Spyro the dragon and all related characters/games are copyrighted originally to Insomniac and currently to Sierra and Krome Studios. Lord only knows who it'll be next year. This fanfiction is a work made for entertainment and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights.
Set in the original Spyro the Dragon Universe (in other words it is in no way connected to The Legend of Spyro: A New Beginning and probably not connected to A Hero's Tail, either.)
"He was a genuine adventurer and a true friend. The only one she had."
Chris Wooding, "Poison."
Dum Spyro Spera.
When I was younger, I believed what I was told. That when you merged with a dragonfly, it was always a match, at least in the eyes of the dragon elders. Kinda like finding a... well, like a soul mate (yeah, yeah, Hunter laughed at that one, too. I know, it sounds weird, but when you find another way of saying someone is telepathically bound to your very subconscious mind in a way you can feel all the time but can't see, let me know, okay?)
You become a part of each other. There's just no other way of putting it. You feel what they feel and they feel what you do. The elders always make a huge fuss about it all. Matching up personalities and finding balances and all that stuff. I don't know how they do it, I just know they do. Because you can't have a dragon without a dragonfly, and you can't go matching up the wrong pair or else nobody's going to be happy.
Only it's not always that way at all. At least, that's what Sparx says. He probably has a point, I mean if he'd just try to agree with me a little bit more we'd probably have a lot fewer accidents.
…Okay, maybe we wouldn't. But a dragon's got to do what a dragon's got to do, right? Dragonflies… usually go along with it.
I didn't really think that was fair. That's why I gave him the option of leaving. They can do that, you know. People say that they can't – that a dragon and their dragonfly are inherently bound to one another by their very souls, that you can't take them away from each other, no matter what, but that's all just fairy stories that the dragon elders tell you (no offence, Zoë, I'm sure there's a lot of good really fairy stories out there). A dragonfly can guard anyone he wants to guard. Sparx does it for our friends, sometimes. Hunter says that having a dragonfly on your tail is like being on a sugar high or something. You feel like nothing in all the realms can touch you. And it sort of can't... Unless it hits you really, really hard.
Anyway. I've given him the option a lot of times. He doesn't have to stick around me, and really, not all dragonflies do these days. Merging (you know, combining a dragonfly with the energy of a dragon or… whatever it is they do, exactly?) isn't as big a deal as people used to think it was. They say the tradition is getting old and that dragonflies are getting way more independent. They don't always want to act as just guardians anymore. I've got to admit, though, I have a hard time believing that, when I look at Sparx.
...Don't tell him I said that, okay?
Only I sometimes wonder why he puts up with it. With me always getting us into one fight after another. It happens. I go to help someone out, Sparx thinks it's dangerous and tells me to be careful, I tell him not to be such a worry bug. I crash the bad guys party, Sparx worries some more. Then a Gnorc or a Riptoc or a Cat Wizard or… something else equally bizarre does something I don't expect and I have to go back to a fairy pad for a healing session. Sparx tells me off for being reckless, we argue some more, I tell him to leave if it bothers him so much and… and then he buzzes at me and stops talking and then things are way too quiet for a while.
And then we do it all over again the next day. Seriously. It's a daily session. I know how much it hurts, in more ways than one and I…
You can see why it bothers me, right?
But I know he won't leave. He just won't. For a long time, I couldn't work out why. He won't tell me the details and… hey, he doesn't have to. It's not like things are the way they used to be –back when Dragonflies were subservient to the dragon. If Sparx wants to speak his mind he knows he can. And boy are there days when he does...
But he doesn't very often. He's weird like that.
What can I say? I like him as he is.
It was getting late.
Couldn't be long now. He'd been there for hours already, waiting, watching and trying not to fall asleep. He crawled up the outside of the shell, softly, as if worried he might disturb the occupant. No response from the egg, though, except for the soft, quick pulsing of a heartbeat and the occasional kick, making the outer shell tremble. Nothing unusual about that.
The orange glow from inside, however –now that was unusual. Every now and then, the surface of the eggshell would be licked by a glimmer of light. It happened at sporadic intervals, though usually when Sparx was just about to fall asleep.
Ah. There. He was doing it again. So he wasn't asleep after all.
(What're you doing in there, anyway?) Sparx spoke amusedly into the shell. A few more flickers of orange light heated the surface beneath him.
Sleeping…(Sleeping? You're breathing fire, that's what you're doing.) Sparx tried not to yell, but it was hard to help. It wasn't… often that dragons did that. Not before they were born, anyway. It figured, though, because Sparx already had a feeling that this one was… different. It wasn't in a crèche where they kept all the other eggs, for one thing, and it had come along almost a whole year after the other eggs, for another.
…Can't help it.
(Shh. Don't do that. Won't be long now.)
The dragonfly's wings flickered in the air, tasting the temperature. Warm enough. The unborn stirred, but there was no fire this time. (Let's play an asking game. You like that, don't you? You want to know what I see?)
Tell me.
(What do you wanna know?)
The ground…(But you wanted to know that last night. Show some originality, kid. Choose something else. Something you haven't been told about a dozen times before)
No. I want to know again. Tell me the ground.
(…Oh-kay. Fair enough, kid. Have it your way.)
This was how they played the game –Sparx knew the answers, the unborn just had to ask him for them. The trick, however, was to ask the right questions... and it really should have been more difficult, Sparx thought, for the unborn to know what the right questions were. It had never even seen the world outside of its eggshell, after all.
Sparx looked around and surveyed the scene. What could he tell him that he hadn't already said the night before, anyway? Things hardly ever changed around here. (Um… I see flowers over there… and trees.)
Know about them. Pink.
(You remembered? Well done.) He felt… proud at the unborn's recollection, for some reason. Might as well keep the little guy occupied while he waited to get out of there, right?
Don't know what pink is…(Oh, yeah.) There was that in it. Sparx beat his wings gently against the shell of the egg, wondering whether the unborn could really feel it. (Well… you will when you hatch.)
Is it like fire?
(Nah, fire is orange, usually. Not all the time, though. Fairies and magic crafters can make it any colour the like. And it's made of light. And it's warm. You probably know that bit.)
I think I do. Go on.
Sparx's eyes fell on a green scaled dragon not far across the field from the doorwaywhere the egg lay unnoticed. (Nestor is out, tonight.)
Is he pink too?
(Uh… no. Not exactly. Anyway, he's lighting a fire for all the other dragons.)
Orange.
(Uhuh. It gets cold late at night, but you wouldn't know about that would you? Nice and snug in there, breathing fire, of all things…) Sparx smiled a little –as much as a dragonfly could smile, anyway, and that was mostly internal. Something only an unborn or an elder could see– (At least it'll keep you warm.)
I want to see.
Sparx's front section shook a bit. He didn't know why. After all there wasn't really much to be nervous about right now and usually that was what happened when he was. (That's not right. You're meant to ask what I see.)
I want to see dragons. I want to see fire. Outside. Pink.
(You will) Sparx said. Didn't this kid ever give it a rest? (I'll show them all to you when you come out of there. I promise.)
Tell me about dragonflies…(You're not playing the game right. You're supposed to ask what you want to see. I can't see any dragonflies.)
You're a dragonfly.
…There was a silent pause.
(You know that? How?)
…You are. Something told him that the dragon infant didn't really know how he knew he just… did somehow. I want to know dragonflies.
(Hey!) He beat his wings against the shell. (How do you know what I am? I never told you…)
You're my dragonfly.
It was all the answer the unborn would give. Maybe it was all the answer he could give. When he was older, maybe, he would make more sense. There's only so much awareness an unborn can have.
Funnily enough, for Sparx, it felt like answer enough. An ever so slightly disturbing answer, but an answer nonetheless.
(All right, then…)
Sparx was asleep before the unborn could ask him more questions.
'Wretched Artisan-cursed thieves.'
The voice that woke him was harsh and angry in a way that it shouldn't have been. Namely because it was Silvus's voice. Silvus wasn't usually an angry individual. 'It was thieves that had it, wasn't it?'
'Yes, if you must know, I took this thing back from the thieves just outside of the Artisan Keep. Lord knows how long the dragonfly has been there. Was I honestly supposed to leave it with them?' That was Nestor. Sparx knew him. Old and kind and wise beyond his years.
More voices. Various.
'Foolishness.'
'Suicide…'
'Small thieves we can handle, but they come in bigger sizes, Nestor.'
'…Dangerous.'
'We can't keep it, I tell you, they will be back for it.'
'You are certain it's one of our kind, aren't you, Nestor?'
'Silvus, please, of course I can recognize a dragon egg when I see one.'
Sparx pretended to be asleep, but couldn't help shaking, a little. They were all so close, they were practically on top of him. (They're talking about the egg…)
'That egg as you call it, is a child,' Nestor snapped. (I was right.) 'A little late, undoubtedly. Remarkable, unusual, perhaps even, as you say, dangerous, but it is a child nonetheless.'
'An unborn, yes, Nestor, we understand the complications.' – Sparx didn't recognize that voice. 'However, to allow it to stay…'
'You have a better idea?'
'There are the Peace Keepers. They could protect it more sufficiently than ourselves.'
There was a snort. 'Peacekeepers. Why not? Send the child away to be trained to fight and kill…'
'There is nothing wrong with the Peacekeepers, Tomas. I have peacekeeper blood myself.'
'And that would explain a few things.'
'Peacekeepers do not kill.'
'Unless completely necessary. Am I right, Delbin?'
Sparx shivered. It was hard to help. They wouldn't hurt the unborn, though, that much he knew. The mere notion of it was rediculous. It was just that... the egg's presence had confused them. Sparx didn't blame them for their puzzlement. He would have been equally bewildered if someone had messed up his yearly schedule so enormously. However, Dragons were mostly peaceful, even those like the Peacekeepers who had no choice but to defend their homelands. They'd never hurt a child.
'You cannot simply send the infant away, as if it never existed, Delbin.'
…He hoped.
'But... It has no dragonfly. We have already organized the mergings for last years infants.'
'Then what do you call that thing, my friend?'
Sparx knew he was being pointed out.
'Some random insect I would imagine,' Delbin sniffed at Sparx's wings, the pressure damn near torn them off and it took a lot of effort for Sparx to continue feigning sleep. 'I don't think he's one of our breeding clutches. Probably an outcast, here to share the egg's warmth. Nothing more.'
...Charming.
'If the thieves come they'll probably eat the poor thing.'
'The thieves will not come.'
'You can't be certain of that.'
'Ten we shall have to make it a certainty.'
'And the Gnorcs?'
'They'd eat it too.'
'Oh, do pipe down, Silvus. We're talking about the egg.'
'I'm talking about the dragonfly, and I tell you, Gnorcs find them a great delica—'
'The Gnorcs—'' Nestor raised his voice slightly, and quietened it when he was sure he had everyone's attention. Funny that Nestor could do that with a voice so steady and quiet and yet nobody ever seemed to listen to Delbin's angry cries. '…Will be taken care of, if they approach. Otherwise, what is there to do? The egg is off record. Nobody knows where it came from. Least of all I.'
Sparx swallowed. He didn't much like the thought of being eaten.
'So that is settled. The egg stays.'
'The Dragonfly?'
'Is of no importance. It's not bound to this dragon, true, but it seems… fond of the egg. Let it stay in the Artisan Realm.'
'I hope you think that a wise desicion, Nestor.' The other dragon's voice holds a tone of scorn and impatience.'These are dangerous times for a child in a realm such as ours.'
'You may be right, Tobias, but that isn't my concern. The unborn is alive. It is our duty to make sure it stays that way. Are you not a guardian yourself?'
Sparx felt the heat beneath him again and knew the egg's surface was glowing. For a moment, the dragons fell quiet. Surprised and awed.
After a pause which seemed to Sparx to last forever, there was a surprised cough from one of the three dragons. 'Nestor…'
'Yes, Tobias?'
'Was that. I erm… correct me if I'm wrong, but…'
Heat again, warmer this time. Sparx kept his eyes screwed tightly shut, to hide the fact that he was giggling. Nervous as anything and yet he was giggling. Talk about bad timing.
'No' Nestor said, carefully. 'No, Tobias, you're certainly not wrong.'
'Well,' the old dragon Tomas sounded almost as if he was laughing. 'Well I never. Fire in the egg. He who breathes fire.'
'I do hope it isn't going to injure itself doing that...'
Sparx tried to tell them that the dragon had been breathing fire inside the shell for days now, and had shown absolutely no signs of having harmed himself or anything else. But then, he was supposed to be faking sleep, and the dragons were hardly likely to listen anyway. They were too busy being captivated.
'We should keep an eye on this one,' Nestor said, with more concern that Sparx was happy to hear. 'There could well be dangers afoot here, my friends.'
Dangers. Dangerous… this egg?
Sparx thought about it for a long time, wondering how the infant dragon could possibly be considered dangerous. Breathing fire in the egg was one thing, but…
Why? Because the thieves might come to get it back? Thieves were cowards, why would they stumble into a dragon's nest just to claim back one silly little egg, anyway? Sparx felt a wave of something inside. He could only assume it was… a protective feeling. His silly little egg, who breathes fire while still inside.
Spyro, Sparx decided. That meant the same thing, didn't it? He who breathes fire, in some old dragon language…
Was that why it was dangerous?
Fire pulsed beneath him once again.
Sparx?
(I'm here, Spyro.)
The dragon doesn't question the use of the name. Which is kind of weird. He tends to question everything. Maybe he's just tired… I know you're frightened. Something scared you. I feel it. Your wings beat funny. Why?
Sparx beat his wings against the eggshell in a deliberately controlled way, crawling across the dirt to find a comfy spot between it and the neat earth on which it sat. (…it's complicated.)
Complicated? What does that mean?
Sparx smiled. (It means it's too tough for me to explain to you right now when everyone's tired and annoyed. I'll tell you in the morning, promise.)
Will I hatch then?
(Perhaps.) Sparx said aloud. (No), he thought privately, but Spyro didn't need to know that. Not yet.
Maybe he was getting the hang of this guardian thing…
Spyro was odd, though. He knew things. Things ordinary dragons weren't supposed to know, never mind less ones that hadn't even hatched from the egg yet. And he wasn't supposed to talk (not this fluently, anyway) or breathe fire in there, and he wasn't supposed to ask questions or form the kind of… of cognitive thought that he seemed to.
It wasn't right. None of it was right and everyone about him knew it. As much as they seemed to care Sparx could tell that all the other dragons were still niggled by the same fear the dragonfly felt himself. Yet Sparx still cared about him. More than he could imagine.
And maybe that was what frightened him most of all. Dragonflies didn't usually delight in things they didn't understand. Sparx didn't delight in them.
Being around the egg, though, always made him smile inside in a way that didn't show up on his face. Spyro understood this. Spyro understood a lot of things, which was weird for someone not born and not yet exposed to a cynical world. And dragons could indeed be a very cynical bunch at times.
Sparx hopes that when he hatches, this cynicism doesn't rub off on Spyro…
He hopes that Spyro won't go away and leave him.
Yeah. Definitely getting the hang of the parenting thing.
'Unborn dragons do not speak, Dragonfly. I'm afraid you must be imagining it.'
Delbin never called Sparx by his name, but Sparx was growing used to that. Dragons and Dragonflies weren't exactly viewed as equals, after all. In fact Delbin hardly ever spoke to Sparx at all, but he had –with scorn– when Sparx told him about the unborn dragon speaking.
That was what Delbin had said. That breathing fire before hatching was one thing, but to speak in actual words rather than mild telepathic gestures, via any means, even to a dragonfly, was entirely impossible. 'Dragons cannot be telepathically bound to anyone before their birth, dragonfly. And they can't very well speak normally unless they want to suffocate.'
(I know, but if you would listen…)
'Sparx, listen.'
Sparx hesitated at that and Delbin's large, emerald face towered above him in a way that wasn't so much scary as it was… weird. He had used Sparx's name. This had to be bad.
Delbin watched the water of the pool where they sat together for a while longer. The Artisan lands were quiet at this time of day and a weird kind of peace had fallen over everything in the sudden midday warmth. 'There is a saying amongst the dragon spirits, that when you are young and hopeful, all you want is for the world to be a good place,' Delbin said, eventually. 'But when you become a parent… you instead begin wishing it were a safe place. Do you understand me, dragonfly?' Sparx said nothing.
'I know how much this means to you, though you may believe otherwise. But I assure you, your imagination is getting the better of you. The infant cannot be speaking. We are not even certain if it's capable of hatching at all. You must understand that.'
Sparx said that he did, but a part of him refused to believe it. (A part of him usually refused to believe anything Delbin said, after all, and this felt… a little too much like a threat, even though Sparx knew Delbin would never ever threaten someone smaller than himself.
Anyway. Believing Spyro was an unhatchable would render him all but dead-in-the-egg. It wasn't a fate Sparx wanted to think of Spyro facing. He was alive, and Sparx would not imagine otherwise.
Imagining it.
Sparx thought about that possibility for a long while. Maybe. He had always had a habit of imagined things that weren't there. Being born in a place like the Misty Peaks did that to your psyche. Sparx wasn't shy to admit that perhaps his childhood acquaintances from the monasteries had been more than a little crazy. Perhaps it rubbed off.
Wonderful, Sparx thought dryly. He knew spending so much time around those temple bell ringers had been a bad idea…
Heat pulsed from under the eggshell, lighting the darkness like a quiet beacon. Something… important was happening. He didn't know how or why. He didn't know why it was important. A few minutes, passed, though and the unborn didn't speak again. Sparx figured that he must have fallen asleep.
Sparx?
Maybe not.
Sparx, am I dangerous?Sparx said nothing. …Sparx?
(We're not playing our game anymore, Spyro. No questions.) A lame excuse, not even an unborn would fall for it.
I want to know. They think I am.
(…Well, all dragon's are dangerous, really, Spyro. It's just the way they are, really. Big. Scary. Breathing fire and all that.)
Breathing fire like me.
(Yes. Except that… well, most dragons don't start doing that before they've hatched.)
Then I am dangerous…
Sparx couldn't think what to say to that. Who could? (Anyone or anything can be dangerous, if it really wants to be and has some idea of how. We'll be able to ask all those questions properly when you've hatched out.) If you hatch out.
…I want to hatch. The unborn's tone of thought was frustrated. Angry. As if he knew he was late. As if he knew that something was wrong with the way the world was working. As if he knew he shouldn't have been seeing all those different colours and cats and… and whatever the heck else it was that he said he was seeing.
(I know. But… it's not time yet.) It wasn't time, was it? A part of Sparx truly wished that it wasn't but… he wasn't so sure, now. (Be patient, okay. I'm sure it can't be that much longer.)
When I hatch, Spyro said, I won't be breathing fire inside the shell anymore. Just outside. That will change things. Then they might not have to be afraid.
(You shouldn't want to hatch just to keep other people happy,) Sparx murmured sleepily. (Trust me; if you look anything like all the other hatchlings, they won't be afraid of you. You'll be too small to scare them, even if you do breathe fire in the egg. You're still an infant dragon. You're still who you are. I don't think that's ever going to change.)
The unhatched gave no response to that.
Which would be worse, then? Dead in the egg, or alive to face the world and all its terrors.
Sparx decided to sleep before he started working on an answer to that unanswerable problem.
The decision would, in the end, be made for him anyway.
Sparx…?
(Ngh. What is it?)
I'm not sure. Something's wrong.
(Like what? Be more specific.)
…
(Spyro, what is it? I mean it's not like you can ask for a glass of water in th—)
Sparx… burning
…What?
Burning.
For as long as every dragon and dragonfly of the Artisan lands lived, they would never find out exactly how the Gnorcs had managed to obtain the explosives.
Sparx felt the familiar heat again, but this time it was far too hot and singing the tips of his wings until he awoke suddenly from the pain.
'Dragonfly, for ancestor's sakes, get out of here.'
Delbin. It was Delbin's voice. Only it couldn't be, because Delbin never sounded so… nervous. But then again he usually didn't have to speak over the rumble of what felt rather like a small earthquake and…
…and did he smell burning? Wait, what—
Sparx was wide awake, now, flittering a little with scorched wings. Pink and red light glistened through the tower windows and corridors of the castle, and Delbin towered over him, the shadow of his wing protecting Sparx and the egg from the burning fires rising up around them.
Sparx had no time to think about anything else before Delbin was lifting the egg and holding it firmly away from the nest while a half dozen lumps of rock fell into the straw where the next has been only a few seconds earlier.
(Delbin…?)
'Hurry! Damn it, dragonfly. There's enough magical potential built into these structures to send a Peace Keeper dragon to the high moons. You don't want to know the consequences of an influx!'
Sparx didn't know exactly what all that was supposed to mean. He flew for his life, anyway.
They emerged from the castle into organized bedlam. There were already dragons testing various breath abilities against the fires, trying to calm them. Younger dragons gathered around the elder's feet, the smallest hiding beneath their wings. There was some smoke, but it all seemed to drift upwards, well away from the gathering crowds. Delbin still carried the egg as they approached the gathering that had centred in the middle of the open field of the keep. (Right in the middle… that means we can't fly out.)
Sparx stammered a bit before finding his vocal cords. (What is it?)
'Gnorcs,' Delbin spat the word out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. Abut twenty seconds later; Sparx received an explanation of exactly what an influx was in visuals. Pink light splintering the castle walls, echoes of red across the stone ground and rippling through the grass causing several of the dragons nearest to take to the air to avoid being burnt. 'Apparently they were in need of some… entertainment.'
(And this is their definition?)
'What do you expect from artificial creations of basic intellect, Sparx?'
(…)
'Gnorcs with high intensity magical explosive devices would be a more accurate description,' Tobias noted, calmly. Nobody was listening to him. Already Sparx could feel the fires behind him as dragons struggled to put out the growing magical blazes. Fairies had begun to appear by now, and spells were flying left right and centre as they fought to stay ahead of each new spattering of magical explosions. Nothing big now though, detonations came more like pops than explosions
(Is it… can you fix it?)
'I would imagine so,' Nestor sounded oddly calm given that the castle was currently wrapped in a magical blaze.
(But… all the shaking.)
'The quakes are caused by the explosives themselves. Again, it is fixable. Was there anyone in the room where you were, dragonfly?'
(No. No, just me. Me and Sp— me and the last dragon egg. What about the Gnorcs with the… explosives?)
Nestor swallowed visibly. 'They may be a touch more difficult to put a stop to. The building, at least, appears worse than it is. Fire of this nature is damaging only to living flesh and bone.' And wing, Sparx thought, trying to shake out the sensation of burning.
Delbin grunted. 'Don't say I didn't warn you that it was a bad idea giving them their own territory.'
'Surely a better one than allowing them to continually destroy and rampage everyone else's?'
'Still. Giving them magical access… you can see the result of that right before our eyes, Nestor.'
'The egg,' Tobias put in, quickly. 'What happened to the egg?'
Delbin was making that discovery for himself and for the first time, Sparx did not interfere. He just hovered; trying to ignore the burning in his wings and focus on the shell held lightly in Delbin's front claws. More lightly than Delbin usually held anything, as he inspected the surface, extra senses digging into the surface and tracing the life within. Sparx could almost feel the unhatched dragon stirring, even from a distance and then Delbin…
Delbin smiled. Not for long. For barely a second, in fact. As if the unborn had spoken to him through the shell the same way he spoke to Sparx. But the smile quickly faded back into a far more anxious expression. (It's alright. I kept a close eye on it.) It was only when nobody answered that he felt nervous. Spyro hadn't spoken since he'd woken them up in the fire… (It is alright, isn't it?)
'Dragonfly,' Delbin said seriously, 'I'm starting to wonder if this egg was ever alright.'
(What's that supposed to mean?)
'Yes, Delbin, do elaborate on that detail for us, will you?'
Delbin didn't answer Tobias's query. He looked from Sparx, to the egg, then back to the dragonfly. The presence of the fires seemed to fade into the background and sparks were all that remained of former large blazes. The stone was somewhat crumpled, but otherwise it appeared hardly singed. Not that Sparx was interested in that at that moment. 'How long have you been watching it?'
(Um. I'm not sure. A while. At least a couple of weeks.)
'That long?' Delbin sounded surprised. 'And the egg was already a late delivery. You never mentioned that it arrived earlier than the others.'
Sparx was going to say that he figured they already knew that but quickly realised there was no sense in opening his mouth. Delbin was no longer listening. He was more preoccupied with the egg. 'This egg will not hatch.'
And that… made no sense whatsoever. (What do you mean.)
'I mean what I say dragonfly. Here is no way for the hatchling to penetrate the thickness of the shell.'
(But… he won't survive in there.)
'We are aware of that.'
(But.. I don't understand.)
'An influx of premature magic before birth causes an unnatural thickening of the eggs surface making it impossible for the hatchling to puncture.' Nestor was thoughtful enough to explain. 'When the nutrients run out, the hatchling dies without ever seeing the sunlight. This egg is an unhatchable.'
Tobias reeled a little bit at that word, a visible shudder passing through all those in the immediate surroundings who had been listening in on the conversation.
That thought hurt more than anything Sparx had ever felt in his life. 'Without ever seeing sunlight,' the words repeat in his head.
I want to see…
(But… That can't be true. He's breathing fire before birth, how can he be too weak to push through a shell?)
'The strength of the dragon is not the issue,' Delbin said, speaking as if it was obvious. 'And the premature breathing of fire is just a symptom of excess magical discharge. There is too much energy surrounding this egg, preventing the birth of the dragon hatchling within. To fracture the shell by other means would send the infant into shock. Either way there is no hope for survival.'
(No.) Sparx repeated it with more force than before. (I won't let it. He's my dragon, I won't let some stupid magic take him away.)
'A dragon that will never hatch. It's a terrible thing.' Silvus shuddered, probably with the memory of other dragon hatchlings that had met the same fate. 'There have been more like this, in recent years. Haven't they?'
'Too many. It doesn't bode well.'
(Don't talk about him like he's already dead.) Sparx had taken up residence on the shell of the egg, regardless of the fact that Delbin was still holding it. Underneath him, he could feel the unborn moving, shifting. Very much conscious(He's not. He's still right here. There's still a chance he could hatch. He spoke to me. He's still alive.)
'As many of them are,' Delbin said. 'It doesn't mean they're any more likely to be able to smash out of their shells.'
(Stop it! I don't believe you.)
'You believe I would waste my time trying to convince an overenthusiastic non-selected dragonfly of anything,' Delbin said, slowly and deliberately. 'If it were not a sure fact? All this,' he looked around. 'Can't possibly have helped his situation. Dragon eggs naturally absorb a great deal of magical undercurrents. I'm sorry, Sparx. But this is the way of things. And I am no happier than you are by the thought of a lost youngster.'
(Really? Well you didn't even seem to want to keep him last time I checked!)
'Both of you, enough of this.' Nestor commanded silence from the two of them. 'Surely we can think of an alternative, Delbin…'
'The facts are what they are, Nestor. There is nothing we can do about it.'
'And why is it a fact, may I ask?'
It was a newcomer's voice. Well… more of an old comer, really. They didn't get much older than the tan-toned dragon now approaching through the scattered crowds.
'Tomas, I don't quite understand your meaning?'
Sparx liked Tomas, for reasons he couldn't explain. He always had. Maybe it was because he approached dragonflies as equals rather than walking health dispensers, or whatever it was they were calling them these days. Tomas was old and tried and his wings didn't work anymore, but he could still bite back at Delbin. That was impressive. There weren't many who could bite back at Delbin in the first place.
'Tomas?'
The old dragon made himself comfortable in the nearby grass, carefully taking the egg from Delbin's hands, settling again in a stance that brooked no argument. The egg sat between his two front claws. 'I seem to recall, young Delbin, that there was a time when a certain youngster was completely unable to conjure even the slightest magical energy source. Couldn't light a candle at three paces, either. Who was that, now?'
Sparx really, really liked Tomas.
'…Many dragons do not gain fire breathing skills until well into adolescence.'
'Yes, of course, but most of them manage it by adulthood,' Tomas said with only a hint of amusement. 'Perhaps, then, you and this little one here are both late bloomers. Is that not possible?'
'Late bloomers and unhatchable are too different things.'
'You should have more faith in youth, Delbin. I certainly wish I had mine back. I would have paid it far more consideration than I did, had I known better of my own capabilities.'
Sparx didn't say anything, but he was hoping. If they decided it was impossible, that Spyro had no way of hatching then that was that. dragonflies had no right to judgement in this situation.
'Yes. Why not, Delbin?' Nestor asked, after a pause. 'You did.'
Delbin did… okay, what? With Sparx's attention drawn in his direction, Delbin looked decidedly more edgy. (Wait, you were…)
'It's not important,' Delbin interrupted, sharply. 'One anomaly does not a cosmic pattern make.'
(But maybe this is another anomaly!)
'…Perhaps. You have a means to prove that?'
Their conversation had drawn some attention from the others around them, by now. It was amusing, in a weird way, that even in the midst of what should have been chaos, a few had paused to overhear the gossip. But the remains of the purple and pink fires burning throughout the castle didn't matter anymore. Neither did the rather large gathering of dragons and the occasional bound dragonfly surrounding the common. Neither did the occasional ominous rumble that still bothered them on all sides.
The dragon egg mattered.
Spyro mattered, and he was not an unhatchable. He wasn't.
(…Well, maybe I could actually…) He hesitated, seeing the expression on Nestor's face. Because Sparx knew what he was about to suggest, and he knew the reaction such a request was going to kick off. (I have an idea. I'm not supposed to, but there's no reason why not and… if we can't do anything else to help anyway then if… If we were to… merge, that is, the way dragonflies do when they're older…'
The reaction he got was… not what he had been expecting. Those observing seemed to mutter in vague agreement rather than the alarm Sparx had expected. Delbin, however, did not let him down on the alarm front. 'What? No. Not with an unborn. Not so young. That would be impossible.'
(Like talking inside the egg is impossible?) Sparx asked.
For maybe the first time in his whole one hundred and twenty years of life, Delbin couldn't come up with an answer. (I can't let it die. What is there to lose?)
'Well there's always you, dragonfly,' Tomas said with nary a shrug. As if he were point out the location of the sun in the sky, rather than commenting on Sparx's potential death if this idea went wrong. Which it probably would, now that Sparx thought about it. (Who in the dragon realms would be stupid enough to merge with an unborn dragon?)
Behind them, glimmers of fire continued to burn but now the flames held the attention of the fairies alone.
'Once a merging is complete… there will be no going back, dragonfly. And death comes to a merged dragonfly when their host has gone also.'
(I know what the risks are.)
'The energy and power a dragon can generate doubles when they are merged with a dragonfly,' Nestor said, knowingly. 'It might help. The dragonfly risks no one but itself by doing this.'
Sparx felt his wings flicker of their own accord. It wasn't acceptance… Not entirely. But… it was enough.
It was all he was ever going to get, Sparx thought, as he settled against the egg's surface in his usual place. (We will merge,) Sparx said, determinedly. And then there was nothing but gold light and whiteness.
It was the weirdest thing.
A long time ago, before Sparx had grown his wings, he remembered the feeling of being sealed to the underside of a leaf, knowing full well that even if he let go and shook, he wouldn't fall from his perch. That was the same as the feeling he had now. all around him was nothing but dark grey shadows and the occasional flicker of orange. Other than that there was nothing as far as Sparx could see. Which wasn't, honestly, all that far at all. Dragonfly eyesight wasn't brilliant at the best of times.
(Spyro?)
No answer. But there didn't need to be. Sparx could feel it. Every last little feeling going through Spyro's body. Every fleeting sensation the unborn had, Sparx knew about it. And that wasn't exactly much. Not in here, cushioned by the magical essence and energy that was supposed to be protecting him and would probably end up killing him instead.
If Sparx didn't hurry.
(Is this what it's like to merge?) There was nobody to answer that question. (…At least it didn't hurt.)
No answer. And now Sparx couldn't quite tell where he was… maybe inside the egg itself? No couldn't be. But he wasn't outside the egg, either. If felt like being wrapped up in somebody else's dream. The way it had felt when Spyro had woken him up earlier, to warn him of the burning castle. One mind always warning the other of some new signal or sensation. (Like telepathy… only not telepathy. We don't have to talk to each other… we just know. If I'm scared now… does he feel it too?
(But then who depends on whom, in the end? Do I keep him alive or him me or… maybe...
(Oh, good grief, I'm not sure exactly how this works at all, really, am I?)
There was a faint glisten of nearby purple, bright and colourful and almost blinding in the way it pierced the unending grey. There was another glisten of orange light. Sparx could feel the warmth of it and knew it was close by. (Fire. Breathing fire…)
(Spyro! It is you, isn't it? You're there aren't you?' Another glisten of purple light, a flicker in the air, like the opening and closing of a giant eyelid. Sparx felt a burst of joy that he couldn't quite pinpoint to either of them. He wasn't certain which of them was happy. 'It is… you're there! Spyro! Is this what you'll look like, when you hatch?'
Sparx…I can see orange.
The unborn's voice sounded… surprised. Not by Sparx's presence though. it was almost as if he'd been expecting Sparx.
(What? I mean… how? You're not breathing fire.)
…I don't know. But it's there. I know what it looks like and it's there, right in front of me.
Sparx looked around, trying to discern what the unborn was talking about, but of course there was no one in sight, much less anyone or anything orange. So what could he be talking about? (What… what can you see that's orange, Spyro?)
I don't know what it is. It's just there. Inside me. Out there, too. It's someone else. They're orange. A funny coloured orange. Orange fur, and red too. They have eyes.
(What? Wait, hold on a second—)
They laugh, too. They laugh their eyes. Their eyes are green. I know what green is now, Sparx. Only not green like the grass is. Green like something else. There are coloured feathers and…
This was starting to get ever so slightly disturbing. Sparx knew that pre-birth extrasensory perception wasn't all that unusual, unless you were a peace keeper dragon. And whatever they said or came out with was usually forgotten by the time they broke through their shells, but…
There's more than just orange and green. I can see them. There's brown. Yellow. All different colours. I don't… A hesitation, the shell vibrated a little from a few short kicks. I don't think they're from around here. But I don't know where here is. Or where they are. There are ears and tails. And more fur. Dragons don't have fur, though, do they, Sparx? And neither do dragonflies. They can't be either of those.
(Well, no. Not really.)
Cats have fur. What's a pussy cat, though, Sparx? And what's a dork?
What in the name of the Lady of Dragonflies…? (I. I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about, Spyro.)
I guess. I don't understand them and I can see them myself. So why would you?
(…)
Will I get to meet them all someday? After I hatch?
(I don't know. You might. If they're real. Maybe you just dreamed them.'
No. They were really there.
Sparx felt his frustration, as cold and blinding as if it were his own. It was an unpleasant feeling, but one that he could cope with. For now, anyway. He didn't know how well he would be able to deal with this for the rest of his life.
(Spyro… you have to leave this place. There's no good here. You have to go out there.)
Why did you call me that? Is that going to be my name now?
(Well… yeah. I mean, yes. If you want it to be.)
Does it mean anything? Sparx means something. There was a hesitation and for the first time, Sparx thought he could see the dragon hatchling more clearly than before. A glisten of violent scales in an endless nothing. When I hatch, I want my name to mean something.
Sparx smiled in spite of everything. (It means "he who breathes fire". Spyro. That's who you are, and that's what you'll do. But you have to hatch very soon, Spyro, or you won't get the chance to use your name at all.)
Will I remember everything we talked about, though? Will I forget it, just like you did? I want to hatch. I have for a long time. But… Sparx felt a glimmer of confusion that was not his own. …Will it hurt to be born?
(Maybe a little. I don't know. I don't remember being born. Everyone forgets about it eventually. It might.)
You say I don't know a lot, Sparx. Don't do it so much when I'm born, okay?
(You're ready now?)
I was always ready. The dragon said, calmly.
That was the last thing Sparx heard the dragon say (his dragon, he corrected himself. For real now, if the merging was anything to go by) before the whiteness returned and he felt himself landing gently on the outstretched fabric of a dragon's wing.
Sparx…?
(Yes?)
…Are you going to leave when I hatch? Will I forget you too? I don't want to.
(No, Spyro. I won't leave. And I don't know if you'll forget me but… I'll make you remember. Okay?)
…Okay.
There were green fields and shimmering pink and purple fire, and dragons hovering all around him and the egg on which he still sat.
He wasn't hearing much of what they were saying, though he knew there were many of them gathered around him and all of them were talking in hurried excited voices. Sparx, however, was a little distracted by some kind of emotional bombardment. Feeling after feeling bustling and shoving in the egg beneath his feet, spattering of colour in front of his eyes.
Sparx didn't complain. He only waited. Swallowing each feeling as it came and sending how own back, not entirely certain whether or not the hatchling could feel them, the way Sparx did. Pain, fear, hope, confusion, pain again… and then the hatching started.
As a sliver of a crack had appeared across the surface of the egg shell.
'Well I'll be damned as a tree root…'
'Tomas, shush.'
'Honestly you two, anyone would think you'd never seen a hatching before.'
'Not from an unhatchable, no.'
Sparx smiled.
When I was younger, I believed what I was told. That when you bound a dragon to a dragonfly, it was for life. That if you needed them – they would come. That if you called them –they would always hear you. And that if you felt something – they would feel it with you. Literally. I'm not all that sure if it's true for all dragonflies. I just… know it's true for Sparx.
I just don't really know why
How do I know he's not just feeling all bound up by some old tradition that says he has to stick with me no matter what? Simple. I don't.
I hope he doesn't. Because I care about him. Way to much to let me get in the way of what he wants to be and do.
But sometimes, when I ask him what he wants to be… he just says to me: "yours".
I think… I think 'm okay if he wants to keep it that way, for now.
Fin.
Reviews and concrit are appreciated. Prize for anyone who can guess all the prople Spyro was referring to when he "saw colours" from inside his egg.
The title of this fic comes from the latin "dum spiro spera" - "while I breathe, I hope". Obviously I changed the spelling for the purpose of the fic. I find this a very odd coinscidence, myself, as the theory that Spyro means "he who breaths fire" is not mine but comes from a Spyro fan website.