The bat found themselves in a now familiar spot. They stood on the ledge leading from their room to the courtyard, staring at the arrangement of three blankets laid out to break their inevitable fall. This technique hadn’t had any success so far, but it was all they could do. Sighing, they wobbled forward and fell.
On average, it took them 1.8 seconds to hit the ground when falling from this window. The fastest they had yet managed to completely spread their wings while standing was 1.3 seconds, if they concentrated as hard as they could and stopped trying to hold themselves upright. They had yet to manage to fully unfurl their wings before hitting the ground from a fall, it was a significantly more difficult task when doing it unevenly would just cause them to spin out to one side and crash. And even if they did manage it, actually turning that fall into flight would be even harder and more precise.
0.9 seconds into the fall, they had managed to fully spread… just their right wing, immediately rolling to the left and landing on their back with a muffled thud. Thankfully, the only thing hurt was their pride, but their pride had been so thoroughly bruised that even routine failures had become utterly disheartening.
That’s failure number thirty nine. I don’t think I’m ready for forty just yet. They took a deep breath to calm themselves before rolling over and struggling onto their wingtips. They wanted nothing more than to just lay there, but unfortunately the full brunt of the sun was rather uncomfortable on the thin skin of the membranes across their wings. They didn’t even want to think about the kind of pain they’d be in if those things got sunburnt.
It only took about forty three seconds for them to crawl their way over to a shady spot under a nearby tree, and they had managed to do so without tripping, so they had at least one small thing to be proud of today. What they would never be able to pride themselves on, however, was their terrible eyesight in bright daylight. What looked like either a tree root or a rock in the distance was actually the massive form of a komodo dragon, idly sunning itself on the edge of the shade. The bat couldn’t help but let out a startled squeak when their eyes adjusted to the shade and showed them exactly what they were standing next to.
“Oh?” The lizard lifted its head and turned an eye to face the creature that had interrupted its sunbathing. “Can I help you?”
The bat failed to reply, for the same reason they failed to move. They were rooted in place, paralyzed by some kind of primal fear in the face of the predator. They’d felt uneasy around larger creatures ever since ending up in this body, but this is the first time they’d ever been this close to any of them, much less be made to stare one in the face. Previously, they’d done a good job of deliberately avoiding them. Now, there was nothing they could do.
“You are one of… Chase’s kind, correct? The nameless one?”
The bat didn’t answer, their mind racing and their heart beating at about eight hundred and-
The numbers! Just focus on the numbers! Something to count! About the only shred of logic they were able to muster in that moment went to the only concrete concept they could latch on to in an attempt to ground themselves.
There are eleven blades of grass touching my left wing. A nearby cricket is chirping once every 3.47 seconds on average. The tree has five exposed roots visible from this angle. The wall behind the dragon has twenty eight openings to private rooms. Sixteen of them are visibly shuttered. There are-
“Stop.” A gentle but firm pressure on the bat’s head and a sudden change in lighting conditions broke their concentration and dragged them back to reality. The lizard had covered their face with one of their feet, keeping their toes splayed as wide as they could so that their claws were as far out of view as possible. “You are safe. I promise. Close your eyes and remain present. Shut out any excess information.”
“Why are you doing this?” The bat chirped, though they still did as the dragon suggested. “What’s going on?”
“You had an… episode, of sorts,” it explained. “You were overstimulated and became unresponsive for far longer than you are likely aware. ”
“Oh.” It was true. All it took was thinking about the time that had passed since they began to panic to know that what had felt like racing thoughts to them had actually occurred slowly. Very slowly. They had been frozen for about three minutes and twenty seven seconds, and had only been able to process five or six thoughts, depending on how they counted.
“I have seen this before, from a feral-born I encountered on an expedition. It is nothing to be ashamed of. I often strike a rather imposing figure, despite my best efforts.” The lizard paused, giving the bat a moment to settle down some more. “I am going to remove my foot now. Keep your eyes closed for as long as you need to.”
“Thanks. And sorry.” The bat squeaked as the dragon stepped back. Thankfully, they managed to open their eyes without anything breaking this time. “I’m… kinda fragile, I guess. In several ways.”
“You are not the only one.” The lizard laid back down, resting its head on a foreleg. “I would like to start over, if you are feeling up to it.” The bat mustered a simple nod. “I am Explorer Verdant-Trail, and you are the only one of the ‘afflicted’ here that I have yet to meet, correct? The Attuned bat with no name training to restore its motor control?”
“You know a lot about someone you’ve never met,” the bat squeaked flatly.
“Quiet-Dream attempted to introduce me to all of your group, but explained that you preferred to keep to yourself, and simply told me what it knew of you.”
“How… considerate of him,” the bat growled through clenched teeth as bitter, frustrated anger flared up within them. The same kind that had caused them to snap at Song, Swift-Paw, and the others when they first met. The kind they had done their best to bury while they focused on self-improvement instead. It had never gone away, though. If anything, it had gotten worse. How could everyone else act like any of this was okay? Why were they the odd one out for acting like a real person would in this situation? Had everyone else gone insane, or was it just the bat?
“What are you Attuned to?” The straightforward question from Verdant-Trail blindsided the bat. “It must be quite broad for you to be so easily overwhelmed despite being at least somewhat experienced with communicating with others by this point.” For about 0.3 seconds, the dragon’s gaze flicked to the ground below the bat before resuming eye contact.
“Oh, uh.” They looked down themselves to see that they had gouged small lines in the grass and dirt with the hook-like “thumbs” sticking out from the tops of their wings. The Explorer was trying to change the topic. It was a good idea. “Numbers. Math. If something I can notice has a quantity, then I know it, and can calculate things with it.”
“That is… remarkably unspecific,” Verdant-Trail hissed, clearly surprised. “Irresponsible for anyone to attempt, even.”
“Apparently I ended up in the body of some trader,” the bat recalled, trying to think back to their first few days here. “I didn’t learn much about it, though. I spent most of my first days arguing with the others in the caravan about who I was and being kept isolated as a safety risk, and then I was left here when the College detained me. I don’t think they were all that bothered by the idea of abandoning me, but I was too… distracted to think much of it...”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Coordinator Granted-Certainty…” the dragon let out a rumbling growl with enough obvious disgust to make even the bat take a step back. The name felt familiar to the bat, they were fairly sure it had come up among the traders, but they knew it wasn’t the one that had been used for them. “So that was its secret.”
“Someone you know?” The bat tilted their head.
“It is… a lot to explain, and I need to attend Explorer Eager-Horizon’s treatment in case it is successful. However…” Verdant-Trail splayed out its front legs and lowered its head all the way to the ground. “You are welcome to climb on and accompany me. I can provide details on the way.”
“...What’s in it for you?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“You only just met me, but now I’m seemingly connected to someone you hate, and you’re trying to keep me around? Do you think I’m stupid?” The bat squinted at the Explorer, their ears twitching and rotating wildly to reflect their agitated state in a way they were unable to control. “You’re just being nice because I might be useful.”
The accusation hung heavy in the silence that followed. Verdant-Trail’s gaze met the bat’s own, but they couldn’t even begin to tell what it was thinking. Their first guess was coming up with some excuse or denial.
“You are right.” The dragon stood up, completely disarming every one of the bat’s planned comebacks with its confession. “I saw an opportunity to deliver a very petty kind of justice and did not think twice before acting to recruit you for it. You deserve honesty in my intentions. I am sorry.” Rather than lay back down, this time it leaned to its left, extending that foreleg out at a shallow enough angle to be climbed. “I do still wish to explain the situation, and hopefully secure your cooperation, but I will do so with full transparency. If you decline, I will not press you further.”
The bat stared for a little under three seconds as they contemplated the offer before nodding and attempting the climb. This was the first time in their life any one had ever respected them enough to stop patronizing them when it was pointed out. This komodo dragon was already better than any of the adults in their life had ever been.
Ironic, then, that it’d taken leaving the Earth entirely and being effectively crippled in the process to meet them.
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In the Highnests, Verdant-Trail’s home, governance was handled though an interwoven system of Guilds, Unions, Companies, Councils, Workshops, and any other manners of organized labor suited for a task. Each organization came into being when the need arose, and would typically dissolve once their task was done. They held domain over the implementation of their craft, and as one trade often fed into another, they held leverage over other organizations relative to how much they were needed. This meant that organizations dedicated to labors continually in demand for common necessities held the most sway. They would never dissolve, and were capable of making requests of other organizations and swiftly repaying them in kind. Or, occasionally, make demands under threat of withholding those vital services.
The primary counterbalance to this potential abuse was competition. If a vital service or material was being held hostage, it was an opportunity for a rival organization to provide it instead, gaining importance as the abusive parties lost their own. After all, an organization could only control the labor of its members. No one could monopolize material goods such as water, wood, stone, or food. They were in great abundance in that part of the world, and one only had to organize a group and obtain it in order to make use of it.
Recently, however, something had changed. A singular Merchant Company, under the leadership of Coordinator Granted-Certainty, had amassed far more power and influence than any one organization should have. They commanded a volume of goods and materials coming from neighboring regions that no other trade or transport organization could hope to match, all thanks to raw efficiency. Efficiency in routing, efficiency in caravan size, efficiency in wagon loads, efficiency in species choice for each kind of terrain. If there was any aspect of a supply caravan that was within a creature’s control, then it was executed with a level of precision and perfection that made competing organizations outright worse choices for any task. So far, no one but those in the Company itself had any idea of how it was being done. Even Attunement, as far as anyone knew, could not grant the breadth of precise data needed to accomplish such things.
That is, unless one were to begin risking lives.
Shortly after Verdant-Trail had managed to get both of its fellow Explorers back home from the expedition that incapacitated them, one of the merchant caravans returned from Darksoil and reported a casualty. According to them, a tragedy had occurred on the road, and one of their number lost its life to a feral predator. The body was never recovered. However, the bat had seemingly been on that caravan, and the combination of its detrimental Attunement and the eagerness of its former companions to abandon it as soon as it had become a liability was more than enough to infer what was actually going on.
Members of the Skypeak Merchant Company were quite possibly training for wide-ranging Attunements that were as likely to kill or cripple a creature as they were to help. All it would take would be a few “successes” to make all of those impossible efficiencies feasible, so long as they were willing to sacrifice a few others on average for each, and greatly reduce the quality of life for those few “successes” as well.
For its part, the bat listened to the explanation quietly and attentively. However, once the topic of its Attunement and its purpose was broached, Verdant-Trail could feel the winged mammal tense up on its shoulder. It remained silent, however, even as its grip on the Explorer’s rough scales tightened. It was angry, justifiably so. Unfortunately, it didn’t manage to voice an opinion before the pair arrived at the infirmary, where Physician Able-Heart guided them to the room where Eager-Horizon was being kept.
Inside was Ink-Talon and Lead Physician Pensive-Pace, the former watching from the sides while the Physician watched over the patient. Eager-Horizon was properly unconscious for once, having been placed on a small cushion in the center of the room while the perch had been pushed to the back.
“Oh! Didn’t expect to see you here,” Ink-Talon squawked and waved a wing at the bat. “Did you two really become friends that quickly?”
“Something like that,” the bat chirped. “So, you figured out how to wake this one up?”
“We have a proper theory, at least,” Pensive-Pace grunted. “The ex-Scholar identified the cause of Eager-Horizons symptoms, a misalignment of physical sleep-states similar to the one that they suffered from. The difference is that instead of being unable to half-sleep, the Explorer’s physical mind is trapped in it, cycling between which half is sleeping and never fully waking up.”
“The hope is that forcibly inducing unconsciousness with a sedative will have been enough to break it out of the cycle.” Physician Able-Heart gestured at the sleeping form of Eager-Horizon with a paw before approaching it to assess its condition. “The sedative has been completely metabolized, so it should be safe to wake it now. Should I attempt it?”
“Please do,” Verdant-Trail nodded, shifting uncomfortably where it stood. It knew that whatever would wake up would not likely be Eager-Horizon. It would almost certainly be another being like Chase, but it had to know. It had to get this pain out of the way now so that it could move on.
The room fell silent as the serval gently placed a forepaw on the sleeping bird’s wing and jostled it a bit. There was no immediate response, but after a second, more forceful nudge, it thrust the wing out in an apparent attempt to shove the paw away.
“Already? The sun is not even up yet…” One eye opened, only for the other to snap open in a panic upon seeing the collection of creatures in the room. “Verdant-Trail? Where are we? Who are they? We had better not have-” The bird’s confused twittering was cut off by a surprised squeak as its fellow Explorer bounded forward and slid onto its stomach, quickly curling it’s long body and tail around Eager-Horizon in a show of excitement and comfort that it had not allowed itself since they had all first fallen ill. There was a soft thump on the floor behind it as the bat tumbled from its perch, but it could apologize later.
“You are yourself!” the lizard rumbled. “You have no idea how happy I am that you are still yourself.”
“Of course I am myself, why would I not… be…” Eager-Horizon suddenly became very still as it either remembered or realized something, possibly both. “Oh. That was not a dream. That was real. She was real.”
“Who was?” Verdant-Trail hissed the question, catching movement out of the corner of its eye as Ink-Talon began to fidget nervously.
“It is… hard to remember. But I know she was there. I know we were alone together for a long time. I remember everything starting to fade away before…” The small, round bird locked eyes with its friend, a profound sadness in its gaze that even it did not seem to fully grasp the source of. “She decided to sleep forever so that I could wake up instead.”