The Legacy of Spyro: Hero's Demise

He is Just Like Me

A compromise was made after much angered debate, both Flame and Spyro would sit vigil. With both of their fires intermingling within the chalice with a brilliant light, they sat, guarding with fierce gazes.

Spyro couldn't help casting a few looks at his.. brother. Half brother. Not daring to break the silent vigil, he turned his gaze back to the blaze.

The red dragon sitting merely inches away from him was surprisingly distant, his eyes focused on each crack and pop from the fire. He watched it dance and sway as if it was a leaf in the wind. My.. my father is gone.. Dad.. Dad's gone, Flame thought, his conscience turning to the purple dragon, to protect.. to protect HIM. What about me? Did he.. did he not care about me enough? I needed him more than that selfish bonehead... Even though those words were put in his head by his mother, Flame couldn't help but agree with her. It was most of his thoughts.

Ignitus had left the two as soon as Flame was old enough to breath fire... causing a few scars in the process, obviously. Of course, he would stop by every once in a while, but he was always off, looking for Spyro. Hoping that Gaul hadn't ended him. Praying to the ancestors that the world's last hope hadn't died out. The prophecy had depended upon him.

The prophecy, Flame realized, my dad told me stories.. Spyro.. he saved us all. Wow, and he doesn't look much older.. than me..

Noticing his gaze, Spyro turned to look at him. The purple dragon's eyes were threatening to drop a tear, welled up and wet from his own deep thoughts. At the sight, Flame began to cry silently, his father's good memories flooding in like the water from the dam. As if on cue, the clouds above let go of the rain the were holding back.

The chalice sizzled unhappily as rain made its way to the memorial, the flames wavering. In unison, the dragons spread their wings over it, shielding the fire from further harm. They exchanged glances, surprised at their reflexes. "You are just like me, huh," Flame mouthed silently, feeling a few heavy raindrops plunk against his forehead.

All Spyro could muster was a nod. The two were indeed alike. Both had lost their father, lived through a Hellish war, and had been forced to grow up ans stand on their own paws.

Shielding each other from the harsh weather, the two brothers sat in silence, awaiting daybreak. They had quite a lot of catching up to do...