A/N: This fic is inspired and set in Court of Sand, a Wings of Fire RP/Election Game from "alternate history . com" . Big thanks to Temeraire for creating and running the game, and to VoidTemplar, ChaosnDiscord, Atlantisa Guard, CCA and everyone else who played and really fleshed out the universe.

Basic premise here is my character, Xerophilous, writing a memoir of his life and adventures during the Sandwing War, and his fall and rise to greatness. Every now and then, I'll provide insight and commentary as the player over how the turn and the game was going at the time. And boy, do those dice rolls get wild...

If you are reading this, baring some unexpected Animus shenanigans, I and everyone mentioned in this book should be long dead. I left behind this manuscript under the firm instructions that it shouldn't be released to the public until 100 years after my passing, so that I could be fully transparent and honest about every that happened during the Sandwing War, without causing any unwanted trouble with my friends and family. This is as much a confessional tell-all as it is a retelling of major historical events. Any accounts or segments not from me have been obtained with permission (when necessary) and are marked as such.

By the time of this book's publication (assuming dragons still use books and scrolls, and haven't come up with a way to broadcast information straight into everyone's brain), my reputation and legacy may make me out to be something completely foreign and outlandish to me. I imagine that by your time they'll be saying that I had some secret Nightwing heritage, being the first Sandwing to ever hatch with psychic Nightwing powers. They might even say that I had dreams of power and glory and ruling all of Phyrria from the day I hatched. But of course the truth is none of those things are true, at least in the way you've been told.

I was hatched in the Old Scorpion's Den, way back in the year 4964 AS (After the Scorching). My mother, Khali, worked as a carpenter, while my father, Mojave, was a blacksmith, both coming from Sandwing parents and grandparents. They owned shops right next to each other, and would flirt and court each other by making little figurines of each other out of wood and metal. Eventually they fell in love, saved up to marry and move in together, and eventually had me, little Xerophilous.

To this day, I don't know why they chose this particular name for me. It's not a particularly common name among Sandwings, a description of any plant or animal that thrives in a dry, hot environment like a desert. I guess it made me sound more sophisticated than I was, being a mere dragonet of crafters. Most of the time my parents would just call me "Xero" (the X sounds like a Z).

I'd describe my childhood as decent, if a little boring. That might seem odd, considering how the Den ended up later on, but at the time it wasn't that bad, especially in the neighborhood I grew up in. Plus, I wasn't a very active or troublemaking dragonet. While a lot of my schoolmates would go running through the streets or pickpocketing unsuspecting dragons, most of the time I'd spend my free time building things.

I thought it was the most amazing thing in the world, how my parents could take pieces of wood and metal, and turn them into works of art or tools used in everyday life. Spears, toys, wagons, armor, jewelry. Everything had to be made by someone, somewhere. It was magical in a way, but unlike the Animus dragons of old, one doesn't need to be hatched special to make them. All you need is intelligence, talent and experience. Not everyone can be smart, but all three traits can be grown and refined with practice and study.

And practice I did. I could count the number of toys mother and father bought for me on one paw, whereas I not only built dozens of my own, but I even sold a few to the local kids for a nice little profit. I would visit the library almost every day, reading every scroll and manuscript over every subject and every field of science. I wrote down so many different designs and ideas that I wished to build, discover, create, most of which have long been lost to the sands of time. By the time I was 14, I was very much a Jack-of-all-Trades: I specialized in things like engineering and smithing, but I knew quite a bit about a lot, which made me quite a valuable hire wherever I wanted to go.

Though that's not to say I just cloistered indoors my entire dragonethood. I did on occasion go out and play with the other kids, and I spent time out in the markets observing other dragons. The Scorpion's Den was a big, bustling trade hub on the way to the Palace, and it wasn't hard to find dragons from every Tribe and every walk of life across Phyrria walking the streets. Skywings and Mudwings could be seen doing business with Sandwing locals most days, and Icewings, Seawings and Nightwings were spotted from time to time. Despite their physical and cultural differences, and the innate biases that originate from those differences, everyone was still able to live and work peacefully together, and cooperate to keep the city alive. I took that idea to heart, that dragons are good and are capable of coming together and doing great things, if given the opportunity.

I also learned a few things during the last few years before I left. Queen Oasis, as strong and fair a ruler as she was, didn't seem to take much interest in the settlements like The Den or Hawkstone. The routine patrols of soldiers, keeping the peace with their very presence, became less and less frequent, and then disappeared altogether. Criminals and gangs came in soon after, extorting merchants for "protection money" and peddling all manner of drugs, prostitutes and assassins-for-hire openly in the streets. Those who tried to resist or complain often received a broken tail or wing for their troubles, if not killed outright. My parents could see the writing on the wall, and at the age of 15, we moved out of the Scorpion's Den to find work at the Sandwing Palace.

On one claw, I understood what a massive opportunity I was getting by moving to the Palace. This was the heart of the Kingdom of Sand, after all; all the movers and shakers of the Court lived there, and even the lowliest servant or courtesan could influence and guide events in the desert, if they gained the ears of the Royals. On the other claw, I was still mad that I had to leave my hometown. It felt like I was giving up somehow, leaving everything behind to thugs and thieves. I knew that I, one mere dragon with a couple cool devices, couldn't hope to beat every single gang or criminal in the Den, but it bothered me that the world had changed for the worse, and I couldn't do anything about it. Was it really so easy, that bad dragons could come in and make things awful for everyone else the moment anyone with strength and authority went away?

My family moved into the Sandwing Palace just after the Summer Solstice of 4979. It was truly a breathtaking experience, my first time flying up upon the massive citadel, glittering like a colossal diamond in the morning sun. I had never seen such a massive building before, the gatehouse alone being taller than the tallest building in the Den. Every structure had such an aura of ancient grandeur, having been here for untold generations, and would likely remain long after everyone there was dust in the wind.

We were all interviewed by various members of the Civil Service, bureaucrats and managers who enacted the Queen's will and kept the Court and government functioning. At that time, while Mojave and Khali were brought into the Crafting Guilds, I was noted more for my high literacy and knowledge of books. The old Librarian - a kindly old lady named Plage - was looking to retire, and wanted to train me as her replacement. I accepted without question, the prospect of so much knowledge within easy reach far too tempting to resist. It didn't take long to figure out the system and learn everything I needed to know to work the Library, and the fact that most dragons hardly had a reason to visit the Library meant that most days I was free to study, work on experiments and create new inventions. I would've been content to live out my life working there, but Fate had much different plans for me.

Sometime in early Autumn of that year, I was fiddling around with a new gadget partway through my shift, when I heard someone say, "Hey, Bookworm!" I looked up, figuring they were referring to me. Standing in front of my desk was a rather large, muscular dragoness, about thirteen years of age. She was pale yellow with pale gold scales, with obsidian-black eyes so deep they had no white in them. Her barbed tail lashed idly as she glared at me, like she was annoyed to merely be in the same room as me. I had remembered seeing her on occasion passing by the castle during my time there, but I had never even talked to them at this point, let alone really knew who she was.

"My name," I corrected her, "Is Xerophilous. What can I help you with today, miss?"

She opened her mouth to say something angry, but stopped when she noticed what I had on the table. "What is that?" She asked, interest piqued.

"Oh, this?" I held up a piece of brass with several finger-sized holes along the edge. "This is something I've been working on at the forges. I call it The Brass Knuckle."

"What does it do?"

"You want a demonstration?" I asked, trying to hold back my own excitement. I hadn't shown anyone any of my creations since I arrived, and I had hoped to eventually be noticed by someone important so I could turn my passion and hobby into a true career. The Dragonet nodded affirmatively, and I motioned for her to follow me outside. In the empty courtyard next to the Library, there were some leftover building materials: planks of wood, medium-sized stones, even pieces of scrap metal not being used by the blacksmiths. We lined them up together, and I placed the Knuckle on my right forepaw. I punched the wood in half, punched some indents into the metal, and put a crack into a decent-sized stone before my paw began to hurt. The Whacks, Whams and Cracks were impressive-sounding, if her expression was anything to go by.

"Can I have a try?" She asked, in a tone that was at least slightly more polite when she first spoke to me. Not seeing the harm in it, I gave it to her. Three Moons was she strong! She shattered the wood, punched through the metal, even smashing larger rocks without any hint of pain or fatigue. She looked down at her dirty fist and the Knuckle, and she smiled proudly.

"You like it?" I asked.

"Can you make it deadlier?" She inquired.

I tilted my head in consideration. "I could put little spikes along the Knuckles," I answered, "Maybe add a blade to the bottom, for stabbing and slashing."

"And you have more of these? These cool little weapons?"

"I have quite a few ideas for weapons. I like to build things in my spare time."

The dragonet smiled. "How would you like to work for me, Xerophilous? Mother says I need a tutor to help with my studies, and you can show me more of your cool toys."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And why would I do that?"

She stood taller then, wings flaring out as she tried to look as big and intimidating as possible. "Because I," She explained, "Am Princess Burn, and one day I will become Queen of the Sandwings."

And that, dear readers, was when my fate was sealed...

A/N 2: So yeah, Xerophilous is going to be the Mastermind to Burn's Battlewinner: The well-meaning scientist who works for the obvious baddy because they recognize the potential of their mind. Can someone still be a good dragon and do good things while working for the unholy lovechild of Jeffery Dahmer and Ramsay Bolton? Keep reading to find out!