Pokémon The Suicune's Choice

[Pen]

The Suicune's Choice​

Haru has always done things right: won eight badges, landed his dream internship. But when the time comes to wrap up his pokemon journey, right and wrong aren't so clear anymore. And duty pushes him down a dangerous path . . . [COMPLETE].

Otherwise known as: boy has religious revelation at worst possible time.

(lovely artwork by @OldschoolJohto!)

Chapter One - The Choice​

The lights inside the ranger's station burned a pale white. Haru Watanabe paused in the entryway, drawing in a deep breath of filtered air. A dark, aromatic scent wafted towards him. The ranger on duty was making tea.

Haru approached the desk slowly, his heavy, waterproofed boots thudding against the floor.

"Morning," the ranger said, a slight yawn muffling her words. It was seven minutes past six. Outside, Route 119 was still dark and gray, the road winding through the reeds like the dark back of a seviper. "Early starter, huh?"

"The route gets too crowded mid-day," Haru replied. His voice came out low, but to his relief, it was steady.

"Returning traveler?"

"That's right." Haru held out his trainer's license.

"Eight badges, huh," she said, peering at her monitor. "Congrats. Your Class B expires this month, though. If you want to file for a Class A, the window's almost over," she added helpfully.

Haru shook his head. "I'm not going pro. I'm starting a research internship in a couple of weeks, actually."

"Really? What's your field?"

"Ecology. With a focus on micro-climates."

Now he had her attention. She looked up from the monitor, her orange bob swinging.

"That's my focus too! Micro-climates and the despeciation problem. It's why I took a ranger job here, to get some local experience before I apply to the Weather Institute's patrol team. What lab are you going to be working at?"

Haru swallowed. He hadn't been expecting questions. "Station 111—by the desert ruins. Mirage Tower, if you know it."

"Wow, yeah, that's one intense area," she said with a grin. "All those fossils. So what brings you out to this neck of the woods?"

His stomach lurched. But somehow he found a smile, broad and overly bright. "You know. The micro-climates."

The ranger's laugh echoed tinnily off the station's metal walls. "Getting your fill of rainy weather before heading off to the desert?"

"Something like that, yeah."

A lull fell as she logged his information. Haru's foot began to tap against the ground. This had never seemed to take so long before.

"Haru," the ranger said suddenly, her eyes still fixed on the monitor. His stomach somersaulted. "That's an unusual name. It's pretty."

Pretty? His name was common. He'd been the fourth Haru in his cohort growing up in Ecruteak. The other kids had called him "Caterpie" for his unusually wide eyes, probably inherited from the Kalosian relation his family never talked about.

"Thanks," Haru said, before the silence became awkward. "It's a traditional name in Johto—means clear day."

"Well, we could use some of that here," the ranger joked. "Maybe you'll be our good luck charm. I miss the sun out here. Oh, and I'm Feng."

"Feng. Nice to meet you. Maybe we'll see each other at a conference."

"Let's count on it," she said with a wink. She handed him back his trainer's license, and his hand clenched around it tightly. "Let me see—weather is pretty much the usual, though we're expecting some serious thunderstorms starting mid-afternoon and running until late evening. Currently a ban on kecleon capture, until mating season ends. And I know you've heard this a hundred times, but bear with me. Poaching and dumping are national crimes under the Hoenn Revised Code, Section Eleven, Chapter Five. I'll need a verbal affirmation that you understand the law—"

"Yes," Haru said quickly, his heart suddenly thunder.

But the ranger didn't seem to hear. She continued, "Everything else you already know, but keep safe, and don't feel ashamed to use your emergency signal if you need to. Shit happens to the best of us."

Haru nodded, returned his license to his pocket, and stepped outside. The difference in atmosphere hit him instantly, the filtered air of the station giving way for the moist, heavy murk of Route 119. It was drizzling lightly, so Haru flipped up the hood of his raincoat. Methodically, he checked that his possessions were secure, making sure to place his pokedex in a rainproof case. He'd learned that lesson the hard way, when a sudden downpour had put the device out of commission. These preparations done, he stood still on the path, tasting the mist on his mouth and letting the pounding of his heart calm.

So what if the routine check had gone on longer than he'd have liked. It wasn't anything to be concerned about. She'd remember him as just another trainer, enjoying the route one last time, before his traveling days were over.

One last journey. One final obligation.

His hand clenched involuntarily around the single pokeball on his belt.



Haru set off at a brisk pace. There were roughly six miles to cover, and he had hoped to travel the bulk of the distance on the path, before the route became busy with trainers. Once he went off road, the going would be much slower.

His mind wandered as he walked. First, to an essay he'd written in elementary school. It had won second-place in some meaningless competition and his mother had framed it on the mantel. The opening lines of the essay, written in his childish prose, looped insistently in his head. "Everyone always complains about the rules. But are rules bad?"

His thoughts turned to his sister, Erika. She'd received a promotion at her agency and had been completely off-the-wall ecstatic when she'd called him last night, alternating between boasting and chiding. "Just imagine where you'd be if you'd taken a job earlier. Experience counts, you know. Starting so late, you're going to see a salary drop of at least twenty-five percent compared to your peers. Maybe more." He couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise even if he'd wanted to. So he'd listened and nodded, while his decision sat like a stone in his stomach.

And every swirl and eddy of thought brought him back to that warm Evergrande night. It had only been a week ago, but it might as well have been a year. He'd ducked into an after-party at his friend's hotel suite, but the stuffy air and sour smell of beer hadn't felt like celebration—nor had it felt appropriate for loss.

His team had made it past the league's three qualifying stages and lost in the first round. In three weeks, his trainer's license would expire for good. His head still pounding from the party, he'd wandered down to the training grounds, where it was quiet. Even the most committed trainers were celebrating their victories that night; the losers were making the most of their defeats.

He'd arranged the last kindling from his backpack, doused it with starter, and lit a bonfire.

"So," he had said, his voice sounding small in the deserted training grounds, "I guess this is it."

The fire crackled, reflected in his pokemon's eyes—six pairs, so different, staring expectantly back at him.

In three weeks he would have to part with all but two of them. Nya-Nya, his delcatty, was considered a category three pokemon—permissible for recreational ownership. Damascus, his cradily, could also stay with him, or at least, near him. The Mirage Tower Laboratory had a special license for fossil pokemon.

As for the rest—it was the Placement Center or the Daycare. He'd tried to explain as clearly as he could. If they went to the Placement Center, they could continue to battle. An opening would be found for them on a professional trainer's team. Haru would be notified, of course. He promised he would watch every battle they competed in.

Aporea, his breloom, had raised her head at that. She was a fighter—more of a fighter than Haru had ever been. He'd won his eight badges by dint of hard work, good strategy, and a fair bit of luck. The badges had been a useful accomplishment to point at whenever his parents complained that his future would be better served by quitting training and entering the workforce, but they had never been a passion. Aporea would do well with a professional trainer, someone who could bring out her full potential.

Perched on Aporea's head, Quannuk had slowly raised a wing and let out a short, piercing call.

"You too?" Haru had asked, looking his pelipper over. He'd never known why she had followed him from the beach as a young wingull, staying even after he'd shown her that he was out of bread crumbs. He met her impassive eyes, with their bisected blacks, and held back a shiver. There were some answers he'd never learn now.

"There's also the National Daycare," he told them. "It'll be a quieter life. A chance to raise a family, though—" He'd faltered as his tropius stirred, a questioning look on her face. "Your children may go to starting trainers, I think."

His probopass made a muffled, craggy sound, that Haru had long ago decided to interpret as a chuckle. "I guess that's not a problem for you, huh?" he said and Crado had bobbed up and down in evident approval.

"Stop me if I have this wrong," Haru said to the night. "Aporea, Quannuk, you want to keep on battling. Crado, you'd prefer the daycare. What about you, Heconilia?"

The silence stretched out until it was unbearably thin. Shouts and muted laughter rose from the Evergrande after-parties in the surrounding hotels. He held the tropius' amber gaze until the campfire smoke made his eyes sting and water.

"It's one or the other, you know, that's the law." He should have started this conversation earlier. The days suddenly felt so short. "You have to make a choice."

But Heconilia had let out a long trill and shook her head rapidly, until a single crescent fruit fell from around her neck with a dense thud. She nudged it towards him with her green crown. Underneath, her eyes were impossibly trusting.

I want to go back home.

The smoke burned at his eyes and he rubbed them. The only one with a choice to make was him . . .

​

Haru sucked in a breath of moist, clean air and found his feet slowing.

The ranger's words echoed in his mind. Poaching and dumping are national crimes under the Hoenn Revised Code, Section Eleven, Chapter Five.

Haru understood the purpose of the law better than most people. Letting loose trained pokemon disrupted the ecological balance. Turf battles took place, habitats shifted, and the end result was the encroachment of pokemon on human lands—wurmple devastating harvests and zubat swarming radio towers. The rules were there for a reason.

He didn't need to risk this. He could still turn around, tell the ranger he had a pokemon to place and leave it to the system. He could walk away now with his prospects still intact.

If his parents had any idea what he was contemplating . . . he could see the apoplectic red rising on his father's face and the way his mother's eyes would harden into tight black coals. They hadn't uprooted themselves to Hoenn to see him throw away his future. An internship at the Mirage Desert Station. If he worked hard and kept his head down, they would take him on as a lab technician. After three years, hopefully no more than five, he would begin to conduct his own experiments. One solid breakthrough, one strong paper, and he could lead his own team of researchers. That had always been his dream.

Haru's hand crept to the feather pendant around his neck. Ho-Oh's charm.

"Help me, ancestors," he whispered.

The rain picked up around him, a slow, light patter that made the air into a continuous murmur. Through the fall of the water, he thought he could hear an aged, rasping voice. His grandmother's voice. He closed his eyes, straining to pick out her words from the rainfall.

Then Ho-Oh beheld the mighty deeds these three spirits had rendered him;

And he was pleased and spake, Loyal servants, your service has been good;

Then Raikou went up to the Heavens, where he dwelled close to the life-bringer;

Entei entered the heart of a great mountain, for he was tired and sought rest;

But Suicune ran along the white caps of the waves and, like unbidden wind, she was free.​

Free.

The final word hung in the air like a judgment.

He was back in her reading room, perched attentively on his knees as Grandmother recited from the Golden Book. The tapestries on the wall were threadbare, but brilliant. Every spring Grandmother laid them out and worked them carefully with a clean white towel. There was something magical about the process, Haru had always thought. Grandmother labored with a quiet, intense concentration, as if history itself would topple if the dyes chanced to blur.

How many times had he heard Grandmother recite that same verse? But the words took on a new, graver meaning now. Ho-oh had granted freedom to his most able servants. If Heconilia undertook Suicune's choice, Haru had no right to refuse her.

A particularly large droplet of rain fell and burst on Haru's closed eyelid. He opened his eyes, blinking through the wetness.

If he ever tried to explain this to Erika, she would probably laugh. "So logical," she would say, shaking her head, "right up until you aren't. Superstition gets you every time, little brother."

But she had never liked to listen when Grandmother told the old stories. She had never paid attention while Grandmother explained the duty that still bound them, as descendants of the ancient priestly order. She had never cared to take in the magic of the old tapestries, renewed with every season, woven dense with obligation.

Haru tightened the hood of his slicker as the rain intensified. He unlatched Heconilia's pokeball from his belt and held it for a moment, the surface growing slippery from the rainwater.

No, there was no choice here—only duty.

With his other hand, he pulled out his nav. "Open area map."

On his screen, the geocached marker where he'd originally captured Heconilia glowed a bright green. It was less than a mile off now to his left, far into the canopy that rose up from the road.

Haru double-checked that the waterproof coverings over his legs left no gaps and glanced at the screen of his nav, glowing like a beacon in the gloom. 9am. The day was coming on quickly. Soon, the road would be swarming.

He needed to stop wasting time.

Haru pushed off into the wet undergrowth, which rose to his shoulders. Taller trees formed a dark canopy above his head. Only scattered streaks of the gray morning light passed through. The rain was falling more heavily now. Water pooled in the imprints his boots left on the road.

As the rain poured down, the mud bubbled up and ran, until even those traces were gone.

 

[Pen]

Chapter Two - The Consequence​

After two hours of slow, uneasy travel, Heconilia lifted her head and let loose a joyful trill. Haru squelched to a stop.

"You've caught the scent of a herd?" he asked, tilting his head up. The sky was almost completely blocked by the dark canopy overhead, and he couldn't make out anything over the steady drumbeat of the rain.

Heconilia nodded energetically, her eyes shining. She looked healthy and vigorous—the humid air had lent her leaves an especially verdant sheen. Her good mood had been impossible to ignore the last few hours as she swung her neck from side to side and sniffed at every flower.

Haru certainly couldn't fault Heconilia for her happiness. But it came in painful contrast to the constricted feeling in his own chest, the sensation that every step drew a noose tighter around his neck.

"Okay," Haru said slowly, as Heconilia craned her head upwards, her wings lifting slightly like she was considering taking off then and there. "We need to go over the rules now." He snapped his fingers and raised his voice. "Heconilia, I need you to pay attention."

Chastened, she lowered her neck and butted her head forward, twisting so that the ring of fruit under her neck hung in front of his face. An apology.

Haru let out a breath. "I just need you to listen," he said softly. "I could get in big trouble if you don't listen."

Heconilia crooned her agreement. Haru closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the sleek, springy surface of her neck.

"You're stronger than a wild tropius would be from all the training we've done. I know you'll want to show that off—impress a mate, take command of a herd. But you have to watch yourself. If the rangers notice anything unusual about you, they'll bring you in for an examination. And when they do, they'll find a microchip, saying you're my pokemon. If that happens, it's all over for me. Dumping is a national crime. So you can't draw attention to yourself and you can't let yourself be caught, no matter what happens. Do you understand?"

Haru felt the rumble of Heconilia's agreement. He took a step back and looked her over. How much did she understand, really? How much could a pokemon ever comprehend of the rules and regulations that were the cogs and gears of human society? He'd read a study recently claiming to categorically disprove the notion that non-psychic pokemon could access abstract thought. But the methodology had seemed sketchy to Haru. He couldn't know, so he would have to put his trust in Heconilia—and in luck, the most fickle blessing of Ho-Oh.

He forced himself to smile. Heconilia had been with him for six years now. If this was their last hour together, he didn't want to spend it fretting over things outside his control.

"Lead on, then," he said, injecting his voice with cheer. "Let's find you your herd."

They pressed on for a quarter hour more. Rotting pomeg berries littered the ground. Their sweet, pungent scent mixed unpleasantly with the damp odor of decomposing leaves. At frequent intervals, Heconilia raised her head and let out a series of high, trilling calls. Haru couldn't catch any response, but Heconilia seemed pleased, picking her path forward without hesitation.

They were passing into a small clearing when a screech cut the air. Heconilia reared up and then staggered. She snapped her head from side to side, sharp-edged leaves rising around her. Haru squinted through the rain, trying to understand where the sudden attack had come from. His eyes caught onto a yellow streak darting through the air, too fast for the eye to follow.

A ninjask. What in the world . . ?

"Calm down and use whirlwind," Haru called out. Heconilia stilled and then began to beat her wings rapidly, gathering wind around her. As the ninjask darted close, the air current snapped it up and trapped it in a tight vortex.

Haru ran to Heconilia's side, startled and bewildered. This wasn't ninjask habitat at all—the area was far too rainy to support a pokemon that thrived in zero precipitation climes.

"Ah man, you gotta be kidding me!"

The exclamation came from behind Haru. Heart thudding, he turned around to see a bedraggled boy in a sopping purple hoodie trudging over. His dark hair, shaped in a fashionable Hoennese bowl cut, was plastered to his forehead.

"Can't believe I've been chasing a trainer's pokemon all this way," the boy said with a scowl. He looked Haru up and down. "You heading to Fortree for a badge?" he asked.

"No," Haru said. He looked over to Heconilia. "That's enough, let it go."

The ninjask leapt back into the air to hover at the boy's side. It was barely beating its wings fast enough to keep the water off.

"This is hardly the weather for a ninjask," Haru said. His bafflement from the sudden attack was fading, leaving only irritation rising in its wake.

The boy shrugged. "Stinger can fly. How many badges do you have?"

"Eight," Haru said curtly.

This won him a considering look. "Eight? Really?" The boy's eyes drifted dubiously down to the single pokeball on Haru's belt. He had already dropped off the others. "I've got six. Beat Winona last week. Hey, let's have a battle!"

Haru looked up at the ninjask, which had sunk even lower in the air, wings still buzzing industriously, and back to the boy, who was kicking some mud off his feet. "No thanks," he said politely.

The boy scowled. "What? Come on. Don't be a scaredy-skitty. You got something better to do?"

Had he ever been this rude? It was possible, but Haru didn't think it was likely. Grandmother had taught him better than that.

"What are you even doing off-route?" Haru asked, deciding that the boy's remark didn't deserve a response. "You're not dressed for it."

"I'm gonna get me a tropius," the boy declared. "It's just what I need for badge number seven. Plus, I heard the fruit's super tasty. Nothing like having an on-call snack machine, I figure."

With a frown, Haru looked over at the sweet yellow fruit hanging under Heconilia's neck. There had been a few occasions when she'd offered it to him, and the taste had been truly special—subtly, fragrantly sweet with a dense, pulpy texture. He couldn't imagine referring to it as a convenience snack or acting like he had some right to eat it.

"Well you're out of luck," Haru said shortly. "Shouldn't you get back on-route before you come down with something?"

"I'm good," the boy said, as fat droplets of rain rolled down his face. "So you've got eight badges? Have you competed in the league?"

"Yes," Haru said again, not wanting to elaborate. Heconilia was beginning to stamp her feet impatiently. "It was nice to meet you," he added, sure that he had never spoken those words with less sincerity in his life. "But we've got to be on our way."

Without waiting for an answer, Haru stepped up to Heconilia's side and followed her lead back under the canopy. The partial cover from the rain came as a relief. Even with full waterproof coverage, the water was still managing to seep into his clothes. He could hear his heart thudding over the drumbeat of rain as he paused to collect himself. All his caution and he'd still been spotted. What were the odds of running into another trainer all the way out here?

Heconilia stopped abruptly and wheeled around with a gust attack that made the vines behind them bend and sway. The boy in the purple hoodie stumbled out from the foliage. His ninjask was perched precariously on his head.

"Are you following us?" Haru asked in disbelief.

The boy crossed his arms. "Figured all that noise from your tropius might attract some more of them." His eyes narrowed. "Is that a problem? You headed somewhere special?" The thought of a secret seemed to excite him. He brushed back his wet bangs, eyes gleaming.

"No," Haru said, his heart sinking. "Nowhere special." His mind worked frantically. Should he tell the boy to stop following him? That would probably just make him more persistent. But with him here, there was no way Heconilia could covertly join a herd.

"We have to lose him," he whispered to Heconilia, who inclined her head in agreement.

They set off again, faster this time, Haru's feet sinking into the muddy earth with new urgency. He steered Heconilia into the thickest clumps of undergrowth, where visibility vanished, but each time they broke into a clearing, the boy appeared behind them like an extremely sopping specter. Haru's breath was coming fast, and his skin was hot with tamped-down adrenaline. This ridiculous chase couldn't stretch on forever. He had to come up with something.

Ahead, the ground began to rise. He plunged onward, heading where the rise was steepest. The fallen leaves made the path treacherous. A few times he slipped and would have fallen if Heconilia's wing hadn't been there to catch him.

All at once they emerged onto something of a peak, higher than the nearest layer of canopy. Haru turned and peered into the murky forest behind him. He couldn't see any movement. Ahead he could make out the shape of a rock formation, the curved overhang seeming to promise cover from the rain. Dark shapes moved within it.

An excited trill broke from Heconilia. She raced forward, her wings providing her with slight lift, and was halfway across the peak before Haru had taken a step. As Heconilia approached the formation, she let out another call, this one more complex. A wild tropius emerged from the formation and approached Heconilia cautiously. They exchanged soft trills and then Heconilia lifted her head, offering the fruit on her neck.

Tropius shared their fruit for many reasons. Heconilia was making a show of trust, submitting herself to the appraisal of the wild tropius. Haru watched closely, unbothered by the rain, which was coming down in long sheets, no longer broken by the canopy.

The other tropius gently placed his mouth around the slender moon of Heconilia's fruit, and began to eat. Acceptance. More tropius emerged from the rock formation. They came out in twos, ringing Heconilia and the other tropius in a loose circle.

Mating pairs, Haru realized. That explained the group's small size and awkward shelter. They must have recently broken off from their home herd. The tropius who had come out of the cave first seemed to lack a mate. His trills were short and excited as he paced around Heconilia, who stood with her head raised proudly, showing off the sweep of her wings.

"Jackpot!"

Haru flinched violently at the exclamation. He hadn't noticed the boy in purple rounding the peak.

"A whole group of them. Man, this was worth the trip," the boy crowed. He hit the release mechanism on his pokeball and a mightyena appeared at his side.

"What are you doing?"

The boy looked over at him incredulously. "Uh, what do think? I'm making a capture."

"But you can't." Haru spoke without thinking.

"What do you mean, I can't. Do those look like kecleon to you?"

Haru pointed. "Look at how they're grouped in pairs. It's a young herd, entering mating season. The females may already be pregnant."

"Really?" The boy examined the herd with new interest. "Awesome. Maybe I can catch a breeding pair. My buddy Marve pays a mean price for rare eggs."

"That's illegal." Haru's breath was coming fast. "It's illegal to knowingly target a mating pair and it's illegal to sell eggs without a breeder's license."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Look, if it bothers you, then take a hike, will you? I gotta move before this herd scrams. Shadowsmith, use confuse ray!"

Not a bad tactic, Haru thought distantly, as if appraising a televised match, when the dazzling light rose into the air. Confuse ray wasn't a move commonly found among Route 119's local pokemon. A herd of wild tropius would have no frame of reference for combating the enticing play of light.

But Heconilia knew what she was seeing. She screeched out a harsh warning call, shielding her face with one wing and using the other to shield her new companion. At Heconilia's call, the herd scattered in alarm. A few rose up into the air, though their flying grew lopsided as the confuse ray's effects set in.

"Crap! Use your fury cutter, Stinger! Don't let them get away."

The bedraggled ninjask rose through the sleets of rain, wings beating at alarming speed. But it didn't get far. Heconilia's gust slammed it back to the ground. The boy cursed again and threw out another pokeball. "Dumpster, acid!" A huge swalot drew itself up and spat up a purple wave that crested menacingly in the dark air.

At Heconilia's trill, the herd drew together. Their wings whipped in unison, and the wave of acid scattered.

She's already taken control, Haru realized. Without a single leadership battle, either. Despite everything, he couldn't help the warm glow of pride that rose in his chest.

The boy was staring straight at Heconilia, his eyes narrowed.

"Use yawn on the one in the middle, Dumpster!" he shouted.

Haru opened his mouth to call out a warning. Then common sense caught up. The boy didn't seem to have realized that the tropius he'd seen by Haru's side and the tropius leading this herd were one and the same. If he gave a command, there would be no hiding the fact that Heconilia was his.

He had to let this encounter play out.

The swalot belched a clear bubble, which rose inexorably towards Heconilia. She wasn't looking in their direction, her efforts focused on downing the flitting ninjask. She didn't see the attack coming. She wouldn't be able to stop it.

"Dodge!"

The shout broke from his lips before he could think.

Heconilia's head darted up and her eyes moved frantically. The soporific bubble of gas had no color and no texture that could be distinguished from the sheets of rain. Heconilia saw nothing, but she trustingly heaved her body to the side. The bubble burst against her companion's face.

"What the hell are you playing at!" the boy shouted. His angry eyes met Haru's. "Shadowsmith, use shadow-ball, now!"

When the smoke cleared, the tropius herd appeared mostly unharmed, except for the tropius who had first greeted Heconilia. He was slumped on the muddy ground. Asleep, Haru knew. Trapped in the artificial slumber of a yawn attack. But Heconilia didn't know that. She nudged him with her crown and, when he didn't respond, let out an ugly cry.

Leaves began to gather in a tight spiral around her, each one glowing an unearthly silver. The other tropius followed her cue. The leaf storm built slowly, on a magnitude Haru had never seen before.

"Fury cutter, acid spray, dark pulse," the boy shouted, his voice high and panicked. The attacks came scattered. His ninjask hung too low in the sky, on the verge of a faint. The increasingly violent rain washed away the swalot's acid in mid-air. A shadow ball was still building on the mighteyana's lips when the leaf storm broke.

The leaves shot forward, each one a dagger. When the onslaught ended, the ninjask, swalot, and mightyena were slumped on the ground.

The boy swallowed, as every amber eye turned to fix on him. He stepped back, his hands falling to the pokeballs at at his side, and hissed something frantic at Haru, impossible to make out over the drumming rain. His eyes, meeting Haru's, were large and expectant.

That's enough, Heconilia, Haru could say.

The words stuck in his throat.

They'd never made a formal goodbye. Her pokeball was still clasped on his belt. But the instant she had lowered her neck, offering her fruit to the wild tropius, Haru had known that she wasn't his pokemon any longer.

All of her choices were hers.

He stood, hands hanging limply by his side, as Heconilia reared up and unfurled one enormous wing to its full span. The air slash hit the boy squarely across his chest. He took a small step backwards, staggered, and hit the ground.

The rain pounded down like avenging thunder. Haru looked to the dark, roiling sky and back to the boy, sprawled out on the dirt. He didn't stir.

And now, Haru thought blankly. What now?

 

[Pen]

Chapter Three - The Flight
​

Haru's mind was a waterfall of rushing, roaring eddies, breaking in furious white.

The boy's mouth lolled slightly open, the rain-water trickling in. Haru grabbed him by his backpack and dragged him into the shelter of the rock formation. It wasn't difficult; the boy barely weighed anything, despite his sodden clothes.

Haru pressed his ear against the boy's chest. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, pumping loudly. He put his finger against the pulse point on the boy's neck and closed his eyes. The skin there rose and fell, faintly, but unmistakably.

He looked over to the herd, who had regrouped on the peak. They were bent over the fallen tropius, trilling in concern.

"He's just sleeping," Haru said, but the rain drowned out his voice. They weren't paying him much notice anyway, so he began to move, step by step, until he was at the edge of the cluster. Slipping between the tropius, Haru crouched under Heconilia's wide, protective wing and rooted around in his pack until he found an awakening spray. With his other hand, he pried open the tropius' mouth and squirted the potion in.

A happy murmur rose from the herd when the tropius blinked blearily and staggered to his feet. Heconilia stepped forward and gave him a hard nuzzle.

Ducking back in the shelter, Haru unclipped the pokeballs from the boy's belt and recalled his unconscious swalot and mightyena. He hesitated over the ninjask, which was eyeing him blearily from the muddy ground. Its wings were completely soaked through; it couldn't fly even if it wanted to. Recalling it into the pokeball now, the damp would fester, damaging the delicate tissue of its wings permanently.

Haru scooped the insect up in his arms, feeling the fragility of its husk-like body. Hunching to keep off the rain, Haru carried it into the dry cave and placed it on the ground. Sitting down cross-legged, he watched the ninjask flutter its wings, attempting to shake off the accumulated moisture. Haru pulled his portable heater from his pack and switched it on high. The ninjask chittered questioningly and then crawled closer to the heat.

Up and down, up and down. The boy was breathing, Haru was sure now. But he hadn't stirred from his position slumped against the cave wall.

And when he did stir, what then?

Even an idiot could put two and two together. The boy had come across Haru in the company of a tropius. Then he'd witnessed Haru giving a command to a tropius leading a wild herd.

A burst of anger wriggled through Haru like a worm. He shouldn't have followed me. He shouldn't have tried to attack the herd. If he had just . . .

But there were no ifs. Every thread of fate spun out: thin, bright, and utterly immutable.

Haru poked lightly through the boy's sopping clothing and found a shorted-out pokedex and a pokenav on the fritz. Haru rubbed it dry against his shirt. The boy's pack mostly contained snack food and cup noodles, mixed with an assortment of potions. There was a spare set of clothes at the bottom, but no tent. It wasn't the pack of someone who planned to spend a night out in the wild.

The rain was lessening. He didn't notice at first: there was something about the rain out here that made you believe it would go on forever. But the drumbeat gradually softened and then subsided to a trickle.

Haru was still sitting, staring blankly at the orange light of the space heater, when Heconilia nudged him hard in the side. Her eyes were bright and calm now, like she'd come to a decision. She trilled a long, melancholy note.

"Time for you to go, huh," Haru said. His voice felt unbearably small.

Heconilia trilled again. This time she seemed concerned.

"I'll be fine," Haru said reflexively. Then he looked around at the cramped, makeshift shelter of the rock formation and the unconscious boy. "I'll take care of it, don't worry, Heconilia." He smiled, though the contortion felt tight and strange. "I'm happy for you," he said.

Heconilia pressed her face against his one last time. She smelled like the rain forest. Then she ducked outside, where the other tropius were gathered, stretching their wings to soak in the emerging sunlight.

The tropius that Haru had come to think of as Heconilia's mate came to her side. After a moment of silent conference, Heconilia trilled, and the herd lifted into the air. Clustered together, they looked like a small forest taking flight.

With their absence, the peak seemed bare and mysterious. Haru stared out at the clumps of dark foliage, almost expecting another person to suddenly emerge, as the boy had done. But everything remained still and quiet, as the sun crept over the undergrowth.

Bzzzzt, bzzzt.

The buzz of the ninjask's wings broke the silence. The thin, translucent membranes dried quickly under heat. Haru turned to find the small insect regarding him with curious red eyes.

"How do you feel?" Haru asked softly. The ninjask vibrated its wings experimentally and rose a few inches into the air. "Good."

He needed to get his thoughts together. He needed to think.

The boy was still lying inert— the boy. He didn't know his name. And the boy had never asked for Haru's name. That was crucial. Even if he reported what happened, no one would know who . . .

Except that ranger. Feng. She would remember his name and his eight badges.

Eight badges. He'd told the boy that.

Stupid, stupid.

How many trainers traveled Route 119 on the off-season with eight badges? How many male trainers, with— Haru didn't think his features were particularly distinctive. He was taller than most. He wore his dark hair long, in popular Johtoan style, but he doubted the boy would have noticed that through his rain slicker. He scrunched his face, mind aching to recall every single detail.

If he left now—

Haru drew in a short breath.

It was dangerous for a person to stay unconscious for very long. If Haru left now, the boy might not wake up.

Haru turned back to the boy's pack, dumping out its contents onto the rocky ground. Buried under a pack of Magmar Crisps, extra spicy, he found what he was looking for: the boy's emergency beacon. Haru patted his side. His own beacon was clipped firmly to his belt, there to be pressed in case of emergencies. It was arrogant to keep your beacon buried at the bottom of a backpack. It was stupid.

The boy's beacon was functional, at least. Haru turned it over and found a peeling label that read Wei Luo. Activating the beacon would immediately trigger an alarm in the two ranger stations on Route 119. A team would be sent out at once, riding swellow and skarmory. With the shower over, they would arrive quickly. How long would he have to get away? An hour? A half hour? Less?

He looked at his watch. Somehow it was already past noon. Time felt viscous, like something he was moving through.

Would it be better to stay until the rangers came and try to explain? He could lie . . . but when Wei woke up, the boy's story would contradict his and the rangers would know Haru's name. They would send out a patrol, find Heconilia.

No, better to be long gone.

The gurgle of his stomach broke the post-storm silence. Haru absently dug a power bar out from his pack. The sweet, nutty taste cleared his head a little.

He ducked out from the shelter and straightened to stand on the peak. With the sky temporarily clear, he could look out on to the rest of the rainforest, sweeping out in green waves in all directions. He and Heconilia hadn't followed a straight path, especially in their final rush. According to his nav, he could cut out diagonally and hit the main road in less than an hour, if he kept to a quick pace.

Haru placed the space heater back in his pack and checked the boy again, making sure his legs were slightly raised, and returned his pokeballs to his belt. He hesitated over the last pokeball. The ninjask was still watching him intently.

"You're all dry now, right?" Haru said. "Ready to go back in?"

As his finger edged towards the release mechanism, the ninjask moved, faster than his eye could follow, knocking the pokeball out of his hands.

Haru stared in confusion at the small yellow insect. It hadn't followed up with an attack.

"Don't worry," he said after a moment, unsure how the ninjask was interpreting his exit. "I'm going to get help for your trainer. He'll be fine. Would you rather stay outside your ball and wait?"

Haru couldn't see the harm in that. He picked up the fallen pokeball and placed it lightly on the ground next to the boy.

Then Haru swung his pack onto his shoulders. He removed the outer layer of the boy's beacon and pressed the large button in the center three times in quick succession. The beacon flashed red and let out a mechanical whine.

Activated. There wasn't another moment to waste.

Haru closed Wei's damp fingers around the beacon and stepped out from the cave. He double-checked the heading on his nav. As he began the steep descent down the peak, picking his steps with care between the slippery leaves, he heard a buzzing sound behind him. The ninjask!

Exasperated, Haru swung around. "You need to stay with your trainer!"

Intent red eyes met his own. "Ja-j-j-j," the insect chittered loudly. It buzzed forward and settled on Haru's head, small but strong pincers clamping onto his hair.

Haru stood frozen. He could imagine the bustle at the ranger's station, the triangulation of the signal, the trained teams of swellow being harnessed.

"What are you doing? What do you want? I told you I can't stay."

Haru began to jog forward, hoping the motion would make the ninjask understand that Haru was not going back. But the ninjask clung firmly to his head, its back pincers tangling with his hair.

He was running now, his nav held out in front of him. The ground was exceedingly slippery from the rain, but it was easier going than it had been coming. His mind and body seemed attuned: his feet picked out the way without stumbling, swerving to avoid sudden obstacles, ducking beneath low-lying vines, and clearing treacherous roots. A cramp cut into his abdomen like a steel razor, but Haru ignored it. When he paused at last to catch his breath, it had been twelve minutes. According to his nav, he had traveled 1.2 miles.

Haru reached up and pried the ninjask off his head.

"I'm not a pokemon trainer anymore," he told it, panting. "If you want to leave your old trainer, fine, but don't come with me."

But as he spoke, Haru realized his mistake. This ninjask wouldn't survive a sustained rainstorm on its own. And the insect pokemon wasn't built for long-term travel, only short, quick bursts of motion. If another storm came, it would not be able to make it safely out of the forest.

Haru's stomach twisted painfully. How was it that at every turn he was trapped?

The ninjask sat docile in his hands, watching him closely.

"You can stay with me until we are out of the rainforest," Haru said finally. "But no longer. Do you understand?"

It let out a loud cry and shot out of his arms, settling once more on his head. This time, the grip was not as uncomfortably tight.

"I'll take that as a yes," he muttered. Then he glanced up. Through a crack in the canopy, he could see the sky was darkening again. A droplet of water plunked into his eye. Route 119 never went long without rain.

Only another mile until he'd reach the road. His legs ached and his lungs were still burning, but that didn't matter. He had to press on.

His right hand, hanging by his side, brushed against Heconilia's pokeball.

I should …I should really get rid of that.

Haru glanced around once to confirm that he was alone. Then he dropped to his knees in front of a verdant patch of foliage and shoved the pokeball deep inside the moss. He looked over his shoulder again, feeling like a criminal disposing of a body.

The pokeball couldn't have weighed more than a few ounces, but Haru felt oddly light now that his belt was empty. He set off again at a jog more sustainable than his earlier sprint. Above, he could hear the rain picking up. But the crack of thunder made him pause.

The ranger had mentioned something about that. Thunderstorms in the late afternoon, hadn't she said? Bad weather always liked to make an early entrance.

A tug on his hair drew his attention to the ninjask. "You shouldn't be out in this rain," Haru realized. But the ninjask's pokeball was back with the boy. It was lying back there on the ground, of no use to anyone now. Haru's stomach twisted. "You'll have to get in my pack." He uncinched the protective outer cover and held it open. The ninjask seemed to understand: it didn't hesitate before shooting inside.

Haru's pack was well-made. It should stand up to the partial rain beginning to penetrate the canopy. Once he reached the road, there would be space to use an umbrella.

He hurried on, listening to the groan and crash of the storm developing overhead. Lightning was flashing every few seconds by the time he reached the road. The path was muddy and spotted with growing pools of water, but the lack of protruding roots and slippery leaves came as a relief. He set off, unfurling his umbrella. In the distance, he could make out other umbrellas. A few were heading towards him, but most were moving north towards Fortree Station, the nearest waypoint.

Haru slowed to a brisk walk as he neared the other umbrellas, trying to force his breathing to a steady rhythm. He wondered if the other travelers could sense something off about him. He was drenched, of course, but other than that, did he look out of the ordinary? They couldn't know just from looking at him what had happened over the last hour.

The wind was picking up. Haru grasped his umbrella tightly. Up ahead, another trainer did not—the wind picked their umbrella up and shot it up into the air like a bottle cork.

As Haru rounded the final bend to the northern ranger station, the route grew even more crowded with trainers seeking shelter from the thunderstorm. He swung through the revolving door to the station and found himself in a queue. Stowing his umbrella and pulling down the hood of his slicker, he took in large gulps of the filtered air, appreciating how perfectly dry everything was.

"Next!" the ranger shouted and Haru shuffled forward. "Any captured Pokémon to declare?" the ranger asked him, her eyes fixed on the growing line.

"No," Haru said, and then inspiration struck. "I'm not a trainer."

It wasn't a lie, not fully. Heconilia had been his last category one pokemon.

"Regional ID, please."

He pulled out the slim card, glad he'd taken the time last month to fill out the paperwork to request it. Then he hesitated. It would look odd, wouldn't it, to have a different ID listed going out from going in?

The ranger noticed his frown. "Is something wrong?" she said. "If you've lost your belongings in the storm, you'll have to fill out an LP-3."

"It's not that," Haru said quickly. "It's just—" He smiled sheepishly. "I've only just quit being a trainer. I realized I used my old trainer ID coming in. That's not a problem, is it?"

The ranger sighed. "Happens all the time. I suppose you thought you'd just wait for it to expire rather than closing it out properly? Give it here. And I'll need the regional ID too."

She shot another glance at the line behind him.

"Are you the only ranger on duty to handle all of this?" Haru asked.

"Not usually, no, but everyone else is out answering an SOS. Probably a false alarm, as usual, but what can you do? Especially with the thunderstorms coming on."

She was typing now and didn't see Haru's face go pale.

"Okay," she said after a moment. "Your Class B license is canceled. I've updated your information in our system with your regional ID."

"Thank you," Haru said effusively. He stepped quickly away from the desk as the ranger shouted, "NEXT!"

A broad smile broke across his face as he came out into the open air again. The rain dropped off after a few minutes of walking: Route 119's micro-climate was extremely localized. After ten minutes he reached the pokemon center and had no trouble securing a small private room in the guest wing. Fortree didn't see many visitors on the off-season. Stripping off his wet clothes, he collapsed gratefully onto the thin, dry cot.

A plaintive cry from his pack made him sit up. He had completely forgotten about the ninjask.

Haru uncinched his pack and the yellow insect shot out to hover in the middle of the room. It began to explore its new surroundings. When it approached the window, Haru crawled over on the bed and flung the panel open. He expected the ninjask to dart out, but it only stared outside thoughtfully and then landed back on Haru's head.

"I told you already," Haru said. "You can't stick around with me. I'm not a trainer anymore."

The ninjask ignored this. After a moment, it let out a shrill cry that seemed to pierce the thin walls. Haru glanced around nervously. This wasn't the trainer wing. If someone made a noise complaint, he didn't know how he could explain the bug pokemon's presence. The ninjask didn't seem ready to quiet down anytime soon. Another cry made Haru flinch.

What did it want? The window was still hanging open. If it was unhappy, nothing was stopping it from leaving. Think, Haru told himself. It's throwing a tantrum—why?

Another slow breath and he had it.

"You're hungry, aren't you?"

The ninjask fell silent, buzzing expectantly over to Haru's pack. With a sigh, he got to his knees and began to rifle around. He hadn't brought any pokemunch for this trip, just some berries for Heconilia. There were a few still secure in their casing, but the ninjask eyed them unhappily.

Haru flipped open his pokedex and scrolled to the entry for ninjask. Sap, of course. He could probably grab a couple of honey packets from the cafeteria. The 'dex page also came with a set of physiognomy charts. Haru looked from the image to the ninjask's small pincers. "You're female, huh."

Hadn't the boy called her Stinger? Haru frowned. What a nonsensical nickname. Ninjask didn't even carry a sting.

"Do you mind if I call you Atalanta?" Haru said. "The name's from an old story, about a woman who gained the blessing of Suicune. They say she ran so swiftly no man, woman, or pokemon could match her."

He decided to take the ninjask's gurgle as approval. "I'm going to get you some food, Atalanta," he said, praying that she would keep quiet while she waited.

Besides the honey, he purchased a hearty meal for himself in the cafeteria, along with a glass of hot cider. He ate in his room, next to Atalanta, who sucked away happily at the honey, and listened to the far-off crash of thunder. Now that he was safely indoors, the rain sounded less like a drumbeat and more like an elaborate dance, like the stage shows his grandmother had taken him to see in Ecruteak. She had told him that the dancer's every step and turn held a particular meaning, for someone who knew how to interpret the signs. Maybe the rain was the same way.

He leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes to listen. At once, exhaustion beat down on him. Haru doubted he would need his sleeping spore tonight. Sleep was already lapping over him like rising water. In the drowsy lull between waking and sleep, he thought he caught a pattern to the rain dance. Then warm fatigue took over and he heard nothing.

.

The shrill ring of a pokenav woke him abruptly to darkness. Haru reached for his nav and raised it to his face. The device was dark. The ringing didn't stop.

Haru followed the sound, stumbling over to the bathroom door, where his rain slicker was hung out to dry. There was a second pokenav in the right pocket.

Wei's nav.

He didn't remember taking it.

The ringing filled the small dark room, persistent and foreboding. Haru waited until the device rung itself out and then lifted it cautiously, like he was handling a feral pokemon. A message banner was flashed across the screen.

Marve: hey

did u nab a tropus?

Haru had heard that name before—Wei's buddy, who dealt in illegal eggs. He stared at the bright screen until its outline wavered before his sleep-bleary eyes. Navs could be traced. That was the important point. He had to dump it as soon as he could.

An anonymous grinning face, bent over a nest. The image followed him as he sank back into bed.

Seamlessly, speculation slipped into dream. Behind him, Heconilia cried long, desperate trills. He was standing on the roof of a vast canopy and the forest stretched out like a giant lake. Suicune watched him from the far bank.

"I've done everything I can," he told her.

She made no reply, but her fixed, heavy gaze didn't waver.

His voice shook as he said, "What more is there?"

"It will cost you."

The voice blew past him like a wind. Under him, the canopy swayed, as if shaken by a giant. A heavy mist was rising around them. Through it, he could just make out the dark outline of Suicune's body, her eyes glowing points of red.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the canopy under him had also turned to mist. Cost, the wind whispered, as he plummeted down, down, down . . .

The next morning, when he woke, the window hung ajar. The air that wafted in was cool and dry, like the breath of the North wind.

 

[Pen]

Chapter 4 - The Waypoint​

The ring cut the dewy morning like the shriek of a ghost. Haru stopped short, his heart thudding, before common sense caught him up. Wei's nav was gone, soaked in the bathtub until the power shorted. He'd tossed it with his breakfast down the cafeteria dumpster.

Haru pulled his vibrating nav from his pocket: 10 am on a Sunday. It was time for the family conference call. He glanced around Route 121—Atalanta was happily occupied by a bunch of blooming flowers—and accepted the video call. His mother and sister were already on, both of them framed by the muted wallpaper of their company break-rooms.

"Your father can't join us today," Mother said at once. "He's in a meeting."

Haru just nodded. After everything that had happened yesterday, he didn't trust himself to sound normal. Luckily, Erika, who tended to be tactical in these matters, had saved the story of her promotion for the weekly call. Haru was able to listen quietly as Mom oohed and ahhed over every detail. It was easy to let Erika take the center stage—it tended to happen anyway, whether he wanted it to or not. Erika was the oldest, the success story. His parents had named her after the famous Kantonian gym leader who started a multinational perfume company, all ladylike delicacy and hard-headed business acumen. Haru wasn't sure he believed that names shaped destinies—but his parents seemed to have pulled it off with Erika.

Haru had been named at his grandmother's urging. She had wanted at least one traditional name preserved in the family. Her own father had been a Haru, and his father's father. "It may be that a Haru once knelt before Lord Ho-oh himself. So you must always cherish this name and act to bring honor upon everyone who has borne it before you."

"Well, Haru?"

The impatience in his mother's voice made his back stiffen. He must have tuned out a question.

"Excuse me, Mother, what was that?"

Mother and Erika exchanged an all-too-familiar glance. Haru privately called it the "Oh, Haru" glance. It had been cropping up with increasing regularity in the past year.

"Mother was asking whether you'd finished dropping off all your pokemon yet," Erika interjected. Mother hated to repeat herself.

"Yes. Heconilia was the last." The lie came out smoothly enough. But their attention was on him now.

"To some ranger program, you said?"

"That's right, Mother. Tropius don't do well outside their native habitats, so it was the best thing for her."

"It's taken some time, though. Where are you now?"

"Just outside Lilycove."

"And when does your internship begin?"

"In eight days." He was answering on automatic now, falling into the familiar rhyme of interrogation.

"Eight days? And you'll be able to make it to Mauville on time all the way from there? Not by foot, I hope."

"The Lilycove ferry goes direct to Slateport, and it takes less than a day from there. I'll rent a bike."

"Hmph. And that fossil pokemon of yours is taken care of?"

"Yes, she's already settled in at the lab."

"And what about you? Have you finalized your housing arrangements in Mauville?"

Haru blinked, thrown. Housing. He stared at the flashing red light of the video call, his mind gone completely blank.

"Wake up, Haru!" Mother said sharply. "You aren't a pokemon trainer anymore. You'll need an actual apartment to stay in. Mauville's housing is notoriously expensive. You should have been working on this last month. I thought you had been."

The rebuke hit Haru like a slap. What was the matter with him? Every year he'd attended the Hoenn league, he'd booked his room months in advance, refusing to trust the overflow lodgings or rough it in a tent while he competed. He had known giving up his trainer's license meant an end to free pokecenter lodging. But somehow, with everything, the pieces hadn't come together in his mind.

"You're right, Mother," he said quietly. "I'll figure something out."

Frustrated with himself, Haru fell silent as his sister spoke up hastily with an amusing story from her last staff meeting.

This fuzziness—this aimless, wild feeling—had to end. He would catch the next ferry out of Lilycove, Haru resolved. That would leave him a full week to devote to apartment hunting.

The call was drawing to a natural close, like a receding tide. Haru felt he had to make amends. "I should have time to make a stop at the Lilycove shopping center," he said. "Is there anything you want?"

Mother wanted her Ecruteak teas. Erika wanted some complicated battery pack from Unova. "They're the best value for money and of course they're impossible to get here, what with how Devon locks down the market—sorry, Mother, but you know it's true. You should be able to find them on the basement floor. Ask for the Zeno Mark VII pack, okay?"

Haru nodded.

"Oh, and Haru," said his mother, "Nya-Nya is doing quite well, by the way. She's a very docile pokemon. I've even started to take her out on errands with me and received several compliments on her behavior!"

Nya-Nya had had a hard time of it in the upper levels of competitive battling. She deserved some pampering and ease.

"I'm glad you two are getting on," Haru said with a smile. It felt odd, still stretched across his face, when the call ended. He picked his nav back up and switched over to the newsfeed.

Another wurmple outbreak. Some act of terrorism over in Johto.

Atlanta tugged impatiently at his hair. Haru glared up at the ninjask. "What are you in such a hurry for? I'm doing something important." Nothing about a death on Route 119. If something had gone wrong with Wei, it would have made the headlines, right? It would have been a story. If he saw nothing, that meant everything had gone fine.

Another painful tug. Haru set his nav down and plucked the insect pokemon off his head. "Do you want to know what I was doing? I was checking for news about your trainer. You know, your trainer?" Uncomprehending red eyes met his own. "Aren't you worried about him?"

Haru doubted the ninjask had understood what all the business with the emergency signals had been about. From her perspective, they'd left the boy slumped on the ground, still as a corpse.

"Aren't you worried about your trainer?" Haru tried again, shivering slightly as Atalanta's unblinking gaze didn't alter. When nincada evolved into ninjask, Haru knew, the lifeless husk they shed in the process animated into a new being.

Did ninjask even understand the concept of death?

The thought made him go cold. He stood quickly, cinching his pack. It was another two hour's brisk walk to Lilycove.

"Hey, you up for a quick battle?"

Haru's heart flipped. He wheeled around and saw a smiling trainer standing next to a bright-eyed zangoose.

I'm not a trainer . . . would sound ridiculous when he had a ninjask buzzing over his head.

"Sorry, I'm a coordinator," he called back. His shoulders slumped with relief when the trainer simply nodded and kept walking, her zangoose at her heels. Around Lilycove coordinators were thick as wurmple. Still, he really had to deal with Atalanta.

Any metropolitan pokemon center would accept the ninjask for re-settlement. But their first action would be to scan for an identifying chip. Atalanta would register as Wei Luo's pokemon and Haru wouldn't be able to escape the questions.

Frustrated, Haru shook his head. A solution would suggest itself eventually. One had to.

.

Haru knew he was getting close to Lilycove when the fog began to thicken. Lilycove was on the sea and even in the summer months the fog crept deep inland, lingering through the afternoon.

Haru had visited Lilycove many times and the cobblestone streets of the city were wide, but he still felt uncertain as he traced his way to the mall. The fog hid the vast bulk of Lilycove's shopping center, so it was with surprise that he stopped a few yards away from the flashing lights of the entrance.

He hadn't met anyone in the streets; it was as if Lilycove's entire population was congregated within the mile-long shopping center. The lobby was hot with the press of bodies. Most people had the sense to keep their pokemon stowed, but a few flying-types soared overhead and an errant linoone was winding between shoppers' legs.

The import-tea store was where he remembered it, tucked in a rare quiet side-corner. The old woman who ran the shop didn't seem to alter with time. She was wearing a formal kimono in a deep shade of purple. A couple was browsing the shop, speaking loudly in Kalosian. The shopkeeper was ignoring them, but she gave Haru a small nod when he came in. He wasn't sure if she really recognized him or had just noted the Johtoan cut of his hair. He picked out a set of strong red teas for his mother and added in a small packet of sencha for himself.

Piloting on automatic, he took the elevator up and turned left, into 10ib Pack, the best value-for-money training goods store in Hoenn. Nothing there was high-end, but it all worked reliably, a cut above the goods sold by street vendors, and far less expensive than league-sanctioned pokemarts. Entering, Haru had to step quickly to the side to avoid a girl racing by with her combusken. He stood still for a moment, thrown. What was he doing here? He had no training supplies to buy. He wasn't a trainer anymore.

Feeling off-balance, Haru hurried out of the store. His sister's battery pack would be on the lower levels. There were no walk-in stores down there, just stands where vendors hawked their goods. Haru passed racks of phones, good luck charms, and mechanical odds and ends. He didn't give any of it more than a quick glance. But when he caught a scruffy man hawking pokeballs for 1,200 apiece, Haru felt himself slowing in disbelief.

"1,200?" he said out loud. "That's insane."

The man smirked. "What do you mean? These are free." He emphasized the last word strangely.

Free. The slang rang the vaguest of bells. That meant . . . a pokeball without an identification number or tracker. The kind of pokeball a criminal used.

"Right," Haru managed. But he didn't walk quickly away as he would have once done. He was thinking about the ninjask. If he wanted to transport it on the ferry, it would be best if he had a pokeball.

"Do you sell pokeballs that work even if the pokemon already has an ID tag?"

The man stiffened at the question and subjected Haru to a sharp once-over. "You want a broken ball?"

Guessing that was the slang, Haru gave a short nod.

"That'll cost you more than this free merchandise, for sure. And I don't carry them, anyway. You can get in a lot of trouble doing that." He eyed Haru suspiciously. Who does he think I am? Some kind of undercover agent? Haru almost smiled. The dealer's speculations were likely far more glamorous than the reality of Haru's situation.

"Okay," Haru said. "I was just asking." It had been a stupid idea anyway.

"Wait." He looked back. The vendor met his gaze steadily. "I might know a guy. Interested?"

His backpack twitched.

"I'm interested," he answered despite himself.

.

Haru woke on Monday morning feeling queasy to his stomach. His window might as well have been a gray curtain for all he could see out of it. Lilycove, he reminded himself. Still Lilycove.

A small bowl of rice and a cup of sencha brewed in his single-serve teapot were all he felt he could hold down. He huddled in the corner of the cafeteria for the rest of the morning, scrolling through his newsfeed. At some point, the action became mechanical. The words blurred, sliding senselessly past.

At 9:37 he headed back to the shopping center. The difference from the weekend was stark; Haru took the escalator down to the basement level alone, feeling horribly exposed.

"You're early," the pokeball seller drawled when he caught sight of Haru. "He won't be. You should browse."

So Haru lost himself for a while between colored scarves that flew like flags and shelves of hand-carved icons. One caught his eye—a suicune carved from an albino wood, the eyes set with some red jewel. "Real ruby!" the seller burbled when she noticed him looking. Haru doubted that, but he threw down a few yuan notes and stuck the icon in his belt bag.

Past ten now. He circled back to the northwest section. A man who couldn't have been too many years older than Haru had joined the pokeball vendor. Hoenese, with his black hair jelled into stiff spikes. He was wearing an electric-blue trenchcoat made from some shiny vinyl material. When Haru approached, the pokeball vendor nudged him.

"You my client?" he called out, and Haru nodded. "Okay," the man said, pausing as a wide yawn split his face. "Broken ball, right? 1,000 yuan."

Haru felt his jaw drop. "Don't be ridiculous," he managed after a moment. "300 is all I'm prepared to pay. Which is already generous."

"Don't lecture me on what's generous, Pretty-Boy," the man said. "What I'm selling, you're not gonna get anywhere else here, and you're gonna go through a lot more to get it, too. So don't mess with me. 1,000 or we don't have any deal."

1,000 was . . . far too much. He'd need that kind of money for rent once he reached Mauville. Haru shook his head and backed away.

"You're the one who's mistaken," he said quietly. "I don't need what you're selling. So take 500 or I'm leaving, and believe me, I won't be back."

The man met his eyes with a scowl. "You got it on you? In cash?"

"Yes," Haru said cautiously, glancing around to make sure they weren't completely alone. He didn't expect the two men to jump him, but he had no assurance that they wouldn't.

"Let me see."

Haru pulled out the wads of money jerkily and made a show of counting them. "Now you," he said, his voice steadier than his heart, which was speeding wildly.

"What?"

"I want to test your merchandise."

The man gave a shrug after a moment and produced a single pokeball. It didn't have any special markings; it just looked like a normal pokeball, a little scuffed. Haru uncinched his pack and held his hand over the opening to stop Atalanta from bursting out. "Hold still, okay?"

When he pressed the capture mechanism, the inside of the pack lit up with red light. The ball didn't even shake once before clicking shut. Haru let out a breath and handed the money over without speaking, his grip on the pokeball tight.

The man seemed much happier with the cash in his hand. He came over and gave Haru a slap on the back. "Nice doing business with you. If you ever need anything else, just ask around for Marve."

Haru must have made a sound. The man stepped back with a frown.

"I—I think I've heard of you," Haru said. "Is it true that you—trade in eggs?"

"Might be." The man narrowed his eyes and looked Haru over. "This isn't the place for that kind of talk, though. I'll be hanging around the Gyarados' Head tonight if you want to talk real business."

He left before Haru could answer, swallowed by the growing crowd. Haru stood still, staring at nothing.

"You mind budging along?" the pokeball seller said after a moment. "I've got merch to move, you know."

"Sorry," Haru said breathlessly. He started away at a brisk walk, his pace increasing as he approached the exit. When he stumbled out into the fresh, wet air he was almost running.

The ferry now, he told himself when he was back in his room. His belongings were packed and ready to go. But exhaustion had hit him like a hammer. He dropped back on his bed and fell into sleep with Atalanta's new pokeball clutched to his chest.

.

It was late afternoon when he finally set out for the ferry and the sky was already beginning to shade into twilight. He felt groggy from the daytime nap, like his body was something separate from himself. He also felt strangely at ease. It was funny—Haru knew intellectually that both the purchase and possession of the pokeball that now held Atalanta were illegal. But he felt safer with the pokeball than he had felt without it.

When the grinning head of a gyarados loomed suddenly through the fog, Haru stopped short, his breath coming fast. Blinking, he registered that the gleaming fangs were plastic. The sinister red light of its eyes came from small electric bulbs.

Haru flinched when an arm slung around his shoulders, pressing down hard. A voice exclaimed into his ear, "Pretty-boy! You came."

Before Haru could say anything, Marve had already maneuvered him into the dark entrance of the bar. The bouncer gave them a quick, apathetic glance and waved them in without asking for ID.

The bar was cramped and badly-lit. In one corner a small stage was set off, in another, arcade games whizzed and glittered. Marve's bright blue trench coat glinted in the strobe light as he made his way over to the counter. Haru followed him slowly, feeling as if he had stumbled into a bad dream.

"Order whatever you want! It's on me—well, it's on you, really. It's your money I've been drinking," Marve said. He tipped back his head and laughed uproariously, as if he had just said something immensely funny.

"Sake," Haru answered automatically, but he grimaced when the bartender slammed down a golden can in front of him. He loved the slimly tapered neck of a traditional bottle. Sake in a can missed the whole point.

But that was Hoenn for you, Haru reflected, surprised by the bitterness of the thought.

"So," said Marve, knocking back something pink and strong-smelling. "You looking for a life of crime?"

Haru shook his head, staring at his canned sake. He felt strangely paralyzed, still lethargic from his daytime nap.

"Scared, huh?"

Haru shook his head again.

"Aw, you don't have to put on a brave face for me. I know your type. Bet you used to spend sleepless nights worrying you'd filled out a form wrong."

Marve grinned widely at Haru's expression. "Oh, I'm right. And then you grew up a bit, didn't you, started to take a look around. And you wondered, who's it all working for, and who's going to stop me? Well, I'll let you in on a secret, Pretty-boy." He leaned in uncomfortably close to Haru's face. Haru flinched at the puff of hot, alcohol-heavy breath that blew against his cheeks. "No one's gonna stop you. All that tauros-shit they feed you in school, about conservation and responsibility? Hah! Tauros-shit," he repeated with evident satisfaction. "It's not like any of them actually give a damn about pokemon. They just want people to follow the law, for pokemon to stick to their place. As long as you don't shake things up too much, the world's your clamperl, there to be prised open."

He was drunk.

Haru didn't have to sit here and listen to this, like a trapped dreamer. Nor did he have to justify himself to this glittering apparition. He stood, tossing down a 1,000 note, and left without looking back.

.

The ferry wasn't far. At the kiosk the woman told him the next ship would depart in 18 minutes. Haru bought himself a ticket and went into the inner lobby to wait. Inside, the floor was dark and so well-polished that he could make out his own reflection peering curiously up at him. The sight made him uneasy, so he looked out the window instead, at the gray expanse of sea.

Haru had grown up knowing the sky belonged to Ho-oh and the sea to Lugia. His grandmother thought it was tempting fate to take a ship and blasphemy to take an airplane. She'd refused to speak to his parents in the months after they'd flown to Hoenn. Maybe she'd have forgiven them in time, if she hadn't . . .

But it was useless to dwell on that. A horn blared, announcing that the ferry had docked. He hurried on board with a few other passengers, though it was clear that the ship was under capacity. The evening was an unpopular travel time: the chilly evening headwind chased everyone below deck.

Haru remained by the railing, staring out as the wind blew cold ocean spray into his face. The fog hid the place where the sky met the sea, leaving only an impenetrable grey shroud. After a few minutes, Haru turned to look back, but Lilycove's harbor was shrouded as well.

As if there was nothing behind him—nothing at all.

 

[Pen]

Chapter 5 - The Safehouse​

Mother was right—Mauville City was ridiculously expensive.

First, Haru had tried to find a room at a newly built apartment complex a few blocks from the pokecenter. The studio flats there were dourly minimalist, with stark white walls and bare concrete floors, but they were clean and private, which was all Haru needed. The realtor warned him that the wait-list was already long and they were selecting tenants 'holistically,' whatever that meant. She'd handed him a ten-page application—previous apartments, job history, income. But his eight badges had impressed her. She'd sent Haru off with a warm handshake and the promise that he'd hear back in no more than a week.

The price-tag, though, for that dark little room . . . Haru doubted his research stipend would stretch that far.

He'd spent the rest of the day inquiring after other listings, but they were either already filled or even more expensive than the apartment building had been. Haru found himself half-heartedly wishing he'd been a little more social on his journey. He didn't know anyone in Mauville nearly well enough to suggest rooming together. Most of the kids in his cohort had dropped off from training after a few years—the remaining trainers had been focused on making it as pros, rocketing from tournament to tournament, and conversation with them was limited to discussion of the latest protein shake blends.

His feet aching from walking up and down the city, and a headache brewing behind his temples, Haru retired to his bed at the pokecenter, trying not to think about how much the stay was costing him. After two hours readjusting his pillow and covers, he gave up and sent himself to sleep with the spore he'd collected from Aporea before dropping her off.

The next day's search wasn't any more fruitful. Evening was drawing on when Haru decided to take his chances with Mauville's lower level. The area had a reputation, but Haru did have a pokemon on him, if it came to that. He stowed Atalanta's pokeball in his jacket pocket and took the screechy lift down.

The contrast was obvious from the moment he stepped out into the streets. The pavement was smeared with oil and dirt, and tents lined the avenue. People were arrayed on the sidewalk—some sitting on crates, others sprawled out on dirty piles of bedding. A few eyes followed Haru as he made his way down the street, unfocused and apathetic. One man approached Haru to ask for money in a hoarse, quiet voice. When Haru shook his head no, the man went back to sitting on his torn quilt without another word. Haru found himself speeding up, though not out of fear. The place seemed more depressing than dangerous.

Anyone who talked about the prosperity of Mauville City should spend some more time down here, Haru thought, averting his eyes as he passed a man defecating on the street.

A few blocks out from the address on the listing, a familiar scent made Haru pause—the smoky, fragrant burn of incense. The scent wafted from a small doorway, set off from the street with nothing more than a faded lavender hanging. The building had no sign announcing its function, though its outer wall was covered by a smeared, amateurish mural, depicting a mixed panoply of mythic pokemon.

Haru hesitated for a moment and then pushed the curtain aside. He stood blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The room inside was lit, but only just, by a few scattered candles and some hanging lamps that emitted dim, yellow light. The carpet was lush and thick, layered with mismatched mats and pillows. Shrines were crammed together along the sides of the room. Haru could make out the rainbow feather of Ho-oh, the double helix strand of Mew, and icons of other gods he didn't recognize. The room was mostly empty, but not deserted. As his eyes adjusted, Haru made out figures spread throughout the room in various states of prayer. The silence was broken only by the occasional whisper of verse or scattered yawn.

A temple. It had been a long time since Haru had been inside one.

He picked his way forward slowly, trying not to trip on the wayward corners of prayer mats, over to the emblem of the rainbow feather and bent to examine the shrine beneath it. The candles were stubs, but they were braided from red, green and white wax. At the center of the shrine a greening copper plate held a sweet-smelling loaf, its crust glazed gold from brushed egg. Haru sniffed the cup to its left and felt his nostrils flare at the powerful, vinegary smell of fermented rice-wine. Something unclenched in his chest. The shrine wasn't beautiful or costly, but it was correct. It was respectful, for all its poverty.

Prostrating himself on the prayer mat, Haru began to work through the traditional blessings. He gave thanks for bread and wine, for sunlight and water. He thanked the evening for ending and the darkness for passing. Halfway through, Haru realized that he had defaulted to the longer version, the priest's version that Grandmother used to insist on.

The prayer for the dead came last. Look to the second sun that waits behind the rainbow. There dwells Ho-oh, Life-Bringer . . .

When he had finished, Haru didn't rise. The room was pleasantly warm and the sweet, smoky perfume of the incense reminded him of the long afternoons he'd spent in the Ecruteak temple as a child, in a stupor that wasn't quite sleep.

Haru's mind had been blank as he prayed. Grandmother had always said that a true prayer demanded nothing from Lord Ho-oh and everything from one's self. With an uneasy twinge, Haru realized that he hadn't brought anything to offer on the shrine, not even simple buns.

Fumbling for a moment through his belt bag, Haru's fingers closed around the wood carving he'd purchased in Lilycove. That was something. What better way to praise Ho-oh than to offer back an emulation of his handiwork? Haru placed the carving gently on the shrine, where the candlelight caught on the figurine's red eyes, making them flash and dance.

"'Scuse me."

The voice made Haru start. He hadn't noticed anyone coming up beside him.

"No disrespect—I don't want to interrupt your prayer."

"That's all right," Haru said. His voice sounded odd, as if it had been pulled from a long way away. "I was finished."

"We don't get too many people at the Ho-Oh shrine. But you're a Johto boy, huh?"

Haru twisted around to face the person addressing him. It was hard to make out her features in the dim light—her skin was very dark.

"That's right."

"I'm from the Sevi Islands, off of Kanto. Grew up putting out milk for Mew." She smiled, her teeth flashing white. "Here, the milk's not so good, but I don't think She holds it against me. I'm Maliki."

"Haru," he said. Instead of holding out his hand, he brought his fist over his chest and made her a seated bow.

His reward was a delighted laugh, loud against the muffled stillness of the prayer room. Haru glanced around hastily, but none of the other worshipers seemed bothered.

"I haven't seen you before. Do you live in the city? Or are you just passing on through?"

"I'll be settling here," Haru said. He huffed an awkward laugh. "As soon as I can find a place to rent, that is."

The woman looked at him carefully. "I usually wouldn't ask a stranger, but I get a good vibe from you. We have a shared place above the shrines, on the second floor. A bit crowded, but I promise you, no stealing, and everyone here minds their own business. We're proper worshipful types, too."

Haru's eyes widened. "What's the price point?"

"About 35,000 a month."

Haru's mind jumped to his bank account. That was less than half of what the apartment complex charged. His stipend could cover it easily—he could probably manage out of pocket for a couple of months, even if the payment came late.

Mother's litany of 'clarifying questions' bubbled up in his mind. Was there in-house laundry? Did the payment include utilities? Did the other tenants use drugs? Were pokemon allowed? Could he see the rooms?

But none of it came out. Instead, Haru said, "I'll take it."

Maliki's grin widened. "You trust your instincts too, huh? I knew we'd get along. You can move in anytime. Your berth will be the third room on the left. We mostly keep the place unlocked. Not much to steal, here, and anyone who tried would bring down the wrath of at least thirty gods."

"I've got about 10,000 on me," Haru said. "The rest I can get you by—"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Keep it, until you're sure this is the place for you. Saves hassle in the long run, don't you think? Friday evenings we always do a group dinner. If you want to meet the others, that's the best time. Try not to come empty-handed though. That wouldn't be a great start."

It all sounded so loose, Haru thought, as he ducked back out onto the street. He'd secured a room, but there had been no paperwork, no key, no money exchanging hands. Mother would be shocked if he told her he'd leased a room without seeing a contract first. But, Haru figured, promises made in a prayer room were probably as good as oaths.

He bought a cheap dinner at an alley-side ramen shop and returned to the pokecenter long enough to gather his belongings, close out his room, and withdraw his savings.

The room turned out to be small, little more than a futon stuffed in a closet, with a single window letting in weak light from the adjoining alley. But Haru didn't plan to spend much time here—his new job at the research station was sure to keep him busy from dawn until dusk. Painting his eyelids with sleep spore, Haru sank into deep, dreamless sleep.

.​

He woke the next morning to the savory smell of something frying.

"Early riser, huh?" Maliki said, when he stumbled into the cramped galley kitchen. He could make out her features better now in the light of early morning. She had an ovular face, arched eyebrows and full lips. Her hair ran down her back like beads on a string, twisted into dark knobs. Something loose and orange was draped over her back, swaying as she slid sizzling nanab berries around in a pan. "Would you like some?"

"I couldn't." Haru already felt like a trespasser in this cramped space. The morning light had revealed the peeling red wallpaper and forgivingly dark brown color of the carpet. Everything here spoke to a poverty his family had never known.

"Sure you can," Maliki answered, in a voice that didn't brook argument. "I always make extra."

Haru sat down heavily on the rickety wood chair. He rested his hands on the table, then moved them to his belt bag, where Atalanta's pokeball was nestled. "I was meaning to ask. Are pokemon allowed here?"

"Allowed?" Maliki quirked an eyebrow. "Sure. I mean, be courteous, if you've got a muk or something."

"No, nothing like that."

She sat opposite him, setting down a plate for each of them. "You a trainer, then?"

"Ex-trainer," he answered quickly, hoping she'd fill in the rest herself. Plenty of ex-trainers kept a few Class C pokemon around.

"What do you do now?"

"I'm starting as an intern. Up on Route 111's lab."

"A researcher?" She eyed him with interest. "Do you follow Doctor Qian's work at all?"

Haru didn't know the name. He shook his head apologetically. "There's so much out there—I'm mostly focused on ecology."

"Too bad. Maybe I'll tell you about her work sometime, huh?"

She flashed a wide grin at that, as if something had struck her as funny.

"I'd like that." Haru dipped his head over his food. The nanab was sweet, the faint bitterness balanced by the crunchy edge. "Oh, I almost forgot. I have the rent for you."

Maliki waved her hand. "What did I say? Keep it until you're sure, okay? If it ends up not working out, it's no skin off my back to have put you up for a night or two."

Haru was struck by the suspicion that this generosity wasn't entirely for his benefit. Maliki wanted to see if he was the kind of person she and her flatmates wanted to keep around.

It had been a long time since Haru had needed to endear himself to anyone that way. For the last five years, his only company had been his pokemon. Other people were incidental, passed on the road, spoken to only on those long nights at the pokecenter when the storms shorted out all power. Haru had never needed to live with them or prove that he was someone worth living with.

Erika had told him he'd have to get used to pleasing other people—career advancement was a delicate balance between hard work, skill, and sucking up, she'd said. Which all sounded hideous. But Haru didn't mind the idea of proving himself to Maliki. Her impeccable hospitality demanded reciprocation.

He finished his meal in silence and insisted on doing the dishes, relieved when Maliki allowed it. She watched him for a moment, presumably to make sure he wasn't about to break anything, and then said, "Catch you later," disappearing down the dark hallway.

When the cleanup was finished, Haru set out westwards, towards Verdanturf. The cramped industrial buildings gave way to an open, floral landscape, brimming with berry trees. The fragrant air brought a smile to his face, though something about Route 117 nagged at him. The serene beauty was almost disturbing, coming directly from Mauville's lower levels. Haru glimpsed gardeners at work along the route, tending to berry trees, weeding flower patches. What society would put such care into creating beauty here, when there was such obvious ugliness and need only a short walk away?

Haru shook his head to banish the thought. Route 117, with its clean, temperate air and excess of flowers, was the perfect place for Atalanta. Taking shelter behind a dense berry thicket, Haru released the ninjask, who let out a pleased chirp. She buzzed into the air and began to flit from flower to flower, trembling with unmistakable joy.

Watching her, Haru felt a sudden rush of shame. He hadn't let her out once since purchasing the pokeball. He'd been so relieved to shut her away, he hadn't even considered it. Ever since Atalanta had chosen to follow him, Haru had been thinking of her as a problem, not a pokemon. She deserved better than that.

"You like it here, huh?" Haru called out. "What do you think about calling this your new home?"

Atalanta detached herself from a blossom and jetted back over to perch on his head, pincers clasping tight around his hair.

"Seriously, why not stay here? There's no reason to stick with me. You don't owe me anything."

Maybe Haru was imagining it—assigning meaning where there was none—but he heard skepticism in Atalanta's answering screech. Frowning, he pulled her from his head.

For the first time, Haru wondered what would have happened to Atalanta, if his path hadn't happened to cross with Wei's. Would her wings have survived that prolonged water exposure, the long walk back? Wei's cheap pack hadn't held any heating equipment. Atalanta's wings might have been disabled for life.

It was a painful thing to contemplate, as he watched her wings vibrate, their delicate, gauzy surface catching copper in the sunlight. A ninjask that couldn't fly couldn't live.

The original Atalanta, Haru remembered suddenly, had declared she would be no one's bride but Suicune's, in gratitude for the gift of speed Suicune had granted her. Atalanta had been the daughter of a powerful lord, promised to the prince of a rival kingdom. Her refusal to wed had drawn both nations into war. But history had not judged her harshly for it—Haru's teachers had always praised Atalanta as an exemplar of piety and sacred obligation.

"Whatever it is you think you owe me," Haru said slowly, picking his words with care, "I want you to make a life here. If I need you, I promise I'll come back and collect the debt."

Atalanta stared at him for a long moment, her red eyes intent. Then, in an abrupt motion, she shot into the air, lingering only a second before setting off between the berry trees. In one blink, she was a yellow speck in the distance.

Haru sank to the ground, floored by relief and a strange exhilaration. He'd guessed right. He'd understood. No studies he'd read—reputable ones, at least—had concluded that pokemon could understand the concept of debts. But how could a situation like this be replicated, anyway? Haru sat for a while, lost in the thought of potential experiments, but every idea seemed inadequate or unethical.

At last he got to his feet, stowing the illegal pokeball in his bag. He regretted the expense now, but there was nothing to be done about it. Whatever he'd said, Haru didn't plan to be back.

This Atalanta's debt could expire in peace.

.​

When Haru made his back into Mauville's downtown, it was already past noon. After fortifying himself with a quick lunch, Haru set himself to the task of shopping, picking up rice, ume, nori, eggs, sweet milk, and a square pan. As he waited in the endless check-out line, his conversation with Maliki that morning came back to him.

"Doctor Qian," Haru typed into his nav, but none of the results seemed right. Searching "Doctor Qian Mauville" brought up an article from a local newspaper, headlined Local Researcher Raises Alarming Questions About Mauville's Power Plant.

The body of the article was only a few slim paragraphs.

Doctor Bai Qian, a local researcher, has released a new study exploring the impact that working at the Mauville Power Plant has on electric pokemon. She argues that the work, generally considered harmless, leaves these pokemon with long-term damage.

In the study, Qian compares 100 wild electrike, magnemite, and voltorb with 100 pokemon of the same species that worked at the power plant, estimating the duration of their work from the data found in their ID chip. She measured these pokemon on a set of health metrics and found that the wild pokemon have, on average, lower stress levels, less instances of electrical degeneration disease, and longer life-spans of five to ten years.

When asked what the public should take away from her research, Doctor Qian told Rewire, "I'm not prescribing policy. But I should think the logical consequence would be an immediate review of the working conditions in the power plant and the methods of voltage extraction."

A spokesperson for Mauville Power Plant stated in response to an email inquiry, "Mauville Power Plant is a testament to what people and pokemon can achieve by working together. The work is safe, rewarding, and mutually beneficial for all."

Haru tried to open the link in the first sentence, but the page was defunct. Try as he might, Haru couldn't find the full study. Eventually he landed on an abstract of the paper, entitled "The Impact of High-Stress Voltage Extraction on Electric Pokemon." It was followed by a short peer review, criticizing the article for citing too few comparable fieldwork experiments.

It seemed to Haru that the author might have cited few comparable field experiments because there were few comparable field experiments. Frowning, he shoved his nav back in his pocket and paid for his groceries.

There was a teenage boy prepping instant noodles when Haru made his way into the kitchen. The boy glanced up suspiciously and took off with his bowl before Haru could say hello. Charming his flatmates would have to wait, then. With a shrug, Haru measured out three cups of rice and began to wash the grains. Two hours later, the onigiri were ready. He wrapped them carefully and stowed them in the fridge for tomorrow evening.

When the kitchen darkened without another appearance of his flatmates, Haru decided to call it a night. Lying on his futon, he quickly skimmed his email. A message from Route 111's lab sat at the top of his inbox. A few friendly words, inviting him to stop by anytime to check on his cradily. Tomorrow, Haru decided. It would be good to scope the lab out before his internship officially began. And he missed Damascus.

Below that—

Haru swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

A message from the Ethics Commission, the league's chief regulatory body.

Haru's breath began to speed. He got messages from the Ethics Commission all the time: legal updates, reminders, even the occasional notice about government internship opportunities. It didn't mean anything had happened.

His breath was coming faster and faster, like Atalanta's beating wings.

He should just open it. It would be something normal, it would be something fine, and if his heart would just stop pounding—

Haru's hand closed around the jar of sleep spore. The bottle was already beginning to look empty at the top. He'd been using it too frequently these last few sleepless weeks. If anyone knew, they would have told him to stop. The consequences of medicating with the pokemon powders were still largely unknown.

Screwing the bottle open, Haru scooped up a generous dollop of sleep spore and smeared it over his eyes. The effect was instantaneous. With a light clatter, the poke-nav tumbled from his limp hand. Haru sank down into his futon, letting the artificial sleep wipe his mind clean.

 

[Pen]

Chapter Six - The Awakening​

The egg sizzled gently in the pan. Haru watched with drowsy eyes as the yolky mixture slowly firmed. He slid his spatula under and rolled it over. Sizzle. Roll. Repeat. Making tamagoyaki was soothing. Grandmother had made it whenever the weather turned rainy. She'd plop the yellow roll down on his plate, warm from the pan, and then he'd have to spend the next ten minutes cajoling her until the omelette was evenly split between them.

Haru seemed to have the kitchen all to himself this morning. It was past nine, and the others were probably off at work. Too bad. He had hoped to return Maliki's favor by making her some breakfast. Like he used to tell Grandmother, the sweet egg omelette was a little big for one.

Haru had never been much for constant conversation, but something about the emptiness of the kitchen suddenly struck him as unbearable. Even Atalanta's frenetic buzzing would have at least filled up the silence.

It would be good to see Damascus again. Spurred on by that thought, Haru showered and dressed. A half-hour later found him walking briskly up the dirt road towards the Mirage Desert laboratory. Haru knew he was getting close when his mouth dried out and his eyes began to sting. The arid weather here was definitely going to take getting used to.

The lab had a modern design, all white curves and wide glass windows. Haru wondered how expensive the upkeep was, what with the fierce desert winds and continual dust storms. Finding the door locked, Haru pressed the buzzer. Once. Twice. No answer. Just as he was holding it down for the third time, a gruff voice crackled, "Deliveries go round the back."

Haru cleared his throat. "Not a delivery, sir. My name's Haru Watanabe? I'm starting as an intern here on Monday. My cradily's already arrived and I heard it would be possible for me to check in on her briefly today."

Haru waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the intercom voice digested this. If they had been in person, he would have punctuated his introduction with a formal bow.

"Watanabe?" the voice finally rumbled. "Ah, yes."

Haru pushed when the door gave a buzz. The long entry hall was flanked by two alcoves crammed with hangers of protective suits and more everyday clothing stuffed in the back. The floor was coated with fine sand. Further in, Haru found a wide lobby, with a broad window that looked out on Mirage Desert. The day was calm and bright, and the desert seemed deceptively still, the flat, dark yellow sands stretching as far as the eye could see. But Haru knew that rock formations, pits, and crumbling towers lay out there as well, obscured for now by a trick of dust and light.

"A marvel, isn't it."

Haru jumped at the voice. He turned to find an older man—Galarian features, bushy orange mustache and balding hair—had come up behind him. The man stuck out his hand.

"Doctor Ogletree, head researcher."

Haru took the proffered hand uncertainly. Up and down they went, twice, before he was released. The doctor's grip was firm and slightly sweaty.

"Lab's empty today," he continued. "Everyone's out on expedition. Would have joined, but my damned lungs are acting up again. Follow me—"

Haru trailed after him, down a long corridor. The doors on either side were shut and the doctor was walking too quickly for Haru to read the nameplates.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor. I enjoy your work," Haru added half-way down the corridor—extremely belatedly, he realized. He felt slow this morning, like he hadn't fully woken up.

The doctor glanced briefly back at him. "You're familiar with the despeciation problem, then?"

It sounded like a test. Luckily, Haru had never had a problem with those, even half-asleep. "Yes, Doctor. Simply put, Hoenn is growing less diverse on the level of species. It's not just that some species are on the verge of extinction, but that the rate of their long-term evolution seems to be slowing."

"Correct," the doctor said gruffly. "Now, how does one go about studying such a long-term phenomenon, when our own scientific records run back only a scant few centuries?" Doctor Ogletree plowed on before Haru could attempt an answer. The question had clearly been rhetorical.

"I study baltoy and claydol. The most fascinating pokemon, from a purely anthropological perspective. Uniquely, we have cave drawings of baltoy and claydol stretching back a millenia. And if you showed a child those drawings, and then showed them a modern baltoy, the kind you might encounter anywhere out there in the desert, they wouldn't hesitate to tell you these pokemon are one and the same. They have hardly altered at all across the many centuries. If we can understand the baltoy—the role they played in ancient civilizations, why they didn't evolve over time—we may find the answers to the national downturn in evolution patterns. Or as some call it, the despeciation problem. Is it normal variance, on a time scale greater than we have the current means to track, or a product of human action? This is by no means a simple question—as it is sometimes portrayed in the popular media. But what answers we can find will begin with the ancient, unchanged patterns of the baltoy."

Doctor Ogletree paused to draw in a breath. He'd halted in the middle of the corridor to deliver his impromptu speech. Clearing his throat, he resumed walking. A few minutes later, the corridor dead-ended at a thick door with a circular observation window.

"The Terrarium," Doctor Ogletree announced.

Stepping inside, Haru was hit at once by a rush of hot, dry air. He was standing in an enormous, high-roofed room. The walls on two sides and the ceiling itself were constructed out of glass, amplifying the heat of the mid-morning sun. The ground was all sand dune, interspersed here and there with patches of flowering succulents and prickly pear. Rock formations lay scattered across the sands, and in the distance light glinted off a small oasis. Looking closer, Haru spotted the telltale signs of trapinch digs and caught the buzz of vibrava somewhere out of sight. Several sandshrew were sunbathing on the closest slab of rock, seeming content to ignore the intrusion.

"The cradily keep close to the oasis," Doctor Ogletree said. He made his way laboriously through the sand. Haru followed, stopping occasionally to stare at a particularly intricate succulent, or the red flash of a baltoy spinning by. He couldn't begin to imagine the cost of maintaining such an impressive space. Safe to say, this research center was well-funded. He wouldn't have to worry about his stipend being delayed.

A few lileep peeped up their heads as they neared the oasis.

"Damascus?" Haru called out. A high whine sounded from behind a thick outgrowth of cacti. An instant later, a familiar green head poked out.

Haru smiled as the pokemon inched closer, reaching out to feel his face with one sensitive pink tendril. Satisfied by whatever information the examination had conveyed, Damascus let out another whine, this one pleased.

Damascus herself wasn't a fossil resurrection. She'd come from a breeding colony, a decades long attempt to build back up the lileep and cradily population in the Mirage Desert. Species restoration was very trendy these days, in popular media as well as the scientific world—restoring Hoenn's ancient glory, people said. As the colony stabilized and became more well-known, they'd announced a fellowship-contest—a few lucky trainers would be selected to travel with a lileep, logging its daily habits and growth. When he'd caught wind of that, Haru had thrown up training for his gym battle and spent the rest of the week locked in his cramped pokecenter room, laboring over his essay submission. The work had paid off: he'd been one of only seven trainers chosen. The months that had followed, diligently logging his lileep's diet, emotive responses and battling progress were the first time he'd seriously considered a career in research. And the fellowship was probably what had made the difference for him in landing this internship.

"How're things treating you here, Damascus?" Haru asked softly. Her tendrils retracted and widened, a sign of contentment. One reached out to trail questioningly up his face. And you?

Haru swallowed, staring down at the yellow swirls on the cradily's face. They weren't actually eyes, only their simulacrum. Cradily lived in a world of sound vibrations and touch sense. So she felt the tension in his jaw as he struggled to form an answer. Damascus, with her solemn way of listening, would have made the perfect confidant. But Professor Ogletree was standing just meters away, observing their interaction. Haru couldn't say anything that was on his mind.

"I'm good," he said aloud, for the professor's benefit. Even if she recognized the sound-patterns, Damascus was unlikely to believe him. "After all, I'm here. Do you miss battling, Damascus?"

The cradily considered this, her tendril wavering. At last she raised her right tendrils up and lowered her left tendrils down. Haru huffed a low laugh, recognizing Damascus' imitation of a human shrug.

"Take it or leave it, huh? Same for me."

Damascus extended a second set of tendrils to roam his body. Haru knew she was checking him for injury, attempting to locate the root of his distress. He hoped Doctor Ogletree knew less about the behavior patterns of cradily than he did about baltoy.

"This terrarium is amazing," Haru said to the head researcher, before he could comment on Damascus' actions. "How many cradily are here?"

"Just yours at the moment. They're a tad large for the space. When the lileep evolve we send them out to the colony."

"Would you like to go to the colony?" Haru asked Damascus. "Maybe you could find a mate there, just like—"

Heconilia. He clamped his mouth shut before the word could escape. Heconilia wasn't supposed to have a mate.

The silence hung awkwardly. Damascus' tendrils were now latched on to each of Haru's pulse points.

"How big is the colony now?" Haru pressed on desperately, turning back to Doctor Ogletree, who shrugged.

"Big and growing bigger. That's Bingqing's project, though, you'd have to ask her. Very admirable, I'm sure, and of course, the physiological knowledge can't hurt, but for anyone with an interest in social conditions the setup is completely untenable. Far too many external factors." He huffed in a breath, clearly irritated at the thought. "There, you've seen your cradily now. I do have work to do, I'm afraid—can't babysit all day."

Haru fought back a rush of indignation at the word 'babysit.' This man was the head of research, possibly the most important person in the entire station. He probably wasn't accustomed to spending his time with interns. And though Haru considered himself a careful person, he hadn't had a lab orientation yet. He could see why the doctor didn't want to risk him wandering alone, near all the expensive equipment.

"Of course, Doctor, thank you for your time," Haru said. He gently unlatched Damascus' tendrils from his body, wincing at the cradily's confused whine. "I'll see you again soon, Damascus."

.​

Evening found Haru sitting awkwardly on a lumpy pillow. When Maliki had mentioned a Friday night dinner, he'd pictured something intimate—the housemates squeezed around a table, getting to know each other.

Instead, Maliki had led him down from the kitchen to the shrine room, where a long table was groaning with a mismatched assortment of food. Haru had quietly set down the plum-stuffed onigiri he'd made on one end. There were at least twenty people gathered in the room, of all ages and nationalities. Some had drawn into clusters, laughing loudly together as they ate. Others, like Haru, kept their distance. They sat around the room, withdrawn and silent, as if they were waiting for something.

Haru found out what when Maliki and a few others dragged some prayer mats together at the center of the room to fashion a makeshift stage. The conversation fell off as Maliki stepped up, a microphone in her hand.

"Thanks everyone, for making it out here." The microphone gave her voice a low, resonant quality. "For taking that time. I know it's not much, but I think it's really important to get together like this, where we can meet eyes like human beings, and hear each other speak from the heart. I hope to hear from everyone tonight, but I'll start us off, if that's all right with folks."

An unorganized murmur of assent rose from the crowd.

"My name's Maliki. When I was just a little thing, my mam and pap took me out to the edge of our lands. And together we laid down a bowl of milk, fresh from the udder. 'That's for Mew,' my mam said, so I asked her, 'What's Mew?' 'Mew's the one we all come from,' Mam said. So I say, 'Mam, if Mew made us all, why does she need our milk? Can't she make milk of her own?' 'And my mam laughed and said, 'My heart, of course Mew doesn't need our milk. It's us who needs to give it.'

Maliki paused for a moment, letting her words soak in. The crowd had come to a complete hush. Haru found himself leaning forward to catch every softly spoken word.

"Yes, it's us who needs to give it. We need to remember this land we till is Mew's and so's the land of our neighbor. She made it grow first and we must rise and we must sleep with that gratitude every day. You gotta live in gratitude, Sweetheart."

The audience nodded their agreement. "Gratitude!" shouted a craggy-faced man in the front.

Haru shivered. Gratitude, he thought, suddenly cold.

Grandmother had passed a few months after they left Johto. Pneumonia, he'd overheard, come on suddenly from a cold left untended. It has been clear to Haru, even at the age of nine, who should have been there to tend her.

They hadn't gone home for the funeral. The timing was just impossible, his father had said, with the company retreat coming up. If they didn't show their faces, they would be marked forever outsiders in this new firm. Grandmother would understand, Father added. She had wanted success for her children.

Hearing that, Haru had bitten his tongue, swallowed down his anger, and said nothing. Said nothing for days, not that anyone noticed. He had always been a quiet child.

When he was sixteen, he'd traveled back to Ecruteak, spending his savings on the trip rather than trying for the Evergrande Conference that year. In the basement of the old dance hall, he'd come across Grandmother's tapestries packed away in a cardboard box. They were ragged and dirt-stained, completely beyond his skill to mend.

And then he had come back. Back to Hoenn's dense metal cities and wild woods. Taken the anger, taken the hurt, and stuffed them in a box of his own, somewhere dark and out of the way, where he wouldn't trip over it.

Gratitude.

Haru realized his eyes were stinging wet.

Father had been wrong. They'd owed her something more than their own success. There was a price to pay, for knowledge, for guidance, for the gift of birth into a beautiful, ever-renewing world.

Haru stood. Up on the stage, Maliki met his gaze, her own eyes dark with understanding.

"That's right," she said. "Don't be shy, now, if your heart's urging you to speak."

Haru stepped onto the small, makeshift stage and took the mic Maliki offered.

"My grandmother—" he began and then faltered. The crowd was watching him, a crowd of strangers, the press of their eyes hot and itchy.

Fumbling for words, Haru landed on verse instead. "Then Ho-oh beheld the mighty deeds these three spirits had rendered him," he recited, his voice shaking. "And he was pleased and spake, Loyal servants, your service has been good. Then Raikou went up to the Heavens, where he dwelled close to the Life-Bringer. Entei entered the heart of a great mountain, for he was tired and sought rest. But Suicune ran along the white caps of the waves and, like unbidden wind, she was free."

Haru swallowed and licked his lips. The crowd wavered as he stared out past them. On the back wall, a candle flickered: someone had lit the Ho-oh shrine.

"What the verse means, I think, is that there are three kinds of people. Three kinds of ways people choose to lead their lives. Like Entei, some people just seek rest. They're not lazy but they're not driven, either. They live for quiet moments, for peace.

"Other people want power. Or want to be as close to power as they can be, like Raikou when she ascended to the skies. They strive to stand at the tops of big buildings, at the sides of powerful people. And they don't really care what that power is for or what it's accomplishing. They just want to be near it. And the thing about these kinds of people is that they think the world is mostly pretty fine. Maybe they wish their place in it were a little different, a little higher. But otherwise, fine."

Haru paused to draw in a breath.

"The last kind of person doesn't see it that way. She embodies change because she could never stay still. We don't pray to Entei or Raikou, but we pray to her, because when she sees a bespoiled lake, she heals it. And there must be people, too, who want to fix the hurt they see, who follow a path no one has set for them. And those people—they've made Suicune's choice."

Suicune's choice, somebody murmured in the crowd.

His parents, his sister, they were like Raikou, chasing glory in the sky. But what did their string of promotions amount to? What use was any of it, if it meant that Grandmother had gone to the grave alone, as if she'd never raised a son, never devoted herself to the care of two grandchildren?

Haru couldn't say anything more. If he spoke now, he would begin to sob. Soundlessly, he thrust the mic back towards Maliki.

"Thank you for your words," she said solemnly.

Another person was coming forward to take the mic. Haru stumbled to the back of the crowd and sat heavily. He felt like he was caught back in the sheets of rain that swept Route 119, so constant and all-consuming you could lose yourself completely. The anger had festered too long. It overwhelmed him now—anger at his father, his mother, his sister, but at himself, too. He could have said something. He could have spoken up. Yes, he'd been young, but not too young to sit through the boat-ride from Rustboro to Olivine, to take the shuttle that ran to Ecruteak. Even though it would have changed nothing, he could have stood for the funeral rites and murmured with the crowd, "Look to the second sun that waits behind the rainbow. There dwells Ho-oh, Life-Bringer, Lord of All."

When the man in front of Haru got to his feet, Haru blinked. Looking from side to side, he realized that the crowd was breaking up. The evening had ended, while he sat in the storm of his thoughts.

As he stood, a tap on the shoulder made him turn.

"Hey," said Maliki, peering intently into his face. "Are you all right?"

Haru didn't want to imagine what he looked like. He hoped his eyes weren't puffed and red.

"I'm fine," he croaked.

Maliki's lips quirked slightly at the obvious lie. "What you said tonight, Haru, that was very wise. I was wondering, do you mean it? About the three kinds of people? Because if you do, I gotta ask—which kind are you?"

Her question cut through the air like a blade.

"I don't know," Haru said after a moment. The admission made him feel smaller than he'd ever felt before.

What had driven him all these years, the long, cold nights in his tent, staying out in the wild, refusing to come in. People were supposed to find themselves on pokémon journeys, but Haru wasn't sure he'd found anything other than uncertainty.

He wasn't like his parents or his sisters. But he wasn't better than them, either. What had he accomplished in all his wandering? Of all of it—the fellowship, the badges, the internship—the only choice he could really take pride in was the last, disastrous one. No matter what else happened, Heconilia was out there, flying free as Ho-oh intended.

.​

That night, Haru dreamed again. Grandmother was cleaning tapestries in the Bell Tower, humming an old hymn, when fire suddenly sprang out on all sides. First it burned the tapestry, the gold-edged fabric turning black. Unsated, the flames danced onward, towards grandmother's long, veined hands. Just as Haru tensed to run towards her, a hand gripped firmly down on his shoulder. His mother and father dragged him screaming from the tower and they didn't let go until every last wooden beam was burned entirely to ash.

The three beasts were there, watching the devastation unfold. Entei was the first to turn away. Then Raikou, who leaped into the air. Her passage traced a dazzling gold path through the sky. Haru's parents began to ascend along the path, Erika close behind them.

Haru stood alone, just him and Suicune's red gaze, which seemed to weigh him from his head to his heart. Just as he took one fumbling step towards her, she leapt away across the water.

"Wait!" Haru shouted. "Wait!"

But she was gone. The clouds drew in and the rain came down, more and more heavily, until Haru was swept away too.

 

[Pen]

Chapter Seven - The Initiation​

The tall house stood alone where the cliff came to a point. Ivy climbed the black-scaled siding; thick fog draped over the roof.

Haru paused in front of the iron gate. The curved arches depicted Hoenn's titans locked into a ceaseless battle. Groudon's jasper eyes gleamed; Kyogre's tail flared out in blue lapis. If the gate had been shut, Haru would have turned back then and there, but it was propped loosely open.

Beyond, a cobblestone path wandered through an overgrown yard. Bugloss plants grown to monstrous heights criss-crossed past thorny bluk berry and silver-edged goutweed. One bugloss shoot curved directly over the path. Haru stopped to run a finger along its thick, fuzzy stem, still wet from the morning's rain shower. Either this yard was abandoned, he thought, or the owner didn't accept the premise of weeds.

As he approached the door, Haru checked the address one more time against the one Maliki had given him. He'd found her already seated at the table when he came into the kitchen that morning. She'd shot him a small smile and pulled out the chair next to her. Hoping to forestall any discussion of the night before, Haru had seized onto the first safe topic he could think of.

"I looked up that researcher you mentioned. Doctor Qian."

Maliki set down her chopsticks, smile growing. "Did you now! What did you think of her work?"

"I couldn't find much," Haru admitted as he rummaged around in the fridge. His hand closed around the seaweed shell of a leftover rice ball. "Just an abstract. Too bad—it looked like an interesting read."

"I know her," Maliki said, "if you're interested in hearing about her research first-hand."

Haru had almost fumbled his rice-ball. "What, really?"

"Sure. She lives just outside the city, overlooking the water. I bet she'd be in today, if you want to stop by."

"Just like that? Shouldn't I call first—"

Maliki had waved a dismissive hand. "Best not to. Doctor Qian's a spontaneous sort of person."

Swallowing, Haru pushed back his rain slicker and pressed the doorbell lightly, flinching at the imperious bong that rang out. He gazed up at the black-scaled house with growing skepticism. This couldn't be a researcher's house. For one thing, it was simply too huge. If his mother had managed to impress anything on Haru in the past year, it was that a researcher's salary didn't stretch very far. He must have written the address down wrong.

Just as Haru was turning back down the cobblestone path, the door swung open behind him.

"Well?" demanded a voice from the doorway.

Haru bowed hastily, the gesture made awkward as he turned. "Doctor Qian?" he said hesitantly.

"In the flesh." The figure shuffled forward, into the foggy light. She was a petite Hoennese woman, her hair gone a dark gray. The plum-colored sleeves of her house robe hung down past her hands. "Well?"

"My name's Haru Watanabe. I'm a friend of Maliki . . ?"

"Oh." An unreadable expression crossed the old woman's face. "The islander? One of her rag-tag crew, are you? Well, what does she want now? I've already told her I can't help."

"I was hoping to talk to you about one of your papers," Haru plunged on. Why hadn't he called first? There'd clearly been some kind of miscommunication. "I'm an intern, at the Mirage Desert laboratory—"

"You want to talk research!" The old woman cut him off, a smile blooming startlingly on her face. "What are you waiting for, then? Come in, come in."

Slightly dazed, Haru allowed himself to be ushered into a vast, shadowy anteroom. A tall wooden coat rack stood to one side, a shoe rack to the other. Haru removed his muddy boots hastily.

"Mirage Desert, hm?" the old woman said. Her house robe dragged against the floor of the hallway, which was paneled with fine bamboo, but dusty. Haru watched the hem move, half-tempted to lift it off the ground. "What a bunch of blithering idiots. Still, I hear they're choosy when it comes to interns. How do you know Maliki, then?"

"I'm renting a room with her."

"Hmph. And what paper would it be, that's brought you all the way out here to me?"

"'The Impact of High-Stress Voltage Extraction on Electric Pokemon,'" Haru recited.

"Ah, my recent work."

They had entered a large dining room. One glass-windowed wall looked directly out onto the sea. In the distance, a flock of wingull roosted on a raised rock, safe above the white-breaking waves.

"Sit tight, I'll put on tea."

Haru lowered himself gingerly onto one plump floor cushion. An elaborate blue-crystal chandelier cast soft light from the ceiling, though he noticed that several bulbs had burnt out.

Doctor Qian bustled back in a moment later, setting down two cups of dark oolong. The cups let off a faint earthy smell, which mixed pleasantly with the bitter scent of the tea. As Doctor Qian gazed at him expectantly, Haru said, "I was only able to find the abstract, not the whole paper. So I was hoping you could—"

The old woman sprang to her feet before he'd finished speaking. "Easily remedied."

She vanished down another winding hallway.

As he waited, Haru sipped at his tea, enjoying its smooth, articulated taste. Aristocrat tea, his grandmother would have called it. Tea fit for royalty—and priests, of course.

"Here!" The leather-bound manuscript hit the table with a smack. Haru flipped the cover open to find the title, "The Impact of High-Stress Voltage Extraction on Electric Pokemon."

Haru began to read. At first, he was uncomfortably aware of Doctor Qian's gaze, fixed on him as she slurped noisily at her tea. But soon, the article took up his entire focus. Like the title said, the study examined the short-term and long-term health impacts of voltage-extraction on the electric-type pokemon that worked at the Mauville Power Plant.

Electric-type pokemon naturally built up stores of electricity in their bodies, Haru read. These stores fluctuated by age, season, battling frequency, and other stressors, with a certain baseline required to maintain the pokemon's health. The electricity extraction method used at the Mauville power plant Doctor Qian termed "high-stress" voltage extraction, because it drained the pokemon of enough electricity in a single session that they fell below their baseline. This triggered a stress response that excited the pokemon's electricity production, causing the worker pokemon to replenish their electric stores in a matter of days, rather than weeks. Doctor Qian didn't dwell much more on what she labeled the "stress-production cycle." Her paper measured its impact on the pokemon's health. And the numbers from her study were grim. Haru's gut was churning by the time he set the paper down.

"Finished, are you?" Doctor Qian said. The rain was a growing drumbeat against the window; Haru hadn't noticed when it first began.

He nodded.

"And what do you think?" the old woman demanded.

Haru was reminded of Doctor Ogletree turning to question him in the hallway. Another test, he thought. "It's a very compelling study. I thought the health metrics were well chosen, very concrete. And the disparity's just extreme, I mean, the charge degeneration rate alone—"

"Criticism?" Doctor Qian said, her eyes not moving from Haru's face.

He hesitated.

"The sample size," he said at last. "You say one hundred, but that hundred is drawn from three species of pokemon. You compare them within the species groups, but then present those results as combined. I'm not sure that extrapolation is entirely justified. I think it would be more accurate to say you compared twenty sets of voltorb, twenty-four sets of magnemite, and fifty-six sets of electrike, rather than claiming you compared a hundred sets of electric-type pokemon, as if there wasn't species variation."

Haru drew in a nervous breath when he had finished, unsure how this would be received, but Doctor Qian's low chuckle surprised him.

"Well spotted. Yes, I fudged it there, no doubt. Why do you think I did that? Why not just study one hundred each?"

"There weren't that many available of each species?" Haru guessed.

"No, no, the power plant employs a thousand electric pokemon at least, with hundreds in turn-over each year. So why didn't I get myself some more respectable numbers, hm?" Before Haru could attempt an answer, she continued, "Simple enough. Didn't have the resources. I self-fund all my work, you know. Take a look around—I can afford it. But my resources do have a limit. I've got my own lab built into the back, but it's not set up to process that many pokemon. I'd need a bigger space and several additional hands to produce some really decent numbers."

"Why not work with the Mirage Desert lab?" Haru said. "Or get a grant to hire some lab assistants and rent out—"

Doctor Qian's disdainful laugh rang through the room. "Get a grant? Ah, my boy, the funders wouldn't touch this one with a ten-foot elastic pole. And neither would the brown-nosers at the labs. They know where their bread is buttered."

"Why wouldn't it get funded?" Haru shot back, his voice rising. "This is an important issue. If voltage extraction is killing pokemon early—I mean, electrike only live fifteen to twenty years if they don't evolve. So that's cutting their lifespans by a third or even a half—"

"I'm well aware." Doctor Qian cut him off. "That's why I started this research project, you know. All the electrike corpses washing up on my little beach down there were a tad difficult to ignore." A tremor entered her voice as she jerked a finger towards the rain-streaked window and the ocean beyond it. "All of them with those damn worker chips. But Mauville won't fund anything that endangers their precious electricity. Our power is electric power, one of our mayors used to say. Hah!"

"But if I understood your paper correctly, it's the high-stress extraction method that's causing the issue," Haru said. "If the plant sets their specialists on finding a different method, maybe graduating the extraction—"

Doctor Qian shook her head. "They won't. First, it would cost extra money, and when do the corps like to cough that up? But second, what if the solution turns out not to be so easy? What if the method's not the problem, just the extraction? Then they'd have admitted to the world there was a problem, see? Admitted it was a bigger issue than the babbling of old kooks like me and those crazy fundamentalist kids. Given it legitimacy. So these companies, the government—they'd sooner touch a gulpin than my research." She snorted. "A gulpin would make them look a lot less dirty."

Outside, the waves churned. A storm was brewing on the water. Haru tried to collect his thoughts. Companies were money grubbing, but they wouldn't condone electric pokemon dying just to save a few yuans. Would they?

Doctor Qian studied him, a knowing look on her face. "Not an easy pill to swallow, is it," she said quietly.

"If pokemon are dying to power Hoenn—that's unjust."

The word came out a hiss between his teeth.

For some time, the only sound was the rain beating on the window. Haru stared out at the sea, unable to wipe the image of electrike corpses from his mind. He'd almost trained an electrike. Befriended one under the bike-path, smiled at the way it jumped among the patches of clover, chasing its own electric sparks. He felt sick to his stomach.

"Are you religious, boy?"

Haru blinked at Doctor Qian's sudden question. He supposed the short answer was yes. But yes didn't encompass a childhood spent learning at Grandmother's feet, or that dark, cruel year in Rustboro, when he cried every time he tried to pray. It didn't encompass his years on the road as a trainer, the silent prayers he made each day, even though he never crossed the threshold of a prayer house. It didn't encompass the feeling he'd experienced, alone on the rain-swept path of Route 119—the sudden, absolute certainty that had crystallized inside his heart.

"My father's family were priests," he offered at last. Maybe less an explanation than an excuse.

Doctor Qian raised an eyebrow, setting down her cup of tea. "Were they now? I come from a line of priests myself, as it happens. From Mossdeep. Were your family the rich kind of priests?"

"Not rich," Haru said, looking up at the blue-crystal chandelier. His family's home back in Ecruteak had wide rooms and well-polished floors, but never anything that extravagant. "We were comfortable."

Doctor Qian snorted. "Well, mine were rich. Received a handsome stipend from the local government for doing a few dances at the appropriate time of years. To ward off the wrath of the ancient ones, you know. Mossdeep was born in the clash between the Land-Maker and the Sea-Spreader and we've always been a bit paranoid about that. Worried a second clash would come and unmake us as thoughtlessly as we were once made. Thus the dances."

She paused to take a sip of tea.

"I don't think my parents really believed, you know. It was their day job. Most of what they did was city politics anyway—endless development planning meetings, endless fights with the space station. I'm pretty sure they took bribes, too. Oh, you want to build your luxury mansion only a few meters from the sea-side? Very dangerous, very provocative towards the Great Sea-Spreader. But we can ease the way for you—at the all important planning meetings, as well as with the gods. You can fill in the rest, I'm sure. Well, I didn't want any part of it—split off, got my degree. The money was a nice surprise, when they finally passed. I was sure I'd be disinherited.

"And then—" The rain was coming down in sheets now. Doctor Qian turned to stare out at the blurred seascape, her voice distant. "Then the world ended. Just the way it went in the stories. Do you remember? You would have been too young, I suppose. It began with a rain storm, not too different than today's. But that rain didn't stop.

"The skies were so thick with storm clouds that day seemed like night. And the water rose here in Mauville, so high that I could dangle my feet over the cliff-edge and get them wet. Hard to remember what I was thinking at the time. I rummaged through the chests in the attic like a woman possessed, until I found my mother's old robes, still smelling of sandalwood and cinnamon. I draped them over my scrawny body and stood out there in the rain, wondering if I should do some kind of dance." She let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "All I managed to do was get myself soaked all through and a nasty case of pneumonia a few days later.

"But the rain did end, eventually, and the world didn't. The titans retreated into their dens. And that's when I realized. We aren't going to get justice. There won't be a final reckoning, where the worthy rise and the unworthy sink beneath the waves."

Doctor Qian's voice hardly shook, but her hands trembled as she clasped her tea cup. Outside, the rain dropped off. The clouds shifted, and a beam of sunlight fell suddenly across the bamboo floor.

"Maybe it was a warning." Haru hadn't intended to speak. The words came from nowhere—he found them waiting ready on his tongue. "Maybe we only get one."

The doctor stared at him, her face gone pale. All at once she seemed very old and very frail in her over-sized robe.

Hoenn's gods had made the land shake and the seas rise. But the people hadn't heeded the sign. They'd continued to build their towers, spit in their seas. Electrike corpses on the beach.

"Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Doctor," Haru said into the silence. He needed to get somewhere he could think. When he stood and made a deep bow, Doctor Qian rose as well. They passed down the shadowed hallway without speaking. As Haru slipped on his boots, Doctor Qian's voice startled him. It echoed loudly off the wood walls.

"You can tell your islander friend I'm in."

Haru glanced over at her in confusion. Doctor Qian's chin was set firmly and her eyes glittered in the dark entry hall.

"In?" Haru repeated.

"Yes, in. Whatever it is. You think they've told me the details? I'm the establishment!" She let out a short, humorless chuckle. "Though, believe me, that would be news to the establishment."

"I—I'll pass that on to Maliki," Haru said at last. He stepped out into a light drizzle and made his way down the cobblestone path, out the gate. Groudon's jasper eyes burned into his back.

.​

Maliki's smile lit her whole face, when Haru told her what Doctor Qian had said. Before he could react, she'd reached out and pressed him into a quick hug, even though his jacket was soaking wet. "That's wonderful news. Thank you, Haru."

Haru drew in a deep breath. He'd felt jumpy and unsettled the whole way home.

"Maybe you can thank me by telling me what she meant by that," he said. The words came out more sharply than he'd intended.

"Well, you heard the doctor's research. What do you think of it all?"

"It's wrong." It was as if Haru had been waiting for the question. Every swirling thought from the walk home poured out in a confused, emphatic torrent. "This voltage extraction method, it's wrong, and even if more studies need to be done, they should be calling a moratorium on it, the funding should be pouring in for more experiments. I'd always heard it's healthy for electric types to let off excess energy, but this isn't that. It's a complete perversion of a natural stress mechanism. And if it's killing them or worsening their quality of life to that extent—do the pokemon know what they're getting into? I mean, they can't know, right? So it's our responsibility to make the work safe for them. That's our duty."

Maliki nodded, a solemn look on her face. "You're right, it is our duty. But you think a company cares about that? They think their duty is to their bottom line. You think the city of Mauville cares? The people might, if they knew. But the politicos sure don't. Their power's proportional to the power coming out of that damn plant and they know it. Oh, they know it." Maliki paused for a moment, as if waiting to see if Haru had a counter-argument prepared. "So where does that leave us?" she continued when he stayed quiet. "If we know about this and we've got a duty. Well, we have to let people know, don't we?"

"There was an article," Haru said. "When I looked Doctor Qian up. In some paper—I forget the name . . ."

"Rewire? Yeah, Rewire's great. A real decent, hard-working alt, surviving by the skin of their teeth. But they've hardly got any circulation. Besides, anyone picking up that paper already knows this city has some problems. But how do we reach the ones who don't? How do we make it so this can't be ignored?"

Another test. But not one Haru knew how to answer. They stared at each other in silence. A few drops of rain-water ran down Haru's sopping bangs and fell to the kitchen floor in a series of plonks.

"Sunday night," Maliki said slowly, "we're going to make some news they can't ignore."

What did that mean? Who was we? And why was Maliki looking at him like she expected—the same way she'd looked at him last night in the shrine room, a gaze that asked, which kind of person are you?

The cowardly kind, Haru thought, letting his eyes fall to the increasingly wet floor. His nav rested like a hot coal in his pocket.

"I've got to put on something dry," he said at last.

"Sure," Maliki answered, her tone impenetrable. "Just think about it, will you?"

.​

Early Sunday morning, Haru returned to the Mirage Desert lab. He desperately wanted some time alone with Damascus, but his heart sank when Doctor Ogletree's gruff voice answered the buzzer.

"It's Haru Watanabe, Sir," he said. "I was here Friday? I was hoping to visit my cradily again, but if it's too much trouble I can wait until—"

"Watanabe? No, no, come in. That damn expedition was delayed another night and I need a second pair of hands."

"I haven't had an orientation yet—"

"A trained chimchar could handle this work, and you're smarter than that, aren't you?"

The door buzzed without waiting for Haru's answer. He found Doctor Ogletree in one of the smaller lab rooms, the door propped open. The man reeled off some rapid fire instructions before leading Haru over to a set of petri dishes.

"Doctor," Haru said, as the man turned to leave. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Hm?" Doctor Ogletree's mustache twitched in irritation. "What part of that's unclear?"

"Not about the samples. Um." Haru swallowed. He didn't want to waste the head researcher's time, but there was no one better to ask. Doctor Qian clearly had some grudge against the Mirage lab. She might have completely misread the situation. "I was wondering how projects get funded. How is that determined? Where does the money come from?"

Doctor Ogletree's hearty laugh made Haru flinch. "Lad, it will be a good five years before you have to trouble yourself with questions like that! If you think labeling samples is tedious, try writing grant proposals!"

Which didn't exactly answer the question. Haru tried a different tact, remembering the way Doctor Ogletree had paused to lecture in the corridor when the topic turned to his own research.

"Your own work, for example. How do you fund it?"

Doctor Ogletree's hand rose to his bushy mustache. Its red color was really very striking, especially since, Haru couldn't help but notice, his eyebrows were completely gray.

"Well, this is a government lab. We get a set sum each year out of the federal budget, to divy up among our internal projects as we wish. It's not enough, obviously. Government always underfunds us. So that's when we turn to corporate. DevCo's a massive funder, of course. Been very generous with my research. That Steven Stone's a good influence—appreciates a good archeological dig, that man. I met him myself, actually, last year at the annual meeting of the Society for the Preservation of Prehistoric Pokemon." The pause Doctor Ogletree inserted here had an expectant air.

Erika's advice echoed through Haru's mind: a delicate balance between hard work, skill, and sucking up.

"Wow," Haru said. "Did you really?"

"Indeed." Doctor Ogletree gave a satisfied nod. "So rest assured, lad, this is a very well-respected lab. We don't suffer from the funding troubles some other places do."

Haru chose his next words carefully. "I can see that, Sir. But what if—what if, say, your research began to indicate that the despeciation problem is being caused by human activity? By the same companies giving you money? Would they still fund you?"

Ogletree furrowed his eyebrow. "Ah, well, you have put your finger there on one extremely thorny funding problem. The media and some ridiculous non-profits are always trying to politicize my research. Use it to justify their policy programs. That kind of thing is very toxic, lad, very toxic. Not much to do about it, unfortunately, except try to keep your work out of the popular domain as much as possible."

Had he heard that correctly?

"I don't understand," Haru said, before he could stop to think. "Once the research is out there, why wouldn't people try to find solutions? How is that bad? Isn't that the whole point of diagnosing problems?"'

Doctor Ogletree's face creased into a heavy frown. "Lad, you seem to be operating under a fundamental misapprehension here. It's called the despeciation problem because we don't understand it, not because it's our job to solve it."

Haru blinked. "Whose job is it, then?"

"Hm?" Doctor Ogletree's mustache gave a twitch. "Well, society's, perhaps. But not us. We are researchers, compilers of knowledge, clean fact and theory, not activists."

"But how is society supposed to know what needs fixing without our work to tell them?" Haru demanded.

A thick silence fell. Haru realized he'd raised his voice into just short of a shout.

"I have work to get back to," Doctor Ogletree said finally, his voice cold. "Working here, young man, you'll have to learn that there's a time for asking questions and a time for bucking down and doing what you're told."

Haru sunk into a rigid, Johtoan bow. "Of course, Sir. Please accept my apology."

He turned to the samples, fighting to keep his mind blank. Sample one. Divide into five dishes. Sample #1 Test #1, he marked on the first plastic surface. Whose job is it to decide? Not mine, Doctor Ogletree had said. Not ours.

But who did that leave?

As Haru worked his way mechanically through the sample plates, a memory rose in his mind of a dimly-lit room, the warm puff of alcohol against his face.

Who is it all working for and who is going to stop me?

The words circled through Haru's head as he bent over the lab table. When his stomach grumbled, Haru took a short break. He didn't see Doctor Ogletree, but he did find a drawer of power bars in the lobby room. The sweet, nutty bar didn't do much to clear his head, but it did give him the energy to return to the lab room.

The sun was setting when Haru set down the last labeled test sample. His back ached from the awkward way he'd been bending and his stomach felt cramped and empty. The lab seemed deserted. In the lobby, the electric lights were off, though they flickered back to life when Haru walked in. Had Doctor Ogletree already gone home?

Haru knew he should leave as well, but his feet led him back down the hallway towards the thick door of the terrarium. Inside, the terrarium was cooler now, faithfully mimicking the weather patterns of the desert. Haru shivered in his light jacket as he crossed the sand. The moonlight made the terrarium into a shifting sea of silver and black. All was silent except for the faint scratching of trapinch tunneling somewhere below.

"Damascus?" Haru called out in a whisper. Was she already sleeping? Cradily were strictly diurnal, but Haru had known Damascus to keep him company late into the night. Then again, that had been on the road. The pull of her native environment might have made her revert to her usual biological rhythms.

As Haru stood uncertainly by the edge of the still oasis, he caught a glint of red above, too static to be the roving eye of a baltoy. All at once, his stomach sinking, Haru realized his mistake. Of course the terrarium would be under surveillance! It was an observation room, after all.

Even if he managed to wake Damascus, he wouldn't be able to tell her anything, not with a camera listening in. He was probably in trouble already just for having entered the terrarium unsupervised. He hurried out, down the long hallway.

When he stepped outside, the night was still and dry, without a trace of yesterday's rains. Haru stood motionless for a moment, fighting the urge to cry.

If only Nya-Nya were here. The delcatty would curl up with him, a warm weight in his lap as she kneaded rhythmically against his legs. But to see Nya-Nya he'd have to face Mother or Father. And Haru didn't think he could stand to look at either of them right now, not with the memories of Grandmother still so close.

Erika had always been the one to have flaming rows with their parents. She and Mother could go back and forth for hours, but they made up as quickly as they fought. Haru, in contrast, never raised his voice. If he was angry, he'd clam up until the anger fell to a low simmer. But right now, Haru thought if he were to see his parents he'd begin to scream and not stop.

For a moment, he was tempted to turn back towards the lab, walk past it, out into Mirage Desert. No one would be out there to take offense if he poured all the grief, all the fear, all the anger of the past week into one long scream.

That would be stupid, though. The dust storms of Mirage Desert could whip up in an instant. Even close to the edge, it was possible to completely lose your way.

So Haru wiped his eyes and set off towards Mauville in silence. Above, the stars wavered like guttering candle-lights.

.​

When Haru pushed back the faded curtain, he found the shrine room a bustling hive. Maliki stood at the center of it all, conferring with one person, then the next. But when she caught sight of Haru, she cut across the room.

"Tonight," Haru said, before she could speak. "You said you're doing something they can't ignore, right?"

Maliki studied him carefully. She was dressed in dark, muted clothing and she'd removed her bright orange earrings. "Yes," she said. "That's right."

Haru sucked in a breath. His stomach was cramping, his eyes stung, and the inside of his head was thumping and stamping loudly, like a slaking gone berserk. When he opened his mouth, instead of a scream, he heard himself say, "Count me in."

 

[Pen]

Chapter Eight - The Raid​

The candlelight wavered across Maliki's face. "What we're doing. You know it's not exactly within the thin bright line of the law."

"I understand."

"Do you?" Her gaze weighed him. "Do your pokemon? If you're caught, you'll get a defense lawyer. They won't."

"Lawyer" conjured up a TV image of wooden podiums and judgemental eyes. She'd chosen the word on purpose, he decided, to see if he'd back down.

"I don't have any pokemon," he said instead.

Her eyebrow rose. "Didn't you—"

Explaining about Atalanta would mean explaining everything.

"I don't have any pokemon," he repeated.

"All right. We leave in fifteen minutes. Stick to Power Axel on the way over." She nodded towards a scowling teenager in the corner. His dark brown hair covered most of his face in a ragged sweep, and a magneton buzzed by his head. Haru recognized him as the instant noodle chef who had fled the kitchen a few days ago. Thursday. That day already seemed like a distant island—like a full sea had closed in behind him.

"Power Axel?"

"We go by code names," Maliki explained. "Safer that way. You should pick one for yourself."

Nothing came to mind. When he opened his mouth, an old nickname fell out. "Caterpie."

Maliki was surprised into a smile. "Caterpie? You sure you don't want to go with something a little grander?"

Haru shook his head. He felt only tenuously attached to the earth—light from hunger, strangely airy. His hands were shaking.

"Caterpie it is then." Maliki waved at the scowling boy. "Hey, Axel! Caterpie here is your responsibility until we reach the plant."

The boy gave a quick dismissive nod. When Haru walked over to him, he didn't say hello. The shrine room buzzed with anticipatory chatter, but the hushed conversations were too low for Haru to catch. He pulled out his nav instead.

"You can't bring that."

Startled, Haru looked up. The boy was watching him with a deepened scowl.

"DevCo crams in all sorts of shit. And I don't have time to wipe it for you."

"I'll put it in my room," Haru said quickly. When he returned, the boy was waiting with a black bandana held in his left hand and a power bar in his right.

"Hungry?" he asked in a slightly less hostile voice, and shoved both items at Haru before he could answer.

Just then, the chatter guttered out like a candle exposed to wind. Maliki had taken the stage. Everyone gathered around her, and the silence thickened with expectation.

"We call ourselves the Sacred Flame," Maliki said in a low, carrying voice. "We have no creed. We know that we are grateful and we are free. People have forgot their freedom and their gratitude. We're gonna bring it back. Back to the people, back to the pokemon. It starts with the feeling right in here"—she clasped her fist over her heart—"that they can never take from you, because what is in here is so true and so right. It's the flame that Arcanine brought us. I know some here tell it another way. But all the same, it's that very flame Arcanine gave to humanity from a place of mercy, and each generation bears that debt and that duty, tending to this land we've been given. Mauville Power Plant's forgotten that duty. Tonight, we're gonna remind them."

Nobody clapped, but the fervent nods and flashing of prayer signs struck Haru as a more potent reaction than applause would have been.

The departures were staggered. Haru hung back next to Axel, until the boy suddenly started forward, his steps darting and impatient. The night was wet with mist, and the pavement was dark like a river. In the alleyway, a wild magnemite was attempting to feed off the nearest street-light, but the pokemon-proofed casing defeated it. Axel paused.

"Tri attack, fire only," he murmured to his magneton. One steel-rimmed eye blinked open. It floated lazily upwards and struck at the street-light with a red-hot magnet, knocking off the casing. A surprised sound, almost a chirp, came from the wild magnemite. It extended its magnets to the exposed wiring and began to feed. The street-light flickered out, leaving the alley a murky gray.

"Least this godsforsaken city can do for them," Axel muttered. "Come on, let's go."

As they crossed into the more upscale parts of the city, the street-lights multiplied. Tall apartment buildings shed yellow light, and neon arrays flashed on every unused surface. When Haru had first experienced Mauville City at night, he'd been seized with a sense of undirected awe for human achievement.

Now the profusion of light struck him as strange and sinister.

The sprawling complexes of the power plant lay on the far outskirts of the city, where the houses dropped off and the pavement subsided into brown scrub. They came to a stop twenty meters in front of a gently-pulsing yellow barrier. A light screen. Probably intended to keep out the wild electric types attracted by the power generated inside the plant. Haru glanced to his side and saw that Axel had tied his bandana. He followed suit; the fabric fit snugly over his nose. When he breathed, warm air pooled over his lips and lingered, as if in anticipation.

They stood without speaking, Axel gazing determinedly into the field. Haru tried to match him, but the shifting light of the barrier made his head ache. He shut his eyes. The silence was thick out here; the noises of the city had receded into a distant growl. But he soon became aware of another sound, a low scrabbling, close at hand. It sounded familiar.

For several minutes, Haru couldn't work out why. Then it came to him—the terrarium. It was the sound of trapinch digging.

They weren't going to break through the barrier. They were going to go under it.

In the distance, a light flashed twice.

"Come on," Axel said.

To enter the trapinch tunnel, Haru had to get to his hands and knees. The soil was still wet from yesterday's rain and clung to his pants and palms like clay. At the midpoint, the light was blocked out completely. Haru stilled, drawing in a full breath. The air in here was moist, alive. He could hear his heartbeat, mystifyingly steady.

When he emerged, a wet breeze lapped at his face. Three trapinch were clustered by the mouth of the tunnel, snouts encrusted with black soil. Their eyes gleamed like stars set in tar.

"Five minutes," said Axel, shoving a can of spray paint into Haru's hands. "Be quick."

"What should I—" Haru flinched at how loudly his whisper cut the silence.

"There's a reason you're here, right?" Axel said in a muffled voice. "Don't you know it?"

With that, he turned away, a spray can clasped in either hand. The wrathful face of Zapdos took form in a hiss of furious yellow and black. THESE ARE MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS, read Axel's messy capitals. MY RETRIBUTION IS SWIFT.

Haru shook the cylinder in his own hand and heard the liquid slosh. It took him a few tries to determine the correct amount of pressure and distance. Slowly, words took shape.

Verse 8:14. But Suicune ran along the white caps of the waves and, like unbidden wind, she was free.

The tap on his shoulder made Haru flinch. He hadn't felt the time slip away.

"Stay or go, Caterpie?" Maliki whispered. A butterfree watched him from her shoulder, its eyes an eerie red. Haru followed her gaze to where half the crew had regrouped by the tunnel. The barrier glimmered behind them like an untimely sunrise.

Go? He felt unmoored, incomplete. The night was utterly calm; in the distance, he spotted the tell-tale flares of volbeat, circling over the sea. Not yet.

"Stay," he whispered back. If her expression changed, he couldn't tell from under her bandana.

Haru joined the group by the entrance, just as the doors slid open with a metallic snick. He threw an arm over his eyes as light erupted from the opening. It cut out abruptly, leaving eddies of black and white swirling behind his lids. Someone must have found the off-switch.

They stepped inside. The only light now came from the butterfree. A soft, purple-green glow spilled from its wings, just bright enough to lift the corridor ahead from pitch blackness into uncertain gray shadow. When the corridor forked, the group split. Haru followed Maliki.

Their footsteps made a muffled melody. Time seemed to stretch out and distort. Twice his hand dipped to his left pocket, only to find it empty of his nav. Haru's eyes strained to force the darkness into some kind of order, but each corridor was the same unending gray.

Eventually he gave up, and let distance join time as concepts that lost their meaning here.

When Maliki drew to a sudden halt ahead, he almost ran into her. She turned, a finger over her lips in the universal gesture for hush. Haru listened, but he heard nothing except the low hum of machinery somewhere in the indecipherable distance. The seconds lengthened. Then a high wail split the silence, as terrible as a scream.

Maliki traced a signal in the air, purple light burning behind her hands. She turned the bend and vanished along with her butterfree—and the light.

Blood pumped in Haru's ears. The darkness assembled before his eyes into an ensemble of tiny, whirling dancers. Simultaneously, he heard a shout, a thud, and a long, low growl. Before the growl ended, Haru was moving. He waded into the black, found the sharp edge of a corner and felt his way around it to see yellow light spilling from a doorway.

It was a break room: small, sparsely furnished. The unimportant details filtered in first—the blue couch, bleeding foam; the flimsy fold-up chairs; the kettle sobbing on the counter-top.

A man in the blue uniform of the power plant lay slumped on the floor. Over him stood a manectric, Maliki's butterfree gripped in its mouth. Sparks prickled across its upraised fur.

"We're here to help," Maliki was saying, her hands raised and her voice steady. "We're here to release your brothers and sisters."

The manectric hadn't noticed Haru yet. He inched forward, his eyes fixed on the kettle only feet away. Maliki was still speaking, but the manectric wasn't listening. Haru reached the countertop just as the break room lit up blue.

His arm completed the arc of the throw before he even registered his hand on the kettle. The manectric howled as the boiling water hit its back, and the butterfree dropped from its mouth like a discarded toy. A bolt of electricity skittered towards Haru but hit the countertop instead, searing a line into the black surface. The butterfree fluttered raggedly into the air. Purple powder shook from her wings and settled on the manectric's fur. Its body tensed as if to leap, but something gave way at the last moment. Its front legs collapsed, and the rest of it followed. A few stray sparks leaped up from its fur and flickered out.

Silence fell, broken by the jittery hum of the break-room fridge. The air smelled of burnt plastic.

Maliki pushed herself up from the floor into a crouch. Her hair was singed, but nothing else. She extended a hand towards the sleeping manectric, as if to smooth its fur.

"This one would come back even if we did release it," she said at last, voice pensive. Her eyes met his. "Thanks, Caterpie."

"You're welcome," Haru tried, but his mouth was too dry for words. He thought he should help Maliki up, but by the time he stumbled over to her, she was already on her feet.

"It's not much further. Come on."

Haru's blood thrummed under his skin as they re-joined the others and continued down the corridor. His head darted from side to side, expecting a band of snarling manectric to materialize from the shadows at any moment.

But they met no more guards. Their destination lay behind metal doors, the surface sleek like seel-skin in the jittery green light. Maliki tapped a card, and warned, "Lights."

Haru pressed his eyes shut. He heard the door slide open and Maliki's disgusted hiss.

"Workers. What kind of workers are imprisoned in their place of work?"

The lights burned. Blinking hard, Haru made out shelves filled floor to ceiling with pokeballs. He tried to estimate the number, but half-way up they blurred into a long red line, and he lost count. Each one holds a life, he thought numbly. The sight was somehow obscene.

So Ho-oh left the earth unto the dominion of Man. Father liked to quote those words whenever protestors flashed their signs on the evening news. In his mouth, it became a justification. The earth is ours to shape to our will.

Grandmother had seen it differently. Dominion, she spat, was the mistranslation of greedy priests. Bailment was the proper word.

"We hold the earth in trust, until the Life-Bringer returns. We own it no more than I own the parcel left in my care."

It had been the slow period in the temple, that time when even the most chatty congregants had dispersed from the morning services and before even the most devout returned for evening prayers. Mother and Erika had been at loggerheads that day. Their shouts chased him from the house to the stuffy quiet of the prayer-house. Their topic was the move. Erika didn't want to go. Her friends were here, she yelled, slamming her palm against the table in emphasis, not across the sea. Haru didn't want to leave either, but he didn't see the use in arguing. When Mother and Father agreed, they became like mortar and brick, forming a wall that stood fast against any assault. You could scream, but you'd only lose your voice. You could beat your fists, but you'd only bruise them. Hold your tongue. Conserve your strength. He'd learned those lessons early.

The murky afternoon light had underscored every wrinkle and crevice on Grandmother's face with charcoal shadow. "We are wardens, Haru. It is a burden. A burden. It is not light."

And she'd taken his hand and squeezed it, so tightly he almost cried out.

The others were unzipping backpacks and duffle bags. Someone tossed Haru a spare. Maliki stood with her foot tapping, eyes fixed on the ticking hand of her old-fashioned watch.

"Time," she said and walked up to the wall of pokeballs. She hesitated, then reached out firmly and detached one from the shelf. Everyone looked to the ceiling, cringing in anticipation of an alarm blare that didn't come.

"Nice one, Axel," someone murmured, and there was a general easing.

Maliki's butterfree took to the air with a dry rustle, a glow rising on her wings and expanding outward. Pinkish light wrapped around each pokeball; one by one, like cheri berries shaken from a tree, the pokeballs dropped into their open bags.

How many pokeballs—fifty? One hundred? They'd barely emptied the front-most shelves. Haru hefted up the duffel, shocked at the lack of weight. Grandmother's words rang through his mind. It is not light.

They were leaving. The same shapeless corridors, the same muffled steps, but they moved now like sleepwalkers who had awakened onto a race-track.

The first alarm struck like a blow to the back.

Haru buckled: for a moment, all strength left his legs. Then Maliki screamed, "Run!" and the darkness cascaded into itself.

Maybe the distance really had been an illusion, because when they reached the exit, only minutes seemed to have passed, except that his lungs and chest were on fire. He staggered out into the open air, the blue velvet sweep of the sky.

Someone shoved him forward, towards the mouth of the tunnel. He crawled blindly through the dirt. The plain was still empty. Behind him the barrier rippled with majestic calm. No, not empty. A colony of oddish whirled in the moonlight, their fronds swaying to some private melody. A bellossom spun in their midst. Petals, vividly pink against night, fluttered through the air. The beauty was disconcerting. Haru stood spell-bound; his nose and throat clogged with musk and jasmine.

Suddenly, the oddish scattered. Jeeps cut across the field, headlights streaking out like wild paint strokes. Their passage tore up the grass and soured the air. Haru relapsed into motion.

I can't run anymore, I'll burst, he thought, My legs will turn to ribbons, my throat will combust. I can't.

But his mind and his body had parted ways. His legs pumped, heedless. Behind him came the sounds of pokeballs releasing, but he didn't turn. Scrub turned to pavement. Buildings rose on either side, and the pitch of trains and traffic filled the air. At last, heaving, he came to a halt in an alleyway. He sank into a crouch, aware that standing would circulate his breath better, but unable to muster the strength.

The bellosom's aroma clung to his clothing. Will they have tracker growlithe? he wondered with a fresh jolt of panic. Each bellosom's scent was unique. They could trace him, even if hours passed. He couldn't return to the shrine like this. Unless . . .

Fives minutes slipped by before he could force himself to move. There was a small pokemart at the end of the block, its blue awning tinted gray from the smog. The bell jingled as he stepped inside, making him flinch. Haru thought he must look a sight—hair mussed, clothing soiled, stinking of jasmine, but the woman at the counter barely blinked. He bought the cheapest brand of repel he could find, the kind he normally avoided due to its the overpowering stench. Back in the alleyway, he sprayed himself and the duffel until he was choking on rotten egg and rank berry.

The walk back passed in a daze. He drew dirty looks, probably from the repel stench, but nobody spoke to him, and Haru's exhaustion was such that putting one foot in front of the other demanded his complete focus. When he saw the familiar lavender hanging to the shrine-room, he almost doubled over in relief.

All the candles had burned out. Haru fumbled through the darkness. Twice he stumbled on the overlapping rugs, before his eyes adjusted, and he made out a pile of duffel bags in the corner. He hadn't been the only one to escape, then. Had Maliki made it out? He found her room and knocked, but there was no answer.

His body screamed at him to collapse, but his mind buzzed with a brightness that resisted sleep. He showered, scrubbing himself with citrus-scented soap until he could bear to breathe in his own air. He changed into pajamas, flicked off the lights, and stared into the wavering darkness of the ceiling. That was unnerving, like he was still back in those corridors. He got to his feet, flicked the lights back on, and retrieved his nav from where had left it. Out of habit, he pulled up the newsfeed, and with it a host of notifications from the alert he'd set on Route 119. The first notification was an emergency weather forecast, the second a photo essay depicting camouflaged kecleon.

When Haru reached the third, his heart stopped.

.
​

The knock was gentle, but insistent. Maliki's voice floated under the door. "Haru? Are you up?"

She hadn't been caught, then. The relief was like a buoy in a hurricane. Haru caught onto it and clung, despite the futility.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes," he managed, his voice like crumbling leaves.

She hadn't changed yet. Sweat gleamed on her forehead, and her braids were askew.

"I owe you a debt of gratitude, Haru. You saved my life tonight."

Had he? The memory fragmented when he tried to call it up. A wailing kettle, a flash of light. It had been instinct, from one moment to the next. There hadn't been any thought.

"Not just for that. Doctor Qian's agreed to rehome the pokemon liberated from the plant. She has the resources to remove their worker chips. Once those are disabled, the plant has no claim on them."

"That's great," Haru said hollowly.

Maliki gave him a long look. She sat down gingerly on the bed and spoke in a careful voice, like she was circling a wounded gyarados. "Are you regretting this?"

"No!" The word erupted from him. He swung his head from side to side. "No, it's not that. It's something else. I made a bad mistake. I—"

The tears surprised him. They came with no warning, no catching of the breath. One moment he was stiff-faced, the next he had collapsed into wetness.

"Hey now, Catepie, breathe, come on and breathe with me." Maliki's words rushed over him like a relentless stream. "You're here and you're safe and you got out. Breathe." Her hand touched his shoulder. "I'm here. Breathe."

Then it was words, not tears, spilling out. He spoke out-of-order, haphazardly. It was the day he met Heconilia—an impossible day, with not a single cloud in the sky. She had sniffed curiously at the berry he offered her. It was a species native to Olivine, nothing she could have tasted before. She'd loped after him through the undergrowth; the vines had swished and swacked.

He was telling her how he got the name Caterpie. It had been an insult, but he'd never minded: the name suited him. In biology class they'd learned how caterpie fed, safe in the curl of a leaf, how towards the end of their larval stage, their movements slowed. There was a short span of time before evolution when caterpie went completely prone. All their energy was held inside, conserved for evolution. This is the most dangerous time for them, their biology teacher declared with gusto. Without the option of flight, without the defense of a hard metapod shell, they were vulnerable to every hazard. Haru had closed his eyes, imagining how that would feel. Knowing that if the change didn't come, you would die. In that moment, all you had was your faith.

He was back on Route 119, and the rain was thick enough to drown. The narrative clarified. He told her the rest in a thin but unfaltering voice, as if it had happened to somebody else. Finally, he thrust out his nav and let her read the words inscribed there like an epitaph.

Throughout, Maliki didn't say a word. Her eyes were half-lidded. For a moment, Haru thought she'd fallen asleep. But then her eyes opened, and her gaze speared him, sharp and bright.

"So you made a bad mistake," she said. "And now both of you are going to pay for it."

He nodded but couldn't speak. The telling had emptied him out.

"A mistake. Like mixing up sugar and salt. If you could go back, you'd do it differently. Is that right?"

Like sugar and salt. It wasn't that simple.

"If you made a mistake, it's not too late for you. You're young, you're bright, your folks have some money. The system knows mercy for people like you."

"If I made a mistake?" Haru said hoarsely.

"If. Because I don't hear a mistake in this tale. I hear a choice. A brave one." She held out her hand; the suicune figurine rested on her open palm. Its serene red eyes bore into Haru: penetrating, judging. Maliki paused. A whole lifetime passed within it. Haru thought of the immobile caterpie, praying that it had the strength to be made new. "And now you've got to make another one."

 

[Pen]

Chapter Nine - The Return
​

Erika picked up on the final ring.

"Verse 8:14," Haru said at once. "The one where Ho-oh grants his servants their freedom. Remember? And they all take different paths. Which one do you think was right?"

The ensuing pause was deep enough to drown in. " . . . I was in a meeting, Haru."

"Oh. I'm sorry." He swallowed, shifting his grip on the nav. The metal was slick in his hands. "Never mind, then. I—it's not important."

"Obviously it is, or you wouldn't have called," Erika snapped. "You don't call me first thing in the morning on a Monday about unimportant things."

"I just wanted to know which one you thought was right," Haru said meekly.

His sister let out a long sigh. When she spoke, he could tell he was being humored. "Your question doesn't make any sense. All three were right, of course. Even grade-schoolers get this. Entei goes into the volcano because he's a fire-type. Raikou goes up to the heavens because he's an electric-type. Suicune's a water-type, so she goes into the sea. They each go where they belong. A place for everything, and everything in its place. It's basically the ancients' version of a typing chart."

When he said nothing, her tone gentled. "Look, I know you must be stressed with this new internship. I'm swamped right now, but let's talk this weekend, before the family call. It probably all seems huge and overwhelming now, but that's normal. You've got a new path, and the first steps are always hard, but you're a tough kid, Haru. Always were. I remember when we moved—I was bawling my eyes out, throwing a tantrum every evening, but you just perched there like a noctowl and didn't say a word. You're going to get through this too."

"Okay," Haru said, shutting his eyes. "Erika?"

"Yes?"

"You've always been a good big sister. I know I don't always say what I'm feeling when I should but I want you to know that I lo—"

"Oh, Haru. I know. Chin up, okay? We'll talk on Saturday. Now, listen, I really have to go."

The nav beeped twice, shrilly. She'd ended the call. He lowered the device slowly from his ear and turned it over in his hands, his gaze fixed on nothing.

It's not her fault she was born sightless.

"Haru?" Maliki's voice wafted in from the hallway. "Are you ready now?"

"I'm ready," he said, and stood.

*​

The rain had begun sometime in the early hours of the morning, and though it had lessened, it had not subsided. Mauville was gray and shuttered. Passersby wore dark rain slickers, walked with their heads bowed, but Haru pushed back his hood and let the rain tingle against his skin. Expanding puddles refracted the street lights—candle-orange, the light skated up buildings, down the street. It was the kind of weather that washed the world clean.

The rain had chased the gardeners from Route 117, and in their absence, the route was transformed. Docile trees, trimmed into submission, flared out with jade leaves; flowers reared and swelled in the blue-wet air. Between carefully spaced beds, Haru spotted surges of determined green. The volbeat and illumise had taken shelter deep within the trees, but the ponds teemed with activity. Surskit glided lazily; merrill bobbed on the water, their skin sleek and azure.

Haru and Maliki walked slowly, pausing at intervals for Haru to call out. A few oddish watched their progression curiously from the ground. Their fronds were fully extended, luxuriating in the rich wetness of the soil.

They stopped beneath a towering tree with a crown so thick that the foliage growing at its base remained dry despite the rain. Very little sunlight penetrated the branches, but when Haru looked up he saw the flickering tail-lights of volbeat and illumise. It was like staring into a private galaxy.

This time, when he called out, a thin screech answered him. A familiar shadow split from the darkness.

"Atalanta," he said hoarsely. Standing in the tree's musty dark, he tried to know himself. Had he hoped that she would answer or had he feared it? But all he knew was that he had called her, and she had come.

Out in the light, her yellow body shone against the charcoal sky like a polished coin. Her eyes had a healthy sheen. Her wingbeats were firm. He tallied the signs up in his mind, these signs that she had thrived here.

"I don't have a right," he insisted. "But I—it's not me who needs help but it's my fault and so it's mine. I need help. You don't have to give it."

She stared at him for what must have been hundreds of her rapid wingbeats, then buzzed out of sight.

Gone.

Relief surged over him; he almost buckled. He'd asked and she'd refused and it was over. He could leave this place knowing that there was one life, at least, that he had touched for the better.

But as Haru turned away, he felt pincers clench around his hair. Atalanta's body settled on his head, the hairs of her abdomen brushing against his neck. Haru went still.

It was the answer he had come for—and not, Haru knew now, the answer he had wanted.

*​

Route 118's ferry roared up to the stop almost twenty minutes late. Haru had been counting. He had watched the clock, witnessed as the hour hand crossed the narrow border between eight and nine. It was Monday morning, and Haru was ten minutes late for the first real job of his life.

He wondered if they had noticed yet. Maybe in a few minutes someone would try to ring his nav, now a useless sculpture of iron and aluminum on the ocean floor. Maybe, they wouldn't notice for days.

The rain had lapsed into an off-and-on drizzle, but under the ferry the sea still pranced and spun in whirls of steely blue. Haru sat next to Maliki on the upper-deck and closed his eyes. As the boat charged forward, a feeling of unreality swept over him.

Surely there was some other Haru who had opened his eyes at 6:00 am, even though the rain-soaked sky was dark. He'd said his morning prayers alone in the prayer room, soothed by the quiet stillness of the space. Still, his stomach had been too unsettled to eat more than a little rice and half an egg—he'd stared at the uneaten yolk for ten minutes before accepting his stomach's refusal and murmuring another prayer for the wasting of good food. He'd reserved an hour for the commute, even though the shuttle from Mauville was quick and timely, so he'd arrived twenty minutes early and then stood outside the lab for another five minutes, wondering if he was far too early or if in fact he wasn't early enough.

Yes, some other Haru had done all that. Right now someone was giving him an official tour, more in-depth than Professor Ogletree's cursory showing. He was meeting the other interns, listening to the debrief from the expedition that had kept the main research teams out in the desert so long, perched against a lab table and smiling awkwardly as the research team laughed over in-jokes he lacked the context to parse. It all played out in his mind with bizarre clarity.

Maybe it was reality, and everything around him—the bob of the ferry, the clean wet air, the pomeg scent off Maliki's conditioner—maybe that was the waking dream.

Every so often when a nincada evolved, it left something behind. That husk didn't breathe and its wings didn't beat, yet somehow it still moved, stiff and inexorable. No one had managed a satisfactory explanation for it. How could that thing be called a ghost when it lived in parallel with its own life? Something pushed it forward. Somewhere inside that hollow husk a desire must burn brightly enough to mock every law of vitality and motion.

A living being and an empty husk. Haru opened his eyes and looked out at the rapidly-approaching canopy of Route 119. He wondered how anybody thought they could tell which was which.

*​

Before they entered the ranger's station, he touched Maliki lightly on the shoulder and said, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

She was silent for long enough that he began to doubt. When she answered, she spoke in the hushed tone of someone imparting a secret. "I'm not sure. I never really am, because the only thing that is completely sure in this world is Mew's mercy, and that comes at the end. If I only acted when I was sure, Haru, I'd never do anything at all. Would you?"

He remembered . . . he remembered a voice in the rain, but the more he reached for that memory, the more elusive it seemed, like trying to stopper the wind. Perhaps he hadn't heard anything that day except the guilty dictates of his heart.

Maliki was right. It didn't change what he had to do now.

Haru pushed open the door and stepped inside the station. For a moment, everything seemed so familiar that he had to touch his hand to his empty belt to convince himself that time hadn't rewound. But the ranger on duty today was a man in the last gasp of middle age. He was stooped and wiry, and his face had formed into a deep scowl as he regarded the tween trainers before him.

"Licenses," he snapped, cutting off their chatter. He held each ID card close to his face as if hoping to uncover a fatal flaw. Haru and Maliki exchanged a quick uneasy look. When the ranger finished the usual cautionary speech and the trainers scurried away, they shuffled forward.

"Licenses," the ranger said in monotone.

"Sir," Maliki began brightly, "we're with the Mauville Sun. We were hoping we could ask you a few questions."

"No. I don't talk to reporters."

Emphasizing his refusal, the ranger spun around in his chair and began to squint fixedly at something on his computer screen.

"It's about the Category III Nuisance Tropius. The one apprehended yesterday. Were you part of the team that captured it?"

"No," the ranger said again, more sharply this time, and he glared at them like an affronted swellow. "There was a press statement. Go track it down instead of pestering me."

"The statement lacked some details." Maliki stood her ground. "Our readers have a right to know how the League will handle this feral tropius, which has already attacked once—"

"The damn thing's not feral!" The ranger drew himself up. He wasn't a very tall man, even without the stoop, but his dark eyes had an angry gleam. "Some fool trainer released it, another fool trainer poked it in the side with a stick and spent a few days in the hospital for his trouble. Apparently that's all it takes these days to earn a death sentence. And no, you can't quote that."

"It's to be put down, then," Maliki said, still with the same unbearable steadiness. Haru clasped his hands behind his back before the ranger could notice their trembling. "Thank you for confirming that. When will this occur?"

Last night. Early this morning. It's already happened, it's over with and done. Haru marshaled the responses in his mind, as if by thinking them first he could preempt reality.

The ranger shrugged. "Guess I'll find out when the euthenasia team drops by."

"Here?!"

The ranger's gaze swung to Haru, who realized that the question had burst like a sonic boom from his own mouth. His bangs overhung his forehead and his eyes were shielded by the clunky plastic spectacles that Maliki had conjured up for him, but he felt completely naked. It seemed impossible that anyone could look at him and not see the tonic of guilt and hope frothing in his gut.

"Yes, here," the ranger said shortly.

"Can we—" Haru had no idea how to end his sentence.

Maliki saved him. "A picture would be of great interest to our readers."

"Corpse-chasers." The ranger sank back into his chair, eyeing them with fresh disdain. "How much?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How much would a picture be worth to your precious readers?"

Haru understood first. He thought of the wad of 10,000 yen notes in his pack—his full savings, carefully tucked away in a waterproof pouch—and didn't hesitate. The station was silent except for the groan of the heating pipes as he pulled out two fresh notes and laid them on the table. It was too much, he knew. Far too much for a half-rate newspaper's bribe.

But the ranger slipped the cash into his pocket without comment. "One picture. That's all you get."

They followed him behind his desk like children on a school trip, through a cramped break room into a windowless chamber. The only source of light was a grumpig slouched in a bean bag chair—the jewel on its belly emitted a faint purple glow.

Slumped on the ground next to it was Heconilia.

Haru froze. Only Maliki's discreet nudge got him over the threshold.

Heconilia had never once looked small. Wherever she went, she took up space—her wings spreading out, her neck arching and twisting, always searching, always curious. Now her wings lay limp against her back and her bare neck was curled close to her body. The purple light lent her green skin a sickly cast. When they approached, she didn't stir.

"We're not set up for this," the ranger said, filling the silence. His gaze was a little askew, as if reluctant to look too long at the room's central attraction. "It's a trainer's pokemon, so we can't capture it without an override ball, and the League always takes their sweet time processing our requisitions for those. Jun's getting tired. She didn't sign up to be a jailor."

"You didn't either," Haru said. In his peripheral vision, he saw Maliki's head jerk in a sharp negating gesture, but he had to try. He took a small step forward. "She's not violent. She's not feral. She's not a nuisance. She acted in defense of her herd. She doesn't deserve to die for it."

The ranger gave a half-shrug. "Probably not. You gonna take your picture?"

"You could let her go," Haru said. He made eye contact with both of them as he said it, the stooped ranger and the bleary grumpig. The ranger's eyebrows shot upwards. The grumpig blinked slowly.

"Sure. And lose my job." He frowned. "You're not really from the Sun, are you."

Before either of them could answer, he flipped a switch on the wall. Haru reeled against the sudden flood of light.

"Shit. You're the trainer."

Three things happened in quick succession. The ranger began to shout a garbled command to the grumpig. Maliki drew a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and clapped it across his face. And Atalanta jetted out from Haru's pack like an escaping bottle cork.

As the ranger stumbled backward, coughing, the grumpig's gem flashed and Haru's knees locked. He couldn't move his legs, but his mouth was still free.

"Double team and then bug bite."

Atalanta's form rippled and split. One ninjask dove straight at the grumpig, whose gem shifted to a diamond-white. The power gem attack hit the ninjask headlong, obliterating it, even as the true ninjask swept in from behind, her small mandibles clamping tight onto the back of the grumpig's head.

The grumpig let out a pained grunt, and Haru could move again. The ranger had staggered almost to the door, but as he reached for the handle he swayed and then crumpled forward. The sleeping spore—the last of Haru's supply—had done its job.

As Atalanta dodged a second power gem, Maliki bent over the fallen ranger and rose with a pokeball in hand. The recall light blazed red—and just like that, it was over.

Haru was bent at Heconilia's side before he was conscious of moving. Even the light and noise of the impromptu battle hadn't managed to dislodge her from sleep. Drugged sleep, Haru realized, when he shook her and received no response. She wouldn't be able to escape this place under her own power. His hands still shaking, Haru drew out the broken ball from his pack.

"We shouldn't take the ferry," Maliki said. She was standing by the doorway, looking out. "It only runs on the hour. If they come after us before then, there's nowhere to run. I have a contact who lives on the outskirts of Fortree. If we can just get to her, we'll be safe."

It was the first Haru had heard about any kind of contact, but he accepted it with a nod. Maliki treated information like food in a famine: you got only what was necessary to survive.

Outside, the rain fell lightly, its delicacy at odds with the disjointed pulsing of Haru's heart. The water had soaked the path dark, but it was not yet so muddy that their tracks showed.

The back of Haru's neck prickled as they walked. With each step he expected pursuit to burst from the small gray station receding behind them. Instinct shouted at him to run, to hide, anything to get out of sight, to not inch his way along the path as exposed as a caterpie under a pidgeotto's predatory eye. But in order to reach Fortree, they first had to cross the bridge. It was only a short distance by the path, but if they ventured off-road too quickly, the bridge might be watched by the time they re-emerged to cross. Navigating the dark maze of the canopy was treacherous without a nav or a guide. Last time Haru had been here, he had both.

As they rounded the first bend, Haru slowed as if he'd waded into deep water. His right hand tightened around Heconilia's ball. His left leaped to the rainbow wing buried under his rain jacket.

This was where the rain had spoken to him.

Grandmother, if you're there . . .

No answer came except for the plaintive rush of wind through the canopy. Haru shivered. He cast down his eyes, wondering what he had expected—wondering at his own presumption that miracles could happen twice.

And then he saw it: a vine peeking over the edge of the path. The leaves were spade-shaped and veined with translucent white. He hurried to crouch beside it. First his fingers met the cool slickness of wet plant, then clay-like soil, until at last they closed around something solid. He tugged.

The chesto berry was pale-blue and already beginning to mold. It rained here far too frequently for the plant to thrive, but chestos were invasives, sprouting wherever trainers dropped their seeds. Haru held the berry up to Maliki, who made a prayer-sign.

They both knew a blessing when they saw one.

*​

By the time they reached the bridge, the quiet felt almost eerie. Half-way down the road they had passed the teenagers from the station, who were too engrossed in their own conversation to give Haru and Maliki a second glance. But beyond that, the path stayed empty behind them and the sky clear of pursuit. How long until someone entered the station and wondered why there was no active ranger at the post? How long until the station received a call that went unanswered? How long did it take an absence to become a presence?

Even if it was only an illusion of safety, Haru felt his breath ease as they turned off the road. The light dimmed immediately, as if in a few steps they had passed from morning into twilight. When they came to a small gap in the trees, Haru released Heconilia.

He had thought she would look more like herself in the green half-light of the jungle, but somehow it had the opposite effect. She looked like a branch cut from a tree, the leaves limp and wilting, sinking into the dirt to decompose.

Haru shook away the image and began to peel the chesto berry, exposing its milk-white innards. He eased Heconilia's jaws open until he could lay a thin slice on her tongue, where her saliva would break the fruit down enough to release its cortisol into her system. He waited, as Maliki stood sentry. After a minute, Heconilia's tongue began to move like a lazy seviper.

Haru risked a larger chunk. This time, Heconilia swallowed noisily and her head twitched, jerking upward. She surged into awareness like a summer gale. Her wings fanned out and a loud cry split from her throat. It rang out more piercing than a city siren.

"Heconilia, it's okay!" Haru called, afraid to raise his voice beyond a hushed shout. "It's me. You're safe now."

Her wild gaze finally registered him. She lumbered forward, and before Haru could move he found himself pinned to the damp earth, Heconilia's tongue rasping across his cheek. His arms came up to wrap around her neck. The skin there was soft like wooly hedge-nettle. She let out a gentle rumble and nuzzled his face again.

It felt so good to hold her close like this, to reassure himself with her solidity, her fragrance, the warmth and vitality of her skin. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and bask in it. But a thorn pricked in his chest.

"Heconilia, could you please—" His mouth had gone dry. He tried again. "Could you please show me your wings?"

It took a moment for his request to sink in. The chesto had woken her, but not entirely. Haziness lingered in her eyes and her heavy movements as she climbed off of him and fanned out her wings.

Haru had admired those wings from the first time he had seen them. The fronds had the same dark tone as a jade plant and the same smooth sheen. Then he'd seen her fly, and admiration had elevated into wonder.

Looking up at her now, Haru thought he might be sick. With her wings laid flat against her back, Haru hadn't been able to tell, but now he saw clear as day the five precise cuts in each wing-frond. The edges of the cuts were pink, but they didn't seem to have bled.

That's right, Haru thought inanely. Tropius wings don't bleed.

Perplexity floated across Heconilia's face. She flexed again, then began to beat her wings, faster and faster, the frantic flurry that signaled lift-off, but the air passed through her wings like wind through a wheatfield. She wheeled around, her amber eyes bright with panic, seeking an answer Haru couldn't give.

How could he explain? How could she understand, when he could hardly grasp it? He'd offered her a choice that night in Evergrande, and he hadn't known, hadn't grasped just how little choice remained for her. When she had followed him from Route 119, she had bound herself to the rules of a system she'd never learned and had never been taught, a trap that didn't show its blades until it sprang.

What had he achieved except to cause her more pain? If he had taken her to the Daycare, at least she would be safe from harm. At least she would still be able to fly.

Dimly, he registered Heconilia's bellowing and that Maliki was shaking him, her face frantic.

"She'll bring the whole jungle down on us," Maliki hissed. "Calm her or recall her, we have to move."

But Heconilia was gone. Maliki tugged at his arm again, and they set off behind her, following the trail of broken branches and crushed bromeliads. Even with her wings maimed, Heconilia moved with a speed that belied her bulk.

When they caught up with her, she had mounted a small plateau and she was no longer alone. Another tropius stood there, regarding Heconilia with hurt confusion. When he stepped forward, Heconilia growled, though the sound was more miserable than aggressive. The other tropius let out a low croon. He bared his neck, offering his fruit.

Heconilia winced. Her gaze dragged across the treetops, as if searching for an escape. Then, unbearably slowly, she unfurled her wings.

Haru closed his eyes as understanding set in. This was Heconilia's mate. But he wouldn't be, not after this. Tropius herds were migratory. They took wing every few turns of the sun, cycling through patches of fruit-trees. Heconilia wouldn't be able to join them. She hadn't just lost her wings—she had lost the life she'd begun to build here.

"Oh."

At Maliki's soft exhale, Haru blinked. Heconilia's mate hadn't flown away. As Haru watched with a dizzy disbelief, he took another step forward and bared his neck again. He crooned, more insistently.

"Heconilia," Haru said quietly. Her head jerked around—her amber eyes swam with doubt. "I think he means it."

Trembling, she extended her neck and closed her mouth around the fruit. The tropius stood still as she ate and when she had finished, he twined his neck around hers. Heconilia looked back at him in wonder.

It was the kind of moment that should have brought the world crashing to a halt, dispelled the clouds from the sky and set rainbows in their place. Nothing should have intruded on a moment like that, but Haru had to speak.

"They'll come after you again. They'll capture you and kill you, Heconilia. And I won't be here to stop it. If you come with me, I'll try to find somewhere safe for you, but I can't promise that it will be safe. I can't promise you anything, Heconilia. I'm sorry."

He'd never know, Haru realized, as Heconilia met his gaze with a strange, furious placidity and snuggled closer to her mate. He'd never know how fully she understood the consequences of this choice.

All he could do was bow his head in silent acknowledgement that she had found something she was willing to die for.

"Let's go," he said to Maliki. The rain tickled his nose and lips; the wind had nothing to add.

*​

The rest of the journey seemed to occur without Haru's conscious participation. He was aware of dense ferns, roots that cut across the ground, the curve of low-hanging vines, but it all seemed static, like a sequence of pictures projected from a film-reel. At one point, Maliki stiffened and pushed him to the ground. As he lay there, blinking, an oddish sprouted indignantly from the soil, made gigantic by the change in perspective. Belatedly, Haru caught the sound that had spooked Maliki—powerful wingbeats above. They remained stiff as silcoon until the sounds diminished, and then the film-reel journey resumed.

The trees thinned out, revealing patches of powdery blue sky. Twilight began to set in, but the growing dark only intensified the sky's blueness. Haru was possessed by the dreamy notion that as more and more light leached away, the sky would not turn black, but only become more perfectly blue.

"This way," Maliki said, jolting him from his stupor. She picked their path more carefully now, stopping on occasion to verify personal landmarks. In a patch of jungle only marginally more clear than the rest, Maliki came to a halt beneath a thick tree trunk.

She tugged at a vine—a rope, Haru realized as he came closer, dyed dark green to resemble its surroundings. A chime tinkled, followed by a long silence. Maliki's face grew taut.

"Who's there?" a woman's voice called out finally.

Haru expected relief from Maliki, but she swallowed before she spoke. "It's me, Dongmei. And a guest."

The voice didn't respond, but after a moment a rope ladder unfurled from above.

The woman waiting for them at the top was closer to Maliki's age than Haru's. She was tall, with a thin, tired face, her hair bound back in the loose ponytail ubiquitous around Fortree. A chimecho dozed around her neck.

She and Maliki stared at each other like strangers. The woman said, "So is this the kind of guest whose name I get to know?"

The polite thing to do would be to bow and introduce himself. Just two days ago, Haru would have done so without question, mortified by his delay. But he stood mute as Maliki answered for him, "Call him Caterpie. He needs transport."

"And what do you need, Mal?" the woman said quietly.

Discomfort flitted across Maliki's face. Equally quietly, she said, "Whatever you're willing to give."

The woman turned and beckoned them into her tree-house. Rayquaza streamers hung from the ceiling, strands of green, red and black fluttering gently as wind passed through the open door. Some Rayquaza sects held it sacrilegious to depict the god in any medium that was incapable of movement, Haru recalled. The famous mural at Sky Pillar still was subject to the occasional protest or attempted vandalism for that. The interior smelled of roasted berries, and when Haru's stomach let out a lurching rumble, he realized that he hadn't eaten since his unfinished, pre-dawn breakfast.

"You'll want tea," the woman said, but distractedly. "You're running again, aren't you."

"Dongmei—" Maliki lifted her hand towards the other woman's cheek. It lingered in the air like a hesitant beautifly. "It was necessary."

"You think anything that's right is necessary."

Maliki let out a short breath.

"I'll make tea," Haru said loudly. He made his escape before either of them could answer, though he was half-certain that they hadn't heard him. The lingering scent of berry roast guided him through a beaded curtain into a tight galley kitchen, where an iron teapot perched on a lightning stove. Haru discovered a pouch of jasmine in a hanging basket and a set of porcelain teacups stored low to the ground. He found himself taking an instant liking to this kitchen and the organized mind behind it. His mother had said that once, though she had meant it as an insult—that you could learn everything you needed to know about a person just from their kitchen.

. . . He was never going to see her again.

Haru spared a thought to be glad that he'd already set down the teapot, because at that moment his hands began to shake, and the shaking spread to his whole body. The kitchen had no chairs, so Haru sank down to the floor.

Tea. He had assaulted a federal officer and he was making tea.

This was no anonymous raid, spraying graffiti like a delinquent teenager and running off with a sack of pokeballs in the dark. The ranger had recognized him. Assault, dumping—theft? Haru's thoughts ran wildly, ping-ponged, and collided. Could he be charged with theft for stealing someone they'd intended to kill?

It had felt impossibly selfish to dwell on what he had forfeited, when Heconilia stood in front of him, hunted and mutilated. But now it roared up like the wind that hit after stepping off a cliff.

What now?

A shrill complaint sounded from his backpack. Haru had just enough sense left to undo the buckles—Atalanta crawled out, her tiny claws clinking against the wood floor. She scented curiously with her antenna, then let out another complaint call.

"Hungry?" Haru asked dully.

She hummed at him, pleased by the question. But when he didn't immediately offer food, she took to the air, buzzing from basket to basket.

He hadn't thought about what would come after. There was only failure—Heconilia's cold corpse, the cold bite of handcuffs on his wrists—or success. And what had success been, what had he imagined in the whirling recesses of his mind? A bright but hazy vision of Heconilia rising above the treeline with a triumphant bellow, Haru on her back. It had been a fantasy, from start to finish, the fantasy that one could fly and fly and never need to land.

Atalanta had settled next to a small ceramic pot on the counter. Her buzzing rose to a celebratory thrum as she made to thrust the lid aside.

"Careful, Atalanta, don't break it—"

At the hoarse crack of his voice, she paused in her honey-seeking and clambered back onto his head. Her pincers scraped at his scalp while her antenna probed the tip of his nose. No one could have called her cuddly, but she was real and she was alive.

Atalanta had the right idea, Haru decided. He forced himself to stand. The water seemed to have come to a boil some time ago without him noticing, so he steeped the tea while she burrowed herself in the honey jar, her shrills mellowing into ecstatic chirps.

As Haru poured the dark liquid into three cups, he realized that the low conversation from the living room had faded away. He steadied himself with a long breath and pushed back the curtain.

Dongmei sat on the couch, Maliki's head resting on her lap. Maliki's eyes were closed and her breath rose and fell to the steady pulse of sleep. Haru paused in the entrance-way, stricken.

When Dongmei noticed him, she gestured him over.

"Naps like a delcatty, doesn't she?" she said in a hushed voice. "Thank you for making tea."

"Thank you for hosting me." Finally, Haru found his manners. He made a bow deep enough to honor a high priest. "I'm so sorry to be intruding on you like this. And—my ninjask ate your honey."

"My honey." The woman looked at Atalanta, who shifted uneasily on Haru's head. A baffled smile curved across her face. "My honey." She began to chuckle softly to herself. "Your apology is accepted. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

There wasn't any room on the couch, so Haru settled on a floor cushion. He found his gaze sneaking back to Maliki's sleeping face. Somehow, he had exempted Maliki from the indignities of mundane human needs. It was startling to catch her occasional snore, the sudden twitch of her lip. He remembered the day he'd gone to visit Grandmother and found her kneeling in front of the Ho-oh shrine. He'd kept silent for ten whole minutes—an eternity for a seven-year-old—until a snore had made him jump, and he had understood that she wasn't in prayer after all, but had simply nodded off where she knelt.

"She doesn't rest enough," Dongmei said, picking up on Haru's unspoken train of thought. "I always tell her that."

"Have you been together long?" Haru asked clumsily.

Dongmei's lips pursed. "Long enough." With her free hand, the one not resting on Maliki's arm, she took a cup from Haru's tray. "She told me what you did. Don't worry," she added as Haru flinched, "I have more than enough practice telling half-truths to federal authorities. I just—" She blew on the tea and took a cautious sip. "Nicely brewed. This jasmine comes direct from Mt Pyre, you won't find better anywhere."

Haru sipped from his own cup, rolling the smooth liquid in his mouth.

"It's very good," he agreed, wondering if she would complete the thought she'd backed away from.

"I've never gone with her," the woman said abruptly, setting her cup down. "She's never asked me to. She knows what I'd say. I think it's right, what she does, only—I don't want to live like that, constantly running, never carrying more than fits in a backpack. I was so proud, when I first built this place, of having a home, the solidity of it. Maybe I'm a coward."

"I don't think that." Haru surprised himself with his vehemence. He took in the living room once more, the carefully carved cabinets, the silent dance of the rayquaza streamers, Maliki's peaceful face. "Places to rest—everyone needs that. Only Suicune can run forever."

Dongmei's forehead furrowed. She didn't accept his statement or deny it, but he could see that she was digesting it. She was the kind of person who thought about things long after they were spoken, Haru decided.

"My chimecho can teleport," she said briskly, after a minute had crept by. "Maliki will be staying here tonight, but how can I help you?"

Haru swallowed. "Atalanta"—he gestured to indicate the ninjask—"she needs to get back to Route 117. Would that be possible?"

Dongmei nodded.

"And you, Haru?"

Maliki's voice startled them both. Her eyes were still shut, and her braids fanned out around her face like a crown. "We're both a bit too hot for the worship house, I'm afraid. There are other houses, of course. Safe places."

Haru caught the curl of invitation in her voice, the same dare she'd made him once before. Which kind of person are you? He had crossed every line, and yet something in him still flinched away.

Because there was one place he could always land. It came back to him now, those laws and rights that had existed long before the first metal building ever pierced the Rustburo sky and would exist long after all buildings fell.

He felt the words before he spoke them—a gnawing ache in his chest, too long neglected. And he gave the answer that Heconilia had given, that night it all began.

"I want to go home," Haru said.

 

[Pen]

Chapter Ten - The Beginning

"Look at the means a man employs, observe the path he takes, and examine where he feels at home. In what way is a man's true character hidden from view? In what way is a man's true character hidden from view?"

— Confucius, Analects
​

---

Nine Months Later​

---

The flea market came to the Sun Plaza on Saturdays. Every seven weeks, when his free morning fell just right, Haru came too.

The market had been a staple of his childhood. He remembered those days like a mosaic, fragmented and yet unitary: waking to pre-dawn darkness, the long wait in the front room, sipping red tea—hot and tannic—from a flask, his mother screaming at Erika, stubbornly still in bed. Then the noise and mystery of the market, with its thousand stalls and thousand scents. And always, the tight press of Mother's hand around his wrist, warning him, do not stray.

Haru twitched his arm, as if to shake free of a ghost grip. It was nearing 7:00 a.m. now, and the plaza was already packed with bargain-hunters. As the sun rose, the tour buses would roll in, and the vendors would add a few zeroes to their price signs.

Navigating the early morning crowd required vigorous, unrepentant elbow-work, though a few shoppers took belated notice of Haru's red and white vestments and shouted back an apology as they pushed past. Police officers ringed the market. Haru had passed one at the plaza gate. He noticed a second as he wormed his way through the clothing section. By the time he reached the tea and spice row, he had counted five.

Green wings flapped suddenly at the corner of his vision. Haru flinched. Craning his head over, he instantly felt ridiculous. Just a green tent flap, billowing innocently in the breeze.

He was on edge this morning. Maybe it was the air, so heavy and sullen from last night's downpour. It brought him back . . .

It's over, Haru reminded himself. It's done.

He'd reached his favorite tea tent. He pushed back the flap and ducked inside, relaxing as dry, stuffy heat closed in around him. The tent only accommodated a few people; most of the space was filled with jars and hanging satchels of loose-leaf tea. In the back, a small cyndaquil crouched inside a traditional stove, heating water.

Haru inhaled deeply. Acolytes earned no wages but were allocated a small portion of the tips left by temple guests. It was enough, every seven weeks, to purchase a few ounces of quality tea.

The shopkeeper recalled him in the vague, overly-friendly manner of all sellers.

"Acolyte! How good to see you. Here, you will like this one. Smell, smell!"

Haru accepted the satchel, smiling.

The scent struck him like a mallet.

"Genuine Mt. Pyre jasmine," the shopkeeper said with satisfaction. "All the way from Hoenn. 1300 yen an ounce, but only for you I do 1,000, because I am a pious man."

His face crinkled in confusion when Haru didn't bargain back but silently counted out a smattering of 50 and 100 yen coins.

He felt almost woozy as he left the tent. A police officer was stalking down the tea and spices row, coming his way. Haru took off in the other direction, his heart pounding so loudly that he thought it surely would be heard, even over the hubbub of the crowd.

It could be anything, he lectured himself. Last week a protest over slowpoke tail distribution had occupied the plaza. The wind had carried the shouts all the way to the temple, and afterwards Haru had heard that several businesses had been robbed in the commotion. It was no wonder the police were out in force.

By the time Haru reached the edge of the crowd, he had almost reasoned himself into calm.

"Acolyte!"

The shout stopped him dead in his tracks.

He clasped his sleeves together to hide his trembling hands as the police officer who had called out to him approached.

All police officers were faceless in their dark uniforms, but as the police woman got closer, he registered that she was middle-aged, a frown cutting a deep crevice through her forehead. She stopped a foot away but, strangely, seemed as unsure as Haru how to proceed.

"It's been almost thirty years," she said. And then, as his stare stayed blank, added, "since I last went to temple. My mother passed, last year. I thought that I should honor the anniversary, but I don't know what's proper—I'm not sure how much—"

"Five fresh glutinous rice balls, fresh kiku flowers, and an incense stick are customary," Haru cut in. He was relieved to hear himself speaking in the clipped, bored tone that daily repetition bred. "If you aren't able to prepare the balls yourself, we sell them outside the temple. The flowers and incense too."

He searched her face but saw nothing except the discomfort so often found in the faces of itinerant temple visitors, the ones who knew that they should come more often, but never would.

Haru's shoulders untensed. All police officers were faceless, but so were acolytes of Ho-oh. He wore the red and white; to most people, who he was beneath those vestments was a matter of little, if any, concern.

A new boldness seized him as the woman murmured her thanks.

"Excuse me," he said. "There are a lot of officers out this morning. Is something going on?"

She smiled at him in a friendly fashion.

"Nothing that concerns the gods," she said.

*​

By the time Haru reached the temple, he had succeeded in putting the encounter out of his mind. He took the side entrance in, avoiding the long line of weekend worshippers and visiting pilgrims that stretched out past the gates. As Haru entered the break room, Masaki looked up from his reading.

"Acolyte Haru! A word."

Masaki didn't look like a priest. Broad-shouldered and heavily bearded, he wouldn't have drawn a second glance at a construction site. He towered over the acolytes, but his manner was gentle and his voice so naturally bellowing that he rarely had cause to raise it.

Haru presented himself with a respectful nod.

"This was your off-morning?"

"Yes, master."

"Hm. Do anything scandalous?"

Solemnly, Haru presented his prize.

Masaki guffawed. "You'll have to brew me a cup sometime. Now listen, we've got someone in the minor sanctum asking for a Haru Wantanabe."

Haru jerked his head up. "From here?"

"Foreign."

Foreign could mean anything. To those born and raised in Ecruteak, even residents of neighboring Goldenrod were complete aliens.

"Dark-skinned?" Haru said, fighting to keep his tone easy. "Early thirties?"

"No, younger and not dark. Hair pinker than a corsola," he added, with a touch of disapproval.

Haru's agitation shaded into bewilderment. He didn't know anyone like that.

Masaki was watching him closely. "Remember who you are, Haru," he said. "And who you are not."

It was kinder than a warning.

Haru bowed again and left the break room. When the passage forked, he hesitated. There was a quarter hour still left in the morning—a quarter hour where he had nowhere he needed to be.

The scent of jasmine rose faintly from the satchel still clutched in his hand.

Haru turned left, toward the minor sanctum.

It was smaller than the main sanctuary, and its hushed, dark atmosphere attracted few visitors. Haru spotted the pink-haired stranger easily. And she was a stranger. Haru was confident he'd never seen her before in his life.

She had parked herself in front of the Ho-oh mural, but she didn't seem to be paying it much attention. One hand fiddled with the hem of her shirt. At intervals, she cast short, darting glances around the room.

For all that, though, she jumped like a startled sentret when Haru spoke to her.

"The sun is strong today," he began politely.

"Uh." She recovered herself. "Yeah, it's a nice day."

Not a practitioner, then. Anyone who'd attended temple would have recognized the traditional greeting and answered, "Only by Ho-oh's grace."

Whatever had brought her here, it wasn't worship. Haru joined her in pretending to admire the mural, observing her out of the corner of his eye.

The accent betrayed her as a Goldenrodder, probably born and bred. It was the slurring at the edges of words. Like they're in too much of a rush to honor the gift of speech, Grandmother had often muttered.

This close, the sharp scent of her cheap hair dye made his nostrils prick. Her clothing was equally shabby—wrinkled pants and a mismatched shirt. But when she lifted her hand to fiddle again with her shirt hem, he noticed that her nails were glossy and manicured, their tips curved into smooth ovals. The discrepancy puzzled him.

"Excuse me," she said suddenly. "Do you know an acolyte named Haru Watanabe? I need to ask him something. It's important."

"You won't find anyone by that name here," Haru said, trying to sound bored. "You don't know much about this temple, do you? Acolytes give up their family names. There aren't any Watanabes here."

"Oh," she said, like she'd just learned an interesting fact. But her face belied her tone. She looked like someone dropped into the sea without a life-vest.

Haru's curiosity grew.

"Whatever's brought you here, maybe I can help," he ventured.

She shook her head rapidly. "Thank you. But it, it has to be him. I've got a riddle for him. It's something only he can answer."

A riddle? Haru blinked in bemusement.

The noon bell began to chime, startling the girl again.

"Tell me the riddle," Haru said. "If you tell me, I can see that it's passed around the temple. Perhaps you'll get an answer then."

"Thank you," she said, her voice small between the deep chimes of the bell. "I appreciate it, I do—" She scrambled for an excuse but words escaped her. The circles under her eyes were dark. "It's fine. I'll find another way."

She didn't sound convinced.

"Please," Haru said, before she had gone more than a few steps. He attempted an approachable smile. "Before you go—I'll be wondering all week if you don't tell me. What's the riddle?"

For the first time she looked at him, rather than at his acolyte robes. Haru knew he didn't cut an impressive picture. His mouth had developed a slight pinch from continual frowning and his face was long and ponderous. If his fellow acolytes were to be believed, it was a face better suited to an old man. His eyes struck the only discordant note. Sometimes they made him uneasy, these restless interlopers peering out from his otherwise placid face.

Whatever she saw didn't alarm her. With a shrug, she recited, in a tone that made it clear the words meant nothing to her, "What's the difference between a suicune and a caterpie?"

The noon bell cut out, leaving only the loud ring of Haru's heart.

Taking his frozen expression for confusion, the girl smiled apologetically. "Told you it wouldn't make sense."

"I'm Haru Watanabe," he said before he could lose his nerve. "Let's talk in the gardens."

*​

Neither of them spoke along the way. Haru walked with his spine straight and his lips pursed tight. The girl's gaze burned into his back, but she kept her questions to herself.

The temple gardens were large and sprawling. Haru took them down a less tended path.

"I don't know you," Haru said finally, when they were hidden by enough trees that he felt private. "But clearly you know something about me."

"I'm Kotoe," the girl offered. "I really don't know anything about you. She told me that if I found you and gave you that riddle, you could help me."

"Who did?" Haru said sharply.

"I don't know that either. I only met her once, over the phone, and she didn't give me a name. She talked like an islander, though."

Maliki.

"The police are looking for you, aren't they," Haru said, crossing his arms.

The hunted look surged back into her eyes.

"I didn't do anything wrong," she said adamantly. "Have you heard about the slowpoke tails? They say it's humane now, but nothing's changed, really, they just outsource the dirty bits and play ignorant in the press. I saw it with my own eyes when I—"

Haru held up his hand. "Stop. You shouldn't tell me. I shouldn't know." He said, more angrily than he had intended, "I'm an acolyte of Ho-oh. What exactly are you expecting me to do?"

"I don't know." The emotion drained abruptly from her voice; now she just sounded tired. "I've been running for the past four days. Nowhere feels safe enough to stop. I need to get out of Johto, but they check papers at the borders."

The memories crashed back. Haru swallowed hard, before panic could catch him up. He was an acolyte of Ho-oh. No one could reach him here.

"You can stay in the temple tonight," he said slowly. "The police won't look here and we wouldn't let them in even if they did. But after that—" Haru swallowed. "I can't help you more. I'm sorry."

Can't? Maliki would have said, with a look that sheared down to the bone, or won't?

But Kotoe just nodded, looking absurdly grateful. "Just somewhere to rest a bit. It would mean the world to me. Thank you."

*​

Haru had just enough time to eat a rushed lunch before the bell announced the start of afternoon chores. He was on laundry duty today and for once he was glad of it. The work was consuming and, more importantly, solitary. As he dunked and wrung out dirty robes, he tried to keep his mind blank, but Kotoe's last words persisted in his mind.

Somewhere to rest. He had found that here.

Temple life suited Haru. Each day brought with it a full schedule of chores, prayers, and meditations, the same rice porridge every morning, except on festival days, when they each received a portion of natto and pickled plum. He liked the routine, the predictability. He said the prayers specified in the Golden Book and he said them at the right times, in the right positions. Each day opened with an obligation that he knew he would meet by the day's end. It was like waking by a roaring fire, completely eased by the force of its heat.

Or maybe it was not like waking at all, but rather a kind of sleep—Entei's sleep.

Perhaps, thought Haru, Entei was the wisest of them all. Surely a world that followed him would be a quiet world, a peaceful one.

He wished, not for the first time, that he could talk to the other acolytes about it.

He'd tried once. The day's verse had been 8:14 and Haru had been excited to share.

His fellow acolytes had heard him out in respectful silence. Then Chihoko had blinked behind her glasses and said, "It's an interesting trichotomy, but I'm not sure your schema fits. After all, Raikou is lightning—lightning sets forests afire, allowing new growth. Entei heralds volcanic eruptions, which create new land. Suicune's the wind, and of the three, the wind is the only one that doesn't change anything. Wind passes through the field of rice, and all the stalks rustle, but they stay in their place."

It was a neat refutation, spoken without any particular passion, and Haru found that he lacked an answer that could be delivered in the same register.

Suicune blessed me twice.

The words would not come. Instead, he bobbed his head along with the others in appreciation of Chihoko's impressive logic and lapsed into a silence that he had maintained in all the months that followed whenever the conversation turned to theology.

He had wondered then, as he wondered now, how he could stand in the temple of Ho-oh and yet feel like a heretic.

What had Maliki been thinking?

When he told her what it meant to seek sanctuary in the temple, she'd dipped her head low in recognition of his choice. In the nine months he'd been here, she'd never sent a message.

To break his peace now, she must have felt that there was no other option.

But there's nothing I can do. Forcefully, Haru wrung out the robe in his hands. I'm just an acolyte.

Like the words of a call and response, his mantra from the morning came back to him. And acolytes are faceless.

Haru's hands stilled. He lifted his gaze to the line of hanging robes. And in a flash of resigned insight, he knew exactly what he would do.

*​

He woke Kotoe two hours before dawn. Soon, the morning shift would stir, the first batch of rice would go into the steamer, the prayers for sunrise would begin, but for now, the temple was as still as a house of the dead.

"Gather your things and come with me."

She followed him groggily, a thin blanket draped around her shoulders. When they reached the cover of the gardens, Haru laid out the contents of his bundle. A set of formal vestments. A headcovering. A neatly wrapped box, filled with incense sticks. A small coin purse.

"You'll take the bus to Olivine. From there you can catch a ferry to Vermillion. There should be enough money. Tell them you're on a pilgrimage to the Sacred Flame. They shouldn't ask you for papers, but if they do, say that you are an acolyte and that you have no name, except the one you bear in service to Ho-oh."

He removed the last item from the bundle more hesitantly. "There's one more thing. Your hair. I don't have anything to dye it with, so it's better to shave it all. It will make your story more believable; it's common to shave before a pilgrimage."

When he held out the razor, her mouth opened as if to protest. Maybe it occurred to her just then that despite everything she'd already given up, there was still more to lose. But the moment passed. She bowed her head as he took up a place behind her.

Haru had never done this before and he felt his lack of skill keenly. The hair came off in awkward pink clumps, until the ground resembled a flaaffy's sleeping den. A few times the blade pressed in too close to her scalp and both of them flinched.

When it was done, she changed. He turned back to find a nervous acolyte fidgeting with the sleeves of her robe.

"These are . . . holy, aren't they?" In her voice, Haru caught the first reluctant stirrings of awe. He wondered what Ho-oh had meant to her before this, if anything at all. "I don't know if I should—"

"Slowpoke tails," he said sharply, cutting her short. Her gaze leapt to him, startled. "Clothes aren't holy; actions are. You have as much right to wear these as anyone in the temple."

Kotoe stiffened. Her hands dropped down to her sides and deep in her eyes, something shifted. Haru remembered the first evolution he'd seen. Aporea had been an anxious shroomish, flinching at loud noises, preferring the shade of a bush or bag to open sunlight. When the white light took her over, Haru had shut his eyes against its glare. He'd opened them to find Aporea looking back at him, her gaze bright and unafraid.

"Thank you, Master Haru."

"Not master," he corrected reflexively. "That's for priests. I'm just an acolyte."

Her gaze didn't falter.

"You sound like a priest to me," she said.

*​

The day dawned clear.

Haru took his morning prayers with the others, ate his porridge, and drank his tea. He felt like an anchor, fixed in place, while the whole world crashed and roared around him.

Tell them, Haru instructed himself, each time he passed one of the priests in the hall. You stole. You erred. You stepped out of bounds.

If he confessed, there would be mercy, like there had been the first time.

He'd reached the temple several hours after dusk, so exhausted that he swayed where he stood. It had been too late for visitors, but they'd opened the gates when he'd told them his name and what he had come for.

Sanctuary.

It was said that long ago the people of Johto began to look upon their emperor as upon a gluttonous arbok in a garden of fruiting trees. At last, friendless and reviled, the emperor fled his palace and sought refuge in Ecruteak's temple. Three great armies had pursued him; where they walked, the earth rang and furrows opened in the fields. Surrounding the temple, they'd called in thunderous voices for the emperor to come forth and meet his fate.

But the priests answered, "An emperor you claim to seek, yet no emperor will you find here. Within these walls dwell only those who have renounced both earthly privilege and earthly obligation. Their lives belong to Ho-oh and Ho-oh alone commands their fate."

So the armies had marched on home and a new age had begun.

Haru had held that story close as he knelt before the priests that night. They'd lit a truth fire, kindled with an ember from the sacred flame. Such a fire permitted neither lies nor excuses and Haru had offered none.

When he had finished speaking, they left him to kneel before the dwindling flames. As the hours passed, his legs had burned, but he hadn't dared to move.

At last, they had returned.

"Your name is no longer Watanabe," the head priest said. "Your life is no longer your own. From the moment you don the sacred vestments of Ho-oh, you shall stray no more from his teachings."

Haru had laughed, or cried. Relief buoyed up inside him, as powerful as a sea.

Yet, even at the height of his elation, an undercurrent ran—a dissent, unarticulated and unvoiced then.

He felt it now.

Stray no more, they'd said.

Had he strayed? It wasn't a question they had answered, but a premise they had assumed.

Yes, he'd broken laws. He'd broken the laws of a society that shrugged when electrike washed up on the shores but mutilated the wings of a tropius who had only ever sought to return home. Could laws like that hold any force?

I strayed, he imagined saying. I strayed and I am sorry.

. . . No.

The refusal shot through the core of him like molten metal and firmed there into something unyielding.

He'd meant what he'd said to Kotoe, every word. Clothes weren't holy. Objects weren't holy.

Even places—even this place—this place that pilgrims flocked to from every corner of the world. They came so that they could stand in the shadow of the Burnt Tower, press their heads against the earth that Ho-oh had once sanctified. But Ho-oh hadn't sanctified the dirt. He'd saved three lives here—three insignificant lives—and with that act, the world had changed for good.

If anything was holy, it was that change, that transformation.

Haru noticed that his hands were trembling, but he felt calm. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt so calm. The evening bells were ringing, but he passed the prayer hall and kept walking, out into the temple cemetery.

The Watanabe family grave lay in a quiet corner, sheltered beneath a golden maple. He brushed away a few fallen leaves and poured water slowly over the grave stone.

So many times he'd knelt here, bearing kiku flowers and incense sticks, always heavy with something he'd been unable to speak.

Tonight, the words came.

"I should have been here for you. Whatever it took, whatever it cost, I should have been here. But I wasn't. I wasn't. For years, I've felt—" He swallowed. "So angry. So alone. I don't know what you would have wanted for me. I'll never know, now. But I've been thinking about Maliki's riddle—the difference between a suicune and a caterpie. And I think—" He released his breath. "I think there isn't one."

The graveyard was silent.

But Haru didn't need his ears to hear the answer of his heart.

*​

When he next woke, Suicune was there.

She stood silently over his sleeping mat, and the blue of her pelt was the most true thing he'd ever known.

Do you understand now? Her voice was like the toll of a bell long after it ceased to ring. You give up everything.

"Yes," Haru said.

And in return, you receive everything.

She did not wait for an answer. Haru followed her down the silent corridors into the main sanctuary, where the torches shed wavering light. A few of the older priests were crouched in vigil, but when Suicune stepped between them, no one paid her any mind.

Just outside the temple gates, a clear lake had appeared. Suicune was gone, but that didn't matter. He knew where he needed to go.

When Haru took the first step, a part of him still did not believe. He waited for the silver-blue depths to swallow him; he waited to be lost, finally and fully. But the water stayed firm under his feet.

In the end, the second step was easier than the first.