(I felt a little bad that Sparx had such a small role in my last story, so now he gets one of his own! You don't need to have read Homeward to understand this one.)
For all Sparx could not recall most of his younger years with much clarity, he would describe them as completely unremarkable.
His life began the same as any other dragonfly in his position – encased in a translucent jelly egg on the underside of a lily pad in the humid depths of Dragonfly Falls, not that this would have meant anything to him at the time. To attempt to count the number of his siblings that slumbered beside him in their own eggs would have been nought but a fool's errand, but it must have numbered in the thousands, the green leathery underside of the lily pad barely visible through the transparent mass of eggs and the innumerable dark flecks hiding within. He would have spent his days bobbing in the water as the gentle vortices created by the waterfalls tenderly rocked the lily pad he was attached to like a ship in the open seas, but at that point he was nothing more than a miniscule black speck against the sapphire waters, one of thousands just like him.
The start of what would become his greatest adventure began the same as any other.
Sparx couldn't tell at what point his senses developed enough to interact with the world around him; all he knew was that one day he abruptly snapped into awareness ready to face the world. His entire life up until that point had existed within the confines of his egg, the jelly not clear enough for him to make much sense of the environment that existed beyond the walls of his cage, and he was well overdue his freedom. Sparx wriggled as much as his tiny limbs would allow him to before puncturing the jelly egg that had protected him from the unknown world and burst into the waters around him. He remembered the sudden shock of cold that had not been able to penetrate through the layers of his egg, and he remembered the sight of innumerable nymphs birthing from their own prisons around him. At that point there was no way to distinguish any dragonfly nymph from the hundreds of others – Sparx sometimes wasn't sure where he ended and his siblings began.
He was amazed at the world around him, at least at first, the seemingly endless expanse of blue and green to explore overwhelming his senses. The cloudiness of his egg had not done the hues of the water and plants justice, acting like a cataract that dulled and blurred any light that could even pierce the egg to turn Sparx's view of the world into little more than a mosaic. He was torn between a burning desire to explore every corner of these new lands, and a deep dread at what monsters could exist just beyond the next river bend. The newly hatched dragonfly nymph discovered that the constant chatter of his siblings reverberated through his head as he existed within a cloud of identical naiads, none of the immature dragonflies brave enough to venture out on their own, Sparx included. He tolerated it for the sake of the safety of the pack.
Even at such a young age he found himself overflowing with curiosity at the world surrounding him. He could tentatively peek his head above the surface of the water for a few minutes, able to breathe for a time as long as the spiracles on his abdomen remained underwater. His eyes were not developed enough to could make out anything more than an incoherent blur, but he could still hold witness the explosion of colours that assaulted his compound eyes every time he dared to glance above the surface of the water. Bursts of red, pink, gold, every colour he could imagine existed in a bouquet together, putting the constant blue and green hue of the water to shame. His favourite were the spots of bright yellow that stood out even against the symphony of pigments that peppered the unseen world around him like streetlights. He could only dream that one day he would be able to see the origin of those colours first hand.
He didn't have to wait that long.
Sparx would never be able to describe what changed on that day, but when he awoke he knew it was time. Time for what, he would ask? He wasn't sure, but his siblings seemed to feel similarly. A sense of agitation vibrated through his chitinous limbs as if he was about to burst at the seams with energy. The dragonfly nymph felt anxiety like he had never known before, even after all those times he narrowly dodged the jaws of a predator or three. It was like electricity ran through his veins and out of his twitching antennae. He needed to get out.
And the only way was up.
Dodging the thick cloud of naiads, Sparx swam as quickly as his spindly legs would allow and grasped the thick green stem of a water reed. His gills fluttered in anticipation as he clambered up the plant until his head broke the surface of the water. He sucked in as much oxygenated water as he could hold and continue upwards, his sense of urgency driving him more than any fear of the unknown world could. He only allowed himself to rest when he no longer felt the chilly water on his back, and he stopped for a moment. This was the first time he had been completely exposed to the elements above his watery home, although it wasn't in the circumstances that he had hoped for.
Blinking rapidly as his eyes began to dry out he noticed that the colours around him seemed foggier, as if his vision was being blocked by something. Not only that, but a loud buzzing noise around him was causing such a ruckus that he swore he was developing a headache. Sparx wasn't sure if it was just because he was fully out of water for the first time, but his limbs seemed to be stiffening as if they were drying out and locking in place. The anxiety burning inside of him reached a head at the realisation that he was quickly losing the ability to move. He clenched his eyes shut in immense effort as he wiggled with all of his might, trying to get his unresponsive limbs to cooperate before he became little more than a statue.
As he moved around his skin did begin to splinter, and Sparx took the opportunity to break out of his chitin and free himself. First his legs, then his abdomen, and finally his head. He stretched as his body was freed from its prison, feeling the cathartic cracking in his joints as the energy that had been building up inside of him finally had a release. His spiracles could now suck in the air around him rather than needing to full it from the water, and he drew in a deep breath. The salty air stung a little, but the sensation wasn't wholly unpleasant.
Well, at least he now knew the source of all those colours.
His eyes crystal clear for the first time in his life, he was witness to a vast expanse of green grass and plants topped with flowers in every colour that his mind could imagine. He saw large yellow tulips rocking idly in the breeze, ruby red poppies poking up between rocks, and the cyan blue waters of the river below him, now ever more vibrant than ever. He also saw what at first looked like a cloud of smoke, but as his eyes adjusted to their new resolution he spotted individual dragonflies in every colour of the rainbow and emitting a glow that individually was quite dim but when combined was enough to rival the sun.
He was delighted to find that his moult had shed his dull brown exoskeleton to make way for a vibrant golden glow that cascaded off every surface of his new body, barring light blue claws on the tip of each leg. He recalled his fascination with the spots of canary yellow he could pick out from the blurry haze of the sky and how his heart leapt at the joyful hue whenever he spotted it, and felt the same feeling overcome him knowing that he himself was now the colour he loved the most. Spreading his now completely dry wings he took off for the first time, effortless as if he had done it a million times before, and joined the cloud of dragonflies in the air above the waters. He swooped and dived and added his own cheering and hollering to the ruckus.
This was the first time that Sparx could recall feeling truly alive.
The first time that Sparx saw a dragon he damn near died of fright.
The yellow dragonfly had only just begun to settle into his new life as a mature insect, finding that adjusting to life outside of the river that he had previously called his home was a bit of an assault on his senses. He felt like he had culture shock in a sense. He had spent such a long time craving the ability to explore the lands above the surface of the water, but now that he was capable of doing exactly that he was overwhelmed by possibilities. Where would a dragonfly even begin in a world where everything was so much bigger than him?! He had seen the confines of the river as a hindrance, but now he recognised that it provided protection from anything that could swoop in and snatch him up before he would have known what was happening.
At least the butterflies were tasty.
The first dragon that had appeared to the swarm of newly hatched dragonflies had revealed himself well before Sparx even knew what a dragon was. Many of his brethren had flown away in fear of the large reptile that towered above them, curled horns upon his head as sharp as knives and green eyes that seemed to glow in the light of the setting sun. He walked with purpose, careful not to treat on any animal or plant that could not withstand the weight of the lizard in one piece, but certainly made no effort to conceal his presence; he leaned heavily against a wooden cane that did nothing to disguise the limp in his left leg. The dragon radiated a sense of indomitable pride that demanded respect.
Sparx had seen a lot of frightening creatures before, both above and below the surface of the water, but none that carried themselves which such an aura of importance. Even though the reptile was clearly making a conscious effort to minimise their imprint on the local flora and leave as little damage as possible in their wake, the golden dragonfly couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his chitin-covered spine. A creature like that could flatten a dragonfly between two fingers before you could say "ouch", and probably wouldn't think twice about it. He carried a large woven basket in one arm which was covered by a red tartan sheet and radiated a sweet smell that wafted on the breeze and tempted the dragonfly hoard with promises of nectar and sugar. He stood his ground.
Sparx noted that the dragon in question bore a striking resemblance to the towering granite statue that loomed over the Dragonfly Falls like a guardian. If he looked close enough he could almost swear that the two were the same individual. Was this creature perhaps some kind of caretaker of the dragonflies?
Sparx had already begun to tire of his surroundings – the vibrant hue and sweet smells of the flowers that had once captivated his mind were now just as humdrum as the dirt of the riverbed. He was not content to sit in one spot for the rest of his life, secure within the safety of the pack and sheltered from the world around him. The yellow dragonfly was now more than confident in the strength of his wings, but he knew that any moderately sized beast wouldn't think twice about gobbling up something his size. After all, he did the same with butterflies. There was a difference between being adventurous and being stupid, and Sparx did not consider himself to be a simple-minded vertebrate.
Once he managed to break himself out of his fear-entranced state, he noticed the creature's companions.
The mustard dragon had not come alone. He was accompanied by a small collection of elderly looking dragonflies, their glow dimmed with age but still bright enough to reflect off the dragon's scales in a rainbow. Their wings and exoskeletons lacked the bright pigments of Sparx or even his siblings, desaturated as if faded from the steady march of time, and a couple even had tiny pairs of glasses strapped to their heads in front of beady and squinting eyes. Sparx had never encountered a dragonfly that was not part of the swarm he was born in, but his curiosity was hindered by his suspicion of the whole situation. He darted up to his favourite yellow tulip and pressed himself into the gaps between the petals, hoping that their shared hue would disguise him well enough if things turned sour.
The mismatched group seemed to pick a spot ideal for whatever their purposes were and seated themselves; the dragon dug the end of his cane into the earth like a lightning rod and sat back on his thick tail while the dragonflies perched on nearby flowers. The reptile removed the tartan cloth from the basket, allowing the sweet scent of nectar and fruit juice to escape and wash over the waterfalls, filling the air with sugar and making Sparx's mouth water. The fruit was offered to the aging dragonflies, who accepting without any hint of hesitation. Dragonflies were generally more partial to eating other insects, but would any insect ever turn out a sip of the elixir of fruits?
Sparx could feel the tension in the air at the uninvited guests, but the party did not interact with the swarm at all, at least not at first. They seemed content to sit and chat, talking about something frightfully mundane that was drowned out by the roaring of the waterfall behind them, although their pealing laughter still run out across the water like wind chimes. A couple of the young dragonflies drew closer to the group, tempted by either the sweet scent of fruit juices or by curiosity alone. The unnamed dragon's eyes flicked out towards the approaching insects, who flinched in response and darted backwards in trepidation.
He simply laughed and held out a piece of fruit in invitation.
Sparx would later attribute this moment in his life with the high praise of being the moment that his world grew by three sizes. It seemed he wasn't the only one outgrowing the confines of Dragonfly Falls and pining for the fjords, at least not if the complaining of his siblings was anything to go by. The introduction of the relationship between the dragons and their dragonflies was extremely intimidating, but at the same time it opened up many doors of opportunities that Sparx would never have even considered. He might have only been a tiny insect, but his heart far outsized his yellow exoskeleton, figuratively at least.
He had been practically bursting at the seams with anxious energy the first time he left Dragonfly Falls and travelled to the Dojo for training. The dragon, that he now knew went by the name Titan, and the elderly dragonflies that accompanied him had obviously found themselves in such a situation before and were very much prepared for the initial hostility when they approached the swarm. Sparx had never encountered a dragonfly that was born before was, never mind a dragon, so the tension was expected. After the fervour had settled, which was definitely helped by the fact that most of the dragonflies now had full bellies, they had posed the proposition that they had traversed through the dense rainforest for.
The world they described outside the boundaries of the waterfalls sounded nothing short of alien to Sparx, as they pictured Realms where sand and ice existed side by side, where castles reached to claw at the clouds above them, and dreams could be trapped in jars. The golden dragonfly had only known the world within the nigh impenetrable wall of tropical trees so had assumed that the jungle simply went on forever. The prospect of such an enormous variety of uncharted terrains to explore and undocumented creatures to meet filled him with equal amounts of nervousness and wonder. They offered the opportunity to traverse these remarkable lands and perhaps even the lands beyond, but there was a catch. Or at least a compromise.
Dragonflies didn't have enough inherent magic to survive outside of the waterfalls for any significant amount of time – their livelihood was directly tied to the magic cascading in the rivers where they were hatched. Not only that, but the stress of travelling through portals would be enough to rip such a tiny creature apart in seconds, practically trapping the insects within the boundaries of their Homeworld. The insects would be chained to the jungle unless they had some assistance from a being with enough magic to sustain their wellbeing, and this was exactly what Titan was offering.
If a dragonfly agreed to it they would be partnered with a young dragon: a child too weak and small to defend itself by any noteworthy means. Their scales would not have hardened enough to deflect weapons, their wings not strong enough to carry them further than a short glide, and their legs too short to even allow them to walk upright. The dragonflies could offer their own magic, the magic that rippled from their wings and gave them their signature glow, which would extend to the dragon under their care and shield them from harm. Of course, that wouldn't make the dragon pup completely invulnerable – a smack over the head was still a smack over the head. The dragonfly would simply protect them from lasting damage.
In return, the magic within even the youngest and most immature dragon hatchling would not only allow a dragonfly to live a long and happy life outside of Dragonfly Falls, but would also guard them against the hazards of the world that an invertebrate couldn't face on their own. Even if a dragonfly was confident in their ability to fly under the power of their own wings, they would quickly find themselves in the maw and subsequently the belly of some hideous monster with no way to defend themselves. Very few creatures would dare attack a dragonfly while under the wing of a fire-breathing spike-covered horn-armed dragon.
Sparx wondered why a dragon would need the help of a dragonfly anyway. If they were only called to assist with the protection of the children, what were they doing to put themselves in a position of danger to begin with?!
Titan seemed a little perturbed by how many dragonflies refused the offer. Sparx couldn't necessarily blame them – many saw the proposition as either more of an inconvenience than it was worth, and some even outright called it slave labour. The dragons were asking the insects to offer their own wellness and health for the sake of a species that they had never even encountered before, so were less than willing to cooperate. The strength of a dragon wasn't needed within the secure boundaries of Dragonfly Falls, and no danger would befall them if they never left. They saw it not as a cage, but as a safety net.
Sparx disagreed.
He wasn't sure how he felt about the whole situation with it being thrust at him so suddenly, but he could sniff out an opportunity when he saw one. This was the chance he had spent so many nights staring up at the unreachable stars dreaming of – a chance to leave the waterfalls and finally get out into the worlds beyond the rivers and trees. Maybe he could even explore lands that had never been touched before! He could barely contain himself at the prospect of such a monumental task, but it was exhilarating. Hopefully whatever dragon he was partnered with felt the same.
And therein lay the first problem.
The dragonflies that were open to the idea were escorted to Dragonfly Dojo, a vast lands filled with intricate wooden huts and surrounded by faintly glowing paper lamps, and equally filled with areas of nothingness. Buildings made of burnt red wood could be surrounded by miles of open yellowish grass with not a single structure in sight, interrupted only by solitary bonsai trees with jagged branches and orbs of leaves as if growing like limbs from the ground. Sparx was so used to the overwhelming cacophony of noise and colour from the waterfalls that seeing such a sparse world made him feel a little agoraphobic. He knew he wasn't a particularly large creature, but hovering a few feet off the ground surrounds by miles of open fields really reinforced this idea.
The dragons were very particular about partnering their offspring with the right dragonfly, almost to the point of neuroticism. They compared the process to building a house – you needed a solid foundation before you could start putting the walls up. Sparx didn't completely understand that analogy, seeing as he had never lived in a house before, but he trusted that the dragons knew what they were talking about. After all, if they were going to let their children frolic away with a dragonfly in tow for the better half of their younger years then at least they were taking it seriously.
The intention was to expose the dragonflies to the various dragon hatchlings during a large festival, held every 12 years to coincide with the Year of the Dragon. There the two species would mix freely, under the watchful eye of the Dragon Masters of course, with the purpose of finding the other half of their inevitable pairs. The dragons didn't seem to subscribe to the belief that pairs were preordained, but they did believe that there was some magic that would link the two together. Some kind of string that would tie the two individuals together but would only reveal itself once the two met.
They said that Sparx would 'know when it was right'.
The golden dragonfly doubted his abilities, especially when standing under the shadow of dragons that were centuries or even millennia older than he was, but he persevered. While he would have described himself as being completely mundane in every way, it seemed that whatever dragon he bonded with would feel differently, and that put a slight spring in his wings. When he was part of the swarm he was a literal nobody among the innumerable identical siblings, so the thought that someone would see him as special filled his chest with warmth. He just hoped that he and his partner would at least have something in common – it would be a long few years otherwise.
Sparx would describe the festival as 'organised chaos', but only if he felt like being generous. The dragons known as 'Artisans' had laid out an enormous feast ranging from pastries and barbequed meats, fruit and scones, and more than one type of gloopy quiche that still lay untouched. Another group of dragons, self-proclaimed as 'Peace Keepers', stood guard outside the throngs of the festivities, stoic and resolute and clad in scaled armour. Sparx wondered what would justify such extensive protective measures, but considering that the celebrations involved children that could also breathe fire he supposed it wasn't in vain.
Sparx wouldn't describe himself as… nervous around those he didn't know, per se, but he was a little intimidated by the huge crowd of both dragons and dragonflies. The fog of noise and smells was overstimulating his senses, and he yearned for the peaceful ambience of the waterfalls. This was the first time he had felt truly homesick for his birthplace, but it would not be the last. He felt out of his depths, especially seeing the outgoing demeanour of some of his siblings. He was almost a little envious at the devil-may-care attitude of the other dragonflies that were whizzing around the festival and enjoying themselves while he just sat and felt awkward in the corner.
A couple of brightly coloured dragonflies were being chased around by a horde of baby dragons, most quadrupedal as their sense of balance had not developed enough for a bipedal stance. A few stragglers had formed a devious team and were carefully pilfering treats from the food table and eating the snacks in secret. A tall lanky orange dragon had brought a lute and was playing a jig while a couple of small dragons danced, or least attempted to. It was a good thing their horns were too small to be of any danger, otherwise someone would have lost an eye with all the flailing around they were doing.
Sparx was content to sit back and take in the sights for a moment. He found an empty spot on a table that used to contain one of the quiches before it mysteriously vanished and found itself in a trash bin nearby, and rested his wings for a moment. The glow radiating from the other dragonflies was starting to hurt his eyes with the intense range of colours, and the dragon pups were no different. Their scales were saturated with pigment on their own, but when in the presence of light they were practically iridescent.
Sparx wondered if this whole shtick was a good idea after all.
The golden dragonfly's morose mood was interrupted by a sudden commotion that erupted behind him. The baby dragons didn't seem to even notice - too focused on their unrestrained chaos to care - but the older dragons paused briefly and turned to take a gander at the situation. Many simply shook their heads in exasperation before blithely returning to their conversations. Whatever was happened was clearly a regular occurrence for it to not be worth the attention of the dragons. Sparx was intrigued, however, and left his improvised resting spot to get a closer look, dodging the occasional scaly tail to inch his way forward.
The yellow dragonfly was greeted with the sight of a very tall and muscular green dragon, scales like emeralds and wearing an opulent jacket with puffy sleeves. The dragon's demeanour was intimidating and not just because of his size; his attention was directed to one specific individual. The focus of his ire was a small, slightly chubby looking dragon with scales in the most vibrant purple hue Sparx had ever seen. It even rivalled the colours of the flowers he doted over in the waterfalls, and it was certainly enough to catch anyone's attention.
"That's not good enough, Spyro," the taller dragon grumbled. "The festival takes place on the same day every year."
The purple dragon shuffled on his feet meekly, not making eye contact with the taller dragon that stared down at him with his arms crossed.
"I know," he replied. "But Delbin gave us homework and I was up all night working on it, and I sort of forgot about the time…"
He trailed off, noticing how feeble his excuse was. Nestor's expression did not change, remaining thoroughly deadpan and impenetrable.
"That work was allocated a week ago!" the green dragon retorted. "Falling behind on your studies isn't an excuse – all of the other dragons are here on time and I'm sure they had the same work that you did."
Sparx couldn't help but feel a little bad for the young dragon. Being chided like that in front of his peers would have humiliated even the most stoic beast, especially on a day intended for celebrations. The yellow dragonfly was fortunate enough to have never been berated in his life before, but considering that the first encounter with the elders of his species had been less than a month ago this was perhaps not saying much. He wondered what he would have done if he found himself being laid into like the dragon was. He would probably just cry.
The purple dragon had been excused by his elder, and held himself in a disgraced pose while a couple of his siblings patted him reassuringly on the back. The green dragon was right about one thing – most of the other dragon pups had paired up with a dragonfly, leaving very few remaining. The festival was clearly coming to a close with the slowly setting sun, as any remaining food was packed up and the 'Peace Keepers' left their stations to help with clearing the mess. One or two dragonflies seemed too shy or nervous to do anything except hide from the festivities, meaning they would be missing out on finding their partners. The held back from the crowds, content to sit on a flower and watch the ruckus from a distance.
Sparx wondered what happened to dragons that didn't find their dragonfly.
He shook his head – he should be more concerned about what happened to dragonflies that didn't connect with their dragon! He had spent the entire festival buzzing around and watching the baby dragons careen about at the speed of light with no regard for their own safety and had completely forgotten why he came in the first place! Without a dragon to partner with, he would no doubt be resigned to spending the rest of his life in Dragonfly Falls. After everything he had come through to get this far, leaving with nothing to show for it would be crushing.
Then again, wasn't there another who was desperate for a partner? One who had almost completely missed out on the opportunity? One who was standing right in front of him? Sure, Sparx would have preferred to get to know a dragon first before vowing to spend the rest of his natural life as part of a two-man team, but he remembered what he was told. He would 'just know' when the time was right, and it seemed like this opportunity was presenting itself to him on a platter. He would be a fool to go back to his birthplace empty handed, and Sparx did not consider himself to be a simple-minded vertebrate.
Taking a deep breath, the golden dragonfly steeled his nerves and approached the purple dragon.
Sparx wasn't expecting to have to use his magic so quickly.
Spyro and Sparx had only called themselves a duo for maybe a month or so before Gnasty Gnorc attacked and turned the reptilian population of the Dragon Realms to crystal. The purple dragon had always detested his petite size and sought to compensate for what he felt was lacking in his stature with his actions. While the predicament that had befallen the lustrous lands was woeful at best and horrifying at worst, he had keenly jumped at the opportunity to prove his might to his peers despite his size. Sparx always got the impression that Spyro was trying to prove his might to himself more than anyone else, but he would never admit it out loud.
The two had hit it off almost immediately, which the dragonfly was endlessly thankful for. Sparx couldn't say for sure when the two had evolved from "friends" to "best friends" but knowing the tenacity of the purple dragon it probably didn't take long. Initially he thought that the gel holding the duo together was born out of convenience alone, but he quickly discovered that he held a soft spot for the dopey dragon. Spyro wasn't the smartest dragon he had ever met, not that he could name many dragons that he was acquainted with, but his earnest and honest nature and his drive to do what was right drew people towards him.
It might have also gotten them into trouble more than once.
The attitude that seemed to permeate across the denizens of the Dragon Realms was that dragonflies were similar to finely crafted tools. They were to be respected and cared for, sure, but ultimately their purpose was to protect the dragon pups that they were bonded to and nothing more. When a dragon became old enough to defend themselves, when their scales were nigh impenetrable and their fire hot enough to melt steel, the two would inevitably part ways. Those dragonflies, now feeling the effects of their extended lifespan offered at the behest of the dragon's magic, would return to the sanctuary of Dragonfly Falls and live out the rest of their lives training the next generation of dragonflies to come.
Sparx wasn't certain if he was just being overly optimistic, but he could swear that his relationship with Spyro was different than merely "tools". The yellow dragonfly had quickly found himself attached at the hip to his friend, suffering from culture shock at the sudden exposure to the Dragon Realms. The worlds were almost frighteningly expansive compared to the relatively compact size of Dragonfly Falls, with the terrain changing simply by turning a corner. Once again he bordered on agoraphobic, which was a feeling had he been subdued by before but was not one that he enjoyed.
Spyro seemed to appreciate the notion of having another by his side at almost all times. The purple dragon hated stillness and silence in every form it presented itself, almost as if he had a personal vendetta against the idea of tranquillity. He seemed to bring a wave of chaos wherever he went; Sparx wasn't always certain if Spyro was doing it intentionally or not. Regardless, the calamity was the opportunity that the amethyst-scaled dragon had been dreaming of and he pounced eagerly into the role of hero, dragging his dragonfly along with him.
Sparx would insist that he was dragged along against his will, but the thought of exploring the far reaches of the Dragon Realms in search of glory made his antennae tingle.
His mind cast back to his so-called "training" in the Dragonfly Dojo. The majority of his time had been spent suffering through mind-numbing lectures about the relationship between a dragon and his dragonfly, and the relationship between the two creatures' magics. The basic idea was that the inherent magic held by a dragonfly was enough for them to act as a portable shield – if the dragon pup sustained any significant damage then the dragonfly could step in and take the hit in their place. The magic contained within the insect's exoskeleton wasn't remotely strong enough to defend a dragon against harm on its own, but it was strong enough to protect the dragonfly from harm. By taking the hit, the magic would almost immediately heal the dragonfly as if nothing had happened, but would only be useable for a maximum of three times before the dragonfly would need to retreat and recover. Preferably with a mouthful of butterfly.
The Dragon Masters were knowledgeable in their chosen principles, sure, but there was no way for their tuition to be passed on in a physical manner. It wasn't like they could just borrow a dragon pup for a practical demonstration; otherwise they would have the leaders' fists to answer to for putting a literally baby in harms way. Sparx understood the mechanics behind the proposition and what he could expect, but without trying the manoeuvre first-hand there was little to prepare him for when his skills were called upon.
Maybe the word "training" was giving it too much credit.
It was painfully obvious that the same tutoring was not given to the young dragons under the care of their insect friends. Spyro genuinely had very little clue about Sparx's purpose as his de-facto guardian when the journey across the Dragon realms began, and had to be reminded more than once the he needed to remember to provide a supply of butterflies if he wanted to keep his personal shield around. Sparx was a little hurt at first, but this passed quickly. The fact that the purple dragon was unaware that his dragonfly was a "tool" to be used but still chose to keep him around and spend the majority of his waking hours by his side with nothing to gain on his part made Sparx feel a little better.
The first time Sparx had to step in for a hit was one that was burned into his memory.
Considering that Spyro wasn't a Peace Keeper he was decidedly competent at holding his own in combat. The dragon pup never allowed the size of any Gnorc to intimidate him and trusted in his own physical capabilities to get the job done. He felled many enemies several times his size and armed with deadly weapons that glimmered with incandescent magic without blinking an eye. It was almost impressive, if a little scary. Sparx followed at his heels, keeping himself out of the reach of any grabby hands that would try and pluck his wings off, but stayed close enough to be of use if it was needed.
Instead he found his best talent arising from collecting gems. It was rumoured that the cretin Gnasty Gnorc had been pilfering from the dragons' treasury and was using gems to manufacture his militia, which was all but confirmed when said stolen gemstones clattered to the floor every time Spyro took down a foe, each glimmering with their own internal light like tiny stars. Their priority was the safety of the dragons trapped within crystal, but the love of gems was still strong within the blood of his best friend, who was loathe to leave a single area without every gem under his wing. It was just far quicker for Sparx to give each gem a head butt towards the dragon if he was in range so that the collection went a little quicker.
The duo couldn't deny that the relatively easy time they had through most of the Artisans Homeworld had made them a little cocky. Every enemy they had encountered could be taken out in one hit, whether that was with horns or fire, and the Gnorcs weren't exactly the most… strategic enemies. Most of their battle plans involved charging headfirst at the pair and waving their weapons around and hoping that it connected with something. When they had been permitted entry to Toasty, who had taken over Nevin's castle and was running the show from behind the scenes, Spyro had been boldly encouraged at the idea of an actually challenging foe.
Sparx immediately noticed the hostile atmosphere when the two had touched down at the entrance to the castle. The orange of the permanent setting sun used to be warm and cosy, but now seemed to reflect malevolently across the endless ocean that surrounded the stone borders. Spyro didn't seem to pick up on this and blazed forward as he had always done. They were met by a shepherd, two of which they had fought and won against in Stone Hill before, but also a large sleeping sheepdog. The air was filled with the sound of nasally snoring, punctuated by cackling from the shepherds as they ruthlessly waved their crooks in the air. Spurred on by their success in the previous worlds, Spyro had narrowly dodged the shepherd's crook that tried to leave a dent in his skull, and blasted both enemies with fire.
This resulted in the purple dragon being flattened by a now singed and very angry dog.
Looking back on it with the wisdom that Sparx had now, the two of them should probably have been paying more attention, and that was just as much his fault as it was Spyro's. Every enemy they'd beaten up until that point had fell to one hit, but the wave of flame that had struck the hound had only toasted its fur and drew its ire. The high that the duo had been riding on had caused them to become complacent, something that Artisans were unfortunately known for, allowing the mutt to get a sneak hit in by jumping and flattening the purple dragon with its belly. He had the wind knocked out of him by the impact, but the soft fur coating the dog's belly didn't break any bones or do any lasting damage.
Sparx had felt the crushing pain of the initial impact, which was dispelled almost immediately by a surge of heat from his spiracles. He hadn't consciously used his magic to protect his friend, but the link between the two of them had seemingly been enough to draw his magic out without his knowing. He knew it hurt but it was over so quickly that he barely had time to flinch. The sudden departure of his innate magic out of his body and into the environment as it shed the damage that would've been caused to the dragon made his effervescent glow dull to a deep cobalt blue, a living indicator of the ticking clock before his magic ran out.
It wasn't a mistake the two would make again.
Spyro had been devastated. Very few of his clutchmates had the patience to tolerate the trouble that seemed to follow the purple dragon around and so, while the older dragons seemed to dote on him for a reason he wasn't permitted to understand yet, he didn't have any friends his age. Rather than seeing the golden dragonfly as his partner and nothing more, he saw the two as best friends – more like partners in crime. He truly believed that the festival was a chance to find a companion and not to find an asset to use to his advantage. Experiencing his best friend be injured because of him and in place of him broke his little scaly heart.
If Sparx had to choose a moment where the two moved forward in their relationship, it would be right there under the glow of the setting sun. The dragonfly had enjoyed his time in the Dragon Realms but the idea of functioning as nothing more than a csuit of armour to a dragon pup he knew very little about had left him feeling a little put out. Seeing the dragon work himself into such a tizzy about the arrangement, and knowing that Spyro had chosen to spend the greater part of Sparx's lifespan together without knowing that he stood to gain something from it made him rethink his opinion of his friend. Perhaps there was a greater meaning to the bond between a dragon and his dragonfly than simply being colleagues…
When Spyro got himself smacked over the head by Toasty's wooden stilts and Sparx turned from blue to green, he wondered if he was giving the young dragon too much credit after all.