was my fault." Flame said, stopping him. "I froze right in the takeoff. I messed it up."

Spyro let out a deep sigh. He sank down next to Flame, his anger dissipated. "No, it's my fault...." He turned away from Flame, nose dipping low. "I shouldn't have made you do it. And don't say that I didn't, because I know you wouldn't have if it wasn't for me."

Flame looked up, confused. Flame was the one who had messed up the launch, not Spyro. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well..." Spyro looked away, scratching a claw on the rock. "Well, I'm kinda always making you do stuff you're not comfortable with, aren't I?"

"That's not true I..." He stopped himself, realizing that it was in fact true. Flame would have never stepped near the cliff if it wasn't for Spyro there, with his heart-melting smiles. He wanted to be better for Spyro's sake.

But if he hadn't wanted to be better for Spyro, he would have never learned that exploring realms could be fun, that gliding won't kill him and that he can bash a gnorc if he had to.

Last year, all he could think of was showing Mother that he could be a good dragon. That he could be a hero, like Spyro. At least that's what he thought he wanted. And as he trained with Spyro, he had thought he was doing it all for him. He didn't want to let him down. But today, he wanted to fly to show that asshole bronze dragon that he could to do it. He wanted to do it, for himself, not for anyone else.

He stepped closer to Spyro and lifted his chin with a claw to meet his eyes. "Hey, if it wasn't for you I wouldn't even know how to charge-attack."

Spyro rolled his eyes, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. "You would have figured it out eventually."

Flame brought his nose in against Spyro's. It was unusual for him to be initiating contact like this, but he couldn't have his wingmate grovel in self-guilt. Not when there was a chance they could still win the race. "Hey, you said something about a shortcut?"

Spyro looked up at Flame with perplexed violet eyes. "It's not really a shortcut, just a faster way to get to the village."

Flame furrowed his brows. That did sound a lot like a shortcut. But if it wasn't technically a race, then nobody could really accuse them of cheating either. "You think we could beat them?"

Spyro seemed surprised by the question, but a wide smile quickly grew on his muzzle. "They have a few minutes on us, but if we get off our butts now and start flapping like crazy, then maybe. He leaned in closer to Flame. "If you're sure, that's what you want."

"I do." Flame said, feeling his courage return. "Let's kick their gnarly bums!"

Together, they returned to the cliff. It felt strange to once again take position beside Spyro. Like, he should be afraid but he wasn't. He wanted to get into the air already.

"You go first this time," Spyro said. "And I'll be right behind you."

Of course, what he meant is that he wanted to make sure Flame didn't trip over himself again, and Flame could hardly blame him. He nodded, and with none of the other dragons around, he felt brave enough to bring his nose up to Spyro's chin again and give his purple cheek a quick lick. "Thanks. For making me feel better."

"Oh, ehm, thanks." Spyro's cheeks seemed to take a slightly pinker hue and Flame found himself wondering if he was the first dragon in history to see the famous Spyro blush. He made a mental note to ask him about it later, but now it was time to fly.

Even Astor had left now, heading back to meet them in the village. It was only he and Spyro on the platform. Nothing mattered but them and the ramp.

He crouched down again, and this time when he took off, he didn't close his eyes. He kept them right at the ledge as he raced forward towards it as fast as he could run. It's just a glide like Autumn Plains, he told himself. Just another glide. A glide with some extra flapping. He felt the wind rush between his horns, and the sound of the roaring waterfall was drowned out by his own heartbeats and suddenly, the edge was right in front of him and the next thing he knew, his claws were paddling thin air and he was darting down the mountain in a frightening free fall.

He gasped for breath, the wind whipping tears out of his eyes. He could see the sharp cliffs zoom towards him, surrounded by mist and getting closer by the second. Then instincts kicked in, he spread his wings and immediately felt air get caught under the span of his membrane, and his joints ached painfully, but when he opened his eyes he realized to his surprise that not only was he not dead: he was soaring. And beside him was Spyro.

"You're flying!" he exclaimed, grinning wide. He seemed just as happy to see Flame in the air as Flame was to be alive. He tilted his wings and swooped down closer to him. "Awesome, ain't it!?" Even though he shouted, Flame could barely hear him over the rushing air and thundering waterfall, and was too focused on not panicking to reply anyway.

But he was indeed flying, with tall cliffs on either side of him and the lush, green jungle valley below. There were clouds all around them, and Flame noticed to his surprise that they were wet and cold inside, not soft and fluffy like they always looked from below. They were flying at a tearing speed too, helped along by the updraft, and it was a truly extraordinary thing, to feel the wind beating against his face, to see Spyro hover beside him.

Adrenaline surged through him, a reckless laughter bubbled out of him, and he felt the sudden urge to beat his wings harder still, to see just how fast he could go, and only some small remnant of sanity at the back of his head kept him from doing so.

Far ahead, he could see the other dragonets, following the gorge along the predetermined route that would take them to the village. Flame could just barely see the bronze dragon, somewhere far ahead, and he started beating his wings even faster. Not that it would make any difference. They were too far ahead.

Spyro pulled in closer to him. "If you wanna win..." he said between wingbeats, "Follow me!" With that, he shifted his wings and dove deeper into the valley. At first, Flame had no idea what Spyro was doing, then he saw a chasm in the cliff face.

Astor's route said nothing about a chasm. Flame's heart jumped in his chest and he looked ahead where the rest of the class were obediently following the river as planned; a safer, if somewhat slower, route to the village. That wasn't the route Spyro was taking. He was lunging towards a narrow ravine with menacing cliffs on both sides and Flame was now following him, heart beating louder than his wingbeats. But he wouldn't stop now. He had come so far. Worried so much. He had no fear left. Instead, he tucked his wings against his body and dove towards the chasm, only spreading his wings again when he had caught up to Spyro.

The rocky ravine stretched out on both sides of him and below him; thundering water. He had to steer left to avoid another waterfall, and the water washed over his scales. Beside him, Spyro was keeping a steady eye on him. "You're doing great, Flamey!" he shouted over the wind.

Flame felt a surge of pride in his chest, a warm fuzzy feeling that disappeared the second they reached the end of the ravine. The rock walls on either side of them, frightening in themselves but at least useful in guiding them forward, were now replaced by open ocean. On his right, some coastal cliffs remained, and on his left, an endless body of water. That's why Astor insisted they followed the river around the hills so that they'd stay with the shoreline. Spyro was going to fly them straight over!

"Spy... SPYRO!" Flame tried to get his purple friend's attention, but it was hard with the wind and rain battering them, pressing so hard against his wings that it was hard just to flap. "WE AREN'T... SUPPOSED TO... FLY OVER OPEN WATER!"

His wings were aching hard, and he felt like they might fall off if they didn't turn towards land soon.

"IT'S OKAY," Spyro shouted at him. His suicidal, dare-devil of a wingmate was still grinning wide. He was enjoying this, somehow. "DON'T FLAP. USE. THE. WIIIIIND!"

"BUT I'LL DIE." Flame pointed out, Flame reminded him calmly. What Spyro suggested sounded crazy. But then he noticed that Spyro wasn't moving his wings at all. They were spread wide, cupping the wind.

He gulped nervously but decided to trust his friend. He stopped flapping and kept his wings spread out wide instead. At first, he felt like he was going to dart into the ocean, but to his surprise, the winds that were pressing against him before now seemed to press up against the membrane, keeping him in the air. It was like the ocean itself was blowing air under his wings. "I'M GLIDING!" he shouted. He was just as surprised as he was relieved.

"THAT'S AWESOME, FLAME!" Spyro shouted on his left. "YOU'RE A NATURAL!" His enthusiasm was so infectious that Flame almost forgot to be afraid.

He still had to flap now and then, but gliding with the wind was much easier than trying to push through it. They were getting close to land now. The coastal cliffs were higher here, great columns of rocks that continued well past them into the sky. In the distance, he could see the village, a suggestion of lights by the coastline, and even more amazing, he didn't see a single other dragon around them - which meant they must be winning!

"Drop!" he suddenly heard Spyro's shout. He saw the purple dragon pull his wings against his body and plunge like a hawk. When Flame looked up, he realized why. He was flying right into the head of a rock arch. He closed his eyes and dove as fast as he could. He shot through the arc so close his horns scraped the stone.

His heart was pounding in his chest but he was alive. But he noticed to his surprise that he had shot past Spyro and was flying ahead of the purple dragon by a good few tail-lengths. Spyro, not to be outdone, beat his wings in a flurry to reach his place next to Flame.

"Wow... that's... really impressive," he panted.

The sunset painted the water orange and Spyro soared ahead of him. Flame had left all fear behind him on that mountain and was able to enjoy what was an odd moment of tranquility, flying with his mate. It felt right, to be soaring right next to him like this. Like the world belonged to the two of them.

They reached the coast, zigzagging between giant sea stacks and racing so low across the ocean that the waves sprayed mist in his face and he could taste the salt on his tongue. Then they flew in overland, the rolling green hills he knew so well spread out below like a chessboard, to be replaced with castle walls, towers, and the familiar bright pink orchid trees as they came in over Dragon Village.

"We're here!" Spyro shouted at the top of his lungs. "We won!"

Flame could barely believe it. It felt like they had just taken off from Dragonfly Falls. And there wasn't a single dragonet in sight. Their shortcut over the open water had gotten them there before anyone else.

"HAHAH! WE DID IT!" He screamed. He could hardly believe it. He, Flame, who had never won anything in his life, was the first to reach the village! He felt like flying right back, finding that bronze dragon and telling him right to his fat face that he had lost to the village runt.

Spyro smiled at him, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "Let's land. Maybe we can catch some shut-eye before the others arrive!" he suggested with a wink, and Flame thought that given how far ahead they were, it seemed like a real possibility.

But he wasn't done. He was suddenly so full of overjoyed, indescribable energy, that seemed to start at his belly, well out his chest, out his muzzle and then, a great torrent of flame, shot out from his mouth and lighting up the night sky. Flame stopped and beat back with a terrified squeal.

"What... what the heck was that!?"

He looked to Spyro who stared in equal disbelief. Then a wide grin sprung to his muzzle. "Flame, that was a flame!"

Flame couldn't believe it. He had learned how to fly and breathe fire on the same day! He couldn't wait to tell his mother.

He let out another torrent of fire, and Oh, it was just as beautiful as the first one, lighting up the night sky like a red lightning bolt. And it felt good! He shot out another one and another!

"Woah, careful there," Spyro chuckled next to him. "You almost singed me."

The two began a lazy spiral down to land next to the old statue in the town center. From there they could watch as the other flyers arrived, two by two, and all of them seemed equally surprised to see Flame and Spyro perched on the statue. Making matters even more awkward, and at the same time awesome, Spyro had draped his wing around Flame as if to show him off, and made a point out of waving to all the arrivals.

Flame saw Ember land gracefully on the grass just outside the market, followed shortly by her wingmate who was still gasping for air by the time he touched down with a thud next to her. But by then, Ember had already spotted Spyro - and Flame next to him - and her jaw dropped. She stared at him like she had seen a ghost.

"No way," she said, running up to them, her muzzle shaking in disbelief. "No freaking way. We were WAY ahead of you guys!"

"Your brother is a fast flyer," Spyro answered on his wingmate's behalf, pulling Flame close. "I'd say we make a pretty good team too, right Flamey?"

Flame, with his cheek smooched against Spyro's chest, could only nod. He glanced back at his sister, and the look she was giving him made his cheeks turn a deep crimson.

"Wait, are you guys actually...? I mean... Ehm..." she trailed off, looking more than a little awkward. Then suddenly, her wingmate appeared at his side. "Wow! You guys are AMAZING!," he exclaimed, a big grin spreading on his wide muzzle.

"They're not that amazing," Ember mumbled, glaring at her wingmate. She grabbed the brown dragon's wing, pulling him away. "Come on... we gotta practice." Flame could see her looking over his shoulder at them, even as she hurried off with her wingmate.

A little later, the bronze dragon arrived. The one who had nearly pushed him off the cliff. He seemed to be one of the last arrivals too. The ugly dragon saw Flame and Spyro and his expression was not unlike Ember's, just with more shock. He just glared at Flame, who couldn't think of anything else to do then to wave and smile, which only made the bronze dragon sour more and he padded off as fast as dignity could allow.

"You wanna get out of here?" Spyro nudged his shoulder.

Flame blinked, surprised. "Leave? Now?" All the fliers hadn't even arrived yet, and it would probably take Astor a good hour at least to get back to the village. "We'll miss the headcount."

Spyro scoffed. "Who cares? Enough dragons have seen us to spread the word, so everyone will know we won, which is the important part anyway!"

Flame wasn't in the habit of skipping lessons, but Spyro nudged his shoulder and he felt his resistance dissipate. The truth was that he'd much rather spend another evening in Dark Hollow with Spyro than wait around for Astor. Screw Astor! What did Flame need the elder for anyway? He already knew how to fly, and the idea of some more alone time with Spyro made his heart flutter.

"Alright we can go," he said to Spyro. "But if we're gonna get there before midnight, we better start walking now." He started off in the direction of the main road, then noticed Spyro looking at him with a raised eyebrow and wings spread wide.

"Oh right, we're flying, aren't we?"

~ ~ ~

Taking off was a little harder without "the ramp", but with enough flapping and running Flame eventually managed to get into the air. A few quick wingbeats later and the village was already far behind them. The setting sun painted the clouds in purple and pink, and with no race to win, he found that flying could be quite peaceful, especially with Spyro by his side.

Despite being a fair bit faster than Flame, Spyro made sure to stay close so that the two could enjoy a relaxing flight together. Flame glanced at him, the dragon who had protected him, shown him that he could both fly and breathe fire. His wingmate. His heart fluttered in excitement. If only his mother knew how wrong she had been about Spyro.

Flame found it a little hard to keep his eyes off him, with his lithe body cut through the air so easily, his muscles stretching with each wingbeat, his purple scales that always seemed to have a glow of their own, especially in the setting sun.

Spyro must have noticed him staring because he looked back at Flame with a puzzled expression. "Whatcha looking at there?"

Of course, Flame's first impulse was to deny he was even staring to begin with, but for once he decided not to hide his admiration. "Your scales are very pretty. In the sun, I mean."

"Oh?" Spyro seemed a little taken aback. "You really think so? I always thought purple looks kinda silly on a dragon."

"Silly? No, way!" Flame shook his head. "They look awesome!"

"I don't know," Spyro chuckled, shifting his wings to fly a little closer to Flame. "Being the only purple dragon gets old real fast. Besides, I'd much rather have Blood Red scales, like yours!"

"Huh..." Nobody had ever called Flame's scales Blood Red before. He kind of liked it. He was struck by a sudden urge to paint again, and then suddenly, he remembered something. Something he had left under his bed a few days back. Something important.

"Wait! I need to stop by my cave to pick something up," he said to Spyro. "It's not too far from here, I'll be back in a minute!"

"Okay...?" Spyro looked a little confused, but Flame was already off. Luckily, his cave really wasn't too far away. It was a little ways down the main road, halfway to the village.

He landed on the grass outside, skidding to a stop by the door and sending loose dirty and pebbles about him. Not the prettiest landing maybe, but he had all the time in the world to practice.

He found the painting under his bed, just where he had left it. It was still scrunched up and a little dusty, but it was okay. He unfurled it and laid it carefully in his satchel, which he strapped tight against his belly.

He was just about to rush out the door when the deep, familiar voice of his mother made him freeze with his claw on the handle.

"Flame?" His mother looked at him, confused. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with Astor? For your first flight?"

"Oh ehm... Astor's lesson. I guess I'm kinda... skipping the last part." He could see the shock on his mother's face. He knew she wouldn't approve, so he quickly added: "It's okay though. I won the race! I'm one of the best fliers in the valley, and I have my fire breath too!"

"You... you got back to the village first? Flame, are you sure you're not mistaken?" His mother gave him an odd look, as if she didn't quite believe him, but Flame didn't care whether she did or not. He had more important things to do.

"I'll tell you all about it later," he promised. "But Spyro is waiting for me. He's my wingmate." He stared anxiously at the door.

"Your wingmate is Spyro?" Her voice remained calm, but Flame could see her frills bristling. "Flame, please, can we talk?"

"Can't. Gotta go!" He hurried out and closed the door behind him. He ran through the grass and launched into the air, breathing a sigh of relief when he left the cave behind.

He was back no less than five minutes later. He had left Spyro in the air above the old forest, the one near Crocodile Swamp. It had started to drizzle slightly, and the wind had picked up a bit, but the sun was still up and shining a bright orange.

At first, he didn't see Spyro, but then the dragon shot through the clouds like a purple bullet, his wings tucked tight against his body. He swooshed past so fast Flame was worried he had lost control and would crash into the ground. But just before reaching the treetops, his orange wings shot out on each side of him and he leveled out. But he didn't just level out, he kept his wings out wide and pitched his nose upwards, using the extra speed to execute a pretty impressive half-loop.

Now flying in Flame's direction, he rolled around and came up on his side. "Did you see that?"

"I did. Scared the shit out of me!"

"Yeah, it's pretty cool, right? I call it a super-loop!"

"A super-loop, huh?" Flame raised an eyebrow. "How is it different from a regular loop?"

"It's like a regular loop, only faster and more dangerous, due to the neck-breaking dive. That's what makes it super!" Spyro gleamed as bright as his scales, and Flame felt a smile tugging at his lips. He had to admit it looked kind of cool.

"You want me to show you have to do it?" he asked, nudging Flame with a wingtip.

"What!? No way I'm doing that!" What Spyro was doing looked like damn near suicidal, and Flame had had enough excitement for one day.

"It's easy! You just gotta gain enough altitude, then swoop down and once you're going fast enough, angle your wings back! Like this!"

Spyro started beating towards the sky again, each flap bringing him higher up in the air. Then, just as his horns were brushing the pink clouds, he pitched his nose downward, tucked his wings in and dropped like a cannonball. And just like before, he didn't extend his wings until he was mere seconds from slamming into the trees. This time, he did a full loop: continuing over and around until he was flying in the same direction he had come from. Flame had to beat his wings hard to catch up.

"You have to admit... it looks like fun!" He said when Flame appeared at his side. He was panting hard, but still brimming with energy. "Let's do it together!" He pleaded. "You and me. It'll be amazing, I promise!"

Flame didn't know what to say. What if he couldn't unfold his wing in time and crashed into the ground? "I don't know..."

"Buuuut, of course, if you don't think you're ready, I understand." Spyro continued. "I heard it took Ember months to master looping!"

Flame raised a brow. "My sister knows how to loop?"

"Oh yeah, she's quite good at them too. But hey, don't let that bother you, bud. Nobody says you have to be as good as your sister," he said, sliding Flame a sly grin.

Flame scoffed at the blatant attempt at manipulation. Like he'd fall for that! But then again, if Ember could do it then surely he'd be able to do it too! "I'll show you," he muttered.

Without even waiting for Spyro, he climbed towards the sky, flapping hard until he had gained some attitude. Raindrops splattered against his forehead, and his wings felt a little cold, but his pride kept him going. Below him, Spyro was regarding him curiously, and his heart quickened. Knowing that Spyro was watching him made him more nervous than any amount of teasing classmates and Astors in the world. He ignored it. He flapped harder until he had almost reached the clouds and Spyro was little more than a purple dot below.

He looked down. The swamplands glimmered below, the trees looking like little green and red cotton balls, not too dissimilar from his paintings. He took a deep breath, then tucked his wings tight against his body and started his dive. He gained speed faster than he expected, much faster. Before he knew it, he had zoomed past Spyro and the trees were getting closer and closer. He extended his wings, and a sharp pain shot through his muscles when air pushed hard against his membrane, but he kept them spread wide like Spyro had shown him.

It worked. It worked brilliantly. Gravity turned into an ally, slinging him forward with the same speed it had pushed him towards the ground. He angled his wings dawnward, pitching his nose upward, thus shooting into a vertical. Then the entire world was upside down for a second. There was a sharp, sinking feeling in his stomach, like his intestines were floating in his chest, but it wasn't unpleasant. He rolled around so that the trees were below and the sky above again, like it should be, but the thrill remained. Adrenaline in his body made him want to beat his wings to keep up the speed, maybe do another loop. Instead, he forced himself to slow down so that Spyro had a chance to catch up.

He was still a little dizzy when the purple dragon appeared at his side. "How did I do?" he asked, between pants. His belly fluttered nervously. "Did... did I make it?"

Spyro just gaped at him. "Flame... you ehm..."

Flame's heart dropped to his stomach. "That bad huh?"

"You were flawless!" Spyro stared at him, wide-eyed. "You did the whole loop, on your first try! I couldn't even do that on my first try. And you were faster too!"

"I was?" Flame was a little surprised, he had just done what Spyro had shown him after all. Pride bloomed inside of him and he wondered what else he could do.

"Wanna do it again?" Spyro asked. "With me?"

"Hell yes!"

He followed Spyro up towards the sky, over the clouds, as high as they could reach. Here the air was clean and cold, and the clouds sprawled below them like an ocean of marshmallows. Spyro was setting them up for one hell of a dive, and a nervous excitement coursed through Flame's stomach. He had never seen himself as a thrill-seeker, yet here he was, giddy and giggling like a hatchling at the thought of diving again.

Spyro pulled in close to Flame, his eyes sparkling wild with adventure. They lined up, wing to wing, and Flame waited for Spyro to give him a signal. He gave him a nod before tucking his wings tight against his body. Flame did the same and the next thing he knew, they had punched through the clouds together and were shooting towards the ground, side by side, like two eagles locked in a dangerous mating dance.

The wind was strong, his eyes filled with tears and he felt the same reckless thrill overtake him, bubbling up in his chest and making him cry out. Beside him, Spyro looked like an arrow of amethyst and gold. His eyes found Flame's, they're claws locked together and the world around him turned into an insignificant blur. All he could see was Spyro. All he could hear was his own heart pounding in his throat. Their locked claws kept them close. Flame's muzzle bumped against Spyro's and his scales felt warm compared to the cold air, a strange juxtaposition.

It was a moment that felt like it could have lasted a lifetime, but then Spyro jerked away and Flame knew it was time. He spread his wings and leveled out so close to the trees he felt the leaves brush against his underbelly. Then came the loop, the best part, the g-force made his organs feel like they were weightless. When he came out the other end, his wings were aching and so exhausted every flap felt like a strain. But he felt amazing.

Spyro reappeared on his side. He was grinning wide. "That was intense!"

Flame thought about how their muzzles had touched and could only nod. "It was."

He touched down in Dark Hollow a few minutes later, crash landing in the grassy meadow with a thud. Spyro shot down through the air, performing a last backward loop before backwinging to land gracefully in front of Flame.

Always the show off...

"That's what I call flying," he grinned, padding up to Flame's collapsed body. "You okay there bud?" he asked, nudging him carefully.

"I'm good," Flame said, even though every inch of him hurt, and his wings felt like they might drop off. He did not look forward to the morning. But he did feel good. He felt better than he had for a long time.

"You know, if you want to get some sleep, my bed is more comfortable," Spyro suggested with another nudge. 'Bed' was a generous description of the sleeping arrangements Spyro had to offer; a few blankets and furs laid over bare grass. But right now, that sounded heavenly. Flame agreed and took Spyro's paw, letting his friend help him up.

He took a few faltering steps towards the library, then promptly tumbled to his side. Luckily, Spyro was there to catch him. And with his wingmates' help, he was soon sprawled out over the blankets in Spyro's sleeping spot.

Flame carefully took the satchel off him and pulled one of his furs over his body. Then flopped down next to him with a groan. "We really showed them today, huh?" he said, shifting closer and draping a wing over Flame, just like he had on their last sleepover. "Flame, the best flier in the Dragon Realm! Or well, second-best at least..." He gave Flame's cheek a nuzzle.

"Mhhm," Flame found it a little hard to think, with Spyro so close, with his warmth so near and his body so tired. He let out a content sigh and burrowed himself closer to Spyro's chest, letting his warmth spread him like a warm cup of tea on a cold winter morning. His eyelids felt heavy, his body relaxed and in a few moments, he would be asleep. A perfect end to a way too long and dramatic day.

But then he remembered that he couldn't let himself fall asleep. He couldn't let himself enjoy this. Not yet. Not when he had something to tell Spyro that simply couldn't wait.

He reluctantly pulled himself out from under Spyro's wing, which wasn't easy with every fiber of his being protesting. Spyro looked at him confused, with eyes that seem to wonder why Flame was ruining such a perfect moment. "I thought you were tired?"

"No... I mean... I am. But I have something I need to tell you."

Spyro pulled the furs off him and regarded Flame with his bright, violet eyes. "What is it, buddy?"

"I ehm..." He felt his cheeks flush up, his heart pounding hard in protest: Abort abort abort abort abort.... Maybe Ember was right. Maybe the way their muzzles had almost touched during that dive was just an accident. Maybe the nuzzles and cuddling were just signs of friendship from a dragon who had spent most of his life, isolated in a temple, and wouldn't even be able to tell the difference between friendship and love, to begin with. Maybe Spyro would think he's gross or that there's something wrong with him?

"Are you okay?" Spyro got up and sat himself down next to Flame. "You're not sick, are you? Sometimes, I can get a little nauseous when I've looped too much." He held his paw against Flame's forehead.

"No, I'm okay. Really." Flame said, removing Spyro's paw. I just wanted to...Well ehm..." He spotted the satchel laying right next to him in the grass. He leaned down and picked it up. Spyro's eyes followed him curiously.

"I wanted to show you something," Flame continued. He carefully fished the painting out from his satchel. His little masterpiece that he had spent so much time on. It would have to say what Flame couldn't. "I made this for you," he said, handing the painting to Spyro. "For us..."

Spyro only seemed more confused at first, but he accepted the painting, holding it carefully in his talons. He examined it curiously while Flame held his breath.

This is it... this is when Spyro tells you that you're gross and he doesn't want to see you again...

"I love it!" Spyro exclaimed, so suddenly Flame jumped. "You... you do?" he asked, barely letting himself believe his own ears.

"Yeah!" Spyro gave him a big, seemingly genuine, smile. "I really dig the colors and all. It's just..." he held the painting sideways, then upside down, studying it with confused look. "I'm not entirely sure what it is?"

Flame just blinked. "What do you mean? It's us of course!"

"Oh..." Spyro looked at the painting. "Oh yeah... I think I can see it. I sort of thought it looked like two exploding dragon eggs sort of."

"What!? Give me that," Flame pulled the painting from Spyro's talons, and gasped when he saw it. The water must have somehow gotten through the fabric and had smudged the colors completely! The red of Flame's scale had spread outside his body, making him look almost round, and Spyro's purple had mixed with the yellow of his belly. It was a disaster!

"Dammit!" Flame tried to wipe some of the wet colors off with a claw. But that just smeared it worse. "Dammit dammit dammit..." He picked up a leaf and began to dab along the edges of the two dragons, removing some of the smeared red and purple. It helped a little bit. But the painting was still ruined...

Spyro looked over his shoulder, concerned. "Hey, Flame, don't worry. Really," he tried. "Let me take a look at it."

He carefully picked the painting and held it in his talons. "Yeah, I can totally see it now. They look just like us!"

"You're just trying to make me feel better..."

"No, I mean it!" Spyro assured him. "It's you and me. And look, I have my wing around you, and we're hugging, like when I kept you warm last time you were here. Only, you're leaning your head against my chest, sort of like a..."

"...A couple," Flame said. In front of him, Spyro looked up. He looked at him with his beautiful, square-cut nose tilted, and Flame just couldn't help himself anymore.

He threw himself over the purple dragon, wrapping his arms around him. "Please, let me come with you to the Forgotten Realms!" He squeezed him tightly, so tightly he could, wiping the growing wetness in his eyes against his golden scales. "I know we had a deal. I know I promised to take over after you...but screw this island. I don't care about any of them" he sobbed. Emotions were surging through him now, repressed for so long. "When you leave, I want to come with you, I..."

"Flame? Flame, please don't cry, okay?" Spyro laid his claws on the red dragon and sat down in front of him. "Why would I ever leave you?"

"Because you want to live in the Forgotten Realms. And I promised to replace you..."

"Oh, that deal? Is that what you've been worried about?" Spyro stared at him in disbelief, as if Flame was silly to even remember it. Flame nodded, wiping away a tear with his wing.

"Oh phew..." Spyro breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought it was something serious! Forget about that stupid, deal, Flame! It was just some silly idea I had. It doesn't matter anymore, not after everything we've been through." He lowered his snout to look Flame in the eyes. "I'm not leaving the island. Not without my wingmate..."

"So wait... You're... you're okay with me coming then?" Flame asked. This was all happening so quickly.

"Wouldn't have it any other way!" Spyro's violet eyes met Flame's. "I'm not gonna leave you behind, Flame. That's a promise."

A relief like none he had ever felt in his life washed over Flame. He fell back on his haunches. He felt like laughing, like taking to the sky and doing a hundred loops. All this time he had walked around with a knot of dread in his stomach, certain that Spyro would disappear from his life one day, and here he was, saying straight to his nose that he's not going anywhere without Flame.

"So... you're feeling better now then? You don't need to cry anymore?" Spyro asked. His eyes were full of concern, his claws had remained on Flame's shoulders.

"I'm feeling much better," Flame promised. "But... that's not everything I wanted to tell you."

"Ah okay, cool. As long as you're okay," Spyro said, nodding, although he still seemed a little concerned. "What is it?"

"Well, this one might be a little weird but..." Flame coiled his tail nervously, unsure how to proceed. "Do you ever... like... feel that maybe with how close we are, we might be more than just friends?"

Spyro snorted. "Yes, of course we're more than friends!"

Flame's heart jumped in his chest. "Really?"

"We are best friends!"

"That's... that's not what I meant, Spyro..."

"Oh..." Spyro scratched some dirt under his paw, looking away from Flame. An awkward silence followed, and Flame had to fight the compulsion to turn tail and run away.

Instead, he swallowed down his fears and forced himself to look at his friend. "All the things we've been doing, like when you nuzzle me, or when we cuddle, maybe that's just normal friends to you, but to me it means more..."

Spyro nodded softly but didn't say anything.

Flame went on. "Spyro. I really like you. Like in that weird way. I guess you could say... I sort of love you."

Finally, the purple dragon looked up at him, regarding him with warm but confused eyes that still gave no indication one way or the other. "You... love me?" he asked, nose tilting like a dog.

Flame's nervousness started rising dramatically, quickly reaching critical levels. "I can't help it," he continued, hyperventilating between words; "I ... I think that I might have felt this way about you a very long time ... and everyone says I should just get over you but ... but..." The words wouldn't stop flowing now. "...I thought that maybe you might feel the same way, but if you don't I'll shut up about it... and promise not to be weird again but I hope we can still be friends because you're the only friend I've ever had and... and... "

He was interrupted halfway through his sentence when suddenly, out of nowhere, completely unexpected and without warning, Spyro's soft muzzle pressed against his. Before Flame could even realize what was going on, the wet warmth had short-circuited his brain. His eyes closed as he melted into the kiss while fireworks went off in his brain. His whole world was warm and wet and tasted like Spyro.

It could have been anything between seconds, minutes or hours when Spyro pulled back from Flame's muzzle.

"Sorry dude, I don't know why I did that," he stammered, seemingly as surprised with himself as Flame was. His cheeks seemed to have gotten a bit redder again, and even Sparx seemed shocked by the sudden turn of events. "I've wanted to try that for a while, see what it is like," he explained, brushing some drool off his lips and looking so adorably embarrassed Flame was close to kissing him back. "And I had to get you to calm down somehow."

"You ehm, wanted to try that for a while? With me?" Flame asked, not sure his brain was parsing Spyro's words correctly.

"No, with elder Astor. Yes, of course, with you, you dolt! You think I have another dragon I rub noses with all the time?"

"Funny you should ask... I thought maybe you were courting my sister..." Flame laughed nervously.

"Ember? That's why you've been so weird about her?" Spyro looked at him with that bemused smile, one eyebrow raised. Before Flame could answer, he had pressed his muzzle up to Flame's again and placed a lick right on his cheek. "Do I look like I'm courting your sister?" he chuckled softly, nuzzling him gently Flame. Flame had to agree that considering the evidence, it seemed unlikely.

"You're right. You're a little weird sometimes," Spyro continued. "Not because you like me, because I like you too. I think you're really cool, really nice, really good to be with... to be near. But then you get a lot of weird ideas, like me and Ember..."

"You mean you like me as in that weird way? The same way I feel for you?" He looked at Spyro with anticipation.

"I think so..." Spyro rubbed his neck awkwardly. "I don't know a lot about this whole love thing... and I'm not entirely sure what made me kiss you just now. I get these impulses when I'm around you, you know? I haven't really thought much about it..."

Now it was Flame's turn to laugh. Does he just do these things without even thinking about it? "You're a little weird too, you know."

"I guess," Spyro picked up the painting and looked at it. "I don't know exactly what all this means, but I hope we can figure it out someday. I do know that I really like you, though. A lot."

That was all Flame could ask for. Spyro didn't think he was weird. Spyro still wanted him to come along to the Forgotten Realms. Maybe this really was just a phase like his mother and Ember seemed to think, but at least they would have the rest of their lives to figure it out, and that knowledge filled his chest with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Everything was going to be fine after all.

It was dark now, and the rolling green hills that surrounded Dark Hollow seemed blue in the pale moonlight, and fireflies had come out to surround the two dragons. It was in fact, not that different from the cover on that book, or his recreation in Spyro's claws. It was getting a little cold too...

"So you wanna try that hug thing?" he asked Spyro.

Spyro nodded and smiled. He laid the painting carefully in the grass next to him. Then he stepped closer and embraced Flame. His wings wrapped around him, the membrane felt smooth and warm against his scales, and he could feel his own muscles relaxing, unwinding, as he melted into the embrace. His cheeks found its spot under Spyro's chin. It was exactly like the image. It was much better.

"This is nice," he felt Spyro rumble softly through his chest. Flame could only purr in response. If the kiss had been fireworks, this was like a slow, motionless dance. It was like that lazy morning they had shared, but somehow even more special because now he didn't have to hold back or worry. All the tension, all questions and all his fears were sucked right out of him, replaced by thrilling yet soft intimacy he got from being near Spyro, filling his body like warm honey. And this time he could allow himself to enjoy it.

Then all of the fuzzy, honeylike warmth vanished with four simple words:

"I'm gonna miss this."

Flame's heart sank to his belly. He looked up at Spyro, who was still smiling, still resting his chin between his horns. "What do you mean?" he asked the bigger dragon.

"You, silly..." Spyro's wings tightened around Flame. "On my next mission to the Forgotten Realms, I'm saying I'll miss you is all." He looked at Flame, a flicker of concern passing over his eyes upon seeing the look on the smaller dragon's face. "But, don't worry. I'll be back soon as I can," he amended quickly.

Flame pulled away from Spyro, freeing himself from his wings. The world instantly felt a lot colder. "Spyro, I don't understand. You're leaving again?"

The purple dragon sighed. "I didn't want to tell you before the flight. I have to return. Tomorrow morning, and I might be gone a little longer this time." He looked at Flame and stepped closer. "I wouldn't go if I didn't have to..."

But Flame shied away from him. "But why!? You said it yourself, screw the elders! Tell Tomas he can collect his own damn dark orbs!" His voice cracked a bit. He didn't understand. Spyro had just come back, and now he was going again? "You JUST said you wouldn't leave me again..."

"I'm not leaving you!" Spyro said, defensively. "At least not for long. And this isn't about Tomas' dark orbs. In fact, the elders don't even know I'm going." He leaned closer, and the look on his face was unusually serious, his eyes having darkened. "You can't tell any of the elders about this, Flame. "Not Tomas, not Astor, not even Magnus. If you do she could get in trouble!"

"What!? Who is she? And why would she be in trouble? And why can't I tell the elders!?" Flame had so many questions, and Spyro was making no sense at all.

His friend didn't answer at first. He looked down at his talons, at the grass, anywhere but Flame. But Flame wouldn't let up. "Tell me," he begged. He took hold of Spyro's claws and looked at his wingmate. "Please, just tell me what's going on..."

Spyro let out a deep sigh. "It's... a little complicated. There is this dark dragon that has been causing trouble all over the realms, burning villages and destroying gateways. The elders sent me to take care of her."

Flame furrowed his brows. "What do you mean 'Take care of her'"?

"It doesn't matter... The point is that I realized she isn't an evil dragon, that someone is controlling her, making her do these horrible things against her will."

"Like... hypnosis?"

"Yes. So instead of doing what the elders told me, I freed her. But Malefor is still out there..."

"Okay?..." This was all just making Flame more confused. Who was Malefor? "But she's free then? Great! What does any of this have to do with you? Why do you have to go?"

"I guess I don't... But I want to. I don't want her to have to do this alone. She's not just any dragon. She's a friend," he explained. "And besides, I want to make sure the dragon responsible can never hurt her again. That he pays for what he did." Spyro looked towards the sky, and Flame saw that his sharp claws were digging deep into the earth.

He didn't recognize this Spyro. He seemed, suddenly, much larger in a way. His jaw was clenched tight and there was a steely resolve to his eyes. A far call from the dragon he had been doing loops with less than an hour ago. In the grass by his paw, Flame's painting lay forgotten, and he realized with a sinking heart how insignificant his little crush on Spyro, his selfish little feelings, must seem compared to what waited for him out there.

"Well then... I guess I better pack..." he said, with a sigh. He picked his satchel from the ground. If they stopped by his mother's place, he could pack his maps, some food, maybe a few blankets. His mother would kill him for this, that is to say, if he returned alive. But he'd deal with that later. He carefully picked up his painting, looked once more as the two hugging dragons before slipping into the bag.

Spyro jolted back to reality. He looked at Flame, surprised, then his eyes filled with pity. He didn't say anything at first. He didn't have to. Flame had seen that look of pity a thousand times before, in the face of his mother, in the elders. Even in Ember. Eyes that said "you can't". "You're not good enough."

"Flame..." he started.

"What!?" Flame threw the satchel over his back. "I'm ready. Let's go save your dragoness friend, already!"

Spyro shook his head. "Flame, you're not coming. It'll be dangerous and I don't think you're prepared for something like this."

"Why not!?" Flame flared up. He fixed his eyes on the bigger dragon. "You said I can be every bit as good a hero as you. You said it's all about determination!"

"I did, but..."

"And I can fly now! You said it yourself, I'm a natural!"

"Flame..."

"And I can breathe fire! And I can fight gnorcs, I can charge-attack, and I'm not afraid of heights anymore!"

"Flame, please!" Spyro stomped the ground. He stomped it so hard the lantern hanging by the shelf flickered and the very earth seemed to shake. "You have improved, but you're not ready. You're not close to ready! You just learned to fly today! The charge-attack is the only attack you know, and even that you're struggling to do right!"

He stepped closer, looking at Flame with his big violet eyes, eyes that were begging him to understand. He was looking down on him, Flame realized. As if he was a hatchling. Or maybe a runt. Someone who needed to be coddled and protected, but not an equal, not someone he could depend on, like the dragoness he was so eager to get back to. Without permission, anger welled up within him. That old resentment he once felt for Spyro was back, back and stronger than ever.

"I know I said you could do all these things..." Spyro continued. "And maybe someday you can but... but... you have to stay. I cannot do this if I have to worry about you as well as the dark lord that will be trying to kill us both.."

"So you lied, then," Flame said calmly, smoke coiling from his nostrils. "When you said I was good enough, you lied. Or are you lying now? Which one is it, Spyro?"

Spyro stared at him, his eyes whipped the grass behind him. "You're not being fair," he said with a low growl. "I was just trying to make you feel better. I was just..."

"No, you're not being fair, Spyro!" Flame said, frills bristling. He pointing a claw right at Spyro's big stupid nose. "You don't lie to dragons just to make them feel better! You don't promise you'll never leave, and then leave ten minutes later! You don't say you'll be back soon when you might not be back at all! You don't kiss someone to make them feel special, and ditch them whenever it's convenient!"

Spyro just stared at him. He didn't seem to know what to say, so Flame went on.

"And for the record, I know I'm small. I know I'm useless. I was fine being small and useless and keeping to myself with my painting and my books - but then you showed up and started filling my head with ideas! So don't tell me you wanted to make me feel better. You did all that to make YOURSELF feel better!"

His chest heaved. Smoke still rose from his nostrils, his anger settling in his bones. "Just go and save your dragoness...But while you're out there, figure out how much this means to you..." He picked up his satchel with his painting still in it and threw it at the purple dragon. It bounced on his chest and fell to the ground, the painting slipping half-way out in front of them. "...Because if you think you might have to leave me again... then..." he took a deep breath, blinking away the tears in his eyes. "Then I'd prefer it if you didn't come back at all..."

Before Spyro had the chance to say anything more, Flame had turned around and was running through the library. He spread his wings and took flight, fleeing Dark Hollow and Spyro as quickly as he could. Next thing he knew, he was flying through the night air, and he just vaguely heard Spyro calling his name behind him, but he couldn't be sure, and either way, he didn't care.

Ember had been right and he was going home.

~ ~ ~

Flame returned to Dark Hollow the next morning. The sun was barely up by the time he snuck out of the cave, his mother and sister were still asleep. He wanted to get there early, to catch Spyro before he left. But Spyro had already left by the time he got there, his sleeping spot was empty, his blankets still warm.

Flame sank down in the grass. He wasn't even sure why he was hoping to see Spyro before he left. Maybe he'd try to convince him to stay? Maybe he'd apologize for how he reacted last night? It didn't matter. Spyro was gone. Flame wouldn't see him again for weeks, maybe not even months. And that's if he came back at all.

He lay down on the sleeping spot, where he could still feel some left-over warmth, and buried his face in his claws.

He didn't know exactly how long he had been there when he heard Ember calling his name. "Flame!? Flame, are you in here!?" Her voice was shrill and full of worry.

She stopped when she saw him. "Bro, is that you?" she gasped, and he barely recognized her. Her eyes were red and puffy. She ran right up to him and hugged him, squeezing him tightly as if at any moment he might disappear. "Oh thank the ancestors..I've been looking all over for you!"

Flame didn't understand. "You've... been looking for me? Why?"

"I thought you might have left... with Spyro," She squeezed him tighter. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..." she whined. "About everything. I should have treated you better. I'm just so glad you didn't leave..."

Flame wasn't sure what to say. He looked down at the meadow and saw to his surprise that the world portal was deactivated. It had been on when he arrived.

"The elders turned them all off... Maybe for good, I don't know why..." Ember slowly let go of him. "I think Spyro might have done something to piss them off. They're having some sort of emergency meeting or whatever. Mom is there now."

"All this for a dragon..." Flame sighed.

Ember nodded. "Crazy ain't it? I'm just glad he didn't convince you to follow him or whatever," she laughed nervously. "Mom was worried he might try to involve you in this."

"Then mom is an idiot," Flame said, simply. "Spyro didn't want me along. He never did."

"Oh..." Ember went quiet for a while. "Then... fuck him right? I'm sorry bro, I know you liked him but... you know... he was leading us both on. Come on, let's get out of here. If you're not home when mom's back she'll explode." She laid a talon on his shoulder. "Come on...."

Flame took a last look at the library and Spyro's old sleeping spot. Then he saw something brown in the grass. His satchel. It was still laying in the grass. Spyro had left it behind.

His heart sank, and anger filled him again. He hadn't even brought it with him. He pulled away from Ember, picked up the brown bag, regarded the old ugly thing for a few seconds, then tossed it into the air.

A single flame was enough to turn it into the ashes, along with its contents, his maps, his colors, and of course, the stupid painting. It was all gone now.

"Okay, now we can go..." he said to his sister who just stared at him.

"You... you can breathe fire!?"

~ ~ ~

The most remarkable thing about the months and years after Spyro leaving was how little things changed. Nobody talked about him. The elders didn't hold any more emergency meetings, or choose a new prodigy. They had told ALL the dragons that they had sent Spyro on a new, classified mission, just to save face, probably. Of course, Flame knew better.

He had considered more than once to follow Spyro. But there were thousands of realms out there, and without knowing where exactly Spyro was heading, finding him would be just about impossible. And in any case, the elder's kept a much closer eye on the portals now.

His mother left the counsel about a year later, due to some sort of disagreement she had with the elders that she never told Flame much about. She moved to some sleepy village on the north side of the island, leaving her cave to Flame. Flame had promised he'd visit, and never did, and she for her part didn't write any letters either, like she had said she would. He could count the words they'd said to each other after Spyro left on his left claw.

When he told Ember about the kiss, she didn't believe him. "No way," she had said, shaking her head. "No way he kissed you. The guy didn't even kiss me!" She had apologized again since Spyro left, but hearing Flame's stories about how close they were seemed to have brought back some of that jealousy. In the end, he had kept most memories to himself. Ember knew about the kiss but not the sleepovers, not the cuddling, not their fight in Dark Hollow or any of the rest. Naturally, she had concluded to her own satisfaction that the kiss must have been a one-off thing.

Flame figured that his sister probably still imagined she once had a shot with the purple dragon. And maybe she was right. They had trained a lot, him and her. They were close to being wingmates, before Flame came into the picture. Spyro could have easily lied about not courting her. Flame decided that it didn't matter. Spyro was gone. Nor did Ember seem to forgive him for robbing her of her chance to fly with Spyro. But on the other hand, he never apologized.

Whenever Ember or any of her friends asked about Spyro, he always downplayed it. They were really just friends, if even that. Not a big deal. After a while, the whole thing had turned into a joke. Flame's silly little crush on Spyro. After a while, he just refused to talk about it, and the more he refused, the more insistent Ember seemed to bring it up.

It was like she thought it would help him get over him. Or maybe she was sick of seeing him sulking in his cave.

Worse yet, she had taken it upon herself to try to find Flame a mate, starting with a green dragoness from Artisans who seemed nice enough, but not so much so that he preferred her company over the solitude of his cave. Switching tactics, she had tried again with a male dragon from another village, a handsome blue fellow, and he had been nice too, but it didn't go anywhere either.

Then after a while, she had resigned to simply leave him alone, letting him sit in his cave and 'mope', as she called it. But Flame didn't see what he was doing as moping. He painted. He read. He stuck to himself and tried not to think of Spyro, and after a while, it got easier. He'd leave the cave to take walks now and then, bringing with him in his canvas. He'd start flying again. He'd even break a few of Spyro's speedway records. Now and then he would talk to Magnus, but never Tomas and especially not Astor.

Then the news started reaching the island, spread far and wide by the elders. It was the tales of Spyro's great adventures, his heroic deeds, the realms he had saved and all the rest. That other dragon he went to free was also mentioned now and then. But there were never any messages from Spyro, and even the news that did reach them were old and based on rumors; dragons claiming to have seen them or have heard from a dragon who had seen them. Yet, Tomas and the other elders seemed proud of Spyro, happy to take credit for his deeds. Astor was the only one who still seemed to hold a grudge.

A part of Flame was happy that Spyro was doing what he loved, that he had left the island and gotten away from it all like he wanted. It was always obvious how much he hated the island. And it was better, he told himself, Spyro leaving for good rather than returning only to leave him again.

He still didn't know why exactly Spyro had never returned. Maybe he had really scared him off with his crush on him. Maybe he had listened to Flame's wish, that he didn't return unless he meant to stay. Maybe he just simply had too much fun to worry about this miserable old island.

Flame tried not to think about it. And for the most part, he didn't. But he still couldn't see a dragon flying on the horizon without stopping and hoping. His heart would start to beat and he'd think maybe... just maybe... But then the dragon would fly off, or reveal itself to be yellow or green and not ever purple.

It was amazing how fast a decade could fly past.

Then one day, his sister showed up in his cave, waking him up quite rudely. "I got news about your old crush," she said, eyes sparkling with excitement. "He's coming home. Tonight. And the elders are throwing him this big homecoming party and everything, down at the shore! Everyone's gonna be there, so make sure you get there early so you don't miss him." She gave Flame a wink.

"Yeah right..." Flame buried his face in his pillow. "Wake me up when you actually see him in the scales..." He was sick of rumors.

"Be there or don't, I don't care," his sister said with an eye-roll. "But you should know that Ashes is coming too. And she is curious to meet ya."

"Ashes? Who in all the realms is Ashes?" Flame didn't remember any Ashes. But then again, all Ember's friends were all the same. All equally annoying.

"She's nice. So unless you're still saving yourself for Spyro, maybe try to keep the selfish jerk-attitude to a minimum and you might even make a friend today. She'll be stopping by at your place. It's been years since she was last on the island so make sure she doesn't get lost."

"Whatever..." Flame groaned. He still didn't believe her for a second. It was just another one of those stupid rumors. Or a prank or something. His sister had a weird sense of humor.

Of course, he still made sure to be at Dragon Shores and by noon too, even though the party wasn't until later that evening. The sand on the beach was wet, it rained, the day was gray and there wasn't a dragon in sight. But yet he waited. After ten years, he still held on to some hope that this day would be different.

One way or another, he always ended up waiting.

---

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!)'

V_2020-04-30 20:09:34