The trio awoke on a soft bed of moss in the glade, faces tilted skyward as sunbeams dappled through the leaves. Birds chirped overhead. A distant goat could be heard giving a lecture on modern interpretive dance as a form of existential rebellion.
Milo sat up abruptly, disoriented. "What happened? Did I drink a Brain Bloom Elixir again by accident?"
"No," Luca groaned from beside him. "You fainted. We all did. Because your cat just talked. Like… with full grammar."
Alma sat up cross-legged, clutching her notebook like a lifeline. "I wrote it down. 'Finally. I was wondering how long it would take you three to figure it out.' That's what he said."
They turned slowly to Whiskers, who lay sprawled across a sunlit patch of moss, licking a paw with infuriating calm.
"Whiskers," Milo said, cautiously. "Can you… actually talk?"
The cat finished grooming and gave a slow, lazy blink. "Yes."
Alma squeaked and scribbled furiously in her notes.
"I've always been able to talk," Whiskers added, stretching with the elegant drama of a cat who knew he had an audience. "I just chose not to. You all make such entertaining assumptions on your own."
"But why now?" Milo asked, struggling to keep his voice from going high-pitched. "Why reveal it today?!"
"Because," Whiskers said with a smirk, "if even a duck starts quoting Descartes, it's only a matter of time before someone blames you. And frankly, I didn't want to get turned into a carrot cake by association."
Luca burst out laughing. "He's not wrong."
Milo pointed accusingly. "You've watched me panic over exploding potions, blobby tea, and herbal hiccup fumes—and said NOTHING?!"
Whiskers licked his paw again. "Of course. It was character development."
Alma, shaking with excitement, leaned forward. "Do you know what's causing the animals to become intelligent? Is it a natural phenomenon? A spell? Are we being invaded by intellectual pixies?!"
Whiskers gave a soft mrrp. "Honestly? I don't know. But the effect is spreading fast. And it's not your doing, for once."
Milo stared blankly into the distance. "We're not responsible… again?"
Luca patted his shoulder. "It's a new era, Milo. Welcome to Potion-Free Problem Land. Population: still you."
---
Back in the village, the effects were in full swing.
A pair of doves had opened a philosophy café. Their specialty drink was "Espresso, therefore I am."
A mouse trio was hosting a town debate on whether cheese should be a universal right.
A goldfish in a decorative pond had started giving lectures in advanced bubble mathematics. ("Very round ideas," as one duck put it.)
Milo, Alma, Luca, and Whiskers (who now insisted on being addressed as "Sir Whiskers von Paw") set up an emergency investigation station in the workshop.
The chalkboard read:
Current Theories:
1. Magical residue from old mage battle?
2. Ancient artifact accidentally activated?
3. Forgotten enchantment in enchanted snack?
4. Unknown creature messing with local fauna?
5. Luca's pastries evolved into sentient sugar spores?
"That last one's my favorite," Alma said, twirling her quill.
"Hey," Luca said, mock-offended. "My pastries never talked. They only hummed… a little."
Milo rubbed his temples. "We need data. Observations. Interviews. A proper animal census."
Sir Whiskers yawned. "I'm not playing clipboard assistant."
"We'll give you a tuna tart," Alma said.
"…Fine."
---
The rest of the day was spent interviewing highly talkative animals.
They met:
A turtle who insisted he was once a banker and now just wanted to open a retirement shell spa.
A magpie who critiqued fashion and had an entire nest of accessories.
A rabbit who had written a 500-page memoir titled Hops of Reflection.
And a rooster who, now understanding time, refused to crow before 10 a.m. on principle.
Alma took meticulous notes.
Luca offered pastries (to mixed reviews—"Needs more cardamom," said a picky chipmunk).
Milo nervously checked every tree, rock, and fern for signs of lingering magic.
Sir Whiskers mostly judged everyone and asked to be carried in a basket.
Despite all their efforts, one thing remained true:
They weren't the cause.
But no one knew who—or what—was.
As evening painted the sky in watercolor swirls, the group sat atop the hill overlooking the village. Below, animals and villagers alike mingled, conversed, and in one case, held a chess tournament between a goat and the mayor.
Luca passed Milo a pastry. "You okay?"
Milo bit into it, savoring the familiar sweet. "I think… yeah. I mean, I'm worried, sure. Something's affecting the entire animal population. That's not exactly nothing."
"But," Alma said, hugging her notebook, "for the first time ever, we didn't cause it. That counts for something."
Sir Whiskers purred loudly. "Besides, intelligent animals might improve village meetings. I've long wanted to petition for nap zones in public areas."
Milo grinned. "You would."
The stars blinked awake above them.
The owl, Archibald, flew past with a loud "TO BE, OR NOT TO BE, THAT IS INDEED THE RODENT'S QUERY!"
Milo looked up at the sky, smiling softly.
"Alright," he said. "Tomorrow, we dig deeper."
"Metaphorically or literally?" Luca asked.
"Both," Milo said, already bracing for whatever strangeness came next.