Ah fuck is this the Elemental Plane of Ice or something. She hugs herself but it's not going to do much good, it's early fall and she didn't even need her coat today before she tripped in the wrong place.

Almost immediately, other minds begin to press at her awareness, telepathically prodding her mental shield. Some of them send emotions—curiosity, wariness, concern. 

WHAT, STOP THAT, she usually lets her shield do its thing passively but if she can actually feel someone clawing at it she's going to put more power into it and die of the cold with some scrap of privacy - how many signatures is this, is it within range for her to project back -

Just as quickly, they recede.

And then a man appears a few feet in front of her. Tall, thin, brown-haired. He's also not dressed for this weather—a tunic over a shirt and trousers—although he doesn't double over and start shivering. He raises his voice over the wind and speaks to her in an unfamiliar language.

Presumably he's got a spell on. "I only speak Pax!" she calls.

He telepathically sends her an image: a warm building, tea and a hot meal. Even without words, the sense of his question is clear: May I take you there?

Yes please? she replies.

He offers his hand.

Touch-range spell? She unpeels one arm from her feeble attempt to stave off the cold and meets his fingertips with hers.

As soon as their hands touch, both of them are ripped out of existence and then shoved back in. The effect is somewhat like falling ten stories, minus the falling—just the landing. It completely knocks the wind out of Bella. There's no actual physical damage, but it takes a minute to become aware of her surroundings. It's warm, and the wind has stopped, and she's sitting on a hard-backed chair, and something smells like tea, and oh look someone's offering a cup to her. It's a new person, although he looks kind of similar to the man she met out in the gale (who is now sitting next to her, collecting himself as well). Through a window she can see snow.

The new man's countenance is unreadable, but he telepathically exudes apology, begging her pardon for the mental trespass and for the unpleasant transfer magic.

Oh that's not a very nice kind of teleport but she's not dying of cold, she guesses. She takes the cup. It's better than freezing. Thank you.

That earns a smile.

As Bella warms up, they try some cross-language communication. Neither of them is as good as her at substituting actual words. Without the benefit of a shared language, she mostly receives images, emotions, impressions. She gets their names: the older man who handed her tea is Detlev; the younger who fetched her is his son Sveneric. Detlev, who's better at wordless telepathy, eventually manages to convey the following: We have a spell that can translate languages. We can add your language to it, allowing you easy communication with anyone on this world, if we look inside your mind. We will be careful to touch nothing except language; your mind-shield will help. May we? "We" comes with an impression of a woman not currently present.

What area would I need to unshield for you to get what you need about Pax?

Words, definitions, are closely connected to memories and other private thoughts. They can skim the surface of her mind, grabbing only the lexicon and deliberately ignoring everything else. If she can shield the "everything else", all the better. Grammar rules are easier to grab without risking an intrusion. (There is, maybe, a little bit of a paradigm mismatch here.)

Yeah, can they like - show her someone who has unshielded only a language for her to copy, maybe?

Of course. Detlev offers his own mind: perfectly shielded, but with a filter allowing access to language concepts.

Great. With this example she thinks she can mimic it. Like - so.

And the woman appears. Around Sveneric's age (late twenties, maybe), dressed in an austere robe. She nods to Bella in greeting, then looks at Detlev.

Turns out this will take time. Less than a half a day, but not that much less. Does Bella maybe want to eat first? Or sleep? 

She doesn't need to sleep in the next ten hours, it was morning for her, but she could use food if there is some reason that can't happen simultaneously?

If she can eat and shield at the same time, then they can get started. Sveneric mutters something and makes a sign, and with a puff of displaced air two plates of food appear on a nearby table. Chicken, rice, and veggies; some of the spices are unfamiliar.

The translation begins. The woman, Hibern, does the actual magic; Detlev is also present in the mental realm, guiding her hand and strengthening Bella's shield. Throughout the process Hibern remains perfectly still, eyes closed, not uttering a word; as time passes, the air begins to warp and scintillate around her.

Sveneric teleports out once he's finished his meal. He returns near the end of the spell, well after the sun has set and the house's magical glass lights have come on.

And it's done. The building power dissipates, the air returns to normal, and Hibern collapses into a chair.

When Sveneric says, "Did it work?" in Sartoran, the words echo a split second later in Bella's ear in Pax.

"- on this end, yes, can you understand me?"

"Yes!" He smiles. "Now tell me, where do you come from? And how did you come to this world?"

Before she can answer, Detlev stands. "If you'll excuse me." (Perhaps by this point Bella has perhaps noticed that both men, Detlev especially, have a bearing reminiscent of fighters and other military types—nothing overtly threatening, but perfect posture and economy of movement.) "Could you see to our guests while I recover?"

Sveneric gestures assent, and Detlev smiles goodnight to Bella and retreats upstairs.

"Good night. Uh, I tripped in an interplanar studies classroom."

He gestures for her to go on.

"...into some kind of active working, I don't know much about it because I'm not majoring in any magical field let alone interplanar studies, and then I was in that cold area. I'm from the Magisterian Imperium on the Material Plane if you know where that is?"

"I don't." His gaze unfocused for a moment, then returns. "Neither, apparently, does Eren, despite her many trips through the worldgate. You're not our first visitor, but you might be the first from your world specifically. And your arrival caused quite the stir."

(As soon as Bella asks to use a bathroom, she'll discover that bathrooms don't exist here and Sveneric will teach her the Waste Spell.)

(Is it... anything like spells of the kind she knows?)

(There's a semantic and verbal component, neither especially complicated. The awkward part is the leap of faith: you have to release at the same time you do the spell.)

That does sound like it might take some doing. Is there a... fallback plan... whatever they do for babies, say...

Sveneric assures her that no off-worlders have struggled with it before. She can practice in the privacy of the guest bedroom if she wants, which has a cleaning frame (magic item that cleans you and your clothes when you step through it, also used to clean babies).

Cool, okay, they use baskets for clothes at home but putting it in a frame isn't that wild. She will go practice this, only slightly red in the face about having had to have that conversation, and return with the process mastered a bit later.

If Sveneric feels any awkwardness, he doesn't show it. Quite the stir, he was saying. "We all felt your arrival at once, like a—to call it a tear in the world would be inaccurate. More like a jolt. You arrived within range of the Venn worldgate, but your method of travel was unusual. 'Interplanar studies'?"

"I've never heard of a worldgate. People who do planar travel that I'm aware of use spells to do it directly, I think, but I tripped into some complicated spell that involved a magic circle or something, I didn't get a very good look at it."

"Places where time and space run thin, enabling physical or magical travel off-world. Humans first came to this world, Sartorias-deles, by way of the worldgates." He considers, then says, "Would you share your vision of the cosmos with me?" He taps his head. "I think something's getting lost in translation."

"Again, this is in no way my area. I'm not even sure what you mean when you say 'my vision of the cosmos'."

"Ah, sorry. What I mean is that you seem to have a different conception not just of how travel between worlds works in practical terms, but of what even constitutes a 'world' in the first place. I'm simply curious about a word you've used which isn't getting translated, planar."

"A plane is - a way for things to work that is mostly spatially consecutive?" she offers after a moment. "So, like, on the Material plane fire requires fuel, but on the Plane of Fire it doesn't, and if you move a bit to the left in either one you will still be on the same plane as you started in."

"Interesting." Sveneric is not nearly as reserved as his father; curiosity is plain on his face. "I wonder if…well, we don't really understand it—other worlds, alternate versions of the same world—so this is only a guess. But I wonder if you come from 'farther', in some sense, than most visitors, hence the tremendous impact of your arrival." He's wearing a silver ring in a leaf-and-vine pattern. It catches the light oddly, and gleams bluish-white for a moment.

"Regardless, there's the immediate question. You came here by accident; do you intend to find your way home?"

"Well, I don't know if that will be practical, but I would rather see my parents again one day and furthermore don't know what I'd do with myself here."

"I can try to find you a path home," says Hibern, sitting up in her chair. "It will take some time to reverse-engineer the magic that brought you here. Assuming it's even possible. But I can try."

"As for what you can do here," says Sveneric, leaning forward. "I must apologize again for the mental trespass we committed on your arrival. As soon as it became clear that you were no world-ending threat, and furthermore that you strongly valued your privacy, we left alone. But in that time, we did get some general information." He looks at Hibern, who magically transfers out, leaving them alone. "You're training to become a mind-healer?"

"Yes."

"As am I. The practice was unknown to the world for four thousand years, until its revival a mere decade ago. And there's still so much to learn." The ring glints again. "If, while you wait for Hibern and the other mages to find your path home, you'd be willing to exchange information—best practices—I'd be honored to learn the wisdom of your world. Though I can't promise that I have much to offer in turn."

"I was very very junior in the program but I have - my backpack, with textbooks -"

Sveneric would very much like to copy those books and start cross-referencing them with the texts of old that his peers have been working from. Unfortunately the language spell doesn't do writing, so he would need her help with the translation—if she's willing, and at her leisure.

She can do that, yes.

He smiles. "Many thanks. We can start tomorrow, if you're amenable. But first let's find you a place to stay first that isn't my father's house. Do you have any preference in scenery?"

"...what are my options?"

"City, town, or wilderness? Winter or summer? Somewhere by the sea? Money isn't an obstacle."

"...sure. Uh. Autumn in a city on a river."

"Only two seasons at a time, I'm afraid. But city on a river I can do. You can stay in the royal palace or I can set you up in a private vacation house, your choice."

"- house, please, I don't see how I'd ever relax, in a palace -"

"House it is." He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, initiating a mental conversation she isn't privy to, before returning to awareness after a few minutes. "All set. The city is Alsais, capital of Colend; your house is along one of the many canals. It's nearly sunrise there." He stands and offers his hand. "It will hurt less this time."

"I'm glad of that," she says, hesitating a moment before taking his hand.

He takes a step forward, and with no physical unpleasantness at all—like stepping through a door—they're standing in a paved road in the early predawn light. It's cold again, though not nearly as bad as the wasteland she first arrived in. Sveneric leads the way past several large and fancy-looking houses, until they get to her large and fancy-looking house. They're greeted by a middle-aged woman in equally fancy clothes who cheerfully introduces herself as Nherin, the house's steward, and welcome to Alsais, and can she show Bella around the house? It is magically warmed.

Oh that's much better, she wonders if it's about the distance or about being a first-timer or what - "Yes, thank you."

Every room of the house is thoroughly lit by those luminescent glass spheres, one in each corner, which can be toggled by clapping. Downstairs is the parlor, dining room, and kitchen. Upstairs are two bedrooms (equipped with cleaning frames), and a study. Each floor has a balcony that overlooks the canal, which faces the west—a beautiful sunset, you really must see it.

It's gorgeous. Literally every implement, down to the silverware, is artistically beautiful. And even more than individual beauty of its components—the patterns painted into the walls, or the bird-and-butterfly mural in the parlor, or the (expensive, surely) hand-carved furniture—it all coheres. Whoever decorated this place wants the occupants to lay aside their cares and relax.

This street full of vacation homes is the Garden Way; it's within walking distance of several restaurants and pleasure houses, which Nherin is happy to provide recommendations for, and if Bella needs anything more specific then the market districts aren't far, just cross three canals in that direction and ask anyone for directions.

Wow, if the guest house is like this the palace would've struck her dead on the spot probably. "I don't have... money or anything, for restaurants?"

Sveneric will give her enough money to live comfortably here.

Nherin refrains from recommending six different plays and instead leaves Bella to acclimate, sharing her address (two blocks north, house with a butterfly painted on in) in case there are any problems with the house, and she hopes Bella has a lovely stay.

Sveneric will also leave, to go get that money for Bella and then sleep, unless she has any questions first.

She thinks she has enough to be getting on with for the purpose of going to bed for the night, at least.

"Then I'll see you in the morning—relatively speaking. If you need me urgently, lower your mind-shield and think my name, and I'll be there."

And he transfers to Curtas's House, up in the study. He inhales deeply, letting the disirad wash over his soul; his senses come into focus, and his anxiety is smoothed. Among the scroll-strewn desks, pondering a recent translation, is Detlev.

"Adam?" says Sveneric after a moment.

Present. I'm in Crestel right now.

Sveneric begins a mental transfer, but Detlev holds up a hand, forestalling him. "Keep your observations to yourself. I already regret sharing with you what I discovered."

That's unorthodox. "Is this related to your intercepting my transfer?"

In response, Detlev gestures to the pouch of coins sitting on one of the desks. Sveneric mutters the transfer spell, suppressing a sigh. (The pouch appears in Bella's parlor, much like the chicken dinner did earlier. There are a few hundred, all hexagonal and mostly made of silver, of varying sizes.)

"You thought the disirad would be bad for her?" He is really trying very hard to see his father's vision right now.

"Not bad," Detlev says, "in the long run. Disorienting, certainly. More pressingly, another violation, as she would not have come to it willingly."

Sveneric hadn't considered that. Carefully, he says, "My reference point for this is Imry."

Who was willing, Adam reminds him. However much he chafed, he came to the plateau of his own volition, and he could have left at any time.

Now Sveneric does sigh. "Yes, I think I see it." He really should sleep—he's been pushing himself to stay awake for this interesting off-worlder, and the needs of the physical body are beginning to catch up with his mind—but there is one more matter. "Any news from Marga?"

"She is optimistic that our fright was disproportionate. And Hibern will soon add her perspective."

That's well enough, then.

Detlev smiles. "Rest well. Be forthright with our visitor, and learn what you can of the world that shaped her."

And Sveneric sleeps. He'll return to Bella's abode mid-afternoon, local time, with a knock on her front door.

Bella wakes up after a normal eight hours of sleep, finds it to be time for a late lunch, and discovers the money and tentatively sets out to find a restaurant with something appetizing for - brunch, arguably.

Sveneric also left her a coat. No fur, but it's warm enough. And bright blue, which helps Bella fit in among the throngs of people in equally bright clothes. It's not just her house; everything is beautiful and everyone is well dressed.

The restaurants are indeed just a few blocks away, identifiable by their smells. In lieu of any local knowledge or recommendations, she can pick a good smell (there are many to choose from).

They don't have pictures or anything on display?

No pictures. The only identification for these establishments is a painting of something over its door (a bee, a lily pan, the moon eclipsing the sun…), which is sometimes repeated on an outside wall where people are liable to see it.

Huh. In that case she'll go for, like, something in the bread and fruit overlap space, imagining a muffin or something.

The first bakery she finds has an array of pastries in varying degrees of sweet and savory, including some muffin-adjacent items. There's space to sit down and eat if she wants, and no other customers at present.

Cool. Muffin and... bagel? juice? Do they have those? Is there like, a menu.

There's a display in the center with the available items; the shopkeeper, an elderly man, lets her know the price verbally (not that she understands the words around local currency). No juice, but he can have his daughter fetch her some wine for a price or some complimentary water. 

Hopefully one of these coins is a whatever that word is? No wine, thanks, water's good.

Water it is. He takes a few coins and explains their relative value and—she must have come from far not to be familiar with Sartoran coinage. Did she travel in for the wedding?

"No, I didn't even know there was one."

"Shontande finally found his queen. Sartora's daughter, if you can believe it! The ceremony was a few weeks ago, but it feels like half the tourists I see are angling to get a peek at her. She's supposed to be as breathtaking as the king. The second coming of Lasva the Wanderer. My nephew was a hand with the catering for the day-before party, and he says…" And he proceeds to humblebrag about his nephew and pass along definitely unreliable gossip for as long as Bella will let him.

She has no idea how to politely stop him and will treat him as the background television news while she eats brunch with occasional nodding and hmming.

The not-muffin is light and airy and just the right amount of sweet. Strawberry, maybe. The baker does eventually take the hint, and Bella is free to finish her meal and drink in peace.

And then she walks back to the ludicrously pretty guest house.

Where Sveneric is waiting outside for her. "Enjoying the city?"

"It seems like a nice city. I managed to buy some food."

He smiles at that, then gestures at his satchel. "I brought paper and ink. We can start if you're ready." He waits for Bella to let him inside.

"Sure. - any updates on the getting me home project?"

"No news. Hibern's first priority is assessing the potential consequences of the transfer magic that brought you here." In an apologetic tone, he adds, "The last person to arrive in similarly dramatic fashion set humanity back by millennia."

"...how so?"

He talks as they head upstairs for the study. "Ilerian and his followers initiated a war that depleted the world's magic reserves, erased all knowledge of magic, and nearly drove humankind extinct. Today's magic is still a pale imitation of what the Old Sartorans were capable of, yet it took thousands of years of painstaking trial and error to get here."

"Wow, somebody made the universe real mad, huh."

Blink. "What?"

"Enough that somebody like that would show up? I assume records of what exactly happened there are lost."

"They are, but Detlev was there. Ilerian was summoned to the world by one of his followers, not caused by the universe being—angry? I think an idiom might be getting mistranslated."

"Oh, I don't mean to like, confidently impute it specific mortal emotions or anything, just."

"…just?" He seems to have absolutely no clue what she's talking about.

"Just, like, it sounds like a bigger version of things that have happened in our history when people trifled with the world?"

Maybe this is one of those cosmological concepts unique to off-worlders, Sveneric thinks. Like religion or luck. It could still be important to know…

"I get the impression that 'trifled' is euphemistic, but I remain at a loss as to your actual meaning. You could try sending it mentally?"

"I don't know that will help but okay?" Hubris and science -

"That's…horrible," he says softly. "And it's a constant feature of your world—your plane?"

"It's not just the material plane, you can't hop off to the plane of water and start acting like you're a mad engineer from a cartoon."

"Whatever its other similarities to your world, this plane will not punish you for systematic experimentation."

"Then... why do you suppose some epic destroyer showed up to epically destroy?"

"Because he was brought here. By a sadistic man not content with a world at peace, who delighted in uncovering new modes of violence. Then Ilerian killed him, then my father killed Ilerian. Action and consequence.

"You don't have to take my word for it. I can introduce you to artisans and mages the world over who are working—rigorously, systematically—to advance their fields."

"Well, that'd -

- if you're not fucking with me about this then I can't go home."

"Not a joke," he says. "Promise."

(And to Detlev, Found it.)

"I don't know if it'd be safe to send my parents a message, either, my universe might or might not get touchy about - anything, from here."

"We'll have time to figure that out from here. Safely." He sits down. "If it's alright, I'd like to share something of my world that you might find helpful right now."

"...sure. Why not."

He removes the ring from his finger and places it on a decorative table between them. "This is a dyr. I don't suppose you recognize the material?" It's not quite metal, not quite stone. Looks almost liquid when the light catches it just so.

"No..."

"Disirad. It resonates with the spirit, providing clarity and heightened perception, while at the same time putting a bit of distance between you and your emotions. If that sounds…useful for you, in this moment, I can activate it."

"Uh, no thank you, I'm not freaking out nearly that badly."

"My mistake. It's there if you need it." He slips the ring back onto his finger.

"You just wear that all the time?"

"There was an adjustment period when I first started training with the dyr, but that's been over for some time. Separation at this point would be akin to blinding myself."

"Uh, wow. Thank you for offering to lend it to me, I will take that in the spirit in which it was offered?"

"Ah, I see it's—no, I was offering to guide you through a session with the dyr, not to leave in your hands. It's dangerous without the proper training, for one thing; you might lose yourself into the mental realm. That said, if you do ever desire the effects of the dyr without any hand-holding, disirad grows wild in some parts of the world, and its effect on the soul is similar."

"That should probably go on my curriculum for acclimating to this universe where I apparently live now."

"There's time enough when you're ready." A sad smile: "I'm sorry that your family isn't here."

"I was not still reliant on my parents on a day to day basis. It's just sad if we can't let them know that I'm alive and stuff."

"Of course."

(He's definitely curious about Bella's plans but will wait for her to speak.)

"Is there - some obvious remunerative thing I should step into once the books are all translated, since I have to plan to support myself here indefinitely -"

"There's a great need for mind-healers. Dyranarya don't take money for our services, but part of the training is picking up a separate trade so that you can earn. I'm not sure that you'd make a dyranarya in the traditional sense—we'd have to experiment with the disirad—but it's a close enough analogue if you decide to practice your world's version of mental healing. Barring that, we'd want to find you a trade that you enjoyed and set you up with an apprenticeship. You…don't strike me as someone who would enjoy bouncing from royal court to royal court on the sufferance of the local monarchs, but that is also an option."

"I really wouldn't, though it's not like I'd sooner starve. Why would anyone want to see me if there's a free version who have actual training?"

"Because there are only fourteen of us, and the world needs much more healing than fourteen lifetimes can accomplish."

"...I guess that's a good reason. Does everyone who can learn it do so or is there lots of unused potential?"

"There's unused potential. Identifying candidates is one of our main constraints; most of them so far have selected by Detlev, although some of the others are finally getting a handle on it. I expect we'll see the numbers grow over the next few decades, as dena Yeresbeth—unity of the three, our term for these mental abilities—returns to the population at large."

"Are your three telepathy, telekinesis, and pyrokinesis, or something else?"

"Those last two words are unfamiliar. The main feature of dena Yeresbeth is mind-to-mind communication. It was the birthright of Sartorias-deles until the Fall of Old Sartor, and it's only just started to return, slowly, within the last generation or two."

"Huh. Subtle arts are commoner than that at home though they vary in strength a lot, and the three arts someone can have are telepathy which I'm fairly strong in, telekinesis," she picks up the end of her ponytail and lets it drop illustratively, "which I have a bit of, and pyrokinesis which I don't have at all. What are the other two mental abilities for you?"

"Ah, 'three' in 'unity of the three' refers to mind, body, and spirit. The abilities themselves aren't so neatly delineated. But besides mental communication, the unity can also provide a certain degree of control over one's own body—the ability to ignore cold or sleep, for example, although not indefinitely. Our ancestors could also control the aging process from within, but I don't know how much of that was dena Yeresbeth and how much was the old magic."

"This is a lot of new vocabulary to take in all at once and I am likely to drop some especially since you're grouping concepts in ways I'm not used to at all. I think I've been quite left behind at this point. Is it important that I understand this soon?"

"Apologies. And no, please take it at your own pace. Consider me perpetually available to answer your questions. I think the only critical information, given your strong sense of privacy, is that mind-readers are becoming increasingly common, and as a society we're only just starting to grapple with the implications of that. But you already have a good mind-shield."

"There's people strong enough to punch through it at home too. But maybe we should translate some ethics chapters first?"

"That would be wonderful." And he takes out his stationery.

And she will find the ethics chapters in her various books, which admittedly are written mostly to apply to specifically working therapists but she can supplement with some norms that nonprofessional subtle artists successfully and/or aspirationally have.

What sorts of norms are on display here? And do they give Sveneric any sense of what subtle-artist therapy is like in practical terms?

Bella herself is against mindreading in virtually every situation except as specifically indicated by patient or interlocutor consent and limited to a specific scope and time. Therapist specific rules emphasize confidentiality, which she doesn't think needs to extend to casual conversation that happens to take place telepathically. It sounds like subtle artists can with the proper training do a lot of temporary and permanent alterations to the flow of thoughts and emotions in someone's mind, but the book emphasizes that you need buy-in from whoever you're treating even to do something practically no one objects to like blocking nightmares.

Many of these ethical norms are familiar to Sveneric, although a lot more…rigid. He doesn't say anything right away, just patiently transcribes Bella's words into Sartoran as she reads aloud and adds her commentary. The task takes a few hours, which gives him time to consider his words.

When he puts down his pen, he says, "I'd like to bring this to the dyranarya students; it should make for a fruitful discussion. I will say that not all of the assumptions implicit in these norms hold true for this world."

"I wouldn't expect them to, since your telepathy works differently. Even these chapters assume that people are, like, continent, there are incontinent telepaths but they can't really get through a therapy major."

"Yes, that's a major difference. Diving into someone's memories or train of thought usually takes active effort, and constitutes an ethical transgression except in extraordinary circumstances. But surface emotions can be read passively; it takes active effort to shut them out. And so good behavior in that situation looks more like…noticing that your friend's eyes are red and puffy, but politely ignoring that fact because they put on a brave face and don't acknowledge it themselves. It doesn't help that most people, born into a world without dena Yeresbeth, have never learned to shield their thoughts—although that will change in time."

"It's not someone's fault if they are an incontinent mindreader any more than it's their fault if they are bitten by a ghoul and suffer an insatiable craving for human flesh, but neither of these problems is appropriate to inflict on innocent bystanders."

"You don't think that different ethical norms might be appropriate when 'incontinent mind-reader' is the default state of being?"

"It's not somebody's fault if they are born part ghoul and have this problem from birth either, but."

"I don't think a society of obligate cannibals is comparable to a society of incontinent mind-readers.

"…are 'ghouls' an absurd hypothetical, or does that actually happen in your world?"

"My campus is infested with them, they come up out of the wetlands, but you could generally avoid them if you stayed on the warded paths. There's probably a better example to be had, but that came to mind."

Well that's horrible!

Disagreements over the ethics of mind-reading are unlikely to be resolved in one conversation, so Sveneric suggests they break for a meal. He can show Bella his favorite restaurant in the area.

Sure, what do they serve?

Tonight's menu is tomato soup, chicken pie, and egg fried rice, all with assorted vegetables. Sveneric gets the rice. He admits that he didn't choose this place for the food—although it is of course tasty; you have to try really hard to get non-tasty food from Alsais chefs—but for the decoration. The inside walls feature a tapestry of murals with widely varying styles and content. Twice a year (he explains) they paint over the oldest section of the wall and invite a new artist to contribute; the best find ways to blend with or recontextualize their neighbors. "I could spend the better part of a month in here and still have more to study."

"Neat." She gets the pie. "How long is the guest house likely to be available before I need to be making enough to cover rent somewhere?"

"That's a question for Detlev. The money is his, and largely entrusted to the dyranarya academy. It's possible that he sees you as an investment in the academy and is funding your stay on that basis, but that's just a guess. Not that we'd let you starve," he adds quickly.

"I'm glad of that. How would I get ahold of Detlev to ask things like that?"

"For communications generally, we should get you a scroll case. They're enchanted to transfer small items instantaneously—people use them to send letters. For Detlev, you can reach him by mind as long as he's not off-world."

"What other worlds are there that you lot regularly contact?"

"There are three more planets in our star system inhabited by humans. In the decade since Norsunder's defeat—that is, Ilerian and his followers—Detlev spent many of his days collaborating on a ward to block the arrival of any more entities like Ilerian, and bringing it to the other worlds' mages. That project is complete; I do expect him to stay put for the time being."

"What's a 'star system'?"

"A set of worlds that circle the same sun." He sends her a mental image of an astronomer's chart.

"That is not how my world works at all."

"How does your world work?"

"The planet is enclosed by a crystalline sphere that keeps out the horrors and the celestial bodies move either on or just within it, one of those, I'm not an astronomer and it might be the kind of thing that varies anyway."

"Your world is full of surprises. Do you know how big the sphere is, relative to the size of the planet?"

"That definitely varies. Except I guess I don't see how it would ever be smaller."

"I hesitate to even ask about the 'horrors' being kept at bay."

"I don't know much about them, I wasn't going to be an adventurer let alone the epic fighting-horrors-in-the-sky-when-the-crystal-cracks kind."

"The impression I'm getting is that your world is significantly more perilous than this one, but has equally powerful safeguards—warded paths for the ghouls, a planetary shield for the horrors in the sky, guardians to protect the world when that shield cracks."

"I mean, to know how good a counterbalance any of it is we'd need to compare death rates, maybe our world is lots worse. - it probably is, for like, poor people, the Imperium's a rich country and I'm from a middle class background, not everybody goes to a nice college with warded paths."

"I see.

"I'm also curious how your world managed to progress—technologically or magically, I mean—given the impossibility of experimentation. Or has it progressed at all?"

"Oh, people invent things, just not in a - cartoonishly systematic way - are all your new things experimented into place?"

"No, I suppose not. The oldest magic was gifted to humans early in our history by Sartorias-deles' indigenous life forms, and I don't think they understand time as we do, let alone cause and effect. People do also stumble into discoveries by accident; a chef substitutes the wrong ingredient and it produces something differently enjoyable. But it's hard to imagine that we would have, say, cleaning frames or glowglobes today, if mages weren't allowed to systematize their research."

"We have prestidigitation baskets, which are for clothes not people, people take showers or baths. We have magic lighting. Airships. Magic mirrors and crystal balls. Rings of protection. There's a mindset for the - absentminded wizard - that seems to do pretty well for getting a thing to work, and then people can take it up and get it faster and more convenient with practice, that's allowed, and they can learn from each other whenever one of them is doing it a little better than the others."

"Not quite as restrictive as my initial impression, then. But you still jumped at the opportunity to leave it behind."

"I mean - if you had asked me, do you want to move to a science fantasy universe, I probably would have said yes, but what I did wasn't 'jumping at the opportunity', it was - acknowledging that I may be contaminated by exposure, here, and would be in danger back in the material plane."

Oh, that's. Shit. Why is Detlev asking him to paint blindfolded and with two hands tied behind his back when he has never in his life—

"I'm sorry, I completely misread your reaction. 'Contaminated by exposure'? How does that work?"

"I don't know if it actually works this way! Maybe I'd be fine. But I'm certainly having a lot of contact with science-based stuff, and if I had somehow managed to do that back home it would not go well for me."

"Even though you haven't done any science yourself?"

"Maybe a bunch of people should try this under controlled variance of conditions and see what regularities emerge, oh wait."

Grimace. "Fair point."

"Yeah. So. I live here now and that'll just have to do."

Before bringing the ethics discussion to the dyranarya students, Sveneric would like to spend the next few days translating the rest of the textbooks, so that he and the others have a more grounded understanding of subtle-arts therapy.

It is a pretty inoffensive way to earn her keep. She tries new restaurants trying to find where she'd get any given thing that she might be randomly nostalgic for.

If she's nostalgic for beef or pork, she's out of luck. The main proteins are fish, chicken, eggs, and dairy; there are some rarer birds and protein-rich veggies but no mammal meat.

That first day of translation work, Sveneric also remembers to warn Bella not to step on anyone's shadow. It's the gravest form of insult in Colend—although rooms are always lit to make shadow-stepping difficult, and here in the tourist district it's more likely to be met with exasperation than genuine offense.

She's gonna really miss burgers and bacon and after a couple days of investigation not turning anything like them up she does ask Sveneric about it.

She will keep an eye out for shadows, it's hardly the most onerous task. Does she need to avoid causing her shadow to intersect anyone's stationary feet, or allowing anyone else's to come into contact with her own?

It's considered polite to keep one's shadow out of other people's way, but not nearly as important as the other way around. Deliberately moving your shadow into someone else's path is a provocative gesture; accidents are easy to forgive.

Mammals are raised for milk only, not meat. "Does your world do…leather, too?" He is clearly uncomfortable and also clearly trying not to judge.

"...my boots are leather, and I need them. They're magic."

ARE THEY NOW. "I would avoid mentioning that to anyone else, unless you want to be viewed as an exceptionally sadistic killer."

"I did not personally kill the animal the leather is from, you realize that? Also they don't normally take it off while the animal's still alive so sadism doesn't enter into it. Why are you okay with killing a chicken and not a cow??"

Sveneric visibly relaxes a little when Bella says the word 'animal'. Not that he thought she was walking around in boots made of human skin. Probably. It's not like it would have been the most surprising thing about her world, or even in the top five.

In response to her questions, he holds up a hand. "I didn't say that that those assumptions would be correct. The cultural consensus is that mammals are closer to humans; they think and feel more deeply, and care for their young more, than other species. I don't know whether I agree with the distinction; some people don't, and forgo meat entirely. But the taboo is real. Most people on this world would be repulsed by the idea of wearing cow's skin."

"I know vegetarians back home but most of them avoid birds too. Or they're like that for completely non-moral reasons just because of how their species works. And then there's the ones who eat people, so cows never really rated in my consideration."

"If you want to avoid strangers' judgment, can just say it's a substance from a foreign world. Even I didn't recognize the material, and I'm one of the few who's seen leather before.

"What sort of magic, if you don't mind my asking?"

"They make me less clumsy. Without them I trip and fall, a lot, and certainly can't run, and have to be very aware of the banister the whole time I'm on a staircase."

"That's a remarkable piece of magic. Our knowledge of healing magic is progressing rapidly, but I'd be surprised if we could manage anything like those boots in our lifetimes."

"Well, maybe when I get more than abstractly aware that this is a science world I'll... do some science or something."

"I'm looking forward to it."

As they get close to finishing the translation, Sveneric asks whether she wants to be present for the discussion. The students are very excited to meet a dyranarya-by-another-name from another world. "I should warn you that the academy is near a deposit of disirad. Same effect as the dyr—heightened perceptions, peace, and a sense of emotional distance—but impossible to shut out unless you want a migraine. And nausea is a common symptom for first-timers."

"I guess there's no magic mirrors to let me remote in?"

There are not.

"Then yeah I think I'll pass on meeting in the nauseatingly mind-affecting room but I'm happy to talk to these people somewhere else?"

As would many of them! And Sveneric would be happy to organize visits to Bella's house or to some third location, as she prefers.

...if there might be any more cultural hangups she's about to innocently run into like the leather one she'd just as soon none of these people know where she lives, can they rent a conference room in a library or something?

Done. And Sveneric can have the discussion at the academy transcribed for Bella, as well.

Great. She'll read that as homework before she meets with 'em.

The day they finish the translation, Bella is getting dinner when overhears Detlev's name in a (loud, drunken) conversation at a nearby table. One man insists that it was Detlev who defeated Norsunder's leaders. Can't be, says another, it was Sartora who rode in on her horse of lightning and smote them with her mind; he never bought all that nonsense about Detlev defecting anyway; have you forgetten what happened to Sartor? or the old king? Nobody got hurt in Sartor, the first says, and Detlev had nothing to do with King Carlael, that was a different Norsundrian.

Maybe she will avoid this restaurant in the future on account of it has drunk people in it. Pity, the artichoke thing is pretty good.

It will be a few weeks until the student discussion, since Sveneric is having everyone copy out the translation first. Anything notable as she passes that time?

She discovers turkey bacon and makes a note to revisit it in a few years when she's forgotten what real bacon tastes like?

The Colendi have definitely figured out bird bacon of some kind.

Sveneric drops off the transcription himself. The conversation went something like this:

* Why is mental privacy important? Because it just is. Because people have grown up expecting it, and organized their thought patterns around the assumption of privacy. (Will this be different in a hundred years when everybody has dena Yeresbeth?) Because it's important to be able to explore new ideas without worrying about judgment from onlookers.

* What are some scenarios where it might be okay to read a person's thoughts without explicit consent? Pretty much everyone agrees that it's okay in self-defense. And when someone is lost in the mental realm, it's okay to go looking for them. And it's not your fault if someone sends you something unconsciously, that means they wanted you to see it—except people aren't require to act on their unconscious impulses, so maybe it is your responsibility to shield better, but maybe it's their responsibility to shield better, except most people still don't know about mental shields yet; no consensus on that question. There's a long and lively debate about whether it's okay to read someone's mind for their own benefit, with many personal anecdotes of (self-defined) success and failure; David, one of the teachers, offers that the "for your own good" justification is a quick path to tyranny. One student brings up catalyst studies, where you obviously have to read people's thoughts to identify potential catalysts; Adam, another teacher, says that's not really the same thing—with the breadth of perspective afforded by a dyr, it's more like reading reports about population statistics than combing through a bunch of individual people's brains—although once you've identified a catalyst then yes, the benefits of reading thoughts usually outweigh the costs.

* What conditions might have led to the adoption of these ethical norms (especially the norms that not everybody in this room agrees with)? Subtle arts seems to have a lot more raw power than dena Yeresbeth, especially when it comes to influencing people's minds; maybe that's part of it, maybe the rules emerged in reaction to all subtle arts and therefore ending up more strict than if they'd just been for mind-reading. Maybe there's a bad history of subtle artists abusing their mind-reading power; it's not hard to imagine a paranoid king scanning his subjects for any whiff of conspiracy, and the damage that living under such a reign would do to people's spirits.

Notes on this look like:
- organizing one's thought patterns without the assumption of privacy would be qualitatively worse
- why would everybody have it in that amount of time? that is an insane uptake rate
- it is okay to knock people unconscious in self-defense but reading their minds is too traceless, too broad, too squidgy around the self-defense conceptual borders
- what does it mean to be lost in the mental realm
- it is definitely the responsibility of the more powerful and informed party in the situation to prevent accidental "impulsive" sharing
- thank you David
- what is a catalyst?? can people maybe volunteer to be screened for this property instead of just picked out of random contexts?
- she's not actually sure about the raw power thing, whoever was able to go through her shields when she landed in the cold place was clearly a powerhouse by Materian standards
- the stricter rules are for therapists. Materia is full of unethical assholes who do all kinds of horrible shit. Therapists need to be trusted. If you don't care about being trustworthy then you can fill your entire organization brimful of rot and there is no law of any universe that will stop you. Bella herself aspires to be completely nonhorrible and to spread the good news about this being a thing.
- yeah no kings have other ways of managing that though it is not uncommon for them to involve subtle artistry at some point in the pipeline.
- but if """everyone""" is going to have this in a hundred years, the zeitgeist of the neighbors could be just as chilling as a king, if softened some little bit by the need to be palatable to a majority so only minorities in whatever respect and not the bog-standard median commoner will be affected.

Sveneric can answer the immediate questions. "Lost in the mental realm" means that the mind has been severed from the body. This can happen from overextending on dena Yeresbeth or from overdose of an extreme painkiller called kinthus.

No one knows the timeline for certain, but one hundred years is a pretty reasonable estimate. It's a little faster than just extrapolating from the numbers would suggest, but not much faster, and it matches the expectations of those who are most in tune with the world's magic.

A catalyst is someone who's in a position to make lasting historical change—their decisions will ripple out into the future, affecting millions of lives or more. Of course it's not really a binary thing; history is made of everyone's decisions, in greater or lesser degree. "Catalyst" is shorthand for people on the high tail end of influence, people who decisions at certain inflection points will, for whatever reason, have an outsized impact.

What mechanism is making more people have dena Yeresbeth? (Also why is it spelled like that, is Yeresbeth a proper noun? What does "dena" mean?)

There's like divination magic for identifying catalysts?