I sighed. I always sigh. It's my way of showing that I'm bored. This was so boring. I always listen to what people tell me, yet I'm never listend to. Except by Dilandau. He always listens. I think it's because he just wants the quickest way to burn something or destroy another thing. I'm not a bad guy, really, I'm not. O.k. So I may have burnt down my hometown, but we're all allowed one mistake, right? It seems that I have more than one mistake though. I should have never went after that dragon. I was foolish than and I know it now. I should've just turned tail and ran, but I wanted to prove I was strong. And it cost my arm and my.....dignity, and my mothers life. I'm hated by them now. I'm hated by all of them. I don't know why. The only people I have in this world are Naria and Eyria. Sometimes, I wonder about them though. Dornkirk is just a selfish old........no, I musn't think such things. Dornkirk had mended me, taken me in when noone else would. I was such a childish boy...only 15 at the time. I thought I could take on a dragon, for Gaea's sake! Could one man ever feel so alone? A shadow always casting itself over me. I know I would do something magnificent with my life. To indicate that I made a difference in someone's life. Maybe even the whole world. But the shadow was still there. It ate at my heart and turned my flourecent white wings into black burdened wings that stretched like the hand of death. My arm....my metal arm that could grasp and strangle a small animal. A bird perhaps. I knew all about birds. It was a thing with me. I could fly with the birds, so why not understand them? Some birds hid behind waterfalls, while others felt safe on a cliff. But bird's wings are pure. Birds are meant to have wings. People were not. But I had them. So did Van, and my mother. And the rest of the cursed Draconian race. Maybe that's why I was hated....because I was feared? Am I really that scary that people hate me? That irritates me. They judge before they knew me. *walks to window and closes his eyes* Why did they do that? I'm logical enough to carry on a decent conversation. Maybe it was my clothes. They were black: Dark? Hmm....... my clothes did hang onto me like a child gripping onto it's mother's side, desperate for attention. The colors were dark and sent a cold wave of fear, didn't it? People shun me away for the way I look. But have they seen themselves through my eyes? Drones, and soilders marching through the streets as if they were obligated to do so. But they aren't. They think they are trapped and are pulled into the abyss of life. An oximoron, is it not? Life thrives on them.....do they relize it? Or do they have blinds over their eyes? My eyes are free. I can tell people the truth and sense what they are thinking...no, more like feeling. I can smell fear. That's why I'ma good strategist, I suppose. Do others sense it? Or am I the only one? It's not fair. My anger is rooted back to my family. My little brother Van was playing hero again...as usual. He makes mistakes go. When he does, I'll make my move...and get him to see the truth that his eye's are blinded by. He's blinded by hope. The truth is, there is no hope. Only fate.