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    “So, why exactly are we here?” Lead Scholar Delving-Thought clicked its beak as it looked over the four other assembled creatures with a passing interest. The meeting room was well-lit, and the central table was small enough that everyone had a clear view of everyone else. The cockatoo had been traveling and coordinating field studies since the last Cold Rains, and would much rather have continued to do that than be called back for administrative duties in Darksoil. However, it had already learned a multitude of important things in preparation for this meeting, things extremely pertinent to its current area of study. Overall, it had been a worthwhile journey, but that didn’t make this part of it any less boring.


    “To discuss the treatment and care of the afflicted, I believe?” Lead Arbitrator Thorough-Gaze tapped a large, partially-webbed foot on the floor. “Something about expressing grievances, as well.” The elder heron had clearly seen better days. It was molting rather irregularly, leaving it without a functional set of flight feathers, and its long legs looked to be somewhat inflamed around the joints. It would doubtless need to retire soon, just as the former Lead Seeker and Lead Physician recently had.


    “It is more than a simple grievance, Arbitrator!” An agitated bark drew the Scholar’s attention before it could think much more about the heron. “I was recently informed that Seekers are being removed from monitoring and escort duties for the afflicted, even those who volunteer! Not only is it deeply disrespectful to be denied from the duties our role is best suited for, but it is outright irresponsible! I demand an explanation!” Lead Seeker Painted-Trace, as always, was ravenous for details and context, looking to engage in conversation about anything it could. The spotted canine no doubt made excellent use of these traits in its duties, though Delving-Thought suspected that they would work to its detriment in this case.


    “Irresponsible?” An impeccably calm, yet just subtly mocking grunt signaled Lead Guardian Rooted-Place’s entry into the conversation. “Please explain, Lead Seeker. I am curious why you think that is.”


    There it was, the tortoise’s practiced rhetoric. Delving-Thought had been Lead Scholar for over forty years, and in that time it had seen the tactic again and again. When faced with an accusation or objection, it would simply repeat it back as a question and ask for more detail. It aimed to defeat the opponent’s argument using as little conjecture as possible, giving as few details as possible. Give them nothing to form an argument with other than what they have already prepared, and then debate the accuracy of their statements rather than your own. Simple, safe, effective.


    “The role of a Guardian is to protect, and making their escorts exclusively protective implies one of two things to the general public. Either that they are themselves dangerous, and that the Guardian is there to protect the public from them”—Both Rooted-Place and the Lead Arbitrator nodded in agreement—”Or that they are important enough to need protection from the public. That they are special in much the same way a Diplomat from a neighboring region might be. And lacking evidence to prove the former, rumors and speculation have begun to suggest the latter.”


    The room fell silent at that, but Rooted-Place’s calm confidence did not waver.


    “Either of those outlooks are fine,” The tortoise tapped the table. “If members of the public wish to believe false rumors, then they are free to do so. They will be disproven in time.”


    “You still have not given me an explanation for your decision. One you made without consulting me, despite our joint mandate.”


    The discussion went on like this for a while, and Delving-Thought couldn’t keep itself from yawning, flaring the yellow-tinged crest of feathers on its head as it did. It was a foregone conclusion, not worth paying attention to. No, the person the Lead Scholar was far more interested in was the only person in the room to have been silent the entire time. Lead Physician Pensive-Pace was surprisingly unexpressive compared to its predecessor, keeping up a front of distant professionalism at all times. However, it was just that, a front. One that the Lead Scholar had no difficulty piercing.


    At the mention of the afflicted being dangerous, its left paw almost clenched. It disagrees. When the topic of the escaped Ink-Talon and the injured Guardian is broached, its ears twitched in unison. It is conflicted. When Rooted-Place expressed a desire to further restrict their movements, its haunches briefly tensed. It is angered, believing that to be harmful to their health. When the behavior of a certain Seeker is— Oh! This is new information. I should pay attention…


    “Furthermore, I have been informed that one of your Seekers had been abusing the volunteer system to fraternize with the afflicted rather than monitor them.” The Lead Guardian scraped a foot across the table, its blunted and polished claws rumbling across its imperfections without leaving a scratch. “Its irresponsible romantic aspirations leave it unfit for these duties, and I would prefer not to have a security risk be socializing with them at all.”This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    “Understood, I will talk to it.” The dog lowered its head, defeated. It apparently knew exactly which Seeker was being referred to.


    Romantic entanglement with the afflicted? Delving-Thought’s curiosity was truly piqued, and it once more became lost in its own musings. It would have insights into their habits and behaviors that others lack. Know secrets they hold close. The Scholar added this unknown Seeker to its list of prime interview subjects and resumed paying attention to proceedings. Not a moment too soon, either.


    “...which is why I have asked Lead Scholar Delving-Thought to return and deliver its findings in person. Thank you for coming, old friend.”


    “Of course,” the cockatoo nodded. It had always found that term of endearment odd, coming from Rooted-Place. It was just barely more than half as old as the tortoise, after all. But Delving-Thought was indeed its oldest friend. And perhaps its only friend, unless it made a new one recently…


    “And those findings are…?” Pensive-Pace expressed itself for the first time, snorting to get the Scholar’s attention.


    “Answers.” Delving-Thought simply continued, refusing to outwardly acknowledge its own lapse in focus. “As a Scholar, I have always focused my studies on the intricacies of the Gift of Understanding itself, and this affliction presents incredibly novel opportunities for study, lending credence to several previously unverifiable theories. However, these opportunities presented are entirely moot if we do not first have a means to mitigate the dangers presented, that primarily being the fact that each case of the affliction results in the loss of the victim’s identity, memories, and instincts.”


    “I have confirmed through every available method that their affliction is not contagious, or even tied to any physical mechanism in the body,” the Lead Physician stated, raising a paw to interject. “What further danger does it pose? Potential for erratic behavior aside.” It glanced at Rooted-Place as it expressed the final part.


    “The afflictions of the existing victims? None at all. The original cause of their condition, however, may pose an incredible danger, especially to those investigating it. This is why I have prioritized finding a way to reverse the condition before whatever has happened to them happens again.”


    “Such as the failed treatment that I was not informed of until one of the afflicted was brought to me with multiple injuries, possible lead poisoning, and severe exhaustion?” The wombat squinted at Delving-Thought. It had taken that initial experiment incredibly personally, and for good reason, if that was the result.


    “No. I am referring to the successful treatment that you were not informed of.” The correction only made the wombat angrier, but Delving-Thought refused to let the implication that its theories had been incorrect stand. “You see, in the time since that incident, I managed to acquire the assistance of those with experience in the matter, two of the afflicted themselves.”


    “I was not informed of more victims being identified.” This time, it was Rooted-Place’s turn to be annoyed. “Why were they not brought here?”


    “Because they are freshwater fish. They could not leave the lake they were born in without incredible risk to their lives, one only further complicated by their poor health resulting from the stress the affliction put on its mind and body. Therefore, when I offered them the potential of a cure, they readily consented.”


    “That was… prudent, actually,” the Lead Physician tilted its head in surprise. “Prolonged or repeated stressors can be deadly to many aquatic creatures. I cannot imagine they would have survived long if their minds were struggling to adapt to their bodies. I have treated a few such cases already.”


    “Indeed. And with their help, I was able to repeat the experiment that was conducted with Scholar Ink-Talon. This time, it was successful.”


    “Does that mean the first attempt was performed incorrectly?” Painted-Trace asked.


    “Aside from the apparent rough treatment of the subject and unsafe construction of the barrier chamber? No.” Delving-Thought shot Rooted-Place a concerned look. If what Pensive-Pace had accused the first experiment of was true, then the Lead Guardian had clearly rushed preparations with the bare minimum of requirements. It had never once rushed preparing for something in the decades they had known each other. Something was wrong. “Because after their proper minds regained their senses, they informed me that they had both conversed with their afflicted minds during transience. That they were each two separate entities inhabiting the same form, and that in order for one to regain control of its body, both minds had to come to an agreement. This is far more complicated of a problem than we initially believed.”


    “Are you implying that Scholar Ink-Talon willingly relinquished its body to this… alien?” Rooted-Place shifted its weight onto its front legs, causing the table to audibly creak. Multiple statements of rage, hatred, and confusion were being considered by the tortoise, Delving-Thought could see it clearly in its stance. Even if it managed to refrain from outright expressing them, the Scholar had never seen the Guardian react this way to anything before. It knew something everyone else did not. Something that was causing it to behave rashly. Something that Delving-Thought would need to confront it about soon.


    “Yes, I am. And my recommended approach to their treatment has shifted accordingly. The chances of a forced or coerced treatment being successful are unacceptably low.”


    “Could it have taken Ink-Talon’s body by force, then?” Painted-Trace proposed with a nervous whimper, clearly sensing the tension in the conversation even if it could not pick out the details like the Scholar could. “Scholar, do you know what happens if both minds do not agree?”


    The cockatoo''s crest drooped and it fell silent, though not because it did not know the answer. One of the subjects had changed its mind during transience, fighting its original, and the resulting consciousness…


    “I do not think you want to know.”