Spyro watched from the shadows as the large crimson dragon, Ignitus, bent over the glistening green surface of the Pool of Visions, a wistful expression on his small face. His eyes were bright with curiosity, and it was difficult for him not to blurt his incomprehension on how the old dragon managed to see things in the Pool's depths.

He also found the colour in itself remarkable. His own experience with water was tainted with bugs and mud fights with Sparx as they threw little fist-fulls of the slick, thick mud of the riverbed at each other, cackling with a mischievous glee when as they did so, even enjoying the strange, 'ickish' feeling – that was Spyro's simple but descriptive word for it – of the mud oozing down their sides. Spyro had once wallowed into the Silver River deep enough to be half submerged, but had rushed out quickly again because he'd brushed up against a school of fish, which he hadn't known about, and both had frozen in shock for a moment before fleeing in frightened confusion.

He drank water, of course, but he was certain that to drink out of this pool would be to commit a most blasphemous act of heresy. It looked to him like it wasn't normal water anyway. It glowed, for one thing. Water wasn't supposed to glow, was it? There was also no grime congealing like a skin on its surface, and it emitted an aura that seemed to scream 'draconic magic'. And his newly opened sensitivity to this spiritual air told him his hunch was correct.

Fidgeting, his wings pricked, and he shuffled uncomfortably as he tried to distract himself by counting the markings beginning to show on his scales, and became quickly bored of it.

The time elapsing grew progressively slower, and finally, he said tentatively, "Ignitus?"

"…Mmm?"

"Can…I mean, could you…"

"Could I what, young dragon?"

"Could you teach me how to see things in the water like you do?" It all came out in a rush, and Spyro looked at his taloned feet in embarrassment.

Ignitus straightened to his full height, and when Spyro dared look up at him, he was surprised to see a warm smile on the fire Guardian's face.

Chuckling, Ignitus said, "Certainly, you may try. But don't expect to be successful straight away, it takes many years for a dragon with the gift of Sight to train his or her mind to properly See, and such dragons are rare. You may not have the ability at all." Seeing the purple dragonet's downcast look, he added amiably, "Don't worry, it isn't a required thing."

"Not like breathing fire?"

He shook his head, "No, not at all. Your elemental essence is something dragons have honed for thousands of generations, whereas Third Sight is a rare occurrence that is vaunted, but not a normal ability." He stopped, restraining a laugh at the puzzled look Spyro was giving him. He obviously didn't fully understand what Ignitus was telling him.

"Never mind," he smiled, "Come, I'll show you."

Spyro almost leaped to the side of the basin, peering hesitantly into the water. Up close, it appeared to be shimmering, increasing his certainty that the water itself was suffused with power.

He looked expectantly up at Ignitus, who said, "Now, empty your mind, let yourself enter a state of peace with yourself." Spyro nodded and closed his eyes, putting all other considerations aside. The result was startling. Utter tranquility.

He heard Ignitus continue giving him instructions, his voice softer, "Now, find something you want to see, focus on that thing and nothing else. And remember, don't allow yourself to slip out of the state of mind I told to put yourself in."

That was simple. Spyro pictured his parents, with their arms around each other, smiling at him contentedly. What came associated with that thought was totally unexpected.

A wave of homesickness rose within him, and he remembered bitterly that they were not really his parents. He growled, his thoughts turning red with anger.

Why didn't you tell me sooner? His mind screeched, and memories flowed into his mind.

'So…y-you mean I'm not your real son?' a shocked and distressed Spyro stuttered, staring at the solemn expressions on the two dragonflies' faces.

'You are our real son; it's just that you came from somewhere else. Far away, where war rages on and on, and the innocents seem to always pay the price.'

'But…but...'

That was when his 'mother' had reached out and put a hand on his scaly cheek, her eyes bright with an overwhelming sadness, 'Spyro, it doesn't matter where you came from, you are still our son and nothing will ever change that…'

It was now apparent to Spyro as it hadn't been before just how different he really was, why he had never fit in. It wasn't that he was just a little bigger than they were; it was that he wasn't like them at all. He wasn't one of them, no matter what his parents told him.

Quietly, he said, 'Yeah it does, Mom. I don't even know who I am anymore. Everything I thought I was is wrong!'

His tail was lashing back and forth in frustration now, snapping reeds that grew inside the bower in half. Every one he broke, he substituted for an indignity he was feeling the wrath of. One for the teasing that he was in no way to fault for, one for his parents not telling him the truth sooner, and one for him being different in the first place.

He raised his eyes to his parents with an air of dejection, then looked next to him at Sparx, who wore a similar expression.

He shook his head to quell the bitterness that had descended upon him so suddenly, and, swallowing, said in a tremulous voice, "I- I need to go.'

His mother and father exchanged alarmed glances as he rushed out of the widened entrance to the bower, and fluttered forward to look outside. What they saw was Spyro running full pelt across the damp, sloppy sand of the swamp, and said very softly, 'what have we done?'

Sparx was silent, knowing full well where Spyro had gone: out to that little ridge behind the sparse clump of bushes that he went when he needed to be alone – somehow he managed to weave his way through them – and thought with a rare feeling of sentiment, that it was probably better to leave him alone right now more than any other reason in the past.

--

Spyro returned not long before sunset, and the only word he uttered for a while was, 'thinking.' Sparx grimaced. Damn it, did he have to make such a drama about it? He later confronted his younger brother, and said angrily, while Spyro stared dully up at him, 'Spyro, cut the crud, will ya? So you're not a dragonfly. So what? Who gives a damn? You don't have to go EMO-depressed-melodramatic nutcase kid on me! Nothin' needs t'chance because of 'o' this!'

He breathed in to calm himself, and saw, to his surprise, Spyro was wearing a very affronted expression. He knew that his remark was cruel, but at the moment, Sparx really couldn't care less. What mattered was convincing Spyro that it wasn't a big deal, not realizing that it really was.

'Sparx,' he heard his mother's gentle summons, and left the room in a rush. Spyro blinked after him, knowing that his brother was affected by this revelation too. He glanced at his parents, and felt, as every adopted child did, no matter how young, a craving to know what he was, where he really came from. And there was only one way to do that.

He looked into his parents eyes, and saw that they knew too, and were resigned to the fact that there was nothing they could do about it.

…

"Spyro!"

His eyes snapped open, and he found Ignitus looking worriedly down at him, wings spread in case of a potent danger. "Spyro, what –"

He broke off when Spyro began to whimper and suddenly flung himself against the great red dragon's chest, shivering uncontrollably, hiding his head. Ignitus blinked for a second, then placed a forepaw on the little dragon's scaled back comfortingly. "What is it, Spyro?"

Without looking up, Spyro said shakily, "I…I remembered…about what happened before I left…when I found out I was an orphan…and I wasn't like them…"

"Go on," Ignitus encouraged, "Sometimes, it helps to confide in someone."

Spyro took several breaths, then continued in a steadier voice, "I was angry at them, that they didn't tell me from the start…I thought things, bad things, about them. I didn't mean it, but I was just so…"

"Pissed off?" Sparx suggested bluntly. He had been listening, keeping his distance lately. Obviously, he was still piqued at being brought down several notches by Ignitus the day before.

The old dragon eyed him disapprovingly, but shook his head, "A crude description, Sparx, but accurate, I suppose." He looked inquiringly at Spyro.

Spyro stepped back, and nodded, a sheepish look on his face. "Yeah…I guess. I know leaving was the right thing to do, even if I hadn't felt too good about it at the time, but…I just wish I'd said more than 'bye'. I never thanked them, never said how much I cared about them…"

His face became once more somber and morose.

Ignitus sighed, and said gently, "Spyro, you wanted to find out where you came from, to discover more about yourself. To do that you had to leave your family…or you parents at least," he said, glancing apologetically at Sparx, who said sarcastically, "Yeah, forget about me, I mean nothing, I just tag along for the heck of it."

Spyro shot a warning glance at his foster brother.

Ignitus cleared his throat, which for the old Guardian dragon sounded like a guttural rumbling, and continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. "Leaving was the logical thing to do, and your parents would have understood that. There isn't an adopted child alive that didn't have that urge to find out their roots." He paused, and glanced for a long moment into the Pool of Visions, and a wry half smile broke on his face, "However, that isn't what you know, is it, young dragon?"

Spyro gaped at him.

He read my thoughts! He used the Pool of Visions to read my thoughts!
Ignitus chuckled, "Not exactly, young dragon. There is more to it than 'reading'. I 'saw' what you truly wanted to know, for the mind cannot really be 'read'. It can be controlled, suppressed, and manipulated, but never read. I looked into your mind, and the answer was obvious."

Spyro stared, at him, confused. "But how'd you do that? You didn't even look at the Pool that time!"

"I have rather accurate powers of perception, Spyro," Ignitus answered mysteriously, winking at the dragonet.

He watched for the accusatory look that would surely leap onto his face next, and rolled his eyes, snorting. "No matter, Spyro. What I was meaning to say is that even if you're not the same, they still raised you, made you who you are today, and you love them. Being of a different species cannot and will not sever such a strong, unconditional bond. Why, look at you and Sparx!" and Ignitus's expression was frankly tolerant, "You are still the same as you were before you left, are you not?"

Spyro grinned and met his foster – no, his brother – they were brothers, and nothing would change that. Just as Flashe and Nina would always be his parents.

He looked up at Ignitus and said simply, "yes."

Approval glinted in the golden eyes, and felt his confidence returning. Ignitus was right. It didn't matter if the same Blood did not run through their veins, they were the ones who raised him and they were his true family. Always had been and always would be.

Ignitus smiled to himself, imagining privately the look on his fellow Guardian Cyril's face if the ice dragon had heard that proclamation. "Now, you understand."

End