The bronze labyrinth stretched and winded vertically as well as horizontally. You were somewhere in the middle levels of the tiered city, but where was the question. Maps were unintelligible, because Koyax had grown like a rainforest had – with different levels, rather than on a plotted, or even jumbled, plain. Pathways interconnected on various levels, always leading to somewhere unexpected from the initiation. There were no roads. No, Koyax was like Venice for the winged ones. Every now and then one would soar past, on genuine wings or one of the artificial zoomers they had invented.

Zoomers. You'd tried to operate one, but although they had smaller ones for children, the fact remained that the device was nearly impossible for a human to use. Sure, you could grip it like they could, but seeing? You didn't have the neck of a dragon. It was ridiculous, truly, and now you were lost in a spider's web of metal. Stuck, with no hope of escape. What a fabulous vacation.

The sun was almost set; you could see it between cracks in the jumbled metal. The golden array of colors had been catching on and coloring the sides of buildings for the last half-hour, casting a blinding aura with their reflections. Only recently had the colors faded to the deeper blues and purples, and the glare had died down to be outshone by the twinkling of lights from various artificial sources. You hung beneath one of those, a form of street lamp, assumed from its apparent purpose and not to its semblance of ones on your world. Hungry, exhausted, and not entirely wishing to be out in the dark, it suddenly seems like a good idea to seek out a hotel of some sort. It didn't need to be high class at that moment, simply not life-threatening.

After ten minutes of searching, you found yourself staring at the luminescent red sign of a building, tucked into the mass of metal it was a part of. Of course, you couldn't read the draconian language, but it seemed promising. After all, there was no trash or debris outside, and the sign was fully lit. With some trepidation, you entered.

There was something almost Victorian about the parlor. Intricately patterned wallpaper coated the walls, luscious velvet couches clustered off towards the side, and artful lamps cast a soft glow over it all. At one end, there was a sturdy looking desk, with a pale dragon sitting behind it, reading something. At your entrance, she looked up. Ah, hello there. Welcome! Are you looking for a room?

You nod.

Good, good. I'll go talk to the manager – you'll have to understand, I wasn't really expecting anyone. Meanwhile, are you hungry? Yes? Here, just take a seat on that couch and we'll have you taken care of.

Knowing nothing else to do, you complied.

As you reclined in what had turned out to be a wonderfully comfortable sofa, you reminisced over your decision to vacation in Atlian. It was a curiosity, truly, as Atlian was not designed for humans. It was one of the few planets whose dominant species was draconic. That, you supposed, was what made it curious.

They taught galactic politics in highschool, although classes mentioned other planets in other galaxies as early as elementary school. It was probably designed to break the natural human arrogance by forcing them to admit that yes, there were other intelligent species in the universe, and yes, some of them were smarter than you were. Atlian was one of those planets mentioned, not for the uniqueness in the emergence of its dominant race, but also for the cultural and physical diversity.

Atlian recorded history dated back to thousands of years before your own planet's. Initially, there was a blend of physical traits. Winged dragons, flightless dragons, feathered dragons, spiked ones…The variation was nearly endless, and they all remarkably belonged to one species. However, with the same archaic reasoning that generally messes up the progression of civilization, it was decided that the dragons with wings were a different species from the dragons without them, and they split into two different cultures, known respectively as Volare and Apteryx. As the years widened the chasm between the two societies, cultural differences also broadened. Different dialects were developed, and different intellectual pursuits. The Apteryx became known for their technological and societal advances, very quickly taking to technology and honing the raw magic of the world. They developed a functional democratic government long before other civilizations attempted to coin the idea. On the other hand, Volare remained largely feudal and was always centuries behind Apteryx in technological developments.

After Apteryx invented artificial flight, one of its most esteemed biological scientists discovered the genetic difference between the Apteryx and the Volare: there was none. The presence of wings, or their least desirable vestigial state, was controlled by a simple combination of alleles. It explained why still in Apteryx, years after the split, that winged or vestigial would still show up in children hatched.

This discovery, however, was highly controversial, and the scientist who discovered it was assassinated. This started the final war between Apteryx and Volare, where Volare managed to subdue Apteryx and take over its technology. After several hundred years of struggling, the two societies managed to acclimate to each other into one, global kingdom called Atlian. Atlian lacked the democratic policies of Apteryx, and had a monarchy and aristocracy, with a relatively free middle class.

Yes. You had aced that test.

There was something rather irritating about the inhabitants of Atlian, though. The first being that they could control magic, the second being that their average life span was double that of a human's, and the third being that all of their machinery and services were meant for someone of a completely different species and size. At least their food was edible.

Then, as you were waiting, your eyes fell upon the folder. It looked like an average manila folder, hidden away beneath the table before you. After looking around to see that no one was looking, you opened it and began to read.

PART ONE

Chapter 1

The birth of Jacques was not quiet, humble, or modest. He was not the poor son of a woodcutter who would then grow up in the style of classic folklores to overcome social stereotypes and expectations. He would not be a spokesperson for the common people. In fact, his birth was a gold-decked gala event, and his arrival into the world was greeted with enthusiastic, if not highly commissioned, fanfare.

There was a simple reason for this. Jacques was a prince. He hatched, slightly before his brother, who was dubbed Louis. However, as far as the world was concerned, Louis was the firstborn. The fact that Jacques was the first to spill forth from his shell was hidden from the rest of the world for one simple reason: Jacques was born with vestigial wings, whereas his brother was born with a set destined to develop fully. The birth certificates were altered, Louis was named heir, and days after birth, Jacques's vestigial wings were surgically removed so that it could be claimed he was a wingless, and not one of the "mutants".

Jacques's early life was as decked in gold, jewels, and attention as his birth had been. As his parents, Queen Isabelle and King Louis VII, were the high monarchs of Atlian, there was much room to lavish their sons in attention. Of course, Jacques always got the short end of the gold and jewel encrusted stick, as his brother was heir, and was developing a beautiful set of wings. Jacques, although bright and inventive, was also mildly eccentric and peculiar in personality, and was outshone by his brother's natural charisma. It was a competition. Both were equal in faults and strengths. Jacques was intuitive, intelligent, and witty, while mildly antisocial and temperamental. Louis was charming, charismatic, and dedicated, yet still he lacked his brother's remarkable intelligence and foresight. In the end, it was as it had been from the beginning: the ability to fly would be what determined the kingship more than order of birth. Kings had wings, and it had always been that way since the winged Volares overtook and consumed the wingless Apteryx society.

The unfairness of their birth was kept a mystery to the two brothers, thus, they were able to get along fairly well. There was some resentment among Louis and the slightly larger Jacques, due to small envies and natural sibling tryst, but on the deeper level they were close friends. Twins, after all, have a natural tendency to look to each other. Often, between lessons, the two would slip away to play in the spaces between. It all worked well, until Louis reached adolescence.

Chapter 2

Jacques had always been aware of his brother's extra appendages. It wasn't until they were actually functional, however, that they finally became an issue. Twelve years and several months after their birth, Jacques took a stroll through the gardens, to find Louis perched precariously on a pedestal, wings awkwardly outspread. He remembered calling out to him, in alarm, don't jump! For he felt, with sincere conviction, that his brother's young wings would fail him and he would fall.

Don't worry! Louis had called back, shaking his head. Jacques watched, anxious, as Louis crouched, spread his wings with determination, and leapt. For a few painful seconds, he hung there, flapping awkwardly, until it was certain to both of them that he would hold the air. Jacques watched him, his insides churning with envy, as Louis stumbled through the air. Awkward, but still flight, something Jacques had been rendered incapable of.

After a drawn out period of time likely lasting no more than a minute, Louis landed awkwardly at Jacques's feet, and started babbling excitedly at him. Look at that! Did you see me? I flew! I flew! I'm only twelve years old and I flew! Do you think I should tell mother and father? No, they'll get angry that I was practicing. Don't tell anyone! I want to wait 'til I'm really good so I can show them.

Jacques nodded in an exaggerated fashion, and spilled reassurances in an attempt to divert his malignant thoughts. No, don't worry. I won't tell anyone. Why would I?

There was a moment of silence between the both of them, as Louis, keeping his eyes glued on Jacques's face, climbed slowly to his feet. Hey…You should ask for a zoomer someday. I'm sure you're old enough that they'll give you one…Even if it won't go so high, he said, slowly, cautiously.

He shook his head. Nah…I don't need one of those. A flying device. A part of him was grateful that Louis had read him correctly and attempted to remedy that, but another part resented it. That was why everyone loved him; that, and his wings. Jacques knew that within a year he would have fully developed his chest and back muscles, and that he would be capable of real flight, whereas Jacques would be dependent upon something artificial, something constrained…If he could get something at all.

The conversation had continued, clipped and awkward, until they returned to the castle and separated thenceforth. There had been no fight, no argument, but it was the event which brought them belatedly to realize the rift that had always separated them.

Chapter 3

There was one word that Louis had uttered that day which would permanently change the course of Jacques's life. Zoomers. Much as predicted, he obtained one as a gift for his thirteenth birthday. He practiced flying on it almost daily, occasionally racing Louis, who was becoming more and more skilled in flight. More than simply use the device, however, Jacques felt he had to know it. He had to master it, to make it become a part of him, as much as the pair of wings he'd never had were.

Studies of technology, of engineering, were peculiar for a prince who was supposed to know the finer points of politics, language, cultural studies, and strategy. Yet, Jacques had already mastered those areas, or at least on an academic level. There was no legitimate complaint that could be raised when Jacques expressed his interest in learning advanced mathematics, physics…Engineering. The best tutors were hired to cater to his whims, and by seventeen years old he was able to construct his own, albeit slightly amateur, zoomer.

Things were better than they could have been. Jacques was intelligent and was not squandering, something that his parents nor their court could raise complaints about. He involved himself in no scandals, for various reasons all linked back to a general disinterest in courtship; ideals that were quite unfortunately unshared with his brother.

It was the duchess that ruined everything. When Jacques was staying late, buried in a book, Louis stumbled in, shaking from head to tail. Immediately, Jacques set the book down and approached his brother. What's wrong? He asked, seeing no physical wounds.

Oh no…Jacques. I don't know what I'm going to do, he responded, in a low voice.

What? he responded. Do about what? Reading people had always been his brother's talent.

You've got to help me, he continued, looking away now.

I can't help you unless you tell me what's wrong, he responded, a touch of venomous impatience in his voice.

I…She…I'm going to be a father.

This was bad. Louis was not married. He could not be a parent before he was wed, not with his position.

With whom? Jacques asked.

I…Cassandra, he muttered.

Cassandra. The pretty young duchess whom Louis had been admiring, and from what Jacques understood, courting for some time.

Jacques shook his head, at a loss. You idiot. He muttered.

There was a pause, a veil of silence. I know, he responded.

Three months later a hasty yet extravagant wedding was held between Louis and Cassandra, with Jacques serving as the best man. A month later, there was the quiet birth of the couple's first child, Jacques's nephew and future nemesis, Emile. The actual birth was released months later, to make believe that the couple had first wed before reproducing. As if everyone didn't already know the truth.

Chapter 4

With Louis wed and his bloodline secure, Jacques was pleasantly surprised to find more freedom on his end of the deal. He found his growing independence delightful, and tested regularly tested its boundaries. At first he did so cautiously, nudging against the walls that marked the confines of existence. He found them increasingly more pliable, and within little time at all, the world was his. Whereas Louis was locked up with his wife and child, Jacques found himself coming to adulthood in a way he had not expected, at the cost of his brother's liberty. A portion of him felt guilty for taking advantage of his sibling, but another part felt exhilarated and a sense of righteousness – it was only fair that he be freed from restrictions, as Louis was free from gravity.

He went out, he went to Koyax, the capital city he resided in the heart of. Before he was eighteen, he had only been out with chaperones and guards. Once he was eighteen, the entirety of the peculiarities were exposed to him, and unfolded before him as he probed deeper into the intricate webbing of a densely populated tangle of metal housing several million living breathing souls. A former sheltered child; Jacques was drawn into the pulse of the outside world. The mangiest homeless fascinated him in a way the most pomp aristocrat could not. It was a slightly detached, scholarly fascination, rather than a deep and personal one, but it still drew him in, intoxicated him.

And there was one added perk: no one recognized him.

There had been reasoning behind releasing no clear photos or descriptions of the royal family, involving personal safety and privacy. Only the king and queen were shown, and the only pictures circulating of Jacques were from his childhood, released years after the experience captured in polaroid. There was something refreshing about being able to go where he pleased, do as he pleased, and be treated like an average person. He received attention from others that he began to perceive with growing amusement, not because of his heritage, but what he came to realize was his appearance. Physical attributes had never been the biggest concern for Jacques, although he maintained a general content feeling concerning his appearance, as he had simply assumed that when it came to settle, he'd chose any he wanted. He didn't know how to communicate with others on a personal level, though, and for the most part, observed from afar.

Two encounters within the outside world struck him as particularly memorable. In one instance, he was asked whether he preferred democracy or monarchy by a surly looking male in the corner of a busy pub. He answered, truthfully, that he saw flaws and advantages to both systems of government, and that the effectiveness of each depended upon the ruling party. They engaged in a heated argument over how a blood monarch could be equal to a character, chosen by the people, based on charisma and physical attributes. During the conversation, his mind kept flitting back to his brother. It was inevitable that Louis would become king. The people would love him. They always had.

The second encounter was with a bold wingless female. She lured him into a back room and robbed him. He put up little protest, and remembered asking why she felt the need to do this. She hadn't responded, but instead, provided a warning. She'd said, I'd watch out if I can glance off a loss like that. There are people who will pay for the skulls of people like you. She didn't need to explain for Jacques to understand. From her understanding, he was at least an aristocrat, and certain portions of the populace were largely hostile towards the upper class.

It was when she turned, though, that Jacques caught sight of something unusual. A slip of her garment revealed two tattered, gnarled looking wings pressed limply against her back – she was a vestigial. It was that night, in a flicker of curiosity, that he examined the area where wings connected on his own back. He felt scar tissue he'd never bothered to notice before, the hardness of a sawed off bone right beneath his flesh. He too was a vestigial.

He kept that thought to himself, a coveted secret not even his brother could know, as he went to attend a university – something thought previously unattainable – at twenty years old.

PART TWO

Chapter 5

The Koyax University of Technology was a prestigious university that took only the top mathematicians, scientists, alchemists, and creative minds from all over Atlian. Jacques applied with his real name and his accomplishments, and was never quite certain whether he was accepted because he was a prince, or because he fit in with their standards. By then, he could solve advanced calculus problems in his sleep, and had invented a light-weight energy efficient zoomer motor, without magic. It was something he had developed on his own, secretly patented, and the item was selling briskly on the market. Not to mention, his various other accomplishments and lesser-known inventions. Trifling moments of triumph in his opinion, because he never felt as satisfied with them as he'd thought he would.

KUT was a different world from the realm of prestige he was born into, and the mixing pot of life that encircled it. Jacques found himself, for the first time in his life, surrounded by true intellectuals. There had always been his tutors, yes, whom were always among the best and brightest…But here…Here there was an unlimited source of knowledge and creativity, pressing in on him in the hallways.

It was within these first months of adjusting to this new environment that Jacques met his first true, unrelated friend. Niccolai was brilliant, and he was Apteryx. When Jacques mentioned winglessness to Niccolai, the other dragon flew into a rage of indignance, insisting that he was pure Apteryx, and not some "wingless mutt". Jacques had admitted, shamefully, that he was mixed, although he did not admit that he was vestigial. Even if there were bouts of racism between wingless and winged, especially among those who identified strongly with their Apteryx or Volare heritage, no one liked vestigials.

Why does it matter? he had asked. Apteryx and Volare are no more. Now it's only Atlian.

This had only incited Niccolai's anger all the more. And that's any better? The culture of Apteryx has been murdered, and her bloodied remains have been enslaved by Volare! Them, with their wings! We had to invent flight on our own, and then they stole it from us. Here, you work with aviation. How can you put up with this?

Jacques counted himself blessed that Niccolai knew not of his immediate family. He shook his head. At least there are no more wars, he'd said softly.

Lies, Niccolai breathed. You naïve little… He paused. Obviously, you haven't been out much. History can be rewritten to fit the whims of the ruling party. Texts destroyed, new ones written…Few remember the one true Apteryx Volare war where half of Apteryx was eliminated! Plus, he continued, laughing softly to himself, it's not like there isn't a war going on. The media doesn't talk about it, dear friend, but armies are amassing. You'd better choose a side, and quickly.

Jacques didn't believe him.

Chapter 6

Or at least, he didn't until Niccolai brought him to Axis. He'd been studying in his dorm room for his finals, when he'd noticed Niccolai standing behind him. He frowned, set down his textbook, and turned to face his friend. What is it? he asked.

I want you to come with me somewhere.

Jacques groaned. It's eleven o' clock at night.

Exactly.

Which intrigued Jacques. Where would we got at eleven o' clock midweek?

Niccolai shook his head. Look, I can't explain it to you. You're just going to have to trust me.

They wound through corridors, jumped over rooftops, two silent shadows blending into the night. Niccolai seemed to know the labyrinth by heart, and Jacques followed blindly, until he ended up at a place he'd seen before. The dingy, flickering sign of the building, tucked away amongst a cluster of buildings, middle-tier in the city. It was where he'd met that female, the one with the warning. Inexplicably, his pulse quickened.

Silently, they slipped inside, to find the place filled to the brim with bodies of multiple genetic variations. Despite Niccolai's Apteryx pride, there were wingless, winged, and even a notable population of vestigials who had gathered. The reason for their meeting seemed to have nothing to do with drink and merriment. What is this? Jacques had asked, to no response.

Niccolai and he chose a table in the outskirts, shared with a bulky wingless male, and an inversely frail looking winged female. Again, he whispered to his companion, what is this?

His only response was a head shake, and an equally low, you'll see.

Over the next several minutes, Jacques scanned the crowd for anyone familiar, or anyone who seemed to be in charge. His gaze alighted upon several he recognized as classmates, although none he knew by name. Every now and then a new face would slip into the already overflowing room, and he would register them, before continuing his search.

One new arrival seemed to escape him, until she'd chosen the one remaining seat next to Jacques. The thief who had robbed him, and then proceeded to warn him, for all the paradoxical irony of the thought, took a seat beside him. He spared her a glance, before looking away. He could have her arrested, he knew that, but he'd never bothered.

Neither of them said anything, but he could feel an awkward tension starting to grow, until a clear, educated voice penetrated his ears and silenced the masses.

Welcome, esteemed ladies and gentlemen- a chuckle from the other side of the room -and welcome to Axis. For the new faces I see today, I extend an extra greeting to you, and hope you remain an honest individual. The speaker was a wingless male, gray in color, but by no means dull in the way he carried himself, and the way he spoke.

The rest of the evening was spent alternating between a numb shock and a deep, petrifying fascination. Axis, as he determined, was a large, underground political network attempting to overthrow the government. It was split into three factions, as he gleaned: the radical, violent faction; the moderate, resources faction that made up the majority; and the diplomatic faction that sought converts. The Axis hoped to establish a fair, democratic body in government, and wanted separate governments for different areas. As the meeting leader argued, separate cultures existed and could not be forced into one agglomeration, although Jacques caught a soft aside from the large male at their table, who informed them that they were only pandering to nationalistic complaints.

Regardless, as he returned to his dormitory for the night, Jacques couldn't help but feel a mixture of fascination and deep, primal fear. The words the female whispered to him at the end of the night rang clear. I know who you are. He was at risk.

Chapter 7

After that night, Jacques and Niccolai ceased to be close. They remained friends, but Jacques joined different social circles, mainly with less antagonistic participants. He went through his six years of university education on a friendly, first-name basis with Niccolai, all the while wondering if some how his friend had figured out who he was. It wasn't easy, with the whole world now focused upon the appearance of the charming young prince Louis, to remember that there was another prince whose face was unknown to the public. All they cared about was when the twenty-five year old prince showed his face, as well as his family's, to the world.

It was a gala event that Jacques had not fully participated in. Although he and Louis still kept in frequent contact, their relationship was more strained than ever before. He still loved his brother, yes, but each had their lingering resentments and jealousy that could not be ignored.

And then Louis died.

It was but weeks prior to his graduation when he heard the news. He didn't even hear it directly from his family, but saw it in the newspaper that was dropped on the mat outside his doorstep each day. He remembered unrolling the paper, in a sort of half-waking daze, to have the bolded black headline stab into him. "Prince Louis Dead, Princess Wounded". He read the title several times before it sank in, and stared blankly at the paper, the picture of the assassination, and the caption that read "Rebel group is blamed for the assassination of the prince, and attempted assassination of his wife."

The following days were a blur that he stumbled through in sleep walk. Guards sent by his parents came to collect him later that morning, and brought him back to the palace. It was explained to him that he was not to be allowed out in public again, and that he couldn't even receive his diploma for six years of hard work, dedication, and astounding grades and innovation.

The funeral was held a week after the assassination. Jacques was invited to give a eulogy, but he found himself unable to come up with anything.

Chapter 8

Years passed. The freedom Jacques had once experienced was gone, and piled upon its remnants were duties, responsibilities, and tasks that he harbored no love for. With Emile too young to participate in court, Niccolai's position was open, and as much as the nobles coveted it, Jacques had to sit in for the departed. He remembered Niccolai had never had any love for the aristocracy, but he found them intolerable. Jacques despised court.

There had been times in his younger years when his parents and tutors had forced him to take notes on the politics that originated in this sea of deception and lies. In his youth, he had paid little heed to it, but now that he was older and had seen more of the world, he found himself observing the spectacle with a jaundiced eye.

He came to realize that the aristocracy was utterly useless.

They lived on the upper layers. They dined in the upper layers. In fact, in their entire existence, many of them set foot below 4,500 feet. They lived on the top of the world, and they did nothing.

Entire sessions were spent in court where nothing was done. Courtesans would simply seek to please his parents, and occasionally, to use him to gain their favor. They found no sympathy with him. He did not crave fame and fortune, and could not fully understand their selfish plight. All he needed was the money to support his hobbies, which various officials had attempted to take from him on several occasions on the account that it was not "princely to be holed up tinkering on useless items".

There was one person who seemed to take interest in his eccentricities: Emile.

Uncle Jacques? What is that? Jacques could not count how many times he heard those words.

That looks cool. Can I have it? A ten-year-old prince had asked the twenty-six year old one.

Jacques had refused him. This is too complicated for you, he had tried to explain. It was a small hovercraft, one that he had been indirectly commissioned by a local hospital to complete. He took a lot of odd jobs under various identities, although he took note to mention his high marks at KUT in all of them.

I don't think so. It looks pretty simple. What is it supposed to do? Emile had persisted.

Jacques had never had much patience for his nephew. He had also never been particularly pleased to be disturbed while working. The two peeves combined did not make for a pretty sight. It is supposed to float.

Oh, you like floating stuff, don't you? Is that because you can't fly?

Jacques did not respond.

You know, I don't think you're supposed to be doing this. I see you working on things, and then I don't see them again. Where do they go, Jacky? You're not giving them to me. I don't see the nobles with them. So what are you doing with your inventions?

Go away and mind your own business, why won't you, Jacques had growled, feeling a sense of dread in his gut. His covert operations had been detected by a ten-year-old? Preposterous.

Emile had stood there for a moment, before bowing his head to Jacques and backing out.

The next day when Jacques returned to his workshop, the hovercraft was in pieces.

Chapter 9

The years continued like that. Between court and interruptions from his nephew, Jacques found his quality of life was deteriorating. To make things worse, there was no Louis to help him cope with his frustrations. He was disgusted by Emile, and almost felt threatened by his existence. He had to hide his operations, for fear that the boy would steal or destroy his inventions. But still, he tinkered. He branched out, more for his own purposes. He became cautious with taking requests and commissions, due to the illegal nature of his identity fraud. Still, he created zoomers, other flying machines, and even personal devices infused with magic. He made toys; household items, widgets, and weapons. He amassed them, stockpiled them in secret. Every now and then, he'd find himself staring at a floating trinket, which whirred and glowed in a peculiar way and served no real purpose. He realized why the others disapproved of his actions – they probably thought him mad. Still, he enjoyed the occasional solitude it bought him. Escape was what he needed.

When he was thirty, his parents were assassinated. He found, and not to his surprise, that he was not terribly upset about this. The news came to him and he accepted it numbly, as he filtered it through a fuzzy brain, which refused to connect it to any real emotional response. How could he? He'd hardly known them.

Emile was named king at thirteen years old, not long after he'd learned to fly. Jacques attended the coronation with trepidation, and watched, concerned, as the crown was placed on the head of his nephew.

That night, he railed to no one and nothing. How stupid those rebels were! If only they could have seen what he had seen. Louis XII was perhaps not the best leader, but his brother had been an excellent person! And now…Now they had Emile II, and now everything was over.

He remembered knocking over a file cabinet, and shifting through the contents. At the bottom, he found a scrap of paper with unknown handwriting. It read:

Today, two fine sons were born to myself and my queen. The elder one we named Jacques, and he is a promising, sturdy looking young male. Ten minutes later his brother broke shell, and we named him Louis. Comparing the two, however, it was determined that Jacques was vestigial. I feel sorry for the poor boy, as he'll have to have his wings removed in a couple of days before anyone knows. We'll just have to say that Louis hatched first.

There was no signature, but was obvious who the letter's author had been. Jacques stared at it with shock and despair as he read it over. Lies…They'd all lied to him. About what he was, about whom he was.

That night, Jacques took the letter along with a few prized possessions, and left.

PART THREE

Chapter 10

Jacques was found days later passed out on top of his zoomer. The person who found him had been intrigued by the design and apparent quality of the hand-crafted device, but rather than steal it from beneath its unconscious owner, he led it and Jacques on it back to his home. He roused a pained Jacques upon arriving, and helped his semi-conscious self into his home. He lay him out on the couch, and provided him with coffee and toast.

While nursing his breakfast and regaining his standard mental capacity, Jacques saw something that arrested him. It was that white hided woman who had robbed him those years ago, and she knew who he was.

For what felt like forever, they stared at each other. In the back of his mind, he weighed his options. He could turn her in for theft, but that would involve him exposing himself and being forced to return to the palace. Or, she could kill him, or at least imprison him with her group, and face doubtful repercussions. Jacques did not find the odds to be in his favor. As, he'd determined, he'd rather be dead than return with Emile now in charge.

So, she spoke, her clear clipped voice breaking the bond of silence between them. Where have you been hiding? I haven't seen the likes of you in years, she laughed.

Jacques simply stared. No where.

Then why are you here?

Why not?

She glared at him. You've been hiding your scrawny self from us so we don't get you like your family. Well, good job with that.

He couldn't help it. He laughed. It irritated his headache, but he laughed none the less. You…People…Are so incredibly stupid. Did you even stop to think when you killed them all off? Did you reason? You killed my brother, and he was an intelligent, reasonable person who was well trained for the position he'd inherit. Then you killed my parents, when they weren't awful. And you know who's king now?

A kid, she growled.

My nephew. The worst brat I've ever met. Conniving, evil, twisted little thing who cares only about himself and other things we probably don't want to know about. I can't tell you how many times he's tried to wheedle me into things…Not good things, either. And then you'll try and kill him, but I doubt that will be easy. And if you succeed…You've got me. But you'll probably kill me now, won't you?

The woman shrugged nonchalantly. He shouldn't be hard to get, if he's any less intelligent than you, mister honors-scholar-awards-up-the-flue intellectual. You've just about given yourself over to us, all gift wrapped with a nice, shiny bow on top.

Jacques shook his head. Nah…I'm just not like them. They're content to sit and rot in their little gilded palace, but I have to be out around people. So what if it kills me. What have I got left that I care about?

She lunged at him then, claws extended, as she dug the tip of one in-between two of his neck plates. Although his heart was beating franticly, he gazed up at her nonchalantly. She stared down at him for a time, before retracting herself.

Huh, guess you're not so bloodthirsty, he said with a sardonic ring to his tone. Good choice. Really, I applaud you. Because without me, you were going to make a very big mistake.

She stared at him. Mistake? She queried, not bought in.

Of course. You want to kill my nephew? That's a bad idea. His brain was working quickly, formulating a plan faster than he could realize it.

But you just said he was an awful person, she responded slowly, as if he were slow himself.

Exactly, he breathed. Your…Group…Just killed three decent people. That'll make anyone unpopular. Now everyone is going to realize that it's your fault we're stuck with an awful monarch. You'll have to wait until they've forgotten that, as their resentment of dear little Emile grows. Then the tactical thing to do would be to present yourself, perhaps under a new name, as a reprieve from tyranny.

Chapter 11

It was those words that bought Jacques his life, and his position as a member of the Axis. He was not certain why he joined the group, but a part of him felt connected to it, to its members…Niccolai in particular. The only true friend he'd had aside from his brother, he couldn't do anything but be drawn back to him. And, Niccolai knew who he was now. He didn't think anyone knew his identity or origin aside from the woman, whose name he discovered to be Adele, and Niccolai, who seemed to have gleaned this information through means he would not disclose. To everyone else, however, he became Leon de Vladimeyre, the young male from Chart le' dau.

But in the end, it was all right. Jacques didn't have his degree, he didn't have his money, he didn't have his name, and he was holed up in a less than regal apartment with Niccolai and a few others. But he enjoyed it; he enjoyed the freedom, and the freedom to think.

Jacques was never fully against the political system set up by the Atlian government. Yet, at the same time, he could see no reason to support it. As the years developed, and his nephew grew, he watched things get worse. He made them worse. He started out as an inactive member, inputting ideas here and there as he suited them. Then he started developing custom zoomers…Custom weapons…Custom anything…And then.

He guessed he'd changed. He guessed it was in his blood. But the desire to be in charge of…anything…began to consume him. It started in the peripheral corners of his brain, then edged in, coloring his mind. Thus…The Business.

The file cuts off. Everything else is disclosed information, property of the Axis.

Within the file that contained the story, there was another packet, seeming to exist for advertising purposes. You were curious as to why an illegal underground society would need its own propaganda, but that question could be answered later. The pamphlet enclosed gave information on "The Business" mentioned in the last two documents.

Greetings, Axis members, new and old! Looking for a way to make a difference? Join The Business! The Business was founded five years ago by member Leon de Vladimeyre, and is the biggest provider of machinery and weaponry for our cause. It's the largest subdivision within the Axis, and employs thousands for various assignments. We're sure that The Business will have the perfect job for you!
Available Positions

Factory Worker
It may not sound like the most glamorous of tasks, working in the factories on Vladimeyre's numerous inventions, but it is an essential one nonetheless. As there are many workers, the hours are short and workers only have to work four days out of a week. Food is provided, as well as breaks for socialization. Little skill is required, and it is a good position if you're a new member to the Axis and have yet to prove yourself within our group.

Public Relations
The Business is an officially recognized business, cited as a zoomer factory, and therefore must handle itself as one – at least to the public eye. It provides real merchandise on the public market (although nothing quite so high quality as Axis members receive!), and thus there's always a need for staff who can handle the outside world. If persuasion is your forte, and you're not in (or maybe you are!) the diplomatic sector, this could be the job for you. Or, if you find yourself skilled at advertisements, you could also find your calling here!

Engineering/Inventing Staff
Brilliant as he is, did you honestly think Vladimeyre could do it all by himself? No! There are always a few positions open for the technological and metaphysical geniuses among you. This is a very prestigious job, and those who have it covet it. Applications for this are stricter than in other areas, but fresh talent is always needed.

Pirates
An archaic term, yes, but those who started this little organization chose the name for themselves. The pirates are under Vladimeyre, but they also belong to the radical sector. This job is not for the weak of heart, as thrilling as its title may sound. It's your job to put good use to these inventions. Pirates are sent on regular missions, with jobs ranging from infiltrating and extracting information from government-controlled offices, to raiding shipments for supplies as well as hurting the current government, and political assassinations. It's an exciting job, and you get treated very well – if you're willing to take the risk.

If any of these jobs sound desirable to you, simply fill out the form attached to this paper, and send it in to the address listed in the top right corner. DO NOT LEAVE THIS LYING AROUND!

Beneath it all was a slip of paper, with a small picture glued to it. Someone with a scrawled handwriting seemed to have written notes on this "Vladimeyre" character. It appeared to be a makeshift ID.

As you were examining the ID, it became apparent that the dragon from behind the counter was now standing behind you. Hastily, an excuse was invented, something involving seeing it lying around, and trying to clean it up. But then, unbidden, the question arose…Who was this Vladimeyre person, who was important enough to have an entire document about him? Of course he was a prince…The document had said that, and it was always a good idea to know those in charge on other planets. And yet…

Leon? the dragoness blinked, before grinning slowly. Why…You don't want to know about him. He's arrogant, antisocial, overrated, and when he talks, he goes on, and on, and on, and on…

Excuse me, came a deeper voice. Out of nowhere, it seemed, a larger male dragon had appeared, bearing an uncanny likeness to the one in the poor photo pasted to the ID. Charming as always, Adele? Come now, you're a horrible hostess. Not room nor food ready, and you're ruining my good reputation to our guest. You should be ashamed of yourself.

The white dragoness, Adele as she was apparently called, growled slightly and shook her head in exasperation. Where did you come from? I didn't invite you in here.

Since when did I need your invitation? he countered. Either way, whatever lies she has been spreading about me, well, quite obviously, they're lies. She's spiteful and rather jealous and because of it, she will never find a man.

And then, right behind you, an argument ensued.

From listening in on the argument, it was determined that, just as Adele had described, Leon was a wordy individual. Not in a way that the unintelligent may babble endlessly to feign intelligence, but in a manner which bespoke true wit and, daresay, genius, at least when it came to language. He also had a certain flamboyance to his mannerisms, and a certain confidence. He parried each of Adele's attacks with ease, and never seemed to become frustrated. He seemed, in manner, to live up to the expectations the documents had instilled.

Unable to be determined from that quick encounter with Vladimeyre, however, was the full scope of his personality. What is perhaps most notable is his intelligence, and creativity. There is little that Leon has taken interest in that he has not been able to grasp quickly. His talents range from the occult to the mathematic, and he is renown for his ability to not only think outside of the box, but move to an entirely different planet from the one the box was on. If he is not able to achieve the level expected of him on the first shot, he will try, repeatedly, until he does. It is his life, his obsession. Leon is highly prone to obsession.

As with many of higher intelligence, Vladimeyre has always found it hard relating to other people. He has always lacked the charisma and likeability that his bother possessed, and lacks the sense to miss them. He has never been fond of social gatherings, finding them often boring. Friends have come and gone, and although some that were forged were deep, lasting relationships, none were ever a necessity to Vladimeyre. The idea of courting has only crossed his mind on several occasions, and he need for partnership does not appear to be very strong within him. Even if it were, along with the desire of friendship, many have found Vladimeyre hard to get along with. His overconfidence coupled with the knowledge of his abilities and lack of need for others can make his presence grating at times. He often simply will not relate.

Despite his involvement in Axis, Vladimeyre is not highly political. He has never felt any real bias towards a monarchy due to his lineage, nor does he feel any draw to democracy. Vladimeyre has little faith in the decisions of people, and feels that either system has the ability to produce good and bad leaders. He eyes many things with a similar detached calculation, and often only takes sides due to other, more personal reasons. The thing to note is that Vladimeyre cares much more for himself than he does for others. It is his ideas, and his emotions, that are of significance. He won't directly admit it, but it is the truth that he is a highly selfish individual. His real reasoning for being with the Axis is that he hates his nephew. His real reason for creating The Business was to up his standing within Axis. Vladimeyre always has to be the best there is.

So what happens if Vladimeyre isn't the best? Well, intelligence aside, the dragon is still highly temperamental. It isn't so much that he suffers mood swings, but that he has issues with controlling his anger. He is rather irritable, and is likely to lash at the drop of a hat. It's fortunate that he's not prone towards violence, but his verbal assaults are often almost worse. And, just to make things better, he's obstinate. And…He argues. He's good at arguing, too. It would be a good idea in general, especially if one doesn't know him that well, to tread lightly around him. Certainly, he can act cordial, but that is not to be mistaken with friendliness. Just don't ever ask Vladimeyre for advice, because if he will give you anything at all, it will be the mathematical answer.

Looking at Leon, you could see that he was larger than Adele, and in fact, larger than many of the other dragons you had seen in Koyax. He was powerful looking, but way that he still appeared sleek. There was something almost elegant, almost regal about him. His dark feathers looked smooth and glossy, and his markings were well-defined. He had the look of being well-maintained, in fact, he looked almost immaculate. He didn't reek of excessive dedication to personal hygiene, but he was certainly professional and impressive looking.

He was one of the darker dragons, no doubt, his scales were a deep, unsaturated shade of purple which faded, via apparent countershading, into a dark indigo. His stomach plates were, in contrast, a pale shade of beige, and white markings were also obvious on him. His feathers were a dull burgundy color, touched with a deep violet. His eyes, unlike any other dragon you had seen yet, were golden. He also seemed to have inherited both the gene for spikes, as well as the gene for feathers, and sported the two. There was something slightly different about his back than regular wingless dragons, but you may have just been looking for it, knowing that he was vestigial.

Eventually, the argument drew to a close, and the dragon Leon seemed to notice the file placed on the desk. He frowned -- or at least seemed to, as dragons had different facial structures than humans -- and promptly walked over to pick it up. He examined it briefly, before turning back to Adele. And why would you leave my file lying around, if not other than to further prove your own ineptitude?

Adele balked, then ducked her head in defeat. Justine wished to reorganize things…It must've been left out, she muttered.

Silly girl, Leon muttered. The both of you. Well, put it away, why won't you? Not that it truly matters, I'm sure this human has read through it all already. Perhaps we can keep other dragons from reading it by printing it in English, but I'm sure this human has a fair number of questions regarding it.

Oh…Oh yes…This is in their language, isn't it? Adele said weakly.

Yes, yes it is, Leon sighed. Well, where to start. You've clearly met me, and I'm not about to explain myself to you, as you now know my life story, to a certain extent. Boring, is it not? All the interesting parts were left out, and I assure you, they will remain empty spaces in your bank of knowledge. However, I will explain to you the people you surely read about between those pages…

I suppose I'll start with my brother, Louis. He was my clutchmate, and my first friend. The people at Axis have no love for him, but I am afraid I do not share their sympathies. His absence is always felt with me. He may not have grown to be the best king, had he lived long enough, but he was an intelligent individual who would have likely performed admirably in any job assigned to him. He always had a way with…People…That I simply could not get a knack of. Perhaps he was a bit rash at times, but they still loved him. Perhaps…I am a little jealous of him, in some cases, although not now, for I do not wish to join him in death.

Now Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassandra. I must say she ruined everything. It is not out of spite -- I do not hate that woman. She is decent. Not extraordinary in any way, except perhaps physical attributes, I do believe she does her very best to do what she does. She was regent, for a while, when Emile was still young. I didn't pay much attention, but Atlian did not fall into any deeper chaos that it was already steeped in, so I suppose she has some intelligence to her. I never developed any sort of deep relationship with her, however, and simply knew of her as "my brother's wife".

She did, however, give birth to my greatest irritant, my nephew, Emile II. If you could imagine the worst brat of a child you ever encountered, and then multiplied that by as high a number as you can imagine, you would still not be able to understand what it is like to have to be around Emile. It's not that he isn't intelligent -- he is, which is what makes it all the worse. He's conniving, and self-centered. I have never encountered a more apathetic creature than the current king. His only concern are his materialistic desires for the best of everything, and the attention of everyone, which led him to frequently attempt sabotage on my inventions whilst I had to live in the same building as him. Words cannot describe my loathing for him.

If you were wondering what became of Niccolai, my dear friend, I assure you, we have become reacquainted. Not long after I joined Axis, I encountered him once more. He knew…Of my heritage, as many of Axis do not. Still, he wished to become my friend again, and I was happy to let him. He has always been more radical than I, more involved, more passionate, and I suppose it was he who drove me to start my…Business. He actually heads the pirate division now, a job he seems to delight in, but is one I find rather distasteful. Yet, he performs well, and I trust him, and enjoy working closely with him.

As for Adele, whom you have met, I must say this woman is out to get me. She still owes me the money she robbed me, and I still need to have her arrested for various accounts, including attempted murder on myself, and being a general nuisance. She's a hedge-witch, and a pirate, and quite frankly, I think she's a bit old for it. She's fifty-six already, although I suppose that means something far different to you than it does to us. I believe that translates to approximate twenty-seven in your years? Still, she's getting old, and she hasn't much to show for her years. She has no partner, and one bratty child that she's often pestering me with. Alas, I have to live in this building with her, so I suppose there is no avoiding dear Adele, here.

Suddenly, Leon sat up. Ah, well, come to think of it, now that you've had to endure so much...dry reading, if you will...I think it'd be unfair to not offer you any hospitality, and I have something specific in mind. Come on, follow me. Don't worry, you'll find this very useful. Your room and food isn't ready, any ways...Adele is a horrible hostess, and Bernard, the cook, has the organization skills of a teenager. Don't worry – the food is clean, and fresh, he just trouble remembering where he last left his spatula.

With that being said, he spilled off the couch and onto the floor. Miraculously, he landed on his feet. With some trepidation, you stood up as well; noticing how much bigger he was than you. Darn dragons were big enough as it was, but this one had to be so abnormally huge.

He started towards the back of the room, where the counter was that Adele had been sitting at. There was a large entranceway that led to a hallway with a sultry gloom, created by a moody yellow glow. The hallway soon became stairs which descended past a locked door, which Chardreau unlocked, and then into a large, comfortably decorated, but irredeemably messy room.

Technology
To explain what this is that I have, I think I ought to brief you somewhat on the technology we use in Atlian. As you can see, Koyax is a vertically built city occupied by both winged and wingless dragons. The winged dragons have less of an issue getting themselves from place to place, so long as they are in shape. Wingless dragons like myself have to purchase zoomers, which I'm sure you've seen many of. Of course, I make my own, but I am a rare example. Needless to say, we have advanced technology. You know this. Atlian has had interplanetary relations for years; we're a very universally-minded planet for the most part, even if there are always nutcases off somewhere in Dyas who think flying saucers are going to go take them away in the night.

The exact nature of our technology is slightly different from yours, however. Rather than using fossil fuels to power our engines, we use a magical energy that our ancestors have been harvesting for ages. It does have physical form, actually, although your species has a hard time with determining its presence. It is a completely stable plasma-like substance that can be found anywhere, at any time, between atoms, and we are one of the two...well, some believe three...species that can harvest this energy. Others can use it, but only we can extract it and force it to manifest itself physically. Once it has formed, however, it is a virtually limitless source of energy and has allowed our species for a fairly non-pollutant growth.

This energy, of course, is what powers our zoomers, and our other machines. We are a heavily-machine based society, not simply for transportation, but habitation as well, as we have a habit for trying to occupy as little horizontal space as possible. We are great architects, as you can see from our diverse cities, and great aviators. Quite frankly, there is nothing like the drive to fly when the other half of your species actually can fly. We have interplanetary travel, we have instant communication systems. We have computers, and in general, many of the things you have, although in slightly less-streamlined form, due to our size and limited dexterity. In appearances, we are not too dissimilar from the other sentient races, except, that is, for the magic.

Magic
Legend has it that magic in our species is descended from the Third Immortal, who stole it from the gods. They say he then created legs for himself and his kin, and thus our species was able to walk on land. This is a peculiarly prevalent mythology, especially considering how modern we truly are. What disturbs me more is that my family believes they are directly descended from the Third and the God of Light. That happens to be another facet of mythology, but quite frankly I believe none of it. The fact of the matter is, we can do magic and essentially no one else in the universe can.

When I say magic, I don't mean the kind that builds mountains or parts oceans. I mean the small kind, that rather than changing something drastically, gives it a small push in the direction you want it to go. I can liken it to a catalyst, although that's not all it does. Hedge witches use it to energize cells to rejuvenate them quicker, to heal wounds and cure illnesses. They have other uses, like protection...They can organize the molecules in the air to create shields, held together by energy. Or they can use air to push people away, or pull objects towards a given point, something like telekinesis. Magicians can extract it from the surrounding universe to create energy. I personally use magic for my own zoomer, as well as other personal projects, but nothing for public consumption. Non-converted magic is dangerous for anyone who does not have that level of skill with handling magic.

You see, much like with every other skill any species has ever had, magic has its variations. Some are very good at it, some can't use it at all. About fifty percent of all dragons can't use magic, and of those who can, only half can actually do more than shift pennies or fly paper. Those who can use it, can sense it. There's almost a metallic feel to the air when you're near it, and if you ask me, I'd say it tastes green. Of course, none of this makes any sense to you, but it's ok. You're human.

Leon paused, then, while he was rummaging around. The document cuts off, doesn't it? What I have done over the last eight years is counted as 'classified information', or so I am told. It's all due to my position. I am, apparently, an important member to Axis because not only can I aid them with my technological skills, but also, should they decide to dislike me, can also fetch a pretty ransom. Publish the fact that I am the throne's rightful heir...Irritating actions along those lines that will no doubt cause some very important people to become very upset. Any ways, while I'm digging for your gift here, let me tell you the rest of this story. Why not? We already started...

I started out as a 'scrub'. That's what they call the new people who come into Axis. Adele was kind enough to keep my identity secret, but in exchange, I was forced to live with her and six other Axis members in an apartment designed for three. As you read, I did little at first, aside from reuniting with Niccolai. There was a problem, though. Back in the university, and even in my home in the palace, I had resources to work with. Here, I had to work odd jobs to afford enough scrap metal to keep my personal zoomer intact – and to keep the thieves away from it (and I assure you, there were quite a few. This apartment was in the lower sector, which is definitely not the home of the elite).

They soon put me in a factory job, assembling parts. I stole the parts. I built a high-tech gun using those parts and no magic, and presented it to the manager of the company. That got them interested. Eventually, some higher-ups met with Niccolai and I (he, being a dedicated and higher-ranking member of the Axis than myself, had much more credibility than I did) where Niccolai explained to them that I had been his roommate at KUT. He was kind enough to add that I would've graduated valedictorian were it not for the fact that weeks prior to my graduation, I was seized and not allowed to return. They asked why. Niccolai told them my brother had died. They asked for an explanation, for proof, for a name. I told them I was Jacques.

They put me in jail.

Of course they didn't put it in their document, because they like me now, and don't want to look bad. But I was there for three months before I was allowed to speak with anyone, and it was another month before I was released under close supervision. Remarkable I was even allowed that, but they had placed a sound recorder in my cell, and monitored me daily. As soon as I found the device, I spent hours daily spilling the secrets of my trade: how to mix chemicals for the maximum fuel efficiency, how to decrease noise and increase stealth in zoomers, how to create better targeting systems for handheld weaponry…The list goes on. Except, there was a catch. I remembered hearing about an old legend told by people of your species, actually. It was about a queen whose husband kept telling her he was going to kill her, but every night she would tell him a story. Rather than finish the story, however, she would not give the ending, and tell him he must wait. She continued this pattern for one thousand nights, until finally the king decided not to kill her. I took inspiration from her, and never told them the crucial information. Eventually they decided that they must have me freed to know my secrets.

Security around me relaxed as the years went on, as I contributed more. Of course, I was always watched…Will always be watched. I was not allowed outside for extended periods of time, and not without guards to monitor my every move. But I helped. I built up my standing, with the help of Niccolai, and an often-reluctant Adele.

The idea for The Business was partially his, but also partially mine. Axis was rather…Disorganized…When it came to machinery. It needed someone dedicated and intelligent enough to organize and lead it forward. I often found myself seeing areas of Axis that could be improved upon, and not simply in technology. Niccolai agreed. We also both agreed that Axis was too broad, and needed smaller organizations. After a year of planning, we presented our idea to the Koyax head, Cal'enn (he was from Les'ann…They have a rabid addiction to apostrophes over there). He was uncertain at first, especially when we announced that I was to head the organization, but with some great powers of persuasion, we managed to convince him.

The Business started out small. There were a few members, mainly engineers whom I employed, and a handful of rookies who were Niccolai's 'pirates', as they began to call themselves (I remember laughing over the notion with him more than once). We had managed to recruit one from the diplomatic sector, as he had been one of our roommates since not long after my release.

So we advertised.

At meetings, in congregating areas, with people we knew, and eventually The Business started to gain enough people to become functional. You see, with the old organization, I suppose not everyone had enough to do, or as in the case with myself working on a factory line, were not properly applied for their talents. Of course, we still had to convert some of the factories for our uses, but since the initiation of The Business, Axis productivity has increased exponentially. I've made sure it does. This is my new hobby, I suppose, my new obsession. And I must say, my 'baby' has grown magnificently. There have been issues here and there, but perfection is impossible, especially when people are involved.

Since then, I've had more freedom. Especially now, you see me wandering in here with no one tailing me, near nightfall. I don't think I've done much with it. If you've wanted any juicy information on my personal life, as many seem to do, I think you'll be sorely disappointed. I count few among my close friends. Of course, there is Niccolai, and a few other you know not of, but I feel no shame in admitting that I am not the most social of beasts. I have also not courted any, so I suppose you must say my taunts to dear Serra are nothing but blatant hypocrisy. It's not that I haven't received a good deal of attention – I know you humans have no interest in dragons for those sort of matters – but I am fairly attractive, and for your information, thirty-eight is not anywhere near middle aged. I'm young. Probably about twenty-two by your standards, so I'm certain it is remarkable for me to have achieved my status so quickly – but then again, we do mature relatively quickly.

I have a better home now, one that I can actually use the bathroom in without waiting in a line. I do share it with two other individuals, but it has space enough for the three of us. I wouldn't call it luxurious; in fact, it's kind of old. I must say I am happy with it, though, as it has an atmosphere that suites me quite well. It's very close to the central command of The Business, but I cannot give you any more details. A human you may be, and many may not be able to speak your language around here, but…You must understand…Paranoia runs high within Axis. Understandable, I suppose, as it is an illegal operation, but…I do hope you understand. You should feel flattered I'm telling you this. You now know more about me than many of my friends. Congratulations. I'd give you a standing ovation, but I'm afraid I can't be bothered to get up once more – I'm finally comfortable here. Sorry.

While waiting, your attention was drawn to a brown, leather folder lying on the floor. The name "Leon" was engraved poorly into the cover. You bent down and picked it up.

Ah, Leon said, noticing it. Well…You see…Axis has been keeping tabs on me since I was born. They keep pictures of me so that they could recognize and assassinate me, he said, a sardonic ring to his voice. Go ahead and look through it if you absolutely must…There's nothing too horribly embarrassing in there, although I can't imagine why you'd want to look at pictures of me.

Art by Ven:

Art by Others:

By: Sai, Hermie (x2), Xiadane, Glass Walker, Rhianne, Speckled

Adoptables:

As Leon was digging, he managed to uncover a zoomer. He paused, and seemed to consider it. Funny, what's that doing down here? I designed these a while back for The Business...Maybe this one was a prototype, but there were quite a few of this style made, he mused, probably more to himself than to you. Either way, it's a bit big to be down here. I wonder how they crammed it through the door...

Regardless of how it had made it into such a peculiar location, it was a zoomer, model Avis V4, and quite a few had been made for a bunch of dragons who couldn't quite fly...With a few terms and conditions to take into mind, that is.

Rules:
1. You did not make them, so don't pretend you did.
2. Do not use them in layouts or whatever.
3. Always link back to this page.
4. Don't take what is not yours.
5. Don't throw food at Ven if you think they're lousy.
6. If you want one, copy and paste the code in the text box below, but replace the word "COLOR" with the color of your choice.

Baby

Blue

Brown

Camouflage

Checkered

Christmas

Cloud

Darigan

Desert

Disco

Electric

Faerie

Fire

Ghost

Glowing

Gold

Green

Halloween

Ice

Island

Magma

Maraquan

Mutant

Orange

Pink

Pirate

Plushie

Purple

Rainbow

Red

Robot

Royalboy

Royalgirl

Shadow

Silver

Skunk

Speckled

Split

Spotted

Starry

Striped

Tyrannian

White

Yellow

Zombie

Oh, so wait, they did stop mass producing these? Well, you could always request a custom one, with the added benefit of being able to tell people how to put it together so as to best benefit you. Awesome, right?

Requests are closed
Trades are tentatively open

When requesting a custom zoomer dragon, please take into mind a few things: I would rather avoid doing highly complicated designs (like the one I did of Wilia...I'd rather not add random breathing masks, and I only did it with her "for teh lolz"). Also, the belly scales stay, because I shaded the template to fit that. xD And uh...I can't change the zoomer color/design. Sorry~

Should you want one, send a neomail to Ven, who will promptly relay your message to Vladimeyre, who will promptly force some people to get to work. Please make sure to title the neomail "Zoomer Request", though, so not as to confuse it with Wilia's shenanigans. Also, please be sure to provide a referance picture (or an image that clearly shows all markings/etc.)

The whirring sound was suddenly replaced by a sharp, chirping noise, as the robot, "Nikki", started spinning madly and flashing over a particular heap of metal. Leon immediately turned to look at it, and seemed to smile in that odd way dragons do. Ah! Looks like he found it. Wait here, won't you? With that being said, he crossed over to the pile of junk and started rummaging through it.

In another moment he returned, leading what looked like a floating scooter – the awkward kind that elderly people sit in. Surprisingly, it was smaller and built differently than any of the other zoomers you had seen. In fact…It looked almost manageable.

Here, you can borrow it, he said, letting it set in front of you. It's a zoomer, but I made it especially for a human I knew who visited a couple of years ago. He returned to Earth, and I was left with this useless piece of junk. Feel free to use it during your stay. It may take a bit of adjusting to, but it'll work perfectly. Yes, perfectly enough for you to take it out over the twenty-five hundred foot drop right outside this hotel. I wouldn't do it tonight, though. Just give it a day. Your room's probably ready now, so you can go there, and I'll attend to the…Business…I came here for.

And with that, he walked over to investigate another pile of junk in way that quite blatantly said he wasn't going to pay any more attention to you.

For when you wish to return the zoomer: