Zane waited for the memory in Dr. Julien’s workshop to end, but nothing happened. Curious, he left the hideout. He spotted the footprints of his younger self in the snow and followed them.

The blank expression on the young Nindroid’s face was gone, replaced by one of peace. The boy was happily building a snowman.

I don’t remember this at all, Zane thought. In fact, I have never explored the memories of the time between when Dr. Julien erased my memories, and Master Wu asked me to train with him.

The scene in front of him swirled, and Zane felt himself falling into a new memory. This time, young Memory Zane was sitting on a rock next to a frozen pond, affixing a blade to a pair of ice skates that looked handmade. He slipped the skates on his feet and then glided onto the ice, gracefully circling the pond as though he had been skating for years.

Then the scene blurred and Zane fell through space as the memory changed again. Zane was still in Birchwood Forest, standing in front of a small house made of blocks of ice. He approached and looked through the window. There, on a bed made of ice blocks, his young self was sleeping peacefully. Zane smiled.

“I was alone back then, but I appear to be happy,” Zane said out loud. Then the scene began to swirl….

“Help! Help!”

In this new memory, Zane watched as a father and daughter ran across the snow, pursued by a Treehorn! The dangerous creatures were the worst thing about Birchwood Forest. They looked almost like giant, lanky, four-legged spiders with long necks, droopy heads, and sharp tails. Black markings dotted their pale blue skin, and red eyes stared blankly from their faces. They were creepy, fast, and hungry.

“Help!” the father cried. The Treehorn was catching up on them quickly.

Zane charged toward the Treehorn, crying, “Ninjaaaaa-go!”

He tried to slam into the creature with a Spinjitzu tornado, but instead passed right through it. He’d totally forgotten he was just an observer to the memory.

What is this? he thought. Am I to watch this poor family be attacked?

“Hey, Treehorn! You can’t catch me!” shouted a familiar voice.

Memory Zane, still young, sped down a snowy hill, riding a handmade snowboard. He zipped past the Treehorn. The creature’s head snapped in Memory Zane’s direction, and it gave chase.

“Wheeeeeeeeee!” Memory Zane cried as he expertly led the Treehorn on a chase up and down the snowy hills.

Zane ran after them, curious to see what would happen.

He is…I mean, I was fearless, Zane thought.

Memory Zane slid down another hill on his snowboard—and sped toward a cliff! Zane gasped. What was his younger self thinking? Then…

Memory Zane did a backflip on his snowboard right at the edge of the cliff. He landed safely a few yards back—and the giant Treehorn tumbled over the edge!

“Yes!” Memory Zane cheered.

He made sure the beast was not coming back, then he tucked the snowboard under his arm and ran back to check on the father and daughter.

“Thank you so much, young man,” the father said. “You saved us from that Treehorn.”

“Well, happy to offer my assistance,” Memory Zane replied.

Zane watched his younger self, stunned.

This boy has no memory of his past, he thought. But he loves the cold and the ice. He protects those who need protection. Even without my memories, I was still Zane.

The scene began to swirl again, and Zane felt a pang of sadness as he watched his smiling younger self disappear. Then he tensed. What new memory would he be visiting now?

The scene came together before his eyes. A throne room in a sinister palace made of cold, gray stone. A tall stone staircase led to a platform holding the throne. Seated in it was a man with armor, with ice-cold gleaming eyes, a hideous mask over his mouth, and holding a staff covered with ice crystals that glowed with the power of the Scroll of Forbidden Spinjitzu. The Ice Emperor.

“P.I.X.A.L., get me out of this memory!” Zane yelled.