Transliterated is a "Xenofiction Isekai" web novel that I have been writing for well over a year now. It was originally serialized on Cohost.org, but when that site shut down, it moved to more dedicated serial fiction sites such as Royal Road and AO3. In my eternal quest to get as many eyeballs on this book as possible, I would also like to start uploading chapters here as well.

If you're interested in reading ahead, check out the links above! If you'd like to support me and my work, then you can donate on either my Patreon or my Ko-Fi. Patreon supporters get access to advance chapters! And of course, my asks and submissions are open for those who wish to ask/send me things related to the book!

Otherwise, I hope you stick around and enjoy!

Coordinator Gleaming-Scale had handled these procedures many times before. It was nothing new. Scholar Ink-Talon, Forager Keen-Ear, and their kits would be returning with the next supply caravan, and hopefully their minds could be repaired. What most concerned the black snake as it reviewed the incident report was the question of investigating further. Without knowing how any of this had happened, continuing the outpost’s survey work or exploring the site of the incident would only put the creatures in its care at risk. It had made the decision to suspend all activity in the Border Forest until the Lead Scholars could review the available facts, but if the suspension continued indefinitely, then Deep's End and the years of work put into the research here would have to be abandoned.

To that end, Gleaming-Scale would have to interview the victims itself. The first stop would be the infirmary. Ink-Talon was still there, as evidenced by the one side of an argument that was audible from outside the entrance curtain.

“Are you sure I can’t just eat seeds? Maybe some grain? Crows eat grains, right?” The caws, croaks, and clicks were unmistakably Ink-Talon’s, but the manner of expression was entirely unlike it. Inefficient, improvised, inconsistent. Certainly what one would expect from someone with no established habits or patterns. Gleaming-Scale moved inside, finding what might have been a humorous scene out of context. Ink-Talon was nervously staring at a modest pile of dried beetles on the ground in front of it, while Physician Mindful-Sight placed a supportive foot on its wing to encourage it to eat.

“You could, if we were in a larger settlement with more access to agriculture. As it stands, most of our seeds, nuts, and grains are reserved for those who don’t have the physiology to eat anything else, so your rations of it are more limited. These are far more nutritious, regardless.”

“Okay. I suppose I don’t have the luxury of being particular.” Rather than interrupt, the Coordinator coiled up near the door and simply observed. Ink-Talon was far too distracted to notice its entrance, and Mindful-Sight knew better than to draw attention to it. What followed was the most bizarre behavioral display the Coordinator had ever seen. Ink-Talon slowly leaned forward, beak opened wide, and picked up a beetle with an unsure delicateness. It then repeatedly crushed it in its beak rather than swallow it, only to fumble and end up dropping the mangled carapace to the floor with a frustrated cry, expressing some manner of crude expletive the snake lacked precise context for.

“Are you… attempting to chew it?” The Physician had turned a deep mauve with sympathetic embarrassment. “You do not have teeth.”

“I’m supposed to just swallow it whole?”

“How else would you?”

“Okay…” The crow tensed up for a moment before closing its eyes and breathing deeply. After a long pause, it snapped up the remains of the insect and flipped it down its gullet in one smooth motion. One that gave an impression of practiced flair completely at odds with both the helpless bird who had been standing there a moment prior and the remarkably sloppy Ink-Talon that the Coordinator knew. Mindful-Sight visibly flinched at the skillful display, one eye darting to Gleaming-Scale as if begging it not to pay attention. “There. I just had to focus on the specifics.” It was then that Ink-Talon’s gaze finally landed on the large snake watching from the corner, and all of that confidence faded as quickly as it had appeared. “Oh!” Its feathers fluffed up reflexively as it took a defensive stance, betraying an almost Feral-like response to the presence of a potential predator. “…Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I hope I’m not keeping you from seeing the Physician.”

“I am here to collect you, actually.” Gleaming-Scale uncoiled and approached, communicating by varying the position of its head and the pattern of its movement, very careful to keep its unease from being expressed in any way. “But please continue eating. Once you are finished, meet me outside. We can converse as I take you home.” The snake made a tight u-turn and returned outside, motioning for Mindful-Sight to follow with a flick of its tail. Once the two were outside, Gleaming-Scale coiled back up into an aggressive posture and glared at the chameleon. “Physician. What did you do?”

“I do not know what you mean,” The chameleon lied, gesturing dismissively as its scales took on a greenish tint, only one of its eyes looking back at the snake.

“We had an agreement. No more experiments.”

“I didn’t ‘experiment’ with anything,” Mindful-Sight hissed, finally locking both eyes with the Coordinator. “That would imply that I did not know exactly what was going to happen. I administrated life-saving treatment, fulfilling my mandate as Physician.”

“By inducing Attunement? Did you forget the reason why your previous research was deemed too dangerous to publish?” Gleaming-Scale slithered around the chameleon, enclosing it within a loose coil and threatening to pull in tight. “Did you even explain what you were doing so that it could consent?”

“If a creature is delirious and dying from an infected limb, you do not ask for consent before performing an amputation. You assume that it would prefer to live damaged than die painfully and act on that wish.” The Physician called the snake’s bluff and simply climbed out of its coils, knowing full well that it was not prepared to follow through. “Besides, this isn’t Ink-Talon. This is a creature who does not have even the slightest grasp on what narrowing its Understanding actually entails. I removed a capability that it did not even know it possessed, granting it a new one and saving its life in the process. It was the correct decision.”

Gleaming-Scale paused to think, unable to immediately come up with a counterargument. To Attune with something meant sacrificing broader Understanding for greater depth and precision in one’s Understanding of a single subject. A focus so intense it blocks out nuances of the world around you. Only the most long-lived of creatures had the time to undo such a switch, and committing to Attunement itself took significant effort and training, which prevented it from being undertaken lightly. The Physician’s own Attunement to the connections between mind and body provided a way to bypass that, and now Ink-Talon had to live with the consequences, should its mind ever be recovered.

Much of the world’s nuance would be lost to it. Knowing the weather from the wind and sky, making precise use of a tool by Understanding its weight and shape, feeling the emotion behind written markings, not just their meanings. Any level of Understanding deeper than the surface. However, the Coordinator had read Mindful-Sight’s report thoroughly, and the Physician never exaggerated when it came to medical diagnosis. If the crow truly would have died had it not been made to Understand its own body, and if this was the only way to do it…

“Wow…” The tense silence was broken by an impressed click of the beak from Ink-Talon, who had just emerged from inside. “You really made all this yourselves?” it asked, gazing about at the various buildings surrounding the infirmary. “I don’t think I could have managed it even back when I was taller, stronger, and had opposable digits.”

“You can speak with the Builder sometime if you’re curious,” Mindful-Sight waved, deftly changing the subject. “Do not be afraid to return if you have any concerns, but I must take my leave. I leave the patient in your care, Coordinator. Farewell.” And with that, the chameleon wandered back inside, knowing that it had quite handily won their debate, at least for now.

“Coordinator?” The crow cocked its head. “Does that mean you’re in charge here?”

“In a sense.” Gleaming-Scale uncoiled and began slithering away, beckoning Ink-Talon to follow. “You may call me Gleaming-Scale. I am going to take you home.”

“Right. ‘Home,’” Ink-Talon croaked with clear disdain for the idea. “Where is the squirrel staying? We’re in this together, and I don’t want to leave him alone if I don’t have to.”

“You were already living together, actually. You, Forager Keen-Ear, and Keen-Ear’s offspring.”

“Wait. What? Stop.” The crow halted in its tracks, forcing Gleaming-Scale to curl back around to look at it. “Keen-Ear’s offspring? The squirrel, my friend, the [Member Of My Species]’s offspring?”

“Yes,” the Coordinator answered, having decided that being direct and up-front about this would be in everyone’s best interest. “We offered to find others to care for them, as Keen-Ear does not currently remember ever having them, but apparently it was extremely insistent that it continue to do so itself.”

“But how… Oh. Oh.” After a long, almost painful silence, Ink-Talon hissed out another unknown expletive and continued walking, somehow even more sullen. “I think I’m done with questions now. Let’s go.”

“...A reasonable choice. Follow me.”

Perhaps being direct had not been the best idea.

“Easier for whom?” The squirrel turned around and locked eyes with the fox, his muscles tensing in ways he’d never felt before. Silver-Tail only lasted a few seconds before breaking contact and looking away. “Passable substitutes? Where I come from, creating a ‘passable substitute’ for milk is difficult, and something tells me that you’re not exactly equipped to synthesize any of the stuff for even sub-par formula, especially if you have to travel to find surrogates.”

“I am just worried. If you push yourself to a breaking point, then-“

“It’s a little too late for that!” the squirrel exploded. “I am weak. Helpless. Ignorant of the world I have been brought into against my will. I am imposing my existence upon those around me, demanding attention and care. And you know what? So are those kits! Only they don’t get the choice to take the easy way out. They just get to suffer if I do. So. Tell me again. Why should I abandon them, punishing them for something that is literally my fault!?”

The rapid emotional escalation elicited worried chatter from the smattering of onlookers that had been following the squirrel since he’d arrived. He became keenly aware of a dozen or more sets of eyes and ears trained on him, immediately followed by an awareness of what his body was doing. All four paws gripped the ground tightly, his claws even tearing apart the grass a bit. His hackles were raised along his reflexively arched back, accompanied by an almost electric prickling across his skin, tail poised above his body as if he were about to strike with it. Both ears were pinned back against his head while his elongated incisors ground against each other in his clenched jaws, maintaining their well-honed edge. He was a tiny ball of fur and tightly wound muscle, ready to explode at a moment’s notice.

And he hated it.

This had been a long time coming, he’d been bottling his discomfort and anger and panic for the sake of others since long before ever ending up in this form. He was primed to lash out like the cornered animal he’d become, and it all felt wrong. He’d always wished he could be someone else, something else. He’d never quite settled on what that might be, but it wasn’t… this. Small. Powerless. Trapped. Everything he was and wished he’d been was inverted. He was neither the familiar human nor the comfortable true self he’d sometimes imagine.

He hated it so, so much. But despite it all, he had just enough agency to do this one thing. To make things as right as he could for other victims of this freak accident.

“Keen-Ear, please stay calm! You are in no state to-“

The squirrel ignored Silver-Tail and leapt up the tree without another word, putting all that tension towards flight instead of fight. The rope did indeed make the climb doable, but it took every bit of focus he had to keep putting one paw in front of the other, and to never look down. But he was determined.

The treehouse more or less amounted to a woven straw mat, anchored across the boughs of the tree. Most of it was open to the air, both for the view and presumably for Ink-Talon to freely come and go. Several small tipi-like chambers built out of cloth and wooden slats bound to the branches above provided shelter from the weather without being too heavy, but his nose quickly pointed him towards the one he needed to head to. Built around one of the larger branches, the entrance was shrouded by a loosely-woven curtain, though several deliberate gaps in the walls would make for plenty of light inside.

All of the scents meandering around the house led back here, including two that he’d already picked up on before, but just hadn’t been able to place yet. The distinct scents he’d noticed on his body the previous evening, the ones that led him and the crow back to the site with all that gear. They were here. He realized that, in a way, Keen-Ear’s kits had saved their lives. Without their scents standing out so much from his own, they may never have been so easily found and rescued.

Enough is enough. No more putting it off. He steeled himself and walked inside.

“Here?”

“Here!”

“Not gone!”

He froze. They were talking.

“Still here?”

“Where?”

“Stopped!”

The inside of the shelter was cozy, decorated by thoughtfully arranged strips of cloth, each haphazardly colored by what seemed to be improvised paints or dyes to catch from light from outside and cast cool and calming hues across the room. The floor was covered with clean straw, recently changed by one of the volunteers Silver-Tail mentioned. And in the center were the kits.

He had never been much of a watcher of nature documentaries, but he knew that most rodents were born blind and hairless. These kits had full coats of fur, one black, and one gray like himself, but their eyes were still shut tight, leaving them to blindly wiggle around and try and pinpoint where he’d stopped. They were still very, very young, small enough that he probably could have held them both in one human hand.

Remember, they’re not ‘talking’, you just understand the meanings behind the squeaks and movements. He reminded himself, attempting to shake off at least some of the weirdness of all of this. It’s as if you could tell exactly what a human infant wanted when it was crying or babbling or grasping at things. He took a deep breath and moved forwards, immediately grabbing the attention of the kits. They turned towards him, only to visibly tense up when he got close.

“Warning?”

“Danger!”

“Hide where?”

Danger? Why would they think… He exhaled sharply, realizing he’d been holding his breath. He was still tense. Not as much as when he exploded at Silver-Tail back on the ground, but enough to be picked up on by the kits… somehow. How can they tell? Is it my scent? I smell… He paid attention to his own scent for what must have been the first time all day. …Frightened. Stressed. Chemical signals, he supposed, were just as much a natural avenue of communication for animals as sounds or anything else. He’d need to tell them otherwise.

“Calm down. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” he cooed, repeating the same line he gave to the crow when they’d first woken up here. This time, he meant it. These two were going to be okay. They had to be. The kits relaxed, seeming receptive to the reassurance, though whether they understood the meaning or just the vibes was unclear. Now he just had to get past the hardest part of this. “Are you two hungry? I guess I need to… do something about that…” He’d hoped he’d be getting some deeply buried biological guidance right about now. Some instinctual, motherly impulse that would make nursing baby squirrels feel more natural. But he didn’t. The only things compelling him to feed these kits were his own guilt and a desire to do right by them. It didn't matter how uncomfortable the thought of it made him, though. He was determined, so that would have to be enough.

In the end, all he could really do was awkwardly flop over, exposing his underside to the kits and try not to think about it too much. They must have been fed just recently however, as rather than move in to suckle, they simply snuggled in against his body, curling up to go back to sleep.

“Safe now.”

“Missed you.”

It would seem that he’d get at least a little time to ease into this before jumping right into foreign biological functions.

“Just cuddling, then? I can do that. Sleep well, little ones. Wherever your mother ended up, I’m sure she misses you too.”

The patients were delivered into my care in varying states of physical health. Forager Keen-Ear, a gray squirrel native to here in the Blacksoil region, was alert and responsive, with no physical injuries or symptomatic illnesses. It was confused by its circumstances, but clearly aware of what was happening. Scholar Ink-Talon, a common crow native to an undisclosed region, arrived unconscious, witnesses having reported delirium and emotional instability prior to loss of consciousness. Keen-Ear reported that Ink-Talon did not seem to have slept the previous night. Upon examination, sleep deprivation is the obvious physical diagnosis.

Seeker Silver-Tail had engaged in extended conversation with the Forager during retrieval, and provided the following testimonial:

“Forager Keen-Ear is damaged in ways that I did not believe possible. We have been friends for several years, as the roles of Seeker and Forager allowed us to share techniques for exploration, navigation, and searching. But the squirrel I spoke to today behaved like a different person altogether. Beyond simple loss of memory, the Keen-Ear I know is outspoken and blunt. Quick to anger, and passionate to a fault. This squirrel is reserved, thoughtful, and considerate, even in the face of a great hardship. I displayed clear discomfort in our conversation, and rather than playfully chide me for it, it acknowledged my unease and ceased asking questions, despite its confusion and curiosity. It claims to have been someone else, of a species I do not believe exists in the Known World. I am not inclined to believe such an assertion, but I am certain this Keen-Ear does.”

After the physical assessment of both patients, I moved on to a deeper cranial assessment, my standard examination for cognitive function. The physical mind is complex to the point that obtaining a complete Understanding of it would take more time than any creature has in its life, so I concern myself only with an Awareness of motor and sensory connections. Associations created within the physical mind between the true mind and the body. It is in this regard that the nature of the Forager and Scholar’s conditions becomes more concerning.

Damage to the physical mind can break connections. One may find that skills they have practiced no longer come naturally, or that scents or sounds that recalled emotions and events no longer do. It can never create new connections from nothing. Not only are the physical minds of these patients undamaged, but I am keenly Aware of new connections with no clear origin. Every time either patient consciously moved its body, many of these connections would go nowhere, in a manner similar to an amputee suddenly without a limb. Others function properly but prompt unnatural responses, such as emoting using muscles in the face rather than with ear or tail orientation. This is most impactful for Scholar Ink-Talon, who had developed a negative association with the physical mechanisms of avian sleep patterns. Without intervention, their insomnia would have likely proven to be terminal.

As such, I can only offer one conclusion: different consciousnesses than before reside in the true minds of both patients, ones used to entirely different bodies and physical capabilities. This is not a matter of medicine, but of existence, and I can only implore the College to treat this matter with the utmost care. I fear that if we do not, then more than the lives of two people may be at risk.

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”Be calm.”

The command cut through the crow’s panic like a blade. He instinctively latched onto it as an anchor, and while it didn’t directly calm him, it was just enough grounding for him to do it himself. And then he was awake.

He was lying on his side on something soft, still a bird, with the distinct feeling of something lightly pressed against his forehead.

“It was just a nightmare, you can stop touching me now,” he croaked, only to find himself beak-to-nose with something extremely different than the squirrel when he opened his eyes. “…Who are you?”

“Quiet, and be still,” the creature hissed. It was a bright blue lizard with a broad, crested head and two bulbous eyes, something rather unexpected given the forest he last remembered being in. “I cannot assess your condition if you do not let me focus.” It continued to hold one of its feet to his forehead, its oddly arranged toes spread wide to avoid jabbing him with its sharp claws. He opened his beak to ask another question, only for the animal to tap his beak with the claws of its other foot, silently repeating the request. He realized that he should be panicking, waking up in yet another strange place with yet another strange animal, but between his exhaustion and whatever the creature had done to help him calm down from his nightmare, he just couldn’t muster the energy. All he could do was start looking around the place he’d ended up in instead.

He was in a building. A simple one, but far more than the plain burrow or hovel made of mud and sticks he would have expected from a society made up of creatures with no hands. The wall beside him was made of actual bricks, clean-cut and solid, though clearly of a different make than the red brick he was most familiar with. These were a dark gray, about half the size of his already small body, with no visible mortar holding them together. Flickering lamplight illuminated a low ceiling made of sloped wooden planks, unfinished but just as clean-cut as the bricks, with the wall opposite his bed being taller than the one beside him. It all seemed very deliberate in design, but his sleep deprived brain couldn’t even begin to put things together.

“I see. Same as the Forager, but worse off.” The lizard removed its foot and tapped his beak once as the hue of its scales noticeably darkened to convey the message. “To expedite things, I will assume that you have most of the same questions that it did before allowing you to ask more freely. Agreed?” The chameleon’s eyes both fixated on the crow, though only one met his gaze, the other looked at his feet, seemingly interested in how he would go about standing.

“I’d rather you not,” the crow clicked his beak as he struggled to his feet, talons gripping the thick fabric of the cushion beneath him as his vision swam briefly. “I can’t… think clearly right now.”

“Good. Then I can skip that courtesy and cut straight to the current situation and what you can do to fix it.” The chameleon communicated almost entirely through gestures with its forelegs and head, punctuating its expressions with slight shifts in coloration. “I am Physician Mindful-Sight. You were brought to me after you and Forager Keen-Ear suffered some form of catastrophic mental trauma. Both of you are missing vital survival instincts in addition to your memories. This is worrying enough for the squirrel, but for you, it is life-threatening. You have forgotten how to sleep.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” The crow asks. “I’m terrified and confused, of course I can’t sleep very well. Why would ‘forgetting’ have anything to do with it?”

“Show me how you would normally attempt to sleep.”

“Why?”

“To prove a point.”

“Right here?” The crow poked at the cushion with his beak.

“Wherever you are most inclined to.”

The crow nestled down onto the cushion like he’d assume any bird would do in a nest and shut his eyes. “There.”

“You are trying to sleep like a mammal, not a bird. It is no wonder that proper rest has eluded you.”

“How would you know?” the crow snapped, the veneer of calm he’d been able to maintain while the chameleon was touching him quickly fading. “You’re neither.”

“I,” Mindful-Sight tapped his beak with a claw, “am a Physician. It is my job to know how the bodies of everyone in our community function. Most birds are vigilant sleepers. You will find it near impossible to rest unless you are standing upright and close only one eye, letting half of your mind sleep at a time.”

“Why would I need to do that? How do I do that?” The crow’s voice increased in intensity, panic and anger filling his voice with equal intensity.

“Such adaptations were meant to protect our feral ancestors and serve little purpose for the civilized, but being Gifted does not allow us to simply ignore our physical bodies. Your body knows what to do, you just need to Understand what it is telling you to do.”

This isn’t my body! Stop acting like it is! The crow screamed internally, trembling as he barely contained an outburst of rage and confusion. Shouting demands at animals wouldn’t accomplish anything. “I don’t know why any of this is happening. I can't understand…”

“I can help you with the latter part.” Mindful-Sight gingerly placed a foot on the crow’s breast. “To Understand your body.”

“Understand?” It was at this moment that the crow realized that there was a subtle, but important difference between the meanings he and these animals ascribed to the word. Their “Understanding” was… deeper, somehow.

“You are already doing it, to an extent. You Understand the meanings I express in my motions and colors.” The Physician performed a far more elaborate gesture than usual, illustrating the point. “Normally, achieving an Understanding beyond the surface of something requires dedicated training and study. However, you will succumb to your lack of sleep long before you have the chance to do it properly. I will have to guide you towards the part you need.”

“Then do it,” the crow nodded. “I just want to sleep. Please.”

The Physician nodded, and began its instruction. “To start, close your eyes and turn your attention inward, to your heartbeat.”

He did so, focusing on the rapid, incessant pulsing within his chest. It was orders of magnitude faster than a human heartbeat, and even faster than the squirrel’s as he’d felt it on the previous night.

“It’s fast. Too fast.”

“Is it? Listen to it, like you listen to me.” Even with his eyes closed, the rhythmic prodding of Mindful-Sight’s claws were more than enough to convey the directions.

Listen… to sensations. The crow paid closer attention, trying to associate the beating of this foreign heart with a meaning the same way he did the chameleon’s touch. And sure enough, a meaning came to him.

“It’s… strong? Fast, but not dangerously so. I’m scared.”

“Indeed.” Mindful-Sight traced a claw up the crow’s neck, stopping on top of his head. “Now look deeper. To your physical mind, within your skull. It is in pain. It needs to rest. But something is stopping it. What is it?”

He stopped pushing away the throbbing and swirling sensations of his sleep-addled brain, letting them come to the forefront. This was harder to grasp, as he was paradoxically trying to focus on his inability to focus. But his exhaustion was crystal clear.

“I’m just tired. There’s nothing else.”

“Yes, but communication goes both ways. Understanding comes from conversation. Prompt your mind to sleep, and listen to the response.”

Sleep… The crow tried to drift off, and after a while, he noticed something. A block. He’d get so close to sleep, only for something within him to stop, like a small jolt. It was not part of his mind, but something physical. Something… divisive?

“It’s a reflex, pulling me away. It feels wrong.”

“That division is what your physical mind seeks,” the chameleon explained. “You are primed to reject it as something foreign, but you must not. Understand it, then embrace it.”

Sleep, and let it pass. Listen, and Understand… Once more he attempted sleep, and after an indeterminate amount of time, he felt that reflex push back again. It wasn’t blocking him from sleep, just partitioning it. I just need to… let it… And finally, sleep came, but his awareness did not end.

He opened one eye and stared at Mindful-Sight. Barely thinking. Just watching. Vigilant.

“Impressive,” the Physician waved as it turned and walked away.

“Even if you needed an extra nudge. Take your well-earned rest, 'Ink-Talon.' We will speak again tomorrow.”

However, it is rather simple to demonstrate the power context holds over our Understanding. One needs only to start discussing colors with those outside their own species. I am fortunate enough to perceive many colors, but there are those who know fewer, and some who see more. One of the latter is a colleague of mine, a dove. It loves to speak of its life-mate, but will often mention features that I cannot see. I once asked what these invisible markings looked like, and I was entirely incapable of envisioning them. The markings were an iridescent pattern of colors I'd never seen, and so my Understanding was delivered in those terms.

"My mate's wings are spattered with blacks and grays and whites and [Other Colors]." The statement struck me as odd, so I repeated it back to my friend. It informed me that it had listed at least three more shades in its description, and tried to explain what they looked like. "The first color is similar to a second color, just a few shades closer to a third color from violet." I stopped the dove there, having learned my lesson.

To Understand is not to know, but rather to know if you know, and what you know. And there are some things you will never know.