Dream: Everyone who finds Hydron annoying, raise your hand.

*everyone in room does so*

Yumeí: I wish I could see which readers hate him too.

Dream: I don't hate him, he's just irritating. But somehow, I do manage to be sorry for him too.

Mylene: *flatly*He was a brat.

Shadow:*nods furiously*

Volt: Let's not talk about this more than necessary. Even if it does mean starting this chapter.

Lync: Nerve point.

Volt: Shut up.

Sweat poured down Volt's forehead as he lifted a large stack of building materials and carried them to Deru. The scrawny boy accepted them and began to hammer the boards into place, repairing the torn down wall of their home.

Isha carried out a tray of food, which he accepted gratefully, swallowing it quickly. He sat in the shade of a large piece of wreckage, draining his canteen of water.

A recent windstorm had ravaged the areas, knocking down the walls and a portion of the ceiling in their tiny home. Now that the weather was fair again-and everyone having a day off from their usual jobs-the rebuilding process had at last begun.

"When are Marret and Tenik coming back?" Isha asked. "About noon," Volt answered. "Tenik was going to try buying a few things. Marret just tagged along."

"That boy," Isha shook her head.

"Well, we're almost done here," Deru said. "I don't need any more stuff, but we've left the perimeter wide open recently."

Volt smiled as Deru tried to sound like a military official. It was his dream to get out of the slums and move into the army. Isha wanted to return to school, Marret wanted to be an artist, and Tenik had never told anyone what he wanted to be. Volt had no dreams, nor did he see any necessity for them. He would just keep living, keep protecting his new family.

Volt left Deru and Isha to run a quick check for any hostile slum natives. It had been four glorious years since he'd been accepted by their family. His paranoid father, cruel uncle and cousins were all distant memories, overshadowed by his euphoria. He was sixteen now, and would be seventeen in three days. The world seemed more open and friendlier than ever, but the Slum Gangs were still dangerous: Volt had scars from his last fight with them.

A shadow crossed the sky and he looked up, shading his eyes. Just a transport ship. Strange though. No one wanted to come to the slums, and the few who did were desperate-not capable of owning such a high quality ship.

Volt decided not to think about it, and kept a lookout. Nothing here. He kept walking, and came across the same ship he'd seen flying. There was a boy, perhaps a little younger than he was. Judging by his clothes, he looked like a noble. And-of course-he was ordering a guard around. Then Volt was spotted.

"You! Slum native!" he called, and Volt felt insulted. "Come here!"

"Who are you to order me so?" Volt asked. "I am not a native to this place. I am an immigrant. If you want to find a Slum kid, go further in. Of course that will mean contending with the Gangs."

"How dare you speak to me in that informal manner!" the boy shrieked. "Do you know who I am?!"

Volt cocked his head as his answer and the boy became even angrier. He ranted and raved for a solid quarter hour, while Volt watched, shaking his head at the explosive temper. Then a motion caught his eye.

A small, thin boy with ice-blue hair and violet eyes was surveying the scene from behind the piles of debris. He looked alone, and there was the look of a Slum kid in his eyes: wild and crazy.

Volt-as heartless as it seemed-left. The noble crybaby would be okay: he had a guard. But even if it wouldn't be all right, it wasn't his problem. At least until the Gangs became more confident.

Halfway back home, Volt met Marret and Tenik, their arms loaded down with food and supplies. They passed along a bag of materials to him, then bade him farewell, wanting to race all the way there. He was checking the inventory of the bag when he heard a sound that was suprisingly close to a snarl. And he knew what it was.

Leaving the bag behind-not the smartest move, considering that there were dozens of starving Vestals here-Volt ran back to where the noble-boy's ship was landed. Sure enough, the boy with pale hair had moved in, accompanied with the most infamous creature in the Slums: Shadow, an insane Gang member who took no greater pleasure than attacking foes. The noble boy tried to hold his ground, but was making no headway.

"You cannot touch me! I am the prince of Vestal!"

"I don't care for ranking," the icy-haired boy said coldly. "Shadow doesn't either. Isn't that right?"

Letting out a mad cackle, Shadow leapt, knocking the noble boy over. He then seized the dazed boy's arms and twisted them into an uncomfortable position. The boy with the pale hair laughed darkly, his deeply colored eyes never leaving the scene. Then his mirth was gone, replaced by fury: Volt charged in and seized Shadow by the shirt collar, throwing him away.

"Come Shadow," the pale-haired boy said, and Shadow ran to him, gritting his teeth. "There is no point fighting this one: he is a warrior of the Luster clan. We will find something else to do."

And then the twosome left. Volt glared down at the self-preclaimed "prince" scornfully.

"I don't care if you really are Prince Hydron or not, I'm telling you this straight: Never announce rank near slum kids. The more important you are, the more money they can get from a ransom. They don't respect authority."

"But I am royalty," Hydron protested. "This scum should regard me with the highest esteem."

Volt rolled his eyes and walked away. Hydron followed him, much to his irritation. He just wouldn't shut up!

"Of course I must wonder what a member of the once-legendary Luster clan is doing in such a place," the Prince continued. "You have the proper breeding to be something much more than a survivor. You could be a soldier of high ranking."

"Did you ever think," Volt growled, "that I might be living here by choice? That I don't want the life you're describing?"

Hydron ignored Volt, and kept talking. Probably to here the sound of his own voice, Volt thought. He was unable to shake the irritating royal until they were far enough into the Slums that Hydron began to get lost. He told Volt that he would be back, to which Volt had no answer.

Luckily, the bag of food was still where he left it, and he hurried home. As he walked though the door, Marret turned around and grinned widely.

"Hey guy's, Volt's back!"

"You're just in time to eat," Isha said from the kitchen, smiling.

Volt smiled back as Deru joined the conversation. What else did he need? What more could he ever want? He had a family who cared about him. That was all he had and all he needed.

Lync: Well, we have scientifically established that Hydron is a pain in the butt.

Dream: I got sick halfway through writing this.

Yumeí: Mystical flying wombats? Please?

Dream: *sweatdrop* I'm fine now. No wombats.

Mylene: *sweatdrop at mental image of wombat that looks like swoobat from pokèmon*

Shadow: I like the wombat.

Volt: Readers, review on this so Dreamflight will finish this story.