Introduction
Shiny Phantump
Through Dream, I Travel
A Halfway Home For Dimensionally-Troubled Former Humans
A PMD anthology originally written for the 2023 anni prompt bingo, though I would enjoy fleshing it out some more later!
Common content warnings for body dysphoria, gender dysphoria, and this world having a human-negative society. Individual entries will have their own warnings for one-off occurrences.
53rd of Fall, 3rd Year of the Rainbow Feather
I’ve known I was “human” for as long as I can remember, but it didn’t mean anything to me until I met Emmeryn. It was just a word, for the most part. All it meant in practical terms is that I was more powerful than normal, and that I had to learn to hold that back. People were touchy about our power. Historical reasons.
I knew I was lucky that, when I first awoke here and tearfully confessed my circumstance, it was my current father that I found. I can picture many ways my life could have gone depending on who, if anyone, I ended up with. None of them go as well as my current one. Most quite dramatically so. That was the extent of my thoughts on the subject. Humanity had been something that happened to me. Not a part of me.
After all, I didn’t choose humanity in the same way I chose to seek to become part of an exploration team, or chose to take on the malicious armour that made me a Ceruledge. Not until much later in my life.
My first human decision was during a trial for an exploration team. We heard conflict, and found the source to be a Kirlia, quivering like a leaf, staring at her hands, and yet surrounded by several unconscious thugs. A testament to an uncanny power whose source could only have been one thing.
I recall feeling like I was suffocating as she told us what she was: Human, of course. I’d already known. Didn’t know what to do with that, though. The team leader’s eyes widened, afraid. Unsurprising, given the stories…
I felt like I had to step in. In retrospect, I did have the option to just… watch. Kept my secret close as I had for the rest of my prior life. Let them come to their own conclusion as to what to do with her. Maybe she’d still have been okay. But I’m not that kind of person.
The look on the poor leader’s when he realized there was another human, one who had been with him this entire time was quite memorable. But I hadn’t slit someone’s throat in their sleep or grabbed one of his tails, and that counted from something in terms of trust. Not much, but enough that he and his team agreed to keep things between us.
And so, I met Emmeryn, viscerally uncomfortable in her own skin and close to breaking but nonetheless reassured by the fact that she wasn’t the only one and that someone was on her side. Which is good, because as she remembers it, she’d been pretty close to blasting the old Ninetales away before that.
It was speaking with her that prompted me to realize what I was missing. Before, I wasn’t even aware of the pieces of myself I had lost. I recalled only a few vague impressions of a time before my childhood. A day with bright tubes humming with light, apple juice, a new dress and shoes for the occasion, and more than anything else, noise. But not who I had been, or anything of the people around me.
I learned that human was a species and not an adjective. I had not been a human Charcadet. I had been one, and then the other. I had been embarrassed, and Emmeryn concerned. I felt like I’d failed her in some way, since I was supposed to be helping her. We were supposed to have our humanity in common, but here she was explaining it to me. I didn’t know until later that the whole thing hadn’t upset her- that she’d been grateful for a reason to talk to someone about her past life.
In return, I taught her how to be a Kirlia. To the best of my ability, at least, it wasn’t perfect but was certainly better than nothing. I remember telling her about her evolution, how it needed a host, and the degree of closeness that tie brought both minds. I told her she needed to abort the process if ever it started for her, since the link would lay her secrets bare before that person, her humanity included. After all, I was the only other human she knew. Loner as I was, I had no interest whatsoever in such a connection!
Emmeryn is laughing at me over our mental link as I write this. Which is quite rude, considering she was the one who advised me to try diarying my feelings about my identity in the first place. In her defence, I’ve laughed at it before too. I was a different person back then.
With another human to form a team with, exploring had been a natural path for us. When just the two of us were there, we didn’t even have to hold back. The poor dungeon memories never stood a chance. It was kind of cathartic. I’m going to miss doing that.
I started to understand the idea of feeling human more. It was something that tied us together, this shared fate. There was solidarity to be found in it. Then she evolved, and I think I ended up more confused since then. It wasn’t really a priority. We were both establishing a new sort of identity, growing accustomed to sharing our thoughts.
But this has stuck with me. It’s an issue we haven’t been able to shake. And so here I am.
I feel like I’m writing around in circles. Or at least putting off the inevitable.
I have a certainjealousy bitterness jealousy? It’s something like that. It’s the reason Emmeryn is giving me space in my head, insofar as we’re still capable of that, to write to nobody when I could talk to her instead. When we’ve tried, I just can’t. Mental armour goes up.
I can’t even say that the feeling extends just to Emmeryn. I think it’s about other people who just know who they are. I’ve never understood humanity, and at this point I don’t know if I ever will. But I can’t separate who I am from it, either. Even if things were simpler before I knew being human had any greater meaning, I don’t want to give up what I’ve found on the way.
I can never have a chance to live as a human. But I can’t be anything else. I was born to a world of concepts alien to me. Emmeryn can identify what we think was probably my first day of preschool. It’s my memory, but to me it’s nothing more than a collection of alien sensations.
Nor could I have ever inferred that the dress meant I probably wasn’t male as a human. I guess it’s one more thing about myself lost between worlds. Ceruledge is not a species where that matters, so I shouldn’t care. In spite of that, I can’t help but feel some sort of way about it. Given it won’t be coming from the Ceruledge part of me, I imagine I’ll end up having to interrogate those feelings with Emmeryn later, once I’m done with this.
We have other plans now. I don’t know if it’s really a solution to the messiness humans face here, but it’s something. It means none of us will have to be alone with these feelings again. At least not if we can reach them. It also means I’ll be the only one like this. I know that’s good. I don’t want other humans needing to lose themselves like this, just to have a place here.
It’s an isolating feeling, though. Making sure I’m the last one to be like this…
I’ve known I was “human” for as long as I can remember, but it didn’t mean anything to me until I met Emmeryn. It was just a word, for the most part. All it meant in practical terms is that I was more powerful than normal, and that I had to learn to hold that back. People were touchy about our power. Historical reasons.
I knew I was lucky that, when I first awoke here and tearfully confessed my circumstance, it was my current father that I found. I can picture many ways my life could have gone depending on who, if anyone, I ended up with. None of them go as well as my current one. Most quite dramatically so. That was the extent of my thoughts on the subject. Humanity had been something that happened to me. Not a part of me.
After all, I didn’t choose humanity in the same way I chose to seek to become part of an exploration team, or chose to take on the malicious armour that made me a Ceruledge. Not until much later in my life.
My first human decision was during a trial for an exploration team. We heard conflict, and found the source to be a Kirlia, quivering like a leaf, staring at her hands, and yet surrounded by several unconscious thugs. A testament to an uncanny power whose source could only have been one thing.
I recall feeling like I was suffocating as she told us what she was: Human, of course. I’d already known. Didn’t know what to do with that, though. The team leader’s eyes widened, afraid. Unsurprising, given the stories…
I felt like I had to step in. In retrospect, I did have the option to just… watch. Kept my secret close as I had for the rest of my prior life. Let them come to their own conclusion as to what to do with her. Maybe she’d still have been okay. But I’m not that kind of person.
The look on the poor leader’s when he realized there was another human, one who had been with him this entire time was quite memorable. But I hadn’t slit someone’s throat in their sleep or grabbed one of his tails, and that counted from something in terms of trust. Not much, but enough that he and his team agreed to keep things between us.
And so, I met Emmeryn, viscerally uncomfortable in her own skin and close to breaking but nonetheless reassured by the fact that she wasn’t the only one and that someone was on her side. Which is good, because as she remembers it, she’d been pretty close to blasting the old Ninetales away before that.
It was speaking with her that prompted me to realize what I was missing. Before, I wasn’t even aware of the pieces of myself I had lost. I recalled only a few vague impressions of a time before my childhood. A day with bright tubes humming with light, apple juice, a new dress and shoes for the occasion, and more than anything else, noise. But not who I had been, or anything of the people around me.
I learned that human was a species and not an adjective. I had not been a human Charcadet. I had been one, and then the other. I had been embarrassed, and Emmeryn concerned. I felt like I’d failed her in some way, since I was supposed to be helping her. We were supposed to have our humanity in common, but here she was explaining it to me. I didn’t know until later that the whole thing hadn’t upset her- that she’d been grateful for a reason to talk to someone about her past life.
In return, I taught her how to be a Kirlia. To the best of my ability, at least, it wasn’t perfect but was certainly better than nothing. I remember telling her about her evolution, how it needed a host, and the degree of closeness that tie brought both minds. I told her she needed to abort the process if ever it started for her, since the link would lay her secrets bare before that person, her humanity included. After all, I was the only other human she knew. Loner as I was, I had no interest whatsoever in such a connection!
Emmeryn is laughing at me over our mental link as I write this. Which is quite rude, considering she was the one who advised me to try diarying my feelings about my identity in the first place. In her defence, I’ve laughed at it before too. I was a different person back then.
With another human to form a team with, exploring had been a natural path for us. When just the two of us were there, we didn’t even have to hold back. The poor dungeon memories never stood a chance. It was kind of cathartic. I’m going to miss doing that.
I started to understand the idea of feeling human more. It was something that tied us together, this shared fate. There was solidarity to be found in it. Then she evolved, and I think I ended up more confused since then. It wasn’t really a priority. We were both establishing a new sort of identity, growing accustomed to sharing our thoughts.
But this has stuck with me. It’s an issue we haven’t been able to shake. And so here I am.
I feel like I’m writing around in circles. Or at least putting off the inevitable.
I have a certain
I can’t even say that the feeling extends just to Emmeryn. I think it’s about other people who just know who they are. I’ve never understood humanity, and at this point I don’t know if I ever will. But I can’t separate who I am from it, either. Even if things were simpler before I knew being human had any greater meaning, I don’t want to give up what I’ve found on the way.
I can never have a chance to live as a human. But I can’t be anything else. I was born to a world of concepts alien to me. Emmeryn can identify what we think was probably my first day of preschool. It’s my memory, but to me it’s nothing more than a collection of alien sensations.
Nor could I have ever inferred that the dress meant I probably wasn’t male as a human. I guess it’s one more thing about myself lost between worlds. Ceruledge is not a species where that matters, so I shouldn’t care. In spite of that, I can’t help but feel some sort of way about it. Given it won’t be coming from the Ceruledge part of me, I imagine I’ll end up having to interrogate those feelings with Emmeryn later, once I’m done with this.
We have other plans now. I don’t know if it’s really a solution to the messiness humans face here, but it’s something. It means none of us will have to be alone with these feelings again. At least not if we can reach them. It also means I’ll be the only one like this. I know that’s good. I don’t want other humans needing to lose themselves like this, just to have a place here.
It’s an isolating feeling, though. Making sure I’m the last one to be like this…
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