The first combined teaching session with all five students was scheduled for three days after Xiao Yun's recruitment.
Kael had prepared extensively—different teaching materials for different cognitive architectures, protocols adapted for each student's specific dissolution pattern, exercises designed to demonstrate how varied pathway corruptions could be addressed through unified ethical framework.
What he hadn't prepared for was how uncomfortable it would be having five people stare at him with different varieties of emptiness behind their eyes.
Wei Lin with his healed meridians and growing detachment from sect loyalty. Lan Mei with her fierce maternal protection slowly calcifying into pure obligation. Inspector Jiang with his Truth-stripped illusions leaving only brutal clarity. Madam Lian with her Desire manipulation making even her own wants questionable. And Xiao Yun, forgetting why any of them mattered even as she sat among them.
Five different paths to the same destination: functional ethics without emotional foundation.
And Kael, furthest along that path, trying to teach them how to navigate what he barely understood himself.
"Welcome to the first collective session," Kael began, standing before the assembled group in the warehouse's converted classroom. "Today's topic: recognizing dissolution patterns and implementing counter-protocols before corruption becomes irreversible."
"Cheerful subject," Madam Lian murmured, gold eyes gleaming with residual amusement.
"Accurate subject. All of you are experiencing various forms of cognitive or emotional degradation caused by pathway influence. This session will teach you to identify your personal dissolution vectors and construct defensive frameworks." Kael gestured to the board where he'd drawn a complex diagram. "First principle: dissolution is progressive. It doesn't happen suddenly—it accumulates through small compromises that seem individually acceptable but collectively catastrophic."
He pointed to Wei Lin. "You started as outer sect disciple who cared about sect advancement. Three months of serving in my network has taught you to question that loyalty. That's appropriate development—recognizing exploitation, developing independence. But the pathway costs of contract formation have started making you forget why you valued anything in the first place. That's dissolution."
Wei Lin shifted uncomfortably. "I can still remember why things matter."
"Can you? Or can you remember that you used to know why things mattered?" Kael's tone remained clinical. "Test: Tell me why you wanted to join the sect originally. Not the facts—the feeling."
Wei Lin opened his mouth. Closed it. Frowned. "I... I know I was excited. I know I saw it as path to power and prestige. But I can't actually feel that excitement anymore. It's just... data."
"Dissolution. You're three to four months from my current state if progression continues unchecked." Kael turned to the board, writing rapidly. "Counter-protocol: Daily emotional documentation. Write down not just what you did, but why it mattered at the time. Create external record of emotional reasoning before it dissolves completely. Reference that record when making decisions, using past-self's emotional logic to guide present-self's calculations."
He handed Wei Lin a specially prepared journal. "Start tonight. Document one significant decision and why it felt important. Not why it was logical—why it mattered emotionally. Lock in that reasoning before it vanishes."
Wei Lin took the journal with something approaching relief. "That's... that's actually helpful. Having external record of what I used to feel."
Kael moved to Lan Mei. "You're experiencing different dissolution. Maternal love calcifying into protective obligation. You saved every copper for your daughter's medicine—that was love. Now you serve in my network to provide for her—that's obligation. Can you distinguish which one currently drives you?"
Lan Mei's arms tightened defensively. "Of course I still love her. She's my daughter."
"I didn't ask if you love her. I asked if you can feel the difference between loving her and being obligated to protect her." Kael's voice remained gentle—or what passed for gentle in someone incapable of actually feeling gentleness. "Because obligation persists even after love dissolves. You could lose all emotional attachment and still execute protective behaviors through pure protocol. That's how I function."
Lan Mei was silent, her expression showing the dawning horror of recognizing the truth.
"Counter-protocol," Kael continued. "Physical affection rituals. Hold your daughter for ten minutes daily with singular focus—no multitasking, no obligation-thinking, just presence. Physical contact activates emotional circuits that resist dissolution. Make it non-negotiable habit before cognitive efficiency convinces you it's unnecessary."
He provided her with a different journal—this one focused on recording moments of genuine connection versus obligatory interaction. "Track the difference. When the distinction starts blurring, the physical ritual maintains connection even if you can't feel why it matters."
Inspector Jiang was next. "Truth Pathway strips comforting illusions. You've seen reality clearly for three years. How many times per day do you wish you could return to not knowing?"
"Constantly," Jiang admitted, silver eyes reflecting brutal honesty. "Reality without filtering is exhausting. I understand now why most Truth bearers go mad or commit suicide within eighteen months."
"Counter-protocol: Scheduled illusion time. One hour daily where you deliberately engage with fiction, art, or fantasy. Give your mind permission to process non-truth without feeling guilty about temporary disconnect from reality." Kael's marked hand pulsed. "Truth bearers think they must always see clearly. But human psychology requires some filtering for sustainability. Build controlled illusion into your routine before complete clarity breaks you."
Jiang looked skeptical. "You're telling me to lie to myself?"
"I'm telling you to let yourself rest from constant truth-perception. There's a distinction." Kael provided reading recommendations—novels, poetry, stories. "Truth bearers who survive long-term learn to toggle between clarity and comfortable fiction. Start practicing before the toggle breaks."
Madam Lian leaned forward, interested. "And me? What's my dissolution pattern?"
"You manipulate desire so extensively that your own wants have become questionable. Do you genuinely want to improve ethically, or have you amplified that desire to make yourself feel better about exploitation?" Kael's analysis was merciless.
"You can't trust your own motivations anymore. Every want might be self-manipulation."
Madam Lian's gold eyes flickered with discomfort. "That's... disturbing observation."
"That's accurate observation. Counter-protocol: External desire verification. Before making significant decisions, consult someone whose desires you haven't amplified—currently, that's me or Inspector Jiang. Explain your motivation. Let us verify whether it seems genuine or amplified. Build external validation into decision-making until you can trust your own wants again."
"You're telling me to get permission for my choices?"
"I'm telling you to verify your choices with people not subject to your manipulation.
There's a distinction." Kael handed her contact protocols. "Start with small decisions.
Gradually rebuild trust in your own desire-perception through consistent external validation."
Finally, Xiao Yun. The Oblivion bearer sat quietly, notebook open, writing everything down with desperate focus.
"Your dissolution is most acute," Kael said gently. "You're forgetting why anything matters, including yourself. Standard protocols won't work—you need comprehensive external meaning-structure."
He provided her with something unprecedented: a complete daily schedule with explicit reasons documented for every task. Wake at this time because morning light helps maintain circadian stability. Eat this meal because nutrition prevents cognitive degradation. Do this work because completing preparation gives families peace.
Every action justified, every reason externalized.
"You can't remember why things matter internally. So we build external mattering that persists regardless of internal state." Kael's voice carried unusual intensity. "You follow the schedule not because you feel it's important, but because it's written down and writing-things-down is your protocol for determining importance."
Xiao Yun clutched the schedule like religious text. "This is the most structure I've had since awakening. Having explicit reasons for existing written down outside my head..."
"That's the goal. Oblivion can't erase what you never internalized. Keep everything external, documented, verifiable." Kael provided backup copies of the schedule. "Lose one, reference another. Forget why you're following it, the schedule itself explains.
You're not trusting internal meaning-perception anymore—you're trusting external documentation."
He stepped back, addressing all five students collectively.
"Each of you is dissolving in different ways. Each dissolution requires different counter-protocols. But the underlying principle is universal: When internal capacity fails, build external structure. Document what you feel before feelings dissolve.
Record what matters before mattering becomes questionable. Create protocols before instincts corrupt."
"We're all building elaborate systems to compensate for our own degradation," Wei Lin said quietly.
"Yes. That's survival strategy for pathway bearers. You can't prevent corruption—pathway progression inherently corrupts. But you can structure that corruption, channel it, make it serve ethical ends despite destroying ethical intuition." Kael's marked hand blazed with two colors. "I've traded away most of myself. What remains functions through protocols my past-self established. You're all following the same trajectory—establish good protocols now, while you still remember why they're good.
Trust those protocols later, when you can't."
"That's depressing," Madam Lian said.
"That's realistic. Pathway bearers who pretend they're not corrupting inevitably become monsters. Pathway bearers who acknowledge corruption and structure it appropriately become functional ethical actors." Kael gestured to himself. "I'm living proof. I can't feel why ethics matter, but I follow ethical protocols anyway. That's not ideal, but it's sustainable."
Inspector Jiang raised his hand. "Question: What happens when we've all dissolved to your level? When all five of us are just calculation engines following protocols we can't feel the weight of anymore?"
"Then we teach the next generation. Pass protocols forward to people who still have emotional capacity to properly evaluate them. Create chain of transmission where ethical frameworks persist across generations of bearers despite individual dissolution." Kael's voice carried quiet conviction. "I'm teaching you. You'll teach others. Those others will teach more. The framework survives even as individual bearers dissolve."
"That's... actually beautiful," Lan Mei said softly. "In a horrifying, depressing way."
"That's accurate description of pathway bearer ethics. Beautiful and horrifying, sustainable and depressing, functional and inhuman." Kael began distributing assignment materials. "Your homework: Implement your personal counter-protocols for one week. Document results. Note where dissolution continues despite intervention. We'll refine approaches based on empirical data."
His students accepted their assignments with varying degrees of resignation and hope.
"One final thing," Kael said as they prepared to leave. "You're not alone in this. Five of you experiencing similar dissolution, supporting each other through shared understanding. That has value beyond individual survival—collective resilience through mutual acknowledgment that we're all becoming less human together."
"Is that supposed to be comforting?" Wei Lin asked.
"It's supposed to be accurate. Whether it's comforting depends on your remaining emotional capacity." Kael's expression remained neutral. "But statistically, people who acknowledge shared struggles survive better than those who pretend to be fine. So yes, probably comforting if you can still feel comfort."
The session ended, students departing with their protocols and journals and schedules. Each one carrying frameworks designed to help them remain ethical while losing capacity to feel why ethics mattered.
Kael watched them leave, his mind already processing next week's lesson plans.
Five students learning to function through dissolution.
Five future teachers who would propagate methodology beyond his own reach.
Five proof-points that ethical frameworks could persist even after the people implementing them had lost their humanity.
It wasn't ideal. It wasn't comfortable. It wasn't what any of them would have chosen.
But it was working.
And in the calculated optimization that had replaced Kael Yuan's emotional life, "working" was the highest value.
Even if he couldn't feel why that should be enough.
The mathematics said it was.
And he'd learned to trust the mathematics when intuition had dissolved into empty space.