This story wasn't ever supposed to happen but I needed a break from planned things. I wanted to write about something or someone different and Riley suggested Mystel. What a good idea.

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade.

Enjoy!

Of Dreamers and Birds Alike

People ask me all the time how I can fly. How can I, a human being, the simplest of creatures, throw myself off a cliff and somehow turn a foolish free fall into a delicately intricate array of precision swoops and swirls? How can a mere mortal such as myself be privileged enough to strap on Hermes' golden talaria and glide to the ground like a feather dreamily dancing to the ground? Who am I to be singled out in the vast sea of existence?

Ever since I was young I've wanted to fly. I associated myself with doves from early on. These glorified pigeons stand out from the rest as they're a symbol of grace, peace, and unity. I admire the way they soar high above the clouds, spiraling through the fields of cottony puffs, lolling around in a lazy summertime fashion. I used to jump off swings every chance that I got in order to gain that rush of adrenaline that splices itself into one's system when your brain first realized your body's falling. It's that instinctive reaction I lived for even back then.

Some people call what I do flying, but others simply say I fall. It seems to me odd that two things that are so clearly opposites are also so closely related to one another. To fly you must first have fallen many a time, but to fall you must have already flown high. Flying and Falling are the fraternal twins of dreamers and birds alike.

Such contradictory concepts are hard to grasp. Over the years I've learned that the inability to prove something is just as good as proving it and that these puzzling facts of life should just be accepted as true. Especially if you know it's the truth and you believe it with all your heart, then it can become true through you. Though, that really is only true for certain things... Heh, here I go running around in circles again. I do that a lot. Honestly, I spend more time chasing my own tail than a dog.

Anyway, my ability to fly (it's more like gliding) owes itself to a careful blend of physics, anatomy, and mathematic functions that are really a bore to go into. The only one who ever actually listened to the whole thing was Brooklyn and when his attention is half directed at a ladybug it's hard to tell if he actually hears when you speak to him. It's not hard to nod or make an interested noise every once in a while.

I don't claim to be a genius, in fact most of the calculations were estimations, but I do know how to detect wind currents and use flowy clothes to slow my decent. As for the hopping, that's nothing more than gymnastics lessons with plenty of lower body workouts and balancing exercises thrown in.

I work hard, extremely so, but I'm pretty sure I get more out of it than I put into it. Three or four hours of vigorous training a day are more than made up for when I feel that wind blowing through my hair and adrenaline coursing through me.

All this being said, it wasn't until Boris came along and reckoned that my abilities could come in handy in the beyblading arena that I could actually claim there was a use for my talents. With Balkov as my overseer and mentor, I developed one of the most unique attacks the beyblading world had ever seen; a from-all-directions, aerial attack that left no time for my opponents to ask for mercy.

I was, as it had been planned, an immediate success. Billboards, exhibition matches, newspaper articles, websites, fan clubs, and interviews; I was everywhere.

Partway into my newfound fame I realized something was missing. I couldn't remember the last time I'd flown for my own reasons; for fun. I was always diving down from rafters to make a spectacular entrance worthy of BEGA and all of its glitz. I managed to sneak away once in a while, but these escapades almost always ended in fan recognition and high speed chases. It's not like I can't outrun them, but the idea does lose its appeal quickly. There were times I had considered dying my hair and skipping out. But I'd made a promise; once we'd beaten the BBA Revolution I could have my fun. Until then I'd have to settle for the rafters.

Then the day of the final battle came and it was obvious afterwards that BEGA was over. Boris escaped with most of the money transferred to his bank account, our team dispersed, and the Beyblade Battle Association was back on it's feet, dusting itself off. Tyson was back in the spotlight with the rest of his teammates content with their lime-lit niches in the beyblade world. Although I have heard rumors of Kai planning a comeback.

Nowadays the gossip's only gossip to me. I've put beyblading on the back burner for now, preferring to once again become wrapped up in my original love. I may yet pick up Poseidon once more, but for now, I'm back to the doves' thrill; back to the skies.

A/N: For something that wasn't planned, this turned out pretty well. It's short, but I'm quite proud of this one.

Review?

P.S. My sister and I are planning a story that we're going to need Beyblade fanfiction writers' usernames for. None of them will be used in a negative way. This may or may not be the first story on our collaboration account depending if we decide to write it together or not. If any of you are willing to lend your username to our cause, let me know in a review or message. Thanks!