Language is a living, breathing thing. Grammatical rules slide around between eras and locales. An ancient word can gain a new definition in one time and place, and lose a vowel in another. And just as living creatures developed different traits when separated by geographic barriers, there seemed to be distinct language characteristics on the three continents of the world.

Professor Ara Pito was fortunate enough to be granted the opportunity to study languages on each of those three known continents. The continent of Enia was the home of the Voga, Arvir, Epera and Quensis nations and their respective socio-linguistic families. The Conto landmass was shared among the Ooperi, Viren and Inereu countries. And Pito’s own home, the Tyra continent, was, of course, dominated by the Phuratan and Pitang civilisations. Naturally, each continent also house several small, primitive cultural groups and tribes, and each of those used their own unique languages too. Altogether, the world had between thirty-two and sixty-four languages, depending on how one categorised them.

It was, in the professor’s own estimation, a somewhat respectable range of diversity, given that the vast majority of their planet was uninhabitable. There was only a narrow band around the world where the climate allowed te’visk to build societies; a region known as The Meridian. When one considered the oceans, mountains, and deserts that hampered the spread of cultures, it was practically miraculous that te’visk had managed to conquer that habitable line as much as they did.

According to Adwin, Earth seemed to be significantly more blessed in that department.

Seven continents. Over one hundred and twenty-eight countries. Several jhols of languages. And, using Adwin’s numbering system, over eight-billion humans. And that number was climbing.

In addition to not being constrained by the tyranny of The Meridian, humans were apparently extremely biologically adaptable, thriving in climates that were below freezing or extremely hot. Some regions actually had seasonal weather that cycled between both extremes in the span of less than eight seasons. Adwin himself hailed from a region that relatively warm and humid; their seasons were differentiated by how relatively ‘wet’ or ‘dry’ the climate was. Additionally, very old, resilient cultures could be found in deserts, dense jungles, open plains, mountain ridges and river basins alike. And those diversities of climate could be found on just about every continent.

All those cultures. All those languages. All those people.

Adwin himself spoke just one language, English, though one could be charitable enough to also include his local dialect-variant of Guyanese English. The cultural influences of his country were somewhat… Unique, according to him. His country was located on the landmass known as South America, surrounded by much more populous and politically powerful nations. However, none of those larger countries used a variant of English as their ‘lingua-franca.’ Somehow, Guyana’s culture and demographics was instead far more related to the peoples of a nearby archipelago of islands known as The West-Indies, or The Caribbean.

Interestingly, none of the languages he described originated from the local landmasses. Instead, those cultures and languages were transplanted from another continent called Europe, which was separated from The Americas by the vast Atlantic Ocean. Further complicating the cultural incongruity of the human’s homeland was the fact that most of his countrymen, including Adwin himself, was descended mostly from yet other cultural, ethnic groups, from yet other continents; mostly Africa and Asia.

It was a darkly educational discussion that informed Pito of how Adwin’s ancestors were brought over to the New World. Colonists from different European nations arrived on the western continents, and they militarily suppressed, subjugated, or eliminated the native societies. Enslaved people from Africa were then brought over as agricultural and domestic workers. Thankfully, slavery was eventually abolished, but of course the then masters of those lands still found monstrous ways to continue to enrich themselves. Indentured labourers were brought in from Asia and were forced to endure hard labour, cruel treatment and low pay. Eventually, those terrible practices were also outlawed, and the descendants of all those poor souls are now free, properly recognised citizens of their respective countries. But it still remained a sordid, if regrettably familiar, stain on Earth’s history.

As those European powers wrestled among themselves, most of The Caribbean had fallen under the talons of the English speaking culture, the then powerful British Empire. That same empire had maintained control over Guyana from most of its history, and so they passed their culture down to Adwin’s ancestors. Other parts of the continent were instead conquered by the Dutch, French, Spanish, and Portuguese cultures.

Adwin himself only recalled a handful of words and phrases of these surrounding languages. But oddly enough, he seemed to command a surprising aptitude in a few words in a language that had almost no historical influence on his homeland; a language from the distant Asian island nation known as Japan. When pressed, he confessed that he consumed a large amount of animated media from that island. In fact there was one word from that country that seemed to be particularly pertinent to his specific situation:

Isekai.

Basically meaning ‘another world’, it’s a popular story-telling trope where a person is supernaturally whisked away from thier homeland into another world. In some stories, the protagonist is bodily transported to another place, as if they just walked through a doorway. In other stories, the protagonist appears to die in the beginning, only to be reincarnated into a different body, maybe a different gender, or even a different species. And sometimes, the isekaied protagonist either develops or is given supernatural powers, sometimes by a deity or a similarly powerful entity. This trope was not something foreign to te’visk culture, and in fact may have been part of the reason why the human was at first assumed to be a ‘frost-fae.’

According to ancient Tyran mythology, Frost-Fae were sparsely feathered, impish creatures that lived in the dark-ward lands. They had the ability to mimic the voices of te’visk, and would use their talents to lure people into their dens. Sometimes, the victims would simply disappear. Sometimes killed. Eaten perhaps? The myths were, as one would expect, inconsistent. But in some myths, someone would return from the dark-ward lands. Perhaps they escaped from the frost-fae’s dens. Perhaps they were deliberately and politely returned. But these returning te’visk reported on what the frost-fae had shown them:

Indescribable shapes and colours. Irreplicable sounds and scents. A realm unlike anything anyone had ever seen before.

Adwin said humans had similar stories in different parts of their world. It was quite fascinating. Despite the light-years that likely separated their worlds. Despite the geographic differences of their planets. Despite the profound differences in their biology. Despite the clear alieness of their cultures… They still shared so much. Stories of heroes and villains. Myths of monsters and magic. Tales of isekai.

Truthfully, Professor Pito had come to love learning about the history and culture of humanity. Of course, studying Adwin’s language was absolutely vital to projects Frost-Fae and Dark-Light. And sure, studying the way so much of the alien’s vocabulary was absorbed by her comrades would be a boon to her academic career. But she had gained a personal attachment to the work as well. So, it had become somewhat distressing to consider that her work with the human could possibly be cut short. And it was particularly distressing to consider the possible vector of her uncertain future.

Pito was just sitting in the mess hall, sipping some juldrupe juice as she was looking over a children’s book that Adwin had tried to translate from Phuratan to English. She pretended not to notice the frame of the military officer that tramped over to her table.

“Warm winds, Professor Pito.” greeted the man as he sat opposite her, setting down a meal tray.

“You didn’t ask if that seat was taken, Solam.” the linguist remarked, not even lifting her eyes from the crudely written book.

The colonel made a sound somewhere between a scoff and chirp. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed that you were all alone today. Well, as soon your entourage comes back I’ll get up for them.”

Professor Pito said nothing, but she took a moment glare pointedly at him, before returning her gaze to the human’s writing assignment, and deliberately turning the page.

“Say, those are some funny looking letters in that book.” observed Colonel Solam. “Never seen anything like those. What kind of language is that?”

“You know exactly what language this is, Colonel.” said the linguist, once again not deigning to turn her eyes upon him.

“Oh, of course, it’s that yue-mhan language right?” the colonel said with forced calm. “Y’know, I ran into a couple of mechanics earlier. They were talking about something while adjusting some valves. I couldn’t quite understand what they were saying, so at first I just assumed they were talking about some kind of technical stuff, y’know?” he paused his tale to place a spoonful of parb-grain in his mouth. After chewing and swallowing, he continued. “Turns out they were speaking yue-mhan! Imagine that! A couple of grunts, that can’t be troubled to learn a little Pitang, bothering to learn some kinda space-language!”

Pito didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at him. Just just turned another page.

“And just a bit before that, I met some of the engineers to discuss some of the rocket designs. They were using a lot of yue-mhan words too. Which I suppose makes sense, that creature is the reason for all this rocketry hub-bub, after all.” The linguist bristled slightly as the officer loudly slurped a mouthful of tea. “But get this, they were playing music over the speakers in the lab before I came in. Yue-mhan music! Said it helped them concentrate, imagine that!”

The colonel laughed, The professor turned a page.

“You must be really happy here, being able to study the way that creature’s language can infect this compound so quickly.”

Cold Snaps! So that was his game. “So you’ve come here to make fun of me, eh? When you and your jack-booted thugs try to lock up Adwin, you’ll throw me out too, right?”

“Oh please.” Colonel Solam scoffed. No half-laugh or feigned civility this time, just a pure, derisive, scoff. “As if anyone here could get away with touching a single feather on your body...” he leaned in, turning the last part of his sentence into a whispered hiss: “M’Lady.”

Every feather on Professor Pito’s body frazzled as she echoed her opponent’s hiss. “Don’t you dare! Listen here you fetid, contemptible--!”

The colonel couldn’t hear the rest of the linguist’s insult. In fact, he couldn’t hear anything at all aside from the booming sound that rocked the entire room as a nearby wall exploded.