Inheritor of Strength (Book one of Alfireán age)

The Adventure Begins

Alf bounded down the stairs, taking two to three steps at a time. The morning light streamed in through the manor's windows and the sound of tropical birds floated on the air. It was a beautiful morning, and despite the horrible events that had taken place yesterday, he couldn't help but feel excited; this would be the first time he'd left town since his transformation.

Jumping the last two steps, he landed right in front Olivia as she walked into the foyer with Drakovian, or Drake, as he guessed they were supposed to call him now.

"No running in the manor," Olivia scolded him in a teasing tone.

Alf stumbled to a halt. Last night, it had been difficult to see the changes, but now Olivia's newly colored eyes shone bright in the light of day. Her hair gleamed with golden undertones, and her skin seemed as if it had been dipped in honey. That's going to take some time to get used to, Alf thought.

Acting casual, Alf started strolling to the front door. "You're starting to sound like Harold," he teased back.

The prince interrupted him, "I trust you are prepared to take on the responsibility of being a leader. It is a heavy weight for even one of your stature," he stated.

Talk about being a killjoy, Alf thought as he glanced down at the man stuck in a child's body. To his surprise, Drake still wore the new school uniform, though he had made a few alterations; he'd creased the shoulder cuffs so they came to a point above the shoulder, removed the school's insignia, and replaced it with a crouching panther which looked as if it were about to pounce on an unsuspecting foe.

"O...of course," he stuttered and turned towards Harold, who stood waiting for them at the front door with the maids.

"Good morning," the butler said as they arrived. "I hope you are all well fed and rested?"

"I am," Alf replied, thinking about the sausages and muffins that had been delivered to his room earlier that morning. A goofy smile spread across his face; he would never have to eat that disgusting nutritional mush again.

Wait, he thought, startled out of his musings. Why isn't anyone holding bags or knapsacks?

"Where's our supplies?" he asked, looking around in confusion.

Harold held out a small, silver medallion that looked oddly heavy; at least, the way he held it made it seem that way.

Curious about the object, Alf leaned forward and looked closer.

The plain, round disk had ancient dragon script running around its edges, and the surface looked timeworn, covered with pockmarks and scratches. With a start, Alf realized it was one of the family heirlooms he'd sold to the Odds and Ends' pawnshop.

Alf furrowed his eyebrows and opened his mouth in bewilderment. "How did you get that?"

"Mr. Dinwiddie," Harold said bringing the heirloom up to chest height, "came to me last night with it. He told me that he cheated you and should have paid ten times more than what he gave you. I accepted his apology and bought it back from him."

"Ten times?" Alf blurted. "You can't possibly be serious. It's just an old scratched up medallion."

"Do you know what this is?" Harold inquired, his left eyebrow raised, his chin tilted downward.

Alf knew that look. Every time the butler gave it, he ended up listening to a lecture about responsibility. Trying to play it cool, he shrugged. "No, not really. Just that it's one of my family heirlooms."