Ezekiel sat on the bed flexing his new fingers.

His parents stared wide eyed at him. From their expressions he could tell something was wrong. “Am I scaly?” he asked, with a worried countenance. Everyone shook their heads, nearly in unison. “Well, am I missing something important, like a nose?” He reached up and felt his face, while the others shook their heads once more.

“Well, what is it then!?!” Their reactions vexed him. ‘I can understand a bit of shock, but I’ve never seen a person whose mouth is actually hanging open.’ Thinking over the ridiculous situation once more, he found it difficult to hold his laughter in. It probably wouldn't be appreciated with the current situation.

Deitrick opened his mouth to speak “Son…” his voice wavered. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the words caught in his throat. A loud knocking sound rolled into the room. “Enter.” the lord called, both worried and relieved.

Three sets of rapid footsteps could be heard coming down the hall. Moments later, a trio of rather haggard elders were standing in the door. As soon as they saw the lord, they knelt in unision.

“Our king, fare you well? We have felt a large disturbance in the natural forces. We worried you were under attack.” a deep voice rung out.

The lord, or rather, the king, gave a half smile. “Rise. We remain safe, but see for yourself what happened.” The elders slowly lifted their bowed heads.

They gasped in unison as they surveyed the scene of destruction around them. The rug was in tatters, and small drifts of dirt and snow had piled up around the edges of the room. One window was not just shattered, but melted. Much of the wooden ceiling was charred, and several chairs had been reduced to charcoal. An alarmed feminine voice cut through the silence.

“Sire, what happened here?” Deitrick and Isolde looked at each other. They locked eyes and gave a self deprecating laugh. “Heh. See for yourself.” Deitrick and Isolde stepped off to the side to let the elders get a better view of their son. The tension in the room rose as it anticipated their reactions.

The three elders paced forward, the wise Adir in front, followed by the strong Gereon and the playful Zim. Walking up to the bed heightened their disbelief.

“Who is this child? Where is your son!?” Adir demanded. Elder Zim’s eyes widened as he realized the implications.

“Is this him?” The woman wanted to deny that fool Zim’s certain stupidity, until she saw her lord’s head bob a ‘yes’. The blood drained from her face.

“It’s completely impossible! There is no way. Your son shouldn't even be able to sense magic, much less call upon it.” Deitrick was a little glad that he wasn't the only one who had trouble accepting it.

“This is my son. I can feel it.” Isolde replied, with an air of finality.

“I…” Adir stumbled over her words. Zim, the most open of the group, chortled at her reaction.

“You look like a dead frog when you make that face, Adir.” Her pale cheeks flushed. Everyone chuckled.

A unique, mesmerizing laugh floated by their ears. The clear sound continued, even as the rest of the stopped. Everyone swiveled towards Ezekiel, who was holding his sides. His head tilted back in merriment. Zim’s mocking joke had been the last straw; all the tension and stress that had accumulated inside him was suddenly released. This rich burst of laughter had surprised even Zim.

“Does he understand what we are saying?” Zim asked Deitrick, wide eyed.

The boy answered, “Of course,” while wiping a tear from his eye, “and I have to say, heh, she really does resemble a deceased frog.” He found it hard to talk with a straight face.

Adir blushed even more. She tried not to let it get to her, but even the king saw her embarrassment. Trying to shift the conversation “Well, what do we do now?” Her tone of voice chided the prankster. “We can't let others know the heir to the throne is this powerful, lest it make him even more of an assassination target.” Her words cut deep into the hearts of those surrounding. Any warmth left in the room swiftly fled.

Ezekiel thought ‘Throne? Assassins? What have I gotten myself into?’ Isolde clutched her husband's arm.

Adir continued, “We can't pretend nothing happened. I’m sure all the residents of this mountain felt that wild burst of power. I don't know, but maybe the disturbance carried even further.” Her somber voice startled sense back into everyone. An ominous feeling entered their hearts.

Then Gereon spoke up from the background. His sonorous voice soothed his listeners’ frayed nerves. “Let us say the lord and I were sparring.” He stepped back, and waited for the lord’s decision.

Deitrick thought for a moment and nodded, saying “I understand. A battle between two powerful forces could easily account for a large release of magic energy. A fine idea.”

Adir, still peeved about being compared to a small slimy amphibian, proposed an alternate solution. “I think we should say Zim fought with His Highness instead. Only Zim is stupid enough to let enough of his power go wild that it would cause that kind of shock wave. Gereon and I have nearly perfect control. We know how to fight without wasting energy.” She looked pointedly at Zim.

He stuck his tongue out, but Adir was the only one to notice. She sighed. Isolde’s expression brightened. “Alright. Let us do that. Plus, since both Zim and my Deitrick are here, it further corroborates the story.” Her melodious voice settled any remaining contention. The mood lightened considerably once they had a plan.

With creased eyebrows, Adir mentioned something else. “Now that we have that sorted out, can someone explain what exactly happened? With the prince, with his room, and also what really caused that huge flux of magic power?” The other two elders nodded in agreement, and, to their surprise, so did Isolde and Deitrick.

Following the couple’s lead, the elders turned towards Ezekiel. He sat up a little straighter, and scratched his head. “Well, um, I'm not really sure either.” It probably wasn't a good idea to tell them everything he knew, although it wasn't much. He had the feeling that no one else was supposed to know about his extra lives. And he wasn't keen to share anything about the anomalies in his soul before he had had a chance to properly research for himself. And so, he fished for a suitable excuse.

As though his dragon dreams agreed with his assessment, a condensed memory surfaced in his mind. He glanced over it, and smiled to himself. ‘This will work.’

“I don't remember much, but I vaguely remember meeting someone. I couldn't see what he looked like, but he had a raspy voice, like he was in great pain. He said he would give me his inheritance, and then I felt a flood of his memories.” Ezekiel tried to sound as naїve as possible.

Even Isolde gasped. “You, you were given hereditary memories?!” To them, this was nearly as stunning as Ezekiel being able to human-form.

Hereditary memories were given only to the most promising, and lucky, of dragons. The new soul had to be born at the exact same moment the old soul was dying. If the older soul accepted and liked the younger, it would bestow upon it some power and memories, often calling it an investment, or an inheritance.

Logically, this was quite rare; hence the reaction from Ezekiel’s audience.

“This is amazing!” Deitrick's awed face expressed his sincerity and joy. This was a great boon upon his son, and his family. Hereditary memories would give those who possessed them a head start in nearly all aspects of life. Forgotten in his joy was the fact that hereditary memories only helped a child once they were old enough to understand them; an age which his son had not yet obtained.

Dietrick gently lifted Ezekiel into the air, and tossed him high above his head. Ezekiel was startled by his father's exuberant reaction, one he hadn't felt for twenty years, but he remained calm all the same. This caused everyone to give him another strange glance. They dismissed his uncanny awareness and calm, deciding he was just a strange child.

Only Adir refused to accept his scant explanation. “But that doesn't explain why you’re so, so big! You look like a 7 year old dragon [3 year old human] would, if they were able to human form that early. How did you gather the required energy?”

“Gather the energy?” Ezekiel looked questioningly at her.

Exasperated, she sighed. “Yes.” With the air of a school teacher she continued: “While a child’s control over their magic usually isn't good enough to make the change to human form, that isn't the reason why it is so rare for babies do it.

“It is their lack of magic power that limits them. They need sufficient magic power to complete the transformation. A person is usually born without any power held in their soul. They then train until they have power. Only after that can they human form.” Ezekiel gave her a skeptical look.

“Ok. Think of it like this. Imagine your soul is a room. When you are born, your soul room is filled with useless dirt and rubble. You must train to clear that room, inch by inch. The size of this room is equal to your talent, or potential. Once you hit the wall, that is as far as your talent can go; it is equivalent to hitting a wall during training. Once, or if, you do clear out the whole room, it is possible to expand it, but at a much greater difficulty than before. Even if, in your entire life, you only add a fraction of an inch to the room, it means you have improved the talent and potential of your soul - forever.”

“Alright, that makes sense. But how does the quantity of magic power factor into this?”

“Pretend the roof above your soul room is rather leaky. Water drips in, usually at a constant rate (it goes up if you are somewhere with a higher density of magic energy, or if you mediate). The water slowly fills up the empty space in the room. Your goal is to make empty space for that water, or power. The more water that fits into your room at once, the bigger your power reserves are. Even if you use it all up, it will replenish itself over time; just like the water from a leaky roof.” Adir smiled, rather pleased with her description.

Ezekiel nodded again, expressing his appreciation for explanation. “Thanks.” he yawned. Even though he felt like an adult inside, his body (human shaped or not) was still that of a child.

Isolde noticed his exhaustion, and started to shoo the guests from the room. Adir was reproachful of the unceremonious exit she was forced to take, but would never, ever, talk back to her king or queen.

Zim grabbed hold of her reluctant elbow, and dragged her from the room. Gereon followed, and Deitrick felt sorry for his chaperone-like responsibilities.

Deitrick showed the elders to the door, closing it tightly behind them. Turning, he walked back down the hall. He paused right outside his son’s room. He took a deep breath, and opened the door with the same feeling as diving into a lake.