For a few heartbeats, all I do is watch silently as what I can only assume are the Gray Guard array themselves before me. Heads bowed and hands clasped, unarmored and weaponless.

"My guards are to be Mirefallen as well?" I venture. But they don't smell right, and their embers are different, somehow.

"In a way," replies Steward Andris, "Dhajia Nikessa, are you familiar with the effects on the unFallen human body of consuming mireflesh?"

I can feel my eyes go wide.

"Beast-eaters," I breathe.

Andris's bright smile flashes in the relative darkness.

"That is one name by which they're called, yes. And what is it you know of them?"

I've heard the legends, but as far as I'd understand it, those stories are the twisted children of the lost truths that birthed them, so changed by time and elaboration that they're essentially fiction. Or so I've been taught, at least. I don't want to spout any of that. There's a chance I'll come across more ignorant than if I'd said nothing.

"I'm not sure I know anything," I say. "I've just heard tales."

Nodding as if this is the right answer, the Steward goes on. "When the flesh or blood of a mirebeast is consumed, it will change whoever consumes it in a way which reflects itself, but only by a small degree. As long as the creature which is the source of this flesh or blood remains alive, the beast-eater will maintain a connection with it."

There's something she's leaving out, but I can't quite remember what. Perhaps she left it out because that was part of the myth which wasn't true.

"Since Mirefall, there have been many instances of accidental consumption of mireflesh, and unfortunately, intentional consumption as well. Whether out of desperation, having been forced to..." she pauses, looking a a bit sour. "Or out of what I can only call willful recklessness. These individuals often find themselves left without a place in society. The flesh has a way of taking away away some strengths, while granting others. And so..." she gestures with one hand to the figures behind her.

"We have the Gray Guard. An institution in which qualified beast-eaters can make use of their unique talents. Aside from what I've already mentioned, there's the enhanced physical strength and senses, at least among those who make the Guard. And of course, the fact that they are—for the most part—immune to the affects of any Miretouched abilities."

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Her silence is pointed after that. Or perhaps I just think it is. Maybe she wants to give me a chance to ask questions. Either way, she continues on before I decide what to ask.

"Best of all for them, as members of the program, they receive a free supply of the medication which helps ease the...more difficult aspects of their condition." Another pause, another clockwork smile. "Secretary Orja? Please raise the lighting. Thank you." As he moves about the room, turning the little knobs beneath the lanterns, she looks to me once more.

"Please bare in mind that each Guardian here has been thoroughly trained and has excelled at that training. Regardless of how they look, each is an intelligent and highly-skilled individual, fully in control of their faculties.

Why did that bring up another memory, just beyond the edge of my mind?

What is she leaving out?

The lights rise, painting the guards in blue-gray light before me. They stand still as stone, all twelve of them. I look from one end to another, working to keep my jaw firmly clamped shut.

They're monstrous.

They're marvelous.

But I hate myself immediately for thinking of them that way.

They're just humans who've changed, like me.

"We have been giving the Heirs their choice of the Guards," continues the High Steward. "After all, they will ideally be with you for a very long time to come. You are one of the last to arrive, and so one of the last to pick, but I promise you that every one of them is thoroughly worthy of the task. You are to select two."

My eyes dart around amongst them—a wild array of beastial features, but all of them have the basic figure of of a human. Two arms, two legs, one head. It just happens that some of those heads have horns, fangs, tusks, armored skin plates, bony protrusions, scales...

"H-how do I choose?"

The steward waves her hand. "However you wish. Each Heir has had their own way."

Hesitantly, I lift my eyes, looking briefly at each one in turn. They keep theirs fixed to the ground.

Well, this is uncomfortable. I don't know the best way to choose, what questions to ask. I just want to be done with this, to get to the relative isolation of whatever bedchamber is mine now. I have a lot to process.

I take a deep breath and let my eyelids drop.

The guards' embers come to the forefront of my awareness, different from any I've yet encountered in ways that are hard to describe. Even calm as they are now, their motes on the web pulse at double the usual rate, spikes of energy flaring out at rythmic intervals. But while other embers give off a sense of heat, theirs are all strangely cold.

Aside from that, each has its own signature, its own feel. My eyes are closed now, all of my attention on my Other Sense. I'm not sure what exactly I'm looking for, but one of them stands out almost immediately from the others. I draw closer, eyes still mostly closed. There's a sort of pleasant rhythm to this one's presence, it just...feels right, somehow, to be near them.

I open my eyes and look up.