So, this was the home of the Dreamwalkers. Tristan had expected something more outlandish and abstract, but he supposed that Drake wouldn't want to live in such a place. The man was too refined. Ridiculous wasn't his style. And why would it be?

He was of the metaphysical and intangible. Stories always made more sense than the truth. A story: Europeans traveled to America after the continent was found by a visionary explorer who knew that the world was round. A truth: The Americas were "discovered" by a lunatic who thought he knew better than anyone who had ever estimated the size of the world prior to him and was trying to find Inda when he blundered across a continent that by existing disproved his thesis.

So, perhaps it made sense that the place had an aesthetic flow to it and that it seemed to be a rational place. Granted, had it been based about one of Tristan's dreams there would be more coconut trees about, but this was nice.

Bounding down the marble steps, Drake sense another presence and paused, one foot dangling in mid-air before he lowered it slowly to the ground.

Ah...He knew that presence well. None other than the Master of Air himself.

Descending the stairs once again and emerging onto the intricately designed floor, Drake stopped and a slow smile slid across his face. Arms clasped in front of him, he made first one step, then another, toward his awaiting visitor.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit..." he mused aloud.