The self declared Emperor, looked at the small plate of stolen fruit and edible flowers. Many of them were barely ripe enough to be edible.

The custodian eyed the plump figure nervously. Normally taking anything from the palace gardens would result in immediate dismissal, and likely heavy fines. But what else were you supposed to do when a dragon demanded fruit, and you feared to venture out into the city to find a market, because you were probably seeing a dragon transform into a plump old fashioned emperor because you were already delirious.

Even if he had gone to a market, he would have risked fines and likely been able to acquire even less food. Everything was locked down to prevent the spread of the virus, as tightly as the government could manage in a nation with a population in the billions.

The custodian was so braced for an angry tantrum, that he actually wobbled when the self declared Emperor asked with concern, "Are the people beyond the palace starving?"

"No… not yet sir. Most of them," he replied quickly, but truthfully. He spoke respectfully, as to a superior, but without all of the honorifics that an emperor should normally receive. He wasn't certain that acknowledging the claim wouldn't be treason. The President might not be everything that a person could wish for, but if you compared him to other world leaders, he was at least efficient and decisive.

The self proclaimed emperor did not seem to notice the lack of flowery words and proper mode. He neatly devoured the small plateful of bitter offerings without a word of complaint, as though he were starving despite his plump appearance. When he finished, he announced, "I will meditate in the garden, it would be best if no one disturbs me."

The custodian stared and then hesitantly followed, as the self proclaimed Emperor walked gracefully to the large doors that royalty would have used to access the inner garden, and paused as though waiting for guards to open them. Of course, no one stood in those positions now, and the custodian wondered if he should step forward, but before he could finish the thought, the self declared emperor's robes rippled and expanded. No. He expanded as his form became that of the dragon he had been when he arrived.

The dragon reached out and gently opened the doors, which seemed almost as though they had been designed to fit him comfortably. His gaze searched the garden before he entered it, and he frowned in disapproval.

"No one thought to replace the dead tree?" the dragon complained.

"It, it has been preserved for posterity," the custodian explained nervously.

"Other trees have been added," the dragon stated heavily. He pointed to the stand of flowering trees that had been planted by an empress several centuries ago.

"They are quite famous for their beauty?" the custodian offered. "When they flower in the spring, the pavilion…" he began to explain, but his words died as the dragon heaved a sigh which seemed to coincide with a gust of wind that made the trees echo the sigh.

Then the dragon moved forward and expanded again, and the custodian watched in horror as the dragon gracefully lifted a small stone pavilion off of the 'mountain' and set it aside as though he were moving patio furniture.

--

On a mountainside near the western edge of the bitten tailed continent, a much larger dragon sat beside a much smaller dragon.

Curiosity lit the older dragon's eyes as he asked, "Did you actually learn to compress your form before your third century?"

The younger dragon considered the question, and then asked, "Do you mean changing my shape, or something else?"

"Shaping yourself, yes," the older dragon agreed. "How did you change yourself at first?"

"The first shape I took was that of a bird that I had just eaten, and I don't have a precise measure for my age, but I had been a… what I thought was a snake for about a century I think. But I don't understand why you call it compression? I can make larger shapes as easily as smaller ones," the youth explained questioningly. "I can even turn into mist."

The elder eyed the youth. He had been wondering how a child who could not see the patterns could be such a talented shapeshifter. A bird he had just eaten. It sounded like he had shaped himself to its echo. Dangerous, but perhaps possible to do by feel rather than by sight. If he acquired his skill with the mankind's… with a human's shape, he corrected himself, in the same fashion, it is a wonder that he hasn't gone mad. The child seemed quite rational though.

Stolen novel; please report.

"Into mist?" he asked.

The child shifted and expanded himself instead of explaining with words. He spread himself out so far that he was rather like a coil of mist. His color was indeed pale white like mist, and his shape undefined by recognizable features. But there was a telltale space between him and every object, as he moved around his surroundings instead of through them.

"I see," he said with amusement.

The child released the amorphous form, and told him enthusiastically, "I can't speak in my mist form, but I can slide through a space as small as a keyhole, or through a paper thin crack."

He smiled. The child's first shapings may have been based on the tainted echoes of hearts he had eaten, but his mist form was one that no living thing in his own vast memory had ever held. "Watch," he instructed, and let gravity pull him halfway into the stone outcropping that he stood on.

The child's eyes went round and his mouth dropped open. It was perhaps an ill-advised demonstration, since the child could not see the patterns within things, and had not learned to reinforce his own. He lifted himself back to the surface and let the natural space between I and not I resume its usual hold.

"Once you have proper control over your own pattern, there is much more that you can do," he explained.

"That… shouldn't be possible," the child protested finally. His gaze went sharp and suspicious as he asked, "Did you just make me think I saw you sink into the ground?"

His own eyes narrowed. "You seemed quite aware of it when I pushed with a single demand, and now you think I can send you crafted visions without even sharing your mind? We don't do that, by the way. It is a thing that is against the guiding songs. Although there are tales about a legendary life-mated pair that claimed they were still able to retain individual identities, it is more likely that it was a deception."

The little dragon waved his hands and protested, "I don't know! I don't know what's possible! But sinking into the ground without even disturbing it should be impossible! Unless, unless it's magic? I guess if dragons really exist, then magic probably does too." He added in a mutter, "We have a word for magic… and I already know it?"

He sighed. The child might be lucky enough to have retained his sanity, despite his dangerous diet, but he seemed to only know fragments of what would be sung to an egg. Still, his own rash promise to teach without stating proper limits bound him to continue, but it had been tens of thousands of years since he had watched over a child of his own. He'd forgotten how many silly things they could come up with.

"Magic is a word for something that happens due to extreme luck. Things that happen at the edges of probability, either good or bad. Being able to let myself sink into the stone beneath my feet is not magic. It is a display of my control over my own pattern and its interactions with other patterns," he explained patiently. "Everything is made up of energy and emptiness, even if we cannot see the individual fragments. It is difficult to put into words, but if you restrain the energies, the emptiness between the fragments is plenty wide enough to slide through. The energy of the patterns is what holds the natural distance of separation within the emptiness in everything."

The child's eyes had gone round again. The small dragon suddenly avoided his gaze and looked around them, like he was searching for something. "That sounds like you're trying to explain 'atoms'," he stated plaintively. "With maybe some 'quantum physics' mixed in. People can't just move their own 'atoms' around!" The child froze, and raised its eyes to meet his own again. "Only, only that's what I'm doing when I change my shape isn't it?"

He smiled. He didn't understand the new words yet, but this half-blind child was a bright little soul, and the meaning was clear enough that he could confidently reply, "Yes, you are simply shifting the fragments of yourself around. When you made yourself into a small bat, you also had to contain the energy enough to compress the space between them a great deal."

"I… see. Compression." The child stared at his own little hands. "But if I can actually shift my 'atoms' around, how can I be certain that this is my real shape?"

He sighed. It was a pity. He opened his true eyes to check that the youth was indeed fully shaped to his own pattern. The echo was faint, but visible. Since the child couldn't see his own pattern to reinforce it, there was no way to clear it other than waiting for it to fade. He hoped it would fade. If it didn't then he had no idea how to teach the child to clear his own pattern, because he would need to be able to feel it, to know it by heart, since he couldn't see it.

"It is the shape written in your own pattern, and you will always return to it when you release your hold on your fragments," he assured the small dragon.

"I was always holding my shape? Even when I was sleeping?" the child asked doubtfully.

He hesitated. Few would bother to hold a compressed shape while they slept. It was possible, but it wouldn't be easy. Would the pull of an echo make it easier? "Apparently so. You seem to have a gift for compressing your shape though. Most could not, definitely not at such a young age."

"If you'd told me that ridiculous little dragon from 'Mulan' was the closest thing to a real dragon's shape yesterday, I'd have laughed at you," the little dragon grumbled, but the hum of his song sounded… amused.

He wondered where Mulan was. At least the child seemed to be regaining his equilibrium.

Suddenly the child gasped and looked up at him. "Wait! Is that how you fly too? Do you let yourself sink into the air?"

So many questions. This one would take awhile.