"I see." Bahamut stopped the ball with an upper wing. He rolled it around against the ground, before rolling over on his belly. His gray spikes dug into the snow-dusted soil.
"All of the shades are based around their hosts' psyches and memories in some capacity, no?" Different blue hues spread out around his face. "But I think you have it particularly rough because you are, essentially, an extension of Owen in the same vein as that ridiculous shadow of his. He'd been struggling with memory issues and his identity while on Cibus... and, regrettably, I think he passed those feelings to you."
The blue faded and he wrapped his wing around the ball. "But you know what else? You're not alone in this. You have all the other shades, many of whom are in similar situations. They're replicas of people from Team Spectrum's original worlds. Maybe they're not openly pondering the things you are, but I'm sure it's crossed whatever constitutes a mind for them."
Bahamut lifted his other upper wing. "The difference, though, is that I've seen these other shades off doing their own things. Including with one another." He pointed at her. "You, however, were always attached at the hip to Owen. Until now. You're probably getting him back, but if you run right back to his side, you'll basically be sticking your head in the sand and ignoring the problem."
He rolled the ball to Cal. "If I were you, I'd try to spend more time with the other shades. Or in the company of Cibus natives. See if you can try to forge an identity you can be happy with. And if it turns out to be similar to Owen, then at least you came to that decision on your own... and not because of a set of borrowed experiences."
