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Chapter 34 - Day 14, Part 2: Festival of Fiction

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 34: Day 14, Part 2 - Festival of Fiction


It was an insultingly beautiful morning.


The sun was shining bright, not a cloud to be seen. Just enough wind for a chill to nip at my fur, but not enough to be annoying. The autumn leaves that fell lightly to the earth created a melancholic scene worth looking on wistfully to.


Such a day attracted quite the crowd—big enough to give me a decent idea of why the castle hallways were so empty this morning. An abundantly large number of denizens loitered about in the grass by the castle entrance or sauntered off into town. However, it was immediately apparent that the heaps of pokemon outside were not creating a stir because it was a particularly nice day out.


Flowerbeds of sunflowers, bluebonnets, roses, and lilies were strewn about the edges of the stone-tiled walkway like always, but were now accompanied by a distinctly pink flower. Not only that, but large pots of them had been deliberately placed along the path.


Even someone as distracted as me noticed the pink petaled gracideas. They were too bright and obnoxious to be ignored.


Alongside the deliberately placed pottery were—like clockwork—more of the flowers in less graceful arrangements. Some were thrown on the ground much like the fallen leaves, blending into the scenery as if they had forever been there. Meanwhile, nasty little brats jumped into piles of the stuff, kicking up a cascade of colors reminiscent of gum and candy corn.


Had I been any more inebriated on my own self pity I would have assumed that I had just walked into a wedding ceremony. And if leaves-in-the-fur was the appropriate attire for this wedding then I'd be the god-damned bride.


As if my whiskers couldn't get anymore frazzled, a long, brown piece of cinnamon bread covered in powdered sugar poked me in the cheek. A Mismagius then propositioned me with, "Churro?"


My arms were crossed so tightly when I turned to glare at Calluna that I must've looked like a weirdly flavored bright blue jelly bean, complete with pink and orange specks. "Why exactly is there a festival based around a flower anyways?" I asked in monotone, grumpily blowing a leaf off of my face.


"Not a flower, Oswald-dear," Calluna said. Out in the sunlight she was partially transparent, more ghostly. She was also wearing a pair of sunglasses, so I couldn't see her eyes. "Today is the Shaymin Festival. A celebration of the true natives of this continent—the pokemon of gratitude."


That part must have slipped my mind; hell, I remembered it being referred to as that earlier. My mouth formed a thin line and I set my head forward in the direction of town. "Right…"


Again, she playfully poked me in the cheek with the churro. "Your rain cloud is quite gloomy today~"


On the contrary, my proverbial rain cloud was positively pouring and thundering. Gloomy was only one small part of it. "I'm not in the mood…" I grumbled.


"Aw," Calluna cooed, "don't be like that, Oswald-dear. Try to relax. Are you not having fun yet?"


"We just got here." To town, that is. And the turning heads and gossip only got more prevalent as we approached the crowds far from the castle. It didn't matter to me that pokemon stopped and stared, either, because of my presumed minor celebrity status or Calluna's definite celebrity status. Most went back to their business immediately after, as the festival itself was more exciting— more on that later.


In case it wasn't obvious by the size of my personal rain cloud, all I could think about was how much better it would be if Fenn was there with me. He would have loved it here, the party animal. In fact, I kept a keen eye out in case he got sidetracked and decided to buy a pretzel or stopped to engage in the festivities. Unfortunately, instead of catching sight of two red eyes and a pleasant smile, I got an earful of whispers and gossip.


None of which I actually got to hear, because Calluna decided to talk my ear off. So they all blended into the background much like those ever illusive gracideas.


Calluna shook her ghostly tassel that held the churro, egging me on to take it. "Come now…" she said with a sly smile. "Afraid that Anemone will punish you for enjoying a snack? She can't hear you here~"


What!? Now that was just downright tasteless; it hadn't even been an hour since I left her throne room! Just thinking about what happened with the queen made my blood jump between hot and cold abnormally quickly. I had no choice but to take the churro, if only out of pure spite…and a deep, yearning craving. As soon as I swiped the pastry out of Calluna's tassel and ripped off a chunk with my teeth I nearly melted right there on the spot.


That sweet and warm flavor…that soft, delicate texture. I just tried cinnamon for the first time all over again. If you're sticking around, raincloud, give me a break for a second and don't get my churro all soggy.


A chuckle escaped the Mismagius' hollow throat. "You will be happy to know that I sponsored you in advance- vendors will recognize your color, so feel free to indulge yourself today, Oswald-dear."


Immediately I straightened up. "Whad ya mea?" I asked with a mouth full of churro.


Calluna turned before floating off towards the crowds of the festival. "Come. Let us walk and talk," said the legless spector.


I knew better than to see Calluna's generosity as simply that. Was it a coincidence that she was the first pokemon I saw after meeting with Anemone, and she also happened to have the influence to pay the cost of a day at the festival for me? Probably not. My capacity for snark was at an all time low, though. My ribs were still sore, for crying out loud. I swallowed hard and let out a heavy sigh before following behind Calluna.


The closer we got to town the more decorated my surroundings became. Bird pokemon fluttered about and chased each other in mid-air. Some of these birds scattered more flower petals around with straw baskets in their talons. Most wore a form of pink apparel.


I was forced to stop in place, as several aforementioned children ranging from Shinx to Scwovet scurried past me, nearly causing me to trip. The excited little scamps acted as though they were hopped up on sugar and adrenaline, and their painted faces were a clear indication of that. More pink, brighter than the flowers the colors on their faces were based on. I couldn't imagine that it would be easy to wash that paint out. Not that it likely mattered to the kids themselves. Their parents, though…


I finished off the churro and continued on after Calluna. From building to building more of those flowerpots hung like lanterns from banners stretching through the open air. Tiny, triangular flags hung alongside these flowerpots. The flags—believe it or not—were all shades of pink, as well.


Overall, the town of Kebia had been utterly transformed. The open streets that were decently manageable even on a busy day now held more crowds than I was prepared for. Pokemon of all shapes and sizes perused nearby market stalls while opportunists used the extra traffic to sell their roadside talents, a bright smile to match every face.


And yet, still no sign of Fenn. Not even the excitable atmosphere could change that fact. My shoulders fell half way down my torso as I slouched.


Calluna flowed gracefully with the light breeze, keeping her gaze set forward, occasionally shooting a glance over her shoulder. Probably to see if I was still there—I don't know. I couldn't tell. At one point, Calluna clicked her tongue then suddenly circled around me while never once intentionally slowing me down. "Ah, forgive me. You wanted to know more about the festival, didn't you?"


I never said anything like that, but it wasn't like Calluna just assumed I did. Might be hard to believe that the story behind this festival was less interesting to me than the festival itself. I honestly contemplated more about the Smeargle drawing up ghoulish caricatures on the side of the path than what the deal with the Shaymin was. Maybe Calluna wanted me to ask about it?


"At this point, I've gotten used to being out of the loop," I mumbled loudly over the hundreds of voices. "There must be a lot of context that I'm missing out on here."


"Sadly so…"


Yep. No subtlety at all. That frown of hers and the tone of her voice could not have made it any more obvious. I crossed my arms. "Well?"


A smirk curled onto the ghost woman's face like the wind before a storm. "Well, that simply won't do," she said. She gestured towards a set of open seats under the awning shade of a nearby cafe.


Part of me was hesitant to take even a single step back in the direction I came, towards the red wood painted cafe that I could only describe as "quaintly cute." Another part of me wondered if I should have ran right then and there—what with my tail twitching anxiously at the thought of just barely missing Fenn, or missing a chance to get out of here at all. And Calluna was certainly aware of that. Sitting down would practically seal my fate.


The reality that I was trapped by way of my own hubris was slowly starting to sink in for real, making it hard to think about anything else. My knees were weak. Sweat was starting to moisten my fur. So really, sitting down across from Calluna was the easiest thing I could have done at that moment, and it filled me to the brim with shame.


Each table had four chairs of varying sizes. I sat in the smallest one Calluna pointed to, and even then my stubby little legs dangled off the side. "...So what's this about Shaymin?" I questioned, nearly choking on my own saliva.


She didn't waste time. "The first settlers to Enigma initially approached the Shaymin with caution—and the same was true of the Shaymin themselves," Calluna explained in a practiced manner. "There was tension at first—an expected outcome to be sure—however, as years passed the two groups grew to live in peace. After which they exchanged customs and…well, the flowers you see all around us became a symbol for both the settlers and the Shaymin."


"Interesting…I guess." My response came across more monotone than intended.


Calluna chuckled darkly. "It is. What is even more interesting was what happened next." The ghost floated out of the chair she physically could not sit in until she was behind me on my left, before floating back over to my right. Her voice echoed from ear-to-ear. "Over time something strange occurred…


"Tensions rose suddenly following a petty disagreement, and then the Shaymin just…began to disappear. The settlers were too busy fending for themselves to investigate. Even still, the Shaymin's numbers slowly dwindled to nothing—until only their flowers remained. Odd, isn't it?"


"Is that where the continent's name came from?" I asked, already seeing where this was headed.


The following laugh from Calluna was the most genuine reaction I had heard from her since we first met. She landed back in her seat so abruptly that her form distorted as though her signal to this reality briefly broke. "Hehehe ha ha ha! And here I was thinking you were not paying attention~"


I shrugged my shoulders. It was a lucky guess, really. Enigma always seemed like a peculiar name to use for a continent, even one filled to the brim with magical death dungeons. An origin story that caused the name was more plausible than the other way around.


That said, I wasn't paying attention. I just needed a second to calm down without making it obvious.


"I dunno."


Calluna continued. "This festival serves as a reminder that Enigma once belonged to a pokemon that no longer exists on its soil. Instead, only a remnant in the form of a flower remains."


That earned a derisive scoff from me. "Maybe it should have been left to the flowers, then." A bit of a rude remark, sure—not appropriate for the conversation. Maybe I would have just smiled and nodded if my throat wasn't burning from the bile.


Unconsciously, I searched the crowd several paces away. Still no signs of Fenn…


Calluna seemed far from offended, unsurprisingly. "These tales are taught to children, you know," she said with a sneaky smirk. "The idea of providing you with a proper education during your time here was proposed when you first arrived. But…Anemone insisted that it was not necessary."


Because I won't be here for long, or because Anemone knew that using up resources on me was a waste of time?


I huffed, "Shocker." I watched the crowd silently for a moment, resting my chin in my paws. This impromptu history lesson wasn't doing much of anything for me.


That Smeargle was in view. Their brush scraped across the canvas with significantly more force than needed, while a couple of young lovers sat and waited for their picture to be drawn. Their smiles were awkward and unquestionably tired, but optimistic.


A brief moment passed where the persistent dread was replaced with a lingering wonder. Near the entrance of town roadside talents seemed to be at their most prevalent. I recognized a few of the instruments used, and I even saw a juggling Mr. Mime. But there were some acts that I couldn't parse for the life of me. Like yeah, a spider pokemon creating detailed designs with their webs was neat. I could understand that.


That said, why someone would consider a pokemon constantly fighting against their own evolution a reputable challenge was beyond me, though. That Pignite that was flexing and howling while a glow faded in and off of their body in particular earned a lot of praise for some reason. And money, too.


Couldn't forget about the money.


I flinched as something brushed against my arm. I went to pull it away, with the intent to smack a bug dead or something, only to find nothing there.


And quickly after I found nothing in the other chair either. Calluna was gone.


A sudden jolt of panic zipped through my veins. The chair I was sitting in toppled over as I stood, wide-eyed. Left, right, behind me—the Mismagius was nowhere to be seen. My hopes were only completely dashed once I checked the awning above me and under the table below. She was a ghost, after all.


Still nothing.


What is this, a joke? Where'd she go?


Impulsively I checked under the table again, then glanced at my surroundings. The crowd and festival-goers were the same as before; each and every one of them was ignorant to my anxiety. Still no sign of the Mismagius there.


I peeked around the corner…called out Calluna's name…before slipping back into the spot I was previously occupying. My feet and tail were magnetically drawn back to the ground near the table after every attempt to walk more than a few meters. All the while I fiddled with my scalchops nervously.


In retrospect, I should have been happy to be left alone in town. Crowds everywhere, no one to stop me from slipping away… It was the perfect chance to escape Anemone's clutches. No one could blame me for taking the opportunity, especially if this was the only one I'd ever get now.


But there was also…an itch gnawing at the forefront of my mind keeping me from making a move. An itch that I couldn't scratch—and its name was Calluna.


Seriously, where did she go? More importantly, though, what was she plotting? Why did she leave? I recalled what Calluna said earlier, about my expenses being paid in advance. What, was she expecting me to go spend time at the festival and not expecting me to just up and leave? Because if no one was going to stop me, I could.


I should have. After what happened today? It was clear to me that all of this was a mistake—two weeks in the making with nothing to show for it.


I'm so stupid, I thought ruefully. Overstepped my boundaries and now I'm paying for it. And I still don't even know where Fenn is!


Without any clue of Calluna's true intentions, I had no way of knowing just how much danger I was in. It paralyzed me with uncertainty. My heart pounded in my ears while my bruises started aching again. And yet, I knew that now was the time to act. Either stay in Anemone's playhouse, or abandon everything—including Fenn and Cosmo—and run.


Honestly, leaving it all behind was especially enticing. If it meant inconveniencing Anemone, then it was worth it just for that. But…the guilt might just kill me in the process.


So, what should I have done? For several…what felt like minutes I simply stood there. The world moved on without me. Again and again and again the possibilities bounced against my skull without remorse, slowly but surely dwindling my chances of getting anywhere or accomplishing much of anything.


And then, practically out of nowhere, I gained the herculean strength to lift my feet off the ground and change my body's position. The same force that kept me glued to the cobblestone propelled me to go against the light breeze with just as much feverish dread. Which is to say, I finally decided to ignore the possibility that Calluna's absence wasn't intentional and speed-walked into the festival proper in an attempt to find her. I didn't call out her name, but I certainly had the eyes to match a lost child at the mall looking for his mother.


This better not be Calluna messing with me, so help me god. She WOULD do that.


Tail dragging behind me, arms clenched at my sides, shoulders raised—the worried looks I received as I stumbled into town and past the crowds were not unwarranted. I attempted to ignore them, but without Calluna blabbering in my ear their voices rang like sirens.


"Did you win anything at the casino the other day?" one festival-goer said.


"The ferris wheel! The ferris wheel! I wanna go on the ferris wheel!" a child cried.


"I'll get her a Gracidea brooch! Then she'll say yes for sure!" a young man proclaimed.


"Don't wander off! Stay in mommy's line of sight!" a mother called.


"Where do you think they'll strike next? There are four of them, right?" added a gossipping woman.


"Buy two berri-pops and get a bracelet to seal your bond for free!" a pokemon behind a stall shouted.


"Daddy, have you ever seen a Shaymin?" a little girl wondered aloud.


"Excuse me. Mister? Hey, mister!"


That last voice made me jump. Not only was it louder and closer than the others, but the Vulpix the voice belonged to stopped me in my tracks by blocking my path. She smiled innocently up at me despite how clearly frazzled I was.


I careened back. "What- what do you want?" I frantically asked with unkempt whiskers.


The noisy little Vulpix's smile grew twice its size once I gave her the attention she undoubtedly wanted. Multiple gracidea necklaces hung from her neck, to the extent that they appeared to almost be weighing her down. With how young and reckless she had to have been, I could see the extra necklaces as an intentional decision on her part. Odds were that she felt that she really could carry that many.


"Want a necklace, mister?" she queried loudly. "It's free! And you, uh, look like you could use, a bit of gratitude…in your day!"


That last part sounded rehearsed—more because it didn't sound natural; someone must have told her to say it. Either that or she felt sorry for me. I wouldn't blame her for assuming I was in a bad spot.


She reminded me of Cosmo, honestly, with her big bright smile. Kids can have so much enthusiasm, I swear.


I rubbed the back of my head. "Uh…sure, kid. I'll take one."


"Okay!" The Vulpix then attempted to remove a necklace from around her neck—struggling all the while. Her fur became all frazzled as she used her paw to slip just one of the necklaces off, and failed. Squeaky curses escaped her mouth as her tails flicked in frustration.


It made me wonder how she even put so many of those things on. Quadrupeds sure have it rough.


I held out my paw to help, but before I could even get close a pink glow surrounded one of the bundles of flowers.


"Wait wait wait!" the child cried. But that didn't stop the approaching Espeon from lifting a necklace off of Vulpix's head. It was then placed in my outstretched paw by way of the Espeon's telekinesis.


"Now, what did I say about taking on more than you can chew?" the Espeon chastised the Vulpix in a motherly tone.


The Vulpix just pouted. She sat on her haunches with a grumpy look on her face.


A light chuckle escaped the psychic type's throat as she looked at me. "Sorry about her," she said, flicking her tail in the Vulpix's direction. "She's new to this."


That much I could tell. I was hesitant about putting the necklace on—doing so felt kind of stupid. But I didn't want to be rude. The product she was peddling fit quite nicely around my neck and on top of my bandana at least.


"It's…alright," I said. "Thank you and uh…" I shot the kid an awkward smile and a thumbs up. "Keep at it, kiddo!"


The Vulpix pointedly did not make eye contact with me.


Presumably out of a desire to not make things more awkward we both kept smiling, though I could tell that the Espeon was trying to refrain from scolding her (probably) daughter. Situations like this were why I didn't like kids.


Although, I'd probably feel the same as the Espeon if it was Cosmo, now that I think about it…


A moment later, another pokemon walked up to us. A…Fennekin, I think, with an abnormally long neck and legs. I blinked a few times once I realized what I was looking at; the fox was bigger than the Espeon!


"Hey, that's one!" the Fennekin announced, smiling brightly while elbowing the Vulpix. "Knew you could do it!"


The Vulpix's cheeks grew a slightly brighter shade of red and she grumbled, "I could have done it on my own, too…"


Still smiling, the Fennekin brushed up against the Espeon as he approached me. "Hope you like that necklace," he said. "The girls spent a bunch of days making them back at home."


The Espeon smirked at that comment. "'Days' is exaggerating, don't you think?"


"It adds to the impressiveness, dear."


"You're right," she giggled, then glanced at me. "You can thank our daughter for her hard work."


This Espeon totally just made them all herself and the Vulpix helped. The one she gave me was too well constructed to be made with little fox paws.


I fiddled with one of the flowers around my neck and said, "Yeah, she did a good job, you raised her well. Reminds me of the kid I've got with me, actually." My attention split after I glanced around for a second. Every moment that I spent talking with this family was a chance to miss Calluna or Fenn.


The Fennekin leaned forward a bit, his eyes growing wide out of interest. "Oh hey, you've got a kid, too? They're real pieces of work, you know what I mean?" He nudged his wife(?) to which she nudged him back.


I nodded absentmindedly while still glancing away occasionally. "Mhm. Sure do. He's got his own little quirks, but…" A smile formed on my face without much thought. "He's fun to keep around."


There was a part of me that wanted to talk about Cosmo some more. That kid was so strange and I was actually really interested in figuring out why. Not to mention that I found it kind of funny.


Still…don't know where his real parents are. If I had the time to look into it, I would. Unfortunately, that would have to wait.


The Fennekin laughed. "Kids are such a handful. Isn't that right, kiddo?" A quick look at the Vulpix didn't earn much more than an annoyed scoff. Her dad didn't seem to mind, though, since he just glanced back at me without a comment. "Couldn't live without them. But anyway, where are you from?" the fatherly fire type asked suddenly.


That question in particular caught me by surprise; answering it was trickier than I anticipated. "Oh, uh…right, I live around here. In the castle." I pointed behind me, only to realize that I didn't know where I was in relation to it. As a result I over corrected myself trying to find it, and ended up just pointing behind me anyway. "Yeah, there."


The Fennekin raised his eyebrows. "Oh, a native, then?"


"We come from off-continent," the Espeon added.


And then the Fennekin added "It's vacation time!" to that. "We're here for the festival. It's nice, isn't it?"


I nodded impatiently then replied with, "Real nice. First time going to one…here."


"Oh really?"


"Yeah, yeah...used to go to a lot of these…back home."


A very long pause followed where the three of us stood there smiling politely, waiting for the other to say something. Fumbling that last question probably made all of them confused. It was like my brain short circuited and I nearly let it slip.


…Just like Anemone said I would.


Thankfully, the Fennekin caught on and ended it there. "Well, if the ones back home are anything like this one then you'll love it! Have fun!"


"You too," I said.


The Espeon called out "We'll see you around!" as she led her husband and daughter off into the crowd.


I gave them a halfhearted wave as they left. I liked those three, even if I partially ignored them. It was a bad time for me, and I'd probably never see them again anyway. Or anyone else outside of the castle anytime soon.


No outside help…no new friends in higher places…nobody with any idea about how I got here…


I looked around. Pokemon enjoying their day were conversing and laughing—completely unaware that a human walked amongst them. Could anyone help me at this point? Were there any…scholars or something on vacation in the crowd that understood my plight and could look into it themselves? Was it possible to make them do Anemone's job better than she could?


Asking around wouldn't require much effort; it was just a matter of wording it in a way that didn't sound insane. Not to mention: luck. I needed a lot of it.


Involuntarily, I let out a sigh. There I was, alone and downtrodden, with no place to start and no time to work with. I was exhausted already.


Why should I bother?


It was at that moment that something hit me. Or rather, something caught my attention.


That something being…everything around me.


There's always this moment of being in a crowded place where the words conjoin into a single cacophony of noise and none of it really registers. Even I knew that. Usually it's easy enough to tune every voice out and focus on one specific thing. That being a destination, a friend, or an anxiety of some sort—like being lost. I had none of those things, at that moment; my focus was so split that it scattered like a bag of spilled marbles. When spilling your marbles you stop everything that you're doing to pick them up, yeah? And when you look up…


Well, let's just say that if excited sensations could be translated into sounds my whole body would've been shaking from the sheer volume of them.


There was more to the festival than I initially realized. A lot more. And I hadn't been paying close enough attention until now.


There were a couple pokemon of species that I didn't even recognize engaged in what looked to be a dance competition nearby. The tall and flamboyant blue bird and the green masked cat on two legs were taking turns upstaging the other through the movements of their hips and the tapping of their feet. The intensity of their gazes, the energy behind their rivalry—it was electric. The crowd watching them was visibly entranced, myself included. I unwillingly tapped my own foot along to the music that had been playing at the same time.


On the opposite side of the street, a Pikachu tried his luck at a strength test, hammer and all. His attempt only landed him at a 3: Wimpod. While the mouse bit the dust and pouted, a Hariyama landed a 10 without even using the hammer. Several cried out "no fair!" when the fighting type won a plushie half their size. That plushie, as I quickly came to terms with, was not a pokemon. Or maybe it was, but it legitimately looked too much like a generic bootleg dragon to be any specific pokemon. I didn't have time to think about the implications of that before I looked on to other attractions.


Sack tossing games, ring tossing games, a race of speed, apple bobbing, and even crane machines! These festivities were all clearly unbalanced for specific pokemon. Psychic pokemon were given helmets to wear while playing, presumably to make things fair, and there were signs depicting specific pokemon that wouldn't be allowed to play certain games. But even still, some were inherently better than others despite all of that, I could tell.


I had to wonder why more games weren't made to accommodate the pokemon and their abilities rather than just copying what I was used to. But you know what? I didn't care! All of those worries about Calluna and Fenn, anxieties about Anemone and my status as a human, where I would go from here…


It was impossible to think about any of it when there was a genuine, functional roller coaster at the end of the path, complete with screams of exhilaration and terror.A ferris wheel, too! A merry-go-round and-


OH MY GOD!


ARE THOSE


FREAKING


FUNNEL CAKES!?


COTTON CANDY!?


SOFT PRETZELS!? WITH CHEESE!?


I don't know what came over me. My eyes just started darting from attraction to attraction. The allure of free sugary sweets made my Dewott mouth water so much that drool spilled out onto the ground in front of me. My tail did this thing where it thump ba-thump ba-thumped behind me so fast that I couldn't control it. Pretty soon I was the one grinning like an idiot.


The questions that flowed to the forefront of my mind weren't "where is Calluna?" anymore. Instead, they were to the effect of "where do I start?"


What was happening? This came so out of nowhere that I was worried that something possessed me. But no, I just took in my surroundings and…let go.


I wanted to ride the roller coaster. I wanted to throw my arms up over my head and scream until my throat burned. I wanted to eat so much cotton candy that I turned from blue to pink. I wanted to ride in the bumper cars, if they had them. I wanted to do as much as I was able to then go home at the end of the day exhausted. And then I wanted to do it all again.


I think…this wasn't normal. And that's saying something when anything related to my "normal" was lost to the ether two weeks ago. None of it made any sense. Why was I acting this way?


But then again…maybe this was how I always was, and I just now came into contact with it.


Yeah, when I thought of it like that it made more sense. Just like how eating meat used to be normal for me…


I used to be a theme park fanatic. Either that or I just really loved festivals and carnivals. Even now the lingering taste of cinnamon made my body tremble. I needed more.


Immediately I scowled at my toes, scratching at my scalchops in frustration. Just…forget it. Maybe I didn't deserve to have fun but if I didn't give in to my urges and go get in line for the roller coaster right away I think I would've started crying.


The screams of pokemon on the speeding coaster hit my ears at that moment and I promptly became incapable of bothering anymore. Every bone in my body was practically pushing up against my skin, begging me to just…go. Get on a coaster, grab some funnel cake, and block everything else out.


Nothing was more important than taking this opportunity. Anemone could lock me in a cage after this for all I cared.


I'll…keep an eye out for him, I thought to myself. Fenn'll understand. It's been…rough. I'll make it up to him later.


Whether or not I could actually follow through with that promise didn't matter. Because half a second later I broke into a sprint and rushed to get a spot in line.




"Can I get a soft pretzel—cheese dip with that…oh! And one of those big cookies. Chocolate chip."


"Oh yeah, right away!" The Axew smiled and ducked behind the counter.


Behind the glass were crimson candied apples, drizzled popcorn, and giant cookies, among other sweets. Undoubtedly, the pokemon behind the stand were working hard to meet the demands of a busy day like this. A Scyther cut up fruits for smoothies and slid them into bowls for blending. He was back-to-back with a Fraxure who brushed butter and sprinkled salt over pretzels, placing them in the oven as he pulled out freshly baked ones, and served them alongside cups of cheese sauce. And at the same time, a Buizel spun paper wands around a silver bowl, weaving wide orbs of pink cotton candy.


Pokémon lined up on every corner of the square-shaped stand to get their paws on whatever they were hungry for, smiling excitedly as they traded their coins for fresh-baked comfort food. They sold drinks too, like freshly squeezed lemonade, poured over ice-cubes in tall glasses, a perfect thirst-quencher to go with fried food and sugary sweets.


Too bad I didn't need a drink right now. I had already drunk enough fruit drinks to turn my skin into a slushie. Could've sworn I felt the skin under my fur bubbling earlier...


The little Axew peeked up from behind the counter again, presenting my food. Around his neck a pink bandana shimmered in the midday sun, a gracidea flower design stitched into the fabric. He grinned at me like I was the most important customer in the world. "Can I get you a drink too, sir?"


I couldn't help but smile back. Though I waved my hand and shook my head despite how enthusiastic he was.


"No thanks," I said. "Just the snacks." For a second I considered asking for some candied popcorn, too. But at this point I was pushing it plenty enough already. Didn't need to waste more time lounging around rubbing my aching stomach like before.


The Axew nodded, opening his mouth to possibly ask something else. About my payment, most likely. But instead his eyes drifted downward and he mumbled something like, "Oh, purple." After which he went back to smiling. "Enjoy!"


Every vendor, and I do mean every single one,at the festival knew to let me go without paying every single time I did something—all thanks to the color around my neck. This scarf of mine was like magic; I didn't even need to say anything. Helped to get me to the front of the line of the festival's coasters, too.


I wonder if I could ask Calluna to extend this to the rest of the team…they deserve it more than I do.


Bah, none of that. I spent all day fighting off the guilt, and I wasn't going to let it get me down now. With a nod of my own, I went to pick up the snacks I bought. But before I could turn to leave the little dragon spoke up.


"If you have the time, sir," he said, "Team Pink Petunia is performing their famous Bubble Show near the center of town soon. You don't wanna miss it!"


"What?" I stopped in place with snacks in hand, and glanced at the Axew in confusion. "Bubble Show? What's that?"


His eyes went wide with surprise. "You don't know?" A gasp escaped his lips. "Team Pink Petunia are only the greatest Bubblemancers this side of Pamtre! I wouldn't miss this for the world!"


Bubblemancers…? Now he was just making up words. Still, it wasn't like I haven't experienced anything weirder during my time here. Wouldn't hurt to go check it out.


"Right…" I muttered. "Where did you say they were again?"


"The center of town! Look for the big Gallade statue!" He pointed a finger towards the end of the street behind me.


The Gallade statue…I vaguely remembered where that was. Big and shiny. Determined eyes. Long, flowing copper cape. I distinctly remembered running into Fenn for the first time after seeing it.


Man, that felt like a lifetime ago. I wondered if Fenn looked back on that moment with as much sentimentality as I did. And as expected, that thought process led to me gritting my teeth again.


I hope he found a way to have as much fun as me…


Shaking away those thoughts for now, I nodded at the Axew and was on my way. "Thanks, see you around!"


"Goodbye!" the Axew called out. "Enjoy the rest of the festival!"


Was it even possible to enjoy it more than I already have, realistically? After all, over the course of just a few hours I rode the festival's biggest coaster so many times that my voice was starting to give out from screaming so much, ate so many sweets that I couldn't move for a good bit, and won a plushie for Cosmo. I even threw up a couple times. It was great!


I had said plushie under my armpit as I made my way through the bustling crowds towards the statue in the distance, trying not to drop anything. Like that bootleg dragon plush I saw earlier this one was definitely not a pokemon. It was a blue dolphin with glittering plastic eyeballs. Pretty sure a pokemon like that didn't exist.


Cosmo would find a way to have fun with it, though. I should've gotten him a whole basket full of them.


After a bit of time, I managed to breach the crowd before stumbling into the center of town. I looked left, right and all around; this was definitely the big crossroads of the festival, with a bunch of signs pointing down the other paths. So many pokemon shouting out where the other attractions were, too.


The circular roundabout marking Kebia Castle Town's center was surprisingly easy to walk through, unlike the path leading up to it. With a lot of the space left open for the area surrounding the fountain, it functioned solely to give the many families passing through some much needed breathing room. Not to mention it was just a pleasant reprieve, what with the large maple trees towards the edges and banners of pink hanging overhead. Plenty of shade to go around.


Speaking of, my gaze eventually drifted upward. Right ahead of me was the Gallade statue affixed atop the aforementioned marble fountain. Sunlight bounced off the magnificent, copper art piece, practically causing it to glow.


The statue's eyes were determined and full of innocence, seemingly gazing off into the distance. Decorating the statue were bouquets and flower crowns and flower necklaces—all entirely gracidea—hanging from the statue like medals. Younger pokemon played in the fountain while vendors sold candied apples and frozen treats nearby.


I'm not lying when I say that my attention was transfixed on the statue for quite a while. Perhaps it was the spectacle of it all or I just needed the time to rest. But before I even had the chance to think about it much, a trio of pokemon hopped onto the fountain and made themselves known to the crowd.


Heads turned as a pink and blue Politoed dressed in a frilly shirt and feathered hat announced to the pokemon surrounding him, "Come one, come all!" His voice boomed over the heads of pokemon all around, creating silence. "Welcome to the Shaaaaaymiiiiin Festival!"


A murmur arose from the crowd, but it was quickly quieted by the voice of a pink Vaporeon next to the Politoed, fitted with a similar frilly garb. "We hope you are enjoying the festivities!" she said cheerfully. "Food, games, and more! So much more! Could this day get any better?"


The third pokemon, a pink Golduck, answered her rhetorical question after climbing up next to them. His outfit was also quite frilly, though it fit the large duck more loosely and looked outright silly on him. "I think it could," the Golduck replied in near monotone. "We could, perhaps…start quite the show for the lovely pokemon here today."


"That's a great idea, Alba!" said the Politoed. He elbowed the Vaporeon lightly. "What do you think, Passion?"


"I couldn't agree more, Alstroe!" smiled Passion the Vaporeon.


Alstroe the Politoed grinned. "Great! Well, folks, you're in for a ride! We've got something special in store for you today! But first…" He pointed a finger at himself and puffed out his chest. "I'm Alstroe!"


"Passion!" the Vaporeon added with a swing of her tail.


"Alba," the Golduck stated in a slow, bored sounding tone, waving his hands unenthusiastically.


"And we're…Team Pink Petunia!" all three pridefully said at once.


The surrounding crowd of kids and adults alike cheered for the three pokemon. After setting my stuff down I gave them a polite clap of the paws, just to fit in.


So, this was the team that Axew was talking about. The…Bubblemancers…


"For this very, very special occasion," Alstroe continued, "The Pink Petunias elected to perform their patented 'Dance of The Seabed King!'"


More cheering followed that announcement. While it held no meaning for me, the townspokemon went absolutely crazy over the idea.


"A majestic mingling of the body and the element that grants it life!" Passion added with her head held high.


"A spectacle, a wondrous display, an act performed by masters of their craft," finished Alba, sounding just as bored as before. "I'm aching to show you all."


The juxtaposition between the Golduck's words and the distinct lack of joy in his voice earned a chuckle out of me. Though…that didn't last long once I noticed that none of the other pokemon seemed to find it funny. Once again I was left misplaced and shrunk into myself.


Alstroe pumped his fists. "Yes, the sun will shine brightly on us today." Just as quickly, his jolly smile dropped and he tepidly turned to Alba. "But, er…there's one more thing before we start. Alba?"


Without much fanfare and without meeting eyes with anybody, Alba pulled out a folded piece of paper from the folds of his shirt and began to read from it.


"Team Pink Petunia is overjoyed to let you all know that this performance is sponsored by Milk and Poppy. Milk and Poppy: the best pharmacy this side of the Kebia Main Street, for all your shopping needs."


Still as cheery as ever, Passion said, "I always go to Milk and Poppy when I need something right away!"


Alstroe then said, "They're quick, they're reliable, and they're cheap!" Again, he dropped the act slightly and turned to Alba. "Er…wasn't there one more?"


Alba read more from the piece of paper. "When all is said and done, you are going to need a trim. Can't let those bangs get too long."


I swear I saw the Golduck roll his eyes.


"Come down to Thistle's Snip-Snap emporium if you've got hair—slash fur—today!"


The Politoed next to Alba leaned over and whispered something, probably to the extent of "is that all of it?" Alba nodded, prompting Alstroe to hop back into place.


"Okay, let's get started!"


The crowd cheered and clapped for the trio, while I was left bewildered and stunned momentarily.


Do they always start their shows with such blatant advertising? So clumsily, too?


I would like to say that there was no other indication that this was the norm, but that would be a blatant lie. It was subtle to the point that I didn't notice it until now—the advertisements. Of course I can't read, however there were colorful fliers stapled and taped to buildings, floating away with the wind, being carried by those same children from before…


Big, auspicious letters made to grab your attention and strikingly optimistic imagery were a big staple of advertising from what I could remember, and the festival was full of it. The fact that it took until someone outright said it out loud for me to notice didn't sit well with me. And I doubt it ever did back before I came to this world.


So while the trio of pink pokemon began their dance of gymnastics and water bubbles, I was busy standing there and recounting every instance of advertising I had seen so far. It was…bleak, considering how prevalent it was. Only in Kebia, too. Micle didn't have a hint of marketing despite how much it would have benefitted the city. Even back when those advertisements were slipped under my door I thought nothing of it.


It was a lot to take in. But most importantly it was a lot to look at. Everyone was distracted by the performers, no one was looking at me, and I was towards the back…


Sounded like a good enough chance to slip out and leave to me.


I had these kinds of thoughts pretty much all day, actually, despite my efforts. Potential consequences still lingered in my mind, overpowering my drive to even move my toes, though. The safer option would have been to stay where I was and enjoy the festival like I was told. That was the sort of argument that I had been parroting at myself off and on during the entirety of my time at this festival.


Not like I saw Fenn at all during my entire time here. I had long since accepted that I missed him—he wasn't anywhere near me. And I had no desire to drop everything and go look at that moment. In other words, I had yet another excuse to stop thinking and eat more snacks.


I let out a sigh. Everything from my whiskers to my tail drooped. Anemone's words rang true: I was spineless and cowardly. The allure of coasters and free sweets was too much to bear. With a disgruntled look on my face, I grabbed my soft pretzel off the ground and ripped off a chunk of it with my teeth.


"Sof papepic…" I muttered under my breath with a mouth full of food. The guilt was resurfacing again, but I didn't try to fight it this time. If this was what it took to make me crumble then it was no wonder why Fenn left without me.


As I leaned down to pick up the cheese dip—because this pretzel really needed it—the sound of a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks.


"Having fun?"


Oh, there she is.


I turned and caught sight of Calluna skulking in the shadows of a nearby tree, banners and streamers keeping her hidden enough so that it was difficult to make her out. Had I not been looking for her, I wouldn't have seen her. That ghostly smirk of hers was just distinct enough.


Man, this is some good cheese, I thought as I took another bite. What did they put in it here? I had to wonder. There was this gooey, fresh texture to it alongside a tinge of spice that really gave it that oomph of flavor. Calluna deserved my thanks.


I swallowed, then said, "You could say that. They've got some real good food here. Coasters, too. Like uh, The Sandaconda, I think it was called." A smile creeped onto my face at the memory of riding that thing. "Real nice. Ever go on that, Calluna?"


She chuckled, slowly floating out of the shadows. "I'm not one for testing my own products." Her voice blew along with the breeze like leaves, yet her body had no reaction to the wind whatsoever—like she wasn't even there. I couldn't imagine that she'd get much out of a roller coaster anyways. "I have heard that it is quite exhilarating, though."


Sure was. The Sandaconda was a proper single-rail designed coaster, compact and constructed with steel. Started with a long vertical ascent before rounding about a corner, then dipping into a near ninety degree drop into a loop. Another vertical ascent followed the loop, before descending into a lengthy helix funnel—hence the name "Sandaconda." On the way back around there was a corkscrew twirl that zipped right under the loop from before, specifically timed to thread the needle and meet another train along the way. After that, the coaster turned around, dropped, then rose into a zero-G roll.


During a few of my rides a couple teenagers talked about trying to launch their spit at the other train as it zoomed past under the loop. Wasn't sure if they succeeded because it was only one mon per cart and the g-forces were too intense to try even after the fourth attempt. Plus, I preferred being at the front.


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There was one thing I was wondering about, however. "Yeah, it was great. Hell-" I pointed at the bubble show being performed, "-I want to go ride it again after this. But how'd they get it into town overnight?" I asked. "It wasn't there yesterday, as far as I remember."


Maybe I wasn't paying attention? Pokemon are magical creatures capable of spectacular feats of ingenuity, but I doubted they could airdrop a damn 80 foot coaster into a populated city over the course of just one night.


I was curious how they did it, since I could imagine they used some technique I wasn't aware of. Unfortunately, Calluna opted to not answer my question.


"Mmm…That's a trade secret, Oswald-dear."


I shrugged. Doubted that, too. "Uh-huh. Whatever. Where have you been?"


Her smirk grew. "I could ask you the same question," she retorted. "You're still here, hours later. You had the perfect chance to run…yet you stayed. Was it cold feet, or were you enamored by the freedom I gave you?"


And now she insisted on taking all of the credit. Yeah, no thanks. At least I was vindicated in my hesitation.


I looked over my shoulder at the aforementioned bubble show. Some bubbles were the size of a small pokemon, while others were as large as a Snorlax. The Politoed bounced atop one while the Vaporeon sang a beautiful tune atop another. Meanwhile, the Golduck guided the bubbles with his psychic powers, fully concentrated. I lingered on the display as I replied.


"…I was calling your bluff."


I don't think there's a single person alive that could believe that. Aside from Cosmo and maybe Fenn. Though I feel like he'd just go along with it instead of questioning it. I very much was not calling Calluna's bluff.


Calluna full-on laughed. "Perhaps you are smarter than you look!" She gestured towards the tree she was just under a moment prior. "And to answer your question, I had to take care of some business. I am available now, so…come. I want to talk."


Without much of an argument, I grabbed my belongings and followed after her. Under the shade of the tree, the air was chilly; it was a stark shift. Standing out of range of the sun and turning around was like being outside of a window during a winter storm. Disconnected, close yet far, looking in. The way the light bounced off of the bubbles left a sparkle in my eye—another result of me having an affinity for water, I guess. It reminded me of that time Fenn and I were at the beach.


I had to ask, "I don't suppose you'll let me leave the castle every so often, right?"


It was easier to see Calluna in full now that the sun wasn't beaming through her. And I had to say, her age really showed in this kind of lighting. A weird thing to notice especially considering that…she was a ghost. I was not aware ghosts could age, but Calluna set that record straight. She looked to be about middle aged, close to Anemone, actually. Same tired eyes, but with a hint of confidence that set the two apart. Anemone shirked away from the public eye, while Calluna reveled in it.


"Mmm…no," she hummed. "Anemone-dear told me that this would be the one exception—and that took quite a bit of convincing on its own."


Figures. Probably no chance of going after Fenn either…


"What would have happened if I tried to run?" I asked while my pulse pounded in my ears. The fact that I considered it and was one bad move away from screwing up left a pit in my stomach.


Calluna didn't bother to sugarcoat it. "I would have stopped you. My instructions were to keep you from leaving the town and to bring you back to the castle before the evening comes."


I thought she had business to deal with. But…she was also watching me? Hmm…


"Not even sunset?" I asked.


"No."


I scoffed. "Harsh. I didn't take you as one to follow orders that closely."


There wasn't a hint of her regular playfulness in the tone of her response. If anything, she sounded deathly serious. "We are our own servants, Oswald. You would do well to remember that."


I would if I knew what it meant. If I was my own servant then I would have fired myself by now.


"Right..." I watched the bubbles contort and squish, water spraying from the performer's mouths like fountains of their own. Alstroe jumped into a large bubble and joined hands with Passion. Like the majestic beasts they were, the two of them swam and danced with such fluidity that it was as though they were the water.


All the while, the world outside of the shade of the tree became garbled and incoherent. It was as though Calluna and I were on the other side of the glass at an aquarium, looking in at the sea creatures in the tank. Detached and separated from the crowd, but in a way that made it feel more like I was spectating than participating.


"…How much business does that barbershop even get?" I wondered aloud, breaking the silence. Changing the subject seemed like a good idea.


"Hm?"


"You know-" I pointed at the pokemon in the bubbles, "-that Thistle shop they mentioned. Do…pokemon use that often?"


It was only after I started talking did I realize how stupid that question was. Of course it got good business! Why wouldn't it?


Calluna let out a quick chortle, returning to her normal mischievous demeanor. "It is nice to know that my methods work well enough so that you are reminded of it." She looked me up and down with a smirk. "I can set up an appointment for you if you'd like. They can come to you."


Oh god, haircuts are bad enough. Trying to trim a whole body's worth of hair, though?


Regardless, I held up a paw. "No, just…wait. Your methods?"


"I own Thistle's, dear."


Oh yeah. Didn't Dahlia say that Calluna owned all of the businesses in town once? How'd she manage that?


"Well, your advertising 'methods' are kinda obstructive," I said with crossed arms. "Putting them at the start of a live performance doesn't do anything but annoy people. It doesn't tell them anything either. And for the record, it's not good enough. It's downright amateurish."


For the first time, Calluna reacted with intrigue. A raised eyebrow under the shadow of her hat and a fascinated "Oh?" She floated a bit closer. "Tell me, Oswald, do you remember much about selling services from your time as a human?"


Unfortunately. Vague images of brand logos and garbled commercial jingles flashed in my mind despite the numerous gaps in between.


"Let's just say that my knowledge on how advertising is supposed to work persisted even after I lost my damn memory," I replied.


One of Calluna's ghostly tassels rose to her chin. "Interesting…" she muttered. "Do you, perhaps, have any suggestions?"


Just to be clear, my perspective on advertising was one of someone who lived in a world where it was likely very prevalent. Not as the advertiser. I could explain how it was used in a general sense, but I wasn't an expert. Not to mention that the details were still blurry altogether. I gave her the best answer I could think of after some pondering.


"You have to be…loud. Catchy. Pervasive in a way that people can't possibly forget that you exist. Proper advertising doesn't just lead to a bonus increase to profits, it's supposed to be so widespread that it becomes a part of life for people. For…everyone."


Calluna cooed, "That sounds downright cruel, Oswald-dear!"


I clicked my tongue. "It's effective. I might not remember the face of my own mother, but there's still fragments of a company logo somewhere in here." I lightly knocked on my own skull as I said that.


What can only be described as pure elation flashed across the ghost's face. "I am simply…fascinated by this," she said. "That sort of approach was a far-cry from what I was taught."


"Taught?" If I had big, pointy ears like Fenn they would have pointed straight up. "What were you taught? And where?"


Silently, Calluna floated closer to the edge of the shadows, closer to the fountain. I followed hesitantly, keeping my gaze locked to the back of her head. The encroaching sunlight made parts of her appear more ethereal—closer to the crowd.


"Are you familiar with the continent of Chordatum?" Calluna questioned.


"I didn't know the name of the continent we're on until yesterday, so no."


"I will keep it brief, then. Centuries ago, Chordatum was half of its current size—almost smaller than Enigma. The leader at the time, a Zarude with a vested interest in the cultures and customs of extinct humans, decided to name himself…president."


"We had those from where I came from, yeah." There was something I could finally answer with a definitive "yes."


She smiled over her shoulder. "Good. That saves me the trouble." She turned back to the statue, and continued. "He devised a plan: Research humans as much as possible and find the key to success—to untapped power and potential humans hold. That may sound simple to you, Oswald-dear, but at the time information was sparse. Whatever records that survived were either unhelpful or within the grasp of other societies; made trivial by the fact that Chordatum was new in comparison to others."


They really do think highly of humans, huh? Makes me wonder what other crazy things pokemon think humans are capable of. Or…what they'd do if they met a real one…


Calluna kept going. "Progress was slow until a team of explorers returned from a Spatial Dungeon with a tattered poster." Her expression became somber. "A recruitment poster."


"You mean like military recruitment?" I asked, suddenly very concerned about where this was going.


"Supposedly." The reflected lights of the sun off of the bubbles invaded the shadows and pierced right through Calluna's ghostly form. "President Zarude studied the poster as much as he possibly could, pouring over every minute detail, uncovering its secrets."


Calluna was right, this did sound incredibly simple to someone like me. What kind of secrets does a recruitment poster hold? None. A recruitment poster, if anything, held no secrets on its own—they were just used to grab the attention of passersby.


Coincidentally, that was exactly what Calluna was getting at, as evidenced by her next comment.


"He proposed the question, if this poster was enough to rally soldiers for war, what else could it do?" she said rhetorically, sending me a devious smile.


I frowned. "With the way you make it sound, that poster inspired a whole nation on its own." No way it started there. An entire continent didn't double in size because of a lucky draw from a Mystery Dungeon, did it? That's insane!


Yet plausible, apparently.


"Oh by Giratina's gallbladder it did~" Calluna giggled with glee. "President Zarude understood the power behind the right words on the right wall at the right time. His first test was through the very university I attended to grow my skills as an entrepreneur: Major John Academy—the one name present on the poster itself! His teachings led to me forming an empire on this rock…as you have seen~"


Naming your academy after a military leader doesn't bode well. And a human leader, too. That's like naming a human academy "Sergeant Pikachu's University." How many war crimes has he committed?


A snicker left my throat. "Your 'empire' needs some work."


Calluna turned back to the show in front of her, before muttering, "Yes…as you have said, Oswald-dear. Even though I was at the top of my class…I am imperfect." Based on her demeanor she believed it, too.


It was strange being the one with the upper hand knowledge-wise for once. Not like I was an expert or even a businessman as a human—no way I would know. But whatever I happened to know was enough to make Calluna…stop and think. Or so I thought.


One more time, the Mismagius met my gaze. Her face, partially transparent, glowed covetously. I would almost say that the look she gave me was full of hunger.


"Don't mind me," she said, "this is my field of study. The world of human business practices…captivates me."


"I can tell."


Is everyone under Anemone's boot a fetishist for humans? God damn.


Another moment of silence passed as the two of us observed the "Dance of The Seabed King," as the shiny trio had called it. While I wouldn't call it particularly jaw dropping, it was definitely a spectacle. Alstroe and Passion's stunts became more and more elaborate over time, eventually becoming what was essentially a water-based circus act. But instead of flaming hoops and clowns, there were lots and lots of bubbles. Alba truly was a master at his craft.


Not only that, but the audience grew in size to the point that I almost thought the entire festival was there to experience it. I know that Axew said he'd attend, and as much as I wanted to see if he did, I literally couldn't.


My eyes went dry from staring at the display, simply because I was too transfixed to blink. I know I didn't call it jaw dropping, but that was me saying that. Not my Dewott skin suit. By every metric, seeing so many sparkling bubbles in such a wondrous arrangement sparked something in me. The guilt and self hatred all seemed to just wash away, and I'd go as far to say that it warmed my heart.


There was something so strange about describing it that way, but in all honesty…that was just how it was. Just like earlier with the coasters, I was fawning over water of all things. If there was such a thing as a heaven where both sides of me could be content, I think it would involve a water slide.


"It's stunning, isn't it?" Calluna asked suddenly.


I nearly jumped. It wasn't even that loud—it just startled me. At one point she floated back so that she was further in the shadows, so I had to step back with her.


I responded with, "It…is, yeah. I'm glad I didn't miss it."


"Mmm…" Calluna hummed lightly. "It really is a shame what Anemone decided to do. I always found her methods to be a bit…much."


"Yeah…" I looked down at the dirt. If Calluna hadn't done this for me then I never would have known about any of this. Honestly, it made me despise that Gardevoir even more.


Calluna's voice became quiet, and soothing to listen to, even. "I cannot apologize enough for this kind of treatment. You…do not deserve it."


I held up a paw somberly. "No…don't worry about it," I grumbled. "I should be thanking you for…letting me take a break from…all of this." I put on a fake smile and fake cheery voice. "Might seem like I'm a funny guy that can handle anything." The smile faded just as quickly. "But I'm not. And I can't."


Like a worried mother, Calluna tilted her head and said, "Aww…" all sympathetic-like. "You're doing what you can. That's good enough."


For a second I choked up. Dammit…that really got to me…


"I…yeah…"


There wasn't much I could say after that without my voice breaking, so I didn't try. Thankfully, Calluna changed the subject almost immediately.


"Oswald-dear, there was something I wanted to ask you."


I looked up. "Yeah?"


Floating back towards the bubbles a bit, Calluna's eyes trailed upward. "Do you know who is depicted by the Gallade statue there?" she wondered, her voice neutral sounding.


Following her gaze, I found myself squinting slightly. I cleared my throat. "No, I don't know. Is he someone important?"


Calluna was silent for a moment, as though she were deliberating over whether or not to elaborate. Eventually, though, she simply said, "That…is Ranun. A war hero."


"Alright…" I muttered. For some reason that name caused an itch at the back of my brain significant enough to prod further. "What did he do?"


"Hm?" Calluna shot me a look over her shoulder. "Oh, right. Forgive me, the details are a bit foggy now. All that is relevant is that back during the Psychic Wars his contributions were lauded as particularly valiant. To the extent that…this statue was built in his honor. The name Ranun became synonymous with 'honor' and 'strength.'"


I figured. A flattering depiction like that wouldn't be constructed for some nobody. Why did any of this matter, though?


Well, I wanted to know more regardless. That itch just wouldn't go away.


"I see," I said. "I'm surprised this is the first time I'm hearing about him, then."


"Not surprising. His impact has waned over the years. But also I am not being entirely truthful with you, Oswald."


I blanched. "…What?"


The tone of Calluna's voice caught me off guard, along with the suddenness of it. Her gaze was planted firmly on the display ahead of her, which made it difficult to tell how serious she was.


"The truth is," the Mismagius started, "Ranun was not a war hero. The history books would tell you otherwise—but I am no history book, dear."


As much as I felt the need to give a sarcastic retort, I knew that from the sudden shift in the atmosphere that this was not something to take lightly. I narrowed my eyes.


"Then why is there a statue of him?" I asked, before quickly correcting myself. "I mean, I can assume that it's a lie. But what for? I'm confused."


"I am not quite finished yet," she replied quickly. "To elaborate, not many pokemon in his day properly knew him. And yet, ask the older members of the castle and they will speak highly of him. Some will say that he saved many after donning his cape, sacrificing himself for the cause. However, what many will not tell you is that Ranun never mega evolved once."


Mega evolved…? Not familiar with that.


If Ranun's origins were a lie then there had to be another reason for his relevancy. Calluna was clearly going to tell me so I just kept quiet.


But…still. That itch was getting harder to ignore…


Calluna continued. "The truth is that Ranun, despite his apparent valor-" At that moment, Calluna smirked at me over her shoulder. -"was dumber than a sack of rocks. The kind of man that could not walk, talk, and think at the same time. His mind was like a pile of sludge stuffed into his skull."


She gestured towards the statue. "Someone such as that could not produce the proper psychic capabilities to defend himself, let alone save others. And yet, there he is, thirty years later."


Crossing my arms and scrunching up my face, I had to consider this for a second. So, apparently this Ranun guy did nothing of importance but history was changed to make his actions seem legendary. It wouldn't have surprised me if everyone just heard the lie once and accepted it. After all, why would they deny it? That would be stupid.


One question was on my mind, though. "Why does any of this matter? Sure, it's kind of weird to make some random idiot the centerpiece of town, but the message still works. He's a symbol. Doesn't have to be more than that."


Calluna nodded. "Yes, you are correct. And if that was the end of the story, I would leave it there. But…" Suddenly, she turned to face me properly. The shade of the tree darkened her features ominously, while the sun shone from behind. "I had another question: who do you believe funded this statue to be built?"


"You…?" I raised an eyebrow. Was that a trick question? Like, Calluna had the money, and she knew the truth. That had to be where the conversation was going.


I was wrong. Dead wrong. The itch became almost overwhelming once Calluna told me what the deal was.


The ghost's smirk grew two more sizes, nearly phasing off her face entirely.


"It was Anemone," Calluna elaborated in a whisper. "She saw to it that Ranun was immortalized in that statue…and remembered as something he distinctly was not."


Okay, I can understand the statue. Maybe she cared for the guy a lot and used her powers as queen to indulge herself a little. Fine. Nothing wrong with that.


But changing history?


"Is it supposed to be propaganda?" I asked with a frown.


Calluna chuckled darkly. "Ah, wouldn't that be something, Oswald-dear. I propose that you come to your own conclusions."


So…it's not propaganda? Then…


A thought suddenly struck me: Anemone wouldn't be too happy to know that Calluna told me this. Which was concerning because there was no way Calluna didn't know that. Forgetting that little detail was not an accident.


"Calluna," I whispered back worriedly, "should you be telling me this? How is Anemone going to react when she…"


Without warning, the crowd near the statue cheered loudly, causing me to flinch. Calluna, however, did not move in the slightest.


Once the crowd quieted down, the ghost type simply responded with, "Anemone can listen in all she wants. But she cannot deny it."


That sentence was laced with a combination of smug arrogance and spiteful joy. Not that I blamed her, but that was not the kind of attitude one should have about their boss' secrets.


…Anemone counted as Calluna's boss, right? Now I wasn't so sure.


I gritted my teeth in doubt and anxiety. I had a feeling this was something I wasn't supposed to know. And as much as I wanted to spit in that Gardevoir's face, I didn't want to give her another reason to want to rearrange my limbs into a pretzel.


Speaking of, I still had that pretzel in my paw. I ripped another chunk out of it, chewed quickly, swallowed hard, then glanced between Calluna, the rapidly concluding bubble show, and the castle looming in the distance.


I guess…I've got no other choice, I thought ruefully. Time to go back…


I sighed. "Well, thanks for today, Calluna," I muttered. "I uh…really needed a break. This was a great festival."


Instead of saying "you're welcome"or something along those lines like I would have expected, Calluna dropped another bombshell on me. Completely nonchalantly, too.


"Oh, that was another lie," Calluna noted.


"…I'm sorry?"


"The festival," she clarified, no hint of irony to speak of in her voice. "If you recall earlier I mentioned that this festival was based on the Shaymin that used to live on this continent."


"Yeah…?" I didn't like where this was going.


Her facial expression did not change in any way when she said that, "It was not, actually. That was a lie that I fabricated. There never were any Shaymin that lived on Enigma, nor any gracidea flowers to speak of."


I fiddled with the flower necklace around my neck as I stared in disbelief. "Then…how did they get here?" I questioned slowly, not looking forward to the answer.


"I imported them," she stated simply. "They make for good decorations. And they function as wonderful marketing tools."


Am I going insane?


I stared at her in stunned silence for a good bit. Right…Calluna was in charge of all of the businesses in town. And this festival was included in that, even though I assumed that all she did was set it up. Not…construct it from nothing.


"Then why? Why did you tell me that they originated here?"


This time, she did change her expression. A light, innocent smile formed on her ghostly lips. "I simply told you what I tell everyone else, Oswald-dear. It makes for a good tourist attraction, don't you think? Even better if the locals believe it as well."


"..."


The worst part about this was that I couldn't even deny that she had a good point. After all, I was telling Calluna all about proper advertising earlier. An exciting story is better for business than an honest one.


All of these pokemon at this festival today—every single one—were engaged in a fiction constructed to goad them out of their money. They all went along with it, a smile on their face.


Just like me. I believed it wholeheartedly.


There was a deep pit in my stomach. All of a sudden I didn't feel like going on another roller coaster ride. And not for the most obvious reason.


Because I realized something that bothered me more than anything else…


If Calluna lied about this with a straight face…what else did she lie about?


gbsaEwy.jpg


Roller Coaster Tycoon coaster designed by Bonehead
Chapter art by AlphaBravo on Discord
 
Chapter 35 - Day 14, Part 3: Doors to Open

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 35: Day 14, Part 3 - Doors to Open

It was fun while it lasted.

Not long after Calluna and I had a pleasant chat at the festival she returned me to the castle like she promised. I went without a fight, though I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't more inclined to start running now compared to earlier. The Mismagius kept giving me this…look. Like she knew that I was thinking about it but had no chance of pulling it off, especially now.

To compensate along the way, I ate that big cookie I bought, and even asked Calluna if she wanted a bite. She said, and I quote, "No, thank you. The cumulative souls of every pokemon at the festival were more than enough for me. I am quite full~" And she smiled, too.

I finished the cookie in one big bite out of spite after that. No chocolate chips for Calluna.

One more thing she told me to really rub it in was that Anemone ordered one of Calluna's henchmen to keep an eye on me. Literally, a surveillance ghost. I was under the impression that I had one of those already, but I guess not. Calluna wouldn't provide me with any of the specifics, only a heads up.

That was it, though. That Mismagius had places to be. "Have a good rest of your day, Oswald-dear!" Calluna called out to me as she phased through the castle foyer's floor. "If you get bored, I recommend training your fighting moves. I know you need the practice~"

All I had to respond with was a half-hearted wave and a mumbled "Yeah, yeah."

And with that, I was left alone in the castle entrance hall. A few stray mons loitered about in the lobby, but it was mainly just me. Not even the front desk was occupied. Decorations like pink streamers and flags were strewn about like the remains of a party that started days ago but was never properly cleaned up.

Seeing the castle so empty during regular hours unsettled me in a liminal sense. A pin drop could be heard, and even the few pokemon sitting in chairs by the entrance or conversing near the far walls did so in whispers. I stood in the middle of it all, largely uncomfortable on my own feet and…well, I had no idea what to do next.

I had been thinking off and on about this moment for a while, but nothing could really prepare me for the harsh sense of listlessness that came with it. There was a lot I could do—now that I was alone. But in the end, with a sigh, I dragged my feet across the moldy carpet and sat on the first couple steps of the right-hand staircase. The dolphin plush I had been carrying was dropped apathetically onto the step beside me without so much as a squeak. None of my options were motivating enough to stop the wave of exhaustion that hit me as soon as I walked through those doors.

My chin rested in my paws as I stared at the castle entrance. My tail laid limp behind me, and my whiskers drooped pathetically. Occasionally the doors would slide open, inciting my head to lift slightly, but none of the pokemon that entered was the one I was hoping for.

Yes, I still had some semblance of hope.

I waited…and waited…and waited some more…nothing. Hours could have passed and I wouldn't have noticed.

After a bit of time I started playing these little scenes in my head. My mind wandered as I imagined myself, clad in glittering armor while wielding a sparkling blade, sliding along the floral swirls present on the carpet and slashing bad guys like it was nothing. I leaped above the spears and flames, twirling mid-air before coming back down on a demon made of shadows, cleaving it in two. A blade came swinging above my head—but I stopped it! The metal of my blacksteel katana groaned in excursion as I held back the strike. With a cocky smirk, I pushed back my assailant before countering with a riposte of my own! They dissipated, and I was victorious!

An unintentional sigh escaped my lips.

Man…

How much would it cost to get a sword? I know I had my scalchops already…but still. Swords are cool.

I bet it would've come in handy when a familiar voice sounded out to the left of me.

"Hey," grumbled the distinctly deep voice of a certain Wartortle.

How long had Swift been standing there? It didn't really matter. As soon as I knew he was there I stood up and started walking away. "I'll go somewhere else," I groaned.

"Wait, hold up!" Surprisingly he didn't sound as angry as I thought he would.

That alone got me to turn around slightly; probably wouldn't have done so otherwise. With a scoff, I told him, "Look, I'm still recovering from the last beatdown you gave me-" I brought my paw to my ribs. "-can we do this another day?"

I'll give Swift credit, he didn't look as furious as he usually did—so at least he was trying. That said, it was clear that appearing any less stern and generally unfriendly was a challenge for the water type. His resting expression always reminded me more of a dimwitted Seismitoad than a proud Wartortle.

To give him even more credit he got right to the point, albeit as clumsily as possible. "I…want to…say I'm sorry."

"…What?"

Okay, now he had my attention. My frown lessened as I turned to look at Swift fully.

"Yeah, I, uh…" Swift started to say something, but he quickly grit his teeth and looked away before he could finish.

My eyes narrowed skeptically. "Why would you want to apologize? You got what you wanted." Even though he got a verbal lashing in the process. I figured that was normal for someone like Swift, though.

Swift shook his head vigorously—out of frustration with himself, presumably. "Just…give me a second to say this!" he squeezed out.

"Fine." Crossing my arms, I waited.

This better be good.

"I…" It took him a moment to find the right words. Whatever he had to say must not have come easy; I could tell based on how his brutish frame had sunken halfway into his shell. "...After yesterday I thought about…what you said. About my dad."

What did I say again…something about growing a backbone? Talking to his dad himself, that was it.

"Okay?" I raised my eyebrows. "And? Did you talk things out?"

"Uh…"

This meathead's lack of confidence here really miffed me. Good for nothing but fighting, I guess.

…Alright, that assessment was a little unfair. Still, he shouldn't have been having so much trouble with this. Then again…I was friends with Fenn so, uh…nevermind. My expression softened slightly.

Finally, Swift growled in irritation and said what was on his mind. "It was a lost cause. After you left dad wouldn't give me the time of day." He grimaced. "I thought…if I had you out of the picture…"

"Everything would be fine, right?" I noted quickly. My scowl reappeared. "You threatened to kill me, Swift. What makes you think your dad would have been happy if you did?"

Swift's bushy tail fidgeted uncomfortably. Something that I only really noticed because his tail was as rigid as a metal pipe most of the time. "Listen, you gotta understand," he said, "I'm not great at…expressing myself. Never have."

My reply to that was to draw out every word as sarcastically as possible. "Wow. Really? I never would have guessed."

That trademark 'Swift anger' glinted in his eyes for a moment and I once again saw the dumb jock he often presented himself as. "Yeah. Really." Just as swiftly (ha), though, the frustration in his tone turned solemn. "I thought if I scared you enough you'd leave us alone."

I glared at him. "I just wanted to learn how to fucking fight, Swift."

He looked down. "...I know."

I sighed, crossing my arms tightly. "So, you thought that just because it didn't work out things would be fine between us?"

Shaking his head, Swift muttered, "No…I mean…maybe."

At least he was being honest.

I opened my mouth to say something, but Swift continued before I could interrupt. "He…told me something afterwards that really hurt me…"

"What was it?"

"Dad said that I lost him an opportunity to have a proper apprentice. Even though…that's what he called me before you came around. I always sort of knew he wanted an Oshawott for a son…"

Ouch. That's gotta sting.

To be honest that didn't make things better for Swift. But I could sympathize. Imagine vying for your parent's attention only to realize that no amount of training or effort would work. I had a feeling Allium was the kind of dickhead parent that would put high expectations on his kids, but not to this level.

But still, I had to reiterate, "I was never going to be that for Allium. I just wanted to know the basics, Swift. If you just…let me get the help I needed there wouldn't have been a problem."

"...No," Swift grumbled, his gaze planted firmly on the carpet below his feet. "I blamed you for showing up from the start, but after talking to my mom I realized something."

His mom? Good lord, all I wanted was some help. Why was my presence enough to tear this family apart?

"And what was that?" I asked slowly.

Swift hesitated, his eyes drifting to look at anything but me. "...She fessed up to what I'd been scared of since I was a kid. Dad always seemed kind of…distant…around me. Never really looked me in the eyes. He always felt that way, I guess…"

Sheepishly, Swift rubbed the back of his neck. With how ungracefully the words were falling out of his mouth I had to wonder if he had ever talked about himself like this before. "I'll never impress him because I'm not what he wants," he said. "It's not your fault I'm adopted. So…yeah. Sorry."

EXCUUUUUUUUSE ME?

I think I might have been conked upside the head by a damn Conkeldurr after hearing that. The sheer amount of whiplash I got from this revelation was nearly enough to send me flying backwards. I had to admit, though, I felt slightly vindicated. And annoyed.

"...Are you kidding me?" I raised an eyebrow. On the outside I appeared kind of peeved, but on the inside my brain was playing jump rope. "Are you telling me you didn't know this before?"

It was clear from how hard Swift was locking up that this whole situation embarrassed him like crazy. He had a deep frown on his face to go with the forlorn look he was staring at me with. All he responded with was a silent nod.

My god…

I legitimately wanted to laugh at how absurd this was. How did Swift go that long without knowing? After all the trouble he gave me, the Wartortle deserved it.

I cracked a smirk, but the moment didn't last long. Because when I looked at Swift's sunken eyes and how his feather-like ears were drooping I couldn't help but think. The Swift I had known this whole time was gone and replaced with a lost, neglected son. All of a sudden, everything he knew was clouded with uncertainty. Everyone around him probably seemed like a bunch of liars in retrospect.

At no point during any of this was I ever obligated to forgive Swift. Sure, it was clear that he didn't know how to properly express his emotions, but that wasn't an excuse.

I understood why, though. I understood very well. And at the end of the day…he deserved one thing from me.

My arms fell to my side in acceptance. "Alright," I exhaled, "apology accepted."

Swift's eyes shot up so fast that I was worried I offended him somehow. "You…what?" he gawked. "This wasn't how this was supposed to go. I wasn't asking for…you know, sympathy. I'm trying to tell you-"

Holding up my paw was what stopped him. "It's not sympathy." Well, it was. But I had a point to make. "We can just leave it at that."

"Just…just like that?" The incredulity on Swift's face really sold that simplemindedness I knew him for.

"Yeah." I then turned to leave. With how much damage we had done to each other it'd probably be better to move on. Plus, I had other things to pay attention to. During our conversation I realized that if I was going to wait in the castle I may as well go to my room. Maybe Fenn was already there…

I went to walk past Swift, shooting him a wave over my shoulder, but was promptly stopped when he grabbed my arm—catching me by surprise.

"Wait!" the Wartortle cried. The sharp pinch on my arm gave me the impression that he panicked more than intended. And as I expected he reeled back almost immediately, looking shocked at his own reaction.

I winced and took a step back. "What?" I prodded, rubbing my arm. "What else is there to say?"

He practically spat the next few words out. "That's not enough! I can do more!" Swift undoubtedly wasn't anticipating me to walk off like that. I could tell that this whole conversation was way out of his comfort zone.

"More…what?"

Hundreds of emotions flashed across his face as he glanced left and right, stared down at his paws, then shot up to look me right in the eyes. "I'll…I'll teach you how to properly fight," he muttered breathlessly, but earnestly.

Well, now Swift was just messing with me, even if I doubted he had the capability to do so. I'll accept his apology, sure. But why would I accept his help? I shook my head. "I'm good, thanks."

"I'm serious!" he added without hesitation. He pointed at my hip. "You wanted to learn how to use your scalchops, right? Let me teach you! We're basically the same age, but dad taught me everything he knows!"

Would that even be the same thing? I was under the impression that it was better to seek out a trainer of the same species. I knew that Swift could use Razor Shell, probably because of his dad and not any other reason. But hell, living up to Allium's expectations vicariously through someone else was a little enticing…

Not now, though. Likely never. Probably.

"Uh huh…" I mumbled slowly—not confident in this in the slightest.

Swift pointed over his shoulder. "There's an indoor training dojo on the other side of the castle, on the first floor. I'm there most days. If you stop by…I'll give you some pointers."

It was hard to deny that Swift was being sincere in his proposal. His tail and ears drooped a lot like mine would when I felt depressed, though now his ears were perked up slightly. Almost as though he was really banking on selling his idea to me. There was this desperate, guilty look in his eyes that I had only ever seen from Fenn. Not to mention, there was this oomph in the back of my brain once I registered what I would be accomplishing by taking Swift's offer. I could finally hold my own…

Like before, I turned to leave. This time, however, I lingered on Swift for a slight moment.

"...I'll consider it."


I almost forgot the dolphin plush after I left the lobby. Would've really sucked to have had to turn around and go back and grab it after getting to the third floor. Cool thing, though, with the castle so empty I finally got to try out the regular elevator.

…I still had to wait, like, five minutes, but I doubt I'd ever get the chance to use it in a respectable amount of time again.

It was neat! And just like Anemone's elevator, it had a variety of floor settings on the lever. Although this one could go to levels even higher and lower. I can't stress this enough; Kebia castle was massive. At six floors plus the basement, I had to wonder how the pokemon on the higher levels weren't exhausted by the time they reached the bottom. If they used the stairs, that is.

Admittedly it was hard not to get a little complacent when taking the cruise on up. If I had thought to ask Calluna to pull a few strings and get me a fast pass for the elevator I wouldn't have hesitated. My legs could use the rest. Alas, my special treatment had run its course for the day.

SCREEEEECH!

My ears must have receded into themselves as the scissor gates shrieked loud enough to make me reflexively grit my teeth. I was in the middle of reflecting on how I was suddenly getting used to the idea of being catered to, though as I walked out onto the third floor I figured that I could do without hearing that sound on a regular basis. The additional wear and tear of this elevator really set it apart from the one Anemone used; it was like night and day. Torn carpet, rusted metal, a pungent stench, and stains I didn't want to know the origin of…

I'll stick with the stairs from now on.

There were a few young pokemon hanging out and having a chat in the hallway as I walked past them—a Charizard, a Swampert, and a Breloom. I didn't really acknowledge them, though I had my ears perked to get a listen in on their conversation, just because.

"I'm telling you, dude," said the Charizard in an excited tone, "you can order what you want! They've got dumbwaiters and carts that'll come to you!"

I heard a scoff. "I ain't lazy like you, Tiny Wings," replied the Swampert jokingly. "Besides, by the time they get to you the food's gonna get cold."

In contrast to the Charizard and Swampert, the Breloom sounded a bit bored. She also seemed to be wearing a different colored scarf than the other two, from what I saw.

"They always mess up your order, too," said the Breloom. "Asked for Chesto and they gave me Pecha. No idea how you screw that up."

I was past them at this point, and from behind I heard a few repetitive thudding noises. The Charizard spoke next, overlaying the other noises with his own agitation.

"Yeah, like- ah, damn."

"What?" asked the Swampert.

"Scanner's acting up again." The thudding noises grew more frequent, to match the Charizard's sudden growing frustration.

The Breloom chuckled. "You too, huh? I swear, these paw print scanners are so finicky. I think it's just the technology, though. Jay was telling me how his neighbor couldn't get the thing to work—and he had to call up the receptionist to get it fixed. Turns out that one scanner in particular wasn't set up correctly; the tech's too new."

That sounded about right. It seemed like every other time I'd try to use it to open the door of my room it would beep at me. I never really understood how those things functioned, but after enough tries it just worked, for some reason.

And no one could give me a definitive answer as to what powered them or how they were made. Lace was really vague with the details when she signed me up, too. Something about a psychic signature…? If that were true then why did they barely work? Not to mention, Finch was able to use it.

I just never thought about it much. Curious, I shot the trio a look over my shoulder to see how this would go for them.

Now the Swampert was trying, and failing. "Gah!" the water type squalled. "Come on, dude!"

"It's not working, my guy," Charizard conceded. "We'll have to call up Lace."

"No…that's gonna take too long…" That Swampert could have passed for a pokemon half his age with how he was whining.

To my surprise, the Breloom stepped up. I guess she just wanted to try it out for the hell of it before they would disperse. "Here," she said with a smirk, "maybe one of you rubbed off on me, or something." And she placed her claw on the scanner before they could protest.

I think everyone in that situation assumed nothing would happen. I did, too. You wouldn't stick your apartment key into someone else's door and expect it to open. And yet…

The LED screen of the scanner lit up green, a tone sounded out, and the door opened with a satisfying click.

Both the trio and myself flinched before stumbling back in shock.

"Wha…!"

"Huh?"

"How the…?"

What?

I had maybe two seconds to process what I had just seen before I felt myself brushing up against something behind me. Out of reaction, I spun around, only to come face-to-face with what looked like…another face…breathing on my fur. Those jagged, slightly transparent, yellow lips jittering off-beat to the heartbeat in my ears did nothing more than send a shiver up my spine. I swear I saw something moving in the gaps between…

But it was just a malformed, ominous ruse. What quickly shook me from my momentary bout of fear was the voice that originated not from the fake face I was staring at—but above, where the piercing red eye in its singular pitch black socket gripped me with knowing vexation.

"This is a good time to talk, isn't it."

Notable how that wasn't a question. With each word of the sentence retreating like slugs from a nonexistent orifice—slippery and slimy—the Dusknoir had this strange way of speaking that reminded me of a greasy salesperson and an evil doctor at the same time.

My whiskers twitched like mad after every syllable; stepping back to give myself some room was downright instinctual. Like how Calluna would, this ghost was still half way through the ground when he addressed me, his large, meaty mitts grasping the floor for leverage. And like Aster, for instance, the guy probably worked for the Mismagius, so it fit.

I grimaced while still recovering from the tingle wracking my skin. No doubt in my mind that this was going to be another encounter where I'd be left reeling, so I skipped right to the sarcasm.

"No, actually," I said. "I'm going through my third divorce right now, and I don't need to be accosted by some ghoul with a lack of depth perception."

The Dusknoir's one eye squinted at me. "I see," his voice rumbled. "Unpleasantness was to be expected from you, but perhaps the information I was given undersold the extent. Human, do not sass me." I could detect the distaste when he said that word—human.

Looks like I'm not the only one skipping steps today.

Still, my stomach dropped at how loud he was talking. I glanced over my shoulder and, thankfully, the trio from before was already gone. Sighing in relief, I looked back at the Dusknoir with a frown. "Uh huh. Let me guess…you're my new nanny?"

He was fully out of the ground at this point, towering over me in both directions. If this was the surveillance ghost Calluna was talking about I had to wonder if Anemone specifically asked for a damn wardrobe to keep an eye on me.

Wringing his hands together, the ghost replied with, "I prefer the word…beholder. Ms. Calluna gave me free rein to ensure your safety…though she phrased it differently than I."

I raised an eyebrow. Wait, didn't Calluna say that Anem- oh. I guess I'm just supposed to not take anything she says at face value seriously. Great. Why she decided to lie about this in particular really confuses me, though.

"Beholder, huh?" I scoffed. "If you're anything like the other ghosts I hear about I think 'stalker' fits the best."

I could hear the exasperation in his voice already. "Regardless," he started, rolling his r's, "you may refer to me as Dusknoir Oleander. Please, use my full name. I prefer to keep our relationship…professional." With his hands behind his back, Oleander began to pace. Or at least…as well as someone could pace without any legs. "For an indeterminate amount of time, I will be within the walls, floors, and ceilings nearby—every hour. All to ensure that you do not leave this castle."

Wow, they really just outright say it, don't they? Either this guy was exaggerating a bit or ghosts literally don't sleep. I could believe either one. But seriously, I was expecting to be stopped whenever I tried to leave. I was not expecting to be watched 24/7, and to be told that I would be watched 24/7. Now they were just trying to freak me out.

That said, I managed to make light of it anyways. If they were trying to scare me, they had another thing coming.

I crossed my arms smugly. "So, you're gonna be watching me all the time?"

"Yes…" Oleander hissed back.

"Every single moment?" My eyes flicked up and down the specter's body. "You're telling me that not a single moment will go by where you're not there."

"Yes…" he repeated. "I will see everything." The air around us both grew heavy as Oleander leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You are strictly ignorant to the scope of depravity the mons in this castle engage in on a daily basis. I am under contract to remain neutral and not dispel any…personal information." He leaned even closer, until he was only a few inches from my face. "Pretend I am not there."

It was hard to tell, in my eyes, if that was supposed to be reassuring or threatening. Again, it could go either way. And that uncertainty caused me to falter for a moment. My eyes went wide as I leaned back away from the Dusknoir, trying to ignore the granularity at the edge of my vision. Ironically, the idea of being watched constantly did not make me feel more safe.

But like hell was I going to let this piece of shit know that.

I shrugged and nonchalantly walked around Oleander, bouncing my hips and (sloppily) flicking my tail in the process. "Well if you ever like what you see, give me a shout, big guy."

If the ensuing pause was any indication, my response annoyed him quite a bit. "...If you require my attendance, simply speak my name," he grumbled like he was reading from a script.

I murmured under my breath spitefully, "I think I'd rather forget you exist, thanks…"

By the time I reached my room's door, Oleander had disappeared. Good riddance. Except not really because he was probably directly below me. But…in my head I treated it as though I won that interaction and he ran off crying. The thought was cathartic enough to make me chuckle.

Side note: yes, it took me three separate tries for the paw print scanner on the door to work. I did my best not to think about that either.
 
Chapter 36 - Day 14, Part 4: Bolt Break

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 36: Day 14, Part 4 - Bolt Break

Pretty much as soon as I entered the room, I was met with two faces immediately shooting in my direction: Cosmo's little mouth agape in excitement at the sudden noise and Finch's mildly attentive expression at my entrance.

Just those two, though. No Fenn. I checked.

An entire day's worth of pent up exhaustion was exhaled from my mouth with the same unrestrained intensity of a gas furnace. I could barely drag my feet to the bed and plop down on it, but I managed despite how close my legs were to turning into straight jello. When I got there, my screams were muffled by the bedsheets.

Oh yeah. Finch and Cosmo said something around the same time, I think.

Finch, who had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, was seemingly sorting a deck of cards before I walked in. I didn't take the time to see what he was doing in the few seconds I had looked.

A slight growl left the Krokorok as a response to my screaming. "Ergh…I assume that means things didn't go well?"

Cosmo, who didn't appear to be doing anything aside from hovering over Finch's shoulder, bounced up and down so joyfully that the jiggles of his gelatin bubble were audible. Though that might have been because he soared right up to my ear as soon as I dropped onto the bed.

"Oswald!" the Solosis cheered loudly. "You're back! Uncle Finch taught Cosmo how to play Bolt Break! It's so much fun! Come on, Cosmo needs a noble squire to protect his king and queen!"

I peeled my face off of the fabric with a groan. Ignoring Cosmo for now, I glanced over at Finch. "Where's Fenn?" I asked, first thing.

Now standing with his arms crossed, Finch shrugged his shoulders. "No idea. He left right after you did. Been gone all day."

My shoulders fell in despair. There went the last shred of hope I had left. Gone. Destroyed. "...Then yeah," I finally replied, "things could have gone better."

Almost immediately, the cheerfulness practically glowing off of Cosmo's face started to fade away. He looked between Finch and I, noticing that something was wrong. "What happened?" the psychic type wondered innocently. "Is Fenn in trouble?"

It might have actually been more reassuring to know if Fenn was in trouble, because that would have been a problem to fix. What was one more in the grand scheme of things? But no, none of us seemed to know for sure.

I hated seeing Cosmo act so worried, though. Almost more so than not knowing where Fenn was. I sat up and gave him the most comforting smile I could manage at the time. "No, Cosmo," I muttered. "He's just out on a few errands. I was excited to see him, that's all."

"Why didn't you go after him?" Finch questioned without missing a beat. Lying to keep Cosmo happy didn't seem to be at the top of his priorities. But he was also right to assume that that's what I would have done. Unfortunately, Finch was actually wrong.

As for me, that question outright knocked the wind out of me. I collapsed back onto the bed with my arms splayed out on both sides, the dolphin plush still miraculously in my grip.

I told him with ripe disdain in my voice, "Because I can't. I can't do anything anymore, apparently. Not while I'm on house-arrest. Castle…arrest. Whatever." I rolled over onto my side.

"What!?" I could hear the alarm in Finch's voice. "How did a skinny little number like you end up on such a short leash?"

What the hell was- okay, you know what? Cosmo is in the room; I'll give him a pass for now. Hopefully he won't repeat that.

"Later" was my immediate response. "I just want to wait, is that okay with you?"

Finch's toes slowly clicked and clacked against the floor as he walked to the bed and sat down next to me. Along the way, he scratched himself…anxiously? I couldn't tell, but that was the impression that I got after he started talking.

"I ain't got the time," Finch growled in a low voice. "Tomorrow morning I'm gonna be leaving for a while. A few days, probably. I was going to leave today, but…" He trailed off.

"Wait, what?" I sat up abruptly. "Why?"

Instead of telling me, the ground type reached over and jiggled the gracidea flower necklace still hanging from my neck with his finger, causing me to jerk back suddenly. Physical contact from Finch was the last thing I expected.

He bared his teeth in a smirk. "Heh. Looks like we both have some explainin' to do. Tell ya what-" he snapped his fingers, "-we're gonna be sitting in here for the rest of the night, and instead of twiddling our thumbs, we play some Bolt Break."

I followed his gaze to the pile of playing cards in the center of the room, and frowned.

Cosmo caught on quicker than I did. "Bolt Break!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Cosmo wants to be the dealer this time!"

Finch added one more thing before I asked what the hell Bolt Break was: "No chips. But I was thinking of gambling with information instead. Whoever loses each match has to answer a question the other has. What do you say?"

I stared at him blankly. I think my stance on this has been pretty clear so far.

"...What's Bolt Break?"

If it was possible to express bewilderment, disgust, and sympathy with a single expression, that would be the one Finch gave me right that moment. A couple seconds passed where he just stared at me in shock. "...You don't know what Bolt Break is."

I shook my head.

"...You serious?"

I looked away apprehensively. "I mean…it's a card game, right? It's not like I can't learn it."

Finch opened his jaw to say something, but before he could so much as laugh at my ignorance Cosmo did his thing.

"Yes!" Cosmo blurted out. "Cosmo knows it well, because he is the Master of Games! With Cosmo's power, Oswald will win everytime!"

Which was just his way of saying 'I'll teach you.' Initially I was a bit uncertain if Cosmo would explain things in a way that made sense, but after catching a similar uncertainty on Finch's face I decided to give Cosmo a shot. Wouldn't hurt.

With a new smile, I shifted in place to face Cosmo. "Alright," I said, "give me the quick run-down, O Master of Games."

Seeing the Solosis' pudgy little face light up so quickly was a sight for sore eyes. He must not have expected me to take him up on his offer. Bouncing in place, Cosmo gave me the most energized crash course I think anyone could give.

"Bolt Break is so easy!" he started. "The player and the dealer face off—both equipped with cards with numbers on them! The player draws! They build up numbers—but not too much! If they get too many numbers, the dealer wins without a fight! But the dealer can lose if he gets too many numbers, too!"

"It goes from two to ten," Finch added, begrudgingly. "The Nidoking, Nidoqueen, and Indeedee cards are also ten. Don't know how big that rock of yours was, but I'm gonna assume you can do basic math."

The psychic type continued with pride. "Cosmo can! He knows that the Aura card can be both one AND eleven! It's like, the best card!"

Hold on a second…

I squinted. "What number is too much?"

"Anything over twenty one," Finch answered. "You start with two cards, call for more, stay to keep what you have. Dealer has to call up to sixteen, and you can see one of the cards he has."

Huh. A lightbulb lit up in my head, as though a tiny, dark corner had suddenly become viewable for me. Not too dissimilar to the reaction I had to the festival earlier today, actually.

I turned back around to Finch, with significantly less hesitation than before. "So…it's Blackjack…?"

"Black–what now?" Finch raised an eyebrow.

I nodded my head feverishly. "Yeah, yeah! Blackjack is just what I call it. I used to play it all the time, now that I think about it! You can do splits to double your earnings and- right, when the dealer has an Ace your chances of winning go way down. In general the dealer wins more often, but uh…" I had to stop myself before this got out of hand.

Yeah, it was weird. After remembering that word I saw a flash of vague images, concepts, and rules that clicked into my brain like puzzle pieces. Except unlike the roller coasters and churros, these memories—if you could call them that—sloshed around in my skull like a gentle stream rather than a raging waterfall. I still found myself smiling more and more as I thought about it, either way.

Finch crossed his arms. "Where do you come from, Ozzy?" he asked skeptically. "I've never heard it called that before."

Oh shit uh-

But rather than let that trip me up, I smirked and said, "Beat me in a game and maybe I'll tell you."

Thankfully, he returned the smirk and hopped off the bed. "Fair game. I'll play the dealer—got a lot of questions for you."

"Great!" I hopped off after him. Now to not lose a single game…

Before I could follow him, though, I glanced down to see that the dolphin plush had fallen down with me. I had almost forgotten about it.

Cosmo, who was floating over my shoulder, noticed it, too. "Ooh, what is that?" he wondered.

"Oh right," I said. Scratching my chest, I leaned down and picked up the plush before holding it up for Cosmo to see. "This is for you, Cosmo. It's a friend."

Intrigue creeped into his voice. "A…friend?"

"Yeah! So you don't get so lonely while we're out. Here, go…play with him for a bit." Shortly after I held out the plush, it floated upwards thanks to Cosmo's telekinetic grasp. Turns out it wasn't too much for him to grab and hold, so that was good.

"Oooh…" he uttered, his eyes shimmering brightly behind his bubble. The plush, now up to eye level with the Solosis, stared back at him with a blank, empty expression, and a vacant smile. On par with most other plushies, I would think. And really, I was joking about the "friend" part, but Cosmo seemed to take it very literally.

Well, I guess kids do that sometimes. He even gave it a name. "Juanfinsimo…" was what he whispered with reverence. Way more reverence than he ever gave me. "A sidekick…Cosmo always wanted a partner to fight crime with…"

Almost in what looked like a trance, Cosmo then floated off to a corner of the room with Juanfinsimo in his grip. He kept mumbling the whole time…

Kids do that…right?



Eh, it's probably good for him.

Cosmo could spend some time by himself for a bit. In the meantime, I wanted to know what Finch meant when he said he was leaving. By the time I plopped down opposite of the croc, he was busy collecting and shuffling the cards of the deck.

There was clearly an apt amount of practice behind Finch's deck shuffling; he didn't even need to look. The satisfying sound of thin cardboard flipping and shifting against thin cardboard made my whiskers twitch. The cards themselves had quite a bit of discoloration to them; some were even chipped and torn in some places. It wouldn't have surprised me if there was a card or two missing and Finch never noticed.

What did surprise me was that, despite not being able to understand the footprint language the pokemon here used, the numbers on these cards were as clear as day to me.

He chuckled. "So, you say you've played the game before, huh? Must be pretty good, then."

I clicked my tongue playfully. "I'm not supposed to answer any questions yet, Finch. Get too cocky and you might never know."

Two cards slid across the floor and halted a few inches from my crossed legs in one swift motion—a king and a 5. The deck hadn't even been set down yet and we were already starting.

Finch pulled two cards for himself—one face down and the other a 2. "Alright, wise guy," the Krokorok dealer said, "gonna stay or call?"

But it was a false start, obviously. I shot back with, "Weren't we supposed to cut the deck first?"

I couldn't even begin to describe the incredulity on Finch's face. "...What are you trying to say here, Ozzy?"

"That's what you're supposed to do before you start playing. The player cuts the deck, usually with a divider. If we don't do that then it's not fair."

"..."

With a long sigh, Finch picked up the four cards off the floor, reshuffled them into the deck, shuffled the deck a couple more times, then held the deck out to me. "Cut it."

I didn't have a divider so I cut the deck one card from the top. Finch opted not to comment on this.

Back into the fray! 7 and 8 for me, queen for Finch. Oddly enough, I ended up with the same total as before. Finch once again asked me, "Call or stay?"

When it comes to hitting and standing, the odds of busting increases as the numbers go up. 16 and 17 could get really murky, but standing on 15 was a quick way to lose the round. That queen made it a little risky, though…

"I'm gonna call," I stated, knocking on the floor.

Finch pulled a card for me and placed it face up next to the others. A 4—not bad.

"Risky business," Finch taunted. "Gonna stay?"

It made more sense to keep the 19 that I had, but if he had an ace I was screwed. But if he didn't then I'd be busting for nothing. Ultimately, "Stay" was my answer. For a first hand I was pretty happy with what I got.

"Ohohoho! He's gonna stay…let's see how that works out for him…" With purposeful slowness, Finch flipped his second card…

A 7—meaning that he was two points below my 19 and he couldn't draw more. Nice. Finch's jaw dropped the second that card was flipped.

I pumped my fist in success, then leaned forward with a smug look on my face. "So, you were saying?"

The disgruntled croc collected the five used cards and placed them in a discard pile, growling under his breath as he did so. "Ergh…I already told your bonfire buddy, so I'll keep it brief: I got too confident. When I caught wind of Turaco at Micle I thought it'd be a good chance to earn your trust. But as soon as we got back Big Mama was sniffing at our backsides, and now a lot of pokemon are gonna be in danger."

I raised an eyebrow, confused. "My trust…?" There was a lot to unpack there. But I think the last thing Finch mentioned caught my attention the most. "Wait, what do you mean-"

Finch stopped me by holding up a claw. "I'm not done yet," he said. "All you need to know is that, because I didn't teach you a specific mind chant right away, Anemone's goons are gonna be breaking down Clamperl's Dream's doors. I need to warn them. And a letter won't cut it."

"Mind chant…?" Now I was even more confused. Did he really plan that far ahead? "What does that mean?"

He shook his head and told me to "Get lucky first." Two cards were placed on my side—a 2 and a 3. Finch also added, "Or, like you said, you might never know." Two cards on his side, too—one face down and the other a 6.

My face scrunched up in annoyance. Already, I had as many as ten separate questions to ask. What would Finch have done if I hadn't offered to bring him onto the team? Had his goal been to gain my trust this whole time? He had a weird way of going about it. Also, this "mind chant" was driving me nuts just thinking about it. What could it mean…

Heh. I guess that was what made the game so fun. Just as quickly as my fur was starting to stand on end, I cracked my neck self-assuredly and knocked on the floor with my fist. "Hit me."

A card was drawn and slid to my side. Another 3. Rolling low this time around.

"Hit me," I said again.

I got an 8, doubling my total. Honestly, I should have stopped there. 16 had some of the deadliest odds. But I was on a roll, baby! For the third time, I said, "Hit me."

After Finch pulled yet another card, he sucked in air through his teeth, making a hissing sound. "Oooh…that's a bust," the croc whispered mockingly.

"Damn…" It was. My face fell at the sight of the jack next to my current total. Confidence really killed the…Dewott. Or something like that. That can't have been how that saying went…

With the cards from the previous round discarded (Finch didn't even turn over his other card), it was Finch's turn to ask a question. He clapped his hands together and flashed a grin of sharp, yellow fangs. "Alright! I'll give you an easy one: why can't you leave the castle?"

I sighed. Easy, he says…

"Same reason you're in trouble, really," I explained. "Anemone heard about us going to Micle and decided that I can't leave her sight anymore." I avoided Finch's eyes. "I might've…also pissed her off. That's part of it." Not much more needed to be said than that. That information was concerning enough; Finch didn't need to know about the ghost in the floorboards.

Finch narrowed his eyes, tapping his knee with a finger. "Why would she need you so close…" he muttered, more as a question for himself than me.

I shrugged quickly. "Let's go another round." Though as soon as I said that, I regretted it. Finch didn't know because—at this point—I hadn't even told him about my amnesia yet. And after showing him that I could spontaneously play cards…I had to wonder if I should.

Either way, we started the next round. The dealer ended up with a 5, while I got a 4 and an ace. About damn time.

Cool thing about aces was that they added a bit more choice to the game. Since it counted as a 1 or 11 depending on the circumstance, I could call or stay and avoid busting pretty easily.

…Unless I get another ace. Which I did. Now at a total of 6, I frowned at my options. Funnily enough, the "Aura" card was designed with this bright, blue flame—most likely to symbolize the capabilities and potential of Lucario and their powers.

It reminded me of Neo, the Fencer. What an asshole that guy was. In remembrance of him, I called, and got a 6. I frowned deeper when I called again and ended up with a king, leading to a bust.

Bad thoughts lead to bad luck, I thought spitefully.

"I'm starting to think you like losing," Finch teased as he discarded the cards I just pulled.

"Just ask your question," I grumbled with crossed arms.

The next one Finch had was easy to see coming. His wording made me cringe, though: "What makes you so important, huh? It's like…Big Mama has custody over you. That normal?"

That, I didn't know. But judging by Anemone's…methods, I was sure that expulsion was more plausible than detention. For others, at least. Not for me.

"Uh…no, it isn't," I answered with gritted teeth. My tail shook nervously behind me. "I think. And…okay, this is going to sound a bit crazy…"

Finch slowly raised an eyebrow.

Yeah, he probably thought that Anemone actually had custody over me now. My tail started shaking even more. So to keep my tail from flying off, I fought past the nervousness and blurted it out.

"I have, um…amnesia."

"...Amnesia," Finch plainly repeated back to me.

I held up my paws defensively. "I'm being serious! I woke up just outside of town and got dropped off here. Anemone's been keeping an eye on me—helping me." I almost added air quotes to that last part. "She got freaked out after I was gone for too long and decided to put me on lockdown for a while."

If Finch's increasingly narrowed eyes were any indication, the omission of relevant details didn't help my case at all. Thinking back on it, I should've been more open. This was not a case of Anemone looking out for me; the bitch outright hated me and wanted me to suffer. Hell, it wasn't like Finch wouldn't empathize.

Maybe it was just a side effect of my hesitation. Either way, Finch was clearly having a hard time believing it.

"...Really," he said, stone faced.

"Yes!" I reaffirmed.

He growled under his breath. "Gentlemon's agreement. I'll ask more if I win again."

My tail finally stopped shaking. Why did that actually make me feel relieved?

For the next round, I'll spare the details. Finch landed a 9, I won with a queen, a 3, and an 8. Perfect 21; the only way Finch could have won was with a blackjack. But without a face card or an ace to begin with, there was no chance, aside from a stalemate.

I used the opportunity to pry more into what Finch was planning. His "true intentions," if you will. I asked him, "Do you think I trust you now?"

Finch snorted as he placed the used cards into the rapidly growing discard pile. "Too late for that now," he said. "For the record, this isn't a game to me. I was being genuine when I said I wanted to be friends."

"I never said you weren't."

He nodded. "I know. But it's worth repeating. All I wanted was to make sure we were on close terms before jumping into politics."

Politics, huh? I nearly groaned out loud. Last thing I needed was to be dragged into the nonsensical state of affairs of magical animals. Yes, I know that I had already been plopped into the center of it all, but the less I engaged with it, the better.

"Anyway," he continued, "all you need to know is that I have personal and political reasons for wanting to be here in particular. Before you and your little friends came rummaging around, Ozzy, I was working on finding a way into this castle, myself. You just helped me skip a few steps."

"Personal?" Dammit, I still needed to ask about the mind chant.

But the cards had already been drawn. "Don't rush, now."

Fifth game, Finch won again. 5, 4, and 8 for me. Two 9's for Finch. The deck was starting to get a bit slim…

Then came the question I was worried about…

Well, it was less like a question and more like a request. If my whiskers hadn't been quivering with so much anxiety I might have grilled Finch for breaking his own rules.

"So," Finch started, casually resting his chin in his claw, "mind telling me more, 'Mr. Amnesiac?'"

Alright, let me give an actual answer this time.

I sighed. "Not much more to add, honestly. I woke up in a flowerfield, was guided to the castle by a team of bounty hunters, met Fenn somewhere along the way, and Anemone gave me a place to stay with the caveat that I join the guild."

"That sounds uncharacteristically charitable of her."

"That's because it is," I scoffed. "Any horror stories you might have heard about her are true. Anemone's not the most pleasant pokemon to talk to."

Understatement of the century. No, millennia. Whichever made me gag more.

Finch scratched his chin in thought. "Alright, but why?"

I simply shrugged in response. My humanity was obviously the reason, but after talking with Calluna I wasn't so sure if that was the only reason. Telling Finch about that part was not necessary.

"And what about Fenn?" Finch prodded further.

"What about him?"

The ground type gestured to nothing in particular, trying to find the words. "You know, your relationship with him? Just wondering. What were you planning on doing today?"

Despite knowing that the current turn was over, I humored Finch for a moment. I might not have understood why any of this mattered, but if he was being serious about becoming friends…I don't know, maybe it wouldn't hurt? There was something so awkward about having to explain this after keeping it in my head for so long—but it was also refreshing, in a way.

"Well, me and Fenn were gonna head back to his hometown…" I trailed off while scratching the back of my head. What a friend I was, forgetting what Fenn's hometown was called. "Essentially, his dad is a bit overbearing and I was going to help confront him."

"What for?"

That…was a good question. At the time I chose to respect his privacy. But would it really have been so out of line for me to know what I was getting into?

I frowned at the floor. "...I don't actually know," I answered. "But judging from what I know about Fenn and his family, he probably wanted to prove himself, or something." I looked back up at Finch, still frowning. "I just wanted to be there for him, but he insisted on going alone. It was so frustrating because in the end I didn't get to have a choice. Now I don't even know where he is."

"How far away is his family?"

I pointed over my shoulder. "Like an hour's walk. If I wasn't grounded I could go right after him." I couldn't stop myself from groaning if I tried. "I'm not being facetious when I say this was the worst possible day this could've happened. I'm still mad." The fur on the back of my neck bristled just thinking about it.

There. Finch got his answer. Probably not the one he was expecting, judging by the pensive look on his face, but it was what he got.

Finch snarled, "That's not right. Hate to say it—all of that's probably on me. If I had known about any of this, I would've held off. Sorry…"

I can't say I was expecting actual regret and self-reflection from this Krokorok; he never seemed the type. In retrospect, I spent so much time stressing over what to do that I never looked to anyone else for help. After all, it was clear that I wasn't going to get it, especially not with something so personal.

So seeing Finch being all genuine and thoughtful…I bit my cheek. "I just never thought to bring it up," I reiterated. "Convincing Fenn to let me tag along became my whole life for a few days. I was so focused on that that I didn't realize how much I was depending on it. Now…I don't know what to do. I guess…ugh. Nevermind…"

What else was there to do? Hope Fenn spent the day at the bar getting hammered instead of going home, so sometime down the line I could try again? Then what?

Well, before then, I kept playing. Finch was already doling out the cards, more somber than before. "Don't worry about it right now," he said. "You're not a bad player, Ozzy. If you've got nothing else, hold onto that."

That was a really good point! I might have been a numbskulled, raggedy otter stuck in a ditch with no clear way of climbing out, but apparently I was a solid gambler. Could be worse!

And hey, I won the next round. Vindication! Finch shuffled the deck with the discard pile afterwards so I'm not going to bother mentioning what cards were played. As for the question, I knew exactly what to ask.

"What's this 'mind chant' you brought up?"

A moment earlier Finch had prompted me to cut the deck again. Directly in half was what I chose, and he did so as he explained. "It's a lot less fancy than you're probably thinking. You just repeat a few of these phrases in your head and they're supposed to keep the queen from reaching too far. Recite it over and over again and it works like a puzzle she has to solve, from what I heard."

"What?" I physically flinched and my whiskers twitched furiously. "Why am I only hearing about this now?"

You've gotta be kidding me! You're telling me there was a way to keep Anemone from getting into my head and I'm only just now hearing about it?

Clearly there was a catch. "Like I told ya, I needed your trust first," Finch stated calmly. "Didn't realize that it would only take a day for Big Mama to invite you to her playroom. How is it, by the way?"

"The throne room?" I asked, before scoffing. "Shitty." With that, I leaned forward. "So, how does it go?"

Finch waved me off. "Doesn't matter now. Oh, and that was another thing. It was never actually tested, as far as I know. Well- it works on other psychic types—I know that. And you have to keep it going the whole time-"

"Anemone would just break my limbs before I'd even get to use it," I cut him off. As tantalizing as that idea sounded, my enthusiasm for it dropped to nothing immediately. How disappointing.

I shrugged. "Oh well. Wish I could have had that earlier, but…"

"...Yeah," Finched sighed. "Just forget about it."

Before he could so much as draw another card, a cheery voice caught us both by surprise. Cosmo's voice, of course.

"Ooh! Ooh! Cosmo wants to play now! Cosmo and Juanfinsimo will be the dealers! The most heroic dealers!"

There he was, eagerly floating above the two of us with his new pal, Juanfinsimo—hovering akimbo like some sort of dastardly duo. Color me impressed; they were practically inseparable already.

"Sure, sure, buddy," I said. I turned to Finch expectantly. "Move over, grandpa. You're being usurped."

A low, rumbly chuckle arose from the croc's throat. "Yeah, yeah…" he grumbled…and then snatched Juanfinsimo out of the air when nobody expected it! "So nice of you to bring me my plushie, Cosmo! I've been lookin' all over for him!"

Cosmo cried, "What, nooooo! Give him baaaaack!" Despite his efforts to take the plush from Finch's claws, nothing seemed to work. The Krokorok was, after all, a dark type. All Cosmo could really do was cry and bounce around pitifully.

It was kinda funny, for a little. I might have laughed a tiny bit. But when the little guy started sniffling both Finch and I backed down. He'd be fine, but still. Cosmo didn't deserve to be bullied that harshly.

Anyway, the seventh round of "Bolt Break" started with Cosmo at the helm and both me and Finch going one at a time. I was pretty skeptical about Cosmo's actual capability to be the dealer, but boy did he prove me wrong.

"Whoa!" I exclaimed. That Solosis doled out our starters with such finesse and skill that it made me wonder if he was literally born to play cards. I could barely see them before they were placed down, let alone when they were being flung through the air.

I didn't know how old Cosmo was—he was young, obviously. Most kids wouldn't have the patience to sit down and learn how to play a card game. Granted, Blackjack wasn't too complicated…

Maybe he was gifted, I don't know. Either way, here was the set up: king for Cosmo, 7 and 3 for me, and a 9 and 6 for Finch. We had decided beforehand that we would draw for each person until they wanted to stand. I went first, and after calling once, I ended up with a 6.

A total of 16. Hm.

I grimaced at the collection of cards in front of me. There were a few things that bothered me about my standing in the game at that moment. For one, Cosmo had a face card. A very, very dangerous position to be in because it meant that I was potentially at a loss already.

Not only was there a chance that he had an ace face down, but he could have had a card that would cause him to stand immediately. And if that was the case, staying would guarantee my loss. So I had to take a risk, right?

Well…I kind of didn't want to. If I busted then that meant Finch wouldn't have to try as hard. I mean, he already had a 15 in total. No doubt he would call here. But if he busted and I didn't call then I could hit him with the bragging rights. We weren't playing for keeps here, just information. I didn't need to win; Finch just needed to lose.

I could feel the sweat dripping down my forehead and my fingers trembling as I placed my hand on the floor. "I'll stay," I stated firmly. I swear, this level of anxiety hadn't hit me since the last time I was in a mystery dungeon.

Finch chuckled derisively, confidently. "You would stay on 16." He snapped his fingers at Cosmo. "Give me one."

He got a 5. Welp.

"...Well, that didn't work out," I muttered incredulously, my shoulders slouched.

With his arms crossed and a big toothy grin on his face, Finch leaned over to me. "Look at that, Ozzy," he sneered. "If you called, you would have won. Ha! How's that feel?"

"BOLT BREAK!" Cosmo suddenly shouted out.

Both Finch and I swung our heads in Cosmo's direction, only to see that next to his face card…was an ace. Cosmo beat both of us.

Immediately, Finch's face fell. All of that confidence was just gone. "...Oh."

Then it was my turn to gloat. "It feels nice knowing that luck doesn't discriminate," I calmly answered Finch's dig at me. "Guess this means that Cosmo gets to ask a question now." I glanced between the distraught Finch and the overjoyed Cosmo, smiling the whole time. "Or two, one for each of us."

Cosmo's cheeks went red from how wide he was smiling. "Two? Two!" he cheered. The liquid inside the purple Solosis' bubble sloshed around as he looked between me and Finch several times, contemplating who to question first…

Eventually, he stopped on the croc sitting next to me. "Hmmm…Uncle Finch, why do you do that thing with your fingers so much?"

Finch furrowed his brows as he looked down at his claws. "You mean…the finger snaps?" He snapped his fingers together after saying the last word.

"Yes!" Cosmo confirmed. "It makes a funny noise! Cosmo wishes he could do that."

I sure am glad Cosmo doesn't have hands!

I don't think there was a possible question Cosmo could have asked that would have made me appear any more grumpy. The last thing I wanted was for Cosmo to pick up another one of Finch's shticks. This one in particular was the one that defined Finch, though. Turaco outright called him "Snapper Finch" like that was what he was known for. The guy must have walked into every place he's ever been in and started snapping his fingers until people gave him a nickname for it.

Why exactly? I was curious, too. Even more so after he gave the stupidest answer I've ever heard.

"It's something I got from my mom. Not much more to it than that. She used to do it all the time."

Really? I would have respected it more if he didn't even have a reason. Why would someone need a reason to snap their fingers? Finch did, apparently.

I was so flummoxed by it that I mentally prepared myself to pry more into Finch's absurd home life out of spite, but beforehand Cosmo asked me his other question.

"Oswald, who is Ane- Amene- Aneemo- Eenem- Anemoo- bleh! Ane-mone?" he innocently wondered. "Cosmo keeps hearing about her…"

My jaw hung open. The blank stare on my face could not have been more vacant even if my eyes were pointing in different directions and drool was leaking from my mouth. At no point during my jaunty adventures in pokemon land did it ever occur to me that Cosmo didn't know who Anemone was. For some reason I just assumed that he would pick it up from someone other than me.

That wasn't the case, obviously. And now I was short-circuiting. "Uh…well, she's the-"

Leader? Ruler? Queen? Mother? Big Boss? Dictator?

"-main decision-maker of the castle," I eventually decided. "I went to go meet her again today. She gets to choose how the castle is run, though she's a bit…intimidating. That's why people tend to talk about her a lot."

As far as kid friendly descriptions of the queen bee is concerned, that was about as sanitized as it was going to get for me.

Someone else in the room had other ideas, however.

It took me a moment to realize it, but Finch had been glaring at me the entire time. His crocodilian eyes bored into me like he was trying to use a psychic move on me; it made the fur on the back of my neck stand on end.

I looked back at him. "...What?" I said quietly, disjointedly.

"...You're kidding, right?" Finch growled.

Oh, is that how it is?

I sighed in irritation. "Okay, Finch. What makes you think you have a better way to describe her?" In a way that didn't make Cosmo terrified for his life. Hint hint.

Much to my chagrin, Finch stole the spotlight from me with no remorse. He rubbed his claws together and grinned. "Because I have more context. Sit down, boys. I'm gonna teach you some history."

I was already sitting down, unfortunately. And now Cosmo was, too (as well as a Solosis could), fully engrossed in what Finch was about to say. He looked on in awe. I just scowled.

After clearing his throat, the Krokorok broke the ice with, "So, it all started thirty or so years ago. The Psychic Wars. Heard of it?"

A vague idea. I nodded.

He continued. "Quick recap: it was a massive world war that started when a bunch of psychics across Pamtre decided that all of these treasures and artifacts belonged to them. Something about 'psychic superiority,' too. But that's only scratching the surface; it was actually primarily about land disputes and historical landmarks. You know, the human crap."

I winced, but kept it quiet.

"By the way," Finch started by waving his hand, "Anemone wasn't around for this yet. I'm just setting down the groundwork. Enigma was involved, obviously. Talk to the older folks around here and they'll tell you all about it. What we had going on thirty years ago was unique because it was more a conflict of opportunity—a civil war between 'royalty' and rebels.

"The rebels were led by this Grimmsnarl named…Carnation."

I couldn't help but notice that Finch's eyes took on a certain glow when he started talking about this historical figure. If I hadn't been looking directly at him I could've been able to tell that he was smiling, just by his voice.

"Let me tell ya, Ozzy, Cosmo," Finch grinned widely, "Carnation was my hero. Still is. He was a hero to a lot of mons. What he believed was that this castle we're in right now? It belonged to everyone. Even the dirty freaks in the slimiest corners of this continent you can think of.

"Him and Mallard, his second in command, were dead set on proving to the world that you don't have to be some prissy royal to live safely. It's a dangerous world out there, and there's a fortress big enough to fit all of us, right here."

With that, he pointed to himself proudly. "I've got a goal to live up to his ideals. No one deserves to be left behind, especially when you've got everything you need, right in the center of it all."

Cosmo's eyes were sparkling by the time Finch was done. "Wow…" he uttered.

I could understand what Finch was saying. I even sort of agreed with it. But uh… "What does this have to do with Anemone?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Right…" Finch mumbled. "I was getting to that."

I think you got carried away there, dude, I thought.

Finch cleared his throat. "Anyways, the rebels didn't win. They got stamped out in the war." His brows suddenly furrowed. "Not just them, either. The royals were wiped out at the same time. Completely out of nowhere. And who comes in right after?"

Gee, I wonder where this is going.

That was a joke. But Cosmo genuinely wanted to know, and asked in such a shaky voice. "Wh-who was it?"

With a long, clawed finger, Finch pointed upwards, all while glancing between Cosmo and I with shifty eyes. "It's the Gardevoir. The queen. Anemone."

Cosmo gulped. "H-how did she do it?"

"She can read minds…" Finch whispered.

"Up to a certain distance," I added dully. "She can't hear you right now, Cosmo." Up to this point I could fill in some of the gaps. Finch obviously wasn't trying to be all that tactful so I corrected him when I could.

Fortunately, my correction seemed to calm Cosmo a little, only for Finch's next detail to send him into shivers all over again.

"She has stronger psychic powers than any living pokemon…" Finch said dramatically. "Even stronger than you, Cosmo."

The little psychic bubble shrunk in on himself.

"Not really," I explained. "I kind of doubt it considering how old she is now. She's strong…but not strong enough to do what you're implying…"

Both Finch and I shot each other a side-eye.

The croc continued with, "Well…she got away with it in the end. I don't remember any election, either."

But I wasn't having it. "Clearly it was decided internally." I rolled my eyes. "I don't like Anemone either, Finch. But you're jumping to conclusions."

"You're telling me that after today you don't think she's capable of it?" Finch shook his head. "That witch has her hands in every pocket of this continent. That's some power. You don't get that kind of power by acting nice or playing fair."

I blinked. "What? W-witch- okay." Time to simmer down. "You have never met her in person, Finch. I have seen first hand how threatening she can be. And you know what?" I threw up my arms. "I agree with you! She doesn't act nice; she doesn't play fair. But saying she showed up one night and just took over—that's insane!"

"And you know? The Dewott with the amnesia?" Finch scoffed. "Yeah, I've never met her in person. But I've talked to mons that have. You wouldn't believe the kinds of things they told me. All of it made sense."

"Really? Really." I crossed my arms in indignation. "Try me."

"Ever wonder why the weather is so erratic around Kebia Castle?"

"No. Because I just changed my mind. I don't want to listen to this." Quickest turnaround I've ever had. Even if I was slightly interested in finding out where he was going with that…no. I knew it was a slippery slope to crazy town.

Besides, I couldn't help but notice that the little psychic that asked the question in the first place had shriveled up like a raisin. Cosmo's bubble was shivering like mad.

"...And now look at what you did," I sighed, gesturing towards Cosmo.

The anger on Finch's face didn't dissipate, even when he looked and saw what his tirade led to. But after a few moments his facial features softened. Guilt seemed to flash across his face, however slight it might have been. "...Ergh. There's your answer."

We played another round after that. Cosmo recovered relatively quickly, though he hardly had anything else to say. I could tell that it stopped being fun for him.

I won, by the way. Not really important how; none of us seemed to be too into it after that last round. But I really only had one more question, anyway. I asked it after Finch gave me a familiar but unexpected compliment.

"You're not bad at this, Oswald," he said. "For a scatterbrain, that is." The smallest smirk curled onto his lips before fading away.

With a shrug, I guessed that, "I might have been good at cards in my past life. It's weird, because I don't even remember my parents. But I know how to play cards…and I don't know why." Which reminded me of something. "Speaking of, what was your mother like, Finch? I recall you mentioning her." This was me prying into his absurd home life like I said I wanted to earlier.

"Hah!" the sand gator laughed heartily. "What I wouldn't do to have her answer that for you…" He looked off into the distance, his eyes glittering with memories long cherished. "She was the kind of Krookodile that earned every minute of her life. 'Work to live, live to work.' That's what she always said." His bright smile bled into his words. "'Course that also meant I grew up in a sling around her shoulders while she worked the mill. Home is just for sleep, you know?"

So, a workaholic. I frowned. Something was missing here.

"Okay…but how'd you end up…like this?" I asked, sheepishly gesturing to his whole self.

Finch laughed again. "A lot of older folks I talk to go on and on about the hard work. How it's all about building character and becoming independent. Well, hard work doesn't make things easier when the deck is stacked against you."

After picking up a card and flashing it at me—an ace that I had just used to win—he said, "You gotta play your cards, and sometimes hoping for an Aura card doesn't cut it. You have to do what you have to."

I grimaced. I seriously hoped that Cosmo wasn't getting any ideas. Last I looked he was more preoccupied with his new plush than the game, thankfully.

"And she was okay with that?" I wondered.

"No," the ground type answered humorlessly, that glitter in his eyes now gone. "But I wasn't about to let her work herself to death, even if she felt that she had to. Didn't matter in the end, but at least I tried."

I couldn't deny that. As much as I didn't agree with it, the last thing Finch did was let it get the better of him. And I could respect him for that.

Solemnly, I nodded. "Must have been hard after the war."

Finch growled scornfully. "Don't get me started. Folks like my mom who supported Carnation weren't exactly given the best jobs. I grew up near Lansat, where the crime was the worst. It's not like I had a choice…"

"Your mom supported Carnation?"

"She looked up to him!" Finch's eyes lit up again at the mere mention of that historical Grimmsnarl. "Anybody who earned their weight in pokè back then did." But then he deflated with a sigh. "Still wish I could meet him. I used to think that, someday, he'd come back from the dead and fix all of my problems." He shook his head bitterly. "Then I grew up."

Damn…

I gave Finch a sympathetic look, my whiskers drooping.

Must be nice to have someone to look up to like that—and have a methodology to fall back on even when everything seems so confusing. I doubt Finch ever thought about whether or not he was doing the right thing, because what was right was already made clear for him.

Me, I don't know. What's right and what's wrong, who to trust and who not to trust…

That's the thing, isn't it? Without even a basis to work off of, I was screwed from the get-go. No aspirations, no goals, no desires, no friends—I'm incapable, weak, and completely helpless. Finding help ended up being a challenge, too.

But I know who and what I am. And above all else I can't let every setback distract me from what I need to be looking for: answers. I'll let my identity and what little I do know guide me if needed.


"…I'm sorry to hear that, Finch," I said. All of this talk about goals and childhood heroes left me feeling wistful. In a way, I wanted what Finch had, even if he technically didn't have anything.

"Yeah, yeah…" the croc muttered as he placed the used cards into a discard pile. "We've all gotta move on eventually. What about you, Ozzy? What do you plan to do next?"

The game was practically over at this point, so there was no reason in telling Finch to win again. It certainly helped that this question was something that had been swirling around in my brain since this morning.

I needed a way to work towards my goal. Only problem was that accomplishing said goal was next to impossible without being able to leave the castle. Either I needed to find a way to get out of here or I needed to find someone to search for answers in my stead. Both were easier said than done.

In a moment of aimlessness, I scratched the scalchop on my hip in thought. It never ceased to amaze me how comforting it was to know that they were still there, despite everything.

"Well, I'm not really sure. My biggest objective is to figure out how I got here and who caused it. Maybe get back at the guy who thought it was so funny to take away my memories, too."

Also needed to figure out how I'd be able to go back home, but telling Finch about my humanity made even less sense than telling Fenn. A part of me believed that Oleander was lurking in the shadows not just to keep me from leaving but to break my neck in case I let it slip.

A little dramatic, sure. Although, again, I didn't know what to expect from Calluna.

Finch flicked a card in his claw with a finger on his other claw a few times, also thinking. He felt the need to remind me that, "You seem really sure that someone caused it. What if you just hit your head?"

Because that would be fucking stupid.

It was not Finch's fault that he lacked all of the details. I might have woken up with a headache, but that did not explain all of the things I saw in the dungeons and the freaks wanting a piece of me.

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter," I said. "There was someone I wanted to meet up with before today, before I met with Anemone. Now that I can't leave the castle, there's not much I can do there. It was my only lead."

"Iris, right?" Finch narrowed his eyes. "The woman Turaco mentioned?" He said that slowly, in a way that gave me the impression that he was finding it hard to believe the words coming out of his mouth.

"Yeah." My tail rose and hit the floor lightly behind me without my say. Boy was I glad that Finch remembered. Saved me the trouble of explaining it while Oleander was listening.

Stroking his chin, Finch grumbled something under his breath. "Hmm…it'd be out of the way…"

"What?"

He looked me square in the eyes—sizing me up—determining my resolve. "…I could go find her for you and come back," Finch eventually told me. "I was already planning on leaving for a bit. Only problem is that it wouldn't be my priority, and if my guess is correct I might be too late."

Better than nothing. For some reason I didn't think to ask the croc right in front of me. I guess I just forgot.

"Can you?" I pleaded before reining it in. "I mean…I feel like I'd be asking for a lot from you."

Turned out it wasn't an issue. Finch scoffed confidently. "I've done a lot more for a lot less. Consider it payback after screwing up so badly."

Well that…made things a little better, I guess. With a smile, I nodded. My tail whacked the ground behind me, louder than before. "Thanks, Finch."

"Don't mention it. Now…what other games do you know how to play?"

A lot more than I initially thought. After some guesswork and comparing existing games in this world, it turned out that I knew how to play Poker, Go Fish, War, Solitaire, and even Crazy Eights. I absolutely knew more. Those were just the ones I could recognize and Finch knew how to play.

For about an hour Finch and I played Go Fish (Go Magikarp) while Cosmo kept to himself. Some more smalltalk was exchanged, but none of it was particularly substantial or interesting. Pretty soon the sleepy, orange glow of the sun poured into the room, cascading across the floor like an encroaching tide.

Day turned to night like a candle gradually losing the strength of its flame, and I had no one there to light it for me. Eventually, I had to squint just to see the numbers on the cards.

It was only right before it became impossible to see that I heard a familiar click at the door, followed by the slow creak of the door's hinges.

I assumed that I would be prepared. All day had passed and I had gone through this scenario in my head over and over again. But even still, I shot up from my sitting position without a second thought and nearly fell right back onto my face. A sharp pain in my side coincided with the harsh beating of the heart in my chest; I was out of breath within seconds.

But I got to the door an instant before Fenn's eyes became visible. Nothing could stop me.

"FENN!" I shouted breathlessly. "F-Fenn, are you…?"

At first, I wasn't sure if it was even Fenn that I was looking at. Between the encroaching shadows and my panting, the pokemon I saw in front of me looked like a blueish, battered blob. It was only after the Quilava lifted his head did I see that familiar shade of crimson.

Dull, dreary, cloudy eyes. If there was a flame there, it was gone now.

Confused and horribly afraid to the extent that I was left speechless for a moment, I had to fight the urge to fling question after question at Fenn. He hadn't even taken a step inside yet. But the sheer guilt of seeing him like this made me want to start ripping my fur out.

To my complete and utter surprise, Fenn spoke. It was hardly audible, though. Barely more than a whisper. "O-oh…hi, Oswald…"

"...Hey…" I managed to choke out as I breathed heavily. "Welcome back."

He looked down—an action that made my stomach drop out of reflex. "Yeah…"

"Here," I said suddenly, standing aside. "Come in."

Still on two feet, Fenn did so without another word. The room, as I hadn't taken notice at the time, was deathly silent. Even Cosmo didn't feel the need to say hi. Fenn stopped a few feet into the room and just stood there, completely still.

It took me a few moments, but I slowly approached Fenn from behind until I was next to him—close to him. He wouldn't meet my gaze even as I stared directly at him. His focus was…on something else.

Again, the lighting was bad, so I couldn't tell exactly what I was looking at. But being this close…had he been crying? Either it was just his natural shade of red blending in awkwardly into the whites of his eyes, or they were as puffy as I feared.

I had to know. "Fenn?" I spoke up as softly as I could. "Everything alright? Where have you been?"

"...H-home," was his simple answer.

I gripped a scalchop on my hip tightly. "How did it go?"

"Fine…" He still wouldn't look at me.

Do I keep prying…? What should I do?

I looked at my hands, the door, Finch's inscrutable frown, Cosmo's worried eyes, the bed, the window, anything—desperate to think fast and confidently.

And after all of that, all that I could come up with was a pathetic and shaky reply. "...You don't look so good, Fenn. Are you sure?"

"..."

Fenn started rubbing his arm, his movements strained and heavy. "I-I'm gonna go to bed early tonight, if that's okay," he muttered. "We can talk…in the morning."

My breath caught in my throat and I scratched hard at a scalchop. No, no…that couldn't be it.

"Um…" I murmured sheepishly. "Okay, that's fine. You look like you need the rest."

All he did was nod. Nothing more. Not once after entering the room did he look me in the eyes, and I knew that was intentional.

No, no…

Watching Fenn walk towards the bed was like watching him fall from hundreds of feet in the air, the wind whooshing past his ears as he screamed, his body gradually growing smaller and smaller-

NO!

"FennFennwait!" I cried with my arm outstretched. I launched myself forward until I was right in front of the Quilava, blocking his path. My whiskers were frazzled and my fur was standing on end, but I didn't care. I must have looked insane with how much my paws were trembling.

His ears shot straight up. "W-what-?" Fenn started, before I interrupted him.

"Listen, I know I lied! I know I know I know! But listen, Anemone was lying to you, too! She's done nothing but make things worse for both of us! Don't listen to what she has to say!"

"..." Fenn just stared back at me in shock. Spots of his face lit up slightly as tiny embers popped out of his forehead.

"She won't even let me leave the castle anymore!" I told him hysterically. "But still, I want to make this up to you!"

It was probably the wrong thing to do at the time– actually, no. It was the wrong thing to do. But I held out my paw…and gripped Fenn's shoulder, rubbing it gently as I possibly could while my whole body was trembling.

Fenn's eyes followed my paw, more embers dancing across his face and casting shadows past his eyes. As faint as it was, I could see then that yes, his eyes were red and puffy. Wide with confusion and shock.

And for me, all of that pent up frustration and anguish came falling out of my mouth with no semblance of grace. In my eyes, I had reached a new low.

"I don't know…we can do something together tomorrow," I said, practically begging. "Just…I want you to know that I care about you and I'm…sorry. I shouldn't have…"

The spit had reached the back of my throat, forcing me to swallow harshly. I couldn't keep going from there. I just couldn't. My fingertips stung from how hard I was scratching, but by all accounts the pain mattered less than the reminder that came with it.

Fenn…seemingly didn't react. He just looked at me with wide eyes, unmoving. But as soon as I appeared to have run out of steam, his ears drooped a little. A very slight change.

He spoke, albeit just as quietly as before.

"...I-I forgive you, Oswald."

"W-what?" I blinked. Those words rang in my ears for several seconds after he said them.

"It's…okay."

He smiled. He really smiled. It was a big smile, too. The kind of smile that I had been fantasizing about all day.

The trembling didn't stop. Why didn't it stop?

"Are…are you sure?"

He nodded.

My fingers were numb.

No…no, it can't be that easy. Fenn hates me for what I did. I went off and had fun all day while he…while he…

Despondently, I let my paw fall from Fenn's shoulder, my fingers gently dragging down his arm as it slowly came to a halt at my side.

I was not looking him in the eyes anymore. There was a sort of magnetic repellent keeping me from doing so. In retrospect…I don't even know why.

"...Okay…" I said hoarsely. "Have…a good sleep…Fenn."

"..."

The silence ate away at my heart. But if he said anything at all the dam that was my tear ducts would have broken.

Without another word…Fenn walked past me and climbed onto the bed. Although I didn't see it, Cosmo followed right behind him. He chose to sleep on the bed that night.

I was still trembling.

The last few minutes replayed in my mind several times over, for what felt like hours. Finch, like me, was still standing around. When we met gazes, I didn't know what to make of his expression. Disappointment? Sympathy? Maybe even anger?

What really bothered me, though, was how everything was fine. It was likely that Fenn was just tired and had a bad day. No big deal, right? We could spend some time tomorrow and talk about it.

Now everything felt numb. From the tip of my tail to the top of my head. It was like I was dreaming, unsure if this was supposed to be a nightmare playing into my fears.

After a bit, I went to touch my chest, only to feel something tickle my paw. Looking down, what I saw made my face scrunch up with disgust.

In one swift, aggravated moment, I ripped the gracidea flower necklace from my neck and held it out in front of me.

I had been wearing it the whole time.

Seething, I crushed a flower in my paw, then I dropped the necklace onto the floor.
 
Chapter 37 - Day 14, Part 5: Beneath the Soil

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Author’s Note:

Hi. So I really mean it when I say this would be the longest chapter I’ve written so far. In fact, I outdid myself and wrote 30k words as opposed to my expected 20k. Not only that, but I split it up into three separate chapters.

All three of these chapters are best consumed together, either way. And with so much to get through, I don’t expect anyone to read it all in one sitting. Which is why there are plenty of stopping points thanks to the many flashbacks.

There’s one more thing I should say here, and it’s not something I usually do because I rarely find it to be necessary. Here is different; there is a lot of distressing content in these three chapters. Stuff like death and near death experiences, implied homophobia at certain points, slight drug use in chapter 38, and some generally very emotional content, especially towards the end of 38 and 39. As well as some pretty iffy subject matters that I’m hoping will go over well with you all.

I’m surprised that these chapters had less abuse than I was expecting, though. I ended up changing my mind on a lot of things while writing it. Needless to say, I’m gonna start outlining more thoroughly from now on.

Just be wary, that’s all. Take it slow. And of course, I hope you enjoy. Thank you for your patience.

Chapter 37: Day 14, Part 5 - Beneath the Soil

Earlier in the day…

A stray gracidea flower crunched under the Quilava's foot as he walked.

More flowers and leaves blew in from behind—from the festival in town. He had just breached the forest's edge, and even all the way out here the excited screams and chatter of the townsfolk just barely licked at his twitching ears. He shot an irritated glance over his shoulder before bringing his head forward again, sighing.

Today was bright, sunny. And yet the path home was shrouded in shadows, darkness; faint rays of sunlight shone through the thick canopy overhead. The wind seemed to howl as if warning him to turn back.

After a few more steps he huffed and came to a stop. While it was always easier to walk on all fours when it came to traveling long distances, being so close to the ground partially obscured his vision. So, he stood to get his bearings and to catch his breath. What he saw reminded him of a distant memory…

(...)

(...)(...)

(...)(...)(...)​

The world always looked so much smaller from his father's shoulders. So much less threatening. In a way, it helped Fenrir to conceptualize everything around him. Trees weren't really that tall, the Cyndaquil was just short! If his father's massive size was anything to go by, age ten Fenrir would be a towering Typhlosion. No tree could stand in his way then.

He would be a warrior, as his father put it. An exciting prospect!

It was a special day for the young quil. He couldn't stop smiling even if he tried; his flames spurted out of his back haphazardly without control. Luckily, with his mother and father in tow, Fenrir would not cause a forest fire just by shaking on his own two feet.

In less than an hour's time, Fenrir would finally get to see the spectacular Kebia Castle up close. Ever since he could open his eyes and comprehend speech, Kebia Castle acted as a beacon for him to follow. Just barely past the cover of leaves and branches near his home, his tiny eyes could envision something so unfathomably gigantic and awe inspiring that he begged his parents to tell him more.

For now though, they were taking a pleasant stroll through the woods. Calming, if a bit dull. The energetic young firecracker hadn't come to appreciate the simplicity of it yet. He yearned for exhilaration and fun, and detested waiting.


"Just you wait, Fenrir my boy!" his father bellowed, each word rumbling through the Cyndaquil's tiny body. "When you're older you're going to be walking this path every day! Or if you're lucky, you get to live in the castle! That's where all my pallies live!"

Fenrir didn't think to ask why his father lived out here and not in the castle at the time. He was simply too excited to see what his father meant, since he didn't really understand that either.

The lad hopped up and down in overflowing anticipation. Question after question shot out of his mouth like Bullet Seeds. "Ooh! Ooh! Am I gonna get to meet The Mountain? What about Silvermound? How many rooms does it have? Do they really have a pool of lava? Andandandandand-"

But his mother shushed him, the flames on her back igniting as she brought a finger to her lips, frightening Fenrir a tad. "Be patient!" she said lightly. "If you are a good little quil we can get smoothies afterwards."

The word "smoothie" held no meaning to Fenrir back then. But after trying one himself later in the day it kicked off his lifelong craving for Pecha berries, and also smoothies. Something he and his mother had in common.

Not his father, though. It perplexed Fenrir how the Typhlosion could pass up on tasty snacks like smoothies and candy. Those were the true joys of life, weren't they?

Either way, more to be excited about. Today just couldn't get any better!

Both of his parents had an exchange right then. However, Fenrir did not maintain the memory of what was said at the time very well. It all blended together after a certain point. The ensuing exchange was melded together to the best of his mental abilities.

The motherly Typhlosion leaned over to her significant other and whispered something to the extent of, "Don't get his hopes up, Gaura. We are not going to be there for long."

The fatherly Typhlosion simply continued to look ahead, a faint smile on his lips but his eyes half-lidded. Unlike his spouse, he saw no need to keep his voice down. He might have even been talking louder than before.


"My boy deserves the best, Buttercup," Fenrir's father stated. "I'm showing him around—I don't care what they say!"

"But, last time-"

This time Fenrir's father looked over, if only just to hold up a large finger so he could interrupt the other Typhlosion. "And I'm going through with it! If they think they can drive off The Volcano-" he laughed, "-they're wrong. Isn't that right, my boy!"


"Yeah!" Fenrir agreed, listening only in a way that a giddy kindergartner could. "Up! Up!"

"Ah, you wanna go up?" his father asked. "Aren't you a bit too old for that?"

Five years old was past the time for Fenrir to ask for volcano jumpies, as his father had expressed half-heartedly over the course of the past year or so. Fenrir, however, was insistent. Even now, he wanted to go higher, see more of the forest. Perhaps…even catch a glimpse of the castle through the trees.


"Up! Up!" Fenrir expressed again, his little arms flailing with eagerness.

A black puff of smoke escaped his father's lips, but it was all in good fun. Jumpies never hurt anybody, even if Fenrir's mother always had a worried look about her face when he did it. Fenrir hardly ever noticed until he was older, though. It was not a concern to him.


"Alright!" his father roared. "Here goes!"

FWOOSH!

A strong billowing of flames puffed out of Fenrir's father's back like a Fire Punch. The flames themselves were harmless to a fire pokemon even as young as Fenrir, but the impact behind them was enough to send the Cyndaquil flying upwards.


"WHEEEE!" Fenrir cheered. Up, up, up he went. The wind rushing past his ears, the ground gradually getting further and further away, the weird sinking in his stomach…

He loved it. Every single time. And this was no different. For several short moments, Fenrir lingered in the air.

The faint glimpse of a rampart in the distance stuck with him for years to come.

A couple seconds passed and he was falling down until he landed safely in his father's arms. The thrill was still clear in his mind when he started hollering, "Again again!"


"Oh no," his father said sternly, shaking his head, "if you want to be a warrior like your dad, no more volcano jumpies."

Of course Fenrir wanted to be like his father! His father was the best!

But for now…no more volcano jumpies?


"B-but…" Fenrir blabbered with his lips quivering.

Like fathers often do, the sight of a whimpering child was enough to shatter his ego for a short while. Humbled enough for his eyes to grow big and hesitant. The Typhlosion sighed. "...Alright. But when we get home…no more."


"Yay!"

Fenrir would still ask his father for volcano jumpies for the next two years of his life. His father begrudgingly agreed every time.

And while Fenrir and his father had their fun…the other Typhlosion was awfully quiet for the rest of the walk.


(...)(...)(...)

(...)(...)

(...)​

The grass was so much greener back then. Granted, it was autumn now, but Fenn took note of the fact that he stopped seeing that shade of green in his teenage years. Almost as though it all died out when he reached a certain age.

Fenn had only ever traversed this forest a handful of times in his life. Each time it looked slightly different; each trip was for a different reason.

This was his first time going through it alone.

After exhaling softly, Fenn dropped to all fours and started down the path again. One foot fell in front of the other with determined grace, accomplished without much thought. The dirt path was as narrow and distinguishable as the castle's spires, though only a Spinda could get lost here.

Sounds of laughing, cheering, and joyous screaming in the distance were swallowed by the gentle hum of the forest as Fenn walked: the sway of branches and their leaves, the faint chittering of bug pokemon far away, the light thumping of his own footsteps-

That might have also been his heart in his ears. Both had the potential to be incredibly intrusive—only escapable through the dry comfort of his daydreams.

These daydreams exhibited patterns that made Fenn's ears flick and his vents grow warm. Long since he had gotten used to imagining what would happen next—his father's fury compounded with the ground cracking open like an active volcano. But lately Fenn had been relishing in the radiance of nostalgia. He couldn't pinpoint why.

It was certainly more alluring than turning around, that was for sure. And not for the reason Fenn initially thought.

No, Fenn's nose pointed in the direction of home not because he wanted to get away. If anything the imposing shadows of the forest ahead reminded him of the faces embedded in the walls of Mago Canyon. Judging, hateful, knowing. What kept him going was the idea that, potentially…he could walk right back to the castle without ever needing to go through this forest with this much anxiety ever again.

That was just wishful thinking, though. Family was still family at the end of the day, and even the best of families had their disagreements. Or so Fenn told himself.

Fenn was both incredibly thankful and horribly disappointed that the gap between Kebia and Nanab was somewhat small. The walk allowed him time to think, to plan. Any longer, though, and the Quilava might have gotten impatient. That said, the distance provided him with an excuse to go home in the first place.

If anything, Fenn would have been perfectly content to stay at the castle and sleep in today. But the last thing he wanted was to be alone. Not now.

And yet there he was. An ember puffed out of his forehead at the reminder.

Being alone was so easy, he once thought. So comfortable. Perhaps it was not always the most exciting, but the silence of his mind granted him solace. Sweeping the floors of Kebia was, at its absolute worst, tedious. For a while Fenn was content to do his job and not worry about much else. It was certainly less frightening than dungeon exploration, but it hardly ever got his blood pumping in comparison.

And when Fenn's blood was pumping, none of those thoughts reached the forefront of his mind. Everything made sense. Even now, his face scrunched up and his feet padded across the ground hesitantly: Fenn was still conflicted.

Maybe if he kept going none of this would have been put into question. His status as a warrior never would have been challenged. But instead, that Dewott he met by accident two weeks ago insisted that they not go back into any more dungeons. And Fenn…agreed to that stipulation.

The switch back to more menial work was perfectly fine with Fenn, as long as it was just temporary. They could act as explorers in different ways in the meantime. Over time, though, Fenn found that the less effort he spent exerting himself meant that more of his headspace would be occupied by doubt.

He had to know if all of this was just in his head or not. Self-doubt being the norm was not something he wanted. And that was why he chose to travel down Memory Lane.

The straight forward path eventually ended, much to Fenn's chagrin. Had it really been over an hour at that point? Regardless, an opening in the trees became clear, and sunlight flowed in. At the end of the path were flowers.

Dandelions.

(...)

(...)(...)

(...)(...)(...)​

"Grandpa Aconite, what's a 'Mystery Dungeon?'"

The boney, rugged orange ground below the Cyndaquil shifted abruptly and stiffened—while the ground itself let out a sputtering snort.


"Bah! Mystery Dungeons?" the Camerupt whinnied. "Don't worry 'bout none of those, Fenn. Yer too young fer 'em."

There was that name again. Fenn.

Grandpa Aconite's large head slowly shook from left to right. "Was it yer dad? He tell ya? Don't listen to 'em. He don't know what he's talkin' 'bout."

The little Cyndaquil made an about-face and shifted the conversation by asking something else. "Why do you keep calling me that, grandpa Aconite?" he queried.

Grandpa Aconite gave Fenrir a warm, wrinkly smile over his shoulder. "'Cause that's what ya look like!"

Fenrir gasped. "What?"


"Ya do!" the elderly Camerupt laughed. "And lucky, too! It's a favorite a'mine. I used to approach youngsters yer age on the street and ask 'em 'is yer name Fenn?' But yer the only one that looked like 'im to me. Kehahaha!"

Despite his disbelief, Fenrir smiled like a giddy Blissey. All of those other kids…and he was the only one that could've had grandpa's favorite name? That
is lucky!

"Whoooooa!" Fenrir gaped. "You think I look like a Fenn!? Does that mean something cool- oop!"

Staying still on his grandpa's back was harder than it looked. Just right there, along with the heavy stomping of the Camerupt's feet, Fenrir bounced in place. He let out a tiny little giggle as he flopped onto his back. Riding on his father's shoulders was only this fun when volcano jumpies were involved.

And of course, Fenrir's grandpa laughed along with his grandson. Having not realized it at the time, Grandpa Aconite was perfectly capable of walking slow and steady. But he always seemed to stomp around just that little bit faster when they were having fun. Like now.


"Kehahaha! Ya can bet your keister that it means somethin' cool! Ya see, I used ta explore with this one feller, and his name was Fenn. He was my best friend. Just like you."

Fenrir rushed to roll onto all fours and crawl to the front of his grandpa's head, before peering down right between the Camerupt's eyes. "You mean that, grandpa!?" He gasped. "I thought you said I was
just your friend?"

Aconite shook his head, not seeming to mind Fenrir's invasion of his personal space. "Nope," he said. "Yer not just ma friend, yer ma BEST friend."

Best friend? Fenrir's jaw went slack with awe. He had never had a best friend before. But the fact that he was his grandpa's best friend and took that title from the other Fenn…that must have made him really special!

It made him curious, though. "Wow! And you explored, too? What was exploring like, grandpa?" Fenrir asked.

Ears flicking—nearly whacking Fenrir upside the head—Grandpa Aconite's smile was so big that it could be seen on every corner of the little Cyndaquil's vision. "Oohoo! Let me tell ya," the elder started, "I used ta travel far and wide! Me and ma friend used to see all sorts of stuff! I saw volcanoes taller than the mountains past the valleys! Big, big lakes called oceans that stretched on fer miles! And I got ta have fun at festivals every day!"

Volcanoes taller than the mountains? How was that even possible? Lakes so big that they went past the horizon? Fenrir couldn't possibly imagine that! And oh mon, the festivals! Fun every day AND he got to see all of that crazy stuff!?

Fenrir was floored. Exploring sounded like so much fun! His vents went wild with flame at just the thought of everything that he could experience! And with a best friend like his grandpa, he would get to experience it all for sure!


"That sounds awesome!" Fenrir beamed. "I wanna explore just like you, Grandpa!"

The Camerupt belly laughed. "I bet ya do, Fenn! The world better look out, Fenn's about to be the greatest explorer in history!"

The greatest explorer in history…Fenn loved the sound of that! He put his paws on his hips, stood tall on his grandpa's head, and puffed out his chest in pride. "That's right!" he declared. "I'll be the greatest explorer the world has ever seen! Just you wait- whoa!"

Thud!

The greatest explorer the world has ever seen might need to find more solid ground first, as evidenced by the sudden fall and tumble he was subjected to. It didn't hurt, but he wasn't riding on his grandpa's head anymore. Why did he stop…?

Well, either way, Fenrir dug his noggin out of the dirt and took a look around. The flowers he was sitting in tickled at his nose. It didn't take long for him to sneeze, and the flowers blew back slightly from the tiny gust of air. "Achoo!" Even more swayed with the light breeze.


"What the…" This whole time Fenrir hadn't noticed that he and his grandpa were waltzing around in a field of flowers; the kid might have been too distracted to notice.

"Oops, sorry about that," his grandpa snorted. "I saw somethin'..."

His grandpa's breath on his neck made him flinch, and Fenir spun around. He stopped to sit right in front of the older pokemon's snout and look up. "What is it, Grandpa?"

Curiously, Grandpa Aconite's voice became quiet. Even the hyperactive little Fenrir took notice and let him talk.


"I saw some dandelion," Aconite said softly. "Right there at yer toes…"

Fenrir looked down, and sure enough. A cluster of bright, yellow flowers sat planted in the dirt right in front of his nose. "Dandelion?" He tilted his head at his grandpa.

Grandpa Aconite nodded slightly, but even a movement as tiny as that was huge to the little Cyndaquil. "Real pretty, aren't they?" he asked.

They sure were. Bright, fuzzy, smelly. But in a good way. Fenrir gave the flower a big sniff…before sneezing once again. "Achoo!"

His grandpa chuckled. "Ya know, ma wife loved dandelions. Heck, she loved flowers in general."


"Wife?" Fenrir had to careen his neck almost completely vertically just to look his grandpa in the eyes. It was to ask another question, though, so he didn't mind. "You had a wife, grandpa?"

"You wouldn't have been born if I didn't," the Camerupt smiled. "Sweetest Typhlosion I ever did meet, let me tell ya. I used to make 'er a bouquet every week. Went out and picked the flowers m'self. Heh…she loved it until the whole house was full of 'em. Woulda had more if I hadn't burned half of 'em along the way."

Fenrir giggled. "You're silly, grandpa."

With a snort, Grandpa Aconite said, "She used to say the same thing. I loved that woman. I used to always tell 'er—three brightest things in the world: the yellow of dandelions, the sun, and 'er smile."

Coincidentally, a bright smile appeared on Fenrir's face. "She sounds really nice, grandpa," the child said.

It took grandpa a moment to respond. Fenrir noted the slight sparkle in his eyes as he stared intently. Eventually, when the elder spoke, it was even quieter than before. "She was…"

Something about grandpa's smile seemed sad to Fenrir. If he was big enough, Fenrir would have given his grandpa a big hug. But he settled for hugging his snout instead.


"Daww." And the Camerupt's jollyness returned, just like that. "Promise me this, Fenn. When ya find yer sweetheart, get 'em the biggest bouquet ya can find."

"I will, grandpa."


(...)(...)(...)

(...)(...)

(...)​

That was the one and only time Fenn's grandpa mentioned that friend of his, or his wife. In retrospect, Fenn wasn't even sure if that Camerupt was telling the truth. His mother always told him that he liked to exaggerate some of the details, so who knows.

That being said, Fenn liked to think that it was all true. That his grandpa really did have a friend with his name and a wife that loved flowers. The ocean was real, after all. Fenn got to see it for himself.

A few moments prior Fenn picked a dandelion out of the dirt and held it in his paw. The bright yellow almost seemed to shimmer against the clear, blue sky and white-tipped mountains. The other flowers peeking out of the grass swayed with the light breeze like ocean tides on the shore. It was pleasant, really—evocative of a simpler time.

Wisps of white fuzz stuck to Fenn's fur and scattered with the wind; seeds persisting and perpetuating the thriving cycle of life in these fields. And like the seeds they originated from, the flower in Fenn's paw rode the wind off to somewhere new.

Despite his nose itching and twitching, Fenn did nothing more than stand there and watch the flowers sway. The rolling hills and grassy fields were like family to him now: a familiar face. But to say that it inspired only happy recollections would be a lie. The view was melancholic, too. Perhaps even enough to goad out a tear, all out here alone.

He didn't stand still for long. He was on all-fours and on his way to Nanab before long, tiny embers flowing with the wind like the flowers. He didn't even stop to spare more than a glance at the lavender…

Nanab's outskirts lacked a natural path or a proper entrance, but it was so out in the open that it didn't really need either of those things. What functioned best as an "entrance" was a subtle line in the dirt and single oak tree to the side. On that tree, stapled there so long ago that it was essentially a part of it now—the tree's bark growing around it—was a wooden plank. On that plank, it read:

"Nanab Town: a place to rest, a place to shine"

"Retirees Welcome"

He used to read here all the time, right under the tree. The best thing about reading near the entrance of town was that no one ever bothered Fenn when he did it. At first he thought that way of thinking was contradictory; a new arrival would no doubt strike up a conversation with him and interrupt his reading time. But as he found—especially at certain times in the day—Nanab rarely saw any new arrivals.

Or any pokemon coming and going at all. He once overheard one of the adults in town say that Nanab was slowly losing its residents to the big city. That wasn't exactly surprising to hear; the only pokemon that lived there were older folks and poor families that could not afford to move.

Was it any surprise that Fenn was stuck there for so long, though? Especially in his teenage years when he found more joy in absorbing stories than pursuing a career of excitement. At the time he was more than happy to sit around and read all day.

He still remembered a few of them. Memories of glancing off at the mountains in the distance coalesced with scenes from action adventures like Outlook Divers and political thrillers like The Nightingale Federation.

Oh…The Nightingale Federation. That was a good one.

Great descriptions and political intrigue met with tense action that made Fenn's teenage heart beat like crazy. Though he distinctly remembered dropping that series after the second book. Things just kept getting stupider and it was generous to even call the characters one-note. The main character was a self insert, too. Every time Fenn read about them he just wanted to skip ahead.

How could everything else be so good but the main character sucked that bad? Why would they sabotage their story like that? Heck, why was that series so popular anyways? It wasn't a masterpiece.

Fenn huffed. Okay, it probably wasn't best to get fed up about a book he hadn't read in several years for no reason.

Now was a good time to take a small break. Fenn practically collapsed against the sign-post tree, letting himself slide down the bark into a sitting position. He hadn't noticed until now, but his paws hurt from all of that walking. Almost immediately, even more memories came flooding back.

More books he read, like Dratini and Seel, Outlook Divers, and Rusty Greenhorn swam around in his mind like Popplio in a public pool. And they weren't the only ones.

Fenn closed his eyes and sighed. There were even more memories that bubbled up. In particular, the gawking, dissecting gazes of his classmates resurfaced to the top of his mind with their eyes set on Fenn. Some of them read books, too, but Fenn always found listening to them talk to be an exercise in frustration.

They just didn't get it, was what he thought at the time. Nowadays that mindset just seemed a bit silly.

More often than not, though, Fenn lacked the energy to do anything some days. So much time was wasted leaning against this very tree and staring blankly at the sky. He lacked the drive to do much else.

Being lazy and alone was more comfortable, anyway. Studying didn't matter. Training didn't matter. Exploring didn't matter. None of it mattered to him.

Everything was alright.

His eyes finally reopened. Right in front of his gaze was a patch of grass discolored by flames that burnt it years and years ago. One careless exhale was all it took, back before he was properly in control.

Fenn cringed at the memory. If he could erase his days as a teenager from his mind, he would. Unfortunately, several of the spots under the tree where Fenn had set the grass aflame at certain points were still charred, the roots thoroughly sapped and dried. So even if he wanted to forget, his mark was still there.

Thankfully, he knew how to properly prevent constant forest fires these days. But that was the least of his issues. Someday, if it had not already happened, a pokemon would approach the tree and think to themselves "oh, this spot used to be so beautiful. Then that delinquent Quilava came around and ruined it."

They never would have said these sorts of things when he was a Cyndaquil. What happened? Fenn still asked himself that question fairly often. Because something clearly changed to turn that joyful little bundle of flames into a stuttering, hot mess that spent all of his time reading alone.

The Quilava stood up, turned from the tree, and continued onward. Asking questions he already knew the answer to would only demotivate him more.

Deliberately, Fenn avoided the main streets of Nanab and kept to the outskirts as he walked—behind houses and out of sight. Pokemon tended to walk the streets at this time of day, and while he assumed most would be at the festival, he wanted to avoid any interaction if possible.

It wasn't long before the pensive fire type approached what used to be his favorite spot in the town: the playground.

Years and years of neglect and constant use had left the slide half caved-in, the teeter-totter rusted over, and the scratching-post torn. The merry-go-round had been deconstructed and set aside as though it were one day of work away from being functional again. And even that was covered in a layer of rust. Ironically, only the swing remained in somewhat working order. Well, one of the three swings, at least.

He wondered…could it still support his weight?

(...)

(...)(...)

(...)(...)(...)​

"Yippee!

Wahoo!

Yeah!"

Fenrir hooted and hollered as the wind rushed past his ears—forward and back. Forward and back. The momentum carried with it a fun little sway in his stomach that made him smile reflexively. While riding the swing had nothing on his father's volcano jumpies, it was still plenty fun. His father was out at the moment nevertheless, so fun had to be found elsewhere.

Luckily, Yarrow's father just happened to be out, too. Fenrir had met his friend on his way to the playground and the two raced each other there. Fenrir lost, of course. As much as he hated to admit it, Torchic were just flatly faster creatures.

Yarrow got first dibs on the swing, as a result. His turn had already passed and now the little chick was headbutting Fenrir in the back to make him go, much to the Torchic's chagrin.


"C…come on, Fenrir!" Yarrow pleaded between pushes. "Let's go do something else!"

A tinge of annoyance pricked at Fenrir's noggin as he continued to swing. Yarrow got to go for twice as long as Fenrir had! Unfair!


"I wanna keep going!" Fenrir cried. Though as evidenced by the pout growing on his face, having to fight for more swing time made it less fun. He wanted twice the amount of time now. If only out of spite.

Yarrow whined, "I'm boooooored! This is boooooring!"

Fenrir groaned in frustration. "I pushed
you and it wasn't boring!"

"It's boring to meeeee!"


"Ugh!" There went Fenrir's momentum. He carefully lowered his toes to slow himself, kicking up a small amount of wood chips in the process. After the swing came to a halt, the Cyndaquil hopped down and spun on the Torchic. "No fair! You got to swing, now I get to swing!"

Plopping down onto the wood chips with a groan, Yarrow threw back his head in an exaggerated motion. "I don't wanna," he complained.

It was obviously just a thinly veiled excuse; Fenrir could tell. Why did Yarrow do this so much? Just when they would start to have fun—or Fenrir would, at least—the Torchic would start complaining.

Fenrir put his paws on his hips and huffed. "What do you wanna do, then?"


"I don't know," Yarrow said, now laying on his back. "Something else."

It was always "something else," wasn't it? Every single time. Even after flopping down onto his back and laying next to Yarrow, Fenrir still frowned.


"We gotta find something more fun to do," Fenrir stated. "I don't think the swings are gonna cut it."

"No crap" was Yarrow's response. And Fenrir made an 'o' shape with his mouth. He sure was glad his father didn't know how much of a dirty mouth his friend had.

The Torchic fluffed his feathers angrily. "Being bored is so stupid. I bet Kebia pokemon never get bored."

With a castle that big how could they? If only Fenrir was old enough to up and leave—go out adventuring and see the world his grandpa told him about….

Fenrir gasped, before sitting up suddenly. "That's it!" the Cyndaquil exclaimed. "We should go exploring!"

A groan escaped Yarrow as he sat up, too. "Explore where? There's nothing worth exploring in dumb Nanab."

Well…that was definitely true. However…

It was hard for Fenrir not to get all sheepish when the idea came to him. If they got caught, the two kids would be in big trouble.

But his own father's voice rang in his head: "
the only way to become a true warrior is to take risks! A warrior always tackles danger without fear! Never fear, Fenrir!"

He smirked confidently, the vents on his back igniting. "We should go into Figy Forest."

Yarrow sputtered, "Are you nuts!? We're not supposed to go in there!"

That was true. Even Fenrir's mother and grandfather said so. Everyone told Fenrir to steer clear of that place. It was too dangerous for a little guy like him…

And that meant it was a surefire way to get rid of boredom entirely!


"That's how you know it won't be boring," Fenrir countered. "Who knows what we'll find!"

Yarrow seemed to consider it for a moment. The Torchic tapped a wood chip under his talon a few times. "I don't wanna get in trouble, though…"

But Fenrir was insistent. "Come on!" he said. "I just wanna look! Our dads will never know!"


"…Just a look?" A hint of intrigue entered Yarrow's voice.

"Mhm!"

That did the trick! Fenrir's Torchic friend was on his feet in less than a second, his feathered crest held high.


"Well, what are we waiting for then?" Without any more delay, Yarrow dashed off towards the imposing collection of trees in the distance. "Last one there is a flower boy!"

Fenrir, happy to have figured out the solution to their dilemma, ran after his friend, determined not to lose a second time. "Wait for me!" he called. "I'm not a flower boy!"


(...)(...)(...)

(...)(...)

(...)​

Even now, that phrase still ate at him. Flower boy…just thinking about it shot icy dread into his flame vents. To think that he used to say that without even thinking about it. Irony was not enough to describe it; he downright mocked himself by using that word at all.

Fenn's toes dragged against the wood chips as he swung idly. In the end, it supported his weight. But he had a feeling that it was one big push away from falling apart, judging by how the metal chains creaked and groaned.

Just enough to live, not enough to thrive.

He didn't feel like swinging much, anyway. Being reminded of that day always caused Fenn to freeze in place and shiver. Fenn remembered it clearly. The excitement quickly running its course as soon as they both entered the forest and vomited, the panic once they realized that they couldn't leave, the fear when the sounds of ferals were all around them…

It took three hours for help to arrive, but it was more comparable to being lost for days. To an extent, Fenn would have preferred staying in that place compared to the alternative.

Always on the cusp of danger, his tears flowed so freely back then that his tear ducts were dry within the first hour. Even still, he managed to shed more tears after his father gave him a proper verbal punishment afterwards.

A warrior takes risks, yes. A warrior is also not meant to be stupid. That was one reminder he received several times following his blunder.

What's more, Fenn recalled the horrified look on his mother's face when he emerged from that dungeon covered in dirt and dried blood. And the guilt that haunted him.

Fenn's head hung low. His paws gripped the chains tightly but without passion. If there was one thing that the Quilava was thankful for, it was that he and Yarrow remained friends after that. Not once did they blame each other for that day.

Fenn sighed wistfully. They shared a lot of really fun memories.

There was…one place Fenn definitely needed to visit before going home: the old house up the stream. Yarrow's house. The mere thought of it helped to relax Fenn's shoulders and warm his vents. Happy memories were made there, not here.

Fenn dropped onto the ground and exhaled a puff of smoke. Within another few seconds, he was padding off towards the stream on the other side of town. There was more of a chance that he would be seen going that way, but this was something he needed to do.

Unfortunately, it also meant passing right by the school.

With every step he slipped further and further into the pelt of a much younger Quilava. One that stuck to the shadows, blending into the background. He unintentionally found himself sinking his paws into the dirt in hopes that it would swallow him up. Perhaps even encase him in a crusty shell with a couple of slots for eyes. That was all he really needed here; not much else could be accomplished, after all.

If his bank of memories were like a pot full of fertile soil, seeds, dead roots, and other hidden things—his old school lectures would fall into the category of the scum clinging to the sides of the pot. He'd have to scrape them off and scowl at the residue they left.

The very same scowl that emerged once he rounded the corner.

No surprise, school was out today. The Shaymin Festival acted as a sort of holiday during its opening. As a result, Fenn was able to walk right up to the window and look in at his old classroom.

His seat was still there. Mrs. Daisy's name was also still on the chalkboard. Really, the entire place was just as he remembered it. Had it not been for the chill wind nipping at his fur Fenn might have assumed that nothing had changed, and he would need to prepare for school tomorrow. It had only been a little over half a year since his last day, so Fenn wasn't sure what he was expecting.

The one thing that caught Fenn by surprise, though, was a sudden influx of nostalgia. It was like a bucket of sticky honey being dumped on his head. Not all of it was bad; some of it was just particularly embarrassing.

All of his time in class was spent daydreaming instead of paying attention. His Kricketune teacher often made examples of him by asking him questions about Corvid Calhoun's political party on The Shard or the export laws of Perfect Apples. Not once did he answer any of those questions correctly.

Why? Well, Fenn's cheeks flushed a bright red at the kinds of daydreams he'd waste his time on. Alongside the exciting action novels he read, Fenn shamefully perused the romance aisle at the library when no one was looking. Although he never checked any of them out, he read enough of them to get a few ideas.

Flying around some fields with his arms wrapped around the neck of a Charizard was always an appealing image. Or he would be cradled in his arms, perhaps? The Charizard could…lean down…tell Fenn in a deep, rumbly voice to hold on and to not be afraid…

How about Arcanine? A big, fluffy puppy that would keep Fenn warm overnight. Always open for cuddles, always open for hugs…

Incineroar, too. Especially Incineroar…

..Oh dear, the tips of his ears were getting warm. Fenn shook his head, biting away at the sensation to rub his arm. Those were some…awkward times. He probably shouldn't relive them right now.

Regardless, what bothered him the most were his classmates. Their writing utensils glided across their note sheets like ice down a slide, while Fenn just sat in the back looking disinterested. He didn't even try to hide it at the time.

Occasionally Fenn would glance up at Mrs. Daisy, try to focus on the dull, monotone string of words coming out of her mouth, only for his eyes to glaze over so hard that his eyelids would start falling unconsciously. He would stop himself from drifting off to sleep each time, but it was never enough. The lesson just went in one ear and out the other, not helped in the slightest by a lack of sleep and general inattentiveness.

Fenn, flatly, did not want to be there. Why would anyone, really? Every single one of the other students had to be there because it was expected of them. It was required. What really confused Fenn was how none of them seemed to have felt the same as him.

Not the Golett two seats down from Fenn that he couldn't remember the name of. Not that Drakloak near the front that very obviously had no interest in those subjects being taught whatsoever. And not Cardinal the Pikachu, who by all accounts had even less of a reason than Fenn to be here. They never had a conversation, but Fenn knew from overhearing them before that they worked on a farm back then. When they got older they inherited that farm from their parents. Going to class made no difference.

Why did Fenn have such a hard time caring when the others just…got it? Was he stupid?

Those same students laughed at him when he failed to answer questions properly, so he couldn't blame himself for believing that there was something he was missing. Even now, when none of it mattered, a part of him still felt as though he had been cheated out of a proper, enjoyable education.

Later on, though, he found himself getting along with a few students for group projects. It was nice. Sweet, even. And just the same, too late.

None of those acquaintances stuck around. Before he graduated from school and left for Kebia, most of the time Fenn kept to himself. It was the daydreaming that brought him back. When nothing mattered and he didn't have to worry. He could just block it all out.

Everyone has to grow up eventually. For Fenn, that meant leaving home and understanding that blocking it all out wasn't possible anymore.

What did it mean that he ended up coming back so soon, though? Well, only one way to find out. Fenn continued on. Past the school…and finally on to the main road.

(...)

(...)(...)

(...)(...)(...)​

If the trees of the forest were massive towers of wood and splinters to puny little Fenrir, houses were gigantic structures of stone strong enough to withstand one million strikes! It was impossible for the Cyndaquil to comprehend how they were built, let alone stand on their own. Supposedly his father could build whole houses in just a few days! But like with most things, it became easier to conceptualize on the shoulders of a pokemon much larger than himself.

While his grandfather was not nearly as tall as his father, the space between Fenrir and the ground was much the same. Besides, judging by the envious looks of the other children his age condemned to the street's dirt road, Fenrir had a reason to be smug.


"C-coming through!" Fenrir announced, his paws on his hips and his chest puffed out in pride. He remained that way for most of the walk, only occasionally wobbling with his grandfather's steps.

"Kehehe…" his grandfather laughed heartily. Less heartily than usual, but Fenrir hardly noticed. "Here comes big mon Fenn! Watch yerselves! Kehehe-"

The Camerupt stopped in his path to hack and wheeze. "W-whoa!" Fenrir blurted out. Nearly losing his balance, Fenrir only remained apart from the ground below him thanks to his mother. Her gentle grip blocked his fall, just so he could stand back up again.


"Careful now," she said assuredly. Heat radiated from her paws and arms so readily that it calmed the Cyndaquil down immediately. It was only after she made sure that Fenrir was safe and secure did she turn her gaze on the Camerupt carrying him.

Fenrir's mother sighed. "I told you not to push yourself, dad. You should be home resting."

More violent coughing slipped out of the elder's throat, but this time he remained steady enough for Fenrir to maintain his bearings. "I said I'm fine, Buttercup," Grandpa Aconite muttered hoarsely. "And I thought I told ya that I ain't missin' out on givin' my grandson a ride through town."

And what a ride it was. Fenrir had no idea what his mom and grandfather were talking about—seeing as how he was too busy enjoying the trip. There was nothing to worry about, either way. Grandpa Aconite said that he was fine, so what was the issue?

Look at how small every pokemon was! Fenrir was on top of the world!

The Typhlosion scoffed, frowning. "You can't fault me for being worried, you know. The doctor said..." She trailed off.

The Camerupt's ears fell and a small amount of stinky smoke puffed out of his nostrils. "...That feller don't know what he's talkin' about," Grandpa Aconite grumbled.

All the while, Fenrir continued his spiel. "Y-you better look out, world!" he declared. "Pretty soon…I-I'll be taller than every house in this town!"

A chuckle from below followed, then Granpda Aconite said, "Ya got the right idea, Fenn-buddy." Right after, he turned his head to Fenrir's mother and whispered, "Why does he sound so different? He was fine a week ago."


"I already told you, dad," Fenrir's mother replied. She sounded exasperated. "He was like that after we got him out of that forest."

"Forest?"

"The dungeon. Figy Forest."

Oh. They were talking about that. Neither of them seemed to notice, but Fenrir shrunk down into his grandfather's fur a little. He didn't want to think about that right now…

The Camerupt grumbled to himself, quite clearly agitated about something. Warmth—unpleasant heat—radiated from the elder's raised fur. "It was that blasted husband of yer's idea, waden it?" Grandpa Aconite accused. "What was he thinkin'?"

Fenrir's mother let out another sigh. Her paws were raised defensively. "Dad, can we not do this now? I have it under control, okay?"


"Like Moltres' tailfeathers ya do-" Another violent coughing fit broke the elder's rebuttal.

Once again, Fenrir had to be saved by his mother. This time, however, the two of them met each other's eyes. And when they did his mother lingered for an uncomfortable amount of time. It was as though she were considering something, analyzing Fenrir to find the right words. Concerned, the Cyndaquil said nothing; if only he knew how to help in this situation. If only he hadn't made that stupid mistake...

To Fenrir's surprise, the ground below him fell from his feet as he was lifted into the air, into his mother's arms. Protests came from his grandfather, but he seemed too preoccupied with his coughing fit to stop her.


"You said it yourself, dad," she reminded the Camerupt in a near whisper, "I chose this. It should be up to me how I run my life."

As much as he would have preferred to stay on top of his grandfather's head, Fenrir didn't fight with his mother on it. Not too much, anyway. "M-mom…" he whined. That was the extent of it, though. The comforting coziness of his mother's arms and the soft beating of her heart calmed him down quickly.


"Just for a bit, Fenn. Be patient."

As if he could argue with that.

Grandpa Aconite hadn't quite finished coughing by the time Fenrir was in his mother's arms. But even still, he attempted to contend her logic with his own.


"Hah…keh…hack- that kid's real special, Buttercup," he told her. "Ya know how I feel about this." More coughing. "...Don't let that idiot screw it up."

The Typhlosion nodded, holding Fenrir close. "I won't, dad. I know how lucky I am-" with a smile, she looked down at her son, "-how lucky he is."

Fenrir, admittedly, had no idea. But the way his mother smiled down on him made him feel safe. Happy, even. She deserved a smile in return.

Fenrir giggled when his mother shifted him around a bit and lightly booped him on the nose.


"Love you, Fenn," she whispered.

"Love you, too, m-mom."

The elderly Camerupt cleared his throat loudly. "Now…where were we headed?" he wondered.


"Just the market," Fenrir's mother answered. "Did you already forget?"

"...No. Just…just makin' sure."

(...)(...)(...)

(...)(...)

(...)​

The streets were mostly empty. Fenn stood in the center of the path, between the town hall and the thrift shop. The former—Fenn had never so much as looked at for more than ten seconds, and the latter of which had functioned as the backdrop of many slow and sleepy afternoons. Supposedly these two buildings were so close to each other because even the most affluent of residents in town shopped there.

When the most exciting aspects of the town were the prospect of a kid almost getting himself killed in the local dungeon and the newest junk at the thrift shop, it was no wonder everyone seemed keen to leave. Of the few faces Fenn caught sight of during his walk, none were recognizable. Tourists, most likely. Lost and need of direction. The dingy homesteads here were simply the precursors for what most came this neck of the woods for: the castle.

"Head towards the trees in that direction, past the flowers, follow the path. You'll be there in an hour's time."

Those were the directions that Fenn not only gave today, but most other days in the year. Just with about 50% more stuttering and awkward arm rubbing.

Nothing had changed. The only difference was, with the festival going on, even the oldest of pokemon were out of town. Fenn was surprised he didn't encounter any of them on the way here.

Maybe they were avoiding him just like how he was avoiding them. Perfect balance, he reasoned internally. There was no one he wanted to run into in Nanab anyway.

Down the path he went, plodding absentmindedly. His head was in the clouds, still envisioning how this would end. Each time he imagined a bad outcome—which was almost every time—Fenn changed the trajectory of his thoughts.

Past the market, past the mill, past the eatery, past the old, dilapidated homes of the many retirees in this town, further and further away from his destination.

It didn't take long. Even considering that it had been years, Fenn remembered it quite well…that it was past the sign for Kebia that had never been replaced and through a gap in between Mr. Dove's house and Mrs. Goose's barbershop. There, a bridge connected two sides of the same creek. A board was missing two boards from the dirt on the other side, still lodged in the creek bed, poking upward. Just as he remembered it.

The wooden boards creaked under Fenn's paws as he padded to the center of the bridge and approached the edge, looking down into the shallow water. A couple of wild Surskit glided across the surface further down the river, where it was deeper.

Even further than that, a single brick home was erected from the dirt, flanked by trees tall enough to shroud the building in checkerboard-like shadows. Fenn leaned on the railing of the bridge, looking down the stream thoughtfully.

He took a deep breath…

(...)

(...)(...)

(...)(...)(...)​

The feral Surskit scurried away at the first sight of fire. A cascade of flame billowed into the air, all the way from the ground up past the trees, petering out before they could reach the peaks. Singed leaves fluttered down to the ground like birds shot out of the sky, landing mere inches from Fenrir's paws. Touching them was out of the question.

"We don't want any interruptions, now do we?" his father asked with a chuckle. Had his shoulders not been ignited and a Flamethrower not blasted into the air just seconds prior, Fenrir might have nodded in agreement.

Instead, Fenrir nodded hesitantly, the residual heat still lingering on his fur even from all the way down to his father's feat. The sheer power on display was always so awe inspiring to the Cyndaquil, but
mon was it scary.

"Of course not…dad," Fenrir muttered meekly.

With a laugh that shook the whole bridge, the burly Typhlosion pointed his snout towards the sky. To Fenrir, he was larger than life. "When you're older, you'll be firing off flames so hot that they'll melt a Steelix!" he announced.

A Steelix? Fenrir wasn't even sure what that was yet, but it sounded imposing. "Will I?" the child wondered. "Will I get to be as strong as you, dad?"


"Surely!" His muscles bulged as he flexed, showing off both of his tree-trunk sized arms. "Any son of mine will make the legends themselves crumble to their knees!"

But…how? It seemed so impossible; his father was completely out of reach. How could Fenrir possibly live up to that?

Fenrir twiddled with his paws. Looking down at his toes, he muttered, "I don't know if I can, dad…"

It was then that his father kneeled down. Nowhere near Fenrir's level, but close enough to the ground to put his paw on the Cyndaquil's back. "Listen, Fenrir," he started, "the second I laid my eyes on you I knew…warriors are born. And you…you are a warrior."

A sparkle entered Fenrir's eyes. Abruptly, and without the tiny fire type's say, his vents ignited much like his father's. He looked up with glee on his face. "You…you really mean that? I'm…I'm a warrior?"

His father nodded. "I do. And let me tell you this, Fenrir: it takes many, many years for a warrior to reach his full potential. And remember, the only way to become a true warrior is to take risks! A warrior always tackles danger without fear! Never fear, Fenrir!" He outright shouted that last bit.

Those words invigorated the small Cyndaquil. Inspired him. More than anything, he wanted to be what his father claimed he could be. He wanted to be a warrior!

He wanted to spew flames hot enough to burn down anything in his path! He wanted to have muscles big enough to withstand any blow! He wanted to know what it would take!


"I won't dad!" Fenrir declared. "I'll never fear! I'll be the strongest warrior in the whole wide world!"

A grin popped onto the Typhlosion's face. His eyes radiated a confidence that comforted Fenrir. "Atta boy! Tomorrow, we'll start your training as soon as possible. You'll be a warrior in no time!"

Fenrir could hardly wait. He was practically bouncing up and down, radiating enough heat to be a campfire all on his own.


"I'm ready, dad! I'm ready to be a warrior!"

"Good! Now…show me your fire!"

(...)(...)(...)

(...)(...)

(...)​

…And exhaled. A torrent of fire blew from the Quilava's mouth, flying into the air past the trees, not quite reaching the peaks. The Surskit down the stream scurried away at the first sight of the flames, leaving Fenn alone. A few singed leaves fell to his toes like birds shot out of the sky.

It was remarkable, really, how close Fenn got to reaching his father's strength before leaving town. Once, and only once, they sparred. It became increasingly obvious that Fenn was more than ready to tackle the trials laid before him, and his father ended the spar within only a few moments.

If that were all it took…maybe Fenn wouldn't even be here. If pure strength was what made for a competent guild member…Anemone likely would not have turned him away. As it turned out, life was not as simple as his younger self believed it to be. Even if that was what his father claimed.

If it was so simple, maybe taking his father's advice wouldn't have nearly gotten Fenn killed in that dungeon later on.

Fenn let his vents go wild and dance to their heart's content. A release was what he needed, and that piddly pillar of flame was hardly enough. The sun was high in the sky; Fenn still had plenty of time for today. Plenty of time to breathe, prepare…and understand.

Because there was one thing the Quilava wanted to understand here, where he grew up: if simply being strong—and by extension a warrior—was not enough…what was? This town held the answer. After all, his father never was one for festivities.

It was time to follow the river upstream. Fenn's flames died out within seconds of dropping back onto all fours. He walked, fast yet contemplative. The grass was comparable to a red carpet, leading right to his destination, comforting with its soft touch. For a short bit, Fenn was an energetic Cyndaquil skipping down the street towards his friend's house again.

He actually did skip, too. No one was around to see him…so he went wild.

Even more so than expected, Fenn's excitement surpassed his presumed current capacities—his flame vents once again sparking to life more and more the closer he got. The excessive foliage blocked out the sun a considerable amount compared to back then, and the bricks had been painted a new color—but it was there.

Fenn smiled to himself. Yarrow's house was still standing, almost as he remembered it.

(...)

(...)(...)

(...)(...)(...)​

Words could not describe the elation displayed on Fenrir's face when he was told that he could see Yarrow again. He had thought that his mistake had lost him a friend, but his parents relented after it became clear that it would heighten his spirits.

Fenrir had learned his lesson regardless. As had Yarrow, from what he had heard. No more running off on their own and getting into trouble. Warriors don't do that.

His mother dropped him off this time. Normally, Fenrir could find his way on his own; the place wasn't hard to find or particularly dangerous to get to. But his parents forbid him from traveling too far without a watchful guardian for a while. It was part of his punishment.

That was hardly an issue. Once he was set free to go see his friend, Fenrir skipped and bounced his way to the garden outside. There, Yarrow laid amongst the weeds, staring up at the sky.


"Y-Yarrow! Yarrow!" Fenn cried, skittering over in a giddy rush. "I'm free! I'm free! Ya-" When Fenrir caught sight of the Torchic lying on the ground, he skidded to a halt and gasped. "Yarrow! A-are…are you dead?"

The Torchic didn't react much. He just scoffed, still staring upward. "Dead? Nah, I'm not dead."


"Oh, phew," the Cyndaquil said. "I-I just…wanted to make sure…"

"What for?" Yarrow asked, looking over. "We're not in Figy Forest anymore."

Fenrir looked down at his toes. His voice was quiet now. Hardly anything like it usually was. "I-I know…I've just…been having bad dreams since then. I got really worried…"

Nightmares about things going wrong in there. Nightmares about Fenrir being alone and at the mercy of the dungeon. He was afraid to tell his parents; there was no telling how they would react.

Internally, Fenrir was hoping Yarrow knew what was going on. Or at least could relate. Yarrow was always on top of things like that.

Thankfully, what Yarrow said next calmed Fenrir somewhat. The Torchic turned his head back to the sky with distant eyes and said, "Yeah, me too. I keep thinking about that Scyther we saw."

Oh Arceus, not that. Fenrir shivered. "I-I'm glad nothing bad happened."

Yarrow nodded. "Me too," he said. "Whaddya here for anyways?"

To see Yarrow, his friend? Fenrir tilted his head at the question, and promptly shot back with his own. "What are you doing…laying in the garden?"

A shrug of his feathered shoulders was Yarrow's first response. His second was, "Thinking."


"Th-thinking?"

Another silent nod from Yarrow.


"...Can I think, too?"

Yarrow scooched over a little, to which Fenrir padded over and laid down on his back next to the Torchic. For a few moments, the two of them just stared up at the bright blue and cloudy sky.


"..."

"..."

Fenrir swore he saw a Rapidash up in the clouds. And a Wartortle drinking a smoothie. Maybe a Manectric, too?


"..."

"..."

"..."

"...I'm bored," Yarrow said.

Oh thank Arceus, Fenrir wasn't the only one. All of this thinking was starting to get to him. "Y-yeah, I am, too," Fenrir yawned. "We should do something."


"Something…"

"Hm?"

Yarrow sat up right then, fluffing his feathers as he readjusted himself. "Wanna know something, Fenrir?" he asked.

Fenrir sat up, too. Though with a curious look on his face. "Know what?"

With his chest puffed out, Yarrow declared, "I've decided that I'm never going into another mystery dungeon ever again!"


"Never again?" Fenrir balked. "B-but…"

"Promise me you'll do the same, Fenrir!" Yarrow locked eyes with the Cyndaquil. There was a serious edge to them that prevented Fenrir from looking away.

And at the same time, the fur on Fenrir's back stood on end. His eyes darted all over the place, trying to comprehend what was just asked of him.

Every explorer goes into mystery dungeons! Swearing off from them would be like…missing out on so much! Fenrir was certain that a warrior wouldn't do that either…

But…he saw what those places were like firsthand. The thought of going back left a horrible pit in his stomach. No doubt it was the same for his friend.

Was Fenrir going to throw away everything for this? Everything his father and grandfather expected out of him?

It was like an Aggron was sitting on his shoulders, weighing him down no matter what he chose. But, when he met Yarrow's eyes again, he saw something he hadn't before.

Behind all of that bravado and that uncaring act he put on, Fenrir detected a hint of pleading in Yarrow's eyes. A yearning for Fenrir to follow his lead and make this promise.

That was what it took for Fenrir to crack.


"...O-okay," Fenrir mumbled, "I promise."

Yarrow's eyes went wide. "You do?" A joyous smile popped onto his beak. "You mean that?"

Fenrir smiled, too. If it was for his friend…he would do anything. "Y-yeah. I mean it."

With that, Yarrow jumped onto his feet with a spin to boot. "Yahoo!" he cheered. "Thank Arceus! I was worried for a second!"

Still smiling, but less so than before, Fenrir twiddled his paws as he stood. "W-we can have fun in other ways," he said.


"Yeah! Like- hey, my dad got these 'paddle ball' thingies from the thrift store! It's super fun!"

"R-really? What are they like?"

Yarrow scurried towards his house, explaining as he went. "Well, it's a paddle and it has this ball on a string…"


(...)(...)(...)

(...)(...)

(...)​

Fenn couldn't stifle the chuckle if he tried. Had he kept it in any longer, remembering how the two kids spent half an hour whacking themselves in the head with the ball might have broken him.

Those were some fun times. Silly, dumb amusement so they wouldn't be bored out of their minds. Every kid had to deal with it in some way. For Fenn and Yarrow, it meant getting tangled in the string of a paddle ball for an afternoon, then spending the next sword fighting with those same paddles.

He failed to keep his promise, though. Fenn's giggles turned to silence as his gaze became pensive. Breaking that agreement was downright the end of the world for Fenn back then. He couldn't bring himself to look his friend in the eye. Yarrow understood why, but Fenn always sort of knew that it still bothered him.

Nowadays, Fenn realized how silly making a promise like that really was. They weren't even teenagers—how could they make any complex decision or form educated opinions?

No, Fenn was more bothered by the fact that he had made the same promise…again, less than a week ago. When he was a mature adult capable of making complex decisions and forming educated opinions. He almost forgot about that.

Putting two and two together left Fenn with quite the conundrum. He furrowed his brow and crossed his arms as a reaction. Was that a coincidence, or did it mean something? Did Fenn even want to go back into mystery dungeons, or did he feel that he had to?

What was it that compelled Fenn to keep going back, while others realized the dangers on their own and chose to never return?

Well, Fenn was more than happy to push those thoughts away for now and reflect on some more happy memories instead. Like how there was one year where Fenn and Yarrow dressed up in the same costume as Rayquaza. He started giggling again when he remembered how goofy they must have looked trying to get around.

Yarrow didn't live in Nanab anymore. But Fenn didn't come to the likely-not-a-Torchic-anymore's house to see him again. It was just…a detour.

And while the bricks were a different color and the weeds weren't as comfy to lay in anymore, Fenn plopped down and took a few minutes to watch the sky through the cracks in the branches. Remembering, reminiscing, laughing.

Everything would be alright.
 
Chapter 38 - Day 14, Part 6: Roots

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 38: Day 14, Part 6 - Roots

To this day, Fenn had no idea what his title would be.

His father was The Volcano, so that was not an option. Supposedly the Typhlosion earned it himself. "It took prestige and heroics unrivaled!" was his explanation. A true warrior's trial had to be overcome to attain a warrior's title.

Only problem was that…Fenn failed to understand what that meant.

Clearly he had to figure it out, but how? Was it through a battle in the war that his father earned it? Did he save the lives of hundreds? Fenn couldn't do that; the war was over!

And as expected, trying to decipher this riddle his father had given him caused Fenn's head to spin for the umpteenth time. It never got any easier, either.

Years had gone by now, and the young Quilava still wondered if it was all fruitless. But Fenn still tried. His future depended on it.

There was a bench off the path where Fenn sat and considered his life's path for a moment. Just a few houses down from the creek, the change of scenery was nice. Orange, brown, and reddish leaves fluttered down the path, accumulating into little clusters and fighting for dominance against the blades of grass nipping at the bench's legs. Weeds accompanied the grass like skinny, disorderly freeloaders; Nanab in general was overdue for a proper weed whacking.

…Oh, yikes. Fenn just realized that a cluster of weeds on the other side of the trail hadn't been trimmed once in years. With all of the daydreaming and staring off into space he often found himself doing, Fenn noticed these things from time-to-time. No one had bothered to provide any care outside of the main path itself. "Overdue" was an understatement.

In fact, Fenn recalled this bench in particular from his younger years. Compared to everything else in Nanab, it was quite new. So new that Fenn remembered the days before it was built, and how he played near the spot after his sister was born.

Oh right. Clary.

Fenn's ear twitched, a frown gradually forming without much thought. Clary…That Cyndaquil had too much to worry about with her classes already—what was she doing in a mystery dungeon a couple weeks ago? Especially one here and not closer to her campus.

His frown deepened. What was she doing trying to be like Fenn, anyway? Why wasn't she studying, or something? The Quilava hadn't taken the time to think about it much, but it really bothered him how nonchalant she was about it. Or how nonchalant their parents were about it, too, for that matter. It was like nothing had transpired and all of those warnings meant nothing.

Back when they were both Cyndaquil, Fenn and Clary used to play all the time. They had their little moments, sure, but overall they got along. Then Fenn had to get serious about his training and Clary showed signs of being a gifted student. Not long after that they drifted apart and…that was it.

To this day Fenn could barely say that he knew her at all. She didn't even live at home anymore.

Fenn leaned back into the bench, letting his lower body slide forward, sighing. If only he could go back…

(...)

(...)(...)

(...)(...)(...)​

Although Fenrir's mother had reminded him to be careful carrying his little sister, neither she nor his father seemed to mind it when the Cyndaquil took the smaller Cyndaquil with him outside to play. In a hasty voice his mother shooed him off while his father told him to go distract himself. Fenrir found their tones to be a bit worrying, which was why he was so quick to leave.

He didn't go far. Just a few blocks down towards Yarrow's house. He knew the path, so if his parents were concerned at least Fenrir could reassure them afterwards. Thankfully, during a sunny Spring day like this, there was nothing to worry about.

Skipping along, Fenrir glanced over his shoulder at the near-infant on his back. "A-and this is the way to Yarrow's house," he explained with a smile.

His sister opened her mouth real wide, trying her hardest to sound out the word. "Yaaaaabbbb- looowww," Clary blabbered. "Yablab- blablow!"


"Yarrrrrrooooww," Fenrir giggled. "W-we have got to work on your enunciation."

"Enuniblah?"

"Y-yeah, enunciation." A word his mother had repeated a few times during Fenrir's youth. Back then he had a hard time saying it as well, which was why he used it as an example. If a kid could pronounce a big word like that, they'd be set.

So Fenrir did what his mother often did and spelled it out for his sister. "E-" Fenrir started.


"Eh-"

"-nun-"

"-nubb-"

"-ci-"

"-seee-"

"-a-"

"-ah-"

"-tion."

"-subwaa!" And she threw up her arms in success.

Fenrir shook his head. "You're so silly, C-Clary." She'd get it eventually.

The Cyndaquil simply giggled, content in the idea that she triumphed over the limitations behind her toothless mouth.

Continuing along, Fenrir's steps took on an additional bounce. Even though they were skipping along just fine before, bigger steps led to a bumpier ride, and Clary giggled like she was on a roller coaster. "Havin' fun?" Fenrir asked in an exaggerated accent. "Y-yer ma passenger, Clary!'

More giggling followed, along with Clary's little paws batting the back of Fenrir's head in joy. "Gof-gote-Fewir!" she cheered. "Gof-gote!"

Flinching slightly, as even baby Clary's paws still hurt a little, Fenrir's pace only quickened. "H-heh, yeah. I'm a Gogoat! Meeh!" Like a proud, majestic creature Fenrir popped up on two legs and flailed his arms in front of him. "Me-e-eeh!"

And without fail, Fenrir's careless display led to Clary tumbling off of his back and onto the dirt path. "Yaay- oof!" Her childish giggling came to a halt almost immediately. On her belly and with surprise on her face, it took several seconds before what had just happened registered with her. When it did, she hiccuped and tears began to prick at the Cyndaquil's eyes.

The first few hiccups were all Fenrir needed to know that a dam was about to break. Many sleepless nights had already been wasted thanks to a new infant in the house. He kicked himself internally, even though he swore she didn't hit the ground that hard.

Fenrir was at her side within an instant. "W-waitwaitwaitwait!" he cried. "I'm sorrysorrysorry!" Fearful embers were flying from the vents on his back.

Clary's bottom lip quivered as sobs threatened to break through.

No time to think, Fenrir had to find a way to prevent an outburst before it ruined both of their evenings. But what could he do? Fenrir was not his mother with her soothing voice or his grandpa with his joyful words of wisdom.

His head shot from left to right, more embers flying from his back. He twiddled with his paws…the solution didn't come easy. Eventually, however, one question surfaced in his mind and gave Fenrir the clarity to fix this problem.

What did his parents do to calm HIM down when Fenrir was close to crying?

Stories. They told him stories.

Stories of adventurers and exploration. His favorite.

Realization flashing across his face, Fenrir gasped. "C-Clary!" he stuttered. "The Feud Expedition!"

Clary sniffled, her attention now on Fenrir.


"Th-the Mountain was on that one!" Fenrir explained. "It was so cool a-and it's why we have roads!"

"Row…?" Clary hiccuped, confused.

Fenrir thrust both of his paws into the dirt with a fervent display of eagerness. "This! We have roads…b-because of the Feud Expedition!"

Clary's mouth opened wide in an 'O' shape. A silent gasp.


"They were all w-warriors!" he continued with such enthusiasm that the four vents on his back ignited. "They saved pokemon! A-and they were strong!" Fenrir put his paws on his hips and pointed his snout up high. "I-I'm gonna be just like them some day!"

While Fenrir's storytelling could have used some work, it wasn't like Clary understood what he was saying anyway. That didn't matter, though. His enthusiasm was infectious, spreading from one Cyndaquil to another. Clary sat up and smiled brightly.


"Wa-wa!"

"Yes! Wa-wa!" Fenrir agreed. "J-just like dad!" Some day he'd be as strong as his father—capable of tackling Figy Forest all on his own. No more fear, no more crying. His parents would have no choice but to trust him from then on.

"Dadda!" Clary giggled. Her arms swung from side-to-side for another ride. While her brother's words were lost on her, she likely wanted to have just as much fun as he was having.

And good, Clary stopped crying. Stories worked. Had Fenrir known how to stop himself from rambling they'd be back on the road by now. But just like his sister, the older Cyndaquil was an excitable kid, too.

Fenrir hopped in place. "G-grandpa Aconite, too!" he declared. "I'm gonna explore just like him!" A grin was formed. There was so much to see, so much to discover in the world. It was downright impossible to conceptualize just how far the horizons stretched; not even grandpa knew.

For Fenrir, it would be different. Not only would he live up to his father's expectations, becoming a warrior to surpass all that came before him, but he would ALSO travel further than his grandpa ever thought possible! Fenrir would be famous and get his own title!

The dirt beneath his feet sizzled—hot with the joy of determination. He scooped up Clary with strength previously unseen and dropped her onto his back. "Come on!" he told her with flames blazing sporadically. "I-I wanna start now!"

Clary didn't even mind the flames directly behind her. Perhaps she didn't even notice, as she was too busy goading on her big brother. "Eggs-plooooowww!" Flames occasionally spewed out of Clary's own vents, wildfire mixing with even wilder fire.

A smoke trail followed the Cyndaquils on their way to adventure.


(...)(...)(...)

(...)(...)

(...)​

Fenn spent some time staring off into space on the park bench. For the most part, he wanted to relive some moments from his childhood that he had forgotten. Simpler times, easier times. In reality, however, moving on meant deciding on where to go next. And despite claiming to be ready in his head, lethargy glued his paws to the ground.

The choice itself was not difficult. He had already traversed the east side, now it was time to head back the way he came through the west. What made Fenn freeze with fear was the fact that he would be forced to acknowledge…the cemetery.

Nanab had one of those, though it was tucked away in a sorrowful little corner, out of sight. Being a town for retirees, pokemon passing away was a common occurrence. Visiting the grounds was even more common; veterans and guests from the outside arrived with flowers every day.

Fenn was simply one of many. With a single dandelion in paw, Fenn tentatively approached the black metal archway. Graves littered the grounds beyond—a world that everyone in town appreciated and resented just the same.

I shouldn't be here…Fenn thought. His ears drooped while his free paw was used to rub the other. Walking any further was like trying to push past a wall of bricks.

Meticulously engraved in the archway were a few words…

"Nanab Town Cemetery"

"May we rest, may we shine"


(...)

(...)(...)

(...)(...)(...)​

When Fenrir and Yarrow were trapped in the dungeon there was a moment where they elected to hide. An alcove in the gnarled branches was just tight enough to grant them passage while also blocking off any would-be monsters. Back then, they waited and waited until help arrived—an excruciatingly long haze in Fenrir's memory that still caused him to shiver just thinking about it. Thorns poked into his fur and branches like fingers compressed him, constricting him. He could barely breathe. His vision had shortened and blurred, eventually becoming so suffocating that all he could do was shut his eyes.

So, when he saw his mother crying one day it was like he was trapped in the dungeon all over again. His heart beat like a drum in his ears, flashes of that same dread filling his mind.

Something wasn't right. His parents out of nowhere brought him to this…place—this scary garden of stone flowers jutting out of the ground. He wanted to go home, but neither of his parents allowed it.

In a stern voice his father had told him to follow. Nothing more—no explanation or reason. Fenrir assumed that this was just another trip; at some point there would be a lesson to be learned.

But there never was.

After his head started to hurt he dashed for his mother. He had to help her like a warrior would, right? Even if Fenrir was scared, that was what warriors did.

And then his father grabbed him. Pulled him back and reminded him to be quiet. Again, no explanation.

There were other pokemon there. Some he recognized and some he didn't. Occasionally they shot him a glance, only to look away. Each one was quiet, and sad. Fenrir could see it on their faces.

All the while, Fenrir watched from a distance. He had no choice; every time the Cyndaquil expressed a desire to get closer the Typhlosion over his shoulder snapped at him, gradually becoming fiercer and fiercer in tone. The two of them were alone, looking in.

Eventually, he overheard one of the adults mention Grandpa Aconite by name. That alone lit a spark in Fenrir's vents. If his grandpa was here then things would be alright.

The last time Fenrir saw his grandpa the Camerupt was sick and bedridden. The elder and his grandson talked a little and played a little game, but eventually Fenrir had to leave. He was assured that his grandpa would be better soon.

Fenrir hoped he was better now. Was that what this was about? Some kind of announcement, or…?

The focus changed. A large, wooden object was brought in by a quartet of massive pokemon. Every pair of eyes in the garden watched the object, and when it was set down one of the pokemon began to speak. Grandpa Aconite was mentioned again…and again…and again.

His heartbeat made it difficult to comprehend what was being said. Regardless, it was doubtful that Fenrir's reaction would have been much different if he could comprehend what was happening. The pounding in his ears, his mother crying, a lack of understanding of what was going on and where his grandpa was…

A dandelion was placed on top of the object.

Tears started to fall. This was a nightmare comparable to being stuck in Figy Forest again. No, worse. Even after that harrowing experience in the mystery dungeon, Fenrir still had his grandpa to give him comfort. But now...

Fenrir wanted to just…understand.

Again, his father snapped at him. Harsher this time than any before. The Typhlosion's furious scowl made Fenrir want to cry harder.

But he couldn't. He had to stop, suck it up, and be quiet.

His father had told him this: "Warriors don't cry."


(...)(...)(...)

(...)(...)

(...)​

Fenn couldn't do it. The brick wall proved to be too firm, and the Quilava walked out of the cemetery with a dandelion still tightly gripped in his paw. Even still, the wind attempted to pull him back—invisible hands grasping at his neck so as to stop him in his tracks. Embers popping from his forehead betrayed him, floating downwind past the cemetery archway.

At first, he sucked in air through his teeth, plodding down the trail on two feet. Fenn clutched his arm as though it would fall off, but there was no rush. There really shouldn't have been. With how heavy his own fur stuck to his skin, though, Fenn struggled to prevent his vents from popping right off of his flesh. The further he went, the harder it became to ignore.

There eventually came a point where the gritting of his own teeth became unbearable, where his own flames abandoned him. A fire type's flames were often characterized as hundreds of tiny versions of the flame's wielder in many of the stories Fenn had read. Now more than ever he wanted to spit in the face of every writer that established that concept.

No matter how much Fenn wanted to…he…

I…can't…

That was the final straw. Flame vents at full ignition, Fenn hit the ground running as fast as he possibly could, refusing to look back. A dandelion fluttered to the ground in his wake.

It didn't matter where he went; as long as the distance between him and the cemetery was significant, that was fine with him.

I can't do this…

I can't…

I'm just…a coward…


Far from the path he strayed, off to anywhere but here. All of this was just…too much. Fenn wasn't the least bit ready. And that was why he left town in the first place, wasn't it?

…No, not left—ran. Ran from his future. Ran from himself.

Outside of Nanab there was no such thing as "Fenn, The Warrior". As cruel as Anemone was…she was right about that.

But just the same, "Fenn, The Warrior" had no place in Nanab either. That was why the real Fenn had to run.

So…where was he? If not here or there where was "Fenn, The Warrior?"

Well, all Fenn knew for certain was where he was now. The fur standing on his back wouldn't allow him to forget. Skidding to a halt, Fenn's snout craned upward.

Orderly, imposing, malignant—the trees of Figy Forest formed a wall all too familiar to the Quilava. An infinite blackness peeked through the cracks of layered trees, compounded by spindly branches frozen in hateful agony. Fenn could have sworn he saw one of the branches bend in a way that beckoned him closer.

Two weeks prior Fenn had plunged into the depths in search of his sister. Even by then these trees were just as much family as the flowers outside of the town. Unlike the flowers, however, all this place elicited was seething resentment.

Fenn had attempted to burn this forest to the ground on multiple occasions. Both inside and out. Nothing worked. No amount of fire could burn what lived on through pure spite.

As a young Cyndaquil, Fenn was almost certain that his father could pull it off. He had hoped the Typhlosion would some day.

His frown deepened, the grass beneath his toes catching aflame from the sheer heat.

Fenn's father would never bother. It was doubtful that he ever tried.

Warriors don't burn down forests.

(...)

(...)(...)

(...)(...)(...)​

"I want you to think, Fenrir: what makes a flame burn bright? What makes them burn for longer? Are some flames born stronger than others? …No. Water will extinguish any flame, no matter how powerful. What matters is that you hold the strength to burn so bright that even mighty typhoons cannot stop you. And do you know what you need in order to do that?"

"U-um…I don't know…"

"You need fuel. Lots of it."

The Typhlosion gestured to the entrance of the mystery dungeon in front of him. Flames on his shoulders burning as bright as the sun, Fenrir's father looked down at his son with an expectant smile.

Fenrir twiddled his paws, the flames on his back only ignited out of obligation. Had this not been the first day of his training, the Cyndaquil would have been at school, or having fun with Yarrow.

At first, Fenrir was jumping up and down at the idea of starting his training; he had been waiting to start for months now. But the closer and closer they got to Figy Forest the larger the lump in his throat became, until finally he gulped.

The entrance to the mystery dungeon was pitch black, just like back then. A reigning constant in the fire type's life. This time, according to his father, he would be going in alone.


"F-fuel," Fenrir muttered, nodding. "Fires get bigger with f-fuel."

"Yes," his father said. "But fuel won't just appear out of thin air." He raised his arms while clenching his fists. "If fire type pokemon like us never eat, our flames will grow weaker. A fire can live on its own without proper sustenance-" the Typhlosion shook his head, "-but it will never grow."

Wait, did that mean that food didn't count as fuel? So for a fire to grow…it needed a certain type of fuel. "What will make a fire grow, d-dad?" Fenrir wondered.

As a response, the Typhlosion pointed ahead. His gaze was firmly locked on the gap in the trees. "In order for a fire to grow," he explained, "it needs to survive storms that weaker fires cannot. It needs to train."

Fenrir slowly glanced inot the infinite blackness that he had avoided for so long. Not much had been said about these mysterious places. No one in his life had attempted to provide more than ominous warnings up to this point. Even after plunging deep into one himself at a young age, not much was explained. His father certainly didn't want him going back in.

But now he did? What changed?

His flames wavered, his body shivering. "I-I don't…I don't wanna go in there…d-dad."


"You have to." His father's voice lowered an octave, almost becoming gentler, but was no less stern. "This is the only way to grow your flame, Fenrir."

The only way…? Somehow that frightened him more. He barely escaped last time…now his future as a warrior depended on it?

Fenrir took a shaky step back. "I-I'm…I'm s-scared."

With a sigh, Fenrir's father leaned down to better be on his son's level. "Listen, Fenrir," he grumbled in a half whisper, "I had to overcome the same struggles as you. It was how I became The Volcano." The Typhlosion put a paw on Fenrir's shoulder. "You are my son. And as my son I know you can overcome anything."

The words of encouragement Fenrir received placated him somewhat, but glancing over his father's shoulder was all it took to reignite his fears. That neverending, all encompassing blackness seeping from the maw of Figy Forest clouded his vision. Once again recollections of monsters chittering and gnashing their teeth in the dark while coiling, gnarled branches trapped him filled his mind.

He had promised Yarrow…never again.

More than anything he wanted to run away. He wanted to beg his father to find another way to train him, help him grow. Fenrir had to ask, "I-i-is this really the only way?" His bottom lip quivered.

What confused him the most was his father's reaction to that question: he laughed. It was a loud, boisterous laugh, too. "Fenrir, we don't always get to choose how we grow. A warrior adapts and fights no matter the circumstances. You-" the Typhlosion pointed a finger at the Cyndaquil's chest, "-are a warrior. Aren't you?"

That…was right. Fenrir was to be a warrior. His father was one, so he was one, too. By that logic, he would have to overcome the same obstacles. Even if he was deathly afraid…this was what he had to do.

There was no other way. Yarrow…would understand…wouldn't he?

With a gulp, Fenrir nodded his head. "I-I am. I'm…a warrior."

His father smiled wide. "Atta boy."


(...)(...)(...)

(...)(...)

(...)​

The days before Fenn entered Figy Forest for the second time were less of a blur than anything that happened after. He could still recall the warmth radiating from his grandfather's shoulders and the comfort of his mother's arms. Yes, it was simpler back then, but it also made sense.

Once Fenn started his training and walked between the trees situated right in front of him now, things changed. The repeated absence of both his grandpa and his mother frightened him to no end. It was briefly more complicated—all of the rigorous training and lack of free time confused him. Then he just…got used to it.

That was when it all became a blur. To this day Fenn wasn't even sure how it happened. It just…did. He managed.

Fenn improved. He began to understand.

It all made sense again.

…But it wasn't that easy, now was it?

A sigh escaped him.

As the infinite blackness stared back at him, holding out its proverbial paw for Fenn to take, Fenn blew a low-effort Flamethrower back into the void. The flames crackled, spreading from branch to branch. He watched it flare to concerning heights, not once turning away.

Heat could be felt. And yet, that heat wasn't real. Once Fenn looked away, it would be gone. The bark burned black would be healed within an instant.

Figy Forest was not his friend. It never was. Just because it helped to keep him distracted did not mean that it comforted or cared for him.

Fenn wished that he realized that sooner.

(...)

(...)(...)

(...)(...)(...)​

It had been a long week. In between the daily dungeon runs and his studies gradually becoming more demanding Fenrir had not found the time to meet up with his friend. One day passed with a "no, I'm too tired today," and another soared by with a "sorry, I'm too busy." The frequency of these excuses seemed to only increase as the days faded away into Fenrir's subconscious.

Concurrently , while his free time seemed to only grow sparser, the Cyndaquil's senses grew sharper. His stamina improved; all of a sudden he found himself fighting for longer, his flames burning brighter. Actual, tangible progress!

He could hardly believe it—Fenrir was becoming the warrior he always dreamed of! He was shaking at the prospect of telling Yarrow!

Leaves crunched under his paws as the giddy Cyndaquil skipped down the path, hopping from leaf to leaf. This was a game Yarrow and Fenrir used to play when they were exceptionally bored on days like this. Clary joined in sometimes, when she was old enough, though that wasn't too significant in the grand scheme of things. The game was never meant to last that long, anyway.

That was the thing, though: it normally wouldn't. Considering how long Fenrir had been hopping on leaves, the game had long since circled back around to being boring again. Where was Yarrow?

Another few moments passed—enough to almost convince Fenrir to forget about this meeting he had planned and go home. But right on cue he caught sight of some notable orange feathers.

Fenrir's vents burst alight. "Yarrow!" he beamed. "D-did you forget? I've been w-waiting here for like an hour."

The Torchic's pace hadn't risen above a sluggish dawdle, accentuated by the downright disappointed frown on his beak. There was a split second where Fenrir balked, taken aback by how peeved Yarrow seemed.


"Hi," Yarrow grumbled. "No, I didn't forget."

Irked by his friend's tone, Fenrir's excitement died down along with his flames. "Th-then why are you…late?" Fenrir wondered.

Yarrow stared at him, brows furrowed. "Oh, I'm sorry. Was this important? I didn't realize."

Fenrir blinked. The scorn in Yarrow's voice was getting worse; what did Fenrir do to warrant that? "W-what do you mean?" he sputtered. "I planned this out like a week ago!"


"Pfft!" Yarrow rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you did. Bet you never thought to ask what I thought of that, huh?"

Flames spurted out of Fenrir's back all over again. Incredulous, Fenrir asked, "W-why are you being so grumpy? I didn't do anything!" He threw up his paws in exasperation.

That response only seemed to make Yarrow more frustrated and upset. "Grumpy!?" he retorted. "Who're you calling grumpy!?"


"You!" Fenrir shot back. "I-I just wanted a break and you get all g-grumpy at me about it!"

Yarrow stomped his talon onto an unsuspecting leaf below him; the force behind it caught Fenrir by surprise. "Here!?" Yarrow squawked. "Not even at the playground or my house!? Just on the edge of a sidewalk!?"

Flinching, Fenrir glanced between Yarrow glaring at him and the scenery behind him. They were, in fact, arguing off to the side of the path leading out of town. Fenrir had previously chosen it because he could go straight there after training for that day. Was it so wrong to favor convenience like this?

Fenrir let his paws fall to his side. "Wha- w-we're too old for the playground, remember!?"


"That wasn't what I-" Yarrow groaned. "-ugh! Nevermind! There's nothing to do here!"

"Th-there's plenty we can do!"

"Like what?"

"L-like…um…" Fenrir's flames died out completely as he stopped to think.


"See!" Yarrow pointed with a wing before clicking his beak bitterly. "If you weren't so weird and awkward you'd know how to have fun!"

Fenrir froze up as if he'd been jolted by a thunderbolt. Those words cut deep, right to his core. Because yes, Fenrir had spent the past year or so constantly afraid of those two words: weird and awkward. All of the other kids in his class glared at him with eyes full of disdain, no doubt uttering those words behind his back. None of them were warriors; so they obviously didn't know what Fenrir had to go through. They didn't understand!

Yarrow did, though. Yarrow stuck around. Even after he learned that Fenrir broke his promise. No matter what, having Yarrow as a friend reassured Fenrir that he wasn't weird or awkward. The other kids…they were just jealous! Not everyone could be the son of Gaura, The Volcano, so it was understandable.

But now…
Yarrow was calling him weird?

"W-who are you calling weird!?" Fenrir shot back, the fur on the back of his neck bristling.

"You!" Yarrow raised his voice. "You're the one who spends more time with his dad than his friends! That's weird!"

Fenrir raised his voice in turn. "Sh-shut up! When I become a w-warrior you won't be allowed to call me weird!"

Yarrow chirped, "That's stupid! Really, really stupid!" He shook his head. "You're gonna be SO AWKWARD when you're grown up, you know that?"

That was the last straw. Fenrir had had a sneaking suspicion up to this point, but now he was certain. Sure, Yarrow didn't seem to care that Fenrir had broken his promise to never go into another mystery dungeon; they grew up to understand that it was a stupid idea anyway. But now it was clear that Yarrow just didn't want Fenrir to be better than him and had hid his true feelings up to this point.


"You're just j-jealous," Fenrir said, pointing his paw at the Torchic. "Y-you'll never be a warrior like me so you're JEALOUS!"

The Torchic was briefly taken aback, his expression shifting to reflect the impact of Fenrir's accusation. However, just as quickly, Yarrow's scowl returned at full-force. "Well…if you're so cool then I guess you don't need me to be your friend, then!"

Without missing a beat, Fenrir fired back. "I don't! I don't need you!" In fact, not having to rely on Yarrow would only make him stronger. He won't have to wait around all day for someone that shows up late. That meant more time to train.

Yarrow huffed. "It's a good thing I'm moving away in a few days!" he fumed. "You'll never have to see me again!"


"Good!" Fire shot out of Fenrir's back like Blastoise cannons.

A slight moment passed where Yarrow hesitated. In that moment, something akin to guilt flashed across his face, but Fenrir was too angry to notice. The words got caught in Yarrow's throat, eventually forming into "Fine! Later, weirdo!"

Smoke puffed out of Fenrir's nostrils as he watched his only friend stomp off. His only friend…and Yarrow still called him weird. How dare he!

Yarrow didn't understand. None of them did. Fenrir was going to prove just how little he needed any of them by becoming stronger. Maybe
before he wanted more friends…but now he knew that they would just get in the way.

A warrior was strong enough by himself. Relying on someone like Yarrow would just make him weak.


(...)(...)(...)

(...)(...)

(...)​

Yarrow really did move out a few days later. Fenn was too distracted at the time to notice, but during multiple instances prior Yarrow had tried to tell Fenn, and Fenn wouldn't listen.

That boost of bravado Fenn received following their argument…didn't even last that long. By the time Fenn realized just how much he depended on the Torchic to keep him grounded…it was too late.

A childhood friend…gone, just like that. Maybe if he hadn't been so stupid as to push Yarrow away their last interaction wouldn't have been so tainted.

Maybe it was Fenn's overreliance on Yarrow that turned him away. He took the Torchic for granted, always assuming that Yarrow would be there. Even now Fenn could recall the weeks that followed. To fight away the tears of a weakling, Fenn trained harder than he ever thought possible.

Because really, after that Fenn had no choice. All of the training would have been for nothing otherwise.

The flames were gone now. Figy Forest was just as it was before. A mere blink of the eyes was all it took for the dungeon to shake off Fenn's attempt at its life, an unsurprising display of impatience.

It knew—it had to—that there was no point in wearing the same guise that it had for years around the Quilava. The eternal blackness beyond those trees held no eyes, and never once glanced back, but an underlying understanding persisted, even still. Fenn could not fundamentally despise something that instilled no hatred within him.

His vents were cold, his gaze expressionless, and his paws were limp at his side. Just the same, the forest leaves grew still. Even the wind had nothing to say.

Countless hours had been wasted, molding Fenn's body into the visage of an idea. He, at one youthful point in his life, had viewed these trees with fear. Now even that was just an idea, a cornerstone to this moment. Nothing had changed.

Fenn had returned to his hometown to tell his father something important. A reminder—an admittance. Something that Fenn had difficulty rectifying even while he stared down his old friend. That same old friend lacked any advice or…anything at all. Same as the flowers outside of town and the memories that came with them.

Nothing had changed. But if that were true…then Fenn had to ask why he was here.

As Fenn turned and left, leaving behind the dungeon of his youth yet again, the wind picked up. Brown and orange leaves blew by and caught in his fur; he paid them no mind. Time to go.

…Something was different this time, though. Fenn's ears perked up. Quickly, his head whipped around to glance back at the dungeon.

But nothing was different.

He…could've sworn he heard…something. A…voice, even? And yet nothing had changed. Was he hearing things?

Strange. Paying it no mind other than a brief consideration, Fenn continued on. From here, it was more or less a straight shot home. Over the hill, left at the post office, through the patch of lilies a few houses down. This path was often less direct than just sticking to the road. Took longer, too. But it was a path that Fenn preferred each time purely out of habit.

It was only after emerging from the patch of lilies and facing the house on the other side did he remember why.

The house on the other side of the road was a house for rent.

Nanab Town was home to many rental houses that tourists and wealthy pokemon on vacation could stay in for a short amount of time. Fenn's mother had once told him that Nanab really only remained relevant because of it; a lucrative business such as rental houses increased the town's long-term profitability. If any random pokemon were to be asked which houses were the expensive vacation homes and which were not, they would undoubtedly make the correct guess every time.

The pokemon of Nanab rarely saw the fruits of this profitability. Sparse and largely incongruent as they were, these rental houses did little to influence much of anything within the local circle. Most could easily forget that they were even there.

The rental house directly ahead of Fenn was really only notable for its commitment to a central theme of bird shaped engravings in the wood and knick-knacks placed on the windowsill. These were added to specifically make the house appear more homely—only distinct to those that didn't realize just how similar it was to the carbon copy right down the road. Or the one on the other street around the corner. Or the one closest to the town hall.

It was also notable—to Fenn—for…one other reason…

(...)

(...)(...)

(...)(...)(...)​

Bzzz…

Bzzz…

BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZ!

Fenrir's stomach dropped. Despite his best efforts, the Cyndaquil was just too clumsy and slow. Flashes of a searing pain coursing through his body following a nightmare-inducing assault of spikes and mandibles filled his mind. Pain, fear, frostbite inducing chill—all overtaking his tiny body to the point of rooting him in place.

BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZ!

He remembered the speed in which they encroached upon him, the viciousness behind their incessant gnashing and stabbing. At the time, all of those years ago, he had no way of fighting back; running was the only option. But now he had no choice.

BZZZZZ! BZZZZZ!

Fenrir fought back with volleys of red hot flame as the gangly, contorted pointy demons surrounded him, boxing him in. The buzzing became so prevalent that he felt his breath leaving him through sheer overstimulation alone.

Flames scorched through—yet hardly a dent was made in their wake. They pricked and stabbed at him in retaliation.

BZZZZZZZZ!

Sunlight was collapsing.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

His body grew weaker. His arms were becoming numb.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

No more.

FWOOSH!

All of a sudden, an inferno as large as Fenrir himself cleaved a path through the ferals, intense enough to melt straight through. Sunlight beamed on all sides, blinding Fenrir and the beasts within an instant.

A sourness arose in immensity by the second, unclear in its origin or location. Fenrir, drunk with adrenaline, did the first thing that came to mind:
kill .

Fire, fire, more fire. Burn it all down until they stop moving. Scream and cry, but not for help; a war cry, that was what it was.

Warriors would not run, even when their throats burned and the ground beneath their feet seemed to be swallowing them whole. When in danger, a warrior's vents erupt like cannons, the flames themselves becoming the very battalion they control.

A warrior never gives up.

BZZZZZZ! SLASH!

Fenrir squealed in pain. Despite the power behind his attacks, the sheer numbers of the swarm was enough to penetrate his defenses. He tumbled, flailing limbs that were much too stretched out and limp to be usable anymore. And at the same time, the drunken cloudiness of his mind faded—leaving behind a clarity almost too shocking to be believed.

The ferals didn't stop.

Tears fell like rain while desperate embers flew without direction. The pain only grew.

Would a warrior run now? Would they…would they fight to the death…?

Would…Fenrir…

A stinger punctured his flank, a scythe slashed at his cheek.

No.

Panic won.

Fenrir wanted to live.

FWOOSH!

Frantically, he used the last of his strength to blast away the ferals surrounding him. His very body caught aflame, becoming a wheel that acted as a makeshift, temporary shield.

Something wasn't right. His body had a different gait to it, a different strength. But he pushed those thoughts aside, instead focusing on running as fast as he could.

His legs hardly worked, yet they were somehow functional enough to just barely evade the monsters.

Fenrir panted heavily. His heart beat fast, his entire body ached.

Through it all, he never stopped-

Not until he passed through an open path in the trees, after which it all faded to white.


— — —

Failure was a bitter cocktail. And the hangover was worse.

Warmth gradually flooded back to Fenrir's fur as the evening sun slowly bid him a tentative farewell over the horizon. Stifling pressure was replaced with a refreshing stillness, accompanied by the chittering of distant bugs and the chirping of birds. The grass was sparse, yet welcome enough to function as a temporary resting spot; Arceus knows Fenrir needed it.

Relief was overtaken by guilt, however—as simply escaping to safety was no solace. Flecks of blood painted the blades of grass surrounding the fire type, and a prevalent bile lingered on his tongue. He had felt this before.

Poison. And the painful kind, too. Fenrir lacked the strength to move, not that he would so much as try if he could. The real world wasn't any more forgiving than the dungeon.

How was it that after all of this time Figy Forest still gave him trouble? Was he cut out for this at all?

How could he even show his face back at home? With all of these injuries…? He could see the look of disappointment on his father's face and the worry on his mother's already.

If he wasn't fading out of consciousness Fenrir would have sighed in defeat. He hated making his mother worry. He hated that he had to lay there and wait for the pain to end. He hated how hard this all was. He hated that this happened…again.

And as the soreness in his muscles grew too unbearable to endure, where even the sun abandoned him, Fenrir cursed his own hubris for making him this way. Progress was simply too slow.


But then there was a voice. One Fenrir had never heard before. The gentle and tender tone of it brought Fenrir out of his poison-addled stupor for only a second. And yet, that was enough.

"Oh geez! What happened to you? Are you oka-"

White faded to black-


— — —

-before fading back to white again.

Musty and sweet smells hit his nose, and Fenrir blinked the exhaustion out of his eyes. Dust particles danced in the air like Volbeats, past his snout and from one blade of sunlight to another; the window shutters could only fight back so much. In fact, one blade pierced his eye, causing him to squint. That had to have been what woke him up.

While the mustiness of this abode that Fenrir found himself in could be owed to the dust, the sweetness was harder to pinpoint. It smelled like an herbal concoction of some sort, and not at all like anything he had ever experienced before. However, as unique as it was, the smell became irrelevant when compared to what accompanied it.

Eyes shifted from the blinds of the window and all of a sudden Fenrir was face-to-face with a birdcage upon a nightstand, a tiny, wooden Starly peering at him through the bars. If he were dreaming then it no doubt would have been alive and chirping at him. Instead, its lifeless eyes gazed at him impassively.

On that same nightstand were two Unfezant—male and female—on either side, functioning as bookends for the high quality furniture. Both were wooden and meticulously carved, as well. Higher up, on the wall, was a shelf adorned with what looked to be more carved bird pokemon. Nearby was a wooden clock, ticking away quietly. Instead of two doors to conceal it, two wooden wings were splayed out on either side. A nest with two eggs poking out was glued to the top of it.

There was a bookshelf. His eyes did not linger on any of the titles he could make out and he couldn't retain any of them if he tried. Regardless, it was well kept yet caked in dust—only there for show.

All in all, Fenrir had fewer questions than he thought he would. Though once he encountered the chain of thought starting with "how much time had passed?" a quiet panic began to set in, and only then did the aching in his limbs become apparent.

He needed to move. Unfortunately, his own body fought him for every action, intrusive thoughts screaming at him to not even bother. Why should he? What was the point of even moving if he couldn't hold his own during basic training?

Well, he still tried. The gritting of his teeth failed to prevent him from groaning in pain, but at least he wasn't completely inoperable.


"Oh, you're awake- nononono, lay back down, lay back down!"

And so Fenrir did. His body flopped back down onto the plush sheets like a sack of apricorns. Heated as he was at the sudden command, letting his jelly arms relax was a welcome reprieve. And now he got to see who had spoken.

The voice Fenrir had heard before he passed out unquestionably belonged to this…Audino. It had the same smoothness to it, as though the pokemon in question was constantly singing. With their cream colored fur and frills that reminded him of those fancy doilies at the thrift shop. Those sparkling blue eyes gazed at him warmly, if a bit concernedly, as well. Concern that immediately shot to Fenrir's stomach.

Fenrir felt as though he had to apologize, and he hadn't even said anything. But the soft paw gently putting pressure on his back alleviated all of that quickly. As he relaxed back onto the pillow, Fenrir found himself staring for far longer than he intended. His eyes kept darting to the shimmering bits of metal hooked to the Audino's ears, marveling at how the scant sunlight made them shine.


"Sorry there, buddy," the Audino said. "You're still in a bad state; give it a bit longer."

Fenrir groaned dejectedly. "W…w-where am I…?" he asked.

The Audino chuckled, curling one of his feelers in his paw. "The pumpkin patch. We've got apple bobbing right out-" he shook his head, "-sorry, bad joke. You're in my current house."


"...Current?"

"The last one I had fell into the ocean…and since my shovel was broken I just bought a new one." The Audino sighed to himself, though the smile on his face never faded. "This is not working, I need some better jokes."

While Fenrir was pretty confused—just in general—he still laughed a little at the Audino's attempt at humor. His jokes weren't…good, but Fenrir found himself smiling anyway. Strange to think that he was putting himself down just a moment prior.

It seemed that was just what the normal type wanted, as his smile grew slightly bigger after Fenrir laughed. "Sorry, I'm…working on a bit, you know," he said. "Helps to lower the nerves of the patient if you make them laugh and- anyway, this
is my house."

Which led to Fenrir's next question. "Wh-who…how…" Or…
a question, at least. Eventually. His thoughts were a bit frazzled.

The Audino noticed and held up his paw. "Here, I'll take the lead," he suggested, before stepping away to pull over a chair to sit on. "You relax."

Now that they were more or less at eye level, the Audino properly set the stage. "You can call me Clemat. I'm a traveling physician just trying to make the world that little bit better." As he talked he reached over and picked up a tray of various snacks, tools, and steaming remedies—the source of that smell. "You don't have to introduce yourself to me if you don't want to; I'm just here to help."


"Not…i-introduce myself?" Fenrir gazed at Clemat quizzically. Some semblance of seriousness was lacking from that smile of Clemat's, yet there was no sign that he was lying, either. What an odd fellow.

Clemat shrugged. "One of my professors used to talk about how some patients don't like to get familiar." He picked up a saucer with a ceramic cup atop of it before setting the tray back on the bed. "Makes them more comfortable. Here."

With one paw, Clemat aided Fenrir by guiding his neck upright. With the other, the cup was brought to the fire type's mouth. "Drink this," Clemat whispered. "Slow sips, slow sips."

Fenrir, in no spot to object, complied. The tangy, water-like mixture hit his tongue and tickled at his taste buds. Immediately, warmth filled his cheeks. Smooth and sweet, Fenrir gravitated to the taste like a newborn baby in need of succor.


"Like it?"

If his repeated, thirsty sips weren't any indication, Fenrir nodded just in case. The vents on his back were practically jumping for joy at the provided warmth.


"Good, good…" Clemat slowly pulled the cup from Fenrir's lips, much to his chagrin. The fire type's pouting widened the smile on the Audino's face. "Let's put that down for now; you can have more later."

A spark lingered in Fenrir's mouth. Gosh, that was sweet. "What…w-what was that…?" the quil wondered aloud.

Clemat set the cup down. "Pomeg and Pecha, mainly," he explained. "With some added Sitrus— should help with the healing process." The chair creaked a little as he sat. "A growing Quilava like you needs his nutrients."

Fenrir's heart sank. "Qu-Quilava…? I'm…I'm not…"

No…no, not like this. This wasn't supposed to happen. Was that why his limbs felt so…off? Oh Arceus no…

He wanted to cry. Evolution was supposed to be a celebration of strength—of growth. When he was ready his father was supposed to guide him through it; just like how he said he would for years!

It was Fenrir's next step towards becoming a warrior. And now he couldn't even have that.

Fenrir ignored the soreness of his muscles and curled in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut. No crying…no crying…no crying…

Clemat shifted in his seat, the atmosphere of the room growing more somber as his voice took on a different tone. "Hey, what's wrong?" he said quietly. He caressed Fenrir's fur with a paw. "It's alright, you're okay."


"N-no, I'm not…" Fenrir shook with quiet sobs. "I don't wanna be a Qu-Quilava yet!" He sniffled. "I-I…I can't- I…"

"Shh…shh…" Clemat continued to stroke the new Quilava's fur, soft as can be. "Breathe…breathe…"

Breathe…breathe…

Something about Clemat's voice brought the Quilava back from the brink. It was as though it were pulling at him, guiding him out of this whirlpool of emotions. Breathe…breathe…in…out…in…out…

The beating of Fenrir's heart slowed. His breath grew more steady by the second. Soon enough, his muscles relaxed, as well, and he splayed out his limbs in front of him. Fenrir could see now that they were just as long as he feared.

Melancholy pricked at him, but the sorrow was dulled, at least. He let out a shaky sigh.

Clemat leaned back in his chair. "Evolution is a big deal, I know," the Audino remarked. "It's all part of growing up. Don't worry if it's not perfect."

That part Fenrir knew. It was just…frustrating. Annoying. So…so…disappointing.


"The important part is that you're safe now," Clemat continued. "No more poison, and those wounds of yours will be healed in a few days."

Fenrir had to know, "H-how bad was it…?"

Shaking his head, Clemat reached over to the tray and retrieved a small hand mirror. "Not good, but well within my capabilities." He positioned the mirror so Fenrir could see his back end. "The worst was this puncture on your hind leg; you might have to walk with a bit of a limp for a day or two. But you'll be fine."

The bandages around his legs said otherwise. Seeing the dark red bleed through the clinical white made Fenrir's stomach churn. Thankfully, the mirror didn't linger on it for long.

Clemat turned the mirror slightly, slowly. And Fenrir watched as his entire frame came into view. Up until…it stopped at his face. No longer was there this long snout sticking out between his eyes. Now, a short and angular muzzle took its place.

These pointy ears poked out of his noggin, flicking to and fro as he watched them. Orange-ish red spots split his forehead, too. They radiated with a subtle glow.

Most of all, though, Fenrir peered at his own eyes. Bright red and still sparkling with the aftermath of fresh tears. He blinked– that startled him. The Quilava in the glass did the same. Moved his paw the same. His look, familiar.

For a short moment, Fenrir wondered if he was suddenly staring face-to-face with a younger version of his mother; the subtle worrisome gaze reminded him of her. A latent desire to speak quieter, tread more carefully, arose.

Fenrir had evolved. But that wasn't right. He was expecting to look a bit more…fierce. Even the small scrapes and bits of missing fur didn't alleviate that.


"...Huh…" was all that he could say.

Clemat put the mirror down, leaving an even friendlier face to replace the one Fenrir was just staring at. "Congratulations," the Audino said, smiling. "I know that you might be disappointed now…but I promise things will only get easier from here."

Well, Fenrir wasn't celebrating. Thoughts about his father being unhappy with him resurfaced in his mind. How that Typhlosion might make things
more difficult from here on out…

The Quilava's eyes became cloudy. He wasn't sure what was worse: the shame over evolving too early or the shame over still not feeling ready on top of all of that.

Since Fenrir was floating about in his own mind, he didn't notice Clemat standing up. Hardly any noise was made in the process. "Take your time, friend," the physician muttered. "Stay as long as you like—I don't mind."

Fenrir's head rose, following Clemat's movements. His eyes went wide, too. "W-wha- a-are you sure…?" he stuttered. "I-I wouldn't want to…"

As the Audino stretched, preparing to walk into the other room, he stood in the center of the carpet. The afternoon sun shined in, highlighting his bright blue eyes and the metal hooked onto his ears. Once again Fenrir couldn't look away. A new sensation—warmth in both his forehead and lower back—flared to life.

Clemat waved him off. "You're my patient and I say you deserve to rest. Drink some more of that tea, get some sleep. Whenever you feel ready, you're free to go." He approached the open door on the other side of the room and rested his paw on the knob. "If you need me, call for me."

And with that, the door was shut. Fenrir was left alone with his thoughts once again.

But this time…he had more to consider.

His vents were still warm.


— — —

Knock knock knock!

The door opened. On the other side, an Audino stood with a small stack of papers in his paw. His face, glowing in the light that the sun brought, lit up at the sight of the pokemon on his porch. "Oh, it's you!" Clemat said cheerfully. "How are you? Feeling better?"

The pokemon in question, Fenrir, smiled sheepishly. "Y-yes," he replied. "Um…still getting used to…b-being a Quilava." The awkward way he sat down with one hindpaw lifted higher than the other and how he unconsciously held one arm with the other was a solid indication of that. Only a couple days had passed; things didn't feel quite right yet. And that wasn't even taking his limp into consideration.

Clemat chuckled. "Sounds about right. You know how Magikarp jumps straight into being a big, angry Gyarados?"

Fenrir cocked his head. "W-what?"

Paws on his hips and grinning wide, Clemat paused for dramatic effect.


"...

You know…"

Then he slumped in defeat. "I forgot the joke."

Joke or not, Fenrir cracked a smile. Whatever it was, he was certain he would have laughed had it been told.


"Anyway," Clemat remarked, changing the subject, "come on in, I'll make you some more of that tea!"

Fenrir dropped to all fours and followed Clemat inside. Last time he was here the living area didn't stick out to him much, though this time around Fenrir found himself padding slower and really taking it all in.


"Give me a moment to get set up," Clemat said. "I wasn't expecting company."

"O-okay." That was pretty obvious.

Clemat's abode reminded Fenrir of one of those fancy "dollhouses" he had seen at the thrift shop a few times—a human antique modeled after what their homes supposedly looked like. Aggressively showy furniture and decorations alongside an anxiety-inducing, orderly layout. Too many right angles, an excessive amount of paraphernalia, and what looked like four detached, wooden panels plastered to the ceiling. Fenrir could recall this ominous black box in the center of the dollhouse, too, which was thankfully absent here.

As tiny as it was, that black box reminded Fenrir of the portals in Figy Forest. The idea that humans just kept one of those in their safe spaces sent a shiver up his spine. He was glad they weren't around anymore.

Anyway, Clemat obviously didn't care much for the design. The window curtains had been removed and placed on the floor, a wooden table was situated in the center of the living room and drowned in stacks of medical supplies, and the large pseudo-bed by the wall was covered in stacks of parchment. The kitchen area was also sectioned off to another room, for some reason. Fenrir understood the need to do that in larger homes, but in a place meant for one or two pokemon it felt unnecessary.

As Fenrir aimlessly stood on the fluffy, washed-out carpet, Clemat called from the kitchen area, "What kind of berries did you want?"

What did Clemat say he put in last time? Fenrir recalled Pecha because that was his favorite, but the rest was a blur. He took a moment to try and remember, cycling through potential scenarios where he asked for the wrong thing. Either that or offended Clemat by not remembering. The thought of doing so made him lock up.

Silence hung in the air long enough for Clemat to poke his head around the corner. "Still there?" he asked.

Fenrir jumped, rubbing his arm anxiously. "U-uh…yeah!" he muttered. "Anything's fine." Except it wasn't. Now the chances that Clemat would be offended by Fenrir's taste doubled! He rubbed his arm faster.

Clemat shrugged amiably. "I'm not going to put you under again, relax. Take a seat, I'll be done quickly."

A few minutes passed. Fenrir awkwardly stepped around Clemat's supplies and reading material before cautiously laying down on the very edge of the pseudo-bed's cushions. His eyes were locked on the dead space between the kitchen and Clemat the entire time.

Eventually, the Audino appeared from around the corner with a steaming cup and saucer in his paw. He smiled at his guest. "Maybe next time you can give me a bit of a heads up," Clemat quipped.

Flinching, Fenrir's words came out all sputtery. "N-next time?"


"Sure!" Clemat held out the cup for Fenrir to take. "If you get hurt again, that is."

"Um…"

"No, I don't expect you to get yourself hurt that badly again," Clemat interjected, as though he were reading Fenrir's mind.

"Right…" With that, Fenrir gazed down at the brown-ish liquid in his paws. Not pink like last time…but Fenrir still took a sip.

Bleh. He scrunched up his face and stuck out his tongue, only to regret it a half-second later when he saw the dissatisfaction on Clemat's face.


"Don't like it, huh?" Clemat wondered, casually sitting back in a nearby chair.

Fenrir shook his head. Despondent as he was to admit, it just wasn't something he liked. Too bitter.

Clemat shrugged. "We'll keep working on it. Oh!" The metal hooked to his floppy ears jangled about as he clapped his paws together. "My bad, I forgot to ask. What brings you here, buddy?"

The liquid inside of Fenrir's cup swayed a little as the Quilava bit his lip. Once again, he took several moments to come up with an answer. "W-well…"

Meanwhile, Clemat's eyes grew wide from another recollection. "Ah, darn!" He smacked his forehead. "Did I give you the wrong medicine? Is that why you're here? Argh, and I call myself a doctor?"

Fenrir nearly dropped the cup in response. "N-no!" he cried. "I'm fine, it's just…" How was he supposed to say this…?


"...Did you need to tell me something, then?" Clemat watched Fenrir for a moment, clearly still a bit tense. "Are your parents upset with me?"

Again, Fenrir frantically responded, "N-no! They're…fine." For the most part.

The reaction Fenrir received once he returned home was to be expected. His father was disappointed to have missed out on seeing his son evolve, and his mother hugged him right as soon as he walked through the door, pleading with him to be more careful. Surprisingly, his parents already knew that he had stayed the night elsewhere; they weren't
that worried. Clemat went out of his way to knock on the doors of some of the neighbors to ask where Fenrir lived. Then, he let Fenrir's parents know that he was okay. Both had good things to say about the Audino.

It really wasn't as bad as Fenrir was expecting. His father was even proud to have a Quilava for a son now. "One more step towards being a warrior," the Typhlosion had laughed. And it was back to the grind the next day.

But…Fenrir didn't want to get back to the grind. His mind kept drifting back to the little house down the block with the Pidgeys in the window and the friendly doctor wearing those pretty earrings. So much so that it became difficult to think about anything else.

Getting right back to training wasn't appealing anymore after nearly dying alone.

He looked down at the floor. "I-it's just that…"

Clemat waited patiently.

Fenrir glanced up, timid. "I um…f-forgot to tell you my name."


"Your name?" Clemat raised an eyebrow. "You mean-"

"No!" Fenrir cut him off quickly, flame vents sparking slightly. There was no doubt in his mind that Clemat already heard it from Fenrir's parents. "Not…that one." Not anymore.

With his new body, Fenrir could run for longer and spew greater flames. Ferals that had previously been difficult to slay would now be a cakewalk, and he was unquestionably stronger, more agile. Even still, his chest grew tighter when he envisioned how Clemat would react to what he was about to say. More than anything, Fenrir didn't want to mess it up.

A smile popped onto Clemat's face and he scratched his chin. "Ah, okay," he said, before casually sinking into his chair. "Well, like I said, you don't need to tell me if you don't want to. But if you do, I'm all ears." His metal earrings jangled about as he swayed his head.

The Quilava laughed at that a tiny bit; it helped to calm his nerves. "Heh, y-yeah…um…"

Big breaths…heart beating fast…he didn't lay awake all night dreading this to back out now, did he? He had to do it…otherwise he'd never forgive himself.

It took him squeezing his eyes shut and blurting it out to go through with it. "M-my name…is…Fenn…"


"Fenn," Clemat repeated, before nodding. "It's a nice name. Fits you, I think."

Grandpa thought the same…

It was just as much a relief as he thought it would be. Finally, Fenn could relax his shoulders. Hearing that name again was like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

That kind of warmth made Fenn grin without thinking. For the first time since evolving, Fenn was comfortable. Happy, even. He met Clemat's smile with his own.


"I-I think so, too."

— — —

"Back again?" Clemat put his paws on his hips. "Don't tell me you got yourself hurt."

Fenn winced as he held up a bleeding paw. The blood was mostly dry at this point, though he still needed to clean and dress it. What better pokemon to go to for that than the local physician?

Clemat clicked his tongue. "Alright, alright. Come on in." Though before leading Fenn inside, Clemat shot one more cordial glance over his shoulder. "And you still didn't give me a heads up!"

Fenn made an effort to hide his blush.


— — —

"So, what happened this time?"

"H-head hurts…"

Clemat narrowed his eyes, though it was in a knowing sort of way. He wasn't actually suspicious…Fenn hoped.


"I have some remedies for that." The Audino motioned for Fenn to follow. "And I actually made sure to clean up this time!"

Embers danced from Fenn's vents as he trotted after Clemat.


— — —

"You burned yourself?" The incredulity on Clemat's face was palpable. "Fenn, you need to be more careful."

Fenn's ears drooped and he hung his head. If he didn't say anything Clemat would just forget about it. Right?

Sure enough, Clemat shook his head and stood aside. "Yeah, I would be ashamed, too. Have you ever heard the story about the Eevee who tried to make evolution stone stew?"

Fenn hid his giddiness. It worked! And he would
totally laugh at this joke.

— — —

Fenn continued to regularly visit Clemat's clinic over the course of a week or two. It definitely felt longer than that, though. To this day Fenn was shocked by how little time he spent with Clemat in total.

And there was always some kind of injury—big or small—that preceded their talks. It got to a point where Fenn was worried that Clemat would turn the teenager away, but he never did. No matter how perturbed Clemat was by how often the Quilava showed up on his doorstep, an injury was an injury. They both knew that.

It became routine. To the point where Fenn began to wonder how it would happen again during his training as he made his way to school. Of course, it also became standard practice for Fenn to go out of his way, in the opposite direction, just so he could pass by Clemat's house in the morning. Even if he never got to see the Audino, it heightened his mood for the day.

One morning, he even got to say hi. His ears perked up once he caught sight of a familiar shade of pink on the front porch. Perhaps a bit too eagerly, Fenn skipped closer.


"M-Mr. Clemat!" Fenn beamed.

"Hm?" Clemat looked up from his daydreams, quickly shifting from being nonplussed to flashing a warm smile. "Oh, Fenn! What are you doing out here so early?"

There was an easy answer to that question, though Fenn stopped himself before he could answer it. In between two of Clemat's fingers was a small, slender, white object. That alone was perplexing, even without the lingering cloud of smoke rising into the air from the tip of the white object. Fenn tilted his head.


"J-just…just heading to school- um…" Was it rude to ask?

Clemat shot Fenn an odd look. "Something the matter- oh!" It was then that he noticed what had Fenn so confused. He held up his paw in the air, a thin trail of smoke following the white stick thingy. "This your first time seeing a Paper Puffer?" he said.


"A what?" Fenn padded closer. Clemat was right, he had no idea what a "Paper Puffer" was, hence why his eyes were trained on it so intently.

"It's a human thing," Clemat explained. "They're pretty rare; only found in dungeons. Managed to get my hands on a box recently."

Only in dungeons? A human thing? Fenn gulped. "W-what do they…do?" he wondered, still staring at it.

Even Clemat wasn't exactly sure, based on his response. "Well, they help me relax," he chuckled.


Why would humans use rolled up paper to relax? Fenn looked between Clemat and the Paper Puffer like he was being tricked. "H-how?"

Clemat shrugged. "Wanna try it?"

As he held out the tube closer to Fenn, Fenn leaned backwards and away from it. This was something the humans made—he had to be careful. Who knows what they were capable of.

Tentatively, Fenn took Paper Puffer with his paw and-

Clemat motioned towards his mouth.

-put it between his lips.

Fenn waited with the paper tube sticking out of his mouth.




Nothing happened.

He looked to Clemat for guidance.

Clemat motioned as though he wanted Fenn to keep going. "Try breathing in," he told him.

Breathing in, okay. Fenn sucked on the paper-

Something hit the back of Fenn's throat.


"ACK!"

He coughed violently. Smoking billowed out of his nostrils, and the black flame that escaped his mouth caught the paper on fire. It fell to the ground, disintegrating instantly.

Clemat balked and blurted out, "Oh shit!" While Fenn continued to cough, the Audino patted him on the back. "You okay, buddy?"

Still coughing, Fenn nodded through tears. "Y-yeah…ow…" That did
not taste good.

"Mon," Clemat sighed, "those are expensive..."

Why would someone pay so much for that? That was awful!

Clemat helped Fenn to stand upright, his paw rubbing the Quilava's back soothingly the whole time. "Well, that's fine. Let's get you a cup of water."

Again, Fenn nodded. Maybe he would be late for school at this rate…but he didn't mention that part out loud.

The door creaked open, followed by a chuckle from Clemat. "They're best when you share them with someone else that enjoys it, from what I heard. Maybe when you find a girl your age you two can enjoy it together."


"..." Fenn looked down at his toes. Some of the tears in his eyes still needed to be blinked away. "Y-yeah…" he murmured. "A girl…"

— — —

"NonononoNO!"

A bucket went flying. Dust was kicked up. The voice of his mother called out to him in distress.


"Fenn!"

But he didn't listen.


"P-p-please don't be real please don't be gone! Pleeeeeease!"

Fenn dashed down the street as fast as his legs could carry him. Vents blazing with an insatiable inferno, the Quilava was a blur to any of his neighbors looking on.

His voice cracked. "It's not FAIR!" His muscles ached. "IT'S NOT FAIR!" His vision became blurry.

Once he reached Clemat's house, Fenn practically leaped up the stairs before banging on the front door. "C-CLEMAT!" he shouted. "MR. CLEMAT, DON'T LEAVE! PLEASE!"

Clemat was asking questions before the door was even open. "Fenn?" the Audino faltered. "What's wrong? What's the matter?"

Fenn prostrated himself at Clemat's feet. The words coming out of his mouth were nearly incomprehensible behind the stammering and sobbing. "I-I-I- p-pl-pleee-pleeease d-d-don't…"


"...Don't what?" Uncertainty coated his words; that amount of concern wasn't normal with Clemat.

It came out as barely more than a sorrowful whisper. "Don't go…"

And there it was. Judging by the long sigh that escaped Clemat, he knew what this was about now. "Oh Fenn…"


"P-please…"

Clemat leaned down, lowering his voice. "I should've seen this coming…Come on, get inside," he said. Causing a scene for the whole street to gawk at wouldn't help.

Fenn continued to sniffle and babble about begging Clemat to stay. He didn't care how he looked or what anyone thought—or if he even got to be a warrior anymore—it wasn't fair. If Clemat left town and never came back Fenn wasn't sure what he would do with himself. The thought broke his heart.

It took Clemat dragging Fenn by his arms to get them to a place where they could talk in peace. By that point Clemat was frazzled and out of breath. He leaned down in front of the Quilava, both paws on his shoulders. "Fenn, look at me," he demanded as softly as possible.

Fenn was just barely able to make out Clemat's sparkling sapphires for eyes through the tears. Again, he begged, "D-don't go, p-please…"

Frowning, Clemat was momentarily at a loss for words. His mouth opened and closed a few times as though he were weighing the potential options. Eventually, he muttered, "Fenn, I'm a
traveling physician. I told you this before. I planned on leaving before we even met."

But that wasn't fair! Yes, Fenn knew that Clemat wouldn't stick around forever. He had always known it. But there had to be a way to make him stay!


"W-why?" Fenn asked. "W-why c-can't you…stay?"

"Because…" Clemat furrowed his brow, his gaze set on the floor. "Because this place isn't for me. No place is, really." He chuckled sardonically a tiny bit. "Maybe someplace is- it's complicated."

Then…If Clemat couldn't stay here…

It would be just like his grandpa always said it would. Adventure and excitement beyond the horizon. The next words came out of Fenn's mouth without any thought. "I-I'll come with you-"


"No," Clemat reprimanded sternly. "Don't even think about it."

Fenn flinched. The anger in Clemat's expression made him want to vomit. The sinking in his stomach was overwhelming, painful even. All around him, the world began to crumble, and his weight collapsed underneath him. All he could think to do was lay there and cry.


"B-but…"

Clemat's expression softened with each passing heartbeat. Within seconds he was that kind, wonderful doctor Fenn always knew him as. Warmth in his smile, warmth in his eyes, and warmth in his presence. Fenn wanted so badly to hug and share that warmth.


"...Fenn, listen to me," Clemat started somberly. "You're still young. Younger than me. So don't…cling onto this. It's not good for you."

But that wasn't…fair. Why did it have to end at all- why did Clemat have to leave Fenn? Why did they always have to leave?

It hurt. It hurt so bad. Was this just going to be his life now? Every pokemon he loves vanishes when he needs them most?

Fenn just stared into Clemat's eyes, hoping that he would relent. Hoping that, somehow, things could be different.

But Clemat shook his head in return.


"Fenn, you have…so much more time than you think. So much more. I'm sorry that I can't be there from now on…but somebody will be." He squeezed Fenn's shoulder, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Somebody always will…okay?"

"I…I…"

Fenn gripped his arm tightly. What did that mean, though? If someone wasn't there that he could see…was he just supposed to wait for them? Was he supposed to go back to his life before, of isolation and constant training? Always pushing himself? Perpetually alone?

What was Fenn supposed to do-


"Look at me."

Fenn was dragged out of his mind by Clemat's voice. His breath was heavy, his body still shivering with quiet sobs. But he did what he was told, ignoring the beating of his heart to focus on Clemat. And only Clemat.

Slowly, the words crept out of the Audino's mouth and into the back of Fenn's mind. There, they remained as a final reminder. A final message:


"Everything will be alright."

Everything…will be alright.

Everything…


alright…

Everything…

Everything…


(...)(...)(...)

(...)(...)

(...)​

The last time Fenn saw Clemat, the Audino disappeared over the horizon off to some distant land. He never said where exactly, but by this point it didn't matter. To Fenn, only Clemat's final words to him did.

Was everything really alright?

In the back of his mind, throughout this whole trip, Fenn had asked himself that same question over and over again. And now, as he stood in front of that very same house from half a decade ago, he asked himself once more.

The answer was that he didn't know. Except that that wasn't really an answer, was it? From the day he lost his grandpa to the day that Team Lavender was formed, Fenn had been waiting for a real answer.

But instead of getting that answer…he was left with another question.

What is a warrior? And by extension, why does Fenn need to be one?

Over time, these questions had turned from menial and pointless to encompassing…everything. Continuing from here without the answers seemed impossible.

He turned his head, glancing down the street. The house he had lived in for 19 years of his life was in view.

Small and steady flames burst from his vents. It was time to go home.
 
Chapter 39 - Day 14, Part 7: Buried

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 39: Day 14, Part 7 - Buried


There was once a time in Fenn's life where he would give a flower to his mother every day, without fail.


The exact memory was a bit hazy. The basic gist was that the house had just burned down again after Fenn's father lost his temper and everything inside burned to a crisp. Following their first house fire, his parents got savvy and stored their more important belongings in the shed out back. Problem solved. Fenn's mother thought it was safe to start decorating again.


She was wrong. A flower arrangement she spent considerable effort on was destroyed in another house fire. The whole neighborhood saw his mother cry over the ashes. Seeing his mother so distraught about it, Fenn did the only thing he could think of: bring her a bouquet of flowers he picked himself.


His father, not seeing the point in any of this, declared that flowers would no longer be allowed inside or outside of the house. Flowers were not befitting of a warrior's abode, after all. But that didn't stop Fenn's mother. If the house would be off-limits, she'd start her flowerbeds elsewhere.


Fittingly, their neighbor just so happened to be a botanist, and they agreed to turn their own yard into a group garden. Starting with the flowers Fenn brought to his mother. Fenn wanted to help in any way he could, so he brought her more flowers following this. Over and over again, every single day, until he got too busy with his training. Hearing her gratitude and seeing her smile was always a highlight of Fenn's day. The flower he bestowed upon her the most was lavender, her favorite. And by extension, Fenn's favorite, too.


He'd go out of his way for lavender. Even if it meant being chided by his father, a warrior is there for his mother.


And now, several years later, a small sea of purple laid before him. Swaying in the cool, autumn breeze, each flower waving at Fenn like old friends.


Tiny embers blew past the lavender and their companions—the roses and zinnias and the purple coneflowers. Harmlessly, yet eagerly, the flowers and the rapidly diminishing flames kissed greetings and goodbyes; with winter just down the line, any sort of heat must have been blissful for their petals.


The stronger embers fluttered towards the house neighboring this one: a humble cabin constructed of new wood. Fresh wood. Hardly the same as it was even two weeks prior, but simultaneously built more loosely. The cabin itself creaked and swayed with that same breeze, waving at Fenn as though they had never met. Those embers of Fenn's did not linger long enough to greet the barren yard accompanying the cabin.


The strongest embers of all reached their destination—nestling and embracing a pelt of dark blue fur. Some flew higher, and went so far as to intermingle with another's latent flames, sparking to life in their own way.


For these two pokemon, it was their fire that connected first. Their eyes followed shortly, though the Typhlosion wearing the worn, tattered sunhat likely did not need to turn around to confirm it.


She did, though. Not a second was wasted.


Shadows coveting her radiance aside, the Typhlosion's features under the sunhat were aged in a kindly sort of way. Wrinkles befitting a loving smile persisted—far from eclipsing the many years that remained. And as evidenced by the immediate flashing of a smile onto her face, shining through to her eyes, she would continue to love for decades to come.


The first words she uttered upon seeing her son were not laced with the confusion brought about by a surprise visit, but instead contained the compassion of a warm welcome home.


"Fenn? I wasn't expecting you today."


To some extent, Fenn was the same. He stood there on two paws unsure of where to start or what to say but comforted by her presence nonetheless. He still stuttered, though. As he often did.


"H-hi…hi, mom," he muttered, sheepishly holding up a paw to wave.


Knee-deep in flowers and still grasping a pawheld shovel, Fenn's mother adjusted her hat before stepping onto the path the two now shared. "Did you stop by to help?" she asked. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"


"Yes…" While not much of a gardener himself, Fenn settled for following his mother's instructions quite often. Fetching tools and shoveling dirt was simple but-


"Oh, so you did come to help," his mother said with a smirk.


…And Fenn just realized that he forgot to clarify what he was saying "yes" to. He shook his head and replied with "N-not exactly," his voice breaking.


Tilting her head towards the flowers, Fenn's mother pointed at the garden with her shovel. "Come on now," she instructed in a playful tone, "just for a short while. Don't go running off without spending some time with your mother."


Fenn opened his mouth to argue, but quickly shut it without uttering a word. This was exactly what he had been dreading—falling into busy work. The further he fell, the harder it would be to get away. Yet he found himself dragging his feet to his mother's side anyway.


"That's a good boy." The Typhlosion leaned down and patted her son on the shoulder when he drew close. "Maggy wanted some new roses for her grandson's hatchday coming up. Enough to fill about five vases-"


Fenn sighed. He got the idea. A Quilava like him would be closer to the ground, more than capable of digging up dirt even without a shovel. The whole act would take, at most, a few minutes. If he weren't standing on his tiptoes and constantly glancing past his mother at the house next door, he would have had no qualms with it.


Either way, his mother held her back as she stood. "Agh…yes, that should be enough," she said. "One of those bushes is well past its prime and…"


But before she could finish what she was saying she peered at Fenn, and from there stared for a few moments. Any semblance of a smile faded away to concern. "...Fenn? What's the matter?"


It was supposed to be simple. Say hi, ask a question, then leave. His mother would understand; she always did. If it were any other day, sure—Fenn would have helped out. But not today.


He was expecting his mother to notice that something was wrong. Faking a smile would have been pointless; after all, she always told him that her nose could sniff out lies. That being said, it would have been easy to fake a smile. In comparison, faking discontent was somehow even harder.


Fenn wasn't faking anything. Ignoring his mother's question really did wrack him with guilt and it showed in his expression.


"W-where's…dad?" Fenn wondered in a quiet voice.


The Typhlosion leaned her head back as though she knew what Fenn was really asking. Not a different question, no; the meaning between the lines.


"Oh." She pointed over her shoulder. "Your father is at the pub with a few of his friends. You know how he is…"


Her eyes narrowed. "…The festival…it's not fun for him."


The pub…? Of course…it had to be the pub…


It wasn't just that Fenn's father spent most of his evenings at that place, there just also happened to be a chance that he was at home instead. In fact, his father stayed home most of the time when there was a festival. He tended to drink on those days, too.


Earlier today Fenn had been the tiniest bit hopeful, maybe even excited. But after the roller coaster that had been this day he wondered if he should have thrown up his paws and gone back to the castle after all. Nothing could be reasonably accomplished at a pub considering what Fenn had to say.


With a nod done to deviate his gaze elsewhere, Fenn muttered, "Right…" Getting to the pub from here would only take a short walk. If only it were longer…


"I'm surprised you're not at the festival, Fenn," his mother stated. "Your little friend seemed like the type."


Fenn looked down, fiddling with the purple scarf around his neck. "U-um…he...he was busy. S-so…I came here instead."


"Really?" Fenn's mother scoffed. "Sounds like an excuse on his part."


"Y-you don't even know him, mom!" Fenn blurted out, his gaze shooting back up.


That elicited a lighthearted chuckle from the Typhlosion. "Alright, alright. I'm just teasing you, pumpkin."


"Egh…"


Flames threatened to breach Fenn's forehead. He glared down at the ground once more and frowned. Being annoyed wouldn't help his case—he should just leave.


"I-I'm gonna go," he mumbled. "Thanks…mom." Head still down, Fenn trudged down the path, past his mother. He had to be careful not to look up or else-


"Do you remember that first book I got you when you were a teenager, Fenn?" his mother suddenly asked.


-...Fenn would stop in his tracks. "Uh…w-which one?"


The smile on the Typhlosion's face could be heard through her voice. "Corviknight of Peace."


Corviknight of Peace…how could Fenn forget? That was the book that lit a spark so bright in his mind that he read the whole thing three times over the course of just a few days. Ears perked, Fenn glanced over his shoulder to see his mother with her paws on her hips.


"Y-yeah…I do," Fenn said.


Fenn's mother approached, a complacent bounce to her step. "I picked it up from the library the other day. I never actually got to read it." She chuckled. "It was always checked out when I went to go look."


Red fuzziness spread to Fenn's cheeks. He might have…read it several more times after those first few days. Coincidentally, that was also why he shot his mother a perplexed look. "You…n-never read it?" he wondered.


The Typhlosion shook her head.


Fenn blinked. Now turned back around fully, he sputtered, "W-what? But you gave it to me!"


Her response was a shrug. "It looked like something you would enjoy."


"Wha!?" Fenn couldn't believe what he was hearing. Corviknight of Peace was the book that got him into reading in the first place! After all of this time…the fact that his mother hadn't read it until recently was a crime! "I did! I-I loved it! Did you?"


"Oh, it was wonderful," his mother hummed. "Very exciting. I can see why you read it so much."


There was no way of telling exactly how many times Fenn had read that book. But just to give an idea, he could distinctly recall the gross berry stain someone left on page 52 of the library's copy and the crease on page 201 that Fenn always came back to.


Page 201…where Corviknight and his Talonflame companion mused about life before dawn. Quiet and tender, all of the action in that story couldn't compare. Fenn consistently found himself reading that page in particular over and over again.


He could remember it word-for-word…


'I want to live in a world where I can fly free once again…'


'Even if it means death, I will remain by your side until the end of my days…'


A hole had been carved out of Fenn's heart at the time. No matter how much he tried to ignore it, every action and every movement he took felt hollow. And while reading about Corviknight overcoming great odds never filled that hole completely, it certainly stopped the bleeding.


Stories consistently filled that gap, if only temporarily. Adventure, action, romance…a chance to live somewhere else for a time. Real life could never begin to replace the beauty behind those pages.


Fenn's eyes lit up. "I'm…I'm glad you…liked it." What was her favorite scene or character, he wondered…


No, don't get distracted.


Everyone has to close the book eventually. "...A-anyway," he uttered, fiddling with his paws, "I should really go s-see dad-"


"Fenn."


Shame on Fenn for believing that he could leave after that. He didn't even get to turn around. No matter how much he wanted to run off, the stern yet soft nature of his mother's tone compelled him to glance away from the path—back to her eyes.


It was like she had just found baby Fenn after he got into the flour and covered everything from the floor to the cabinets.


Again.


A distinct hint of worry behind her expression served to imply some kind of guilt. She expected this, but regretted being unable to prevent it.


"Come here," she said.


Wordlessly, Fenn did just that, rubbing his arm the whole time.


As he approached, however, his mother leaned down and tenderly pulled his arms apart. She took his paws into hers and attempted to meet his gaze with a dormant affability. She observed, "Something is bothering you."


Was it really that obvious? Fenn looked down at the paws holding his own. Something was bothering him; the words were caught in his throat. How would he even explain it?


"What is it, Fenn?" his mother pried further. "Won't you tell me?"


Even if he could explain it, what good would there be in saying it out loud?


The subtle shaking in Fenn's arms only grew in intensity as his mother caressed his paws. When did that start…


"…Does it have something to do with your father?"


Fenn wanted to stay quiet. He really should have. The thread keeping him together was barely holding firm. If he opened his mouth now…? Everything would fall apart.


So, he persisted, his reasoning for being here remaining locked in a box within his mind. For Fenn and Fenn only.


"Mom…" he started.


But the Typhlosion sighed in indignation, shaking her head. "You are so much more like your father than you think, Fenn."


That caught his attention. Anything he would have said went right out the window after his mother's remark. Fenn glanced up at her, silent but now expectantly so.


"Just the other day your father was moaning and groaning like a Purugly with a broken claw," she explained. "I asked him what was wrong and he wouldn't tell me. You know what I do when he gets like that? I don't feed him. He's a big strong mon. No one in the town can deny that. But no. Big strong mons like him aren't supposed to cook. He usually changes his mind after I pull that card."


She rolled her eyes. "Turns out he had a splinter in his paw that he couldn't get out. And instead of asking his loving mate, who had helped him many times before, he would rather live with it."


Fenn balked. "A-and it took you…?" Was he really against cooking of all things? Was that something a warrior doesn't do? Hearing it in this context sounded a bit odd—especially considering it was his dad who said it. Choosing not to cook was just too silly, and unfitting behavior for him.


A burning smell entered the air. Like the kind of scent that wafted from Fenn's vents—something he had long since gotten used to. Except this was different. More smoky and stale.


Scowling, the wrinkles on the Typhlosion's face momentarily became more prominent. She ranted, "Oh it gets worse than that. Your father, I swear." A mix of regret and incredulity flashed across her face, causing her to appear older as she glared at something in the distance. Almost as though she couldn't believe that she had to say it. "Don't be like that, Fenn. When you find someone, treat them like an equal, not a crutch."


An equal…not a crutch…


It was at that moment that his mother's words roused a recurring thought within the young Quilava. He would be lying if he said that he was ignorant to several of his father's faults, but it was always those closest to him that expressed these kinds of sentiments.


The other kids at school? Envious. The librarian and his teachers? Afraid. But his mother? Scathing. The other adults that claimed to have known Fenn's father? The ones that Fenn had only met at select times in his life when they were under certain obligations? Nothing.


Absolutely nothing.


Was this what Fenn had to look forward to…? The contempt of those closest to him?


Fenn wasn't his father. He knew that. He understood why. He had his own path to follow.


And yet, here he was, being told that he still held several similarities to his father regardless.


Fenn furrowed his brows. His paws gripped his mother's tighter, and the burning smell became more pungent; it was difficult to ignore now. As expected, his mother noticed, too.


They met eye-to-eye—immediately sharing a look of understanding. Heat radiated from Fenn's vents like a volcano aching to erupt. With a sudden burst of determination, Fenn uttered, "I-I need to tell dad something."


A slight smile popped onto his mother's face. For the first time since they started talking, a sliver of sunlight breached past the shadow of her sunhat, illuminating one of her red eyes. Relief seeped through the cracks. "So this is about your father."


Perhaps his reasoning for being here was still trapped in a locked box within his mind. But unbeknownst to Fenn, his mother had had the key the whole time.


Fenn nodded.


"I…I n-need him to understand something…to know s-something."


Not even the sunlight tickling the Typhlosion's face could contest with the brightness of her smile. Her paws shifted upwards, inwards, so that she could hold both of Fenn's paws close to her chest.


In a gentle voice, Fenn's mother whispered quietly, "Okay. I wish you only the best of luck."


The burning smell dissipated once Fenn's mother pulled him into a comforting, warm hug. The flame from before better fit the raging heat of a forest fire. After the Quilava and Typhlosion embraced, though, what remained was a pleasant coziness only a campfire could provide.


Memories of falling asleep while cradled in his mother's arms floated to the forefront of his mind. For a brief moment, nothing outside of their hug seemed to exist. Nothing else mattered. What he would've given to fall asleep right then and there, safe and secure…


"I want you to know this, Fenn," his mother added. "No matter what happens, I will always love you from the bottom of my heart. Even if your father doesn't understand…even if it hurts…just know that I will be here for you, whenever you need me. I will never judge you for being you."


Fenn wasn't sure what he would do if his father didn't understand, but knowing that his mother would be there no matter what gave him the peace of mind to relax his muscles and go limp. Cradled in a big Typhlosion's arms like a Cyndaquil all over again, his eyes grew half-lidded.


"Thanks…mom," he muttered.




The closer Fenn got to the center of Nanab, the denser it became. Gone were the aging shacks rotting in the midday sun near the forest and fields. In their place were neat and orderly houses, built to appeal to modern sensibilities. Businesses were more plentiful here, and trees were sparse.


A clear path was laid out in front of Fenn. Hardened, dry dirt. Made even clearer by the motes of autumn leaves swept aside. Someone maintained this. His paws didn't agree with the path's firmness; it was as though he were walking on stone. Not a bad thing, or even unexpected, but certainly not preferable.


Fenn was not expecting to be so calm. He reasoned internally that enough time had passed for him to cycle back around to an acknowledgement of the absurdity of it all. Dreams were rarely this vivid, sure, and mystery dungeons were often more absurd on the face of it.


Was it possibly a sign that he wasn't supposed to be here? His own fur hung over his back like an itchy coat throughout this whole trip. There was no doubt in his mind that simply leaving would scratch that itch.


But just as well, was it better to scratch or to replace the coat entirely?


Past the local slaughterhouse, across from the public bathing area, situated between the food storage and old bulletin board…


Yes, Fenn remembered it correctly. Not like it was hard to miss.


Nanab Town's pub shared quite a few similarities with the town hall. With its polished wood exteriors and glass windows, Fenn wouldn't be surprised if it was the second most expensive structure in the whole town. Fenn would even go as far as to say that it was on-par with the quality of Kebia's average building. The door even supported varying pokemon heights and sizes through several door handles, unlike most of the other buildings in Nanab.


The pub belonged to every pokemon in the town. So by that logic, talking to his father here wouldn't make a difference. He had to wonder, though, if stopping his journey at his home would have been more preferable. What was ten more minutes to think when none of those thoughts were productive?


The fogginess of the imposing glass windows certainly didn't help. How was it that Fenn could withstand being surrounded by such opulent architecture in Kebia when just one here set him on edge? Was visiting home for a few hours really enough to reignite that spark of anxiety dormant within him?


It had to be the raucous laughter erupting from the otherside of the pub's entrance, slightly ajar. Or the flashes of raging fire through the cracks. Moving bodies, shifting fast alongside the booming of laughter so suddenly that it made Fenn flinch.


This was a bad idea.


He could still turn back. This was his last chance. He could even lie to his team about it and say that everything was fine.


It would be so easy to scratch that itch…


Fenn wasn't sure what compelled him to put one paw in front of the other, but before he knew it one of the handles to the door was right in front of his face.


It could have been bravery. Or stupidity. All of which sounded very dramatic in comparison to what he had gone through plenty of times before.


This was just going to be a talk between a father and his son. Nothing more, nothing less. He was strong, he could do this.


Fenn breathed in…and breathed out.


…One more time. Just to calm the nerves.


I am a warrior.


Fenn reached for the door handle-


(...)


(...)(...)


(...)(...)(...)​


Creeping up the walls.


Spreading from the floor to the ceiling.


The foundation crumbled in slow bursts.


Sickening black, blinding red.


It was everywhere. All around.


Breathe. He couldn't breathe.


Aching. Stinging. Coughing. Weeping.



"I…I-I d-did what you wanted…"


The words were swallowed by the inferno, just like his tears.


Too hot. Too hot…


There was a bubble. Within that bubble, scorn was spat, back and forth. Two sets of eyes furiously exchanging blame.



"Do you know what they'll say, Buttercup!?" one set of eyes shouted. "Do you realize how this makes me look!?"


"Look around you, Gaura!" the other set of eyes fumed in return. "How can you even say that right now!?"


The bubble was so far away. So, so far.



"I'll rebuild it!"


"You're missing the point!"


Why did he think going into that dungeon was a good idea?


A finger was pointed.



"This wouldn't have happened if-"


Teeth were barred.



"How can you blame anyone but yourself!? You're the one that put the idea in his head!"


It was his fault. All of it. His fault.



"I didn't tell him to do it!"


"Gaura. Look."


Eyes. Four eyes. Looking at him.



"..."


"Tell him that yourself. Take responsibility for the fire you started."


The eyes stared. Watching. Judging.



"Fine."


One left the bubble. Two eyes in a sea of flame.


Closer.


He cowered.


Closer.



"I-I'm…I'm sorry…"


Closer.


No words. Just eyes.


First enraged eyes. Then displeased eyes. Then regretful eyes.


And finally…hurt eyes. Lost eyes.


He was lifted into the air.


Red faded to black, black faded to white.



"Warriors don't cause problems like this."


(...)(...)(...)


(...)(...)


(...)​


-and froze.


More phrases flashed through Fenn's mind.


Warriors don't interrupt a mon during his leisure time.


Warriors only talk when spoken to.


Warriors. Don't. Cause. Problems.



A tundra froze Fenn to his spot. Warmth could not be further away.


A frozen wall of words prevented passage, keeping him from moving his paw any further.


Fenn was intending to cause problems, wasn't he? He was going to upset his father and ruin their relationship.


Fenn clenched his paw, gritted his teeth.


He trembled. Every one of his vents ignited like they had been doused in oil, numb as though ice coated every inch.


His paw wouldn't move.


No. No, no, no! NO!


Eyes clenched shut.


Not now! Not anymore!


Ice began to melt.


Get a grip! Open the darn door!


No longer was Fenn the whimpering Cyndaquil cowering in the ashes of his home. No longer would something so simple deter him. A wall of words could still fall.


Fenn was a warrior. And he could open a door with his own Arceus-forsaken paw.


Do it!


Click!


The door handle turned. Looking down, Fenn saw his paw wrapped around it. The words were gone.


He did it. He actually did it!


Ice turned to water, then to gas in a mere instant. In one swift motion, the door swung open.


Immediately, the sound of boisterous and rowdy laughter hit his ears.


The first sight directly ahead of the Quilava was the bar of the pub, and the disgruntled looking Poliwrath behind the counter. Glasses and mugs lined the wall behind them. Booths and other tables resided to the side, but that was of no importance to Fenn.


Fancy, polished wood formed the bar where four jolly fellows shared beaming smiles, snide quips, and clinked their mugs filled with foul-colored liquid, together. The rest of the pub was notably empty.


Fellows of which included an elderly maverick of a Manetric—a mon Fenn had outright avoided on multiple occasions. His bark sounded like the hoarse howl of something dying. A Rhyperior that looked to have had his body blown to smithereens, after which he survived the ordeal long enough to glue his body back together. Hundreds of cracks littered his surface. There was also a Hitmonchan with only one arm, stubbornly poking the air with his stump as though he had something to prove. The sheer, concentrated amount of egotism on the fighting type's face made Fenn cringe. And…a Typhlosion.


Fenn's father.


The four of them hadn't noticed Fenn yet. Each seated on wooden high-chairs of varying sizes, an air of unapproachable rowdiness surrounded them like a cloud. His father in particular ran his mouth and raised his voice above all of the others. With his wide frame and blazing collar of fire, the conversation seemed to continuously circle back to him.


"Ya hear about who won the last fight o'er in Lansat?" the Rhyperior drawled.


The Hitmonchan cackled, "'Course 'ah did! Woulda bet a whole leg on this one if 'ah could. Easiest win of my life!"


"Back in my day," the Manetric said, his voice scratchy, "the winner took home the head of the loser." He shook his head. "Not nearly as fun as it used to be."


Finally, the Typhlosion smirked and added, "With a loss like that ol' spindly legs may as well have lost his head! Ha!"


They all had a good laugh at that.


Meanwhile, Fenn awkwardly stood in the doorway with his paw still wrapped around the door handle. All of that momentum died. A cool draft buffeted the fur on his back, wiping away any trace of flame emanating from him, like a candle in the wind. All except for a few stray embers, riding the current…and eventually poking the Typhlosion at the bar.


Fenn's father was mid-joke when he turned his head towards the door. There, for the first time in a while, he caught sight of his kin. Their eyes met, and for a short moment, two strangers had met for the first time. Two weeks wasn't long in the grand scheme of things, but if the shared incredulity between them was any indication a lifetime had since passed for the two fire types. Both did a double take.


A lifetime that only lasted a second.


"FENRIR!" Fenn's father bellowed, his face contorting into infectious joy.


The Typhlosion that Fenn had known several months prior and the Typhlosion he saw now may as well have been decades apart in age. Way past his prime, he had long since lost a considerable amount of his muscle definition, and what was still there failed to overshadow the weight gained over the years. That dark blue fur of his was graying—lacking that sheen it was known for when Fenn was a kid. A fatter face and a slouch in his posture, too.


But the middle-aged mon's fire still burned bright. Obnoxiously so; looking for too long compelled Fenn to squint. With that dreadfully loud bellowing of his father's as well, Fenn's ears pressed against his head impulsively.


Dropping off of his chair, the Typhlosion held out his arms on both of his sides. "My boy! Come to see your old dad today of all days!"


Despite all of that preparation time, Fenn hadn't even considered where to begin. He knew that acting sheepish and beginning with a weak "hi" was downright pathetic for him, but…


That was exactly what he did.


Fenn put on a fake grin so large that his cheeks hurt. "H-hi…hi dad," he said. The paw he had used to hold open the door was held up in a wave. The door then shut itself on its own as Fenn dragged his feet into the pub proper.


Fenn's father abruptly swung around and lightly punched the Rhyperior next to him in the arm. He pointed at the Quilava while he spoke, pride shining through his teeth. "See, Bud, this kid is a real working mon making his way up the ladder to greatness. He's got his own team and everything. That's how you do it!"


Red hot embarrassment poked at Fenn's cheeks. He had barely said anything and expectations were already rising.


The Rhyperior lingered on Fenn, scowling as though Fenn had eaten his dinner, before scoffing at the Typhlosion next to him. "Ma boy don't need a castle job to be successful," the rock type grumbled.


A loud thunk resounded with the dropping of the Hitmonchan's gloved hand onto the counter. "Hey!" he badgered. "That castle ain't so special! Not with where it's been going…"


At the same time, the Manetric nodded. "My grandkids have been telling me that work's getting scarce over there lately. They better get their act together…" He scanned Fenn up and down out of the corner of his eye—possibly searching for an answer as to why that was the case through Fenn alone.


Regardless of whether or not he was being suspicious or accusatory with his looks, Fenn remembered exactly why this old mon was better left avoiding: none of what he said was based in reality. Work wasn't scarce at all; Fenn could prove that himself. That was just a lie to rile up those around him.


Clearly, the trio of negative responses left the Typhlosion flat-footed, if only briefly. His collar lost a bit of its luster, and his prideful grin faltered. It was a bad comment to make, what with how each of the older mon responded. So why did he say it?


Considering that Fenn's father bounced back with something else immediately after, it didn't seem to matter.


"Well…he's got it better than those flower boys up north, I'll tell you that!" his father laughed loudly from his belly.


The other three mons, despite previously holding skeptical stances, found that "joke" quite funny. Even the bartender let out a small chuckle.


Everyone laughed. Everyone but Fenn. Fenn had to hold back a dejected frown. Already, a pit was starting to form in his stomach. Especially after that last comment by his father…


The chances of leaving this pub without getting laughed at or chased out the door was beginning to look very grim.


Still laughing, glass cup in his paw, the Typhlosion left his spot by the bar to stand next to his son. Heavy footsteps shook the ground under Fenn—heavier than the Rhyperior, most likely. Now he knew for sure, his father hadn't gotten that much heavier. Even their home wouldn't shake this much.


No, his father stomped around intentionally. The other, older mons probably didn't notice the difference, but Fenn did. It was like…his father was making himself seem bigger than he really was. Louder, too.


Beer sloshed in his cup, half empty. "It's good to see you, Fenrir!" announced the living volcano, his hot, stinking breath reaching all the way down to Fenn's nose. "What brings you here? Tired of the festival? Ha! I would be too!" The smell of his breath became fouler, smokier upon uttering that last word.


Fenn scrunched up his snout as though he had just tasted something sour. The smell was one thing, but hearing his real- old name threw him off balance. It didn't matter how many other pokemon called Fenn "Fenn," or how often they would use it, his father never so much as entertained its existence. Not once. And Fenn knew that trying to convince his father would be like pushing a Bastiodon up a hill.


Looking up at his father now, Fenn found it hard not to think about it. After all, Fenn never even tried.


It was a part of him- no, it was him. He could still recall the faint hints of a scowl on his father's face whenever Fenn's name would be said aloud in his presence. How even a simple deviation was too much to ask for.


Too much was going on and Fenn had just walked in. He needed a way to organize his thoughts, take hold of the conversation. In the process of searching for a response to his father, Fenn glanced at the bar, and flinched. The three older mons watched on from afar, each set of eyes on the two fire types. Waiting, analyzing—a hair's width from pouncing on their prey. One wrong move and Fenn would be served judgment.


Was this really deserving of an audience…? Could they not take this outside, or something?


They had to. Otherwise Fenn would remain tongue tied, like he was at that moment. All three of those elderly pokemon set him on edge; it was perplexing how his father chose to associate with them when they clearly didn't care for him. It was so obvious.


Fenn glanced back up at his father, swallowing hard. "D-dad, I-"


"BLEH! Ptoo!" Seemingly out of nowhere the Hitmonchan spat his drink onto the floor. "What in Distortion did you put in this one, Acris?"


The Poliwrath put down a glass he had been cleaning and grumbled, "Blame the sludges in Slushland—I didn't brew it."


"Slushland!?" The fighting type looked to be in disbelief. "What are ya doin' getting your booze from there for?"


Acris, the Poliwrath, just crossed his arms. "I'll tell you when you pick up after yourself. If that booze sticks to the floorboards it's coming out of your tab."


While he gave the water type the stink eye, the Hitmonchan aggressively snatched up some napkins and got down to wiping the floor with them, grumbling obscenities under his breath all the way.


Neither of the other two old mons helped; in fact, they laughed at the Hitmonchan's misfortune. "Shoulda just brewed yer own beer if it tastes so bad," the Rhyperior commented.


Fenn's dad had been watching this unfold from a distance, and scoffed. "Brewing your own beer. Pfft!" He shot Fenn a wink out of the corner of his eye. "Warriors don't brew their own beer. Isn't that right, Fenrir?"


What?


Fenn blinked. Did he hear that right?


Warriors don't brew their own beer…? That wasn't what his father said when he tried to learn several years ago. Tried and failed. In fact, he said the opposite at the time. Brewing beer meant that a warrior could provide for himself. Yet it was a miracle that the house didn't burn down yet again because of his father's attempt.


Despite how he was being expected to joke about with his father, Fenn wasn't laughing. Quite the opposite, really. Not once did he anticipate that he would be left feeling bewildered and flabbergasted during a conversation like this.


There was…no way that it was always like this? No way. The rules of the warrior don't change.


Fenn's brows furrowed, his vents igniting from the gears turning in his head. Warriors don't brew their own beer? Yeah, apparently they don't. They don't keep flowers in the house, either. Nor do they cook.


And that wasn't because his father realized that flowers burn from the fire he starts. Or because it was easier for Fenn's mom to cook instead, since Fenn's father was always tired when he'd get home.


Was one of the rules of the warrior that the rules can change on a whim? If only Fenn had known that sooner!


His father waited expectantly for an answer that never came. He looked Fenn up and down, turned his head to the bar before swiftly turning back around, all within the span of a few tense seconds. It was possible that a hint of anger flashed in the Typhlosion's gaze, but neither he nor Fenn acknowledged it.


"So, what were you saying?" Fenn's father asked.


Oh, Fenn had plenty to say.


That was a good question, though. Fenn's ear flicked, and once again he was face-to-face with the Typhlosion that raised him. First, he was going to ask if they could take it outside. After all of that freezing dread was burned away by the seething flames of realization, Fenn had no issues with opening his mouth to unleash a torrent of searing words.


"I-I just-" But before Fenn could add more, he noticed something.


His father's eyes.


There wasn't any anger there; that was a mistake on Fenn's part. When his father was enraged, his eyes contracted and focused on a singular point. Usually on Fenn himself. But not here. They were large, wobbly, shifting every other second, constantly changing focus. Looking for something.


Like when his father first took him to Kebia, the Typhlosion's eyes were always shifting, searching. Like he was unsure of his next step. Even baby Fenn picked up on it.


Or at…Grandpa Aconite's funeral. That was what made it so confusing at the time—the look he gave Fenn. Yes, his father's voice was filled with rage, but his eyes certainly weren't. How was Fenn supposed to react to that with anything but fear?


And another time was when his father first showed him Figy Forest. There was determination there—pride, even. Perhaps if his eyes displayed any sort of confidence in his own words, Fenn wouldn't have been so terrified.


It was no different here. Quick glances past his father proved this even further. Those three old mons were watching like Mandibuzz circling around their next meal, waiting for sustenance. And the worst part was that his father obviously knew this. There was no way that he didn't.


Fenn could tell through his eyes.


Lost eyes. Begging eyes. Pleading eyes.


Always pleading.


Warriors don't keep flowers in their homes.


Warriors don't brew their own beer.


Warriors don't cry.


Warriors don't cause problems.


For dad. Warriors don't cause problems…for dad.


It's not worth it.


Vents cooling until dormant, that fake smile Fenn insisted on maintaining had long since disappeared from his face. He met his father's eyes with a simple, blank gaze and said, "N-nothing, actually. I…just came by to say hi."


Initially, Fenn's father appeared quite shocked. This was the second time that his son came home just to say hi since Fenn started his work at the castle, after all. But warriors don't show weakness, right? They never do.


But that wasn't true. It never was. Fenn's dad couldn't brew his own beer, Fenn couldn't go through with what he had planned today.


Both insisted on lying to themselves, even as tears threatened to breach Fenn's tear ducts.


His father recovered quickly. The dwindling collar of flames peeking out of his shoulders erupted to twice its size alongside a massive roar of laughter.


"HaHA! Well, it's good to see you, Fenrir!" The Typhlosion gestured to the bar behind him. "Since you're here, why don't we share a drink and catch up? You're old enough now, right?"


Fenn tentatively held up a paw. "N-no…no thanks," he uttered. "I-I need to get back to the castle- I still have things to do t-today." And before his father could react, Fenn looked elsewhere. He didn't need to see his father's eyes to know what they were like now.


"Ah…I see. Work is work. Maybe next time you're here we can find your favorite drink! Our flames burn twice as bright with alcohol—like true warriors!" That was followed up by a large, toothy grin.


Even after all of that, realizing that he was better off walking away, Fenn couldn't fight the dread. His vents were icy cold. A part of him desperately wanted to cling onto his original intentions to spill his thoughts out right there in the pub. A warrior has no fear—Fenn should have thrown caution to the wind and done it.


In the end, he did not.


Instead, Fenn shrugged his shoulders and said, "Maybe." A non-committal answer for a non-committal warrior.


And warriors always keep to their commitments.




Why did he do that?


Why did Fenn just walk away?


It made sense in the pub, but the further he walked away from said pub the more confused he became.


This couldn't be real…could it? Surely, it was all a fluke. All in his head. He didn't actually spend the past few months doubting his abilities as a pokemon, come home so he could get to the bottom of this, then leave without accomplishing anything…right?


No, of course not! Fenn was a warrior! All of this was just silly nonsense he made up. He was NOT worse off now.


He wasn't…


As the disgruntled Quilava retraced his steps, head hung all the way, back to the forest path he came in on, the most prominent lingering thought in his mind continuously shocked him after every step. He had to make several stops just to rectify with what he had just done.


What even is a warrior? Someday, Fenn would ask his father what that really meant. Not in actuality, but to him. What a warrior aside from Fenn's father legitimately looked like. For now, Fenn understood why he needed to be one.


And it was because, supposedly, Gaura wanted Fenn to be a warrior, just like him. That was what Fenn once assumed. But now he knew that it was the other way around.


In reality, Gaura actually wanted Fenn to be just like him, a warrior. Another Gaura. Another mon that clings to past glory—wearing a meaningless word like a mask of rotten skin. Both interpretations were true.


Only to Fenn, though.


The sun was still high in the sky. Peering down through the cracks of the falling leaves, painting the shadowed ground with pockmarks of thirsty, writhing weeds. He had walked past the entrance to Nanab, past the flower fields, and was half way back to Kebia already.


He was done.


The tears wouldn't stop.


What an idiot he was for thinking that he could so much as look his father in the eyes and tell him that he saw past all of the nonsense. How foolish of him to think that years and years of violence and rage prepared him for this one conversation.


All because he didn't want to upset his father, to let him down. If Fenn had the gall to speak his mind, he would have flourished.


But no. He was a coward. A liability. Anemone was right.


His body shook with sobs. Fire burst and sputtered from his back like the gasps of a dying geyser. His footwork suffered, his vision cloudy. One paw fell onto the dirt awkwardly, catching the other paw that came next like a tripwire.


He stumbled off the path, collapsing into a pile of fallen leaves, and from there laid on his side. Only wind accompanied this pitiful Quilava, brushing past his fur with impassive strides. His paws worthlessly paddled forward—doing nothing more than pushing more leaves around.


What a pointless failure of a pokemon. Couldn't even get his own logic right…


A warrior would have told his father the truth. A warrior has no fear. That was what his own father would have done. But Fenn wasn't his father. It made more sense to defy him…and also tell him—if he wasn't his father.


So he needed to do what a warrior would do…and what his father wouldn't do. Did that mean staying quiet, since that was the right thing to do, so his father wouldn't be embarrassed? Would his father have done the same for Fenn? But…Fenn never would have been in that situation in the first place! He wasn't his father!


"GAAAAH!"


In a fit of rage, Fenn batted at the pile of leaves, sending several into the air. A mere second later, they came floating back down, congealing into the pile once more. Nothing had been accomplished.


Fenn sniffed. "I-I…I'm not…not…"


…a warrior. Fenn wasn't a warrior. Not anymore. He never was. That was what he came to realize.


His father was a warrior. A warrior was his father.


Fenn wasn't his father.


Fenn wasn't a warrior.


None of it applied to him.


He was so cold that it hurt.


"N-no…no…"


He shook his head, distraught.


"No…"


It made sense, didn't it?


Both interpretations were true, that his father wanted him to be a warrior and him. But that was only because one existed solely in Fenn's mind. The code…the rules…


…And what were warriors not? What did they not do?


Warriors don't care for flowers. Warriors don't burn down forests. Warriors don't cause problems.


Warriors don't fall in love with other boys. Warriors don't cry.


Warriors were never afraid. Warriors weren't cowards.


It was staring him in the face the whole time. In the end, Fenn really was no different than his father-


A liar, skirting about the rules, and making up his own just so he wouldn't lose sight of the shimmering beauty ahead.


Fame, prestige, glory…


Maybe if he held onto that goal for just a little while longer…he could accomplish so much. Even his father grasped the magnificence of glory once before in his life…


But it would all be a lie.


Warriors don't lie, either. Even if he wasn't one anymore, a life formed from a lie was no life at all.


So, that was it. It was all over. All Fenn could do was sob, gripping crunched up leaves in his paws as though they'd grip him back. It was all for nothing. Nothing at all-


(...)


(...)(...)


(...)(...)(...)​


Kebia castle was in view. Barely eclipsed by the overgrown branches pointing to the sky, the meticulously crafted ramparts and spires that no one mon could hope to envision in their wildest dreams pierced the heavens. From this distance the giant structure seemed horrendously impossible to scale. Unfathomable, even. Nineteen years was not nearly enough time to comprehend what it represented. The history and craftsmanship behind it was hardly written in Fenn's repertoire of inner knowledge.


Two months prior Fenn had become so overwhelmed that he slept in his little cot every night with a blanket over his head. The way hallways coiled around, endlessly stacking on top of each other, housing thousands of pokemon…


To think that he was expected to learn it inside and out. He had no mind for such a thing. And for that matter,
no mind was capable of that. Especially not Fenn—the dull-minded, hotheaded rookie from the tourist trap town past the trees.


Two months later, he still lacked the mind. Mistakes were so often made that he expected Aster, his Banette boss, to pop up at every given opportunity to scold him. Fenn did the work without complaints, and eventually the floors were cleaned. That was all that was expected of him, sure. It wasn't what he wanted, but there were no alternatives.


Until he came along.


There was satisfaction in the Dewott's stride. Confidence? Maybe not. A confident mon would walk in a straight path, crushing leaves under their paws, uncaring for their feelings. Leaves can't feel, but judging by his reluctance to interrupt their puny little lives Oswald thought the opposite.


It was his posture, really. Straight and upright, yet loose. The way his arms were slung akimbo at his waist as though they weren't even there, bobbing up and down with every step. His tail…


Fenn was almost grateful that he'd never grow one of his own. If it was anything like Oswald's flailing flag of gleefullness, then a cape would make for a proper investment.


Something was just so odd about him. His name, his eye color, the way he laughed, the apparent lack of any memories. Even now, after the two agreed to form a team together, Fenn just kept observing him. Scrutinizing him with an affixed gaze. Waiting for the Dewott to crack, in some way.


That lavender Fenn picked earlier rested in his paw heavier than a box of bricks. Looking at it made him feel dirty. Perverted.


He didn't earn this. Some half-dead water type walked right out of the grave and handed it to Fenn with a weirdly thoughtful smile. They didn't know each other; this was the first time in a long time anyone had bothered to care for Fenn in this way.


None of it made any sense. Why now? As he tried to wrack his brain for solutions, though, his brainstorming didn't go unnoticed.


Oswald looked over his shoulder with that same satisfaction on his face that had permeated throughout the whole walk.



"Something the matter, Fenn?"


It didn't surprise Fenn that Oswald noticed the shift in demeanor. If anything, he was hoping for it.



"U-um…sort of," Fenn muttered.


A leaf finally crunched under Oswald's foot once he came to a full stop. His first reaction was to glance around in an attempt to find the context. "Ooookay," Oswald said questioningly. "What's up?"


The dungeon from earlier had ripped most of Fenn's burning questions straight out of his throat. What remained was a dangling thread that only Oswald could really answer.


Fenn stood on two paws and rubbed the arm holding the lavender. "I-I was just wondering…why me?"


Oswald tilted his head. "What do you mean?"


Heat rose to Fenn's ears, inciting a flick or two. Having to explain this shot a dart straight at his pride. He mumbled, "Why did you…choose me? A-and not some other mon? I don't…I don't get it."


With his paw on his chin, Oswald thought for a moment. And another moment. However, after all of that thinking all he was able to produce was a benign shrug. "Why not?" he wondered.


Why not!? That didn't answer anything! Fenn sputtered, "W-w-wha- no, that makes no sense!"



"I don't really see why it has to." Oswald crossed his arms and gave Fenn a smile befitting so much satisfaction. "It doesn't have to make sense. It's just you, Fenn. And I'm fine with that."


That still made no sense! But…for some reason those words Oswald uttered leaped past Fenn's fur and landed straight on his heart. At first, he was confused, maybe even angry. But after a certain point he had to ask himself the very same question.


How much did it really matter? Things were as they were and…yeah. Fenn was fine with that, as well. This was what he wanted. If Oswald could provide that for him…why would he complain?


Although the annoyed sigh made Fenn out to be more upset than he really was, he stopped rubbing his arm. "W-well…okay," he said. "I'm glad you picked me."


Oswald's smile grew. "So am I."



(...)(...)(...)


(...)(...)


(...)​


It's just me…


There was something left. Fenn was no warrior, that was not up for discussion anymore. But after all of the layers of strict ruling and agonizing pain melted away, all that was left was…Fenn.


Not Fenrir, the Cyndaquil that lost his innocence much too early. Nor the Fenrir that could burn anything he touched with fire brighter than the sun. Heck, not even the Fenn that grandpa Aconite loved was alive anymore.


All that remained was a sobbing Quilava in a pile of leaves—with a heart full of so many holes that it never stopped bleeding.


But it kept beating, didn't it? Because this Fenn had a team now. Three friends that were likely waiting for him to return. Fenn raised his head, and sure enough, the castle loomed in the distance. It was still there, nineteen years later.


So was Fenn, nineteen years later. There was still something there.


What now?


He could return to the castle, of course. Back to Oswald and the inevitable conversation that would follow. Back to Cosmo and his goofy antics. Back to Finch and his wisdom beyond his years. But then what? What would Fenn do next?


Admittedly…he didn't know. The word "warrior" lost its meaning today. As triumphant as that might have been, the word "Fenn" was still undefined.


He needed time to think.


Fenn laid his head back down, wasting no time in allowing the tears to fall like rain. He would cry quite a bit. But that was okay.


There was nothing saying he couldn't do that anymore.


Fenn could cry all he wanted.

FennArtFight.png

Art by one of my betas, Timelocke
 
Chapter 40 - Day 15: Meat

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 40: Day 15 - Meat

Good morning, Cosmo!

Wake up, wake up! Another day, another adventure to be had!

Bubbly bubbles bobbed like bouncy balls from a tiny mouth and fizzy froth faded to a sea of purple. Watery, wobbly waves warped the world—and then he blinked.

He was comfy—oh so comfy. The fabric felt good on his bubble. So good! The tiny vibrations rhythmically rocking his shell, too! Good!

And the warmth! Oooh, Cosmo did not want to move! But he had to! His current was churning, revving up. The world was turning around and around…

What would he start with today, he wondered?

'Bazang! Cosmo has awoken!'

…No, he was certain he had done that before.

How about 'Never fear, Cosmo is here!'

…No, that was not unique.

'Huzzah…?' No…

Well, this was a predicament. How was he supposed to greet the day without a catchphrase?

Oh? The tiny vibrations returned. Those funny little tickles. Those lovely rumbles.

Rolllllllling around inside his bubble, Cosmo sought out the source of the rumbles.

Oh! It was Fenn, snoring softly with Cosmo's bubble in his arms. Now he remembered.

Hopefully Fenn was not sad anymore. Cosmo did not like it when Fenn was sad. That was why he snuggled up real close. Fenn liked snuggles. If only he had big strong arms to hug back with…

But Fenn was sleeping! And Cosmo did not want to wake Fenn up when he was sleeping. That meant…Cosmo was trapped! Warm and stuffy in a belt of fluffy arms.

He had to escape! Cheeks puffed with power, Cosmo squeezed through the cracks, bursting through with an inaudible pop.

Roll and roll did the world go. Jelly sloshed Cosmo to and fro, but his power was too great! He had to shut his eyes to contain it!

Eventually, the world stood still. Cosmo, however, was upside down. Blink blink—his eyes were open.

Hurray! Fenn was still asleep! Success! Also he was on the ceiling, but that happened sometimes.

More importantly, though, Cosmo was free! He unleashed the power in his cheeks as his body floated upright.

Now he could greet the day. But Fenn was still asleep, was he not? Announcing it would be a bit too loud. Hmm, Cosmo did not think this one through.

No matter! If he could not greet the day with his words, he would do so with his eyes. The window was right there, after all. Just across the room.

Now if only Cosmo could get to it without doing much. He was feeling lazy today, and even using the slightest bit of psychic power was too much effort.

He pouted. Harumph! Predicament after predicament today, hm?

Being a superhero was so tiring. All he wanted to do was stay inside and be lazy…but villains do not take vacations! What was he supposed to do?

Cosmo looked around for ideas. The other two pokemon in the room, Ozzy and uncle Finch, were also fast asleep. That left Cosmo all alone. Except…

Juanfinsimo!

Promptly forgetting about his own laziness for a moment, Cosmo gripped the plush Finizen telekinetically from the other side of the bed. With a whoosh and a bam, Juanfinsimo made his entrance.

And what an entrance it was! The sheer immensity of his power was enough to send Cosmo rolling back! Whoa!

Once he stopped, Cosmo's eyes sparkled from the magnificence on display; no other partner of justice could compare. Not even uncle Finch or Fenn!

"Juanfinsimo!" Cosmo whispered excitedly, bouncing closer. "You look so cool today!"

Juanfinsimo, stoically and with heroic humbleness, said nothing.

"So cool…" Cosmo secretly hoped that one day he would shine in the morning sun the same way Juanfinsimo did. But on the outside they were still partners. Equals. Although he never said it, Cosmo knew deep down that Juanfinsimo felt the same, and envied Cosmo in his own ways.

Since Juanfinsimo could not float the same way Cosmo could, the Solosis tapped into his power and granted some of it to the plushie fellow. "Come, Juanfinsimo!" Cosmo declared strongly but also quietly so no one would be woken up. "Cosmo and Juanfinsimo must be on the lookout for trouble!"

Juanfinsimo did not argue. In fact, it could be said that he was so focused on the task at hand that he did not express his agreement either. Cosmo, however, knew that Juanfinsimo was always up to the challenge.

And so they went, soaring across the room while doing the occasional spin and singing their theme song for the extra awesome factor, until they reached the windowsill. But uh oh! Juanfinsimo was coming in too fast! He was going to crash!

"Juanfinsimo! Noooo!"

WeeeeaaaarrrrBWOOOSH!

Crash! Juanfinsimo landed on his side next to the flowerpot with such intensity that he was stunned silent. Dust was kicked up in his wake, and the world was never the same.

Frantically, Cosmo rushed to his side. He very quietly wailed in sorrow. "Nooooo! How could Cosmo allow this to happen!"

What a tragedy. What a horrible miscalculation Cosmo had made. Oh, how could he ever live this down?

Cosmo was close to mourning when- he gasped! Juanfinsimo was pulling himself upright! He was alive!

It was a miracle!

"You survived, Juanfinsimo!?" Cosmo exclaimed in a tiny voice.

As if there was any doubt. Juanfinsimo sat proudly on the windowsill with his signature blank look and let his stature do the talking.

Shame on Cosmo for believing that a simple fall could stop the second greatest superhero in Kebia. "Cosmo is sorry for doubting you, Juanfinsimo," he said solemnly.

Forgiveness was hard to come by. But Juanfinsimo, good friend that he was, did not judge Cosmo for his mistake. Instead, he simply waited so the two of them could face the world together.

And finally, Cosmo was able to greet the day properly. Down below, trouble was brewing. Fog snuck in around every corner; Cosmo would have to go on a hunt. Get ready, Kebia! Here comes-

"Mm, what are you doing up so early, C-Cosmo?"

Oop- nevermind.

The friendly yet groggy voice of Fenn shattered the scene Cosmo had been envisioning, and the foggy, winding streets below faded to pleasant sunshine. Within an awkward instant, Cosmo had spun on his bubble and was sporting a guilty midair sag.

"Um…" the Solosis muttered, "Cosmo was just about to make sure there are no villains causing trouble."

Juanfinsimo would have confirmed this, had that very same sunshine not been blinding him at that moment.

Fenn was in the middle of rubbing his eyes with the back of his paw when he smiled. "D-did…did you see any?" he asked.

Cosmo needed to double check. Sometimes the sneaky ones escaped right under his bubble. Thankfully, after taking one quick glance out the window, Cosmo beamed. "Nope! All clear!"

Fenn giggled! The sound was like music to Cosmo's ears. Cosmo was happy that Fenn was happy.

"That's good," Fenn said softly. "W-what are you up to now?"

What else? Cosmo was-

Oh, wait. What was Cosmo going to do now? Without any trouble in sight, all he could do was wait. But that was no fun. He pursed his lips in thought, the little Klinks in his brain turning ever so slowly.

"Um…" he said, "Cosmo was going to, um…uh…oh!" He looked to his friend on the windowsill for ideas. "Juanfinsimo always knows what to do when it gets boring! Well, Cosmo's second-in-command?"

Silence prevailed as both Cosmo and Fenn watched the plush Finzien expectedly. Clearly, the blue hero was spending lots of time thinking, as well. Perhaps the pressure got to him, though, as several seconds passed and he could not produce an answer.

Cosmo whined before turning back to Fenn. "Even Juanfinsimo has no idea what to do!" he cried. "We are doomed!"

Fenn did not even blink. Like with most grown ups Cosmo talked to, the Quilava's voice took on this harmonious quality that caused the horn on Cosmo's head to vibrate with joy.

"O-oh, Cosmo," said Fenn, "it's okay. We can figure something out." Padding closer to the window, Fenn took a quick sniff of the lavender in the flowerpot. "D-do you have a favorite flower, Cosmo?"

"Cactus!" the Solosis replied cheerfully.

Fenn raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth like he was about to chew on a snack, but closed it before biting down on nothing.

A closed mouth meant that there was no talking to be had, so Cosmo took that as a sign to continue.

"They are green!" Cosmo said. "Like Cosmo!"

Usually like Cosmo. Nowadays he was a bright purple, like the scarves on his friends. Did that mean he had to find a new favorite?

No, evidently. He added, "Cactus's's also hold water inside them. Like Cosmo!"

One of the most important lessons he had ever learned was that you can like things for more than one reason. Cosmo liked Ozzy for being so nice to Cosmo and for how funny he was. Cosmo liked Fenn because he was warm and really strong!

Yet again, Fenn opened his mouth like he was about to chew, but this time some words actually came out. He mumbled, "B-but…those are not…h-how did you…?"

Fenn shook his head, his smile growing in size. "You know what? Th-that's a good choice, Cosmo."

Yippee! Cosmo spun in midair and struck the best of poses. Such as Lean to The Left and Prideful Wiggle.

"Of course it is a good choice," Cosmo stated. "Cosmo only makes the most heroic of choices!"

As Cosmo spoke, Fenn giggled to himself and leaned his arms on the windowsill between the flowerpot and Juanfinsimo—who did not seem to mind. It did not take long for Cosmo to notice that Fenn had gone quiet.

Fenn was often quiet, and this was something Cosmo had come to accept, or even enjoy. Ozzy and uncle Finch were fun all around, but Fenn was like a comfy blanket Cosmo could wear in any way he wanted. A blanket to sleep in, a blanket to tell stories under, a blanket to feel protected in. Though if Cosmo was asked to explain any of this he would simply say that Fenn never made Cosmo feel dumb for wanting to talk.

And really, that was all Cosmo wanted.

If it could be believed, Juanfinsimo was even quieter. Though Cosmo sometimes wished that was not the case.

That said, what Cosmo noticed about Fenn caused him to also go quiet.

Fenn was sad.

But why? Why was that?

The Solosis floated down timidly, situating himself right above Fenn's right ear. It flicked at his presence, but that was it. Fenn was about as still as the plush near his arm.

Cosmo found that fact rather worrying.

"Fenn? Why are you so sad?" Cosmo wondered in such a tiny voice that he was not even sure if it had come out, until Fenn responded.

A sigh creeped out from the Quilava's lips. "I-I'm not…" he started, then paused. His ears dropped lower and lower with every passing moment of silence. "I'm…s-sorry, Cosmo." Another sigh. "I just have…a lot on my mind, th-that's all."

Despite his reluctance, Cosmo frowned. Why did grown ups talk like this? Cosmo asked a simple question, after which he was unsure if he received an answer or not. That sort of thing just kept happening.

Fenn…still looked sad. Was he not sad and Cosmo was just interpreting it wrong? Or was he sad because of what was on his mind?

Even worse still, Cosmo was afraid to ask for clarification. What if that made Fenn mad? That would be even worse.

It was in times like this where Cosmo was glad that he had Juanfinsimo to rely on. He floated down until he was right next to the plush, then whispered, "We have to do something, Juanfinsimo! Quick, let's go find some pancakes for Fenn!"

Why did his mind go right to pancakes?

Why not?

"I-I'm not-" Fenn started to say. But he stopped himself, shook his head, and laughed. "You're so silly, Cosmo."

"Cosmo is not silly," the Solosis retorted with a pout. "Pancakes are serious hero food."

Ah! Then there was a mysterious fourth voice from behind them. "I prefer waffles."

Cosmo spun around and gasped. Oswald was awake! With fur that made him look like he was licked by thirty Meowths! But he was awake!

Quickly, and without a second to waste, Cosmo propelled himself towards the Dewott. He bounced and bounced and bounced in an orbit around Oswald, finally allowing himself to be as loud and cheerful as he wanted.

"Yay yay yay! Ozzy Ozzy Ozzy!"

Something akin to a scoff sounded out from Oswald. "Please let me wake up some more before you start making my ears ring, Cosmo," he groaned, waving his paw limply.

Although it pained him to do so, Cosmo complied. He crumpled like a candy wrapper and uttered a faint "sorry."

Thankfully, Oswald was not that upset. Undoubtedly he was the scariest when things were not going well for him, even if he was the weakest of the four of them. Everytime Oswald yelled Cosmo could feel his stomach retreating to another plane of existence.

Oswald's groggy remark was followed up by a long, drawn out yawn and stretching his arms above his head. "Ahh- what are you up to today, buddy?" Oswald asked. "Hero things…?" He yawned again.

Cosmo beamed, "Protecting the innocent!" Although it seemed things had gone quiet this morning. "But the villains are all in hiding!"

For reasons Cosmo did not understand, Oswald chuckled at that. The Solosis could hardly contain his disgust. This was serious business—not a laughing matter!

"Ha, well, try to be on the lookout for a new villain I just picked up." Oswald pointed down at the floorboards. "He likes to hide under my feet; he's pretty shy."

"What!?" Cosmo gaped. A shy villain? Cosmo's horn twinged with thought. How could that be? Was it possible that all of those evildoers—the bane of Cosmo's existence—were simply…shy? He could hardly believe it.

He had to test this theory. As Oswald padded past him, Cosmo dipped down to the floor and peered into the itsy bitsy little cracks in between.

First he closed one eye, then switched to the other. Then back again. Disappointment led to frustration when all he could see was darkness, no matter how much he strained himself. Not even a hint of a single eye glaring back at him.

That was no fun.

Eventually, he gave up. He returned to his spot in the air with the intent to admonish Oswald for tricking him. But Cosmo did not float very far before he screeched to a halt so quickly that he face-planted against his own bubble. "Ouch!"

As he shook the daze away, Cosmo was shocked to find that Fenn was not only still in the room, he had not moved. He had not made any noise, either, let alone turn around to greet his best friend. Which was how Cosmo had managed to forget he was even there.

Oswald had since walked past Cosmo and stopped just a few steps away from the Quilava with his paw outstretched. Unlike right before, the Dewott was not cracking jokes to get Fenn's attention.

As if that was not confusing enough, Fenn did turn around a few moments later, but it was so slow and uncertain. And Oswald- he kept his distance.

And then when they said 'hi' they did not sound very excited at all!

"...Hey."

"H…h-hey."

None of it made any sense. Grown ups were so…stupid! Oswald and Fenn clearly liked each other! They should hug! Why were they not hugging?

Cosmo wanted them to hug…

The two of them continued to talk quietly, to the extent that Cosmo had no choice but to float closer if he wanted to listen. Juanfinsimo was still resting on the windowsill, so Cosmo took the opportunity to share a spot with him.

"How are you-…did you…sleep well?" Oswald asked. His arm was still extended out in front of him.

"Um…" Fenn looked down at his toes. "N- I…y-yeah, it was fine."

Oswald pressed his lips together and nodded his head. "That's good," he said, though Cosmo thought that he did not sound convinced.

Cosmo lowered his voice to a whisper so only the plush next to him could hear him. "I do not understand, Juanfinsimo. Grown ups are so weird!"

There was no question that Juanfinsimo had an answer to this quandary. Out of all of the mons in that room, he was the smartest by a long shot. But that was the thing about smart mons: rarely did they ever share their wisdom. If Juanfinsimo did, all of their problems would be solved.

If anything, hearing Juanfinsimo speak meant that there was a problem even he could not fix. He spared Cosmo this time, thankfully.

Slowly, Oswald's arm returned to his side. The fur on his shoulders pricked up like an Elekid had just grazed past him. "So, um…" the Dewott started, rubbing the back of his head, "how about those waffles?"

If it were Cosmo in Fenn's paws, he would have been zooming around the room at the prospect of breakfast. Heck, he was thinking about doing it anyways (even if waffles STINKED).

Fenn chuckled just a little bit, which to Cosmo was a suitable reaction. "I…I haven't had waffles in a while…" he muttered.

Cosmo could not help himself. This slander had gone on for too long! He peeked out from behind Juanfinsimo's fins and whispered, "Pancakes are better!"

Whatever Oswald had planned on saying melted away like an ice cream cone on a hot, summer day. In fact, the fur on his shoulders must have melted, too; he looked a lot less mangy all of a sudden. "You're the deciding factor here, Fenn," he said with a smile. "Pancakes or waffles?"

Was…Oswald trying to turn them against each other? How…devious! Cosmo whispered even louder, "Pancakes! Pancakes pancakes!"

Fenn looked between Oswald and Cosmo, obviously torn on doing the right thing. It was good, then, that every time he glanced at Cosmo there was a moment where the Solosis could lead him down the right path.

"Syrup tastes better on pancakes!" Cosmo reminded him. "Belieeeeeve in Cosmo!"

At the same time, Oswald retorted with his own logic, which was not sound in the slightest. "He doesn't know what he's talking about," Oswald retorted. "You gonna listen to that pipsqueak, Fenn?"

"Belieeeeeeeeeeeeeeve!"

It took a moment, but to Cosmo's relief, Fenn's gaze landed on Oswald, a slight smile on his face. "I-I'm sorry, Oswald. Pancakes are better."

Oswald gasped dramatically, grabbing Fenn by the shoulders and shaking him lightly. "How dare you! My best and most wonderful friend—betrayal! How could you side with him?" He pointed an accusatory finger at the one and only Cosmo.

"Your reign is over!" Cosmo declared confidently. "Pancakes rule, waffles drool!"

"Nooooo!" Oswald gripped the sides of his head in despair.

The small giggle Fenn previously produced became a full-on laugh. The sadness from earlier had not just disappeared—it had run off! Never to be seen again!

"Ah…y-you two…" Fenn said wistfully.

Fat with the spoils of victory (or perhaps that was just his bubble being extra fizzy today), Cosmo took a jaunt over to Fenn with Juanfinsimo in tow.

"Heroes always win," Cosmo said smugly. "The best heroes eat pancakes, too. Right, Juanfinsimo?"

No response. The plush might have been keeping it in right then, but when they would get to breakfast later there was going to be syrup all over his face, Cosmo knew it.

Oswald had since recovered from his loss and was currently whispering to Fenn. Something about the festival? Cosmo heard something like…doll-fin? Then Fenn whispered something back, after which Oswald appeared shocked.

Really shocked, even. World-endingly so. Fenn found it pretty funny, though.

Now Cosmo wanted to know. Were they talking about him? Juanfinsimo? They better not be. With a grumpy frown, he said, "Hey! What's so funny?"

But they never told him. Before either Fenn or Oswald could open their mouths another mon made themselves known.

"They're gonna eat waffles behind your back, Cosmo. Better look out."

Cosmo gasped yet again. "Uncle Finch!" Cosmo's bubble radiated with psychic power as he bolted across the room, halting right before the croc's snout. "Woo!" Excitedly, he bounced a circle around Finch's head. "We will be unstoppable now!"

The croc in question put his claws on his hips and angled his snout upward out of pride. "That's right," he affirmed, "your favorite funkle is awake." The next part he grumbled under his breath. "Not like I had much of a choice."

Uncle Finch was so cool. He once told Cosmo that he escaped a rooftop chase with an injured leg and solved a burglary mystery on only three hours of sleep. Not to mention that he sounded the part of a skilled vigilante. All that was missing was the superhero alias, and maybe then Cosmo could invite the Krokorok to fight crime with him.

Meanwhile, Oswald and Fenn made their ways over. Unlike Cosmo, they were often upset with how Uncle Finch liked to live so dangerously. Another thing Finch told Cosmo once was that Oswald in particular had 'a stick up his butt.'

Cosmo checked and there was no stick, so he was not sure what that meant. It must have been removed.

Oswald did not seem upset today, at least. He crossed his arms like usual, but he was still smiling. "Morning, sleeping beauty," he said. "Hope we didn't wake you."

A grunt erupted from the croc's rumbly throat. "Eh, I needed to get up early today anyways." He scratched his chin. "Hope you don't mind; no breakfast for me. I'll eat on the road."

"You're leaving already?"

Wait, leaving?

Cosmo screeched to a halt, the liquids inside his bubble sloshing around vehemently. Uncle Finch was actually leaving? Cosmo thought that he was talking about something else yesterday or…

Well, if Cosmo was being honest, he was hardly paying attention at the time. Juanfinsimo had demanded his attention too much. But still! The Solosis stared at Finch, mouth agape.

And he was not the only one. Fenn flinched. "F-Finch, you're leaving?"

"Yeah," Finch confirmed. "Assumed Ozzy woulda told ya. It's gonna be a few days, at least. Already lost a lot of time waiting for you, hot stuff."

In response to that, Fenn looked down at the floor. "Oh…"

Oswald looked between Finch and Fenn all while frowning. "I didn't get around to it," he said, then shrugged. "Well, try not to get robbed while you're out in the world."

Uncle Finch…narrowed his eyes? What was so suspicious about what Oswald just said? Even weirder, he chuckled a moment later. "Me, robbed? That's the funniest joke you've ever told, Ozzy."

"Even funnier that I've already seen it happen. They never paid us for that hat, did they?"

"That-" Finch pointed a finger, though a smirk had curled onto his snout, "-didn't count. You get robbed here every day and you don't even notice it."

Oswald blew a nonchalant raspberry.

Cosmo giggled. None of what they were saying made much sense, but Cosmo still found it funny.

The giggling did not stop once Finch leaned over and whispered something to Cosmo. "Ozzy's just sour that he's been sent to time out."

Imagining Oswald all grumpy and sitting in the corner was so funny that Cosmo had to puff out his cheeks to contain his laughter.

"Alright, alright," Oswald said, rolling his eyes. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Uncle Finch slung a bag full of his stuff over his shoulder. "Why, you gonna be the one to close it?" Finch replied. But as he turned, he suddenly snapped his fingers. "Actually, I gotta talk to you about something privately, Ozzy. Meet me in the hallway."

"Oh? Uh, sure, I guess."

After shooting a wave towards Fenn that the fire type quietly returned, Finch faced Cosmo and smirked. "Gonna be able to hold down the fort while I'm gone, Cosmo?"

Admittedly, Cosmo was not certain. With Juanfinsimo at his side, anything was possible. But the villains and their criminal ways were the least of his concerns. Who would he play Bolt Break with while Finch was gone? What about Fenn and Oswald? Were they still sad?

It was so much…Cosmo fought away the tears. No! He had to be strong!

Cosmo gave Finch the best nod he could manage. "Cosmo will not fail you," he said, determined. "He will protect! He will fight!"

Uncle Finch snapped his fingers at him. "That's what I like to hear! I'll catch you later!" Once more he shot Oswald a glance, then walked out of the room.

And then it was just the three of them and Juanfinsimo. The latter of which was probably just as sad to see Finch go as Cosmo. But just the same, he fought the tears bravely.

It was Oswald who broke the silence first. He let out a long sigh. "Looks like I better go talk to him."

Cosmo turned just in time to see Oswald resting a paw on Fenn's shoulder. "I'll be right back," he muttered.

Fenn, who was now rubbing his arm, looked up at Oswald tentatively. "U-um…sure."

After what felt like a century to Cosmo, Oswald and Fenn broke eye contact. Still, he had to wonder, why would they not hug?

Oswald walked towards the door, but not before stopping beside Cosmo. He lowered his voice. "Hey, Cosmo. Do me a favor and keep Fenn company. Cheer him up."

New Objective Acquired: Cheer Up Fenn

The Solosis locked up. The horn atop his head vibrated to the point of making his head hurt. All of the liquids in his bubble froze to a slush, and melted again in the span of a microsecond.

His eyes jolted to Fenn—the source of his new objective. Cheer him up? The liquids within his mind churned at the possibilities. Yes, he could do that. It was possible. But first he needed to examine Fenn's mental state and formulate a plan based on that information.

But for now, a smile would be sufficient. That, alongside a cheery "Okay!" would be enough to provide the objective giver with enough awareness.

The objective giver—Oswald—smiled in return, a sign that the objective had been accepted. "Great," he said. "I'll be back."

And with that, Oswald left the room.

Now, where was Fenn?

Fenn was seemingly in a trance, still near the window. The Quilava had his bright, red eyes—now seemingly dull—glued to the floor while he dragged himself back to the bed. His shoulders were slumped, his ears drooped.

A poor start.

The Solosis floated over, slow and gentle. "Fenn?" he whispered.

No response. Fenn had since curled up on the bed. Was he even listening?

The question was repeated. "Fenn?"

There was a light grumbling this time. He was listening, however minimally.

Floating closer, another tactic was attempted. "Are you okay, Fenn?" was asked.

"I'm just…t-tired," muttered Fenn.

Perhaps he was, but the objective was to cheer him up, not help him sleep.

Another tactic: provide warmth. Warmth was guaranteed to generate comfort. Comfort led to happiness. Therefore, Fenn would benefit from warmth.

The Solosis floated even closer, until he was next to Fenn's arms. He squeezed in between them, to which Fenn reflexively wrapped his arms around the bubble. Nothing was said; the gesture should have been enough.

Fenn held on tight, treating the bubble like a soft pillow. While he did not smile, the closing of his eyes indicated that he felt immense comfort. "Th-thank you, Cosmo…" he whispered dreamily.

Objective Complete: Cheer Up Fenn

Cosmo squished up against Fenn's chest, once again allowing those lovely rumbles to rock him back to sleep. Out of one half-lidded eye, he saw Juanfinsimo overlooking the room from the window. Cosmo smiled.

The day was saved, Juanfinsimo was keeping watch, Cosmo was content.

Sometimes even the strongest of heroes needed rest.


Oo-oO​

I need a solution to this.

Something was still wrong with Fenn, I could tell. Was he upset with me? Yeah, I knew he said that he was "fine," but so was I! Fine and hating everything! Two things could be true at the same time.

He'll tell me eventually, right? I thought. A couple of nights ago we had that talk about trust and all that. Give it another day and he'll tell me all about it.

But what if he just…didn't?

My whiskers twitched like mad as I stepped into the hallway, taking extra care to quietly close the door behind me. Finch was standing near the wall a few doors down with his arms crossed. Almost as though he made an effort to leave but stopped himself halfway.

I had a hope that this would be quick and I could search through my options today. Might've made my impatience a bit too obvious, though; my paws kept gravitating to the scalchops on my hip like I was going to start slashing. But Finch never acknowledged it.

"What's up?" I said.

Finch gave me a brief grin and opened his mouth to speak. "First of all-" then he nodded, "-good morning."

A frown reflexively flopped onto my face, but I promptly nodded it off in return to Finch.. I wanted to make an effort not to constantly give him the stink eye after last night. As much as we still had our hang-ups about each other, the Krokorok was trying. I should do the same.

"Uh yeah. Good morning," I replied.

"Sleep well?" Finch asked.

"Sure."

"Have any dreams?"

"No…?"

"Well, I did. Lotta Budew. Some clouds. A few faces I remember seeing-"

"Finch, you pulled me outside to tell me about your dreams?"

He scoffed before lightly pushing my shoulder. "Oh, lighten up, Ozzy."

Okay, nevermind, he was definitely messing with me.

"What, is that not all you wanted to tell me?" I questioned, rubbing my shoulder.

"Could be." I couldn't tell if he was being serious or not.

"Well? Is it?"

The look he gave me was some sort of mixture of incredulity and impatience. "Yes," he said in a manner so matter-of-factly that it caught me off-guard. "I wanted to talk to you in private because I had something to talk about."

By this point I was actively frowning. "And? Are you going to tell me what that is…?"

"Do you have someplace to be, Ozzy?"

What?

I raised an eyebrow at Finch. "Don't you? You're the one leaving, not me."

Finch was frowning now, too. "And I wanted to say goodbye to a friend I made during my time here," he grumbled. "I just wanted to have a bit of small talk beforehand without being interrupted, that's all. Is that so wrong?"

How did we even get here? I made the motion of a shrug, but it may as well have been me throwing my arms up in frustration. "It is when you make a big deal out of it," I retorted.

"I'm not making a big deal out of it," Finch said. "You are."

"What are you even trying to say, Finch?"

"All I wanted-" Finch pointed a finger directly at me, "-was to talk in private. You assumed that it was going to be some big secret, am I wrong?"

"You're making assumptions."

"Am I wrong, though?"

This time I actually did throw up my arms. "No, I guess not!" I exclaimed. "Excuse me for assuming that a guy like you would talk about anything but secrets and rumors! Sor-ry!"

Was he trying to make a point or something? From my perspective Finch decided to start an argument before he left for no reason.

Finch finally let out a sigh and leaned up against the wall, his tail swaying idly behind him.

My arms returned to my side and the two of us stood there in silence for a moment. That was, until Finch broke that silence.

"You know, I really did want to just talk," he said, exasperated. "I figured, 'hey, we're close enough,' so I didn't come right out with it. But it didn't work like how I wanted it to. Sorry, I screwed up. I didn't mean to come off on the wrong foot."

I opened my mouth to retort, but the words died in my throat before any escaped. For a second there, I genuinely believed that what Finch just said was a joke or some kind of gotcha.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I sighed, pushing my palm into my forehead, cursing my stupidity.

I could hardly blame myself, though. I had been manipulated and trapped in a castle of my own mistakes by a queen that hated my guts, lied to by a ghost, stalked by another ghost, beaten up by a turtle with daddy issues, and somewhere out there some evil bastard wanted my head for a reason I wasn't aware of. But the scheming, sketchy croc that I invited to join me on a whim would be the one to break this maddening trend?

Yeah, I had a hard time getting the words out. A nagging worm at the back of my brain was telling me to spit in this guy's face. Who could blame me?

It was only when I could bring myself to speak that I realized just how harshly my assumptions had painted my view of Finch. What did he even do to me in comparison to the other problems in my life? Make an effort to help me?

Through gritted teeth, I muttered, "No, I'm sorry. It's just…"

And here comes the shame.

"I'm having…a hard time. In between trying to be there for Fenn and- everything else going on…I guess…I didn't think I had the luxury of trusting someone. Sorry…"

My gaze fell to the floor. The honest truth that I couldn't deny was that I still thought that letting my guard down here would bite me in the ass later. Hell, just look at what happened when I tried to lie for Fenn's sake. Some asshole came around and revealed it for the lie it was!

Was I supposed to relax when Finch told me "No worries. I get it" with a warm smile? I honestly didn't know…

And I felt like a piece of shit because of it.

When he laid a claw on my tense shoulder, I froze. He lowered his head so he could better look me in the eye, and he softened his voice, too. "It's alright, Oswald," he said. "It takes a while to build that trust, I know."

I couldn't meet his gaze. "Yeah…" The word uttered was little more than a squeak released on reaction. In reality, I had nothing else to add.

Finch tilted his head swiftly, and judging by what he said next I presumed he was gesturing towards the room we had both just left. The Krokorok said, "Fenn's bothering you, isn't he?"

I nodded.

A short lived chuckle left his lips. "Yeah, I saw you two last night. Always tough when a couple like you two go through a rough pa-"

"Hold on, what?" My eyes shot up faster than I thought possible. "A couple? What?"

Finch looked at me as though I had just told him a joke that didn't land. "…Yeah," he replied. My cheeks started to burn at the hints of confusion in his tone. "Aren't you two…?"

The implications of what he was referring to only made my cheeks burn hotter—my whiskers twitch more frequently. All I could think to do was blink and stare. "Uh…"

Realization began to dawn on Finch's crocodilian face. "Don't tell me…" he whispered slowly. "You two aren't actually a thing, are you?"

My heart was pounding like a drum. I barely managed to stutter out, "N-no! What? What gave you that impression?"

Finch lifted his claw from my shoulder and took a step back. "You're not serious."

"I am!" I put my paw to my chest as proof, but all that did was remind me of how fast my heart was beating.

Sputtered out in a way I had never heard from Finch before, he said, "But…the way you two look at each other! The way you two talk to each other. The way you talk about him! You even sleep in the same bed, for Darkrai's sake!"

What did that have to do with anything?

"…So?" I asked, practically challenging him to prove his statements.

Finch, once more, had crossed his arms. "So you're telling me that all of this effort you're putting into accommodating him is purely platonic?"

"I'm not accommodating anything!" And I was fairly certain that came out wrong, but I couldn't bother to make sure. Either way, my body's biology was working on its own. My tail slapped the ground behind me, I scratched at my scalchops even though I told myself not to, and I could feel a Water Gun begging to be released.

Another sigh from Finch. He pinched the bridge of his long snout. "I regret calling you manipulative, Oswald," Finch growled in a low voice. "That was wrong of me, I want you to know that. Love is a hard feeling for me to pick up on and it's always been that way. I just wasn't sure if you actually loved him or-"

"Of course I love him!"

Silence.

Dead silence.

A pin drop could be heard in that hallway.

As it turned out, it wasn't a Water Gun begging to be released—it was that string of words.

And I wasn't done, either.

I hugged myself, gripping my upper arms for dear life. "God, I just want to hug him and hold him and tell him that everything is gonna be okay! If I could tell him that I love him, I would! I want it more than anything!"

Finch held up his claw and pressed his fingers together, as though he was about to snap them. From there, he maintained that pose, visibly unsure of what he was even doing. "…Then why don't you?" he wondered cautiously.

I squeezed my eyes shut. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep my voice from breaking. "Because I…can't," I whispered.

"What do you mean you 'can't?'"

My eyes shot open, wide and fervid. "I just can't!"

Everything would be so much easier if I could. Fenn deserved the world, and I wanted him to know that.

I wanted him to know that someone loved him dearly. Someone who would do anything for him—travel to the ends of the earth and conquer kingdoms for him. Someone who would give up everything just so he could be happy.

Those lovely red eyes…that wonderful, beautiful voice that he rarely used. Like a treat, enough to sweeten anyone's day.

But it wasn't meant to be.

I'm not even a pokemon…

Finch shook his head. "Oswald…" He sounded frustrated, but concerned at the same time.

I repeated what I had already said. It was all I could think to do without spiraling up into the ceiling. "I can't…"

My throat was hurting. It was like I had attempted to swallow a pinecone. Uttering another word would just make things worse.

After enough time for Finch to likely believe that I had nothing to add, he shot a quick glance over his shoulder before saying, "Listen, Oswald, I gotta go. Talk to him. Don't sit there and craft up plans to win him over. Talk. To. Him."

Easier said than done. My mind was swirling with the consequences of doing just that. Push it too far and I'd make him hate me. Don't try at all and he'd suffer. Screw up and someone could read my mind and punish me.

Talking would only lead to trouble. I had to show him how much he meant to me.

So…what was I supposed to do to make that work?

"Oswald," Finch repeated firmly, inciting me to look up at him. "Stop thinking about it. Talk to him."

But…but…

I let out a deep breath.

Dammit.

I hadn't realized how stiff I had gotten. Letting that breath go didn't just relax my shoulders, it felt good. I wanted more.

So, so much more.

"I'll…try…" I let out weakly.

"Good." Finch readjusted the bag strapped around his shoulder impatiently. "Alright, I'll…" He then clicked his tongue a few times. "…I'll be back. Hang in there."

I nodded.

The final pat he gave my shoulder didn't feel real. Hell, by the time my eyes rose from the floor, the Krokorok wasn't there anymore. Who's to say if he was ever real?

I stood there in the middle of that silent, desolate hallway, staring down the yawning abyss that was the inner reaches of the castle. Unblinking, sluggish, and lost in thought. Lucky me that no one interrupted Finch and I's conversation, or else they'd have witnessed the malfunctioning of a marionette with broken parts.

Well, actually, there was one person that saw it all.

Shortly after Finch disappeared down the stairs around the corner, that all too familiar sensation slithered down my spine. And sure enough, casting a glance over my shoulder revealed that someone was in fact watching me.

The bulky Dusknoir rose from the floor at an even rate—without any hint of imperfection. It was as though he had meticulously planned his ascent with a ruler, just so he could loom over me and say one line as menacing as possible.

"How troubling," Oleander hummed in that slimy drawl of his.

His form cast a long shadow across the ground. Gradually I was blanketed by an all encompassing blackness that threatened to swallow me whole. The red eye, peering ever so narrowly through his half-closed socket, drilled into me—judging me.

And I wasn't having it.

I groaned. "Leave me alone, cyclops."

He didn't react. "I would hope that you have no plans on following that vagrant."

Presuming he was talking about Finch, I had to ask, "Is that all you care about?" I held out my arms on either side of me out of exasperation. "I'm not going anywhere."

With his arms behind his back, Oleander persisted in his judgment. If his gaze didn't give it away, the tone of his voice certainly did. "You appear to require certain…counseling services."

Was that a joke? I genuinely couldn't tell. Fat chance I was going to take advice from my stalker, though. Hell no.

My arms curled from my sides before crossing across my chest. "Let me guess. It costs money, doesn't it?" I questioned.

Oleander gave no response.

That's what I thought.

Without another word, I spun on my heels and walked off in the other direction.

The ghost called out to me, "Where are you going?"

"Anywhere but here!" I shouted back.

The nerve of that asshole…

I stormed down the hallway without daring to look back. Several other pokemon poked their heads out of their rooms as I passed, but I paid them no mind. Let them think what they want. Who cares.

By the time I reached the stairs, the steps felt dull under my feet. Rocks may as well have been tied to my legs; each step became slower than the last. My arms swung limply at my sides. My tail dragged behind me and slapped each step of my descent.

Before long, it took me several seconds to go down each individual step. Out of earshot of anyone I knew, I quickly realized that acting angry was just as exhausting as being angry itself.

The thing was, though, I wasn't even sure who I should've been angry at. There were plenty of people I could have been furious about: Anemone, Calluna, Oleander, Finch, and even Fenn.

There was a tightening in my chest.

Yes, I could have put it all on Fenn. Why not at this point?

Sure, go ahead and put all of that effort into making him like you. Encourage him, get him gifts—but don't get too close! That's dangerous!

Hell, may as well scratch him behind the ear and treat him like a pet. That'll make things LESS weird.

If you start to feel something, ignore it. None of it will matter in the end. You're not sticking around, so don't waste your time.


But that wasn't how things went, huh? Ignoring it didn't work.

I reached the final step. The tightness in my chest became unavoidable.

Is it really wrong to have these feelings? I'm a human, but…not.



I don't know anymore…

I couldn't be mad. Especially not at Fenn.

Numbness. That's all it was. Every sensation was distant, and yet my heart beated louder than ever.

I love Fenn.

I love Fenn.

I love Fenn.


I repeated it, over and over again. How could something sound so wrong and feel so right at the same time?

I'm a human.

I'm a…human.

I'm a-


No no NO! Why didn't that sound right? Why couldn't I say it with more confidence?

This was exactly what I was afraid of. This world hadn't just changed me, I wasn't the same person I was before I got here!

Or…was I?

That was the worst part. I didn't even know.

My feelings for Fenn are real. I am a human. I know both of those things are true. But they can't be.

I can't accept both.


Something passed in front of me. A…cart, skirting by with squeaky wheels and an appetizing aroma. That smell gripped my nostrils like a pair of alluring fingers, guiding my gaze not just to the silver vehicle sliding by, but to the Simisear pushing it past.

That was Skua, the cook from the cafeteria; somehow I recognized him.

That smell was familiar; it filled me with dread.

Meat.

It was automatic. The rocks previously tied to my legs disappeared the second I started moving. My mind was simply moving too slowly to stop the body it was piloting.

"Hey, wait!" I called, holding my paw out.

Skirting to a stop, Skua swung his head back around and balked. "Wha- that you, Oswald?" he said.

"Y-yeah." I rushed to the front of the cart, and was promptly met with a face full of snacks, berries, assorted drinks, and the aforementioned meat on plates. Since when did I start panting? "What are you doing here?" I asked.

Skua shrugged his shoulders with his hands still around the cart's handle. "I'm on delivery duty today."

"Delivery…?" But I promptly forgot I even asked the question. My eyes were locked on the plates in front of me.

"Delivery!" Skua parroted. "Hungry?"

Yes. Debilitatingly so. And I hadn't even noticed.

I nodded quickly. "Do you mind if I can get-"

And that was when my mind finally caught up. What was I doing?

Crispy, tangy tenders sat glazed in drizzly sauce still steaming at just the right temperature. Not only was it appetizing, it was enticing.

Although I had started drooling at the wondrous sight…I reeled back and pinched myself in the process. No. No, this wasn't right.

"Something wrong, Oswald?" Skua wondered. His normally laid-back demeanor had suddenly taken on a lick of concern.

"Everything's fine," I mumbled, trying to remain calm. But man, I had to have looked downright crazy. Who gets this feral over meat?

Me. And ferals were the problem.

These were pokemon. Dead, cooked, and coated in oil laid out like scrumptious dishes for me to gulp down like a starving beast. I had once told myself that succumbing to so much as taking a bite of these dead ferals would make me no different than the pokemon around me. That, in a sense, eating meat would no longer make me human.

Now I had to wonder, how much of a difference would that make?

Was I a human? Was I a pokemon? What was I?

Would taking a bite really change all that much?

"You want one of those Torchic legs?" Skua asked.

Torchic legs. Just like the one I buried that one time. Here was another one.

I don't know what came over me.

"Yeah, sure," I said.

Wouldn't this undo everything I set out to protect?

"I'll take one."

All of that stress? All of that heartache?

"Here you go. Enjoy!"

Was there any coming back from this?

"Thanks."

I took the piece of meat, and stood there with the sauce sliding down my fingers while Skua continued his trip down the second floor of the castle.

One bite and I wouldn't be a human anymore…

Just one…



…I lifted it to my lips and did just that.

I bit off a chunk, chewed, and swallowed it down.



My mouth hung open.

It was good. Really good.

The meat tasted like meat.

…Was that it? No big revelation?

Meat was meat.

But why?

Why did the meat taste like meat?

I felt no different. Not even a little.

I didn't…get it.

I don't understand.
 
Chapter 41 - Day 16, Part 1: True Beauty

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 41: Day 16, Part 1 - True Beauty

True beauty flourishes in times of great hardship.

That much is true. All of those years ago, when flames raged across the country, Larkspur set his eyes on something truly magnificent: an entire generation's obsession, pursued by suitors from every corner and every pit of this wasteland they called Pamtre. The kind of catastrophic allure that brought the world to its knees.

Yes, he viewed it once, shimmering with its faint glow. So far away, yet so potent that he could taste it on his tongue. Even now, it lingered in his mind, like true beauty should.

He reflected, morbidly, on that sensation—now so dull—as his beak poked the red liquid still in its glass. The thought came abruptly, and without recourse—that enough time had passed for true beauty to shine once again. Today would be a day to drink, he had then decided.

Another generation! Cheers to that! Even the whelps that venerated him were faster than they were three decades ago; Larkspur had received his wine within only a minute and 38 seconds past his request. Impressive.

Time flowed so quickly when one's goal was so clear—so vivid.

He took another poke at his wine, and the alcohol surged like lightning through his tentacles. Said tentacles swayed atop his head as though there were a light, consistent breeze. A Malamar's mood could often be determined by the ferocity of their tentacles, and with Larkspur it was no different. Except…they were frequently uncontrollable, only acting on fresh impulse and emotion.

There was an uncomfortable itch that came with being unable to control one's own bodily autonomy. Who was to say that they, too, would not one day betray him?

Larkspur's beak curled into a sinister smirk as he took yet another sip. He knew that quite well that his own rebellious tentacles were of no issue. A lesser pokemon would sever the source of any dissent, but Larkspur was no lesser pokemon.

Dissent was necessary for growth, if only so that his own hardships held meaning.

It was peculiar, then, that his tentacles continued to sway just as calmly as they had before. Were they not aware of their own demise? Or were they just as eager for catharsis as he was?

Larkspur set the wine glass down on a nearby table and sighed to himself. From there, he floated off the meticulously scrubbed carpet, drifting from one end of the room to the other. His eyes trailed the walls in search of something specific, hindered only by his own wandering mind.

From the bookcases lined with ancient memoirs of a deceased age, to wood garnishing on bed-side tables so extravagant that they bordered on pointless, to the golden frames bordering paintings of past battles—even Larkspur had to admit that he did not miss the countless hours spent in that dank chamber with that blasted orb. He had no desire for opulence—not like Crane, the glutton or Canary, the greedy—but Larkspur had taken this room for himself regardless.

The Captain's Chambers, as it was once dubbed, was slotted neatly within the brain of the Oriole. Naturally, as the proper leader of this band of conspirators, miscreants, and outcasts, only Larkspur could reside there.

More frequently than not, however, the chamber lacked the insulation to be anything but stifling. The men of the past obviously designed it with that purpose, but Larkspur was no man. Time had since granted the room with a new designation.

A perverse thrill coursed through the Malamar at the idea of using this room for drinking wine, reminiscing, and nothing more. The books themselves offered more utility to those of his coalition than any tome of hidden knowledge—or orb of magical significance, for that matter. But, well, giving them more use hardly aligned with his goals.

In every respect but name, Larkspur was royalty. And, like royalty, he had no reason to feel shame. His tentacles whipped in satisfaction at that fact. Even more so when he recalled that Anemone—who also counted as royalty—must hate the isolation.

Larkspur reveled in it.

It was one of the paintings that finally caught his eye. Situated between two end tables, each holding a vase with a moonflower in its grasp, was a sizable painting surrounded by a frame engraved in pure gold. Slowly, he approached with his arms behind his back.

Depicted with care and detailed with the most expensive paint a mon could buy, a Delphox stood cloaked in silver flames. Her fur flowed like the ocean's waves, perfect in every conceivable way. Her paw expertly gripped a wand constructed with the bark of a tree harboring Xerneas' blood, effortlessly casting an inferno as brilliant as the moon.

She shot Larkspur a glance over her shoulder, despite being frozen in time. Mysterious, confident, sultry—Larkspur could see the nefarious plots she would set in motion sparkling in her eyes. A witch of mythic proportions, a temptress, a sovereign of the stars…

The world was hers, and she knew it. She held power beyond the greatest of legendary beasts; she never so much as dreamed of squandering it.

Larkspur's arms quivered as he reached out to her. Gently, he dragged his tentacle across her cheek, caressing her as though she were right at his side. His body surged with color, and for a moment he shook as though he were a little ill Inkay begging for comfort.

A shuddering breath escaped him. Inconceivable. Perhaps it was the brief twang of alcohol causing him to become frail…regardless, he struggled to keep himself upright.

He could not stop himself; the urge was too strong. Larkspur uttered a faint, wistful, "Ah…Luna. You were my favorite…"

There was a knock at the door.

Larkspur hissed, fluorescent lights blaring from his torso, the tentacles above his head stabbing the air, out for blood. The alcohol in his system burned away from the intensity of his anger, and he whipped his head around so he could glare at the door.

"WHAT?" he snarled.

"Did I interrupt your private time, Lark?" came a voice from behind. Larkspur's tentacles functioned as raging flames.

When Larkspur whipped back around, seething, he soon found a familiar imp leaning against one of the tables and sipping at the Malamar's wine. Said imp's self-satisfied demeanor shot a rush of hot-blooded ferocity through Larkspur's veins.

"Yes, you did," Larkspur snapped. "I do believe I told you not to intrude, Crane, you wretched smear of slime."

The Sableye smacked his dirty lips, put the tainted wine glass back down, and smiled like the glob of shit that he was. A mental note was made to burn that wine glass after Crane would be forced to leave—and perhaps the carpet, as well. Larkspur could smell the black gunk sticking to the glass even from the other side of the room.

"You said to knock, Lark," Crane sneered. "I did that, didn't I?" Black flecks of something foul fell from Crane's neck as he scratched at it, solidifying that yes, Larkspur would burn that carpet later. "Stewing in your hatred again?"

What a fall from grace Crane had taken. Larkspur could recall the time when Black Shadow Crane, The Vicious commanded a sect of devoted resistance fighters with guile. There was once a time when the name Crane inspired hope, as well as fear. At such a young age, too, many aspired to follow in his footsteps.

But Larkspur had seen through the minds of many how Crane was viewed now with disgust, its own vile form of respect. He was always sneaky and conniving, but he knew better than to antagonize and aggravate. Something had changed over the years, and it only appeared to be getting worse.

Worse still after their last excursion, that of which coincided with the attainment of the East Enigma key, Crane had begun outright frightening the mercenaries. Demanding favors and persisting with the practical jokes. Some had already left out of fear.

Larkspur, despite his own distaste for those he commanded, was less than pleased. He floated closer—but not too close—and loomed over the imp like a tower of spite. With his telekinetic powers, he swiped the glass from the table and shattered it on the carpet. No use in being courteous if his mind had already been made up.

"I am not in the mood for games," Larkspur said with a glare. "If you would perhaps prefer to stick your disgusting fingers in the business of another busy mon, then by all means." Larkspur leaned forward, his tentacles casting a menacing shadow across his face. "My patience is thinning."

Crane, who uncharacteristically reacted to the breaking glass by flinching, giggled maniacally. "Ehehe! Well, you having a thick patience would just make me gag, Lark."

"Say what it is you want and leave." Larkspur's waning patience was no lie. Two keys had since been acquired, but it had taken him two weeks to get to this point. He either wanted good news or no news at all.

"Oh, Larky," said Crane. "Maaaalarky. I remember when you used to treat to me so tenderly." He clasped his hands together and rested them against his cheek sweetly, blinking his eyes several times. "I miss those days. Don't you? When we used to kick each other's feet under the table and giggle and blush and-"

"I SHOULD STRANGLE YOU!" Larkspur was positively steaming, his broad shoulders raised to make himself seem massive, his tentacles shot up like spears. Furniture and silverware all throughout the room began to tremble, one command away from flying off the shelves and tables.

And, to no one's surprise, all Crane did was laugh. "Ehehehe! You could. But then who's gonna tell you to open the door?" He pointed to something behind Larkspur.

Had he a reason to, Larkspur would have absolutely choked the feeble life out of the Sableye and hung him out like laundry. There was a moment where Larkspur chuckled internally, realizing that today would finally be the day he would do it. But Crane, smartly, stopped just short of pushing Larkspur to that point.

That was, unless the door would aggravate him more. After all, no living being was allowed to see Larkspur unless given explicit permission. Crane had already caused enough grief previously by revealing Larkspur's name to that Darmanitan; this would be the final straw.

Larkspur's glare lingered on Crane for a moment. He weighed his options, then steadily came to the conclusion that no matter how bad it was, Crane would end up dead in the end. Nothing lost. But even in his unhinged state, Crane was often smarter than he acted. He would not have gotten to this point otherwise.

Another moment passed before Larkspur aggressively floated towards the door, wasting no time to swing it open. At first he was confident that it would be yet another joke, but then he was surprised to find that, of all things, there was another pokemon there.

Crane did not knock on the door. This Persian did.

The first thing the dark type did was grovel at Larkspur's feet. The second thing he did was blabber out formalities.

"OhpleaseohwonderfulCountIamforevergrateful!" the Persian mumbled too quickly for Larkspur's confused brain to understand.

The Malamar's beak twisted towards his earholes, contorting into a disgusted glower. He flinched, even. How was that possible?

Undoubtedly, the reason for such an extreme reaction had to do with what Larkspur witnessed upon taking in this peculiar mon's features.

It was as though the Persian's face had been morphed 15 degrees counterclockwise, shifting his mouth, nose, and eyes in an unnatural way. His whiskers were unkempt and unruly. His ears, nicked and chipped. For a moment Larkspur thought he detected cataracts in one of the cat's eyes, but that proved to be nothing more than the malformed creature's dull look. Whoever had spawned this inbred moggy clearly did so out of spite.

It was so distracting that Larkspur forgot to practice his standard sanctimonious routine and instead opted to stare in disbelief.

"...Is this another one of your jokes, Crane?" Larkspur muttered, searching for any sign of foul play. Was it him or did the cat have a cleft foot, too? He did not, as it turned out. But Larkspur could not blame himself for coming to that conclusion, what with how the beast presented himself.

Crane may as well have materialized next to Larkspur, as he had made no sound before getting closer. "Are you kidding?" Crane laughed. "I wish I could come up with a better joke than this. You should've seen your face!" He pointed at the Persian, grinning. "Nah. This mon here has something to tell you, Count."

I have better use for my ears, thank you, Larkspur thought scornfully.

"It's very important, my lord!" The Persian pleaded in a voice that Larkspur could finally understand. Which was good because now Larkspur could definitively state that he despised it. Formal language alongside brash, uneducated speech wriggled like Wigletts down to his eardrums. Disgusting.

That was the problem with presenting oneself as above others while attempting to maintain an image: Larkspur realized that he would have to formally invite the cat inside if he wanted privacy. He then decided that the remains of that carpet would need to be cast into the deepest pits of the earth following its burning.

With disdain pinching his facial features into a hateful scowl, Larkspur floated aside. "Make it quick, Persian. I have important matters to attend to." Drinking wine counted as important matters.

Crane giggled to himself.

There was something uncomfortable about the way that the cat hobbled his way past the door frame, trudging onto the carpet with nervously unsheathed claws. The fur on the back of his spine was bristling. What was this cat hiding…

"Thank you! Thank you!"

The door closed and the air became still. Larkspur's tentacles whipped impatiently. "Speak, and make it quick," he hissed, clacking his beak.

Stuttering, the Persian said, "I-I'm Moa, my lord-"

"I did not ask."

Crane giggled more.

The cat's gaze fell to the floor in shame. "R-right, sorry. I've been on the run for the past few days and I f-forgot my manners."

Larkspur's eyes narrowed. He was immediately reminded that this Persian—Moa as he was called—blocked Larkspur's own mind reading abilities. Dark type pokemon were troublesome for that reason; he would have to ask questions and take Moa at his word.

As a being possessing the dark type element now, Larkspur understood the power that came with it. Something that was notably wasted on a whelp like this cat.

Anemone doesn't have this problem, the wench.

She had once told Larkspur that the worst thing dark types did to her was create interference, and cause a horrible headache when trying to parse the thoughts behind it, often resulting in some details being lost. Anemone took extra effort to avoid the ones who caused that interference, going so far as to resent them for existing.

But even that was a league above what Larkspur was capable of.

"Get to the point," Larkspur growled.

An audible gulp, then the Persian continued. "I think I…" he started, quickly lowering his voice after glancing left and right, "…I think I found the human."

The human.

"Oooh!" Crane grinned. "Hear that? Didn't see that one coming, did you?"

But Larkspur was unphased, his eyes no less narrowed than before. Perhaps he did not expect that response exactly, but this report was not in any way new. Over the course of the past two weeks that they have been on the hunt thirteen pokemon have come to Larkspur with the exact same claim.

All of them were lying and were promptly dealt with. Unfortunately, Larkspur could not just read this Persian's mind and get it over with. So, he humored the claim. Moa, as unlikely as he seemed, was at least appropriately nervous.

"Elaborate," Larkspur said sternly.

Moa clawed at the carpet nervously. "Okay…It was in the Fairy Fields, my Lord. I…I happened to be there when I overheard one of those guildies talking to this…this Dewott- hewokeupthere! And…and-"

"Slow down!" Larkspur snapped.

"R-right…" The Persian cleared his throat.

Crane clicked his tongue, turning to Larkspur. "He was hysterical when he showed up here," Crane remarked. "All wide-eyed and screaming at the top of his lungs, pleading with the guards to see you. I was impressed."

"I used the chant!" Moa blurted out, completely unprompted. "They didn't get a word out of me, I swear!"

A second had hardly passed where Larkspur could think properly. Yes, he was aware of the "chant" taught to the mercenaries here, to ward off not only mind reading but also potential interrogations. Though most of the time those chants were just pure nonsense, concocted to instill hope. No mons were expected to actually enter Kebia Castle and become vulnerable to such tactics. No unreliable mons, that is. None of them would actually meet Anemone.

But Larkspur was getting ahead of himself.

"How do you know it was a human?" Larkspur asked cautiously.

The Persian yowled in distress. The sound irritated Larkspur. "He woke up in those fields- the Dewott did! I saw it, I saw him appear! Dewotts can't appear out of thin air!"

Crane and Larkspur exchanged glances.

A Dewott…? Of all things…

This was starting to sound more and more plausible, and Larkspur hated that. Of the thirteen that had previously claimed to have seen the human, most if not all of the accounts were clearly constructed tales that exaggerated the details in confusing ways.

First it was a simple Riolu, better in every way than his classmates. Larkspur quickly surmised the tale as nothing more than a ploy by a deranged mother trying to make her son happy.

Then it was a powerful legendary out in the open, threatening to destroy towns and burn down forests. This was a clear lie. Larkspur did not even entertain it by reading the fool's mind.

And then it was a monstrosity, hiding in the back alleys of Rabuta, right in Larkspur's backyard. The details of that one were less clear, so Larkspur sent insurgents to confirm this. It ended up being nothing more than a discolored Patrat with a disease that caused it to appear bloated.

Foolish, all of them.

But those were all stories of living pokemon, integrating into society as any other pokemon would. None of those stories dared to start at the beginning, when the human first arrived.

Until now.

Larkspur glanced back at the Persian. "And?"

There was a rapid nod from Moa, as though this was going well for him. "A-and, uh, I ran as soon as I realized that I found it, but those guildies- they caught me! Sent me to jail! I might've…been on the run before they found me- but…that's why I couldn't get here sooner—honest!"

Incongruous details that contributed nothing. Larkspur rolled his eyes—why did they all have to be petty criminals?

"Where is the Dewott now?" Larkspur pressed, audibly sounding tired of having to ask all of these questions.

Moa's twisted face somehow became even more twisted as he braced himself, his tail flicking anxiously. "I got out of there as soon as I could," the cat said. "It was in the castle- at Kebia. He was there when they put me in jail, and half a week later I saw him again, then I saw him one more time before I got out of there a few days back."

"...The Dewott is living there." Larkspur said it plainly, as though it were a known fact.

"He was wearing a fancy scarf last I saw 'em, yeah. A purple one!"

Hm.

This could make the difference. Larkspur prodded further. "Did you hear his name?"

Moa, mournfully, shook his head. "Oz…something," he tried. "Oz-something. I can't remember more than that, honest- it was going too fast!"

Hmm.

Larkspur's demeanor had shifted since the beginning of the conversation. He started out skeptical, irritated, annoyed. But the cat's testimony had since eased him into a sense of apprehension.

There was quite a bit that could have gone wrong after Larkspur activated the orb. With how the artifact worked, Larkspur was not in control of where the human ended up, what they would be, or what state they would be in.

As soon as he said those magical words, the race was on.

A paralyzing fear had coursed through his veins during this conversation. The fear that, from the very start, Larkspur had already lost that race. Anemone, by complete accident, found the human first; she had them in her grasp.

If what this Persian said was true, then…

No.

No, Larkspur was better than this. Above this, even. He turned to Crane.

"It seems we are left with no choice," the Malamar said.

Crane cackled, already aware of what Larkspur was implying. "How ya wanna confirm it, Count? Bait 'em out? Get Jasmine and her cronies to do it?"

That would be the easiest answer, no doubt. Team Snow In Summer was not even the sole source of information for Larkspur in Kebia. But still, Larkspur answered with a simple "no." He then ignored Crane's bewildered expression as he waved the Persian off. "Thank you…Moa," he grumbled. "You may leave now."

Moa's face lit up, though Larkspur was not entirely certain from a glance. It could have been terror, relief, sadness, or overwhelming joy for all he knew. Once again the Persian groveled at Larkspur's feet, though. "Itismygreatestpleasuremylord-"

"Yes yes, now leave!"

The cat promptly jolted to his paws and dashed in the pointed direction of Larkspur's outstretched tentacle. Crane was already there, holding the door open, so within a moment it was just the two of them again.

Crane closed the door, dusting off his claws afterwards as though he had done all of the hard work. There was that grin of his, too. Always at full toothiness, always demeaning. Larkspur was forced to stare at it for a couple brief moments, and even that was too much.

So, Lark," Crane started, "what's your plan?"

Something strange occurred with Larkspur's tentacles then. Their unruliness all of a sudden almost seemed placated—disintegrated entirely. He was swaying, and his tentacles swayed with him. Listening. Obeying.

He was smiling, too.

"We both know how easy it would be to accomplish this," Larkspur stated facetiously, almost jovial in his tone. "Knowledge is simply the first step. At the end of the day, it all comes down to how we play our cards."

His body turned, his tentacles swaying with his movements as though he were floating in water. Larkspur soon found himself face-to-face with that Delphox, her haunting gaze sending a shiver down the Malamar's non-existent spine.

He wondered…what would Luna do?

Luna would not just uncover the information she needed, she would do so while causing as much pain to those she despised as possible. Anything less was insufficient.

It was not enough to have the human stolen right under Anemone's nose—the mon responsible needed to walk right past her defenses and lead the human through the front door.

Larkspur glanced at Crane sadistically, licking the edges of his beak.

"Crane," Larkspur started in a sing-song voice, "it was the prince that brought back the second gem, was it not?"

As unhinged as Crane was, that grin of his faded to concern.

"Hehe…yeah…?"

Larkspur looked back to Luna. For a moment, he could detect a hint of approval in her gaze.

"Good, good…"

True beauty will flourish once again.
 
Chapter 42 - Day 16, Part 2: Fame & Fortune

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 42: Day 16, Part 2 - Fame and Fortune

"So, how did you do it?"

I outsmarted her. Simple as that.


"Ooh ooh! What tactics did you use?"

Misdirection. The rest came from sheer talent.


"I bet they had no chance!"

Mm. It was not even close. These scratches are from the bumpy ride home, not the battle.


"So cool…"

Yes. I know.


"You didn't even deliver the final blow!"

Ricinus coughed abruptly.

The noise reverberated against the cave walls with as much force as a falling Gigalith. So loud and scratchy that it made his ears ring.

Or maybe they were already ringing. Panic attacks often worked like that.

The Sylveon, with his ribbons slung across his chest like wet rags, leaned up against a dimly lit wall as he caught his breath. It was not often that Ricinus cursed the cruel god that granted him fur, but it was in moments like this where he wished he could willingly rip it all off.

And perhaps his skin, too. Maybe then those "admirers" would think twice before looking in his direction.

He shuddered.

There were so many of them, all peering down at him with their eyes made of glass, reflecting him—expecting anything and everything from the new talk of The Oriole.

There was once a time when Ricinus loved to be looked at, marveled upon, adored, doted over. When he was a little Eevee, the simple act of meeting eyes with another pokemon felt exhilarating, intimate in ways he could not yet describe. He got up to mischief just so someone would acknowledge him. He grew out his fur and styled it to garner more compliments. Little flings here and there, romantic and platonic, just so he could be desired for a little while. Anything to attract attention. Nothing but joy would be had when Ricinus was at the center of the room.

He needed that attention. He pursued it—lest his image die a horrible death. Why else would he put himself in this position?

Something had since changed, though. Attention was no longer his sustenance—his food. It was now his lifeblood. Spoiled food would just make Ricinus sick. Spoiled blood—well, that could kill him.

Only recently did he realize that he was being injected with infected blood: a lie.

So when he failed to avoid that crowd just a few moments ago, the interaction went a little bit more like this:

"So, how did you do it?"

"I have no time for this! I have important matters to attend to!"

And then he stormed off, trying to shake off the surprise he felt at hearing his own voice sound so shaken. His efforts proved to be futile.

It had been a few days since Ricinus had returned from retrieving the eastern Enigma treasure, and in that time these crowds of pokemon with their incessant questions became a persistent nuisance in Ricinus' life. It was perplexing, really; the news had not even left his own mouth before packs of admirers started flocking to him.

I am a prince! he frequently told himself. I should not be shivering like a little Eevee under this much pressure!

Yet here he was, trying his damndest to keep his chin held high while ignoring his heart beating in his ears. The only thing he hated more than being looked at with mirrored eyes was the need to vomit that came with it. Panic was unbefitting of a prince.

I am a prince! I am a prince! I am a prince!

Running away was also unbefitting of a prince. However, Ricinus reasoned it to be a…tactical retreat; they were threatening him. He imagined himself playing a game of chess, backed up into a corner with next to no pieces remaining. Luckily, Ricinus still had an Ace under his fur, and his opponent was none the wiser. That sort of thinking had helped before.

Still, Ricinus could not get the lingering disappointment in their gazes out of his mind. It had dripped from their eyes like tears, as their fragile image of a noble prince in their midst leaked onto the floor. There was no telling how far this would spread.

I am a prince! I am a prince! Dammit, I am better than this! Even that little brat of a Magmar learned to suck it all in.

Heron was his name; Ricinus hated the fact that he still remembered it. There was hardly a doubt that the teenager was thrust into the very same spot that Ricinus was in against his will, blamed for heroics. But that hardly fucking mattered, given the brat sold the show every time.

Ricinus' breathing was only growing more haggard. He needed to move, and get out of these stifling tunnels.

His tail dragged behind him as he snuck through the candlelit halls, granting no second thought to any path but his own. A steep incline slowed his progress; once again, Ricinus scorned the creator for the fur they nailed to his back.

There were three paths out of the mess hall: a central hub that connected to various branching paths, a steady descent that mainly functioned as an emergency exit, and a more narrow path that snaked up to the higher levels of the base. Ricinus once had the thought that only a genius could construct a homebase so intricate that even he was still discovering new things about it years later. Secrets and hidden tunnels and the like.

What changed his mind was this narrow path, which made no effort to accommodate the full belly of any mon that would reasonably scale it. In regards to the original architect, what kind of moron robs the newly awakened of burned calories, only to make them suffer during the hike back? That being said, Ricinus could only partly attribute his loss of breath to the architecture.

It was for these aforementioned reasons that Ricinus made an effort to rarely make use of this path, instead opting for the more winding central path. At least then he could enjoy the walk. But recent…events have led to him utilizing the more narrow and straightforward path every day after breakfast. It was the path less taken, and for good reason.

Other pokemon hardly ever followed him when he took this route, while even those that bothered never committed. And here Ricinus was thinking that they were training soldiers down in these tunnels.

That line of thinking did not last long, however, as Ricinus soon found himself cursing the creator for a third time today.

There were other, connecting paths that intersected the narrow path, heading upward just the same. Ricinus was not ignorant to the fact that pokemon of higher status lived closer to the surface in the Oriole, and so it was no stretch to expect other…aristocrats on his way back to his chambers.

They were no admirers, that was for sure. Ricinus likely would have preferred it more if they were. High class pokemon had a habit of turning their nose up at Ricinus, as if they were above him—a prince. He was expecting the opposite when he first arrived, but the concept of royalty rang hollow in the ears of certain pokemon in this day and age. Or perhaps they were just jealous.

They wanted their castle, and nothing would stop them. Ricinus was expecting to run into one of them at minimum, ranting and raving about the kinds of changes they would make when their time would come.

Two children accosted him instead.

They came out sprinting through one of the side passages, intersecting the Sylveon as though they were waiting for him. Their obnoxiously large grins were the first things he saw. The rest followed without his consent.

"Prince Ricinus! Prince Ricinus!" one of them squealed—a yellow Jangmo-o no older than ten.

"We found him, yes! Please, wait up!" screeched the other one—a Vulpix with fur whiter than Ricinus' own.

Children. There was so much venom behind that word that Ricinus could taste the poison trickling down his throat. Add that on the list of things that were trying to kill him today.

Of course the rebels of the Psychic Wars had to have children. Ricinus was technically one of them, after all. But he spent his youth on the surface, living a life under the sun. All he could determine from the little ones in these caves was that they were slowly being driven mad—and just as well, driving Ricinus mad by proxy.

Under different circumstances, Ricinus did not mind children. Certainly not in the ways that the other aristocrats spoke of them. They could be infuriating, yes. So was Ricinus once, although he had since outgrown that behavior. But expecting them to learn respect through unpaid labor and strict manners training? Perhaps the children were not the only ones being driven mad; some practices of the old world were better left behind.

He sped up, raising his ribbons up back onto his shoulders in a more dignified manner, while tilting his chin upward. It was not uncommon for nosy little attention-grabbers to lose their drive when ignored thoroughly enough. Eventually it would work, at least. Mature pokemon often got the message quickly, but children-

The Vulpix and Jangmo-o matched his pace, bouncing on their puny paws and claws energetically, mocking him.

"Did he hear us?" questioned the dragon.

"We've been waiting all morning!" pleaded the fox. "It won't be long! Promise!"

-...tended to be more insistent. Ricinus rolled his eyes. To think that he used to be just like these moppets.

It's almost admirable. Nostalgic, even.

No matter how aggressively he tried to ignore them, though, the two of them would not catch a hint, nor would they slow down. What were their parents feeding them? False hope and three meals a day? Ridiculous.

Mercifully, the path finally leveled out, but what had seemed like a hindrance at first proved to be Ricinus' only advantage, thanks to his longer legs. His path was swiftly blocked by a shaking ball of matted fluff and another one of those garish shinies. Ms. Shasta—that Inteleon—definitely pulled it off better than the little dragon.

Ricinus had no choice but to come to a halt.

The Vulpix panted. "Wait…please!"

At the same time, the Jangmo-o spun in circles excitedly. "We gotcha! We gotcha! We got the prince!"

Ricinus finally lowered his chin to be level; he had no choice. Moving around them meant acknowledging their existence, even if only impassively. Ironically, Ricinus found that there was more finality in using words as opposed to not, if it came down to it. This would only take a moment.

"What do you want?" he groaned, tail flicking in annoyance. "I have someplace to be. Can you not see that?"

As expected, guilt flashed in the Jangmo-o's eyes. His tail fell to the floor, likely in realization that both he and his friend had made the wrong call. This was the part that worked better on younger mons: their conscience controlled them.

The other one, however, was persistent. "It'll only take a moment!" If anything he was evidently invigorated, what with the prince finally gracing his ears with a royal voice.

Ricinus was quick to shoot back with, "I do not have 'a moment.' I am a prince. My time is invaluable."

Guilting the ice type did not seem to work. Determination flared in his eyes and overpowered the shame, his six tails swinging from side-to-side with his frantic movements. There was no stopping what came next.

Around the Vulpix's waist was a saddle bag, and from that saddle bag he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "Hehre!" he exclaimed with the paper between his teeth. "Jus ta-ke ah loo-k ah is!"

And now Ricinus was being asked to take handouts. He just wanted to go back to his room—did the pestering ever end?

How annoying. His eyes were set hard on the paper dangling from the fox's teeth. It was a look that read "and what in distortion do you expect me to do with this?" Only a blind pokemon would misinterpret it.

"Mm ehh!" Vulpix mumbled. The paper waved up and down in motion with his head, beckoning Ricinus to take it. His little friend looked on in nervous anticipation, as well. Neither dared to take their eyes off of the prince.

I'm not getting out of this easily, am I? he thought.

With a sigh, Ricinus extended a ribbon and lifted the paper out of the child's grip. Obnoxious smiles spread across both of their faces once Ricinus' ribbon was retracted. More than anything he wanted to rip the paper to shreds just to watch that satisfaction wash away. He really should have; a lesson could have been learned here. But against his better judgment Ricinus glanced at what was on the piece of paper.

He blinked. All of a sudden he was back on that beach again.

There was Lord Crane, fighting what looked to be both a Blastoise and a Milotic. For some reason that massive gem shield he conjured was missing, but the valor and bravery on display was hard to miss.

Shasta was there, too. Laid out on the ground and flattened both literally and figuratively. A few Palossand and a Trapinch surrounded her.

The sun, shimmering off of the latent waves of the sea, was a lot more purple than Ricinus remembered. Several of the rocks were missing, as well. No more jagged ones at the base of the cliff? Peculiar.

Aven was nowhere to be seen.

And at the center of it all was Ricinus himself, mid-Moonblast and floating off the sand like some all-powerful deity. Tapu Fini was cowering from the light, looking quite…off. In fact she appeared to have transformed into a Cloyster with hair. How fitting.

Ricinus blinked several more times and he was back in the Oriole, staring at a depiction of a delusion. A decently drawn delusion to be fair, but still a delusion. His eyes kept drifting back to his own twisted reflection—an alternate take on his previous failure.

The Vulpix beamed. "I drew it for you!" he said. "It was so cool how you turned the tides of battle like that!"

"Yeah!" Jangmo-o agreed. His confidence had been rejuvenated. "I wish I could've been there to see it!"

This was getting out of hand.

Eyes shifting between his admittedly flattering depiction (the Vulpix certainly had talent despite his lack of dexterous appendages) and the fox, Ricinus' expression cycled between an irritated grimace and a perplexed frown. He lost track of which corresponded to what.

He had been given gifts before. He had been complemented, hit on, and praised over and over again. But the longer he absorbed the details of the piece of art, the tighter his chest became.

It was not because it was misinformation given life—no, not that. Whoever had twisted the story of Ricinus' battle never could have envisioned a scene such as this.

Aven's absence certainly upset him, but that was unrelated.

No, it was the question of how someone so young and ignorant of the circumstances concerning…everything around him could construct something so marvelous.

They were profoundly unaware of the cruelties of the world, the hypocrisy, the depths to which the most desperate would plunge if it meant attaining power. Ricinus found beauty in those vices. He could not be desired if not for the lustful and star stricken. Kingdoms and riches did not foster stronger mons if not for the wars that spawned them. Progress and knowledge? That required hunger. Something primal at the back of every mon's mind.

This could be a good teaching moment for these children. A lesson on what the real world was like. His ribbon tightened its grip on the paper.

And yet…

What the Vulpix said next gave Ricinus pause.

"I wanna be just like you when I grow up. Dad says he'll show me how he does his own Moonblast, then I'll be blasting baddies in no time! Just like you!"

That was…new.

Well, no it wasn't. There were just as many ambitious goal-seekers in the Oriole as hopeless romantics. Ricinus had heard every possible line hundreds of times by now. Give or take.

The difference here, though, came from what Ricinus believed to be that old fashioned concept so easily misplaced and misused.

Effort.

It took effort to draw a work of art with this amount of passionate detail. It took effort to learn the movement patterns of someone important and hunt him down, just to sing his praises. And not only did it take effort, it took patience, as well.

Ricinus, frankly, could not ignore that level of dedication even if he tried. Something deep within him prevented him from tossing it aside.

His grip loosened on the paper, his expression softening in the process. He met the inscrutable gaze of the small fox, searching for any sign of deceit or a lack of genuine intent.

Instead, Ricinus only saw the small fox's smile grow in size.

No! NO! Don't fall for these tricks! his inner voice screamed at him. You are a prince! You! Are! A! Prince!

The smile that Ricinus chose to return paled in comparison to the Vulpix's, but it was a smile nonetheless. "Thank you," he muttered, the words spilling out of his mouth. "You are a…good artist. And…Moonblast…it took me a considerable amount of time to learn it. But…I have…confidence in you."

Both of the children squealed a happy little noise that only marginally made the ringing in Ricinus' ears worse.

"Thanks, prince!" cheered the Jangmo-o.

"I'll make you proud!" promised the Vulpix.

They were gone just as quickly as they had arrived, only a meager dust cloud left in their wake. Ricinus was left blinking at the empty space, wondering what it was that compelled him to say those things. After all, a prince would never.

He was also left wondering why doing so healed the pounding of his heart, the ringing in his ears, the tightening of his chest, and the aching of his paws all at once. Not only was he relieved to see the children run off while still beaming, he was energized. The rest of the path did not matter; bring on the aristocrats!

However, before Ricinus could take another step, his gaze fell back to the piece of art still in his ribbons. Ears flicking, Ricinus examined the details closely…

…and tore the artwork to pieces without a second thought.

A moment later he was back on pace towards his destination, tail raised high.

The remaining climb came easy. Energy that had no right to be there surfaced and propelled him forward. Before Ricinus knew it the familiar chill of the upper tunnels nipped at his fur, slowing him down. With how close he was to the surface, a breeze was to be expected. Meanwhile, his personal chambers were insulated quite well, maintaining a consistent, lingering warmth at all hours of the day.

It was no secret that there were…inconsistencies to how some areas of the Oriole filtered heat. He had been to the lower levels; it was awful. But that was just how the place was designed. And unfortunately, pushing himself to care would have to come another day. His room was right there.

His ribbons drooped down so low that they dragged along on the rocky floor. The relief that came with setting his eyes on that heavy, wooden door was promptly flattened by the notion that he would have to open it—an action that only seemed to be getting more arduous as the days carried on. Tomorrow would unquestionably be worse.

Oh, and there was that question again: How long am I going to be doing this?

How long would Ricinus have to run and hide from nosy pokemon that wanted to know his secrets? When would he once again get to look upon his door with fondness as opposed to exasperation?

Only time would tell, was what he kept reminding himself. Give it a week—maybe two. Knowing the current state of affairs, Ricinus would likely be out of the public eye soon enough. He just needed to wait.

Princes don't become kings overnight, after all.

As he reached out with a ribbon, stopping before grasping the door's handle, something flickered out of the corner of his eye. Something white.

Quickly, Ricinus righted himself and spun on whatever it was, glaring. Someone had followed him this far…!

It was, to Ricinus' surprise, that Vulpix from earlier. His friend was missing, as was his saddle bag, but there was no doubt that the child from earlier and the one standing meekly in the middle of the hallway were the same pokemon. Whatever his intentions were, Ricinus could not determine them from his expression. Not that it mattered.

"What do you want now?" Ricinus scolded. Though as soon as the words left his mouth it all became clear. The Vulpix, in his excitement, ran after Ricinus to tell him something he forgot, and in the process witnessed the aftermath of a shredded gift.

Guilt rushed to his heart as soon as the thought entered his mind, even if Ricinus held no remorse for his action. The child would get to receive a reality check, after all, as unintended as it was.

If that were all it was, a challenging but necessary conversation might have followed. Yet the Vulpix's response threw that prospect into jeopardy.

"I'm looking for a real royal," said the Vulpix plainly. "Have you seen one?"

Ricinus was taken aback. "...What?"

Suddenly, the world spun faster than Ricinus could follow. One second he was trying to comprehend the situation in front of him, the next he was being slammed into the door hard enough for his squeals to reverberate through the whole hallway. His vision went black…and red.

The dizziness and confusion had only begun to subside once a snide bout of laughter tickled his ears. He could feel a hot breath on his neck.

"Heh…hello again."

Through slitted eyes, Ricinus was face-to-face with a sneering Zoroark. The Sylveon struggled to turn his head, what with those sharp claws pinning him in place, one small thrust away from burrowing into flesh. He needed to stop moving, even if his body was fighting against every inclination to do so.

Ricinus gasped, "Lord…Canary." It came out instinctually, as though he somehow knew this would happen.

The Zoroark's grip loosened a tiny bit. "I'm surprised you remember me," he said derisively. "Must have left quite the impression."

And that was the problem. Ricinus was unsure of what could have caused this, or if it was all a joke. One risky glance out of the corner of his eye confirmed that the Vulpix was nowhere to be seen. This was a trap, and Ricinus needed to treat it as such.

"What do you want?" Ricinus whispered.

Canary showed his teeth. They were…sharper than Ricinus remembered. "Is that any way to talk to your superior? You work for me, in case you forgot?"

Ricinus said nothing, instead deciding to focus his widened eyes on the dark type.

That grin of Canary's slowly morphed into one of discontent, and his claws tightened around Ricinus' neck, constricting him to the point of restricting his airflow.

Too…strong…ahh…can't…

The world was growing darker. Colors mixed and blurred. Regardless of what Lord Canary wanted, he would be remiss to attain it through Ricinus' death. Which begged the question, what did he want?

Just as all seemed lost, color faded back to the world, air flowed freely, and Ricinus collapsed on the ground, coughing and wheezing. His head was still spinning; why did Canary…?

It was all moving too quickly. Ricinus looked up to see the Zoroark crouched over him, chuckling from what Ricinus could only assume was a very funny joke.

Then, Canary whispered, "I know what you are. I know what you really are."

Ricinus' throat stung. Tears were welling in his eyes, making it difficult to determine what Canary's true intentions were through foggy vision. But what he said did not alleviate Ricinus' rapidly beating heart.

He could have been referring to…a variety of things—none of them good.

"What…are you talking about?" Ricinus managed.

"I did some digging, you know," Canary started. "After your little stunt, it got me curious: what really makes you a prince, hm?"

I'm going to kill whoever started this rumor, Ricinus promised internally.

Canary continued. "It's your lineage, right? The lineage that, from what I understand, can't even be confirmed. You say you're a prince, but I don't see any of your relatives listed in any existing documents."

Ricinus' next response needed to be considered carefully. It was no coincidence that his records were notably stark. How he even came to be known as royalty in the first place was a story so buried in the past that Ricinus almost forgot it, himself. What he did know, though, is that he did not begin life as a prince.

And that…that was the problem.

"Secrecy…" the Sylveon muttered. "It's to protect…"

Canary narrowed his eyes. "You know that isn't true," he stated. "Not that I care." He leaned forward, his eyes wide with suspense. "That's not the only thing I know about you. It's going to be hard to form a future lineage without any heirs, hm? Flower boy."

Flower boy…

Ricinus tasted bile on his tongue. It had been a long time since he had been called that. Most would not dare utter it at a prince out of fear of losing their own tongues. But Canary knew things. The bastard was crafty—a trickster. He would not say it unless he knew he could get away with it.

It bounced around inside the Sylveon's skull many times over. There was only one way Canary could have known it to be true: he had been spying on Ricinus, as well as stalking him. And the Zoroark called him a flower boy…

Ricinus was reminded of the story that inspired the insult in the first place. Back during the war, there were horror stories of an effeminate male pokemon of nondescript species that carried a flower basket. He would lure other, unsuspecting males from their posts with promises of flowers and comfort before killing them.

From what Ricinus could recall, the idea was that any male weak enough to fall for the lure was no soldier worth keeping on duty. They were branded as similarly effeminate, spineless, frail, and cowardly: a flower boy. No one wanted to be a flower boy.

Ricinus was no coward.

So, he asked again, "What do you want?"

A sinister aura seemed to radiate around the Zoroark—a darkness to further obfuscate his intentions, and highlight just how pale white his fangs were. Ricinus felt something brush against his cheek, tender yet malicious. The sensation disgusted him enough to make him flinch.

"Isn't it obvious?" Canary asked rhetorically. "Not every mon gets to be royalty in this world. But you?" Canary chuckled. "You have everyone convinced. All you have to do is not screw it up."

Or get caught, Ricinus added internally. He could see where this was going, and he knew not to risk anything here.

Canary rested his chin on his claw and said, condescendingly, "Oh, wouldn't that be tragic. Everything you've built, crumbling down because you've been perusing the flower garden. What a shame."

There was some envy in his tone, Ricinus could tell. Other aristocrats spoke like this to Ricinus all the time. It was obvious; Canary wanted what he could not have.

"You believe you are better?" Ricinus challenged.

Canary's expression tightened. "I believe I'm owed much more than a second-hand leadership position in some dusty caves." He pointed to himself. "I deserve more. After all, why not? I've worked hard, played the right cards…and now I have you." He scoffed. "I mean, you're not exactly the King of Hearts I was hoping for, but you're close enough."

The Sylveon glared harshly. "I'm not your pawn, Canary."

"Would you prefer that everyone in the Oriole know about your little affairs?" the Zoroark wondered. "Or your little lies? Or how about…the fact that you're not much of a hero either?"

Immediately, it all started to make sense. Ricinus' eyes widened as he feverishly looked at Canary and realized…that Canary had already made him into a game piece.

Why, of all pokemon, was Ricinus the one invited to procure a valuable, quintessential artifact? Because he was trusted and deemed worthy? If that were true, he likely would have at least met The Count once before.

No…it was because Ricinus could be used.

A shallow breath was all Ricinus could manage. "It was you…" he uttered. "You spread those lies…" How could he have fallen for such a trap?

Canary twirled a finger in the air—a proverbial thread only just then becoming visible. A thread that seemed to snake down to the floor then back up to Ricinus, coiling around his limbs. Imperceptible, but capable of puppeting a mon just the same.

"I have big plans for you, my prince," Canary said, rising to his feet. "Big, BIG plans."

A scowl formed on Ricinus' muzzle, peeling back his lips to unveil sharp fangs of his own. There were scarce words that could detail the ways that Canary was being torn to shreds within Ricinus' mind at that moment, but the young prince had an inclination that this little problem would not be solved immediately. For now, he needed time to think—to figure everything out. Best to get this over with.

"And what are those 'plans,' exactly?" Ricinus asked. "This is an awful lot of blackmail you dug up; more than you needed, if you ask me." Was constructing one of those lies himself really all that necessary?

Reaching back over his shoulder, Canary plunged a claw into his mane and pulled out a leatherbound journal, complete with a lock and tassel. He wiggled it around in the air, tauntingly. "Wouldn't you like to know. Tsk tsk tsk."

The journal was back within Canary's mane a moment later. Ricinus was mourning its absence already, despite knowing next to nothing of its purpose.

"For now," Canary grinned, "the first step needs to be completed. And for that to happen, The Count's plans need to come to fruition."

"The first step…?"

A finger was pointed at Ricinus. "Every prince needs a castle, don't they?"

Not like this.

Ricinus awkwardly rose into a sitting position. He grumbled, "And you need me because I am…royalty."

Canary nodded. "In the eyes of the common pokemon, yes. Don't let it go to your head, though. You might deliver all of the speeches, but I-" he tapped himself on the chest, "-hold all of the cards."

Did Ricinus hear that correctly? His ears flicked, the last word Canary spoke twirling like a tornado in his eardrums. Of all things, power was what Canary wanted? That was it?

He realized that he should have been either quaking out of fear or vibrating with rage at that moment, but instead Ricinus was just slightly peeved and somewhat relieved. After all, he would not be getting exploited so heavily had his status as a prince been put into question.

Simply put, Canary was a fool. His plan of putting Ricinus on the throne so he could puppet him from the shadows was full of holes. None of which Ricinus could adequately pinpoint at that moment; his mind was still racing.

He just knew. Somewhere down the line, Canary would fail to keep things under control and Ricinus would come out on top.

…Or he would drag Ricinus down with him.

That was the thought that caused Ricinus to finally start shaking. If Canary failed, the chances that it would all blow up in Ricinus' face were high. The thread was wrapped around both Ricinus and Canary's limbs, and the only way to cut one loose would be to silence the other for good.

"Fine," Ricinus conceded, his shoulders dropping. "I'll comply. Will you leave me alone now?"

Much to Ricinus' chagrin, Canary wagged his finger. "Ah ah ah," he jeered, "we haven't even gotten started yet. Believe it or not, I didn't just come here to laugh at you. I brought an opportunity."

Opportunity? Already?

Almost impressive, he hated to admit. Ricinus raised an eyebrow.

Canary explained himself: "Direct orders from The Count. You—not me—will walk right into Kebia Castle and confirm if they've got a human in there. Then come back and report your findings."

"…"

Visible confusion swam to the Sylveon's face. It seemed Ricinus was not the only one being made to look like a fool.

"A human…?" Ricinus repeated. How he restrained his laughter was a miracle. "You must be joking."

For the first time during their conversation, Canary outright frowned. "If only," he said. "But that's what The Count told me. And you wouldn't want to go against his wishes, would you? We need to be on his good side if we want this to work."

Well, Canary was right about one thing. Being in The Count's good graces was a priority of Ricinus'. Usually he would just accomplish that through his own means, though. The fact that Canary was beginning to use "we" as though Ricinus was even willing made the fairy type's ribbons writhe with rage.

"And you expect me to just walk right in?" Something that Ricinus had admittedly been wanting to do for…all of his life. This was ridiculous—why did it have to happen like this?

Canary's sneer returned. "Yes. I. Do." Once again, he reached into his mane and pulled out a thin, teal piece of cloth before handing it to Ricinus. "Do it quick enough and they won't even know you were there."

Ricinus' eyes fell on the cloth, scrutinizing it for all it was worth. Which, to his estimate, was not very much. Simple as it appeared, however, Ricinus understood its purpose. He would be expected to wear it so less questions would be asked.

Of course, Ricinus was doubtful that the cloth would be enough of a shield—explaining why haste was so important. He took it in his ribbons, staring at it for a few moments, then looked back up at Canary with a grimace.

"You're setting me up for failure," Ricinus said bluntly.

Canary chortled. If Ricinus' statement mattered then it did not go acknowledged. "You're looking for a Dewott," he explained. "Name starts with an 'O' and he wears a purple scarf. All you need is confirmation."

This was getting more absurd by the second. "I thought I was looking for- …nevermind. I don't believe asking him directly will lead to many results."

"Which is why you're not going to." Canary pulled yet another item—a pamphlet—out of his bottomless mane. "You're smart, you know about humans. Get his name, make him admit things regular pokemon wouldn't know, get out. Stay inconspicuous."

Ricinus took the pamphlet, as well. He flipped through its pages and examined its contents, quickly realizing that the words were completely illegible; it was written in a language he could not read, but was vaguely familiar as an ancient human language.

Although, "ancient" was not the right word to describe this pamphlet. It had clearly been water damaged and seen better days, yet the design was colorful. Modern by today's standards. Ugly, stylized Aipom-like creatures bared their sinister teeth on every page, positioned right next to varying sizes of script. Had Ricinus been in a better state of mind, he might have interpreted it as "friendly."

For the longest time, Ricinus had known humans to be this incredibly old and highly advanced race that had gone extinct by way of their own hubris centuries in the past. The idea that one of them was hiding among pokemon, masquerading as a Dewott of all things, made Ricinus uneasy. It made no sense.

But he got the idea. He knew enough about humans to ask the right questions—Canary and his demands be damned. If Ricinus was going to do this, he would do it for himself and he would do it right.

Ricinus cleared his throat. "Fine, then," he said. "This almost sounds too easy. Plus-" despite everything, Ricinus smirked, "-I would love to get a proper look at my future castle."

"Getting cocky now, are we?" Canary questioned, meeting the smirk with his own. "Don't get ahead of yourself. If you screw up we'll all suffer for it." There was plenty of confidence in his banter, but every word was laced with an undercurrent of authority. One mistake was all it would take to get on Canary's bad side…

"I don't intend to make a fool of myself, Canary."

The Zoroark stared down at Ricinus for a moment, likely gauging how genuine he was being, his face seeming stuck between a foolish smile and a wrathful glower. Whether or not he found what he was looking for, Ricinus was not sure. Regardless, Canary pulled yet another object from his mane: a plain looking seed.

"This isn't about making a fool of yourself, my prince. One wrong move and it's all over. They can read your fucking mind over there, and their torture methods would make Crane melt into a puddle." Canary held the seed in front of his eye, as though he were analyzing Ricinus through it. "This? This is a Reviser Seed. One bite and you'll be left laughing until you choke on your own tongue. Should be enough to block out any psychic interference, too. Anything goes wrong, and you end it right there. Got it?"

Ricinus blinked. This marked the first time he had ever laid eyes on a Reviser Seed in his life. They were in short supply. In previous attempts to manufacture working Reviver Seeds by way of reverse engineering, the results were predictably disastrous for any who tried. Mystery Dungeons were simply too difficult to parse—as they worked under nonsensical logic.

With how the mistake had been described to Ricinus once, he interpreted it as a cautionary tale: some forces of the world were best left out of his control. But that didn't mean that some failures were completely useless—like here.

Dying by raucous laughter was close to the worst possible way Ricinus could think to go. And while it would be effective, he was no trained assassin or spy. In other words, he would not be using it.

"Give it to me," Ricinus demanded, disgusted at the mere notion of having to carry such a cruel weapon. "Like I said, I don't intend to make a fool of myself."

Canary's expression shifted once more to a sneer. "You better not," he snarled. "You work for me now and you'll do anything and everything I say. No questions, or you'll see your reputation in the trash before you can argue."

Deliberately, he leaned down and extended a claw to Ricinus' cheek, brushing against it. Ricinus attempted to shirk away, but his back met the wall quicker than he would have liked. Shivers wracked his form.

"And you better come back. Understand?"

Damn creep! I'm not ready to spend the rest of my life like this!

Ricinus was a prince, a master of the game board. Only…pawns were treated like this.

But what choice did he have? The public would never accept a homosexual for a ruler. They wanted royalty—real royalty, that was capable of producing heirs. The kind of royalty from before the war. Add on to that a perceived manipulation of events to make himself seem more heroic and Ricinus was trapped.

This was not how this was supposed to go! This was not what Ricinus wanted! It…wasn't fair!

"Don't touch me…!" Ricinus uttered through gritted teeth.

"Hm? What was that?" Canary's claw brushed past Ricinus' ear, as he was seemingly delighted by the Sylveon's reaction.

"I said don't touch me!"

SLAM!

Within an instant, Canary's form had fizzled from Ricinus' view, and in his place was a clawed fist lodged in the stone wall. That familiar shade of tarnished white, washed out red, and dusty black comforted a stunned Ricinus, who was still backed up against the wall and reeling from the impact.

Laughter reverberated throughout the hallway, as if the walls themselves were making fun of Ricinus' plight. Canary was nowhere to be seen.

It was not until the laughter petered out that Ricinus finally steadied his breath; each exhale was shallow but level. Sweat coated his back. His tail hurt from being crushed at an awkward angle, only noticeable once Ricinus toppled forward from exhaustion.

Ricinus wasn't certain if it was an illusion or not anymore, but he didn't care. He thrust himself into Aven's arms the second the Lycanroc met his gaze.

"A-Aven…" the Sylveon muttered, lip quivering.

"You alright, Riz?" came Aven's voice, deep and rumbly. He smelled of powder, soot, and sweat—a scent only Aven could use to soothe. His arms were firm and strong, yet were soft as pillows in that moment.

Ricinus wailed a muffled screech into his arms. "No! No no no! Everything is going wrong!"

Aven's claws were like rough sandpaper rubbing on Ricinus' back, and that was preferable to the cold stone wall. "...He's gone now," Aven said. "I got you."

But for how long? When would be the next time Canary would pop up and make a ridiculous demand? How bad could it get?

"I…I don't know what to do, Aven," Ricinus whispered hoarsely. "He knows…"

Like the sweetheart he was, Aven gingerly leaned down and nuzzled Ricinus' ear. His hot breath sent a tingle down the fairy's spine. "Hey…we'll get through this. I'm here."

Yes, there was that. Ricinus had Aven. A shining light in the endless sea of darkness ahead of him. A warmth spread through Ricinus' body, reminding him that yes, he would not have to traverse this mess alone. There was hope.

Ricinus tore his teary eyes from Aven's arms and met the Midnight Lycanroc's gaze. "I don't…want to…can't…live in a world without you," he breathed.

"I ain't going anywhere," Aven stated, his eyes filled with authenticity. No signs of his feral side, either.

And that was good. Ricinus needed that. But while Aven was a lot of things—to Ricinus—he was not a strategist. The actual problem solving would come down to Ricinus himself.

After letting out a sigh, content with the knowledge that he would not have to tackle this alone, Ricinus declared, "We have to leave again. This time for Kebia."

"...You're doing what he wants?"

Ricinus nodded. "For now, yes. I need time to figure this out."

"Alright." Aven didn't argue. Not that he ever did.

A low chuckle then resounded from the wolf, followed by the sound of coins jingling. In one of his claws was a small coin purse. "Don't worry about me," he said. "Nabbed this earlier."

Again with the pickpocketing. Ricinus found himself giggling; even after the last job left them with more than enough money Aven still fell back into old habits. At least their ride to Kebia would be covered, as well as any food they needed.

Ricinus melted into Aven's arms. While he typically refrained from expecting Aven to treat him like royalty and carry him everywhere, his room was right there…and an exception was never out of the question.

"Tomorrow, then," Ricinus mumbled blissfully.

Aven did not even need to be asked. Before Ricinus knew it, he was being picked up and carried out of the hallway, bridal style.

"Tomorrow."
 
Chapter 43 - Day 16, Part 3: The High Notes

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 43: Day 16, Part 3 - The High Notes

"You've been awfully quiet, Marigold."

That was ominous coming from Anemone of all pokemon. If anything, Marigold was far from quiet, especially within her own mind.

Marigold straightened herself quickly, locking eyes with the Gardevoir. "Very, very sorry," said the Primarina. "I was a bit lost in thought."

The face Anemone made in response was almost comical in how incredulous it was. But before she could speak, she was swiftly interrupted by her ghostly adversary.

"Now now, Anemone," Calluna chided, "if Marigold has something to say, she'll say it. We agreed on that, did we not?"

That they did. Anemone's face twisted with recollection—as before this meeting the three matriarchs had decided that only spoken words would be commented on. This was to be an important meeting that required thoughtful planning and thorough discussion. Jumping to conclusions would only lead to arguments.

Marigold nodded. "I just need a bit more time to-"

"Yes, yes, I understand," Anemone spoke up, raising her arms in resignation. "We would be going a lot faster without this rule, but I'm trying to be fair. Just remember that."

Looking off at the massive stained glass windows within the throne room and the morning light shining through, Marigold could not help but wonder why it was that Anemone found this stipulation to be so controversial. She had thought that it would be a breath of fresh air, to speak with others as most pokemon often did. But the opposite could not be more true.

Thinking about others while they were listening was quite rude, however.

Perhaps we could talk about this more in private later, darling. I am curious.

Anemone's sole response was a scowl of contempt, piercing past the Primarina's well-meaning smile straight to her psyche. Through complete accident and goodwill, Anemone was set very plainly on edge. She was angry, and it showed through her furrowed eyebrows.

Marigold let out a sigh.

"Now, as I was saying," Calluna continued, "you're overreacting, Anemone." The Mismagius floated to the back of Anemone's desk, her cloth-like tassels dragging across the scattered papers and documents. "I can see why you would think that Bulu's gem is in jeopardy, but Ganlon Mine was heavily guarded even before we increased its security. It's held fast so far, even after recent attempts by vandals, so I fail to see what is so concerning."

Steam unevenly billowed from a ceramic cup Anemone held between her fingers. Before she elected to respond to Calluna, Anemone lifted the cup by the saucer up to her mouth. She took a brief yet loud sip, then smacked her lips.

"Oh yes," she said, "the theft of valuable artifacts that could spell the collapse of everything I have established is not concerning, but your tourist trap losing money is." Anemone set the saucer on the desk with a shrill clink. "Enough with this hand waving nonsense—don't undermine me, Calluna."

The Mismagius scoffed derisively. "Undermine you? Anemone, please, listen to yourself. I had that festival planned for months—considerably too long to cancel on such short notice. Meticulously allocated funds, thousands of resources set and ready, perfectly aligned to generate a profit. And you, at the last minute, claim that I am to accommodate a problem you choose not to solve on your own, claiming my role is less important…"

A blink and they were face-to-face, inches apart, sharing glares. Marigold held her breath.

"I see that as nothing less than insulting."

Marigold's breath hitched as she watched the two of them wait for the other's next move, unsure of what either of them were thinking. Their faces were scrunched up into aggravated scowls only two experienced leaders could produce. Neither would let up easily.

One thing was for certain, though, these disagreements and tense moments had only become more prevalent over the course of the past few weeks. There was not a simple, elegant meeting between them since, well…

It didn't matter; Marigold needed to stop this. Nothing would be accomplished if their goal was to one-up each other at every juncture. This meeting was going to be productive if it was the last thing she pined for.

The Primarina held up her flippers cautiously, attempting to be as disarming as possible. "Please, let's not fight!" she pleaded. "Anemone, I understand this is important to you, but there is only so much each of us can do. And Calluna, these things happen. There are ways to make up for these losses, I assume?"

Anemone swung her head in Marigold's direction, her eyes wide with indignation. "She never would have experienced those losses in the first place if she had waited another month! Maybe just a few weeks, even! But no," she turned back to Calluna, taking a step back, flicking her arm upward at the ghost, "she's so inflexible that a small gap in her plans was all it took!"

"Ho-ho-ho!" Calluna's form seemed to radiate with a dark mist while her tassels swayed at the behest of a nonexistent wind. "You wish to speak of being inflexible? Well, look no further than the Gardevoir in this room right now." Her tone grew aggressive—a change so rare that Marigold had thought it to be impossible. "Are my efforts not enough? Is Marigold's not enough? The pokemon of this castle? Tell me, Anemone, what is enough for you? What will make you feel safe?"

Oh dear, that failed. Arms slowly dropping to her side, Marigold could feel her lips growing dry from all of the gasps and quick breaths. If there was more she could do, finding the right answer was hampered by her reluctance to even so much as think and push Anemone further into belligerence.

Even still, she found herself drifting back to a train of thought that had been floating in her mind over the past few days. There had been an air of tension throughout the castle that anyone with a pair of ears could pick up on. Talks of tighter security, more criminal activity, and conflicts brewing had spread from bottom to top with no remorse. Marigold's attempts had slowed it down, even muddying some of the finer details, but there was no stopping a rumor once it infected a community.

"Oh yes," said Anemone, breaking the water type out of her thoughts, "you bring up a good point, Marigold."

A pit formed in Marigold's stomach.

Calluna's tassels swayed more fervently, her brimmed hat tilted downward. This way, she was quite imposing with shadows eclipsing her facial features. "Ignoring me and breaking an established rule? My my~"

Marigold opened her mouth to speak quickly, hoping to at least beat Anemone to the punch. "No, I was going to say it aloud, don't worry," she lied. "I just thought it was relevant to bring up how the general populace has been reacting to all of this. Some of the mons I've talked to recently have taken notice of the higher density of guards and lookouts compared to before, for instance."

"And that's exactly the problem," Anemone remarked, pouring herself another cup of tea from her…peculiar tea-making machine. "Calluna here thinks that making our restlessness more obvious is the right course of action, when all it does is exasperate matters even further. I wanted to keep things low-key for a reason—pretty soon we'll have them beating our doors down. Better to resolve this now then act like it's a problem that will resolve itself."

That wasn't what-

Baleful cackles arouse from Calluna. "You're right—it won't resolve itself. But forgive me if I've forgotten who can pluck this information right out of the minds of a pokemon before it gets any worse. Would you mind enlightening Marigold and I on why, arbitrarily, you decided to make yourself off-limits to the general public these past two weeks? I have been sent hundreds of requests to see you, and that amount has only increased as time has gone on."

The ghost floated to the desk, leaning against it and feigning a near-faint. "Anemone, please…" Calluna whined. "You've been so quiet, so closed off. Some even wonder if you're still alive." She brought a tassel to her forehead. "I am only doing my job. How can I be faulted for that?"

Like a Flaaffy in humid air, Marigold's ponytail began to fray, her face growing warm with discomfort. This morning was already a rush—adding on the stress of a ruined hairdo only served to set the tone for the rest of the day.

"Please, both of you!" she cried. "It's a difficult situation to be in for all of us, no doubt. No amount of finger pointing will change that."

Anemone crossed her arms, skewering Calluna with the daggers she glared from her eyes. Yet she stayed silent, as did Calluna. Neither seemed privy to interrupting the Primarina this time.

Marigold continued. "What matters is setting the right example through communication. This applies to both of you: there is no existing outside of the bubble. We have to solve this together!"

Hopefully that made sense. Marigold had used the bubble analogy before, to explain how nothing within the castle was solely independent. They all lived in the same place under the same roof—one big bubble. Everyone had to pull their weight, or the bubble would pop.

"Ah yes," Anemone muttered, "the bubble." She had not blinked once since she locked eyes with Calluna. Whether or not the words previously spoken had even registered with Anemone, Marigold could not tell.

"I agree that a lack of communication would only harm our image," said Calluna solemnly. "But I will remind you that Anemone has all of the information she could possibly need. In fact, so do I. Between us, communication is irrelevant."

Calluna floated over to one of the far windows, the sunlight filtering in and piercing through her partially transparent form. Her voice echoed loudly off the walls. "Leadership is what truly matters, and so is playing the role you are meant to play. Anemone has failed to do so, leaving all of us to wonder what roles need to be played in the first place. There is no leadership to be found here. Especially not from her."

Light, graceful footsteps became heavy and thundering as Anemone stormed after her. "You have no right to talk to me about playing roles!" she boomed. A finger was pointed. "Your role is what I say it is. I'm curious to know if you've noticed how worse things have gotten ever since that fact has been warped."

The room lit up with ferocity. They continued to argue.

Meanwhile, Marigold wilted. Yet another attempt to steer the conversation had deftly failed. As would the next attempt and possibly the one after that. Was there nothing else she could do at this point? Both Anemone and Calluna seemed to have made up their minds about each other…

All she could think to do was watch the two smartest pokemon she could think of tear each other apart verbally and pray that they come to some sort of agreement. Marigold could also be struck by a sudden surge of inspiration, but even the most creative sects of her mind were clouded with a despondent miasma.

She made an attempt to straighten her hair. Under her breath, she mumbled quietly, "Sometimes I wonder if I really belong in this committee…"

"Of course you belong here," Anemone said in a surprisingly kind voice.

Looking up from the floor she was staring at, Marigold was shocked to find that both Anemone and Calluna had their gazes affixed on her, as though they halted their disagreement just to address her thoughts—words never meant to be spoken.

Only that they weren't thoughts; she had said it out loud. Even with Anemone in the room, this felt especially careless. Why did she say it?

Strangely, Calluna agreed with Anemone before Marigold had realized the mistake she had made. "She's right, you know. It helps to have a third, wholly distinct voice to listen to and garner advice from. Giratina knows my employees are of a certain breed."

Anemone shot Calluna a look out of the corner of her eye, but added to the sentiment despite that. "...Neither of us can talk to the general public like you can, Marigold. Your commitment is invaluable." She sighed. "And, I like having you around."

Calluna nodded, shooting Anemone a smug smirk. "As do I. The three of us make a great team…even if we are prone to frequent bouts of dissent."

Oh my. Marigold was quite used to compliments, but hearing them from these two reddened her cheeks a little bit. She was not aware that either Calluna or Anemone were capable of such things.

"Oh…is that…so?" Marigold uttered with uncertainty. "Well…" A smile formed on her face. How unexpected. "Thank you. I know that my strategic capabilities are minimal compared to yours, Anemone. And I know that your management skills make mine look pitiful, Calluna. But I'm glad I can help in any way I can. This job matters a lot to me."

More than either of them probably realized. Even Anemone, with her memory prodding, might not have recognized how much these compliments warmed Marigold's heart. It was touching that they viewed her in such a positive light.

Perhaps recognizing the shift in tone, Calluna turned to Anemone. "Well?" she asked.

Anemone shook her head, her eyes clamped shut, seemingly in pain. "I've had enough," the Gardevoir groaned. "I'll have one of my channelers contact you about this more later, Calluna. I need a break."

"Mmm," Calluna hummed, hovering further and further away. "As you wish. Mari-dear, let's leave Anemone be."

With a reluctant nod of her head, Mari dragged herself after Calluna. Occasionally, she glanced at Anemone over her shoulder. She caught brief glimpses of the Gardevoir hunched over her desk, hitching her back.

Concern was evident on Marigold's face, and Calluna noticed. "Don't worry about her, dear," the Mismagius said. "Anemone is no more infallible than either of us, but my cumulative grievances would never detract from her strength. We'll decide on something soon, I'm certain."

Marigold agreed by setting her gaze forward and clearing her mind. "Of course."

She could only hope.


At Altaria's, the atmosphere was thick with a craving for lunch. Like a blinding radiance that coated every inch of the building, words were slung about in haphazard cohesion, alongside the textile clinks and slurps that only a lunch rush could elicit. A favorite time for any social Beautifly.

Marigold had once said that the places where food was eaten were the most peaceful places in the world. War could ravish the lands, conflict at every corner, but a simple diner with a prolific menu could bring it all to a halt for a good half hour. Although, she could only sympathize with the young employees Altaria hired recently; they had their work cut out for them.

So many familiar faces in the establishment, so many stories to tell. However, only one face mattered to her at that moment: the Brionne sitting across from her.

"I just didn't know she was a lesbian," said the Brionne, sipping her Payapa berry smoothie with a disgruntled look on her face. "We've been friends since my third hatchday, and she never told me!"

Marigold nursed her own smoothie like she was handling a precious jewel. Up to this point she had neglected to tell her daughter that she was already aware of her friend Mazus' sexuality. Her latent curiosity with the Lilligant's previous relationship led to a heart-to-heart over what she truly desired. And the Hakamo-o Mazus had previously dated did not match that desire, regardless of how hard she tried to make it work.

"She seems more happy now, though, doesn't she?" Marigold wondered aloud. Resting her cheek on her flipper, she watched Prim flex her own flippers theatrically.

"And I would have been happy with her!" Prim groaned. "We all could have been happy. But how can we even perform if she can't trust us?"

As someone that spoke with Mazus directly about this, Marigold understood quite well that it had nothing to do with trust. Her friendships or even her spot on the dance team were unquestionably secure, or so Mazus claimed. Marigold certainly had no interest in punishing the poor girl for it. It was the public response that drove them all to secrecy.

Marigold took a tiny sip from her smoothie. "You never suspected it? Not once?"

Prim's mouth fell agape like the question itself offended her. "No!" she exclaimed. "C'mon, mom! We do everything together! Do you really think I wouldn't know?"

It wouldn't surprise Marigold if Prim didn't. Mazus was very unassuming in a way that only a pretty girl could be. There was no indication on the surface that so much as hinted at a betrayal of the norm. Even below the surface, denial reached far. It was only after asking the right questions did the truth become known.

"Finding out what you really want takes a long time, Prim," Mari said. "I wasn't born a singer, for example."

"I get that! But still! A little heads up would have been nice." She groaned even louder this time. "Now everyone thinks we're all…flowery!"

For a moment, Marigold glanced around her at the pokemon enjoying their lunch. Regular, everyday pokemon talking to those around them. Word-of-mouth traveled fast, that much she knew. It did not surprise her in the slightest that this was the conclusion that was eventually reached.

The source of Mazus' fear: being the reason not just her but all of her friends were scorned, laughed at, and judged. Perhaps even hated. It was enough to keep any mon in hiding.

Marigold furrowed her eyebrows, choosing right then to sit upright. "No they don't," she reassured. "Just ignore those kinds of rumors. The public will forget about it before you know it."

Prim's ears fell flat against her head. "I hope so. It's just…I'm not mad at her, she can be a lesbian if she wants. Being around her now, though…ugh, I feel uncomfortable, I hate it."

"Prim, look at me."

The Brionne met Marigold's gaze, guilt shining in her eyes.

"Nothing's changed." The Primarina's voice was clear, stern. Just like how she used to talk to Prim when she was still a little Popplio getting up to mischief. "What you need to do is sit down with her and let her know that this won't hurt your friendship. She's probably just as worried as you are."

Prim whined. "I know…" Her gaze fell to her half-finished smoothie, lost in thought. Then, abruptly, she asked, "Mom, what would you do if I was a lesbian?"

You aren't one, was Mari's immediate thought.

As terrible as it sounded, Marigold knew that Prim wasn't like that. And she was glad, if she was being honest. Not that Mari had anything against the idea or anything like that; Prim was her own pokemon and she could decide for herself. Marigold just…didn't want her daughter to take that path, simple as that.

It was a conversation too stressful for her to have at this age. In her mind, it complicated matters, made her ask questions that would be answered awfully quickly if Prim found a nice boy instead.

Marigold put on the best smile she could. "I wouldn't do anything, Prim. If that's who you are, I won't judge."

Prim smiled genuinely, and that guilt from before faded from her eyes. "Okay, mom," she said. "I was just curious."

Warmth spread to the Primarina's heart. Seeing her daughter smile was the biggest source of joy in her life. She wouldn't know what to do with herself if she lost it.

Some time ago, Marigold had a chat with another mother. An Umbreon, if Marigold remembered correctly. She was distraught, and angry at her own son for leaving home without a word. The son wanted to travel, be an explorer, and experience danger he'd never find in Kebia. But his mother wouldn't let him, claiming that she'd never accept such a brazen, foolhardy son as her own. So, the son left. And despite driving her own son further away, she referred to him as "nothing but a brat that never appreciated anything she had done for him."

Marigold wanted to do everything she could to not be that Umbreon.

It was at that moment that a young Armaldo waiter stopped by their table to deliver the bill and ask if they enjoyed the meal. Not much thought was put into Marigold's response, but her daughter put her everything into hers. A beaming smile, fluttering eyelashes, and the cutest darn voice Marigold had ever heard—all sufficient in making the Armaldo stutter and lose his bearings.

She had to suppress a devious little smile. Prim would be fine.

As the waiter walked off, leaving Marigold to examine the bill, Prim hummed to herself. A telltale sign that she was in a good mood. "What about you, mom?" she wondered.

How much were those pancakes? Goodness, Altaria must have raised her prices. I should ask her about coupons…

"Hm? What about me?" Mari questioned absentmindedly.

Prim swatted at the air with her flipper before letting it go limp in front of her. "Go on, tell me. You've gotta have your eyes on another guy now, right? It's been long enough."

Marigold froze, nonplussed. Her eyebrow raised high enough to shift her tiara.

The Brionne held out her flippers defensively as she added "Or lady. You don't judge me, I don't judge you," in a half-joking manner.

That last comment was obviously not meant to be taken seriously, which was why Marigold did anything but. A melodious chuckle arose from her throat. The mere mention of her love life coaxed her to sing—public manners be damned. Love was often the focus of her music, but yet…

Marigold waved Prim off dismissively. "Oh please," she said. "You know me, Prim. I'm too busy for that sort of thing these days."

"Oh, of course," Prim admitted, "you're married to your work, I forgot."

Another comment not meant to be taken seriously. However, this one stung harder than Prim was likely intending.

Marigold was married to her work. Every day of the week, she served the castle like a doting lover. Treating its wounds, lending a listening ear, loving it dearly.

But it never loved her back. Not in the way a male her age ever could.

…Or female, as Prim had suggested. Marigold would be lying if she said the thought never crossed her mind. She got along quite well with other pokemon her age and gender; much more so than with any male. If given the opportunity, Mari believed that she could be quite happy that way.

Alas, now was not the time in her life to consider such things. It was too complicated, and brought on too much change. Like Prim had said, her work was more important, anyway.

Marigold shook her head. "You know that all ended for me after your father left. Those days are behind me."

Prim's expression soured slightly, as if the mention of her estranged father brought on some bad memories. "I hope I never have to meet him," she muttered.

"You and me both," Marigold said in a near whisper. "That Primarina has nothing to offer you, Prim." Not after he got with that Ninetales.

Thankfully, the conversation turned to much cheerier matters quickly. Prim, with her smoothie now completely empty, slid out of her booth. "Well, if you ever change your mind, I hear there's a Dragonite working at the landing pads…"

Oh boy, Marigold could see where this was going. "Please, anyone but him."

"What? He's successful, funny, exactly your type, and clearly into you. You deserve it!"

Marigold slid out of her booth, as well, chuckling all the while. "You could be describing fifty pokemon for all I know. I'm just not interested in a relationship right now, honey."

"Fiiiiine."

This was clearly not the end of it. Within a week's time Prim would point out another mon that could potentially hold Marigold's attention, she just knew it. And like before, Marigold would shoot down the idea.

It was touching that her daughter cared, though. Love was hard to come by in these times. If given the choice between those fifty pokemon, her daughter, and the castle, she would pick her daughter every time.

She made sure to give her a tight hug on their way out, despite Prim's protests.

"Stoooop, I'm not a little Popplio anymore!" she whined.

"You'll always be my little Popplio, honey."


With it being Thursday, the castle's first floor bulletin board had been updated with the past week's news. A crowd of pokemon typically shuffled in early in the morning to see what had changed, then left for the cafeteria down the hall to have breakfast afterwards. Some, like Marigold, opted to do the opposite, and grab their breakfast before checking the news so they could converse and discuss any changes. The room housing the bulletin board doubled as a lounging area, too.

Marigold loved this time of the week. Faces that had almost seemed to have faded into the background by way of overworking themselves appear for their one social outlet, lit up by the prospect of something new. It gave her a chance to connect with others that would normally never join a social gathering. She would spend hours there every Thursday morning, talking until her throat nearly gave out.

Unfortunately, obligations in the form of a meeting with the other matriarchs and lunch with her daughter caused Marigold to miss the early crowd this morning. There was always next week, of course, but every time she missed it her heart would ache. So many connections were forged in that one room, brought together through the bubble of shared information…

An hour had already passed since Marigold had stopped by the lounge anyway. With the exception of a couple teams doing some late cleanup and Marigold herself, any remaining activity had fizzled out. But with that in mind, it had also been an hour since she started conversing with Team Coral.

"Have you ever seen the dead walk again, Ms. Marigold?" asked the Cramorant, a slight tinge of hopeful curiosity in his voice.

Mari's head arose from her flipper, both interested and perplexed by the question. "I beg your pardon?"

The Cramorant's Scrafty teammate elbowed him playfully. "Why do you always have to be so blunt, huh?" said the Scrafty. "You know that's not what actually happened."

Cramorant fluffed his feathers. "Hey, it's not a bad question if she answers it."

Despite the morbid nature of the query, Team Coral never failed to make Marigold laugh. They were good company.

"Oh, it's not a bad question at all," Marigold agreed. "Why do you ask?"

Scrafty waved it off. "It's…nothing. Don't worry about it."

"I'm telling you, this isn't the first time this happened," Cramorant squawked. He looked at Marigold expectantly. "I'm talking about dead pokemon getting up and walking off like nothing happened."

Curious. "Are…reviver seeds involved?" Those peculiar items were never out of the question; though Marigold had never seen them used herself.

But to her surprise, Cramorant shook his head. "No, nothing like that. It's something else entirely, I'm telling you."

At the same time, Scrafty cleared his throat. "What he means is, we failed a job recently and the client bit the dust in the dungeon we were in," Scrafty explained. "Then a few days later a buddy of mine let me know that he saw that same client up and about two towns over, not a scratch on him."

Cramorant shuddered. "It's like he…walked right out, and started a new life…"

Dead pokemon rising from their grave and walking off to start a new life…creepy.

Marigold never was one for the macabre. Folk tales and horror stories were not her "cup of tea," as Anemone would say. Even the friendliest of Calluna's ghosts could make Mari jump at a moment's notice.

Now her daughter, she was a different story. Marigold could see Prim eating up this story for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was a mystery where she got that from.

Marigold shook her head indignantly. "Well, that's quite the story. Did you let Lace and Ipo know so they could update the document?"

Cramorant put his wings on his hips and glared. "You don't believe me, do you Marigold?"

She didn't.

"It's not that I don't believe you," she lied, "it's that there are explanations for this. It's not impossible that, somehow, a reviver seed found its way to the corpse and worked its magic. Mystery Dungeons work in mysterious ways like that."

Or perhaps they were misremembering the death entirely. Or this friend of theirs was working off of incorrect, second-hand information. Accepting this account at face value did not seem like a smart play.

The Scrafty, even though he was trying very hard not to act self-satisfied, rested his hand on the bird's shoulder. "See? There was no point in even bringing it up. Let's just leave it be."

Shoulders slumped, the Cramorant looked absolutely lost. "You gotta believe me, it's not that simple…" he muttered.

As much as she wanted to sympathize with the mon, his story had too many holes for Marigold to take seriously. Besides, putting any sort of mental energy into a topic such as this detracted from actual, tangible issues. Like how Team Coral failed to keep a client alive. Not just safe—alive.

"In any case, please be more careful in the future," she said. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not hear any more stories about the dead, period."

Cramorant opened his beak to speak, but quickly clamped it shut.

There were loud, furious voices erupting from the hallway.

Any and all discussion rushed to a screeching halt as Marigold and the others in the room with her scurried out of the door. Her heart beat faster the closer she got to the source—Marigold recognized the voices in question.

The first belonged to Aster, Calluna's Banette accomplice. "You think this is funny, huh?" he accused, his body jittering and his lips fully unzipped. Two Duskull idled behind him, their floating eyes perpetually scanning from left to right. "I can see past those glares—I know what you're up to!"

The second belonged to Geum, a channeler of Anemone. "Nothing of what you described is unacceptable behavior; our Natu have the right," said the Xatu, stone faced and to-the-point.

And the third was a second Xatu, Diascia, somehow louder than the other two despite speaking in a whispery voice. "Unacceptable, unacceptable…" she chanted.

"The right to encroach on my turf?" Aster challenged. "The nerve…what are you after, you freaks!"

Geum's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Our reasoning was already given-"

"-complaints must be addressed," added Diascia, her beak shifting upward a small amount.

As if fully in tune with their leader, the Duskull's eyes bobbed from one end to the other with increased frequency.

Aster's arms elongated, raising high above his head. "If it was a complaint I would know what it was! And that's that!" His eyes glowed as they narrowed. "So if I don't know then someone doesn't want me to know…"

At the same time, Team Coral uttered several concerned musings such as "That doesn't sound good" and "I can see this becoming a fight." Other pokemon had started to gather, watching on with morbid curiosity.

Marigold knew what a volatile conflict of interest looked like. She didn't need to surmise the cause of this tension to understand that this interaction was not just a smoking disagreement, it was the point of no return. Neither side seemed compelled to search for an alternative solution, and it was only going to get worse. They needed to be separated now.

There wasn't even enough time to let out a hefty sigh before Marigold hobbled right into the center of the scuffle. Nor did she take a moment to consider what she was doing.

"Stop, stop!" Marigold adjured. "What do you think you're doing? You're in public, by Kyogre's fins!"

Three sets of eyes and two singular, ghostly eyes fell on the Primarina, each seemingly widened at Marigold's presence. Aster's arms whipped back to his shoulders like a loosened rubber band, while both Xatu stood ever so slightly straighter.

Aster's lips zipped shut, and he said, "Oh, grand, Marigold. You're here." He gestured to the psychic birds. "Can you tell these two to mind their damned business? They're invading my privacy."

Smartly, neither Xatu had a response to that. An admission of guilt? It didn't really matter to Marigold.

The Primarina crossed her arms. "This is childish and you know it, Aster. If you— any of you disagree on something you should solve it like adults, privately."

If Aster had teeth he would have been gritting them together. "I tried to do that, Marigold!" he claimed. "But they've been avoiding me!" Both Duskull nodded their bodies in assurance of that fact.

Geum's response was quick—very quick. "There had been no attempts to avoid you or your ghosts; that is slander."

Diascia added, "This is the first time Aster has spoken to us about this issue…"

"You got that right!" Aster snapped. "Who would want to talk to YOU anyways?"

"Aster," Marigold reprimanded. Now was not the time for personal insults. Even if neither of the Xatu reacted whatsoever.

She almost didn't speak up, though, simply because she somewhat agreed with Aster. Geum and Diascia were woefully poor conversationalists, and were frequently the subject of scathing rumors by the general public. The concept of those two fornicating just to create more mindless Natu drones was…persistent. And certainly not true.

But compared to the two Reuniclus that predated them, Geum and Diascia were difficult to defend. Marigold made the assumption that she would have to do all of the heavy lifting here.

Aster sank back, floating closer to the floor. "...Listen, if you're gonna talk about me then I'm gonna talk back. No excuses."

"What exactly is the problem here?" Marigold said sternly. After which she added, while simultaneously cutting off Aster, "And don't…insult each other, please."

"We are simply honoring a compliant-" Geum explained.

"-that is our job…" Diascia stated.

Turning to Marigold, Aster's lips unzipped to unveil a frenzied, pitch black void. "They're spying on me!" he spat. "Everytime I look out of the corner of my eye I see another one of their spawns. Is that your job?" He pointed his ire at Diascia.

The Xatu took a step back.

Marigold ignored Aster for now. Even if she wanted to trust him, he was sounding more and more paranoid by the moment. She looked at Geum.

"What is this about a complaint?" she asked.

Geum proceeded to point his wing at Aster. "Banette Aster has reportedly been conducting various acts of harassment and bullying recently; enough to elicit a complaint from one affected."

The shock was clear on Aster's face. "Harassment!? Bullying!? Who said that? When I get my mits on them-"

Marigold cut in, glaring harshly at the ghost. "Aster, stop." She turned back to the bird, trying to remain firm. "And from what Aster is claiming, you took it upon yourself to…observe him, and see if these claims were true."

Geum…nodded, very hesitantly. "Indeed-"

Aster nearly shouted. "And you had NO RIGHT to do so-!"

There we go. That was all Marigold needed.

"Okay!" she announced, successfully making herself the center of attention for the final time. "We're resolving this."

Marigold put on her best Get Along smile, a specialty of hers. It was the perfect blend of agreeable amiability and off-putting intensity that made even the manliest of mons bow their heads in guilt. Prim often called it the You Will Get Along smile for a reason.

She could feel the audience's uneasiness from where she was situated.

First, the Xatu. Marigold looked between the two of them, grinning like a Darmanitan. "I believe we have a solution: Calluna. From here on forward, if there are any issues with her ghosts, talk to her first. You don't need to take it upon yourselves to act."

Like always, it was difficult to discern either Geum or Diascia's intentions. For several seconds they simply stared, contemplating or perhaps stunned by this change in events. It was Diascia's response that earned any discernible reaction.

"Understood…" she whispered.

By the time Mari had turned on Aster, the bird's slow response became more explainable. He had on this deviously smug look that contorted his warped countenance into something that even Marigold found irritating.

She cleared her throat. "And you," she started, "I'm going to be looking into this myself."

Immediately all of that superiority dissipated, as even the Duskull seemed shocked. "Wha- Mari, please," Aster said. "You can't be…surely you aren't-"

"I have to, Aster," affirmed Marigold. "Regardless of how you feel about it, this is something that can't stand if it is true. This situation deserves its due attention."

It was not long before Aster's expression soured and he was right by the Primarina's ear, pleading for his case. Or, rather, pleading against the Xatu.

"You know they're just trying to stir something up," Aster muttered. "Don't listen to them."

But Marigold was not interested in picking sides. Was it possible that the Xatu were trying to spy on Aster for other reasons and made up an excuse? Was it reasonable to assume that Aster was as big a bully as they claimed? She could believe either one, but good leaders worked off of hard facts, not emotion.

She learned that the hard way.

"You shouldn't be worried, Aster," Marigold said. "If neither claim is true, then this was all a misunderstanding. We just have to get to the bottom of it."

Judging by how he was jittering and threatening to unzip his mouth once more, Aster was not satisfied with this conclusion. Understandable, but like Marigold said: they were all adults here.

"Tch!" Aster forced his zipper closed, dropping to the ground like a rock. "You won't find anything. Mark my words…"

And just like that, the Banette and Duskull disappeared into the floor. The air felt that much warmer in their absence.

That was one side of the scuffle resolved. Marigold did not expect the Xatu to throw in any last remarks, though. In fact, when she turned to face them, they were already preparing to fly off, wings extended.

"The interference is appreciated, Ms. Marigold," Geum stated.

"We must fly now…"

Marigold held up a flipper. "Wait," she started, "was all of that true? Were you keeping an eye on Aster for the reason you gave?"

Neither Xatu offered an immediate answer. Once again Marigold had to wonder what was going through their minds.

Geum finally said, "Our word is as stalwart as our allegiance; we do not lie."

"Never…"

Was there a bit of an edge to Diascia's voice? Or was Marigold hearing things?

Regardless, she nodded. "Thank you."

The Xatu flew off without another word, leaving the scene bereft of any remaining conflict.

Several of the watching pokemon left right then and there. Others remained to discuss what had just happened, already sinking into pits of speculation.

Marigold was not one to halt a conversation once it had started. What had just transpired had been done so in a public place. She did what she could, and now she had something to work on today.

Always with the drama…she thought ruefully.

Team Coral approached her, jumping right into speculation of their own, formulating conclusions.

"You know, I've heard some iffy stuff about that Banette before," said the Scrafty.

"And the Xatu," Cramorant added. "Some creeeeepy stuff."

As much as Marigold wanted to entertain the notion…

With her voice raised an octave, and while wearing a beaming smile, Marigold turned to them and said, "Whatever it was that caused such a reaction I'm certain it can be solved. We're all together here."

All in one big bubble. And by Kyogre's name was Mari going to ensure that this bubble wouldn't pop.

Even if it meant bending the truth a little bit.
 
Chapter 44 - Day 16, Part 4: Out of Bounds

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 44: Day 16, Part 4 - Out of Bounds

Common wisdom states that there's a lot to be gained from vigilant skepticism. Even though it could be a tightrope walk between offending others and confirming suspicions, the world was rarely black and white in its entirety. Intentions did not need to be malevolent to incite harmful changes. More often than not, those that claimed to be doing good completely believed it to be so. True good required a moral compass—a righteous outlook of the world.

And true evil runs the world. But not for much longer.

As the land of Enigma passed by, and a lone Krookodile gazed out of the window of an airborne taxi, the distant spires of Kebia castle loomed on the horizon. Like sharp teeth, they pierced the sky, threatening to stab the clouds for all of their transgressions. Maybe that was why Kebia's weather was so erratic compared to elsewhere; the castle itself kept the clouds in check.

Finch received a lot of dirty looks on his way out of that castle yesterday. Nothing new there; he was used to it. Kebia worked off of certain rules: namely, ones of rejection. Kebia was a repellent kind of place, crafted with the sole purpose of weeding out delinquents and lawbreakers.

Which was fine. Finch was not so far gone that he saw no reason for such places to exist, but normally such clauses would only become known to the regular citizens when actual crime was being committed. Finch, at worst, had previously gotten into a petty argument with the pokemon at the front desk. Nothing worthy of punishment.

Considering the looks those ghosts were giving him, though, he might have assumed that he was one insult away from being dragged away to his doom. The air was thick with their throat-tightening miasma, pumping his lungs full of conformity. However, none had stopped him when he left the castle.

They were waiting for me to slip up, he thought, carving gibberish into the cushion with his claws. That's what it was. Their bosses don't like me, but they have to follow the rules.

"Avast ye!" called out the Croconaw taxi driver. "We'll be thar soon!" Loud, muffled wingbeats plowed against the air like cannons. The Corviknight carrying the taxi refrained from increasing their pace, but Tusk—being as he was—hollered and laughed all the same, swinging his scimitar like mad.

"Aye aye!" Finch shouted back, more for himself than the driver. His snout was inches from the taxi's window, fogging it up as he growled to himself. There was a distinct tingling in his tail—one that only surfaced when he had a feeling that something bad was on the horizon. Was it a storm, maybe? A terribly destructive one that would leave everyone he cared about hopeless and afraid?

Whatever it is, I can only feel it getting closer. I don't like that. I don't like that at all.

Tusk called out again, shouting over the raging winds. "Finch, me bucko! Wha' did ye say ye we plannin' on doin'?"

Finch almost didn't answer. It was doubtful that the Croconaw could even hear him. But if that croc could handle the winds, so could this croc. He opened the door slightly, squinting at the wind, and twisted his head around the opening.

"Visiting a contact!" Finch bellowed. "Friend of mine needed to talk to them, but he's a bit caught up right now!"

"Ye heard 'im, Lass! Stay low, take it slow!" Neither the Corviknight nor Tusk himself made themselves any less noisy, or slowed down in either cadence or demeanor. Oh well; Finch didn't really expect anything less. A small chuckle escaped him as he slumped back into the taxi.

Once inside, Finch eyed the bottles and mugs rattling at the other end of the cabin—Tusk's only cargo, aside from Finch himself.

Like I always say: you can trust a pirate with your life. Just don't expect to leave their company sober.

Had they met up under better circumstances, Finch might not have been sober at that moment. Considering the state of Micle, though, Finch didn't even have the time to explain what his plan was, let alone share a drink.

And it's all because of Big Mama…

"We be nigh-on t' Hopo! YAR!"

I'm going to make up for this, Finch thought despondently, watching the small cabins of Hopo come into view ahead of them. I'll set them free and get my revenge. Count on that.

Finch leaned out of the door and shouted up at Tusk again. "Alright, this is good! Set me down here!" Today was not the day for big entrances. Finch could walk the rest of the way.

"Aye aye!"

With a howl and a "KAW," the taxi lurched so fast that Finch only barely got back to his seat before being flattened against the cushion. He grasped the convenient safety handle as gravity pushed him upward.

"Wooooohoo!" the Krookodile bellowed, his gums pulled past his teeth. Many things were guaranteed when it came to Tusk, and a fun time was definitely one of them. Finch snickered at the thought of how someone like Oswald would react to such excitement.

He'd probably scream. Then he'd get mad at me afterwards. What a funny guy.

They touched down not too long after, landing hard enough to nearly send Finch flying out of his seat. With his pack slung over his shoulder, Finch swung the door open and hopped out of the taxi. Immediately, the dry dirt—almost like sand—seeped between his toes. He took a deep breath of the arid air.

Tusk dropped down from his perch quickly after, landing with a thud, dust puffing out in a cloud. The muscular croc dusted off his claws and grinned at Finch, not at all deterred by the grime clinging to his striped shirt.

"HAHA! 'n thar ye go!" said Tusk. "Quick 'n easy, eh Finch?"

The wind stung like cactus needles. A moment was spent just taking in the sun-baked landscape of southern Enigma. While not completely derelict—the continent was much too small for that—there was a distinct warmth permeating through the air that opened up Finch's sinuses and loosened up his joints. Trees were somewhat sparse to the south, and grass grew in clumps near the large river leading all the way to the ocean. Aside from any of the trees that were there, it was mostly barren. Perfect for a ground dweller like Finch.

Is what I would say if there were any jobs down here. Mom always dreamed of moving to where it's quiet and comfortable…

The thought both filled Finch with nostalgia and left him melancholic over what could have been. But in the face of that, he grinned just as wide at Tusk. How could he not?

"Yeah," he agreed. "Couldn't ask for a more skilled driver."

The Corviknight behind them guffawed at that.

Tusk proceeded to show off his muscles with a flex, flashing his sharp fangs, too. "Thar ain't a pirate that can get ye t' where ye needs t' go faster! That's Tusk, baby!"

"Sure is."Finch chuckled. "Thanks again, Tusk. When I get back, we're finding you a new boat."

The last one was confiscated. Finch found the Crocoaw in a tizzy yesterday while he watched the Gummi dealer, Turaco, be dragged away kicking and screaming from Clamperl's Dream. And he wasn't the only one. All of Micle faced a complete invasion, with mons on every corner being arrested and questioned. It had been years since Finch had seen such a large-scale seize and capture. There was definite evidence of criminal activity, sure, but they didn't need to search the entire city for that.

(...)(...)(...)​

Miraculously, Tusk and Turaco hadn't left for Blueline yet. Knowing Tusk, that was a bit surprising. But then again, if there was one mon that could evade capture unlike any other, it was Tusk.

"Tusk?" Finch had said. "Thank Darkrai you're still here!"

Tusk had put on that big toothy grin of his and laughed. "Aye! They took me galleon! Don't worry! Yer heartie Tusk thought ahead 'n broke it afore they could take it! Squiffy! Har har har!"

Luckily Tusk had a backup plan on standby. From there, they rode out to Hopo, leaving Micle to its devices.


(...)(...)(...)​

The prospect of a replacement dingy lightened Tusk's eyes like a Volbeat's tail. "Mighty?" he said hopefully. "Ah, Finch-" Tusk quickly pulled Finch into a brotherly hug, "-we'll be downin' ale 'n punchin' guts in no time!"

"Shouldn't take me too long," Finch remarked, gleefully returning the hug, patting the other croc on the back. "We need to head to Kebia after this."

Hopefully by then Ozzy has his shit together. I ain't staying in that castle for long.

Tusk pulled back, pounding his chest. "Aye aye! Run fast 'n punch hard, Finch!"

"Can't punch harder than you, Tusk!"

With a nod, the Krookodile dashed through the dirt, eyes on the cabins in the distance through the thirsty trees. Dust cascaded past his scales, and several minutes of traveling later, the treeline and bumpy dirt hills were broken. Finch emerged amidst a sea of dusty orange, punctuated by the engraved footprints of a well-traveled path.

Hopo, both from what Finch knew and could infer, was an intermediate settlement meant to give mons a resting point on their way to Hondew. It was small, unassuming, and often forgotten by most maps. If a mon wanted a safe place to make a deal, far from any interference, Hopo Town would not be a bad choice.

Immediately, though, Finch could tell it was far from barren. In fact, it seemed quite crowded. Pokemon were coming and going, separated into groups of three or four, moving with an organized purpose. Even from this distance he could see they stomped around in the dirt with about as much grace as a newborn Duraludon. They weren't locals.

Just like Micle. Guildies swarming like Combee in pursuit of nectar.

The grip Finch had on his pack's straps tightened until his knuckles turned white.

They came here, too? Now? What for…?

And then it hit him. Iris. They were looking for Iris. The Queen wanted to leave no stone unturned it seemed; no way was this a coincidence.

You gotta be kidding me…

It was never going to be easy. He should've figured that sooner when it took him a couple hours just to find a willing carriage driver back in Kebia. And even then, the one he found left him worse off than before.

He needed to get closer. If Iris was caught then that left him no choice but to head to Rabuta and beat The Queen to the punch, even if the thought made him want to rip his teeth out. Any reservations he had over the rebellion's gradual degeneration paled in comparison to what was happening now. Allies were dropping fast.

So, Finch dashed once again, keeping low, quickly latching onto the lingering thought that this was all a trap. Not just for himself, but any others that took the same path. If Turaco of all mons knew about Iris, surely others did, too.

It didn't take long, and thankfully no one saw him. Sidling up against the nearest cabin, Finch inched around the corner, poking his snout out just enough to get a good look of the carnage.

Compared to the street corners of Rabuta and Kebia, there was no cohesion to the placement of houses in Hopo. Or order, no style. If Colbur village, where Finch first met Oswald and Fenn, was a homely place predicated by a clear vision, Hopo was made out of necessity. It barely functioned, let alone thrived.

But that worked for Finch. He practically blended in through the trash and grime, getting a good look at Kebia's lapdogs through the cracks. Each wore one of those candy colored bands of subservience, shouting commands at each other, turning themselves into searchlights. Seeing this, Finch was prompted to check his arm. It was naked.

I'd wear my own, but they're probably expecting that. They know I'm aware of their games and don't want me to play.

Just yesterday for instance, Finch needed to leave Kebia and do so as fast as possible. With that Aggron he had talked to before—a deal had been struck that placed Finch in his priority list. If the croc needed to be somewhere, the Aggron would be there to take him.

Apparently the deal fell through over the course of those three days. The Aggron explained that he had other obligations and could not help Finch. Fortunately, there were alternatives. Carriages were in abundance in Kebia.

He asked another one. They turned him down.

He asked one more. They claimed to have been booked for the entire week.

He asked another. The carriage rider claimed to only accept "certain clients."

It was after maybe the seventh attempt that Finch confirmed that something was wrong. After the eighth, the carriage rider let it slip, and claimed that he did not want to lose his job by helping Finch.

Why, under any circumstances, would a carriage rider lose his job for doing what he was being paid to do?

Finch scoffed to himself. Nope, that wasn't going to happen again. The second they'd see that purple band, it would all be over. With this. he'd be staying low. Or high, if needed. None of the goons he could immediately see had any wings…

Could also be in the walls. Never know with these pricks.

A few of the groups started moving again, and fast—low would be good for the moment. And only as close as he needed to hear them.

Sliding around to the other corner of the cabin, Finch brought his claw to his ear, listening for any pokemon that happened to be heading his way.

Two voices stuck out: one awfully warbly in their intonations, and the other punctuating every other word with loud clicks and clacks.

"...at a shithole," said the warbly one.

Click click clack! "Yer tellin' me," replied the clacking one. Clack clack click! "I hear this place used to be swarmin', but the war killed it."

"Yah. History-bistory. I hate it."

Click clack! Click clack! "Buncha rebels camped out here. Treated it like a communications center."

"Who cares?"

"Yer mother might've!"

"Bah? Nah. Mama was too busy knitting to care."

Clack! "Never heard of a Golisopod that could knit!"

"Never heard of a Kingler that could knit either."

"Never said my mother could!" Click!

"Whatever. Let's find this chick and get out of here."

Finch waited in silence for a few moments as the duo fell out of earshot. From the direction of their footsteps alone, Finch garnered that they were heading to the edges of town, away from the center.

Would a general store be on the outskirts? Doubt it. Iris is still hidden, too. They probably already searched the place.

Once he knew the coast was clear, Finch poked his snout around the corner again, peering towards the center of town. Pokemon were still gathered, planted firmly in their spots. Less of them than before—plenty of them didn't look happy.

Hopo isn't that big. Why haven't they turned this place upside down yet?

Or better yet, left town entirely.

Finch needed more info.

Sticking to the shadows was easy, and would've been easier if he had the luxury to wait until night. For the moment, the croc settled with darting between dusty bushes and piles of long-since abandoned materials. No one saw him.

Eventually, Finch reached a vantage point behind a collection of barrels collapsed against what appeared to be a run-down shanty. His scales blended in nicely with the dry wood and metal. Ahead of him was a consortium of arguing mons, stumbling about in front of a building with its windows blown out. The sign in front of it, currently hanging limply on its hinges, read: "Oasis Goods – Open!"

…Looks like Finch found what he was looking for.

"Now I'm not gonna ask you again," a Bewear with an infectious frustration in his voice sternly started, "where'd she go, bub?"

A Tauros in front of the bear stomped. The frustration reached him, too. "I don't know, dammit! She was here yesterday!"

"'Yesterday' isn't good enough!" The Bewear jabbed his massive paw in the Tauros' direction, then swept that same paw around himself, gesturing to the surrounding area. "Mons don't vanish out of thin air!"

A chorus of voices erupted in agreement, one as close as the building right next to Finch.

The Tauros huffed. "Now listen here: Hopo hasn't done anything to deserve this. We do our work, you leave us alone. Why does that have to change now?"

His question was met with a laugh. "Because you're hiding a dangerous criminal, sheriff!" replied the Bewear helpfully. He leaned forward, showing his teeth. "You better not tell me your name is 'Potoo,' too, or else we're gonna have even more problems."

"How did it go again?" said one of the goons. "'Potoo loves his children—a father to all, an uncle to many. The one true king'—or some shit like that."

Finch gagged.

They took the fucking words out of my mouth! Bunch of scumbags!

Not only had Big Mama uncovered Clamperl's Dream's location from Ozzy's brain, she stole Finch's code phrase, too! No wonder Perlshine, the diner holding the hidden bar, had been absolutely gutted, turned inside out, and left out to fester. At the time, Finch couldn't even get close. He was too late.

But not this time.

This is war. Queenie wants me out of the picture? She's gonna have to work for it.

Both then and now Finch's scales steamed with righteous fury. His tail thwumped against the ground out of a desire for violence. He figured that a few of the guildies would go down if he was quick enough. The bastards deserved to be put in their place.

It would have been an incredibly stupid thing to do, but it was days like this where Finch earnestly wished he could be stupid.

Instead, Finch used the ensuing raucous laughter to bolt to the backside of the adjacent building. The store was a straight shot ahead—he just needed to find a way to get to it.

Which sounded counterproductive. It was obvious that Iris wasn't here.

Or was she?

First rule of escaping the law: never run in a straight line.

Finch's first step would be to look for clues, and that meant reaching the store. Easier said than done, had Finch not noticed the lack of bases covered by the guildies.

No wings, no ghosts, and most importantly, no ground types. He was almost disappointed after he got a good look at their numbers. Were they even taking this seriously?

Thankfully they all seemed distracted with that grumpy bull, so getting to the back of the store would be as simple as…going in a straight line. Being careful to keep quiet and cover his tracks, Finch retreated to another building behind him and started digging.

Layers upon layers of decrepit roots and rocks met his claws. Every scrape forward was a reminder of just how dead the soil was, that of which only seemed to be growing tougher the longer he dug. Stray bits of ground trickled behind him, coating his scales in grime that even their slippery shimmer couldn't shake.

Finch was a street croc, not a tunnel croc. Unlike his mother, who seemed to treat the ground like a holy body, trying to measure the correct distance of a proper dig was prone to a lot of guesswork. It largely came down to vibrations and the trickle down of past residue, none of which helped Finch all that much in this instance.

It didn't matter, though, as Finch soon emerged within a barely illuminated basement, poking through a hole in the wall. Really goes to show how little Finch dug recreationally; forgetting about basements felt annoyingly amateurish.

The light was faint—barely assisting in deciphering the silhouettes ahead of Finch, but that was good. At best, that meant no one was there to catch him. At worst, it meant anyone could come scampering down at any point.

Finch clawed the rest of the way, grumbling to himself, "This the store's…?" Only one way to make sure. Once he slid to his feet, he reached into his now dirt covered bag and pulled out a small lantern.

The unmistakable shapes of crates, boxes, and barrels met his eyes through the orange lantern light. Many, many crates and boxes and barrels. If all of this didn't belong to Iris then Finch would regret betting on it.

First things first, where was that other light coming from? A staircase, and at the top of said staircase was a cellar door that couldn't stop a Cleffa if it made itself small. Still, it was closed. Finch breathed.

"Lucky break," he whispered. "Alright…" He started his search by placing a couple boxes in front of his entry hole. From there, he got to looking for…anything.

"Make this easy on me, will you?"

He searched the boxes and all he found were crappy little knick-knacks. He perused the cabinets and only discovered rotting fruit and fermented wine. He opened the sacks and wished he hadn't when the smell hit his snout.

So far, nothing. Not a single clue.

Finch was beginning to think that Iris wasn't here. And if she wasn't here, then she certainly wasn't in the store itself. So, maybe she did slip out under everyone's noses.

That was what he thought…until something caught his eye.

On the edge of the lantern light, something etched into the side of a cabinet stuck out to him. A few lines intersecting. A symbol.

Had he not been looking carefully, he never would have seen it. Two lines pointing perpendicular downward above a slanted trapezoid, with a slanted rectangle offset beside it. Innocuous in presentation, and clearly rushed, but jaw droppingly meaningful for someone like Finch.

Underground…below…

Finch smirked devilishly. He silently thanked his late mother for all of the secrets she trusted with him. Including the hidden language the rebels used back during the war. If a pokemon needed to hide, and only wanted to be found by a select few, a symbol would work perfectly for that. Just like this one.

Finch turned off his lantern, stuffed it into his pack, then got right back to digging, quickly closing the hole behind him with a crate. This time, he clawed at the dirt with an excited fervor.

He dug and dug and dug, far past the point of a reasonable distance underground. If his hunch was right, and it regularly was, someone really didn't want to be found.

He was right. The dirt under his claws quickly loosened after a certain few minutes and the world collapsed under him. In the split instant he had to fall, Finch righted himself, landing on his feet within a stuffy, musty room. Falling mites of soot cascaded down to the floor along with him.

And there was light. A lantern directly ahead of him! Satisfaction coursed through his bloodstream, invigorating him. He was so hyped up on his hunch being correct that he forgot the second law of escaping the law: always check a room before lowering your guard.

Without warning, Finch was yanked backwards and pulled into a tight arm lock. He flailed initially, but that stopped once he felt the familiar cold of metal sliding up against his throat. He wavered between struggling and freezing his movements.

"Whoa, whoa, wait-"

A voice from behind him, sharp like the blade on their arm, scratched at Finch's ear, threatening to gouge it and go even deeper. "Who was King Potoo?" they demanded. "Tell me quick or I'll-"

"Potoo was an eccentric Espeon!" Finch blurted out, his tail thrashing out behind him in search of leverage. "The Gutter King! Someone needed to own the castle to combat the psychics…so Carnation chose him!"

A gasp erupted from the croc's lips as he was pushed forward onto the ground. And in the process, his limbs were set free. He rushed to turn about, his tail balancing his backwards stride. Breathlessly, Finch glanced up.

A Bisharp, with a bladed arm still extended upward, stood straight like a soldier and with just as much wariness. Her steely gaze pierced the meager darkness, meeting Finch's eyes with suspicion.

But just as quickly, any fragment of a flame in those eyes was washed away with the ocean. In the wake of such a change, a warmth still persisted, lending passage to a nurturing and devoted gaze. The Bisharp retracted her blade.

"The castle belongs to everyone," she said, "but they still need a king as a symbol." The resounding sigh relaxed the tension of the entire room. "So happy to see that some young folk still remember the story."

"Ha…" Finch stood up, shaking some of the grime off. "Iris, I'm guessing?"

Based on the immediate appearance of a smile, Finch was on a roll today. "You were looking for me?" Her expression changed to something more worrisome, as though the subject bothered her. But then she shifted gears. "And who might you be?"

The Krokorok snapped his fingers then replied without missing a beat, "Finch."

Iris nodded. "Ah, Snapper Finch. I've heard of you."

"And as of a few days ago, I've heard of you. So we're about on the same page."

"Indeed." She nonchalantly walked past him, sitting down in an old, wooden chair behind a table that would fit well in a carpentry workshop. "I'm going to assume you aren't working with them? You weren't compromised."

The guildies, Finch assumed. "Yes and no," he said. "I managed to get into the castle, but I left before they could do anything to me. I'm not with the ones outside."

Iris grew stiff. "Do you know why they decided to come now?" she asked.

"Unfortunately." Finch crossed his arms, making himself out to appear peeved. "The queen has a particular interest in someone I know, and some info leaked out. Micle was hit, too." He made it a point not to mention his role in all of this. Iris was already on-edge—her knowing about his mistake wouldn't help.

"Micle?" Iris balked. "Arceus, how long until they strike at Rabuta, as well?"

Finch shrugged. "No idea. Hopefully not at all."

Iris sighed, shaking her head in defeat. "This is bad," she muttered. "But we have measures against this. I'm certain word has already spread."

I sure hope so, Finch thought. Only so much I can do here.

The Krokorok grunted in agreement as his eyes scanned the cave they were in.

Mine shafts were common in south Enigma, and this looked exactly like how Finch would expect one to look. Wooden supports, jagged and rocky walls, and the occasional drip of water onto a moist floor. But from the looks of it, Iris—or someone long before her—fashioned the cave system to function as a hiding spot. More of those barrels and crates were here, supplies built to last. Alongside that were various pieces of parchment slung about on wooden tables. One held a map, marked with various red X's.

"Old war bunker?" Finch wondered aloud.

"Old war bunker," Iris affirmed. "Not many know about it. Even less have dug into it."

Finch raised an eyebrow. Bisharp could Dig, right? "I saw the symbol, I did what it said."

She smirked slightly. "That just means that the bunker is beneath the mark. The actual entrance-" she pointed behind her, "-is through a cave outside of town."

"Oh. My way was quicker anyway."

Iris then proceeded to ask an actual relevant question. "Who led you here?"

Finch ruminated over this question during the entire ride to Hopo. Mainly because the connection between a Gummi dealer like Turaco and a store owner like Iris was so tenuous that there were only a few possibilities Finch could think of. If there was one thing he wanted to learn from this meeting, it had to be what that connection was.

He answered her without hesitation. "Turaco. Gummi dealer in Micle. You know him?"

The blade atop Iris' head shimmered while her eyes flashed with understanding. She said, "Only in name. I'm confused, Finch. Of all pokemon, I would have assumed you would know where The Oriole is located."

"Oriole?" Finch repeated. Even though he was partially expecting it, hearing the word 'Oriole' made him do a double take. "So that's what this is about…"

"You didn't know?"

Finch ignored that question for now and shook his head. "Why am I being led to The Oriole?"

Iris scoffed, quickly becoming cheeky with her response. "Because I assume you'd want to be recruited. Turaco and I are in a long list of contacts all across Enigma, our job being to pass each potential recruit along until they find their way to The Oriole. For safety reasons, of course. I shouldn't actually be telling you this, but since I know who you are, I made an exception."

"...Why is The Oriole recruiting?" Finch wondered, his voice low and suspicious. "They haven't been active in years."

Did that have something to do with the sudden rise in criminal activity, now that he thought about it? The Oriole was being built back up, but why? From what Finch could remember, The Oriole was never this active. They always kept to Rabuta, and to themselves.

That was why Finch left. Their unwillingness to expand and grow was not what Carnation would have wanted. They were a shadow of the former rebellion. But now…

"Things are changing," Iris said simply. "I hear something big is being planned. And they need more bodies."

"How big?"

Iris shrugged. "Not allowed to know. I'm just a guide." She pointed over her shoulder. "I can point you to someone who does know, though."

That would have to come later. Finch was still caught up on the Oriole being involved in the first place.

He grumbled, "I don't get it. Last time I was there half of the pokemon didn't even know Carnation existed. What could they possibly be fighting for? What changed?"

If his question was meant to be rhetorical, which it was, Iris didn't view it that way. She locked eyes with Finch and gave him the best answer she could think of. "Your guess is as good as mine. But…maybe it has something to do with all this talk about a 'human.'"

Right…that. Wasn't that why Oswald wanted to come here in the first place?

"I've heard about that," Finch said. "Colbur Village up north was hit by a gang looking for it. What's the deal with that?" Because up to this point, Finch hadn't put much thought into it. To him, it was just a rumor. Humans didn't exist. At least not anymore.

"You want my opinion?" Iris asked, being about as rhetorical as Finch was. "It's a rallying cry. A hidden signal and a unifying force to bring everyone back together one last time."

That sounded…absolutely ridiculous yet simultaneously very interesting. Corral enough pokemon like Ozzy and that Darmanitan from Colbur and an entire coalition would be formed in a day. It made him wonder aloud, though, "How would that work?"

Iris got right to the point. "Personally, I don't think there really is a human. You just need someone who says they're a human."

That would also be very interesting, because that Darmanitan said the same thing, more or less. They "used to be" one, so they weren't one. But then, by that logic, anyone could say they were a human.

Finch had a thought. What if that was the point? There was no singular human. Like Potoo, the king made to be a symbol for the rebellion, a human could be used as a call-to-action. Instead of a king, anyone could be the savior. Therefore, everyone was.

It was genius. And also completely insane.

"So like a code?" Finch said somewhat excitedly. "Or an alibi?"

"Maybe. I was thinking more of a…psychic flag, actually," Iris remarked. "Only certain pokemon could access it. Somehow, some crazy mastermind found a way around Anemone's abilities, and this is supposed to be the validation." She smirked. "Because if you can trick Anemone, you can win a war."

A psychic flag…something meant to only be accessible and obtainable under certain circumstances. An idea implanted in another pokemon's head that, once reached, would confirm an advantage and potentially change the course of Enigma's history as they knew it.

The only problem was that the pokemon's mind would have to be completely devoid of any stray details about the plan. And that would be impossible unless the pokemon's mind was…wiped…clean.

To the outside observer, Anemone included, this would look like amnesia.

But this only raised more questions. If they were looking for someone specific, why weren't they being discreet about it? What else was a part of this master plan? What really sparked it? Who was in charge of it?

And what role does Ozzy play in all of this?

Aside from a thoughtful "Hm," Finch remained quiet.

"I'll be waiting for that day," Iris stated, standing up from her chair. "In the meantime, I'll need to hide out somewhere else. This place has too many holes for my liking."

Finch was too distracted to riff with Iris over that joke. His attention fell back on a question he had ignored previously. "You mentioned that you knew someone who could lead me to some answers? Mind telling me who?" He needed to know more. This was too big to let slip out of his fingertips.

The Bisharp went quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she motioned for Finch to come closer. He obliged.

Iris pointed to a point on the map, a red X positioned not too far west from Hopo's location.

"There's a mine here," Iris started. "Ganlon Mine—a mystery dungeon. I've got a buddy who's been stationed there recently to uncover some sort of treasure. It's been ongoing for days now with no luck. He knows a lot more than I do, and it's a great spot to discuss secrets."

"Ganlon Mine, huh?" Finch chuckled. After a day and a half of running across the continent, the next destination was right next door. Too bad he already had plans to head back to Kebia first. "What's his species?"

"Zangoose. He's a part of the Oriole, too."

Finch adjusted the pack on his shoulder, a toothy grin quickly stretching across his snout. "And here I was thinking I'd never go back…" He turned to Iris with a confident smirk. "Thanks for the help. I'll let him know you're safe."

As he walked past the Bisharp to leave, already thinking of what he would say to Tusk when he'd get back to the taxi, Iris stopped him by putting a cold hand on his shoulder, inciting him to look back at her.

She said solemnly, "Thank you, Finch. I do hope that one of these days we can end all of this secrecy."

Finch frowned. "Same here. Been keeping to the shadows my whole life."

Without another word, Iris nodded, lifting her hand from Finch's shoulder. Deep down, he knew that she could say the same. All either of them really wanted was a reality where everyone could live as they pleased. A reality where no one would have to hide. It would be the peace that Finch had been fighting for his whole life.

Mom would want that, too, he thought.

Finch granted the steel type with one final look before dashing out of the cave, back to the surface. And he did so as fast as he could; there were a couple of favors he still owed back in Kebia. Those would have to be dealt with first, if only just to get Big Mama off his tail.

As he ran, though, a spark of hope coursed through him. A hope that, by the end of this, the truest of evils would fall with the new world. And Carnation's vision would finally be realized.

He sincerely hoped for the queen's death.
 
Chapter 45 - Day 17, Part 1: Handsome

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 45: Day 17, Part 1 - Handsome


With his next step, Ricinus would come closer to his future than ever before.


Ahead of him lay the tower of his desires, a monument to his past sins and eventual rise to something greater. Pokemon of all shapes and sizes walked right past him, ignorant to his status, crossing the threshold beyond the blessed archway as though it were normal to do such a thing.


His ribbons twitched. His tail ached to sway. The piece of cloth granted to him, one that would cement his passage through those illustrious doors, constricted his throat and made it hard for him to breathe. Ricinus' whole body coursed with a heat that had not been there seconds prior.


Aven, who was standing patiently beside him, offered his own heat to Ricinus' flank as though it would cancel out the other.


"...You alright, Riz?" he said.


Ricinus swallowed a lump in his throat. The dryness of his mouth became readily apparent the second his name was spoken. Although it had been agreed upon to maintain a guise of secrecy, that other name—a peasant's name—irritated Ricinus further. It was only Aven's low, sweet voice that fought to cure the Sylveon's anxiety.


"Yes," Ricinus said hoarsely. "Just…I am simply taking in the significance of this."


The Lycanroc was slow to respond. "...So am I," he said in a surprising display of verbal input. It was likely he was weighing whether or not it was appropriate to speak so freely. A landmark moment such as this relied heavily on the words of the Sylveon—not the Lycanroc. Yet, he spoke them anyway.


It was no wonder as to what the reason was. Kebia castle had been an object of both of their daydreams since long before they formed a partnership. Long before Ricinus concocted a formula that would thrust him beyond those doors and into the throne room.


He was, by his estimates, about five or so years early. Or ten. Or fifteen. However long it would have taken to will himself into action. Or however long it would have taken to convince others that he could walk past that archway…doing so with a crown and a royal bearing.


Ricinus took a step and immediately felt faint.


"Eugh…"


"Riz-!" Before Ricinus could so much as lose his footing, two strong paws steadied him, centering his shoulders. "We can…still turn around," Aven murmured, his growls slow and raspy.


Ricinus sighed deeply. "No…no, I can't." The dizziness subsided, but the prospect of another step made him nauseous. "This is the most important moment of our lives, Aven. I need to do this."


"I could kill him for you."


Ricinus detected a hint of a growl in Aven's voice and scoffed. "This isn't about Canary," he said. "Or Crane. Or The Count, even."


The extra tension in Aven's shoulders, the tightening of his grip despite his reluctance to hurt the Sylveon, the slight tremble in his voice…all leading to him saying: "Still. I could make him hurt. Make him bleed. Rip his arms off." There was eagerness there. A thirst.


And Ricinus could feel it too. He yearned for it. Canary deserved to be dismembered for his arrogance.


But now was not the time.


If he could, Ricinus would tear out his own ribbons for the courage to lean his head back and nuzzle his cheek against the Lycanroc's neck. A throat-rattling growl, an intertwining of tails—anything to quell the intensity. No one knew who they were in this city, so it did not matter how open they were about their desires. Instead, Ricinus did the princely thing and held his head up high. "Come," he said, marching ahead. "Keep me upright—I might collapse."


"…I got you." The trembling remained, but Aven's grip lost its strength, becoming softer than the blackened tufts of fur atop his head.


Kebia's air breathed an uneasy apprehension into Ricinus that prickled at his nostrils. It was busy, like Rabuta, but lacked that same wariness to its inhabitants. Leisurely strolls were normal to these pokemon. Excess was written on their faces, taken shape through youth, fat, and health. They slept in beds fit for kings, and worked under ceilings higher than most fletching birds would fly, no doubt.


As Ricinus walked, ears perked for reasons he was not conscious of, he cast glances at the various services and shops that sat on the edges of the path. Stores and food-places so brazen that they left out samples of their products for potential customers. Flowers snaked through the streets while autumn leaves fluttered down like snowflakes. There was the occasional pink Gracidea leaf, as well, and Ricinus wondered how much monpower it took to keep the streets maintained.


Eventually, Ricinus came to a halt at the apex of an intersection, two paths leading further into Kebia. His eyes fell on a fountain near the center of an open area, which held various conversing mons at its base. Gold sparkling stars shimmered from within the pool below them—money tossed as an offering, or simply just because. Atop said fountain was a bronze statue.


Ricinus studied the statue with a scrutinizing gaze. From its steely, almost saddened eyes, down to the cape draped stiffly from its shoulders. He recognized the species as a Gallade immediately, but its significance was lost on him.


This bothered him. Ricinus considered himself an expert on Enigma history. All rulers had to be experts in some respects, after all. But this Gallade may as well have not existed to him.


"Who is that?" he wondered to himself aloud. Without a second thought, Ricinus snapped his head to a passerby—a Swellow—and cracked his ribbon like a whip at the air. "You there! Tell me who this is!"


His other ribbon gestured to the statue, but it grew stiff before he finished his sentence.


The Swellow stopped in their tracks and flinched. And then within an instant they scrunched up their beak in disgust. "Go read a book, creep," they said, fluttering off hastily.


The insides of Ricinus' ears burned red while he watched the spot the bird flew from. Right, he was not within the Oriole anymore. How long had it been since he had to…walk among the masses? Too long, it seemed.


Aven growled from behind him. "I can shoot 'em do-"


"No, Aven," Ricinus snapped. "We should…get to the castle."


He heard a grunt, but Ricinus paid Aven no mind. The Dewott would need to be found rather quickly to make up for this blunder. Back when Ricinus was an Eevee he was so adept at talking to mons, too. Perhaps he could channel his younger self within the castle.


Embarrassment turned to shock, however, as Ricinus rounded the corner and finally came face-to-face with the outer walls of Kebia Castle. His eyes trailed up from the cobblestone path laid before him, to the massive doors marking the entrance, to the windows and bricks and spires of the structure.


It was not difficult to imagine himself being an Eevee again, what with how small he felt. Kebia Castle was big. He could use more grandiose words to describe it, but words paled in comparison to actually being there, dwarfed by something so awe inspiring.


Ricinus had spent years watching it from a distance, trying his damndest to fathom what it was that thoroughly sunk into the minds of every mon on the continent. What it was that truly caused that war thirty years prior.


But now he understood. It spoke for itself. Enigma was Kebia Castle. Everything Enigma was and ever would be rippled from these castle walls and back again.


Here, at the foot of its glory, Ricinus knew: anyone who controlled the castle controlled the continent and everything within it. It was a marvel of design and architecture, but its presence meant so much more.


The fur on the back of his neck prickled, and through the stupefaction Ricinus nearly gagged on a feeling he could not place from a source he could not see. He related it to his years in hiding. All of that time spent, forced to be something he wasn't, broken down by a single Zoroark.


Anger. Anger at Anemone. Anger at Canary and Crane. Anger at every mon that lived in the castle. Anger at the meticulously maintained shrubbery and pottery along the path leading in. Anger at himself.


This was not how it was supposed to go.


He did not hear Aven speak at first. To Ricinus, his words were a rumble behind a closed door. It was only after a warm paw touched his shoulder that he finally blinked.


"What?" Ricinus gasped.


Aven was in front of him now, his eyes full of concern. "You stopped," he said.


Ricinus swallowed. He attempted to lift a paw, but it simply would not move. If he could bring himself to look, Ricinus guessed that someone had tied rocks to his legs while he was not looking. The next words he spoke were raspy and uncertain. "Does it…does it not bother you?"


Not a word left Aven's mouth. He waited for elaboration that would never come.


Ricinus shook his head and cleared his throat. "We need to get inside. Come." He turned his attention to the entrance to the castle at the end of the path, only to pause when he noticed that Aven was not following his gaze.


Aven's eyes barely shifted, the Lycanroc remaining almost completely still. He only changed his posture to point over his shoulder. "...There's a guard," he said.


"So?" The word surprised Ricinus before it even left his mouth. Was he thinking of just walking in?


"You said…they would ask questions. On the ride in—that's what you said…" Now Aven was sounding unsure.


But he was right. The grandiose nature of the castle must have halted Ricinus' judgement. Peering over Aven's side, Ricinus caught a glimpse of a muscular Pangoro standing in front of the doors with crossed arms. With biceps larger than tree trunks, the guard inspired caution even in those that worked there, most likely.


"Yes," Ricinus said slowly. "I want to avoid being locked out before I even get to walk in." He shot a pointed look at Aven. "And I want to avoid any fights. Or sneaking in, if possible."


That really only left them with the option to walk in. Ricinus had told himself that if he lost that option he would think of something else by the time they arrived. But the thought unfortunately slipped from his mind during their journey. Now they were here, and his mind was racing.


"I could distract 'em," Aven muttered.


And leave me alone?


The thought sounded so weak and pathetic within his own head. What he said next would make up for it, he decided. "No, there's another way in."


Although his expression did not change, Ricinus could see the doubt in Aven's eyes. All he did was stare wordlessly, though, the silence saying more than he ever could.


Ricinus huffed. "You won't be able to come in after me, you know," he said with a flick of his ears. "Not with the bouncer on your tail." It certainly did not help that Aven lacked a scarf matching Ricinus' colors.


Aven shrugged. "I want what you want."


"I want…" But Ricinus trailed off. All of a sudden the small satchel on his side weighed heavier than the rocks tied to his legs. He wanted Aven there. He wanted there to be a reason not to use that seed Canary gave him. Several times throughout their trip Ricinus considered outright throwing it away.


How could I not think ahead? Ricinus thought. Was I really that distracted?


Gingerly, Aven squeezed Ricinus' shoulder, whispering in a deep voice, "Riz…"


Ricinus sighed, the air like cold needles as it left his throat. "Go. Meet me back outside later."


There was a pause. Aven tensed.


"...I'll be fine," Ricinus eventually said. "I am a prince. I can handle myself."


Aven seemed to regret his own suggestion, but after nodding he plodded towards the entrance of the castle, his claws clicking against the cobblestone.


While not following immediately, Ricinus kept to a reasonable enough distance to not elicit suspicion. He hid behind a pot of flowers some distance away from the entrance, using the passing pokemon as additional cover.


Aven was further up ahead, approaching what looked to be a young couple enjoying a picnic some ways away from the main path out of the castle. Not Ricinus' first choice, but Aven deciding to interrupt their moment by stomping all over their food certainly garnered a lot of attention. A shrill scream, a clambering and turning heads, and finally the altercation erupting into an outright brawl between Aven and a Mienfoo.


In between the trademark smacks and thuds of combat, loud stomping sounded out further up ahead. It was the Pangoro, now decidedly boiling with rage, who barged into the forming crowd to break the scuffle apart.


Ricinus quickly realized that this was his chance. Ignoring how brutal it was starting to sound, Ricinus cast one final glance over his shoulder before dashing past a few surprised onlookers into the crack of the double doors.




Despite the fact that Ricinus could often become invested in his princely persona, his knowledge of high society was quite limited. Most of the literature on fine dining and royal tradition was either too rare or written in the human language. To most pokemon, that additional knowledge was not needed. They knew about as much as he did.


Even still, the state of Kebia Castle's interior made Ricinus want to lecture its interior designers on the ethics of defacing something so magnificent. Castles were meant to be sacred places, home to the elite and wealthy, and should be treated as such.


They were not community centers, where reckless adventurers track their dirt. Or playgrounds for unsupervised children. Festive decorations should not hang from the chandeliers, some amount of peace and quiet should always be maintained, and- Arceus, the carpet!


Sweet Xerneas' hooves, that carpet!


Anger flared so vehemently it reached Ricinus' curling toes. If there had not been a horrible chill creeping up his spine, his tail might have puffed out in fury. The fur around his neck was already damp with sweat, it was only a matter of time before his eyes would pop out of his skull, too. Such a horrible first impression was almost enough to make him forget about what he came here to do in the first place.


Almost.


There were eyes on him, Ricinus just knew it. Even though the pokemon at the front desk had not noticed him, he knew full well how secure the security here could be. The more time he wasted, the harder it would be to leave. He readjusted the teal scarf around his neck as he took a look around.


If I was a Dewott with secrets to hide, where would I be…


An indoor pool, maybe? No, that was too obvious. Regardless, starting on the first floor sounded like a solid idea. Ricinus kept his head down on his way down the right side hall, past the right staircase.


A long hallway extended in front of him, accentuated by tall windows pierced by lingering sunlight, unlit candelabra, and the distinct chatter of casual conversation. Like the streets outside, Kebia was awash with activity, and mons like a duo of Goomy and a lone Beartic glided across the carpet absentmindedly.


Ricinus perked up his ears as he walked at a brisk pace, trying to catch any relevant snippets.


"What?" gasped a Bellsprout.


"Yeah," a Pawniard replied, "I hear Colbur Village burned down."


"But…why? Who could've-"


It was anyone's guess, but not Ricinus'. He kept walking, picking up a conversation between a Plusle and Minun.


"You know, I've always wondered how a Vanilluxe mates."


"They would freeze you, bro."


"Really? Honestly-"


Ricinus had not even reached the end of the hallway and he was already losing hope. Not only were the pokemon here as bland as sand, there were just too many of them. The chances that Ricinus would happen upon a mon that knew something was slim.


It was when he felt the familiar chill of flowing air that he decided that he needed to start asking questions. At the very least, he needed to find where the water type pokemon resided.


The breeze originated from an outcrop in the wall—a passageway to a courtyard. From there, Ricinus looked on in bemusement at the activity on display. In little clusters in the courtyard pokemon fired off elemental attacks and engaged in focused sparring. The grass, or what little of it there was, had been trampled hundreds of times over.


Ricinus scanned the field in search of anything noteworthy. There was a Sudowoodo practicing their skills in chopping logs and failing, a Blaziken fighting multiple other mons at once and somehow succeeding, and, curiously, a Samurott.


That last one caught Ricinus' eye. While yes, he was looking for a Dewott that seemingly had no prior attachments, species tended to stick together. Ricinus could still remember the Eevees he had met as a young child and how they formed their own little gang. It was nostalgic to think about; they got up to so much mischief.


Oddly, his relations with other eons these days were near non-existent. Such pokemon were far from rare, but Ricinus could count the names of eons he remembered on his toes. After his teenage years they all seemed to vanish from his life.


Either way, perhaps this Samurott knew something. As Ricinus darted through the yard, however, avoiding any stray dregs of combat, he soon took note that the Samurott was in the middle of a sparring session of his own.


The middle-aged Samurott barked, clearly agitated, "Much too slow! Try again!"


There was a Frogadier across from him in the midst of getting back to his feet. He coughed up something dry, clutching his shoulder. Water formed in his hand, warbling and shifting unnaturally, until it finally shaped into a lumpy ball of liquid. Frogadier dashed straight for the Samurott with the ball of water in hand, before being swat away like a pesky Joltik.


"Agh!" Frogadier flew onto his back once more. The water dissipated.


"You call that a Water Shuriken?" Samurott snapped. "Again!"


Water Shuriken? Ricinus thought in confusion. A Frogadier wouldn't be capable of fighting in that style until they evolve. That is, unless this is some form of early training?


Before the Frogadier had the chance to pick himself back up, Ricinus cleared his throat. "Excuse me?" Ricinus said.


The Samurott glanced at Ricinus for only a second. "Not now!" he snarled. "I'm busy!"


Ricinus was unsure if the water type even saw him, let alone acknowledged him. It read like a general response.


"It will only take a moment of your time." Ricinus took a step closer. "I am looking for a Dewott."


That got his attention. Samurott whirled on Ricinus faster than he could blink. "I said. I'm busy," he hissed darkly. There was a fierceness behind his glare, one that had only just emerged.


Ricinus blinked. He had to ask himself, what was this Samurott so frustrated over? That reaction of his was much too pointed to ignore.


Regardless, the Samurott had his gaze back on his training partner before Ricinus could ask more. He shouted "Again!" without any helpful guidance.


And so the process repeated. The Frogadier formed a misshapen blob of water before thrusting himself at the Samurott, only to fail, again. Ricinus narrowed his eyes and watched for another couple attempts, wondering in vain if it would ever stop.


When it didn't, and in fact continued like clockwork, Ricinus walked off back to the castle halls. "That was pointless," he muttered under his breath.


He should have known better, though. Samurott were such proud species that Ricinus might have ended up in a sparring match if he chose his words poorly, only to find that the old mon knew nothing.


There were other leads to find. But Ricinus did not get far before he had to stop. Once his toes met the floor of the castle, another chill spread down his spine. Immediately, his ears darted upward in search of anything out of the ordinary. He looked left and right, fur on the back of his neck standing on end. But he saw nothing noteworthy. Not even a set of eyes watching him. Just the same wandering masses as before.


Why did he feel like he was being watched?


A moment later his shoulders relaxed, and Ricinus blew out a sigh. This was wrong. Not what he was doing—the castle itself. He found it hard to believe that all of these pokemon could walk through these halls without constantly looking over their shoulder. Just being here made Ricinus want to scratch at his fur, get those prying eyes out of his skin.


It was right then and there that Ricinus decided that he hated this place, and when he was in charge, every corner and every wall would be flushed out. There wouldn't be a single nail or plank of wood remaining that Ricinus had not placed himself. It would be new and fresh and free of this disgusting, moldy air.


The second he returned to the Oriole, he would have to start planning; Ricinus refused to rule over a castle such as this.


For now, he wanted to escape the invisible gaze. He stomped to the set of stairs down the hallway and headed up to the second floor, if only to cover more ground.


Almost as soon as his paws touched the midway point of the stairs, his ears caught the sound of commotion. Voices, primarily those of young children, resided somewhere ahead of him.


He almost turned right back around. It was downright habitual for Ricinus to avoid children. Canary's trick still lingered in his mind, making him shiver. The only reason he continued further was because he knew he could avoid them and walk past them—unlike in the Oriole.


At the top of the stairs was a crowd of pokemon surrounding a boisterous Lucario. An entertainer, no doubt, what with all of the younger children watching him with sparkles in their eyes. When he spoke, Ricinus's ears pressed against his head.


"It was THIRTY YEARS ago now when Neo the Fencer—yours truly—fought TWO towering Aggrons at once and LIVED to tell the tale!" the Lucario announced loudly. Several of the children expressed their amazement with various 'oohhs' and 'aahhs.'


"Oh yes," he continued, a smug look on his face, "you best believe, I am the greatest explorer that ever lived. And do you know why?"


The entire crowd of enamored children chimed out, "Why!"


Neo "the Fencer" put his palms together then separated them slowly, unveiling a beam of blue light underneath, gradually extending into a long bone club. He held it out in front of him as though it were the most amazing source of power in the world.


With the click of his tongue, he proclaimed, "The Aurrrrra~"


And the crowd exploded into astonishment.


Ricinus, however, rolled his eyes, and continued walking past. Even though he was not surprised to see one here, Lucarios were rare in this part of the world. They were often solitary creatures, with a culture that emphasized intellectual and philosophical enlightenment. Back during the war, very few contributed, and those that did only fought due to certain circumstances.


Neo "the Fencer" here was an example of those that weaponized their enlightenment for personal gain. Ricinus had no interest in stroking the mon's ego.


His attention was better spent elsewhere. But when he chanced a glance back, checking to see if there was another path behind the crowd, something caught his eye.


A flash of light blue amidst a sea of color.


Ricinus did a double take. Then a triple take. And finally a quadruple take for good measure. Mainly because the pokemon he was looking at only somewhat resembled a Dewott at a glance.


Creeping closer, Ricinus examined the blue fur of the mon standing near the back of the crowd, ignoring the obnoxious remarks of the Lucario as he continued his routine.


Blue fur…lighter than any Dewott Ricinus had ever seen. Pale, almost ghostly in appearance. More than a little off-putting from where Ricinus was standing. And if that wasn't enough, their fur was horribly unkempt. Like they woke up one day and decided that they would never groom again. From their Miltank-licked forehead fur, to their frazzled whiskers, to the dark blue fur flowing around their pelvis like a tree in the wind.


How tall they were…much too tall. And much too thin. Their posture, too. Somehow both slouched and lacking that subtle pride Dewotts were known for.


No, this one hardly looked proud. In fact, they looked quite displeased. With themselves, their surroundings, or both—Ricinus did not know.


But that scarf. That sloppy, purple scarf. Even if Ricinus was not looking for a Dewott that matched this exact description, he still guessed that they would easily stand out in a crowd. They certainly did right now.


Stranger still were their eyes. Green—which was odd on its own. When Ricinus looked into those eyes, however, he saw resignation mixed with trepidation. The eyes of someone who had given up, or at least, someone who lacked the conviction to express their discomfort.


But for a brief flicker, Ricinus saw something more. Something that nearly relaxed him, making him wonder if who he was looking at knew something he didn't. Compassion? Or maybe it was longing…


It should have been obvious by now that the Dewott was looking straight at Ricinus, a scrutinizing look about their face. When they opened their mouth and started to speak, Ricinus heard the voice of a young male mon, smooth yet brash.


"Um…" was how their conversation started.


Ricinus blinked, finally realizing what was happening. "Oh, excuse me," he said.


"Can I…help you?" The Dewott asked. He sounded bewildered, as though the question had no right leaving his own mouth.


Clearing his throat, Ricinus put on a slight smile. Friendly, and only a little bit flirtatious. Enough to seem nervous while not being nervous himself. He chuckled, "I did not mean to stare. You stood out to me, that is all."


The Dewott raised an eyebrow, curiously. "Stood out?" he questioned. Then he scoffed. "I don't like the sound of that."


"Oh." Drat. Was that too forward?


It was brief, but Ricinus saw the Dewott's paddle tail lash out behind him. The edges of his lips fell in exasperation as he took responsibility for his mishap immediately.


"That's not…" The Dewott sighed. One of his paws fell on the back of his head and scratched it. "Man, what am I doing? Sorry, I've been having a bad couple of days."


Dearie me, how cute.


The way he took it upon himself to fix his rudeness, regardless of whether or not Ricinus was offended, did not go unnoticed. The way he composed himself, both in his appearance and demeanor, told Ricinus that this was a mon that put all of his energy into speaking his mind, not brushing his fur. A diamond in the rough.


Ricinus could not stop his smile from getting bigger if he tried. He said, "It's quite alright. We both started poorly."


As much as he hated to admit it, that wasn't a lie. Thankfully, this was quickly turning into a wonderful start. They already had something in common.


The Dewott's next words came out awkwardly. "Bear with me for a second," he started, "who are you?"


Ricinus hesitated, saying, "You can call me…Riz." His delivery of the fraudulent name made the Sylveon suddenly remember that the Reviser Seed was lodged deep within the pockets of his bag, not in his cheek.


For a moment, Dewott relaxed his shoulders, only to raise them again. "Riz, got it. I'm…"


How peculiar, he hesitated, too.


"...Oswald."


And there it is.


Oswald. Oswald Oswald Oswald. It sounded foreign in Ricinus' mind—perhaps even alien in some ways. The pokemon of Enigma rarely took on names that referenced back to the ancient humans, due to the stigma behind them. Continents such as Tojunn and even parts of Orochalco, where most Lucario resided, took it upon themselves to co-opt these names, and give them new meaning. It was possible he originated from there. Though those from neighboring continents viewed such practices as bad luck, or even disrespectful. Both Tojunn and Orochalco retained their isolationism after the war.


This Dewott—Oswald as he was called—simply did not remind Ricinus of any such description. If he were not looking for a human impersonator Ricinus might have just assumed Oswald aimed to break stereotypes.


Ricinus smiled, extending a ribbon to shake. "Charmed," he said.


Oswald raised an eyebrow, but it seemed that had more to do with the comment than the gesture. He took Ricinus' ribbon in-paw and shook it up and down tentatively, but with assurance. One more sign that Ricinus found the right mon.


"Yeah, you too," Oswald replied. "Still didn't answer my question."


"Hm?" The Sylveon's ribbon swathed back to his shoulder.


Oswald explained, gesturing with his paws by twirling them around in a circle above his head, "You know…why were you staring?"


A slight smile curved onto Ricinus' muzzle. "Staring? I don't recall you asking about that before?"


Oswald looked quite vexed, his brows furrowing and his arms now crossed. Just that one little playful comment irked him enough to invite a more intent stare, one step away from groaning in frustration. Ricinus could feel Oswald's eyes glowering into him, trying to figure him out, almost physically pushing deeper.


"You know what I mean," Oswald huffed.


He really is handsome when he's mad.


Had this been a few years prior Ricinus could have seen himself attempting to seduce the Dewott, getting him looser and more infatuated. He met males like this all the time, always acting tougher than they were and getting flustered when Ricinus would brush his tail against them. It wouldn't have been difficult to make Oswald question his sexuality, not when Ricinus was around—he could tell.


It would have been fun, and breaking his heart would have been the cherry on top. But as attractive as he was, Ricinus had to remind himself that this mon allegedly was not as he seemed. Pokemon with secrets always come back around, even when Ricinus did not want them to.


For Oswald's sake, Ricinus clarified—albeit with a larger smile, now. "I was wondering what was happening over here and you, heh, caught my eye," he said, his tone sweet and innocent. "Apologies."


Oswald, despite his quirked brow and incredulous smirk, seemed to believe that. "Huh," the Dewott laughed, "I guess I do stand out, don't I?" He turned his head and regarded the crowd. "Was it not obvious?"


"Obvious…?"


"Er, what's going on," Oswald cleared up. "It's just some performance for kids, nothing crazy."


Indeed. The sound of Neo's theatrical lack of modesty reached Ricinus' ears, previously tuned out due to his new eye-candy. Looking back over, Ricinus caught sight of two young children hanging from the Lucario's biceps like they were in a jungle gym. How fun. He looked back at Oswald.


"He's quite boisterous, isn't he?" Ricinus asked. There were other words he could use, but the two of them were not that familiar yet.


Oswald chuckled and returned the gaze. "Yeah, he's a hack. I'm only here because my…teammate needed something to do."


Ah, so he was not entirely alone. Though that scarf of his should have given that away. Ricinus cocked his head. "Teammate? You have a teammate?"


Oswald pointed at the crowd nonchalantly. "I do. He's the purple Solosis."


It did not take Ricinus long to find the blob of purple goo bobbing up and down, chanting along with the other children. Solosis had a distinct level of control over their liquid shell, so the unique color was nothing surprising. His age was actually more perplexing, as it made Ricinus wonder why Oswald had a child for a teammate.


"He's quite young," Ricinus commented.


There was a shrug from Oswald out of the corner of Ricinus' eye. "Me and my other teammate took him in when we found him in some geezer's attic. And uh…okay, when I say it out loud it sounds kinda weird. We're just taking care of him until we find out what we're gonna do with him…I guess."


No, Ricinus understood, unfortunately. Oswald was very young and already had a partner and a child. A surrogate child, even. That made him marginally less attractive, and to add onto that, Ricinus just remembered that Aven was still dealing with an angry doorkeeper outside. Time to focus on the task at hand.


Ricinus' ears flicked back in Oswald's direction. "Well, I just arrived this morning," he said brightly. "I'm still taking it all in, and wow. It's quite a marvelous feat, this castle. How long have you been working here, Oswald?"


Once again, Ricinus felt Oswald's eyes on him, but this time the Dewott's expression flattened to reflect some degree of uncertainty. He reached down to rub one of his scalchops, likely gauging whether or not to even answer the question.


"About…two weeks," Oswald answered. "I'm uh, not from here."


That was two clues, just like that. They were even in the same train of thought. It was clear now that Oswald was the pokemon The Count was looking for. So much so that Ricinus genuinely wondered if this was a trap. After all, if Oswald were trying to hide, why would he not lie?


Two weeks was recent enough, Oswald's answer was very non-specific, and his often quivering voice denoted some definite anxiety. If he was lying he was very bad at it. Who was this Dewott…


Ricinus' tail swayed behind him. "That so? So recent, and you already found yourself a little friend, heh." He tilted his head in the direction of the Solosis. "You must be a very busy mon."


Oswald visibly deflated at that. "...It's been a long couple of weeks," he said with a sigh. His eyes abruptly shifted downward, growing wider. "Hold on…wait, I recognize that scarf color…"


Lifting a ribbon to touch the thin piece of cloth around his neck, Ricinus quietly swallowed. This could go poorly if he was not careful.


"Is that normal?" Ricinus wondered, now acutely aware of the blandness of the cloth. "There are only so many colors—some that certain pokemon cannot even see."


It seemed that a slight change in subject paid off. The corners of Oswald's lips curled upward, and his voice rose another octave. "I know, right? They're so cheap, too. No designs or anything. Lace just put mine in a gift basket and said 'you're one of us now.'" He said that last bit in a mocking tone.


This was good, Ricinus could go along with this. "It was the same for me," he said. "How do they know for certain who is who when the colors are so similar to each other?"


"Dunno." Oswald shrugged his shoulders. "You'd think with all the money in the world they could afford something a bit more fancy. Even the door locks are faulty, it's sketchy." He narrowed his eyes at nothing in particular.


"You know," Ricinus giggled, "I was expecting a lot more before I arrived. And now that I'm here…I must be honest: it is a bit disappointing."


A pang of satisfaction hit Ricinus as soon as the words left his mouth. Because it was true—Kebia Castle fell well below his expectations. Someone needed to know how he felt.


And with that, Oswald broke into a full-blown grin. He said, "I was expecting to be talked down to by some prissy, stuck-up noble the second I walked in. But no. Everyone here is an asshole, but for different reasons."


Arceus, Ricinus could relate. Back at the Oriole he had been expecting to come into contact with countless rude and callous bullies, but in the end most of them acted like the prissy nobles Oswald just mentioned. It was all backwards. Oswald should have been the one hiding away in the Oriole. At least then he could find some proper friends that were not random children he found in someone's attic.


Speaking of-


Before Ricinus could open his mouth, the crowd nearby erupted into thunderous applause, cutting both of them off. He snapped his head in the performer's direction just in time to catch the start of his next bit.


"Be careful with TMs, adventurers!" Neo began, breaking into some sort of impromptu lecture. At least some parts of the performance were educational. "You will find yourself learning so quickly that you might think to skip class! But don't be fooled…you must still be-"


Oswald's voice broke Ricinus' attention. "But whatever," the Dewott muttered. "I don't know why- er…yeah. Sorry, forget it."


When Ricinus turned his head to face Oswald once more, he noticed him looking down and away, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. A moment passed where Ricinus truly drank in the fact that this mon—of all mons—had some sort of important significance in the grand scheme of things. He was a "human," even if by all accounts he seemed quite bland personality-wise.


There was a very harrowing aspect to that. But Ricinus smiled, regardless. "No, no, not a worry," he reassured the Dewott. "Go ahead, you are quite pleasant to talk to."


Oswald grimaced. That last compliment went ignored. "I guess I'm just not used to striking up a conversation with people," he said. "It's a…weird situation- I mainly just try to keep to myself."


"You said you had another teammate?"


Oswald's gaze immediately fell downcast, a cloud of sadness befalling his green eyes. While it was clear that he had been attempting to remain cordial, this was obviously a sour subject for him. Just mentioning that other teammate left Oswald visibly distant and uncomfortable.


Oh dear, this is getting out of hand.


"I did, yeah," Oswald affirmed hoarsely. "Though uh…we've been going through a bit of a rough patch recently." His ears fell slack, and Ricinus regretted approaching Oswald in the first place. "We're giving each other some space."


Talking to young, vulnerable mons like this always left Ricinus feeling like an unruly Eevee all over again. As in, as far from a prince as he would ever get, listening more than talking, then moving on when things started to get too personal. Usually in moments like this a nagging thought in his brain would resurface and remind Ricinus that he had more important issues to pay attention to. The thought still resurfaced to this day, to the point where it never really retreated again.


It was always there, peering over his shoulder, leaning right into Ricinus' ear.


I should go. Aven might be in trouble…


"I'm sorry to hear that."


"Don't worry about it," Oswald said. "It's more my fault than anything else. We'll figure it out." The words as he spoke them almost seemed to heal the sadness in his eyes. But they had a pessimistic twinge to them that left Ricinus doubtful. Ricinus blinked and their eyes met, neutral.


Then Oswald smirked like a devious Gengar. "But no, seriously, you look a lot less pretty when you're sad. It's fine."


Oh? Why, this sly dog…


"Really, now?" Ricinus giggled, looking away as though he were smitten by the flattery. Had he appeared despondent before, though? Was it because he was thinking of Aven?


"Yeah, totally," Oswald reaffirmed. "Your teammates are lucky, whoever they are. And I mean that."


Lucky? Where was this flirty side of the Dewott coming from? It was almost making Ricinus blush. Almost.


"Well, I don't hear it from them often," Ricinus said. "We hardly talk, really."


These were details that Ricinus made certain to establish before he arrived. His "team," as they were called, were independent researchers that compiled notes here and there. Otherwise they pursued their own goals without much input from each other.


As it was, Ricinus figured that it was an easy way to deflect questions about them while leading right into…


Oswald raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean you 'hardly talk?'" he questioned. "Do you not go into mystery dungeons together? I know I don't anymore; they suck."


Ricinus widened his smile to appear emphatic over Oswald prying, meeting his expectant gaze with a cordial one. "Oh, no, we are all independent researchers. Like me, right now I'm looking into the ancient humans. Their culture and history and everything in between."


To think that Ricinus nearly forgot why he was here in the first place. It was very brief. Ricinus had paid close attention to Oswald's expression the second the word "human" was uttered, looking for anything different.


And it changed. A flash hit Oswald's eye, his whiskers twitching with the raising of his eyebrows. His mouth fell open in awe. One more detail to note.


"Oh yeah?" Oswald wondered with a slight wavering in his voice. "How's that going?"


He is such a terrible liar, Ricinus thought.


This was all going according to plan. Ricinus said, "Here, let me show you," and reached into his satchel. His ribbon brushed against the tiny seed at the bottom of his bag when he went to grab the pamphlet. A chill rushed up his spine, and he spent an entire second wondering if he should take it into the open air. There would likely be no other chance to do so.


Fortunately, this was going well enough to not need it. The Reviser Seed remained in place, while the pamphlet Canary gave him was brought to Ricinus' front.


"Human cultures are so interesting," Ricinus stated. "I hear literature such as this lined the walls of buildings larger than this castle, even. Words upon words upon words, just detailing their methods of construction and innovation. Knowledge was their strength, even if their intellect paled in comparison to some pokemon."


Ricinus had been staring at the cover of the pamphlet, grazing over the peculiar runes and even more peculiar creatures in horrid ritual as they contorted the elements to their will. It was horrifying, which was why Ricinus chose not to focus on it for long, instead choosing to show the front to Oswald.


Oswald gave the pamphlet a strange look. "...I don't think you'll be learning much from water parks," he remarked.


Ears perking higher, Ricinus stared. "Hm? Water parks?"


The Dewott's eyes grew wide as saucers. Those were words he was not supposed to say, judging by his reaction. His fingers fidgeted in the air in an attempt to mangle the situation back to his favor. The fur on the back of his neck grew to twice its size in an instant.


He quickly corrected himself, saying," Y-yeah. I actually study humans myself in my spare time."


"Really? Do you know the language?"


"No."


Liar.


"That is a shame," Ricinus admitted honestly. A part of him truly wanted to know what the pamphlet was about, even more so now that it would be definitive proof Ricinus could return with.


Oswald held up a paw. "I mainly study their architecture, like…" He looked away, biting his lip. "Okay, I like their theme parks a lot."


Ricinus shook his head. "I claim to study them but clearly you know more than me," he said. "I am not familiar with that term—'theme park.'"


"Oh!" Oswald's eyes lit up. His posture seemed to instantly change, his voice rising to a slightly higher pitch. "Honestly I shouldn't really be surprised, but- wait, no, I'm not talking about you here. I just mean…Kebia, or maybe Enigma in general. There was a festival in town a few days back. I doubt most of the pokemon here know much about that sort of thing."


"Uh huh." Ricinus nodded along.


"That had coasters and other rides but I wouldn't really call it a theme park," Oswald said. "Fairs can have coasters, but theme parks have a theme—that's why they're called theme parks."


"I see."


"Now water parks, those are something else entirely. They're open only really during the summer and spring, they tend to be for younger people, and they, you know, have mostly water-based rides. It's a lot of fun."


"Interesting."


"I remember really liking the wave pools, but the lazy river was always my favorite. Heh." Oswald stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder if that's why I'm…"


Ricinus chimed in abruptly, more so than intended. "Do they have them where you're from?"


Oswald blinked. "Huh?" Lost in thought as he was, only after speaking up did the Dewott really take notice of Ricinus again. His eyes drifted to the performance—something Oswald had not done once since the conversation started. He said, "More or less. I haven't been to one in a long time." He shook his head. "But whatever. I don't want to bore you."


If Ricinus was bored then he had to wonder how exciting Oswald's life was. Because at this point, Ricinus was standing upright, wiggling his paws at the prospect of turning and leaving right then and there. He got what he came for—this Dewott was who The Count wanted.


"Hardly," Ricinus quipped. "If anything, your enthusiasm is infectious. I might have to seek out one of these 'water parks' myself."


With his eyes back on Ricinus, Oswald appeared quite relieved, what with his slouched posture and thankful smile. Both Ricinus and Oswald implicitly understood that this conversation was coming to an end, and neither had embarrassed themselves to an absurd degree.


"If you do," Oswald pointed out, "take it easy." He shot a glance over his shoulder. "It'll probably be even louder there than it is here. Go during an off-season if you don't want to deal with any kids."


What a shame that Ricinus could not get to know Oswald more. There was a disarming quality to him, and not the dangerous kind. Ricinus was beginning to think that, despite all evidence to the contrary, this Dewott was harmless. But perhaps The Count thought otherwise.


Under different circumstances, they could even get to know each other better. But it was not meant to be.


Ricinus turned on his heels, his chest faced in the direction of the stairs. "It was nice meeting you, Oswald," Ricinus said. "I must be going now, but I would like to talk again some day, if that is alright."


Oswald looked at Ricinus incredulously. Slack-jawed, he froze with his paws still clutched at his sides. An unusual response to such a menial sentiment. "I wouldn't…mind that," he uttered. "Haven't made many fr- I mean, sure. See you around?"


"Of course. And don't worry, I'll find you." And then he winked.


On his way down the stairs, Ricinus swished his tail behind him deliberately in the definite chance that Oswald's eyes still lingered. They would not meet again after this, so why not give him something to remember?


Regardless of what The Count had planned for him, Ricinus hoped it would not be too painful for the Dewott. He deserved that much. Ricinus even wished him well.


Once Ricinus reached the bottom of the stairs, however, he picked up the pace. Not even a second was wasted to catch his breath on his way to the foyer. Eyes were on him, he could feel it. It was bad before, but now it was downright stifling.


He made it close to half-way down the hall before his fears were realized. A snickering, taunting voice rang right in his ears.


"And where do you think you're going?"


Ricinus skidded to a stop mere moments before a black void twisted the carpet in front of him, an inky and velvety form rising from it. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, his neck fur standing on end.


The ghosts had taken notice of him. And not a moment too soon, either. Dammit, he was too slow!


His path had been halted by what was now clear to be a grinning Banette, lounging on a couch that was not there as he floated upward. His zippered mouth dripped with malicious black steam, a harsh contrast to the Banette's smug demeanor.


There was a knowing look in his eyes, shining with complacency. "I don't think I've seen you around here before," the Banette observed, a festering irritation leaking out into his words. He had missed Ricinus up until now, but he was apparently going to fix that if it was the last thing he would do.


Ricinus took a small step back. "Yes, I just arrived," he stated, trying not to gulp. "What is the issue?"


The Banette grinned so wide that his mouth began to unzip at the seams. "That's the thing, isn't it? You did just arrive, but new arrivals aren't kitted with scarves until they're in the system."


What? Then does that mean Ricinus could have walked in completely naked and got around with less hassle?


Nevermind that—there was still the seed. Ricinus' blood went cold. It was still pocketed in his satchel, practically miles and miles away by now. He lost his chance, all he could do now was talk his way out of this.


"I-I'm not so sure of what you mean," stammered the Sylveon. "I was given this scarf before I arrived." It was an honest truth—some ghosts could detect lies.


"By who, huh?" the Banette questioned, his brows furrowed. "There's only one place in this continent where you can join the guild and that's right down the hall. But I ain't ever seen your face around here." He floated down, closer. The steam was pooling on the floor. "Or any Sylveon in the past couple months."


Ricinus retorted quickly, "I evolved recently-"


But the ghost cut him off. "Don't give me that crap! What are you really doing here? Where'd you get that scarf?"


It was all falling apart so quickly. The black steam was tickling at Ricinus' toes, encasing him, seeping into his pristine white fur. An encroaching cloud of black congregated at the corners of his vision. His eyes darted left and right in search of solutions, but all his mind could come back to was the seed burning a hole by his waist.


That stupid fucking seed. It would be so easy. Make an excuse, pull out the seed, done. His mission would be a failure, but anything was better than torture. All he had to do was speak. All he had to do was end it all right there.


If he were a stronger pokemon—a true prince—he could have done it. Better to die a martyr than live in prison. His legacy would never be fulfilled, then. Ricinus, the prince, would die a horrible death in the very place he sought to conquer.


I am a prince, he repeated internally to himself. I. Am. A. Prince.


Shivering wracked his whole body and all that escaped his mouth was a frightened squeak. He had to think of something; if he waited any longer, it would be too late. Arceus, why did it have to be here? Why did it have to be now?


"I-"


Right before Ricinus could say more, and proceeding the Banette's mouth unzipping fully, there was another voice. It broke through the fog, dissipating the steam at Ricinus' feet with one simple sentence:


"Aster, what are you doing?"


A Hattrem hobbled down the hallway towards them with a swing in her braided step. She wore a beaming smile, only distantly hinting at the agitated derision she held for the Banette. Her fur color—reminiscent of cotton candy—was quite pleasant to look at, which might have been pacifying had it not been for her forceful presence.


The Banette, Aster, balked. He sounded more than a little annoyed when he lowered himself closer to the spot he originally came from. A "tsk" noise slipped from his rapidly zipping lips. "Now's not the time, Lilac. Can't you see I'm busy?"


The Hattrem, Lilac, wasted no time positioning herself by Ricinus' side. Although she came to his aid, he may as well not have even been there; not once did she acknowledge Ricinus directly, or even look at him.


She said in an abnormally joyous voice, "You need to stop harassing pokemon, Aster." Her tiny body swayed with the movement of tilting her head in Ricinus' direction. "Clover has a brother, and I'd rather you not pester him without my consent."


Notably, Lilac phrased the remark so as to not imply that Ricinus was even remotely the one she was talking about. It could be inferred, but when pressed on it she might have needed to get specific.


Not that Ricinus could have helped her in that regard. He was still reeling over her sudden intrusion.


Aster crossed his arms tightly and defensively against his plush-like chest. "I don't know where you and those nosy birds are getting the idea that I 'harass' pokemon," Aster glowered, "I was just asking what this guy was doing all by himself. Nothing more. Okay?"


His story certainly changed quite quickly. Was he afraid of being caught in the act, or was he afraid of Lilac herself? When looking to the Hattrem for guidance, Ricinus finally took note of the scarf wrapped around her torso. It was teal, just like his own.


That couldn't have been a coincidence. Or, maybe it was. He inferred on his own earlier that there were only so many colors, after all. Canary could have just stolen it. And if that was the case, the coincidence of Ricinus being the same species as the aforementioned brother seemed too good to be true.


Lilac went along with it as if that were the case.


"Do you always make this many excuses?" she wondered, child-like in her tone. "You know how easily I could get you fired. I can see it now…'Kebia Castle's security manager caught persecuting innocent guild members-'"


"Alright, alright! I get it!" Aster held up his ghostly mitts in surrender. "I've got better things to do anyway." He glared at Ricinus. "Just keep an eye on him; Calluna doesn't like it when newbies are left unattended."


When was Ricinus' whereabouts anybody's business? Divorced completely from Ricinus' true intentions, being stopped and questioned by Aster left him terrified, fearing for his life, and then full of steaming fury. "Harassment" was right.


"I can look after myself, sir," Ricinus grumbled.


Lilac hummed her agreement. "That's right," she said. "We'll be going to visit Lace and Ipo right after this. Isn't that right?"


"Yes, indeed." Ricinus gave her a look out of the corner of his eye. Whoever this Hattrem was, she fell into the habit of lying disturbingly easily.


Aster groaned. It sounded scratchy in his throat. "Piss off…"


His ghostly form melted back into the carpet through a dark hole, that of which dissipated after a short time, too. With Aster's absence, the air grew less cool. In fact, with the ghost now gone, Lilac's closeness became readily apparent.


Ricinus turned on her warily. After clearing his throat, he muttered, "Thank you…for that. You came at an opportune time."


"Oh sure. Just don't mess up so badly again, you stupid asshole." The way Lilac smiled back at Ricinus, with nothing but blank affability in her eyes, unnerved him. "I don't know what The Count is thinking, sending a bozo like you down here. It's not my job to fix your mistakes."


Her words were like the slow burn of an oven flame, cautiously boiling inside Ricinus' brain until the scorn finally formed into understanding. This altercation, with Lilac coming to Ricinus' aid, was no coincidence. His brow furrowed.


"You know nothing," Ricinus stated, sounding more princely than he had all day. And that nearly made him pause. "...I was chosen as I was the most qualified. You would not know a thing about that."


Lilac's smile was like a boulder: it never shifted. "Of course, your highness."


All of a sudden, Ricinus felt a tightness around his neck, only for that tightness to pull his neck forward and find release within the span of a second. Even still, he saw his teal scarf floating from him before he felt the warmth leaving his neck.


Puppeted by an invisible force, the scarf was promptly and neatly folded into a triangle, descending into Lilac's outstretched hand.


Ricinus touched his neck with a ribbon, flabbergasted by the audacity. He seethed, "How dare you-"


"Find your own disguise next time, pretty boy," Lilac snapped. Within the span of a second, her expression contorted into one of pure disgust, only to shift back to the boulder—the smile. "You better bring your entourage next time because I'm not gonna save you twice, hehe!"


She turned to leave, emboldened by the last word, but Ricinus thought quickly. Oh no, he would not sit down for this. Not today. He nearly killed himself with a Reviser Seed; if anyone would have the last laugh, it would be the prince, Ricinus.


"Hpmh!" he huffed. "I'll be sure to bring along my own fabric folder next time, then. One significantly less sloppy than you. A prince can always do better."


He heard a shocked gasp, but Ricinus was much too busy cantering his way out of the castle to acknowledge it. Yes, he nearly failed. Yes, he had to be saved by some disturbing facsimile of a Hattrem. But, he also succeeded.


Thinking back on it, Ricinus should have taken bets. The winning bet being that Canary would have to swallow the seed himself. Who would be laughing then, huh?


Past the front desk, out the double doors, and into the open air—Ricinus stopped to take a lengthy breath. He closed his eyes against the sun bearing down on him, head tilted upward in content.


Freedom was warm, he just always assumed it would tickle him more after leaving the Oriole after several days, not the castle of his obsession. If anything, it was as though he had just escaped from prison, the shackle around his neck left well and far behind.


It was euphoric, in a way. And euphoria, unfortunately, always ended.


Grumbles reached Ricinus' ears as passing pokemon squeezed around him, inciting him to awkwardly step out of the way into a large furry body. Ears drooping, eyes growing wide, Ricinus swung his head around, then upward.


The Pangoro was there and glaring down at him. His arms were crossed and he wore a disgruntled scowl. Although his fur was a bit ruffled, he looked to be unscathed.


Ricinus slowly inched away, shrinking in on himself. All of that warmth from the sun melted away into a cool autumn breeze. A chattering sound made him jump, only for Ricinus to realize that it was his own teeth clacking together.


Aside from flaring his nostrils at him, the Pangoro let Ricinus scamper off; it was doubtful he even saw the Sylveon before, let alone recognize him. But still. Everything rushed back to him alongside the shivers he could not contain.


Aven was nowhere to be seen.


They had come to no agreement, there was no discussion of where to meet afterwards. It all happened so fast. Now that he was outside, Ricinus had no idea what to do. He was in a town he had never visited before, alone, with nothing but luck to propel him forward.


And that was the thing, wasn't it? Luck. Ricinus was walking fast, almost to the point of a sprint, frantically throwing his head in every direction for a sign of white and red fur. He was depending on the chance that maybe he would find Aven, and the chance that maybe he did not get himself arrested.


Just like how Ricinus was depending on Oswald to be in that castle, waiting for him. It should have been a clear sign that this mission was doomed from the start once that unironically came true.


It could never be a success without his Aven.


His breath quickened—short inhales and heavy panting. Pokemon were starting to stare, but he paid them no mind. Let them stare, let them see who would be leading them out of the Queen's rule: a whiny Slyveon panicking like a lost child over his missing servant.


Once that thought hit his mind, the prospect of not drawing attention to himself faded away. Ricinus began to call out for him: "Aven!" Hoarse and dry.


He has to still be here, Ricinus thought. He would never leave me like that…


"Aven!" he called again. He was sprinting now, ribbons flailing behind him. "Aven! Aven!"


It was when he finally decided that he would need to expand his search and start asking questions that something caught the Sylveon's eyes. A waving appendage from behind a tree, right before the bend in the path. It was red, clawed, and slow.


Relief washed over Ricinus so swiftly that it exploded into elation. He gasped, heart beating out of his chest. Trees and cobblestone rushed past him as he sped to his destination, to him.


It all came to a head when, still panting heavily, Ricinus rounded the corner of the tree and found a red pokemon propped up against it.


The Lycanroc's arm fell to his side once Ricinus came into view. A warm, tired smile spread across his scruffy snout.


"Hey," Aven mumbled.


If there were any more words to speak, Ricinus did not wait to hear them. Because in an instant he had thrust himself into Aven's arms, sprawled across the Lycanroc's lap.


"Aven!" Ricinus squealed, face pressed against the fur on Aven's chest. The coarse texture of fur and the firmness of his pecs and abs reminded Ricinus of home—his real home. Warmth and safety unlike any bed Ricinus had ever slept in.


Like a comforting blanket, Aven pulled the Sylveon in closer, wrapping his arms around him in a gentle grip. Comforting growls rumbled the two of them as Aven rested his chin on Ricinus' head. Their collective heartbeat slowed.


They were as one—whole. Together like a Spoink and their pearl.


Aven sounded gravelly, but his voice flowed smoothly through the frigid air. He said, "...Sorry I disappeared." A jingling sound followed, a small sack of money, no doubt. Was it the Mienfoo or Pangoro that Aven pickpocketed it from? "Hope this makes up for it."


Ricinus pulled back a bit, ribbons still tangled around Aven's arms. He glanced at the small sack for a moment, but ultimately ignored it. "No, don't say that," he breathed. Their eyes met after what felt like years, and a sparkle shimmered in the faint light on Aven's cheek. Such a sight sent a pit down Ricinus' stomach. That, and the red smear below Aven's nose.


The smell of blood, that of which still persisted in droplets on Aven's chest fur, finally became apparent. Immediately, Ricinus untangled himself and thrust his ribbons into his satchel.


"You're hurt!" Ricinus cried.


Aven huffed, resting a claw on Ricinus' shoulder. "I'm fine," he grumbled, sniffling a bit. "Just…clipped my nose."


But Ricinus did not care how serious the injury was; if it was possible to audibly wince, Aven would have made that sound. Although he was fighting back, Ricinus knew for certain that Aven was being strong for him.


Ricinus emerged with a handkerchief in one ribbon and a brown Gummi in the other, just for good measure. Although it was faint, little growls and whines still seeped into Aven's breathing. He was handling this quite well, all things considered.


"Shush now, sweet boy," Ricinus whispered. "You did wonderfully."


Dried blood was always so difficult to get out of Aven's fur. Never helped by Aven's reluctance to wash himself. "I'll just get dirty again," he would say. Ricinus laughed to himself. That never stopped him from cleaning the dirty dog each time anyway.


As Aven chewed the Gummi, he asked, "Dib ya 'ind 'im?" Then swallowed.


Ricinus froze for a moment, processing the question. Not because it was hard to answer, there was just surprising quality to the result. "Yes, actually. I found him quickly, right at the second floor. Oswald was his name."


"Ah-zz-wahl-duh," Aven said, testing the name on his tongue. "Was he…?"


"Strange? Dangerous? Cute?" Ricinus slipped the handkerchief back into his satchel, finishing the job. "Two of the three. Guess which ones."


Aven flared his nostrils thoughtfully. "...You know I don't like these games."


Which was why they had no reason to play. Ricinus giggled, tossing himself back into Aven's chest. "I have everything I need now," he said. "We can leave."


"Good." There was a heavy sigh from the Lycanroc, followed by his claws finding their way behind Ricinus' ears. "I like the cave more."


Leaning into the touch, Ricinus had no reason to disagree. The Oriole was drab, dank, and full of fools, but the castle unsettled Ricinus to no end. He vowed to not take a step within its walls again until it was his to control.


But for now, Ricinus was content to give himself to the one he loved.


"Me too…" Ricinus whispered.


Aven lifted his arm, Ricinus' ribbon going with it. They coiled in perfect sync, like a dance. Aven's arm moved back while Ricinus followed in kind.


"Such a tight grip…" Aven chuckled.


Ricinus' cheeks burned. What was he doing holding on that tight? He buried his face in Aven's shoulder as though that would save him from the embarrassment.


"Be quiet…" He sounded so whiny, so vulnerable. "I wanted to be an Umbreon…it's all your fault."


And to make things worse, Aven shushed him softly, causing Ricinus' heart to leap.


Aven growled in that deep, husky voice of his, "...Guilty."


Propelled by pure longing and affection, Ricinus raised his head. He looked into Aven's eyes, ears flattened against his head, freckled cheeks awash with blush. When Ricinus shared glances with another pokemon oftentimes the connection was brief, and fleeting. The understanding they achieved as fellow pokemon seeking company never escaped the surface level.


Even with other males—the ones he would seduce. With Oswald, he liked him, yes. But his problems irked Ricinus. His insecurities peeked out of his shadow, always near and never satiated.


Aven was different. His eyes were red pools of connection that Ricinus could swim to at any given time. A comforting oasis in this desert of strife.


None of it mattered when they could stare into each other's eyes for hours and hours. Forget it all.


They intertwined further, and became closer. Everything was right. Everything would be fine.


Ricinus was a prince in Aven's arms.


And with that, their lips met.


1KIoh0c.png
Art by @hccupit on Tumblr.
 
Chapter 46 - Day 17, Part 2: Horns

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 46: Day 17, Part 2 - Horns

Liechi Ravine: 2nd Floor

It was so uniquely rare for Dahlia to be busy for extended periods of time.

Normally, she would adjust her schedule to accommodate her early morning routine, getting into a comfortable, rhythmic process that was simple and easy to remember. Sticking to her habits kept her comfortable, with everything else just fading into the winds she rode.

However, the past week had been nothing but turbulent winds. Though not quite to the degree of a hurricane—which she might have even preferred. Work still progressed like normal, just at a faster rate. More of those outlaws—the ones that had only grown in number over the past couple of weeks—popped up on the notice board. And Holly, opportunist that she was, took as many as Dahlia and Pink would allow and then some.

Some weeks were just like that, Dahlia reasoned. It would end eventually, and she could return to normalcy. Holly always had her moments where nothing would stop her, and Dahlia could live with that. That fact was one of many that made them such a good team.

However, she had to admit, hearing the same spiel from these outlaws for the tenth time in a row was starting to get grating. Both Holly and Pink seemed to agree, what with their attitudes during today's mission.

It was a Drapion this time, and a loud one at that. "Our wrongs will be made right!" he yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls of Liechi Ravine. "The savior will topple Kebia and-"

"And bring us closer to enlightenment or some shit, we know," Pink grumbled. She lifted up her fists threateningly. "Can you just shut up and sit down?"

Dahlia was earnestly surprised that Pink was paying attention enough to remember that bit, but her surprise quickly turned to annoyance when the Drapion continued in spite of the threats. No wonder Pink remembered it; even as they were getting clocked, these dimwits never stopped talking.

"You're all just…pawns of the system!" The Drapion went on. "The monarchy will be your ruin! D-don't fall for their lies!"

Sure is persistent for someone backed up against a wall, Dahlia thought. Most of that had to do with Pink and Holly, who had effectively chased the guy down instead of blasting him immediately. Petty criminals deserve a chance to go back quietly, but the rising heat in the air told Dahlia that they'd be dragging this guy back to town.

Dahlia fluttered down next to Holly, nearly singing her feathers on the Houndoom's glowing fur alone. She said, "I don't think he's going to listen, Holly."

"I know," Holly growled. The Houndoom's eyes narrowed fiercely at the Drapion, which made him slink back timidly against the rocky outcrop. Licks of flame pushed against her red lips, like desperate claws grasping for ways to escape and strike.

The guy was shaking and quivering, likely close to pissing himself. A couple of the outlaws they already took in did while in the same position. Holly just had that effect on pokemon, even when she wasn't trying to.

Pink took a step forward. "We don't care! Five seconds, that's all you get! Now come on!"

There was hesitation on the Drapion's face, his pincers snapping defensively. "N-no," he cried. "You'll invade my mind! Steal my memories! You'll never take m-"

Like most of these outlaws, the Drapion didn't get to finish his speech. He was up in flames in just, well, less than five seconds. He screamed and screamed until he went down, the smell of burnt carapace and poison rotting away at Dahlia's tiny nostrils.

"Hey!" Pink complained, crossing her arms over her chest. "I said five seconds! That was three."

Needless to say Holly wasn't listening. She went up to check on the Drapion and see if he was still conscious. Or breathing. Another reason why Team Phlox tended to use violence as a last resort: you can't earn a whole lot from a dead pokemon.

Good thing, then, that most of them were pretty resilient. Dahlia had been caught on fire before—it wasn't fun, but the feathers grew back in just a few weeks. This Drapion would be fine, and she didn't need to look at him closely to know that.

"The bastard wasn't gonna listen," Holly said with a shrug.

"Most of them haven't," Dahlia remarked, landing on the poison type's outstretched and limp pincer. "In fact they've been getting more persistent, haven't they? Can't imagine why."

"I don't know and I don't care. We're just lucky he only got two floors in."

Pink waltzed over and casually leaned up against the side of the Drapion's large body. "I thought you liked it when they gave chase, Holly," she snarked. Despite being half the guy's size, Pink trampled the Drapion in confidence. Really made Dahlia wonder, for probably the fifth time this week, who in distortion these idiots were and why so many of them were chumps?

Holly's response was to sniff the Drapion's body and ignore Pink. "If only size meant more profit." She exhaled loudly through her nose, looking up at Dahlia with a disgruntled snarl. "We might have to call in a carrier for this."

Oh Arceus, Dahlia knew what that meant. The worst part was that she didn't even disagree. Drapion had such long and unwieldy appendages that it'd be a pain to carry him, even if he never woke up.

Why did they take this job again? Oh yeah, Holly insisted on it. And now Dahlia would have to fly all the way to the castle and back. Though it wouldn't even be that big of a deal if the carriers weren't so juvenile. That line of work always attracted the worst kinds of winged pokemon.

Dahlia sighed. "Didn't I say that I liked to get a heads up about these sorts of things?"

For a moment Holly just stared blankly. Her scars outlined a contorting of thoughts that only seemed to be churning slower with each passing day. Not helped whatsoever by how distracted she seemed. It took her a bit, but she eventually said, "I forgot."

Well, at least Dahlia didn't have to fight today. Shaking her head, she lifted herself up into the air, pointing her beak at an unrelated opening in the rocks in the distance. "I think that will be all from me," she chirped. "Let's meet up at Altaria's in the evening. We can cash in tomorrow."

"Here, here," Pink affirmed, raising a hand. "I'll grab the Escape Orb."

What Holly said next confused Dahlia quite a bit: "It pisses me off that they're clinging on to something that won't change." The Houndoom's broken horn dipped with her head as she sat on her haunches, waiting. Her eyes remained on the Drapion—the only hint as to what she was referring to.

Pink snorted, her hand still digging through the bag around her shoulder. "I know, it's stupid. When will they ever learn?"

Dahlia, meanwhile, studied Holly's face. Her long, scrunched up snout and pointed gaze—accentuated by wrinkles slowly stealing the fierceness of her features. If there was a word to best describe the old hound it wouldn't be "scary" or even "intimidating." If anything, it was "thoughtful."

Holly thought more than any other pokemon Dahlia knew. She planned, considered, and reasoned during every waking moment that she had. Dahlia could ask her at any given time what her goal was and Holly would always have an answer, after a bit of thinking.

Her age was showing a bit, which might have explained why she seemed so different lately. The Holly that Dahlia knew wouldn't care at all to be pissed at some criminals. It was all money in the end—money that Holly claimed would benefit the three of them.

She could have always been like that. With Holly handedly being the oldest on the team, it was no surprise that she cut out all of the nonsense and stayed so goal-oriented. Maybe it was a habit from her time in the war. Dahlia never asked.

Prodding so deep at something so touchy was rude, even for Dahlia. But even so, she decided at that moment that she'd ask about it later. It would be just like those days when they started working together, huddling around in the ramshackle sacks they called beds and sharing secrets.

As the light of the Escape Orb enveloped them, Dahlia could only hope that Holly wouldn't take it the wrong way.


It was decently common for Team Phlox to open a conversation with Pink's romantic pursuits. Talks about the young ladies she would attempt to swoon, and how repeated disappointments led to new and creative methods to win them over. It was just that, usually, these conversations had a pessimistic bitterness about them. Regrets and what-could've-beens included, alongside some comforting and good-natured ribbing.

Habitual and comical as it was, Dahlia hoped that her friend would one day enter Altaria's with good news for once. The stories about how Pink would spend an entire day walking on her hands or how she had to become an expert in Bolt Break in an afternoon were fun, but only to a certain extent for Pink herself.

So, what a shock it was to see the Monferno arriving after both Holly and Dahlia that evening, then, with a satisfied smile on her face.

Dahlia had ordered a soothing grepa flavored tea, rich with sugar and raisins. Warmed not with Special energy courtesy of a fire type, but instead with Altaria's unique human-made boiler, tuned to perfection, slow cooked. The kind of over-the-top luxury that only accompanied a "forget it, I'm treating myself today" type mentality.

After flying from Kebia and back so many times it would have taken a miracle to drag her beak from that tea. And Pink, with her big stupid smile, made the Murkrow pause, tongue still mid-tasting: the impossible.

Holly broke the ice first out of the three of them, projecting her voice above the late evening crawl of exhausted guild pokemon. She said, "Do I even want to ask why you took so long?" The Houndoom was lounging in the booth beside Dahlia, a half-eaten mixture of scrambled eggs and Tepig sausage wedged in a plate between her paws. Despite her presence, she was a patient eater.

This was usually the point in these conversations where Pink would relay the results of her pursuits in as clear terms as possible. And if not, then there was a catch. Something often to the extent of "okay, I might need some help with this one." Those tended to be the most ridiculous scenarios.

Rarely did she ever say her efforts bore fruit right off the bat, though. This had to have been one of those rare occurrences, and Dahlia realized it by the time Pink plopped herself down in the booth.

She had a swagger to her step. A brighter flame than normal. Her smirk rose with her cheeks.

"Heh," Pink boasted," guess who just landed herself a date?" Two thumbs were pointed inward at the Monferno. "That's right. It's me."

She seemed so confident about it, too. Her tail was swinging happily and her eyes were bright. Dahlia's beak fell open in wordless shock.

Holly, meanwhile, took the opportunity to dig at Pink. "Pity dates don't count," she snickered. Words hot as fire—that was just how Holly rolled.

"Hey, if anything I pity more than a third of my dates, so technically they do count," Pink retorted, throwing her arms behind her head casually. That joke of Holly's dug deep and hit rock. That was just how it was with them.

Besides, nothing could have broken that smile of Pink's. Not only did something go right for once, Pink was proven to be correct. Now that was new.

Dahlia clacked her beak together. "Well?" she inquired. "Who is it?"

With her arm slung around the back of the booth, Pink said, "You know the show girls? Marigold's bunch?"

"Don't tell me…" Holly grumbled.

Could it be…? Just yesterday Dahlia caught wind of some juicy gossip about one of the girls who sings and dances every week at the castle. One of them was a lesbian, apparently, which was hardly a shock to the early birds. Dahlia herself barely remembered which girl it was, what with how they all seemed to blend together as a non-observer.

For the poor girl's sake, Dahlia feigned ignorance for a little while longer. "No kidding," she said. "I thought you weren't trying to punch above your weight, Pink. What changed?"

Pink smirked, less smug and more prideful this time around. "Mazus changed, that's what. Broke up with her shitty boyfriend and-"

"And then she found you," Holly interjected. Was she smirking as she said that?

Oh right, Mazus. That was her name "Lilligant, right?" Dahlia asked. "I think I remember that petal dance she does."

To say that Pink looked absolutely smitten was underselling it. She put her hand under her chin and gazed off at nothing wistfully, as though she were playing that Lilligant's dance moves in her mind over and over again.

Pink sighed contentedly. "That's her. Arceus, You should see her under the sunlight. What a babe."

Dahlia chuckled at that. Although not much of a poet, Pink spoke loudly about two things: her fists and her love life. Loudly and often. It was cute now, but Dahlia doubted it would ever stop. At least she was happy.

Meanwhile, Holly was less convinced.

"You're playing with fire here, Pink," the Houndoom growled. Her teeth were barred furiously—nothing new there.

Pink shrugged it off. "Hey, I can control my fire! Just because we're conflicting types doesn't mean we can't get natural."

"That's not what I meant."

When was the last time Holly even so much as implied something like that? Dahlia thought. For all I know she's asexual, but I surprisingly don't know everything.

"Then what did you mean?" Pink challenged.

Holly lowered her voice slightly and said, "Same as every other time you find a new snack to munch on. This one's different, though. Everyone knows her name, and they'll know yours soon, too. It's unwanted attention."

For you and us, Dahlia imagined Holly saying next. She could understand where the Houndoom was coming from, considering Dahlia's own experience. The last thing she wanted was to be the talk-of-the-castle. That would be humiliating.

But they were a team and they knew each other well, so even Pink could guess what Holly wanted to add after that. Her expression soured. "I'm not gonna screw this up, okay!" She harrumphed, flicking her hand upward in exasperation. "It's unfair how she can't even deal with a breakup without the Mandibuzz swooping in for scraps."

Ever the subtle Monferno, Pink shot a quick glare at Dahlia, to which the Murkrow frowned.

"And you hit it off by consoling her over that," Holly stated, not asked—because she knew it was true.

Pink just threw up her arms, her voice raising high enough to turn a few heads. "What's so wrong about that? I've done worse."

Yes, she had. A lot worse, actually. Dahlia didn't even have to mention the time Pink offered to commune with a girl's dead grandfather if it meant they could get together. There were times where Dahlia swore she could still see the mark on Pink's face where she had been slapped.

Holly shook her head grimly. "I'm just saying that you're walking a thin line," she explained. "You should prepare for the worst."

Pink rolled her eyes. "Yeah yeah, granny, I know."

While Holly did have a point, Dahlia had to agree that the Houndoom was being a bit too harsh here. She flapped her wings once, getting both of her teammate's attention.

"I think we should just be happy that Pink found someone, Holly," Dahlia chimed in. "Take it from me: the Mandibuzz will find a new carcass eventually." After they take all of the-

"Maybe after they pick off all the bones…" Holly took a large bite out of her meal, effectively swallowing any remaining words down with it.

The Houndoom's eyes were on her meal, but they may as well have been burning a hole in Dahlia's skull. Sometimes Dahlia wished they were strangers—at least then their conversations could be less awkward and they wouldn't know what the other was thinking half the time.

"Bring it on," Pink said, throwing a couple punches at the air. "I deal with sweaty losers all day. They won't be talking for much longer when I introduce them to my fists." Not like any of this deterred Pink, obviously. That Monferno could lose all of her limbs and still find a way to join the circus.

With her next punch, Pink knocked over their table's salt shaker, spilling its contents into a pile between the three of them. Pink froze, exchanging looks with Dahlia sheepishly.

Dahlia looked at the spilled salt impassively, wordlessly for a moment. Her talons gripped comfortably at the grooved leather of a perch situated on top of the table. Altaria's, graciously, provided customary seating for a variety of pokemon, cementing itself as a "multi-acclimated" establishment.

Accommodating every body type was near impossible with the space given, but the options provided—ranging from refillable tanks of water to extendable tables with more leg room—was very welcome indeed. Dahlia even had a favorite perch, with squishy leather that fit her talons like a glove. Just like how Holly had a favorite booth that fit her just right. Pink, in contrast, didn't seem to care.

Sighing, Dahlia fluttered onto the greasy diner tabletop, promptly setting the salt shaker upright with one of her talons. The good news Pink brought already accomplished the impossible by dragging Dahlia's tongue from her tea, and now the Monferno had accomplished the unthinkable and lured Dahlia off her perch.

"I really do hope this one works out, Pink," Dahlia chirped, eyes still on the salt. "You've been at this ever since we first met."

Pink's fists had since melted into flat palms on the table. She looked away, gazing at some random pokemon eating their meals. "Yeah, well…finding a girlfriend's…kinda important to me," she mumbled.

"It won't solve all of your problems," Holly reminded her, a slight bit of resignation in her voice. "Or prove anything."

Pink looked back at Holly, her expression never faltering. Resolute, determined, and even a bit pained best explained it. She grunted, "It'll make things easier. Give me somebody to fight for, you know?"

"We don't count, huh?" Dahlia asked cheekily. She had since risen back up to her perch, diving right into her plumage for some impromptu grooming. Her beak brushed past the hard surface of a pink diamond latched onto her wing, just out of sight—Stork's gift. Just this past week Dahlia had begun carrying it around with her as a sort of reminder. It comforted her in its opulence, but it also blinded her with its garishness.

Case in point, Dahlia missed a line from both Pink and Holly, only catching back up when she lifted her beak out of her feathers.

"...what happens after you chase your last tail?" Holly challenged, the air between the three of them suddenly smelling of smoke.

Pink sat back, throwing her legs on the table and crossing them without much care. "Then I've got myself a pretty nice tail. What can I say, Holly? Life's all about living. When's the last time you've done that?"

"What, chase tails?"

"Live."

"I am living."

"You're working, Holly." Pink wagged her finger in the air, teasing the Houndoom. "Don't lie, you wanted to do a second job today, didn't you?"

Holly puffed smoke rings from her nostrils. "...We had the time for it," she grumbled.

Pink retorted with: "And I have the time to shovel rocks and make a bed out of the ones I keep. Doesn't mean I'm gonna do it."

That was a decent point there. Holly was a lot of things, and a workaholic was certainly one of them. Had she asked Dahlia and Pink if they wanted to work more today, both of them would have said no without question. Holly still would have asked, not because she couldn't pick up on it, but because that was what she wanted to do.

Dahlia thought that it was just Holly's way of filling time or even her way of getting her mind off of things. Finding some amount of control in this hole the three of them were in. Or maybe she had nothing better to do. Deep in her mind, though, Dahlia had always figured that there was another reason Holly elected not to share—why the Houndoom seemed so driven by work and nothing else.

Right, Dahlia was going to ask about that tonight. She almost forgot.

Coincidentally, what Holly said next was a proper transition. She outright barked at Pink. "Listen, life is all about finding something that keeps us going. A goal and whatever the fuck." She jabbed her paw through the air, snarling. "And chasing tails doesn't count."

Pink crossed her arms, her lips twisted into a half-smile. "Now who's the hypocrite?" she said.

Dahlia thought it a good moment to step in right then. "What counts for you, then, Holly?" the Murkrow asked.

Still baring her teeth when she swung her head towards Dahlia, Holly snapped, her jaw smacking together like pistons. "Thriving without regrets." Simple, yet vague.

What does she mean by that? Dahlia thought, tilting her head. She didn't get a chance to ask, though, as an Altaria wearing an apron arrived just then with a plate atop her cloudy wing.

"Order for Pink!" Altaria squawked. That same plate, topped with spicy custap-flavored pancakes slid across the table before bumping the Monferno's leg. "Toes off the table!"

The whole interaction sped by so quickly that Pink didn't even get a chance to sit up straight before being scolded. Her ears twitched as her back straightened stiffer than a Duralodon. "Thanks…About time," she murmured. Pink had a thing about not using utensils, so she grabbed a handful of the flat cakes and started eating. Table manners be damned.

Altaria sighed. "Givin' the new bellboy enough work as is with all the foreigners recently." Chipper as always, but not without blowing out exhaustion through her beak, the bird smiled like an old friend. "A shame we lost that Gulpin; she was always good about suckin' out the grease."

Holly made a noise akin to a disgusted Lickitung in a dumpster who just licked something foul. "Just another reason why I eat on the seats," she mumbled.

"I clean them after hours no matter what!" Altaria said. "You just need to do your part and not make my job harder."

"Glad we can agree on something." Holly dipped her snout back into her meal.

With the other two occupied, Altaria flashed a grin only another bird pokemon could recognize—the kind of grin punctuated by a soft trill and flick of the tongue. "Dahlia!" she crooned. "How have you been keepin'?"

"Begonia!" Dahlia crooned in return. "I've been keeping well enough, all things considered. Work has been noticeably strenuous these past few weeks, as you know. It hasn't really gotten any better."

Pleasantries aside, it always set the Murkrow at ease to be in the company of other winged pokemon. Just like how Holly sometimes ran with a pack in the morning for her daily exercise; familiarity sparked like a wildfire in Kebia, and it was always worth it to stoke that flame.

The ribbons atop Begonia's head wilted as if drenched. "Tsk, and I here I was hopin' it got easier for you," she mused. "Seems to be a trend with other teams, too. Not just yours."

Pink loudly gulped down a chunk of her pancakes. "Unwelcome competition if you ask me."

Holly agreed by saying "Means we gotta work twice as hard." Although if Dahlia hadn't known Holly that sentiment would have sounded bitter. It still did, but only in the sense that Holly always sounded bitter.

"Hard workers, the lot of you," Begonia said, wings relaxed at her side. "I would love to get you some cakes on-the-house to make up for it, but…"

Dahlia rolled her eyes jokingly. "Work has been hard for you, too, yes."

And then Begonia wiped the anxious sweat off her brow like she was actually expecting any of Team Phlox to argue. They had been coming to this diner for a good eight years now; they knew that Begonia only gave out free meals for two reasons: retirement and donations at Marigold's request.

"Phew! And that's why you're my best customer." Begonia winked, swaying as she turned away. "Anyway, tch. Sorry, darlings. I'd love to stay and chat, but dinner rush kills more waitresses than feral Sharpedos year-round."

It was in the moment between Begonia turning away and Dahlia lifting her wing to wave that the Murkrow noticed something shine in the evening light on the Altaria's chest. She knew that shimmer anywhere—from opal stone necklaces to diamond brooches to the gem she nestled in her plumage at that very moment. Only a pretty bauble could sparkle like that and demand Dahlia's attention.

Begonia picked up some new bling, and Dahlia couldn't just ignore it.

"That's fine," Dahlia said, "but before you go, what's that?" Her wing, which had shifted trajectory, pointed at Begonia's chest. "A new necklace?"

Confused at first, Begonia peered down at the chain around her neck. Her expression changed to be more reminiscent of the disgruntled lower-wage employee most expected her to be. However, judging by her frown, it seemed that response had more to do with the why behind the necklace itself.

"Oh, this?" she said, bringing the object at the end of the chain into view. "Right, um, it's a family heirloom."

"Looks…unique," Dahlia commented. And she meant it, too. Glassy, smooth, and rounded—it looked like one of those human-made spheres Dahlia collected from time-to-time. What did Stork call them again? Marbles?

White, pink, and blue intermingled at curves like flowing leaves under the surface, spiraling around itself to the other side. No matter what way she looked at it, however, and in spite of the lighting, it always seemed to face the same way, under the glass. It was the strangest piece of jewelry Dahlia had ever seen, only rivaled by those eclectic art pieces designed by that family of Alakazam in town. Logic failed the object as much as it hindered its existence.

Pink snorted. "Weirder than unique. Your family owned it?"

"My dad, specifically," Begonia said. "He gave it to me recently…" She trailed off.

Dahlia realized just then that Begonia never mentioned her father before. Not like they were close enough to talk about their families at all, but they had talked enough for Dahlia to mention her own family, further up north.

Her father had passed away several years prior, and her mother busied herself as a professor at a university in Lanset, effectively retired at her age. Had it not been for her younger sister, Azalea, Dahlia might not have traveled to Kebia for work.

She hadn't thought of them in a while, let alone communicated with them in the time since. With Dahlia of all pokemon being open about that, she couldn't help but wonder why Begonia never mentioned her father.

"Your dad's got weird taste," Pink said.

Begonia let the necklace fall back to her chest as she looked at Pink. "I didn't know he had taste before he sent it to me."

Sent? Dahlia tilted her head. "So he mailed it to you? Where does he live?"

Begonia looked at Dahlia next, her frown deepening. "He lives in Kebia," she answered. "Right down the road in an old house that's been there since before the war." She angled her neck to the side, gesturing behind her. "This is the first time I've heard from him in years…" Again, she trailed off.

Sounded like they didn't have a good relationship. Dahlia could relate, at least somewhat. "Maybe it means something?" Dahlia offered. "He might want to reconnect." Or fix a mistake. Dahlia's own father never got the chance.

"I don't know," Begonia muttered. "I think…it belonged to my mom. Maybe…maybe something reminded him of her. Last I checked he was still stuck in his old ways, so it could mean anything…" Now it sounded like she was reasoning it out with herself. Dahlia's feathers prickled uncomfortably at being subject to her thoughts.

Holly chimed in for the first time since Dahlia pointed out the necklace, causing the other three to jump at her coarse voice. "Do you think it's a thoughtful gift?"

Begonia looked back down at the sphere, pensive. "...I'm not sure. The package didn't even include a note. I just recognized it from when I was younger." She paused, blinking several times. Then she met Holly's gaze. Her eyes had become softer. "I like to think it is, though. It's been years; both of us should have moved on by now. It's probably supposed to speak for itself."

"Hm." Holly's throat rumbled with a suppressed growl. Her single in-tact horn jutted upward with the stiffness of her neck. She spoke, not a hint of emotion slipping through. "I would tear the throat of any mon that gave me a stone like the one you have right there." She flicked her snout to the side. "You should throw it away."

Begonia's beak fell open in shock. "W-what…why?" she breathed.

"Yeah," Pink said, eying Holly warily, "what's the big idea, Holly? I know you're not a jewelry gal, but it ain't that bad."

A harsh reaction, that was for sure. If anything, Dahlia was just curious as to what it really meant. The biggest reaction any piece of jewelry had ever gotten out of the Houndoom was an uninterested snort, much to Dahlia's chagrin.

Holly's stony expression turned to one of pure fury, lips pulled back over her fangs to show the gums underneath. "Don't care if it's rude," she snarled. "That's a Mega Stone. You don't fuck around with those."

Although she visibly winced from Holly's intensity, Begonia leaned in, stone clutched in her wing. She asked, curiously, "...Mega Stone? What, like…the kind that turned the Gallade at the center of town? I think I remember hearing…something about that."

Holly nodded, her snarl taking on a more fiendish quality to it.

All of this was new information to Dahlia. She considered herself an expert when it came to shiny things, and an even bigger source of gossip. But somehow the term "Mega Stone" had eluded her up until now. She shot Holly a sidelong glance.

"Holly, how do you know this?" Dahlia wondered.

The Houndoom glanced at Dahlia through the corner of her eye, ultimately keeping her snout pointed at Begonia. "You can't buy a Mega Stone," she stated. "No one's gonna sell one to you or tell you about them. Because if you have one, it's exactly where it needs to be. If you don't, then you'll never find one."

Pink wiped her forehead. "What in Moltres' tailfeathers are you talking about, Holly?" she said, confused.

"I don't understand either," Begonia said. "I know about special orbs and seeds that function inside dungeons. I'm not denying what you're saying is true. I just- What do these- what does my necklace do?"

Holly exchanged glances with the other three pokemon at the table, seemingly checking to see if they were still there and paying attention. In a low voice, she growled simply, "Power. Power on par with dead legends. You know evolution? These stones force it. Makes you transform into a beast."

"Oh my…" Begonia was trembling now.

Well, Holly wouldn't lie. Dahlia knew that for certain. It just surprised the Murkrow that Holly knew something she didn't.

Dahlia fluffed her feathers as she watched intently. "You're not making any sense, Holly," Dahlia said. "I've never heard of forcing evolution."

It was a natural process, one that worked differently for every mon. For some, it just outright didn't happen for the entirety of their lives, regardless of whether it was possible for them or not. Some pointed to violence and self preservation as the key, others found no correlation.

Dahlia was, what, twenty six years old now? At the rate her life was going she was expecting to never evolve. So to force it felt sacrilegious, as though Arceus himself would smite her down if he caught wind of it.

"There's a catch," Holly continued, as though Dahlia hadn't just expressed doubt, "it comes with a price."

"What kind of price?" Pink asked.

"Anything it wants. But it always takes something from you. Something you hold dear. Something important to you and only you."

Holly's eyes fell on the trembling Altaria with a gaze sharp enough to cut iron. "Never use that stone," she said in a heavy tone, dense enough to crowd open air. "Not under any circumstances. It's not worth it."

Begonia gulped. She looked around herself at the ignorant patrons busy chipping at their dinners. Luckily none of them called to get her attention during the past conversation, though Dahlia could tell that Begonia was running out of patience for superstition, or whatever this was.

"I'll uh…have to keep that in mind," Begonia muttered. Once more she looked down at her necklace—the Mega Stone. It might have just been a trick of the light, Dahlia couldn't exactly tell, but she was almost certain that the stone was glowing a faint blue. "...I have to get back to work. It was nice talking to you three. Stick around after hours if you want to chat some more."

Pink grimaced in her attempt to smile. "Yeah…it's been a long day so probably not," she said.

"Thank you for the offer, though," Dahlia chirped. "We'll leave you a big tip."

Holly said nothing.

Faintly smiling, and without another word, Begonia shuffled off to another table and picked up a few used plates and glasses. Dahlia watched her, the movements of her talons and the shifting of her wings under new weight. As well as Begonia's beak, which seemed to angle downward more times than what was normal for reasons Dahlia could only assume.

"So," Pink said to Holly clamorously, snapping Dahlia out of her stupor, "what was it like?"

Holly looked at her straight with her lips made small. "What was what like?"

Pink jabbed a finger downward onto the tabletop. Her other hand was holding her chin as her elbow propped her up. "The stone. You've used one, right? How else would you have known all of that?"

Holly glared wordlessly.

"I mean," Pink added with a shrug, "you did say that you can't buy any-"

"Maddening." It was in that moment that Holly sat up onto her haunches. She erected her scarred snout so high and so stiffly that both Pink and Dahlia had to look up to see her. Her tail curled around her legs, dignifying her. "I was only sixteen at the time. The wounds never healed."

At the first mention of wounds, Dahlia's eyes trailed up past Holly's ardent yet distant gaze to what remained of her horns. A long crack trailed from about half-way up her left horn to its base, while the right horn had been cleanly severed down to an off-white stub. Pink seemingly noticed the same discrepancy.

Pink frowned as she rubbed her chin. "Hold on," she said, "I don't get it."

Holly flared her nostrils. "Do I need to spell it out for you?" she questioned in a grumpy sounding voice.

"No, I got that part." Pink held up her arms in a shrug. "I just don't see the big deal. 'Something you hold dear,' huh. You look awesome, Holly. That second horn of yours was just holding you back."

Holly bared her teeth aggressively, her fangs glowing red with flame, her hackles raising. She barked, "Shut your fucking mouth. Don't talk about my horns like you know anything, you hear me?"

In response, Pink sunk into the cushions of her seat like it would swallow her whole. She held up the flat of her hands, wide-eyed. "Okay, okay, geez…"

As much as Dahlia didn't like being on the receiving end of Holly's fury, a surge of guilt hit her when she realized that this was technically her fault. She was the one that prodded about the Mega Stone first, not Pink. Dahlia flapped her wings loudly. "Holly, please!" she squawked. "Calm down. You know she didn't mean anything by it."

Black smoke billowed from Holly's nostrils as she burped out any excess flame into her closed maw—her way of pulling back. "...I know," she growled. "Doesn't change the fact that I don't like talking about it."

No better opportunity than now, I suppose.

Dahlia sighed. There were certainly worse ways to learn more about another pokemon. If only Holly made it easy for them once in a while instead of scowling and steaming.

"Maybe you should tell us about it, then," Dahlia said. "So we know what not to talk about."

Pink slowly lowered her arms. "Yeah…what she said. What's the deal with the horns, Holly?"

Holly looked away. "It's not important," she mumbled. "I just don't like it when anyone brings it up."

Clearly. Dahlia softened her voice and told her, "Holly, we're your friends, you can trust us. Don't you remember when I told you about how my dad used to get?"

Pink added, "Or how shitty my aunt was? I still can't do basic math without freaking out, by the way. You're not the only one with scars."

None of these were happy conversations, and Dahlia was a bit more generous in her recollections compared to Pink, but they were better for it in the end. And surely, Holly would be better for it, too.

Before, Holly was looking off to the side, likely at nothing. After Pink's comment about scars, she angled her snout up at the ceiling, taking in slow breaths with closed eyes. In and out. Then she finally brought her snout back to level, puffing out clean air.

She opened her eyes, looking between her teammates. "I've never told this to anyone that wasn't directly involved, I hope you two know that," Holly said.

Dahlia might've smiled had it not been for the subject matter. She nodded instead, waiting for Holly to continue.

And she did. Holly began: "I was a kid during the war. You wouldn't think that by looking at me, but I was just as stupid as any other teenager they enlisted."

Terrifying that it genuinely got to that point, Dahlia thought. I'm glad I wasn't born back then.

"My family had traditions—strict ones that we all had to follow. We're a long line of Houndoom going way back to before Kebia was even established. And a big point of pride for us are…our horns."

"Oh…" Pink muttered. She sounded like she knew where this was going.

"Let me just say, "Holly continued, "nobody forced me to fight. But damn if I wasn't expected to. All of my five brothers fought. Same with my parents, my cousins, and any other Houndoom that wasn't smoldering on their deathbed.

"With so many of us, we had to compete for glory. If you weren't throwing yourself at the enemy then you weren't trying hard enough. My brothers—the ones that survived—all got medals. And so did I."

Dahlia asked quietly, "Do you still have them?"

"No," Holly said, and she didn't elaborate. "We had a Mega Stone in the family. Just one. It worked for all of us, but I never got to see anyone but me use it. Even back then it wasn't something you wore like a piece of jewelry."

Dahlia clutched Stork's gem closer to herself under her plumage.

Holly sighed deeply. Her eyes were intense, and full of regret. "I wanted to prove that I was capable. I was… the youngest and only bitch in my sibling's litter. If I didn't earn my respect I would never escape the shame for the rest of my life. So I stole it."

"You stole it?" Pink parroted in disbelief.

Holly nodded. "I wasn't good enough," she said darkly. "I knew I wasn't. But somehow I knew that if I used that stone I'd never be forgotten." She looked down at her paws. "Even if it meant pissing off my parents, and everyone else in my family. When you're a teenager there's nothing worse than that. But the adrenaline told me they would get over it eventually."

"But they didn't…" Dahlia added out loud.

"No," Holly responded. For a moment, Dahlia wasn't entirely sure if Holly was saying that to her or someone else. It was difficult to tell at this point if Holly was listening to anything but the probable ringing in her ears.

"The stone was never the problem, though. My mom was saving it for herself as a last resort…or to steal the glory in one final blaze of combat. Not that she would ever admit that. She had a short temper and didn't like to talk about herself, but I could handle it.

"I won my fight. Came back covered in bandages and I had a bunch of broken bones, but I did it. My brothers would do the same constantly. But in my case…I was a disappointment."

Holly dug her claws into the cushions of her seat, tearing at the fabric. "When the stone's power left me, it took my horn with it," she said. "Gone. Not even because of the blood I spilled; the stone itself stole it from me.

"I…look- a Houndoom's horns are fucking everything. They're a symbol. Power, maturity, family, love, strength—everything. Losing them isn't just a failure, or a mistake. It's a betrayal. You're not a Houndoom anymore without your horns."

She lifted one of her paws and gestured to her downturned face. "The wounds stayed glued to my flesh as an extra reminder. The stone tattooed me with my recklessness, branded me as a mongrel without any honor.

"I wasn't allowed back home after that. I may as well have died on that battlefield because my family refused to acknowledge my existence from that day forward. I had nowhere else to go."

Dahlia's heart dropped when she witnessed Holly raise her head, the lines on her face red and withered. Neither met the other's gaze.

Holly's voice took on a hint of gravel as she said, "That's what the Mega Stone does. It rips out a part of you, breaks you, isolates you. I can't even remember what I did when I used it, but I know what it means to get lost in the rush. I instantly understood that I would never be the same the second it had its grip on me. But by then it was too late.

"It didn't just steal my horn, it stole my connection to my family. It ruined my life."

There was a dreadfully quiet moment where it seemed like the entirety of the cafe was sucked out into a vacuum. Holly's final words lingered heavily, reverberating through the enclosed space, taunting Dahlia with their finality. Only for the clamor of uncaring conversation to fade back into reality like nothing happened. The world did not stop for them; time rode forward and left them behind.

Pink brought her hand to the back of her head as she exhaled. "Holy shit…" she breathed, visibly cringing.

With those words, Dahlia blinked. She took inventory, loosening and gripping her sore talons, only to realize that she had been shuddering in place. Hearing Holly speak of her past rattled the Murkrow in ways she hadn't been affected in years. Her talons dug into the perch so deeply that it tore the leather. Nauseating, aching heartbeats thumped against her chest.

"W-why have you never told us this before?" Dahlia asked as though she needed an explanation at all. It hurt just to learn about this thirty years after the fact. To live it…oh, Dahlia envied the old Houndoom's strength.

Holly finally laid herself down on her belly and looked at Dahlia. Ruby rose eyes shined diamonds across the short distance, and yet who Dahlia saw was no less the Holly that she met a near decade ago. During that part of their lives, Holly had already decided her fate, her goals. In the time since, she had simply worked to achieve those goals.

"Other than the fact that I don't want to relive it?" Holly scoffed sardonically. "There's nothing you can do about it so there's no point."

Pink smashed her fist into the table. "Fuck that!" she glowered. "And fuck you! So what if I can't do anything about it? I still care!" She flicked her wrist in Dahlia's direction without looking at her. "She does too! We both do!"

"I know-" Holly started, but Pink cut her off.

"No you don't! Groudon's tits, I would've done so much more for you if I knew! You deserve better than to slave away at this shitty job, but you wouldn't even agree!"

Pink leaned forward and pointed at Holly. "You are the hardest working mon I've ever met, Holly. Ever since the day we've made Team Phlox, you've done nothing but work work work. Day in and day out, and for what? Because you have one less horn than your family, suddenly you're worth less? What kind of moronic-"

"I know!" It was Holly's turn to cut Pink off. By all accounts, every bit of solemn self-hatred died out with that bark, and several heads turned towards the escalating argument. "What, you think I don't know that? I didn't ask for you two, but here you are—decades late."

Dahlia's heart broke. She took it back—if it meant being there for Holly sooner, helping with the pain, Dahlia would have braved any war-time strife. Yes, it was obvious now that all of these years of Holly overworking herself was for a reason. The thing was, Holly's story didn't answer the initial question: why? Why was she like this if her problem was more personal than either Dahlia or Pink could have assumed? What was the money for?

Dahlia chimed in and said, "We really do appreciate you, Holly. Really. And I'm glad the feeling's mutual. But what are you trying to accomplish?" She sighed, preparing to take a gamble. "You don't…owe them anything."

Holly slumped her head to the side, the stump of her severed horn disappearing into the cushion of the seat. With her form now significantly less straight and imposing, she looked tired. All of those years were bleeding through and blanketing the pride on the surface. Battle scars didn't age her anymore, they just functioned as they always have: ugly wounds that never healed. She said in a deep whisper, "...I need to get out of here."

"Here?" Dahlia wondered.

"This continent," Holly clarified. "I need to get to The Shard."

Pink sat back and crossed her arms. Her face had yet to shake that perpetual scowl she was hosting. "Why?" she asked simply, bluntly.

Holly's eyes were half-lidded, her voice mumbly and slurred, as if in a trance. "I need to undo the damage," she said. "They've got healers down there that can fix more than just a broken body. They can reverse tragedies.

"It's like the Mega Stones. No one would tell you about it, but it's real. I know it is."

Dahlia shuddered. "Holly…"

Holly wasn't listening. "I don't care…if they don't care. It's not about them anymore. Fuck, I don't even care if I don't find anything. The only way I'm going to be happy again is if I can get my horn back. My real horn. I have to try."

"And let me guess," Pink said, the scowl gone from her face, "it's gonna cost a lot of money."

Holly, with her eyes now completely closed, nodded. "A fortune. Everything I ever owned."

All of her possessions, her profits, her work, and probably the majority of her life—just to reverse one mistake. Suffering alone even in the company of others, wasting away and fighting against the years that were slowly killing her. And it wasn't even guaranteed. Sure, Dahlia had no doubt that there were some doctors out there that could regrow a single horn. She'd heard of pokemon bouncing back from worse.

If it were that simple, though, Holly wouldn't be accumulating as much money as she possibly could. If what Holly said was true, and Mega Stones did more than just steal something meaningful from a pokemon, getting that horn back would be as impossible as resurrecting the dead. Something so unheard of that Dahlia would sound downright kooky just to prod into the possibility.

Dammit, if I do this then I'll never get any rest again, Dahlia thought, anxiously rubbing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. Holly sounded so vague in the descriptions of this plan she has. I'm gonna guess she's only working off of rumors and hopes she can't let go of. Not actual information.

Dahlia gripped her perch more tightly in her talons. She furrowed her brow at the Houndoom, so desperate and…hopeless, and began charting out a mental course to The Shard. Faces and names that had so much as mentioned the continent to her, had relatives that lived there, traveled there on occasion, conversed with friends of friends of friends…

There was about as much a chance of Dahlia finding out more about this as Holly happening to find something even remotely useful. It would potentially be a waste of both of their times. But at the very least, Holly wouldn't be going at it alone anymore.

She deserved that much.

Dahlia turned her beak towards Pink, who happened to have turned to look at Dahlia at nearly the same moment. Their eyes met, and an unspoken agreement was made between them.

"Pink," Dahlia started, "do you know anything about The Shard?"

Pink just shrugged. "I barely know anything about the continent I'm on right now."

"We'll have to change that."

"Fuck yeah we will."

It was at that moment that Holly's eyes shot open. She grumbled, "Don't you two start with this..."

"Too late for that, Holly," Pink smirked. Pushing her plate aside, she slid out of her booth and up to her feet. "You think Mazus knows more about it? She's smart, I bet she's read a few books."

Dahlia shook her head. "Are you using this as an excuse to get to know your girlfriend better? Because that's surprisingly forward thinking of you."

Pink stretched one of her arms over her head. "Yeah, I think before I do things sometimes, believe it or not." She smiled at Holly confidently. "But I don't need to put much thought into this to know that we're doing the right thing."

"Stop it, both of you," Holly groaned. Though there was hardly any gumption behind those words. Any and all resistance was lost after her story was told.

And of course, Dahlia ignored her. It wasn't like she got to do that much anyway, so there was a liberating aspect to it.

"I think she needs a drink," Dahia said to Pink. "I'll be right back."

"Aye aye," Pink replied with a salute.

There were more protests from Holly—something about spitting out the fruity beverages they had on the menu—but Dahlia was already fluttering up to one of the light fixtures on the ceiling in the middle of the cafe.

She took a deep breath. What a night. What. A. Night.

From up this far Dahlia could see the entire cafe. Every table and every salt shaker, and the dwindling sects of pokemon waiting out the dusk. She wondered if any of them had started their own journeys tonight. Like Begonia, who was behind the counter mixing a smoothie. That necklace of hers was still wrapped around her neck alongside the friendly guise she always wore on the job.

After the recent revelation, Dahlia couldn't view Begonia with anything but remorse. She just couldn't shake the feeling that she was looking at a mistake waiting to happen. What would that Altaria lose if she used the stone? Her job, her reputation, the entire cafe, or something even worse?

Arceus, thinking about it made Dahlia feel queasy. Holly would just have to wait a bit, this sickness needed to fade first.

Dahlia watched some of the other patrons in the meantime. A Buizel and a Piplup having the biggest laughs of their lives, a Rillaboom pouring over some book he was reading, and…huh.

A lone Quilava in one of the booths. Sipping away at a pink smoothie, and wearing a purple scarf. Dahlia stared for a moment, wracking her brain as to why this Quilava seemed so familiar. And in that time, the Quilava simply watched his reflection in the window, lost in thought.

Wasn't that…Oswald's teammate? Gosh, she hadn't thought about him in a bit. What was his teammate doing out here so late? By himself, no less.

Now she was curious, if only because she was wondering how Oswald himself was doing. Last she saw him he was still fumbling about and getting tossed around. Maybe she'd seek him out tomorrow, if she remembered to do so.

Speaking of tomorrow, she planned on meeting up with Stork for the evening flock. In bird pokemon terms, "flock" loosely meant "meeting" in the sense that they'd discuss flight maneuvers, grooming techniques, and just in general get caught up with the latest news on-the-wind. A perfect start to her info hunt as far as Dahlia was concerned. Also meant that she didn't have to worry about it until then.

Dahlia pulled out the pink gem from her plumage, images of Stork instantly filling her mind. It reminded her of him, and his rustic charm. Shining in the just the right ways, reflecting the Murkrow in a manner only borrowed opulence could.

Like Pink, she began to wonder if he too knew anything about The Shard. Stork wasn't as proficient at talking to others compared to Dahlia, but he was sneakier.

In the final moments before Dahlia floated down to grab the final smoothie of the night, she devised a foolproof plan to coerce the gossip out of him. A bargain, a deal. She could also just ask, but when was that ever fun?

If there was anything tonight told her, it was that asking the right questions could change her life. For better or for worse. She'd just have to find out which it would be next in the coming days.
 
Chapter 47 - Day 17, Part 3: Heroics

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 47: Day 17, Part 3 - Heroics

New Objective Acquired: play with your toy while the grown ups talk

Whoosh! Juanfinsimo came soaring through the air! Look out evil doers!


Juanfinsimo, Cosmo's cohort, his partner in power, a harbinger of justice—his most trusted friend in this journey, stalwart—never once failed.

And what's that? Cosmo, the Great? Cosmo, the Unstoppable? Here to save the day!

Cosmo made more action sounds with his mouth as he hopped in place, his imagination bubbling with possibilities. The high chair was a towering building he would leap from, the bean bag chair next to it was the net that would break his fall, and the sunlight filtering in from the windows were beams of fire he would avoid with deft ease. Dipping and bobbing—shooting and zipping. As true heroes should, they slid through the shadows of night in pursuit of villainy!

Oh yes. This was fun. This was a proper playtime. Cosmo was giggling and jiggling jolly. Sufficient.

Objective Complete: play with your toy while the grown ups talk

Cosmo flopped down onto the beanbag chair. Gosh, that was exciting! He could hardly contain his laughter, his plushie fin friend crashing down next to him. Cosmo looked to his felt companion, smiling big.

"We did it, Juanfinsimo!" Cosmo beamed. "We saved the day!"

Humble as always, Juanfinsimo was content to lay on his back and rest, not a word wasted.

Cosmo shook himself side-to-side within his bubble. That Juanfinsimo, always taking naps. Would it hurt him to celebrate like Cosmo? All work and no play!

Well, Cosmo had plenty of fun regardless. He had earned a nap, too, after all of that! Only problem…the grown ups were still talking near the bulletin board. Kind of loudly, too.

"I just don't know," said Oswald, his arms crossed.

"U-um…" Fenn murmured as he tapped his chin, looking over the papers littering the bulletin board. None of them seemed to interest him as much as the ground at his feet. "I don't…wanna seem lazy, O-Oswald, but I don't really feel like working today anyway..."

"...Yeah, me neither."

Overhearing Fenn and Oswald talk about all of the important grown up stuff they were up to always made Cosmo get all queasy inside. Oswald did not like it when Cosmo tried to help, so Cosmo made an effort not to. But it was hard to block out what they were saying from inside the bag…or even the other side of the room.

He just…couldn't help it! Oswald always seemed so upset, and Fenn always looked sad. It was Cosmo's job to be the hero…was it really so wrong to help his friends however he could?

But just like every other time, they told Cosmo to stay out of it, and Cosmo had to listen. He watched from the side, pouting to himself, half-sunken into the beanbag chair. It was just so frustrating!

Cosmo should come up with more puns. Puns always make Fenn happy. They make Oswald less happy—but Cosmo knows that if Fenn is happy, Oswald will be happy soon after!

Or at least, that was how it was before…

"Hello friends!" suddenly came a voice Cosmo had not recognized. Immediately, his eyes shot up to glimpse at a…weird pokemon. Red and blue and smooth and stiff, like a bunch of plastic beans glued together. Cosmo marveled at the sight; they were floating, just like Cosmo, but they moved so…boringly. Bobbing slowly like they were floating down a stream on a boat—through the air.

"H-hello," Fenn muttered timidly.

Cosmo leaned closer to his friend and whispered, "Juanfinsimo…who is that?"

Unfortunately, Juanfinsimo was mid-nap. Therefore, he had no answer to Cosmo's worried quandary.

How could he be sleeping at a time like this! "Lazybutt!" Cosmo snapped at Juanfinsimo, smacking him with his Psychic Barrage. As Juanfinsimo was quite stalwart, the strike merely made him flop onto his side. Hardly enough to disturb his sleep.

Oswald ended up answering his question inadvertently regardless. Surprised, he turned to the weird pokemon and said, "Cycla? What are you doing here?"

The weird pokemon stared straightforward without moving their pupils. Cosmo could guess that they were talking to Oswald and Fenn, but their voice was so…boring sounding and undirected that it made Cosmo confused. They could have been talking to the wall behind them for all he knew.

It was a cheery voice coming from that pokemon, but Cosmo knew that cheery voices often inspired excitement. And yet, Cosmo was experiencing anything but excitement when listening to this weird pokemon. It was like they were trying to be fun, but…failed.

"I see you are having some trouble finding the right assignment!" the weird pokemon announced. "Might I be of assistance?"

Oswald raised an eyebrow. "Sure?" Both he and Fenn frowned.

"Great!"

But Cosmo did not believe this weird pokemon actually thought it was great. They did not move, or breathe, or express joy in any way that Cosmo could see.

"I am always here to be your guiding buddy," they said. "Now, please tell me, what kind of work are you currently seeking?"

Fenn shook his head, smiling sheepishly. "Oh…n-none at the moment," he replied.

The weird pokemon's voice shifted to become more dull, like they were reading from a book all of a sudden. "I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?" They still had not moved an inch from their spot in the air.

"He said we're not looking for work right now," Oswald answered for Fenn. "We just need something to do today, that's all."

For the first time since they arrived, the weird pokemon blinked. Not out of understanding like most other pokemon, Cosmo noticed. He was certain that they did not recollect what was said even a little bit. It reminded him of a door opening and closing. Something came in and something came out. And before he knew it, the weird pokemon beeped.

"Nonsense!" they blurted out. "Here at Kebia Castle, the enrichment of every employee is entirely dependent on the fulfilling prospect of hard labor! From management duties to invigorating dungeon diving, there is no shortage of work to be found at our glorious Kebia Castle!"

Fenn and Oswald exchanged glances.

The weird pokemon continued. "As your guiding buddy, I can direct you to several tasks that will satisfy your need to be productive and cooperative for the sake of the castle. Do you have any preferences for categories of labor? Are there any restrictions or filters you would like to provide to your search?"

Restrictions? Filters? So many new words in strange contexts…

Slowly, both Oswald and Fenn turned to look back at the weird pokemon. Oswald said, "No…thanks, Cycla. Yeah uh…like we already told you we're not interested in work at the moment."

"Y-yeah…" Fenn confirmed. "Cycla…are you…?"

But the weird pokemon kept talking like they only heard half of what was said. They blinked again, in the same door shutting/opening way, before beeping. "Understood. Note: utilizing too many vacation days can lead to unmet quotas. Employees are encouraged to keep track of their budget, as an excess of leisure time can-"

"Yeah yeah yeah, we get it," Oswald voiced loudly. He held up his paws to make the weird pokemon quiet. Cosmo wondered if all of this back-and-forth talk was getting to Oswald, what with how he was mumbling to himself and pinching the bridge of his nose—which was not a normal reaction for him, and Cosmo knew that Oswald was starting to get upset.

Cosmo flinched when Oswald then looked at him, still pinching his own nose. The look on his face was not one that made Cosmo quiver with worry, so Cosmo put on the happiest smile he could. Just to let Oswald know that even if he was frustrated, Cosmo was there to help!

It had to have worked, because Oswald grinned like he would before digging into his lunch! He cupped his paw over Fenn's ear and whispered something to him that made Fenn's eyes widen. Fenn nodded with understanding, and gaped at something the Dewott said. A few embers then popped out of Fenn's forehead. Little sparks!

They kept going like that for a bit longer, until Fenn started giggling to himself, inciting a bigger grin from Oswald. Seeing them like this—so happy, so giddy—made Cosmo want to swoop in to see what was so funny. He almost did, had Oswald not turned back to the weird pokemon a moment later.

"Alright, Cycla," Oswald said, "tell us about some kid stuff. What can a kid do to have fun around here?"

Another blink, identical to the last two. "Of course!" the weird pokemon chirped. "Activities for children are among the most sought after programs Kebia Castle has to offer. One moment."

In moments like this, Cosmo had a tendency to get lost in all of the details of grown up talk. He was a hero, and heroes had to be smart! But then he would miss something and feel dumb all over again. Cosmo hated feeling dumb.

That was why he latched on to what Oswald was doing as soon as he could. Just now, Oswald looked at Cosmo, asked the weird pokemon a question, and the weird pokemon brought up "activities for children." The elating sensation brought on by the fact that all of the pokemon in front of Cosmo were talking about him shook his bubble with booming ripples. His squishy skin tingled in anticipation.

"Wait here, Juanfinsimo," Cosmo said before bouncing off towards the trio of pokemon. Juanfinsimo did not budge, as he was still engrossed in his nap.

As Cosmo floated closer, the weird pokemon finished their thinking. "Ah yes," they chirped, "with today being Friday you can expect to encounter many ventures fit for younger pokemon in Kebia Castle. In 44 minutes, Neo the Fencer will be providing advice and giving autographs near the east stairs on the second floor of the castle. Neo the Fencer is an accomplished and prolific war veteran—a prominent Auramancer. A once in a lifetime learning experience! Especially popular with younger audiences."

Fenn brought a paw to his lips, seemingly shocked. "Neo…!" he gasped.

Cosmo was much the same, his mouth agape. An Auramancer…no way…

Just like in Knights of the Fragments! The second issue had a super awesome Lucario that fought with a BONE SWORD and could FLY and-

Meanwhile, Oswald rolled his eyes. "Why does it not surprise me that he performs for kids? What a clown."

"Alternatively," the weird pokemon added on, "if your child is in need of exercise and social interaction, the west wing of the castle on the third floor is home of the daycare and youth enrichment center. A dedicated playground, changing rooms, and learning materials are all available during daylight hours. At least two tutors/caretakers will be on-site at all times. If you are looking to sign up for homeschool classes and lectures, please seek out Stoutland Columbi for more information."

Okay, Cosmo was lost again. It certainly did not help that he was wrapped up in daydreaming about his favorite comic. Luckily, Oswald was there.

Oswald said, "Hm. That's…a lot more than I expected."

"I-I was going to bring it up sometime, Oswald," Fenn spoke up. "When I was working as a janitor, I cleaned there a few times." He rubbed his arm and looked away, the inside of his ears glowing red. "I-I didn't…pay too much attention to it, though…"

With his paws on his hips, Oswald turned to Fenn, momentarily looking up to take note of Cosmo—to which Cosmo beamed. Oswald chuckled. "You knew about this? All those times where we dragged him along…probably could have just left him there."

Left Cosmo…? All alone? The thought turned his beaming smile upside down. No, not just that. It frightened him. Reminded him of things that…hurt. Hurt so bad. So so bad…

Fenn shook his head. "I…h-honestly, that would just make me feel guilty," he muttered.

To that, Oswald let his arms fall to his side. "Now that I think about it...me too, probably," he conceded.

Phew! Foolish Cosmo, how could he not trust his friends like that? But still, Cosmo had to say something! The idea of being left behind was just too much to bear. What if the weird pokemon changed their minds?

He wanted to scream, but all he could manage was a petit little plea: "Please…Cosmo wants to stay with Fenn and Oswald…"

The two pokemon spun to look at Cosmo with widened eyes, like they were surprised to see him there. Fenn in particular was so stunned that his ears fell against his head.

The weird pokemon then beeped so loudly and suddenly that Cosmo nearly jumped out of his bubble. "Will that be all?" they queried.

Oswald was visibility frazzled with his whiskers poking out in all directions. "Ergh- yes, Cycla," he said, scratching the back of his head. "Thanks…"

"Of course! If you are ever in need of my assistance, please do not hesitate to ask!"

The weirdest thing about that weird pokemon was, when they floated off, their body animated similar to a normal pokemon out of nowhere. Their legs started spinning, their body bobbed in the air, and they even wagged their tail. Cosmo was not sure if it was common for some pokemon to breathe sometimes and not breathe other times, but he did not like the idea of a pokemon like that.

Go away!

Without trying, Cosmo had the really mean thought to lift the weird pokemon into the air and throw them around the room. An icky, uncomfortable heat spread to Cosmo's cheeks that he could not shake for several moments. He just kept coming up with elaborate ways to toss that weird pokemon into the walls. His bubble dimmed.

Oswald straightened out his whiskers as he turned to Fenn. "Those are two options," he said before smiling at Cosmo. "We're not going anywhere, buddy. We're just considering what to do today."

And with Oswald's words the gross warmth in Cosmo's cheeks dissipated, the mean thoughts fading away with it. The luster returned to Cosmo's bubble quickly—a brighter shade of purple taking over.

He twirled in place. "Yay! Ooh, ooh! Cosmo wants to go see the Auramancer! Another hero! Another hero!"

Not that Fenn or Oswald would know anything about Auramancers and how cool they were. The two of them were strong- well, Fenn was strong, but they were not heroes like Cosmo was. Good thing Cosmo was here to set things straight and educate them.

Fenn nodded, wearing a sad looking smile. "W-we haven't done much for Cosmo, have we?" the Quilava wondered quietly to Oswald, but Cosmo heard him.

Was he supposed to hear? That sounded important…

"I mean, I took him out to see a play once," said Oswald. Now they were both talking quietly, which just affirmed Cosmo's suspicions. He was not supposed to hear this…but Cosmo wanted to. "We got our fortunes read afterwards. Remember that?"

Fenn gave Oswald a weird look that confused Cosmo. It wasn't a good look, since Fenn was frowning. "F-fortunes…? No, we…I-I just think Cosmo should be playing with other kids his age."

Oswald had on a confusing look of his own—one where his nose was scrunched up and his mouth was all lopsided. "That's two times where you've brought up something I haven't thought about, Fenn," he grumbled lightly. "Keep this up and…actually, nevermind." His voice became less animated all of a sudden. Less fun. Less like Oswald. "That's a good idea. We should get Cosmo some more friends."

So that was what it was! Fenn and Oswald were conspiring to replace Juanfinsimo! He should have known!

Hovering a little bit higher, dignified and defiant, Cosmo puffed out his cheeks. "No!" he declared. "Cosmo has a partner in justice already!"

To that, Oswald sighed. He said something to Fenn under his breath—too quiet for Cosmo to hear while he was proving his independence. After which Fenn replied, seemingly louder than Oswald.

"O-Oswald, don't you think Cosmo will love Neo?" Fenn asked.

By the time Cosmo was back to his original spot, Oswald had on another weird face, with big eyes. What Fenn just said really surprised him. "I know he will," Oswald claimed, "but that's not-…okay." Again, his voice became less animated. In fact he sounded more grouchy. "You're right. I'm sure we'll find other kids there, so let's just go see Neo."

Fenn looked away, and there was a misplaced silence between them. A lot of these moments have been happening recently, actually. Cosmo noticed it starting more a couple days ago, after uncle Finch left. Fenn had not been laughing as much, and Oswald was not making as many jokes. The few he did make were stopped before they could finish. Cosmo was not sure why.

It was almost a whisper when Fenn did speak. "I-if you'd rather not…" Fenn sounded unsure. Like when Cosmo was not certain about what catchphrase to use when waking up in the morning.

"...Come on, Fenn," Oswald whined. "I thought you liked Neo."

Frustrated…Oswald was frustrated. Like when Cosmo could not think of the right special attack to use when playing with Juanfinsimo.

Fenn was rubbing his arm…

"I-I-I'm sorry," Fenn muttered. "I…I-I thought…I still…"

Oswald held up his paws. "No…no, it's fine. You still need more time, I get it."

Sad…they were both sad.

Like when Cosmo was alone.

"Sorry…" Fenn repeated, his ears drooping low.

"Like I said, it's fine. I was gonna go train later today anyway, so…" Oswald looked over his shoulder impatiently, then back at Fenn. "We can swap off. I can take Cosmo to see Neo—I guess—and you…"

"...th-the library."

"Right. The library. I can come find you after that and then you can take him to the daycare. How's that sound?"

Fenn nodded. "Yeah…I can do that."

Cosmo watched as Oswald put on a smile and placed his paw on Fenn's shoulder, keeping it there for a second longer than Cosmo expected. Fenn eventually looked back up at Oswald, and he smiled, too. They both smiled.

But there was no sparkle in their eyes that Cosmo could see. No raised cheeks, no giggles…nothing happy.

…Cosmo was starting to notice something. Sometimes, when grown ups smiled, they were actually not smiling.

Fenn and Oswald were not smiling, even though they were, because they were not happy. Something was wrong between them.

And it made Cosmo so mad! It made his cheeks get all icky and warm again!

Ooh, Cosmo knew what to do! He would ask the Auramancer about it! Juanfinsimo always said, "learn from other heroes if you want to get stronger." This could be Cosmo's chance to save Fenn and Oswald from sadness!

And then they would go back to normal!

Hooray! He could hardly wait!


"It was THIRTY YEARS ago now when Neo the Fencer—yours truly—fought TWO towering Aggrons at once and LIVED to tell the tale!"

Cosmo, along with several other children his age, looked on in awe at the decorated Lucario. Coated in white ribbons and wearing a super fancy navy-blue cloak, the Auramancer pointed to himself proudly. His striking black and blue fur gave him the natural appearance of a seasoned fighter—in ways that even Cosmo could not comprehend.

It was as though a comic book superhero jumped right off the pages. Cosmo was positively vibrating!

"Oooh!" Comso uttered. The other children around him had much the same reaction.

"Oh yes," the Auramancer continued, confident and noble, "you best believe, I am the greatest explorer that ever lived. And do you know why?"

Hmm, Cosmo needed to think about that. His immediate response was "because you beat up so many bad guys!" But it was drowned out by every other kid around him chiming out with a "why!"

Neo the Fencer put his palms together and separated them slowly, unveiling a beam of blue light underneath, gradually extending into a long bone club. He held it out in front of him to display its blinding magnificence.

With the click of his tongue, he proclaimed, "The Aurrrrra~"

Aura! That was it! Just like in Knights of the Fragments! Superpowers bestowed upon the most worthy and courageous! Cosmo cheered in astonishment, enraptured by the revelation. If he was going to save Fenn and Oswald from sadness, he would need to obtain superpowers of his own!

As the crowd hooted and hollered just the same, Cosmo got down to brainstorming.

Yes, Cosmo had his psychic powers—which were very strong, he might add—but they were not "super" powers. However, that also got Cosmo to think about what qualified as a "superpower."

Neo clearly had superpowers. How could he not? Control over Aura, big muscles, an outfit that reminded Cosmo of a caped crusader, and a cool name, too. Neo "the Fencer?" Cosmo wished he thought of something that cool.

How did he end up with those superpowers, anyway?

"Juanfinsimo, what do you think?" Cosmo asked his plushie companion.

Said plushie companion was right by him with a second row seat to the theatrics—Oswald made sure they arrived early. With a dignified stature and impressive fins, Juanfinsimo was well on his way to superhero-dom already. But even he was speechless in Neo's radiating presence. Not that Cosmo could blame him.

Phooie. Cosmo would just have to ask again later and decipher this puzzle on his own for now. He looked back to Neo, hoping for a hint.

"Yes, yes!" the Auramancer bellowed. "The Aura gives me strength!" He flexed one arm. "It gives me power!" Then he flexed the other. "Ha-ha-ha! Now, which one of you wants to experience this power? Let me hear it!"

New Objective Acquired: let him hear it!

This was his chance! The Solosis bounced up and down frantically, easily floating above the other children hopping like Spoinks. All were chanting to the tune of: "Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Me! Me! Me!" He was poised to stand out, though Neo seemed to skim right over him when scanning the crowd.

Paw on his chin, thinking deeply, Neo scoured and scoured for worthy candidates. Cosmo bounced higher, squirming and exerting himself so hard that his bubble flashed various colors. Anything to get Neo's attention.

"Aha!" voiced Neo with the point of a finger. A finger which, unfortunately, was not pointed at the Solosis. "You two! Bunnelby and Nickit! Come on down and experience the Aurrrrra~"

Objective Complete: let him hear it!

Cosmo gradually floated down, deflated, watching as two random pokemon he never met got to see a superpower close-up while Cosmo did not. "Aww…" he fretted. And he was not the only one. His whines fell in-line with the tunes of other disappointed children, forming a discordant melody of envy.

Frowning, he looked back down at his friend. "Juanfinsimo," Cosmo grumbled, "when is Cosmo gonna get the chance to experience the Aura?"

Perhaps it was the fact that Neo's display had gripped Juanfinsimo's attention so readily that he was stunned into silence. After all, Cosmo himself could not resist the urge to chant along with other children, so an enamored reaction was expected, right?

"Aura! Aura!" Cosmo and many others shouted. The two children Neo had chosen were dangling from the Lucario's bicep, ascending and descending with his movements, and they looked to be absolutely rhapsodic about it.

At the same time, there was a lingering sensation—a tingling in Cosmo's mind—that Juanfinsimo was…ignoring him. No, not just ignoring him. Juanfinsimo was deliberately being quiet so he could steal the secrets of the Aura for himself! What else would the silence be for?

That rapscallion! Cosmo scowled at his so-called-friend, before turning his nose up at him. He did not even care if Juanfinsimo had an excuse or wanted Cosmo back after this.

Cosmo. Was. Not. Listening.

"Hmph!"

Well, jokes on him. Cosmo did not need a partner like Juanfinsimo. He did not need a partner at all!

Cosmo would uncover the secrets of the Aura and save Fenn and Oswald all on his own! No stinky plush needed! Heroes worked best on their own, anyway.

Applause rang out among the crowd, directing all attention back to the Auramancer. The two children finally skittered back to their original spots as Neo stood proudly with paws on his hips.

"Now, a lesson!" Neo said. "Be careful with TMs, adventurers!" He pointed a finger at the crowd, addressing every single one of the pokemon surrounding him. "You will find yourself learning so quickly that you might think to skip class! But don't be fooled…you must be vigilant! Improper usage can have terrible consequences! Your body may not be accustomed to the unique elements that TMs enact upon you! You must train—not to defeat, but to control! Observe!"

Neo's pointing paw turned into a fist, curling tightly. There was a flash, then a crackle, until his entire arm was coated in electricity.

Cosmo stared in awe. How did Neo do that?

"Thunder Punch! Even a powerful Fencer such as I could only hope to learn of such power through TMs. But even then, had I not honed my body to withstand such power, I could easily electrocute myself. Or…" In an instant the electricity froze on the fur of his arm, was drained of color, then spread out like collapsing water. It clung to him, riding from his elbow to his fist as solidified ice.

He flexed with a grunt, and the ice exploded into shards on the floor. Bits of sparkling ice painted the fur of his arm like stars. One-by-one they fizzled out, leaving Neo completely dry. He regarded the crowd by holding up the palm of his paw.

"Had I not been accustomed to the power of the Ice Punch," Neo explained, "I could easily lower my body temperature to the point of frostbite. Be careful, adventurers! And listen to your teachers!"

Neo then cleared his throat and readjusted his cloak, speaking under his breath so only the first couple of rows could hear him at first. "Now that I have the mandatory educational bit out of the way-" he held out his arms, smirking, "-how about some more Aurrrra~?"

Plenty of the other kids were already back to jumping up and down in hopes of being selected again, but Cosmo was actually distracted enough to keep quiet this time. His mind was wandering.

Whoa…he thought. TMs…they sound like superpowers!

They were literally powers that Cosmo could get and use to become stronger. He could be just like Neo and conjure up electricity like it was nothing! Or breath fire like Fenn!

Cosmo would not just be the most powerful psychic…he would be the most powerful in every respect! Fire, ice, electricity—the possibilities were endless!

But, as a couple kids nearby were quick to remind him, it would not be that easy.

They were a row behind, talking so loudly that he had no choice but to turn and listen. One was a blue Rockruff and the other was a very orange Growlithe. Both talked really weirdly in a way that Cosmo had never heard before. The way they used words sounded so different compared to how Cosmo would speak.

"My daddy overused a move so much that he had a brainfart and broke the couch," the blue rockruff said.

"That's nothing," the Growlithe retorted. "My- my uncle once used Rock Tomb so much that he BECAME ROCKS."

Cosmo opened his mouth to say something because he wanted to. He wanted to add on and give his own example of Fenn or Oswald doing something that crazy. But before he could utter a word he realized that he did not have any experiences like that. Fenn never sneezed so badly that he threw the bed out of the window. And Oswald never struck himself with lightning.

All of a sudden, Cosmo felt cold. Like there was a breeze tickling his bubble in a field devoid of any life but his own. Endless plains in all directions, leaving Cosmo isolated and open. Far from the busy streets full of evildoers that Cosmo would fight.

He was…out of place.

Shivering, Cosmo searched for a familiar face—Oswald, who had preferred to keep to the edges of the crowd. Cosmo did not mind, as he had Juanfinsimo, but after Cosmo remembered that Juanfinsimo had ulterior motives Cosmo realized he could not depend on him.

Cosmo found Oswald easily, where he was last. But next to him was a notably unfamiliar face. A Sylveon that Cosmo did not recognize. They were talking, and smiling at each other a little. Not even paying attention to Neo and his amazing skills.

Cosmo felt cold again.

Okay, Cosmo changed his mind. He was dumb to give up on Juanfinsimo. They were friends—heroes. Partners in justice-

Juanfinsimo was gone.

Left, right, up, down. Cosmo could not find him. The plush had seemingly disappeared from his spot on the floor. Where…did he go?

He was just…gone.



…Cosmo was not a hero anymore. He was a little Solosis alone in a crowd of pokemon. All Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

He looked back to where Juanfinsimo's spot was, to Oswald, to Neo, then to Juanfinsimo's spot, then Oswald, then Neo. Again and again, and again and again and again. All while his stomach kept sinking, sinking, sinking.

Tears pricked at Cosmo's eyes. He sniffled. His lip quivered.

He blabbered out, "this- what- Cosmo- I- but- no…"

No…

No.


No, he was wrong. Cosmo is a hero. All of this was just a dastardly plot by some villain to confuse Cosmo. So what if Juanfinsimo was gone? That did not stop Cosmo before. He was always a hero!

Cosmo shook himself. A hero like him had a job to do—and friends to save!

But more importantly, Cosmo needed a new partner in justice first.

It was time to start the search.


"W-where did your plush go, Cosmo?"

It did not take Fenn long to notice Juanfinsimo's absence once they arrived at the day-care place. Cosmo was sincerely hoping Fenn would not notice, 'cause then he would have to explain what happened. None of it was his fault, Cosmo reminded himself. He just did not want to make Fenn mad over a lost friend.

"Juanfinsimo was secretly trying to steal the secrets of the Aura from Cosmo," Cosmo said honestly, "so Cosmo wants a new partner in justice now."

Fenn tilted his head, his ears lowered in concern. "You…y-you lost it?" he asked.

Cosmo replied quickly with a "nuh uh! Juanfinsimo abandoned Cosmo."

Because he did. Right when Cosmo needed him most, too. Cosmo was glad that Juanfinsimo was gone.

Hopefully Fenn understood that…

Fenn slumped back against the wireframe bench, his hind paws hanging over the edge of the seat. He looked down at the book beside him, then offered Cosmo a smile.

"G-good thing you can make plenty of new friends here." Fenn chuckled, lazily pointing a paw at a group of young pokemon chasing each other nearby. "Lots of kids playing today, huh?"

Playing? Playing…what FOOLS!

They might call that assortment of slides and colored tubes on display a "playground," but all Cosmo saw was a sprawling city full of corners and hidden passageways.

Colored blocks? Try flashing cinderblocks of DOOM! A ball pit? Cosmo would not dare take the plunge into such a deadly sinkhole!

This was no "play." And Cosmo could already tell that the other pokemon his age climbing that jungle gym and riding those swings were not hero material. They did not take it seriously. Not like Cosmo did.

Unlike them, Cosmo was not loud or rough. He was proud, valiant, and humble. Cosmo's bubble jiggled defiantly as he scoffed. "There are no heroes here," Cosmo said. "Only babies. Cosmo is not a baby."

Cosmo was not a baby. Definitely not.

There had to be some other place that had a higher density of available heroes. Cosmo started to float back the way he and Fenn came, to the door leading out to the hall. "He will have to find a new partner in justice somewhere else."

"C-Cosmo, come back," Fenn stuttered, his paws outstretched.

At Fenn's words, Cosmo stopped in his tracks. His bubble grew rigid.

New Objective Acquired: Float back to Fenn

As requested, the Solosis turned right around and urged himself back into Fenn's arms. Once there, the position he found himself in mirrored that of past positions that Fenn tended to find comfortable.

There was a subtle squeeze and a relieved sigh provided by Fenn. Adequate.

"Thank you…"

Objective Complete: Float back to Fenn

Immediately, Cosmo pouted. Could Fenn not see that he did not want to be here! This was unfair!

"There are no real heroes here," Cosmo grumbled grumpily. "Only…babies."

Fenn's ensuing bubble rubs were annoyingly soothing. "H-hey, some babies make for great friends."

Cosmo blinked in surprise. Did Fenn have a baby for a friend? Was that why he was being so generous to the rough-housers? Either way, Cosmo was not looking for a baby. He was looking for a hero.

Fenn did not count, either. It had to be a hero that would help Cosmo save Fenn from sadness. Something that still lingered even now. Cosmo heard it in Fenn's voice and the way his ears had not pointed upright at all in the past day.

"No babies," Cosmo said, reaffirming his stance.

But that was not enough for Fenn. Sighing, he said, "J-just…give it a try, please. Go talk to some other kids, o-okay?"

New Objective Acquired: Go talk to some other kids

He really didn't want to. The other kids were loud and would tell him to do things he did not want to do. They didn't play his fantasy the way he did.

He gritted his teeth, constricting his bubble tighter, closer to his core.

I don't wanna, he chanted internally. I don't wanna!

Click!


No more pouting, no more arguing, no more discontent to be had. None of that. He was pulled into the air by his own psychic propulsion, spun swiftly, and beamed cheerfully.

"Okay!"

Off to the playground he went. Fenn seemed surprised for the split second that the Solosis met his eyes, but nothing was done to stop him.

As he was told to talk to "some other kids," there were a few viable options for this objective. There was, of course, that duo of mons chasing each other even now: an Axew running from a Litleo that continuously nipped at the little dragon's heels, just out of reach. Both wore silvery-blue scarves and giggled like true friends. Though from a closer look, it was difficult to tell if the Litleo was actually enraged as opposed to just playing along.

The swings were currently occupied by a Whismur and Venonat, each taking turns pushing each other. Presumably, it would make more sense that the two of them would take turns on the same swing, but it seemed more like they were taking turns hopping off of their own swings to push the other. Venonat had the right swing and Whismur had the left swing—effectively hogging both for themselves. How intuitive of them.

There were various mons making use of the playground and its ensuing slides, tunnels, and climbing bars. The Solosis saw a Teddiursa, a Rufflet, a Cleffa, an entire family of Exeggcute utilizing the slide all at once, and several others. None of which stuck out as optimal choices and in fact only served to make the Solosis' head spin when trying to track them all.

Eventually, he locked his gaze on a circle of three pokemon huddled near the ball pit. They spoke in hushed tones, as depicted by a Pikachu—the oldest-looking of the three—cupping his paw around his mouth. Occasionally the Mankey among them would reach into the ball pit and chuck a plastic ball at the head of the small Minun of the trio, who would periodically rub his forehead.

Confusing behavior, had the Solosis not noticed the slips of cardstock placed on the ground in front of them. Those looked like playing cards, he surmised. And if they were using playing cards, then there was a non-zero chance they were playing Bolt Break.

A game he knew how to play. Yes, that could be fun. He could do something there.

His choice made, the Solosis floated over to the group of three before making himself known.

"Hi!" he announced. "Are you guys playing Bolt Break?"

Objective Complete: Go talk to some other kids

Right away, Cosmo wished he had not opened his mouth. All three of them jumped and turned on Cosmo, analyzing him and everything he stood for. Gah, Cosmo knew he would hate this!

The Minun brought his paw to his chin and said curiously, "Bolt Break? What's that?"

The Pikachu's reaction was almost the complete opposite, but twice as scary because of his deeper, harsher voice. "It's one of those boring card games my grandpa plays with his friends on Saturday nights." The way he said it made it seem like he was not talking about Cosmo, but it was unmistakable that he was.

And to add insult to injury, the Mankey tossed a plastic ball at Cosmo. "Ha! Snot bubble plays oldie games."

Cosmo flinched, but the plastic ball just rebonded off of his bubble without harming him. It did nothing to help his confidence, though.

"Ah, if not Bolt Break…" Cosmo pondered, "what game is it?"

The Pikachu scoffed, snatching up one of the cards with distinct swagger and finesse. "Psh! Game? This ain't no game, kid."

Kid? Hearing that word coming from this Pikachu made Cosmo's bubble boil.

Minun passed little sparks between his paws as he rapidly looked between the three of them. Then when he asked another question it was in a ruder voice than before. "Ever play Pyro Ball?"

Cosmo shook himself. "Nope," he answered truthfully. "Only Bolt Break."

His bubble boiled more when Pikachu chimed in. "Psh, knew it," Pikachu said.

"No legs, no legs," was what the Mankey then sang under his breath, adding on to Pikachu's comment. Except it was not a very effective whisper since Cosmo heard it loud and clear.

Both Pikachu and Minun giggled at that, laughing at Cosmo, and sneered at him out of the corners of their eyes. In fact they were clearly not even trying to hide it, Cosmo could tell.

Once again Cosmo felt cold and isolated. Out of place.

But the cold was biting this time. Bitter and…mean. Really, really mean.

Cosmo suddenly really wanted to play this "Pyro Ball" game. Not as a hero—no, just because. He wanted to play it to prove these three wrong.

Wrong about…what? Cosmo did not know. Nor did he care. He just had to. The thought of not being able to, leaving here without even knowing what it was, made his bubble boil so much that he was starting to produce steam.

He blurted out, almost yelling: "Cosmo wants to play Pyro Ball!"

Minun tilted his head at that. "Who's Cosmo?"

Mankey, similarly, said, "Why are you talking like that?"

And Pikachu laughed. "What a weirdo."

Gone. All of that fiery anger was gone and replaced with incredulity. "W…weirdo?" Cosmo muttered.

"Yeah," Pikachu confirmed, "weeeeeirdo. Weirdy weird weirdoooo!"

Weirdo…weirdo…weirdo…weeeeirdoooooo…

Cosmo shook. Panted. Fumed. So many, many things. He wanted to explode.

"Sh-shut up, villains!" Cosmo seethed. "Cosmo is a hero…!"

Minun smirked hurtfully. "No you aren't," he said. "You're a weirdo!"

"Weeeeirdooooo!" Mankey bellowed.

Then they just went back to their game, the Pikachu talking about the cards as though Cosmo was not still there. Not once did they invite him to play or explain anything about it.

Buncha meanies, Cosmo thought. Calling Cosmo, the Greatest Psychic in the world a…weirdo…

"Jerks!" Cosmo snapped.

Shaking with anger, Cosmo turned to leave and float back to Fenn. And he would have, but first the Pikachu had to rub it in some more, the jerk.

"Yeah weirdo!" the Pikachu asserted. "Go somewhere else!"

New Objective Acquired: Go somewhere else!

But where? Well, in accordance with his mental state, the corner next to the empty see-saw was just as good a spot as any. There, he wouldn't be bothered. There, he wouldn't be talked down to by a bunch of bullies. There, he could play his fantasy how he wanted to play it, alone.

Objective Complete: Go somewhere else!

…But now Cosmo was alone. Genuinely alone.

Cosmo sagged in the air, looking back at the playground awash with activity and fun and…

Nothing about the playground looked like a sprawling city anymore. It was just a playground. There were no villains, no secret tunnels, no heroics at all. No Juanfinsimo either.

Cosmo did not want to save anybody right now. He just…couldn't do it. There was no more fun to be had.

Too sad to do much else, Cosmo plopped down onto the lowered end of the see-saw. What seemed so exciting before never felt more lonely. He briefly imagined his only friend- his past friend, riding the see-saw on the other end. But the image was too much, and Cosmo had to shake side-to-side to keep from crying.

What was he going to do…

A shadow passed overhead. Weird—Cosmo thought that clouds could only create shadows outdoors. He followed the shadow with his eyes reflexively, his gaze coming to a stop at the other end of the see-saw again.

Because now there was a pokemon there.

A bird, specifically. A round, green bird that Cosmo did not know the name of. They had yellow and red wings, red talons that they used to latch onto the see-saw's handles, a yellow beak pointed right at Cosmo, a red feather sticking out of their head, and eyes full of clouds. Huh, maybe those were the clouds Cosmo thought he saw.

They looked really weird, which felt mean to say. Cosmo called that Cycla pokemon weird because they were. But this bird had not done anything to give off that impression. Cosmo's bubble just tingled the same way it did earlier today.

Cosmo and the bird stared at each other, neither pokemon saying a word. It was rude to stare, Cosmo knew that. Did the bird know that? They were staring, too…

"Hello?" Cosmo asked.

The bird continued to look at him. No words were spoken.

"Um…I- Cosmo was here first." Were they mad at Cosmo for taking the see-saw from them? He did not mean to steal it, he just needed somewhere to go.

If they were mad, Cosmo could not tell. They just kept staring and staring, wordlessly.

Or perhaps…

"And Cosmo was just…resting!" Cosmo said, suddenly getting an idea. "Being a hero is tiring work. Cosmo only got through his last fight by his teeth-skin!" Whatever that meant. He heard something like it once and it sounded cool.

Just as before, the bird said nothing…because they were resting, too! The See-saw of Heroic Rest only accommodated two heroes at a time, so of course Cosmo would meet another one here!

And if there was another hero, then that meant Cosmo was not alone! Could this be his next partner in justice?

Either way, Cosmo was vibrating too hard to keep still. Within an instant he was up in the air and beside the green bird, eyes lit up. They hardly reacted aside from following Cosmo with their beak and shifting under the slight movement of the see-saw, but clearly the green bird was just as excited about finding a fellow hero. So much so that they could not find the words.

But Cosmo knew. He did not need to be told that this fearless, valorous champion of the city understood Cosmo's plight. Asking was simply a courtesy.

"Now that Cosmo's rest is over," Cosmo declared, "let us return to our heroic duties! Because you know what they say, there is no Shaymin taking a break!" A proper hero also appreciated a good pun.

Although they did not laugh, or express much of anything, the bird paid close attention to Cosmo. Obviously because they had a secret identity to protect, and unlike Cosmo they had yet to find a heroic moniker of their own.

Cosmo smirked. Lucky for them, Cosmo was an expert when it came to coming up with new identities.

"Oops! Right, you need a heroic name." Cosmo thought for a moment. "How about…"


Cosmo could not wait to come back to the day-care. Tomorrow! Then the next day! Then the day after that! What an exhilarating prospect; something to look forward to every single day! The only problem was that the fun had to be localized to the day-care.

But Fenn called for him. As much as Cosmo did not want to say goodbye, his new friend reassured him that they would be waiting on the see-saw when he returned. Or even come find Cosmo if he wanted. Juanfinsimo never did that.

By the time Cosmo wandered back to Fenn's bench, though, Oswald had arrived. The Dewott's fur—slick with sweat—was noticeably messier compared to the last time Cosmo saw him. In one of his paws was a plastic water bottle. Where did he get that? Either way, Oswald casually sipped at it every so often as he conversed with Fenn.

Fenn had his book opened up on his lap, craning his head to look up at Oswald. Without fail, everytime Cosmo glanced down his eyes would grow wide at the size of the book Fenn was reading. Cosmo had not read many books himself, but the ones he had were noticeably thinner. Clearly, Fenn was a reading master.

"So it's like a sci-fi story?" Oswald asked, leaning against the bench.

Fenn's eyes drifted down to his book aimlessly for a second. When he looked back at Oswald, his ears were flat against his head, and his voice was lowered so much that Cosmo barely heard him.

"A…what?"

Oswald looked left and right in confusion. "You know, science fiction?"

"N-none of it has anything to do with science," Fenn explained.

"…But there are robots."

Fenn gestured over his shoulder with his paw like he was tossing a candy wrapper. After which he responded by saying, "...Cycla."

To that, Oswald smacked his lips. "Good point," he said. "Truth can be crazier than fiction. Not that I would know." A loud slurping noise followed that comment—Oswald greedily sucking up more water.

If that was a joke, Cosmo did not get it. Fenn seemed to, though. He chuckled, shook his head, then finally noticed Cosmo.

Fenn sighed in a sort of way that comforted Cosmo. Made his heart do double flips, hinting that everything was okay. "There you are…" Fenn held out his paws in invitation. "H-have fun?"

Needless to say, Cosmo accepted the invitation. Though he ended up somewhat regretting it when his attempts to nod enthusiastically were hindered by Fenn squishing him close. Good thing Cosmo's mouth still worked.

"Yeah!" Cosmo gushed. "Cosmo was nearly defeated by the evil sky dragons, but then Cloudcutter joined Cosmo's team and they became the greatest hero team ever! They fought bad guys and shot laser beams and- and- and Cosmo and Cloudcutter formed a secret base that not even Fenn or Oswald get to know about because it's super, duper secret! It was the best!"

Much to Cosmo's dismay, Oswald was not very impressed. He raised an eyebrow, in fact. "Sky dragons?" he parroted. "Secret base? Cloud…cutter?" He turned to Fenn. "Fenn, where did his plush go? I don't see it."

Wait, why was Oswald asking? Did Fenn not tell him? It was important to know that Juanfinsimo was a dirty deserter that Cosmo was no longer friends with! Both of them should know that.

Fenn shrugged his shoulders, though, almost like he completely ignored what Cosmo told him earlier. He said, "I-I don't know. I think he lost it."

"Lost it?" Oswald balked. "I won that for him and everything." He stopped to take a drink of water, shaking his head in the process. "Kid's gotta be more attentive, I swear."

"I guess…"

Grr…they were talking about Cosmo in front of him again! What did they know, anyway? Heroics was hard work, but just as hard to appreciate, apparently. Fenn and Oswald were lucky Cosmo was noble and humble.

"Well anyway," Oswald resumed as he rubbed the back of his neck, "Swift is a better teacher than I thought. I think I'm actually…learning something?"

Fenn quickly looked away, his paws pushing just a little bit more into Cosmo's bubble. "I…I think I can tell," he mumbled. "You…l-look a bit more…fit."

Oswald froze, his paw still on his neck and everything. Did Fenn really say something that shocking? It sounded like a pretty normal thing to say as far as Cosmo was aware.

Like abruptly releasing a psychic hold, Oswald's arm fell to his side. "Really n-" he started, before stopping himself. "I mean, you're just saying that."

That did not sound like Oswald. Again. Why did he keep changing like that?

The pressure Fenn was putting on Cosmo's bubble was starting to become uncomfortable, but Cosmo was too worried to say anything. He just let Fenn speak up for himself and hoped Fenn would notice.

"I'm…I-I'm not. I meant it."

Oswald took in a big breath. Biggest breath Cosmo had ever seen. "You plan on going somewhere else tonight?"

Fenn curled in on himself a small amount, like he was trying to hide. Weirdly enough, his grip on Cosmo actually loosened in the process.

He spoke quietly. "...Mhm. A-Altaria's. I wanted a smoothie."

"I guess you're gonna be going there alone, then, because I still can't leave the castle," Oswald said, all grumpy all of a sudden.

"I guess…" Fenn was barely audible. "D-did you want me to…?"

Oswald held up a paw. "It's fine. You go do what you need to do. Me and Cosmo will go get something ourselves, no big deal. Isn't that right, buddy?"

Was it right? That question made no sense. Cosmo was not sure what Oswald was even asking. He did not want to cause any issues, though, so…

It was spoken: "Cosmo will follow Oswald!" He squeezed out from Fenn's grip before slingshotting himself up to Oswald's level. At first, he was going to mention how he and Oswald were going to hold the fort while Fenn was gone or something to that effect. An inspiring adage that would calm Fenn's sadness.

But the words would not come to him. Just like when Cosmo was out of place in that crowd or when he was alone by the see-saw, everything was far away.

Fenn and Oswald, physically at least, were there. He could see them, even touch them.

But they weren't there. They were alone, too.

Oswald said goodbye to Fenn as he turned to walk off. Fenn said goodbye back, his book still open to the last page he read.

And Cosmo-

"Come on, Cosmo. Let's go get something to eat."

New Objective Acquired: Follow Oswald

-asked no more questions.
 
Chapter 47.5 - Day -82: Liability

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Author's Note:
The following half-chapter was written as a drabble reward for the writer Fobbie. He asked me to write about Fenn's first day at the castle, and after realizing that I never actually showed that I wrote this out as a transition between day 17 and 18. The spot in the story it ended being slotted into worked out really well.
I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 47.5: Day -82 - Liability


Fenn wished he was dreaming right now.


He had spent the past week wondering how his dreams would stand up to reality's scrutiny, and nothing could have prepared him for the difference between real and dream Butterfrees in his stomach. There were plenty of opportunities to compare, after all—every step of today's short journey had once made a cameo in his sleep before. But now, the Butterfrees were more ferocious.


From the monotonous stroll through the woods to get to Kebia, each second filled with anxiety-inducing silence, to the awkward interaction at the front desk, to the longest elevator ride of his life. All the way to now, a century in terms of time spent in his head. Running through scenarios, outcomes, and possible mistakes over and over again.


The Quilava stared up at the final hurdle, a mere knock away. What if he went in through these massive doors and regretted it? What if, at the absolute worst moment, he stuttered one-too-many times and aggravated the Queen? What if Fenn made such a fool of himself that the Queen laughed him out of the room?


All of these years, all of this preparation, just to fail?


Warriors don't fail. So Fenn wouldn't either.


He had repeated that adage internally to such a degree that it was starting to sound funny. But what was even more funny was how Fenn got right to the entrance of the throne room and considered turning right around. Right before he would cement himself as a true explorer. Officiate himself. Become a proper adult.


Don't mess this up, Fenn. This isn't Figy Forest. Not even close.


He practically ripped his paw from his arm and lifted it to the door, trembling all the while. His heart beated in a violent rhythm. Beat one: this was the moment he had been waiting for his whole life. Beat two: everything rode on this one conversation. Beat three: grandpa would be proud of him if he pulled through. Beat four: dad would be disappointed in him if he came home empty-handed. So on and so forth.


With each beat, though, Fenn's expression hardened. Deep breaths turned the rhythm into a constant—simple noise. If the tension was a volcano, Fenn was exploding along with it as opposed to running to safety. That was what warriors did. They did not run, nor did they hide.


Fenn wanted this. Reaching the top of this castle was the source of his excitement ever since he was a child. It propelled him forward. Turning back now would be tantamount to abandoning his past self. Grandpa would never want that.


Once the rhythm was effectively gone, Fenn stared straight ahead, resolute. Fire churned in his belly all the way up to his chest. Warm and ready.


Two raps were made, and Fenn held his breath.


Tap! Tap!





CreeeeeaaaAAAAAKKKK!


The door roared as though Rayquaza had soared down from the heavens to flash his fangs in Fenn's face. Wood fighting against its hinges, sending shockwaves in Fenn's direction. His only defense was to cover his ears with his paws and wait.


And wait he did. Several moments later, it was quiet again. Fenn, thoroughly shaken but not moved, stared directly through the open door into a yawning abyss.


He did not advance immediately.


"H-how…?" he muttered to himself. No greeting, no vocal acknowledgement, no faces. The door had opened on its own, for him, unleashing a cool breeze directly into his face. It smelled of herbs and fruity perfume.


The rhythm returned. But this time, Fenn was ready.


Vents sparking with embers, Fenn dropped to all-fours and padded into the room. His footsteps fell lightly on the carpet at the pace of his erratically shifting expectations.


For one, the throne room was expansive, yet empty. The Queen was a solitary figure in the sense that simply meeting her was a matter of talking to the right pokemon. Pokemon that Fenn never talked to himself—it was his father that arranged this. Several months ahead of time, as he had said.


That meant that Fenn had no choice but to arrive in a timely manner so as to not ruin what his father planned. Breakfast was skipped, and not by choice. The pressure on his shoulders was heavier than what Figy Forest would provide at its worst, but Fenn was just glad that there would only be one set of eyes watching him.


Sunlight poured in through the enormous stained glass windows to the sides of the Quilava, kissing Fenn's fur with warmth. He lingered in spots for too long, slowing down at every opportunity as the empty throne came closer and closer into view.


In front of the throne was a studious, wooden desk overrun with documents piling high above even the Gardevoir sat behind it. Fenn should've expected this—he really should have—considering that those were the set of eyes he knew would fall upon him. They watched him closely, while the Gardevoir they belonged to propped up her head with her hands, waiting.


Fenn could not bring himself to meet her gaze for long.


High above her, pure judgement glared down at Fenn. He could momentarily find reprieve by averting his eyes down to the floor. But even still, the polished marble immaculately reflected the holy arms of Arceus out of the corner of his eye. There was no escaping it.


Then came a voice that bounced off the walls and into Fenn's vulnerable ears.


"You must be Gaura's son," said the Gardevoir. Her voice scattered licks of assertiveness in the stale air. Reflexively, Fenn's ears erected upward, his neck itched stiff, and he came to an abrupt halt on the carpet.


"Y-ye-" Fenn cleared his throat. "Yes…my name is Fenn." Still a distance away, Fenn wondered if he should have walked forward more. His body, though, fought back with all its might. He stood on two paws.


This was the Queen of Kebia Castle, the highest command of any pokemon in the entire continent. And Fenn stuttered like a fool immediately. Arceus, why was he like this? His vents were so cold that he feared they would freeze over.


"You go by Fenrir, as well," the Queen stated.


She wasn't asking for confirmation, which hindered Fenn's immediate response. That…other name was exclusively used by his father these days. Every pokemon he talked to just called him Fenn. So, he relayed that.


"W-well," Fenn spoke up, "I prefer Fenn…sorry."


Fenn's stomach dropped when the Queen beckoned him closer with her hand. Just a silent, demanding gesture that overpowered Fenn's every instinct to run.


And warriors don't run. Warriors follow orders of a higher authority. Be that a parent, a teacher…or a monarch.


After Fenn padded forward, looking up at the Gardevoir from the other side of the desk, he started rubbing his arm raw. The fur underneath was starting to shed.


The Queen leaned forward slowly, looming over Fenn. She asked in a low voice, "No one told you what I do, did they? What I can do, even?"


Govern? Rule? Demolish armies? Fenn just shook his head, unsure of what was even being asked.


"I can read minds, Fenrir," was what she said in an even lower voice. "Instinctively, not like any other psychic. The second you walked in here, I knew everything about you. I heard every thought, read every memory, and unearthed every single insecurity."


Every…memory? Fenn froze, his ears falling against his head.


"Every single one," the Queen answered as though she…read his mind. "And stop calling me queen. I hate that word. Just call me Anemone."


How did Fenn not know about this? Why did his father never mention that the Queen read minds?


"Anemone. Call me Anemone."


Fenn took a heavy step back. "I…I-I'm sorry…!" he blurted out. "It…i-it won't happen again, I swear!"


To that, Anemone outright laughed. "I know. You're very good at following orders, Fenrir."


Why is she still calling me Fenrir? Fenn's grip tightened. Does she not know why I don't like it?


"Oh, I do," she said. "Look at me."


Those words—that command—sapped Fenn of any remaining confidence he had. Anemone knew everything about him, and quite literally read his mind like a book. His nerves were too shot to even express doubt. How should he have reacted to this?


"Y-yes, ma'am." Unsure, Fenn did as she asked. He looked into her eyes. Dried by hours of work and monotony, Fenn could barely see his own reflection past the cloudy discontent. But he did see himself eventually, so pathetically rendered and slouched and nervous that it frightened him all over again. The effort Fenn made to smooth out his fur this morning had gone to waste.


It was in that moment that Fenn genuinely believed every word Anemone had said so far, if only because his diffidence was written on his face. She could read him all she wanted to and Fenn could do nothing about it.


Anemone started by saying, "I won't go into detail about how difficult it has been for you. I think we both know."


Fenn looked to the side, his cheeks burning.


"I'm not surprised that Gaura waited this long to throw you at me. His pride dictates that no room be left for error." Anemone scoffed. "But he's such a fucking idiot that he keeps stepping on Stunfisks every step of the way."


When Fenn tentatively glanced back at her, Anemone was staring at him. "And you're the biggest result of that," she remarked.


Despite his best efforts, Fenn's voice came out no louder than a whisper. "W…w-what do you mean by that?"


For this whole conversation, Anemone had worn a tired frown. Never once did her expression evolve past quiet resignation over her place in the world. That question brought out a smile in her, though. A slight one, but still. It was slightly off putting.


"Like me, you're cursed," Anemone said, pointing to herself. "Cruelty just seems to follow you everywhere, doesn't it? Can't even talk right. Just like me—I don't think right."


As much as he hated to admit it, Fenn's persistent stutter was just one ember in a campfire of problems. Cruelty was not a stranger, Fenn understood that. He was visited by that ghost on multiple occasions. But wasn't that why he was here? To get away from all of that? To fix it, even?


If Fenn became an explorer, wouldn't that heal the wounds the past nineteen years have left?


"No, it wouldn't," Anemone added, answering all of Fenn's questions with three words.


"But…w-would it not make it better?" Fenn had to know. In fact he had to know with absolute certainty. Cursed or not, this was what Fenn wanted above all else.


Anemone shrugged. "Maybe. Could also just end up like your dad and never be satisfied with the legacy you left. I could see that."


Fenn could not stop the flames bursting from his vents if he tried. Fists tightened at his side, feet firmly on the ground, Fenn shouted, "I am not my dad!"


But he didn't get the reaction he wanted. Anemone just sat there, staring at him, unamused.


"Really?" Her expression tightened into a glare. "That so? Why don't you go tell him that yourself, then?" She flicked her wrist towards the door. "Tell him why you're really here, okay? Then come back to me and we'll have a proper talk. How does that sound?"


The room grew quiet, the only sound present being the crackling of Fenn's dwindling flames and his heavy breathing. That of which was also dwindling. His fists loosened into open paws, his eyes fell to the floor. Within just a few seconds, Fenn had gone from a fearsome warrior to…just a Quilava.


"I…I-I can't…" Fenn whimpered. "It's not…n-no…"


But warriors don't run, right? Right? I can't just go back home now…


Anemone shook her head. "Thought as much." She pointed towards the doors. "Just go home, Fenrir. If you can't even look your own parents in the eyes and say no, then you can't be an explorer. Right now, you're just a liability this way."


Those words stung more painfully than Beedrills. Every inch of Fenn's body was struck with a cascade of debilitating exhaustion in an instant. Before he knew it, Fenn was rubbing his arm again.


He watched as drops of liquid splashed to the floor seemingly from nowhere. It took him a moment to realize that he was the source. They were tears—his tears.


Fenn was crying.


That was when he knew it was over.


"...O-okay…"


Tears turned to shoulder-shaking sobs as Fenn dragged himself out of the throne room. It was a miracle he didn't fall to the ground and choke on his tongue right there in front of the leader of the entire continent. He probably would have preferred that over the alternative.


Fenn lived in fear of what his father would say to him when he returned.


But what if he didn't? Fenn considered the possibility when he found himself back at the elevator in the blink of an eye. Time may as well have been irrelevant because he was stuck in a loop of cruelty yet again.


So why not just run away? Go off to who knows where and accept himself as a failure. It would be so easy.


Warrior's don't run, though. Did he not just establish that? Had he not been internalizing that for years? Fenn was a warrior, he had to stay and fight!


No matter what the fight entailed…


Fenn was still sobbing by the time the elevator was riding back down to the bottom floor. He was propped up against the back wall, too devastated to stand upright. When the elevator would stop, he would have to figure out what to do next, and where to go.


Before that came, though, an inky black figure phased through the moving wall. With it, came two glowing yellow eyes, fixated on Fenn alone. The Mismagius spoke softly, easing Fenn's agony if only a slight bit. He was in no state to ignore her.


"Oh my," she said, "you poor thing. Was Anemone in a bad mood?"


She smiled pleasantly, almost knowingly. "Don't worry, dear. Fenn, I believe it was? I can help you, if you'll let me."


Fenn's ears perked up. Perhaps he didn't need to get to go home…yet.


Author's Note - 4/24/2024:

After exactly 3 months, Flowerbeds is now completely up to date on TR and will continue it's regular monthly update schedule from here. If you've been keeping up, thanks a ton! There's plenty more to come, so stay tuned!
 
Chapter 48 - Day 18, Part 1: Who's Oswald?

SnapDragon

Frog on a mission
Pronouns
He/Him
Chapter 48: Day 18, Part 1 - Who's Oswald?


Four days was not a long time.


When Swift first started his own training, it took him weeks to comprehend the basics. To learn. To control his shell.


He was just a Squirtle then. Spry in his energy yet weak in his techniques. His father…or who he assumed was his father at the time, drilled into him the idea that youth was an excuse. One would work around youth, not nurture it. Above all else, it was a handicap that faded away with age.


The melting of Swift's handicap was a natural process. Incredibly natural—water over smooth stones shaped by a constant current. Its presence was forgotten entirely by the time Swift had reached adulthood.


Oswald fought like his handicap was never removed.


"Like this?" the Dewott asked after shifting his arm opposite of what was just demonstrated.


"No," Swift corrected. "Like this."


First up across his torso towards the opposite shoulder, Swift directed, then down at an angle that left the wrist parallel to the abdomen. It was a defensive maneuver, favoring practically over showmanship. The arm would be situated neutrally after the strike to allow for a quick shift to a block or another strike depending on the circumstance. Always on guard.


It was a basic concept that enhanced any physical fighter. Even Swift, who opted to hit-and-run when it came to physical fighting. Wartortles could not utilize their shell in ways that Dewotts could, but Swift depended on Liquidation as a retaliatory dueling option when needed. He had learned to fight with weapons and improvised hand-to-hand before learning to slide, and as a result, Swift gave little attention to his spitting distance. There was little room for it.


"Right…" Oswald uttered, then swung. The ensuing practice strike was terrible. Much too slow and much too disjointed. An Igglybuff could have survived it.


That was an improvement. Swift nodded approvingly. "Better," he said.


Oswald dropped his stance in an instant, as though maintaining it harbored a great weight. He looked at Swift. "Better how?"


To demonstrate, Swift replicated Oswald's stance to the best of his ability, faults and all. Such flimsy posture nipped badly at his pride, but he persevered for the sake of proving his point.


As Swift explained, "Your legs were too close together. Spread them more." So Swift widened his own to the point of a near squat. Such a pose provided a steadier center of gravity, and evened out the body to maintain tension.


"Alright," said the Dewott, mimicking the motion.


"Loosen your elbow but tighten your grip. Be fluid, not stiff." Swift brought his wrist up to his shoulder opposite of his current striking arm. Perpendicular to the body, wound up only half-way to reduce telegraphing his attack.


"I was doing that."


Swift then swung his wrist diagonally across his chest, slamming it into a complete halt in front of Oswald, pointing his invisible blade at him. "Quicker," Swift stated. "And more focused."


"Yeah, I got that part." Oswald crossed his arms and stood up straight. "Swift, I asked about what I did better. Sure sounds like I did everything wrong, still."


These complaints of Oswald's never stopped. Swift did explain what was wrong. In perfect detail. But that demonstration showed a definite understanding of what was asked on Oswald's part. Did Swift not make that clear?


Swift returned to a neutral standing position and frowned deeply. His ears pointed towards the ceiling, disgruntled in their alertness. He grumbled, "Your posture is lacking. But…it is getting better."


As if to test this, Oswald peeled a scalchop off his hip and swung the instrument with unpracticed restraint into a nearby wooden post, only to look down upon it visibly unsatisfied. Only shallow divots were left in his wake. "Didn't you say that every Dewott forms their own fighting style?" Oswald asked. "If it belongs to me, why am I doing it wrong?"


"The basics still matter," Swift reasoned. Yet there was a weakness behind his words that polluted his stature. Learning the basics was important, but Oswald had only grown more frustrated with that explanation as time had gone on. Swift had maybe a few answers to Oswald's quandaries in total, and he had reused them several times over.


Oswald slapped his scalchop back onto his hip aggressively. His tone was harsh. "I know that, Swift. It's gotten to the point where I can't even go to the bathroom without thinking about the basics." He sighed, looking off at nothing in particular. "I'm not getting anywhere with this, am I?"


Swift truly had to wonder where Oswald was getting these ideas from. Untrained he might be, yes. So skinny that his ribs poked through his fur at times. He was weak and spindly. And on Oswald's chest was the missing patch of fur where Swift himself had driven his shell into, bumping against those very ribs.


Blinded by anger and envy, Swift had sincerely wished he had done worse at the time. Oswald could have been seriously harmed, leaving Swift full of blame. But he didn't really care at the time.


And Oswald, in the face of all of that, simply walked away with minimal injuries. He hardly held Swift accountable for it in the end.


The more Swift thought about it, though, the more he found that fact to be emblematic of Oswald's resilience. Now if only the Dewott had the wherewithal to fight the bad thoughts in his own head.


"You're being too hard on yourself," Swift finally said.


"What?" The incredulity on Oswald's face was perplexing. "No, I'm- being realistic."


"Same thing."


Oswald stared.


Ever since Swift had learned of his origins as an adoptee, the truth of his birth burrowed its way deep into his shell, slowing him to a crawl. The glass between Swift and Allium finally shattered to reveal the Samurott on the other side—a pokemon who looked no different and acted no different. But still, Swift resented his adoptive father more than ever before.


Swift had to wonder why. Did the knowledge of this lie really change anything, especially when Swift suspected it all along?


What got Swift to apologize to Oswald was not the revelation, it was the confirmation that every ounce of envy and spite had been for nothing. The realistic reaction for Swift was to recognize that he was a terrible pokemon. So that was the conclusion he came to: he was a dumb, single-minded Slowpoke with nothing to contribute and even less to say.


But Swift could not accept that. After everything he went through, he was not about to stay knocked down. Being realistic would not help him.


"Just…listen to me," Swift insisted, "it took you four days to get better. Try another four."


Oswald just shook his head despondently. "I can't wait that long. Not with how things have been going."


Swift stomped his foot. "Try."


"I have been trying!"


In a fit of rage, Oswald ripped out a scalchop, turned, and lunged at the same wooden post from before. He yelled, arms over his head. "AAAAAAAHHH!" The blade came down like a guillotine, predisposed to collide with the post's tip. But just as it reached its apex, the scalchop began to glow.


It was too late to stop it—not that Oswald would have done so had he noticed. Fantastical, blinding yellow light filled the training dojo and expanded in an instant. What was once a chop forged from frustration, grew to a slice clean enough to wound a legend.


The wooden post, which wore the scars of countless experiments before this, was now in two pieces. The cut was clean, not a splinter in sight.


Oswald looked upon his work, panting heavily, his chest heaving. Yellow light lingered at his hip in fading bursts, until his scalchop returned to its normal, beige state. Slowly, he brought the scalchop up to his face and examined it thoroughly. He remained like that for several moments.


That was no Razor Shell. Swift had attempted to teach Oswald how to properly activate that move several times, with little to no results. On the third day, Oswald explained that Allium's method of "channeling his inner wave" had stopped working. In that moment, all of Oswald's faults made proper sense.


Swift had to peel his lips open to speak. "...How did you do that?" he wondered aloud, gravel in his throat.


Still staring at the scalchop, Oswald murmured, "I don't know."


"Do you know what it is?"


Oswald shrugged and promptly ignored the question. "Water…my water isn't supposed to be yellow, is it? Actually, don't answer that."


"It's not supposed to glow any color," Swift said. "There was no water. What were you thinking of when you did that?"


"...Nothing. I wasn't thinking of anything."


Liar. Allium had told Swift once that pokemon fight by flexing a muscle in their brain—by thinking. His examples of how he taught this fact often included images of the ocean and deep water hunting. Something too impersonal for the long term. Such an approach works for ferals, but not those with sufficient mental faculties.


Swift scowled. "Yes, you were. Try to replicate it."


Oswald turned, scalchop now down by his side. There was a sullen look on his face. "I just…I don't know how," he said.


"You're being negative again." Swift furrowed his brow. "You won't get anywhere like that around here."


To that, Oswald sighed sharply. "No one told me that I needed to be in a good mindset for any of this to work." He waved his wrist in the air, flailing the scalchop around limply, as if gesturing to something. "It makes no sense. Why are pokemon like this? Why am I like this?"


Yet again, these were problems the Dewott was making for himself. "You have it all wrong, Oswald," said Swift. "It's not…about the mind."


"Then what is it about?"


Swift didn't have an answer to that. He never thought about it in speakable terms.


Utilizing one's inner capabilities came naturally, as inherent as walking or breathing. Every pokemon could tap into what made themselves…well, a pokemon. In contrast, it was difficult to say if Oswald was even acting like a pokemon, as strange as that sounded. Wherever he came from, he must have been brought up differently.


Regardless, Swift was having a hard time keeping his tongue under wraps. If he could learn this and fight then so could Oswald.


But not today. Both of them needed to cool down.


Swift's ears fell against his head, and his tail sagged to the floor. With a grouchy frown, he sauntered over to the demolished training dummy, disconnecting its chains and lifting the pieces into his arms. He exchanged one more look with Oswald before stepping aside, telling him, "We're done for today."


Oswald blinked. "What, you're not gonna tell me?" he asked.


At this rate, Swift would just explain it poorly. It was time to accept that he was a trainer, not a teacher. The answer was elsewhere.


Swift spoke over his shoulder on his way out. "...No. Dad didn't tell me either."


And there he left Oswald, standing out of place with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him.




Oo-oO​


I can't take this anymore.


I should've been overjoyed. After everything I've been through, the universe finally decided to throw me a bone by making my scalchop a glowing blade of death. Almost on command, too.


But who cares? What did it even matter? May as well chuck the damn thing off the highest balcony of the castle. May as well smash both scalchops on a rock, grow them back, then do it again. That would certainly be a better use of my fucking time.


Was there a point in coming back tomorrow? Try again by contorting my maladjusted form into a mold of perfection I'd never reach? Attempt to grasp at some distant straws of understanding?


As I stood there, alone, staring at the empty space between myself and the world beyond, I wondered if Swift was right.


The more I thought about it, the more I began to swim through the events in my head. It started with me searching for what I was so spiteful about in the first place. Then I just kept swimming, wading through the currents, and eventually diving and diving as far down as I could go.


I stopped when I reached the bottom, after which I realized that I was back in those flower fields again, pleading with Team Phlox not to kill me.


I looked down to find that the scalchop was still clutched tightly in my paw. My fingers rode up the rigid tool like paint down a slope, conforming to the little paths they made for themselves, never quite secure and predisposed to change course at any slight nudge of the pale. A part of my brain always twitched at how fragile my grip appeared, like I could drop the thing with enough carelessness. As a human I desired a handle—something to grasp in my five-fingered hand. As a Dewott…it just worked.


My body was a puzzle. Each piece fit into its own slot. My scalchop sat in my paw just right, my tail was just the right length to never get in the way, my whiskers curved neatly in their unkemptness on my face, and my legs moved one in front of the other. I did not need a handle because Dewotts simply held their scalchops like they held their mother's paw: lovingly, beautifully, perfectly.


I couldn't even remember my mother if I tried.


Am I being too negative? Probably. It was hard not to be, and lying to myself wouldn't fix all of my problems.


Would it feel better, though, to lie? I've lied enough already, and I could at least act happier, so I may as well. May as well do a lot of things while I was at it. Like running as far as I could and becoming a hermit in the woods, subsisting off of the putrid mildew and the treacherous monotony of forest living.


Oh wait, I can't do that. Nevermind.


I put the scalchop back on my hip and sighed deeply. From there I just…kept staring—waiting, I guess.


Waiting…


Waiting…


And waiting…


I started to hear voices coming from down the hall. Two cheerful, young pokemon discussing something about a game they were playing, or watching. Louder and louder, reaching a crescendo near the entrance to the training dojo.


I frowned. No thanks, I was not interested in talking to gym monkeys while in the middle of another one of my episodes.


I trudged towards the exit and sidestepped the Machoke and Seismitoad on my way out. Neither of them so much as acknowledged me, simply viewing me as another patron of the training dojo. Another guild member. Another pokemon.


I'd just have to go sulk somewhere else.




These past few nights have been very unkind to my sleep schedule. Nothing changed, really. Still slept in the same bed with Fenn and everything. I had the opportunity to steal Finch's straw bed but I didn't take it. I wasn't doing anything more draining, either. But god, I was exhausted.


My eyelids tugged at the fur on my face, every slow blink stickier than stale glue. My feet flopped heavily against the carpets of the castle. Before, I dearly missed the convenience of close-toed shoes, and how I didn't have to think about every surface I walked upon. Now, the dirt poking at the webs between my toes were inconspicuous hitchhikers. My tail dragged and dragged, but for once I was fine with the fact that I could barely control it.


I didn't know who I was anymore.


I hardly ate at all. When I did, I ate meat. That was the new normal I welcomed with a sluggish wave. Every chew with those underutilized fangs was a pondering question: "why do you taste the way that you do?" The answer never changed.


Needless to say, I did a lot of thinking since Finch left. I did it whenever I wasn't occupied, which happened to be anytime I wasn't training with Swift or chaperoning Cosmo. It felt depressing to say, but I could barely bring myself to do much else. And I wasn't the only one.


I stopped asking Fenn if he was okay when I started giving the same response that he gave me: "I'm fine" or "I'm just tired." Every day was the same for the both of us, as we waited for the other to finally figure out where they went wrong.


I didn't really mind it. Waiting was what I was best at. Took me two whole weeks to finally accept that about myself.


Walking through the castle hallways burned my chest more than it used to. After I left the training dojo, the sun bore down upon me so vehemently that I was surprised I didn't catch on fire. I let it do its thing as I walked aimlessly down the hall of the first floor. My chest kept on hurting, every step a reminder.


Pokemon were congregating in little packs every several meters in the hallway like branches poking out of the walls, taking up space. Meanwhile, more pokemon poured out of a large doorway in little groups of their own, talking and talking. There was a cacophony of noise loud enough to splinter any thought process I might have had. Bird pokemon flew overhead to escape the growing crowd, cawing pleasantries at each other no differently than the pokemon below.


Great.


Constantly, I had to push past other pokemon. I'd catch snippets of their conversations, namely a consistent throughline connected to the word "meeting." Meeting for what? I didn't care to remember.


The crowd got so dense and I was so quick to rush through it that one pokemon in particular shoulder-checked me. They were rushing, too. I grunted and sputtered on the turnaround, sending a glare at the rude asshole. But he didn't so much as utter an apology. Out of spite, I memorized the hooded, navy blue cloak he wore along with the prissy white ribbons poking out of his collar. Bipedal, not so much taller than me, dickhead.


I would do nothing with this information, I knew that. There was just something cathartic about not letting the guy get away with it, even if it only mattered in my own mind.


What a petty bitch, I maligned myself. Do something about it. Use that scalchop of yours and slice him in half. Right down the middle-


I immediately shut down the ensuing thought process. All it did was make me want to vomit.


I eventually stumbled to the stairs around the corner. As fabulous as it would have been to ride the elevator, I am not full of original ideas. The line was long and every bigass rock type in the castle seemed to be waiting there. Stairs worked, so I used them.


Voices rang out as an amalgamation of noise siphoned down those steps, trying to pull me by the tail into its chaotic clutches. I ignored them as I headed up to the second floor, past more stray pokemon, growing increasingly bothered by my inability to think quietly. Luckily, the second floor was considerably less busy, which wasn't saying much. The castle was wide awake and swarming with activity.


From a team of Mightyena, Arcanine, and Boltund rushing with their tongues hanging out of their maws, to a whole congregation of Hypno and Drowzee debating with each other on-the-move—there was no shortage of excitement on display. Everywhere I looked, someone was moving, barking questions, or calling out to others. It was mind numbing.


When I left the training dojo, I had not planned to go back to my room from there. But considering all of the commotion, I had no choice. With an annoyed scoff, I continued my ascent to the third floor.


Up up up some more. Finally, at the top of the stairs again, most of the noise had been drowned out. If there were any remaining pokemon up there with me, they were heading down and away—thank god.


Far ahead of me stretched the seemingly endless hallway, full of doors warping up to the ceiling and into each other, infinite in scope and scale. My room was far towards the end, implying there was an end to reach. The carpet felt like gravel under my toes for the few steps I took.


With so much noise to account for, I had needed to raise the volume of my thoughts so I could hear myself think. With that noise gone, and my faculties still sluggish, my brain reverberated against my skull painfully, leading to a harsh headache.


I didn't make it far before slumping up against a nearby trash bin.


Alright, I'm done.


Done with what? Everything. Why am I done with it? Because I just was. What was I gonna do next? I don't know.


I don't know.


I don't know.


I don't know.


I just…


No. No, I don't know.


For some time I leaned up against that trash bin, sighed, stared into the distance, sighed again, and stared some more. It was easy to assume that I had been doing nothing but this for most of the time I had been here in the castle. It accomplished about as much, if you asked me.


I don't know.


Clunk.


There was a sound near my head. Like something landed atop the metal rim of the trash bin. I almost didn't bother to look, assuming that someone had just tossed something in my direction and missed the opening. What changed my mind was the lingering sensation that I was being watched.


I turned my head and came face-to-face with some kind of black bird. They had a long, yellow beak and lethargic, red eyes, as well as a red piece of cloth wrapped around one of their legs. A Murkrow. I blinked.


"Yo."


And now she was talking.


"Hey Dahlia," I said.


Dahlia shifted atop the trash bin, her beak pointed neutrally in my direction. "What's up?" she asked. "It's been a while."


"How long is a while for you?" It certainly felt like a while since we last met, but I wasn't even sure.


She just shrugged. "It changes with the times. Is it different for you?"


If I was going to think back on something that happened a while ago, I would have to relive my experience of nearly being decapitated by a Scyther, driving myself to insanity in a palace of cubes and faces, and my leg losing enough blood from a stab wound to leave me unconscious. And then I realized that anything further back from that didn't exist.


So I answered with, "My frame of reference is scuffed right now."


Clicking her tongue, Dahlia said, "Right, the amnesia. Still haven't figured that out yet, huh?"


I shook my head.


"Damn." Dahlia briefly peered over her shoulder before looking back at me with her head tilted. "Did you go to that meeting earlier?"


"I didn't even know there was a meeting until five minutes ago."


Dahlia waved her talon in front of her flippantly. "Well, you didn't miss anything. It had something to do with these recent heists. One to the west, and another to the east."


Not important to me, so whatever. "Great," was all I could think to say.


"Yeah, same." The Murkrow gave that a titter. "There's been an awful lot of talk around here about doing something to stop all of the criminal activity lately. But no one knows what to do in the grand scheme of things."


I forgot all of that was still going on. Colbur Village and that Darmanitan gave me a taste of it—the only taste as far as I could tell. How all-encompassing was it, even? Pretty hard to tell when you're cooped up in a protected fortress.


I scoffed. "Maybe they should consider leaving the castle for once." Better them than me.


Again, Dahlia tilted her head at me. "Huh."


What I just said might've come across as pretty deadpan, so Dahlia's confused reaction wasn't too unexpected. Although, I always got the impression that she knew a joke when she saw one.


"What?" I said.


"Are you okay, Oswald?" She sounded genuinely concerned.


What? Where is this coming from?


It was at that moment that I finally took the effort to stand up straight, pushing off of the trash bin. "Yeah?"


"You don't sound like it," Dahlia remarked. "Or look like it."


"What do I look like, then?"


Dahlia clacked her beak. "Tired. You look tired."


I raised an eyebrow. What was she on about it? Sure, I hadn't gotten enough sleep last night, but surely that didn't show.


Right?


"Uh…what makes you say that?" I wondered.


"You're slouching, for one," Dahlia said.


…Oh. I was. I suppose "standing up straight" was an oxymoron, my bad. I went ahead and fixed that, straightening out my back while clearing my throat for good measure.


Okay, but seriously. I told her, "I do that sometimes. What about it?"


Dahlia flapped her wings in exasperation. "I wouldn't have said anything if that was all there was to it." She leaned in slightly, narrowing her eyes. "You sound dead, Oswald. Something happen?"


There was a pestering itch at the back of my brain goading me into giving that question the most derisive, sassy response I could think of. That was what Oswald would do: he would dig into his dirty little pile of sarcasm and pull out a real zinger of a sentence. One to make the ladies squeal, that was for sure.


But I had a few problems with Oswald at that moment, and I was more inclined to push him back into his corner again where he belonged. Dahlia would just have to do with a dismissive shrug and me going "I dunno."


"Gonna be secretive about it?" Dahlia asked, her forehead under her hat creasing with her widened, questioning eyes. "Is it that bad?"


"No," I lied.


"Really?"


"Yes."


"Really?"


"Yes."


And then Dahlia shook her head, very much not interested in humoring me. "Oh, Oswald." She brought her wing up to cover her eyes. "You're lying through your teeth."


Well, yeah, but, so what? What did she care? And why was I not frustrated with her for saying it?


I stomped my foot, balled my fists, and growled through those same teeth I just lied out of. But it came out as a laugh, like I wasn't even taking myself seriously. It probably would've sounded a lot less whiny if I had said "I'm not lying!" in a more serious tone. I was just confused as to why I didn't.


"Uh huh," Dahlia deadpanned. "Oswald, you are such a basket case. It gets more obvious every time we talk."


"No!" I insisted. "Look, I'm fine. Never been better."


Much to my chagrin, Dahlia kept shaking her head. "I saw you stomping around earlier, Oswald. No mon that's 'fine' grouches like that."


Fuck this. I threw up my arms in defeat. "Alright, whatever!" I bellowed. "I'm having a bad time! I can't do anything right…what do you want from me?"


It took a few more seconds for Dahlia to bring her wing back down and sigh to herself, her incredulity harsh enough to keep her eyes shut for just a little longer. When she cracked them open again, she rested her cheek on her wing and looked at me fondly, her beak curled into a kind smile. "I was just going to ask you how you were doing," Dahlia said, "maybe ask you a few other questions, too. But seeing you now? I think I need to do a bit more."


I looked like such a pathetic loser that I was being offered a favor for free. Truly, today was the day I reached rock bottom. Woohoo.


"What did you have in mind?" I asked with a sigh, not even fighting it anymore.


Dahlia lifted into the air, peering back at me as she hovered a few feet above my head. "Follow me," she said. "There's someplace I want to take you."


I shook my head and did just that. Going back to my room and staring up at the ceiling sounded like torture anyway.




It never occurred to me that the castle had a pub. But after finding out about it I had to wonder how big the wine cellar was.


I had never been up to the fifth floor, outside of Anemone's office, and I had to kick myself over it. The fourth floor and above had a distinctly "modern" feeling compared to the lower reaches of the castle. Less gaudy whites and more classy browns, compounded by the complete and utter shift from natural and candle lighting to electrical fixtures nailed to the walls.


The designs of the carpets shifted, as well. Swirls and abstract imagery morphed into these euclidean squares in repeating patterns, meticulously measured and laid out. Not a lick of grime or dirt in sight, with sparse windows giving way to carved wood garnishing on every corner and murals painted with warm oranges and reds. I didn't recognize any of the landscapes depicted.


There were these leathery-looking chairs propped up on corners around the staircases and at the end of hallways, where the occasional pokemon sat and read a book. It was quiet—hushed and muffled, even. All of the pokemon I saw, which wasn't a lot, were older and more dignified—unlike the haphazard collection of pokemon downstairs. A Lombre wearing a gray dress vest and bowtie, a Volcarona covered in sparkling jewelry floating from one place to another with a lazy, smoldering stride, and a Servine with a foppish coat embroidered with speckled rhinestones.


That last one in particular sized me up as I walked past them. Half-lidded eyes accentuated their glossy eyeshadow, further emphasized by their exaggerated jaunt that really made those rhinestones jingle. They wore their lavish lifestyle on their sleeves and wanted me to know it. I was still looking over my shoulder, watching them go, as Dahlia cleared her throat, trying to get my attention.


"Don't get too attached," she said, landing atop my head. "They'll bleed you dry."


I winced, heat rapidly rushing to my cheeks. Her claws were gentle, but firm, and they dug lightly into the nest of hair I had tossed around up there. Slowly, I turned my head forward, walking straight. "Why is the upper castle so different?" I asked. "Is it more…new?"


Dahlia clacked her beak. "It's always been like this. Micle might act like it's so sophisticated with its human clothing and big machines, but the real opulence is here, high up above everything else." She shifted slightly, uncomfortably. "You can look all you want…"


"But you can't touch," I finished for her, to which verbally affirmed.


I'm not surprised it's like this, I thought. This is just the first time I'm hearing of it. You'd think they'd be more vocal about their riches or something.


I caught Dahlia pointing her wing in the corner of my vision. "Turn right here," she directed. "It's around the corner."


"Aye aye, captain," I muttered, keeping my neck straight.


Earlier, I asked Dahlia what to look out for. She told me that the sign would tell me when we got close—the name of the pub being The Grapevine. After making it to the door I could handily disagree, but the presentation was a dead giveaway anyway. Outside of the sign posts and numerous smaller paintings at the entrance depicting ripe fruits and cityscapes, the door was distinct. Patterned sheet glass, embroidered with winding grape vines, gave very little insight to the interior of the pub. But it helped me to know where I was.


I turned the knob and headed inside.


Stepping into The Grapevine filled me with a strong sense of unworthiness and an even stronger pang of nostalgia I couldn't place. I was in the ballroom of a fancy banquet, the bar of a cruise ship, and an upper class coffee shop all at once. Had I not walked the whole way, I wouldn't have believed I was still in that musty castle.


Where was I even supposed to start? The chairs? The ceiling? The bar? How about the smell?


My nose picked up a lick of cherry riding a cloud of mist that crawled over the leather arm rests and glass tables. Like Salandits crowding a Salazzle's raunchy harem, muffling the low light of lamps topped with cloth carapace hoods.


The ceiling was high, and my eyes traced the carved wooden foundation to a faux sky. Blue permeated the cracks by which the clouds were painted on, yet that optimistic depiction was marred by a cloud of sleazy fog, turning this bright day into a warm forecast the sun only visited on occasion.


The source of this sticky grandeur was towards the back, behind the bar. A Wheezing huffed smog and puffed it out in spurts of laughter and political parley, as his obnoxiously tall top hat jostled atop his head. A Dachsbun sat across from him, barking soft giggles between occasional licks at an amber mixture on-the-rocks. Their voices slipped into the audible smog circulating the room, fading into a quiet clamor.


"When was the last time you had a drink, Oswald?" Dahlia asked.


"If you mean alcohol, probably never," was my best attempt at a guess, but I was a bit too preoccupied to think about it much.


"I don't believe you," Dahlia said. "Also, the bartender's fumes are harmless." She landed atop the back of a chair near the wall.


Wary, I made a pointless effort to cover my mouth and nose with the back of my arm. I said, "if I catch an incurable disease fifty years from now I'll make sure to blame you for it." By the time I was seated across from her, though, I gave up and put my arm down. It actually smelled pretty nice in the pub, as long as I didn't think about where it was coming from.


A smirk curled onto Dahlia's beak. "How about I make up for it and buy you a drink?" she offered with her wing extended.


"What do they have?"


"Check the menu."


Fair enough. I picked up the laminated paper off the table in front of me with some effort; these chairs were so spacious that I literally sank into mine, my feet just barely hanging off the end of the cushion. My tail rode up the back of the chair and eventually flat up against my back.


I don't know what I was expecting—I still couldn't read feet text. And there were no graphics aside from—unsurprisingly—more grapevines. I'm sure that even if I could read I'd roll my eyes at the stupid names they came up with. Names that made no sense to anyone that didn't live in the bar itself.


I tossed the menu back onto the table with a frown. "I don't care, just as long as it has Oran in it," I said.


Dahlia nodded. "Something to help with a headache?"


"...Sure." The migraine never really went away, anyway.


"Wailmer Tonic, got it." The Murkrow lifted into the air before flying off toward the bar. "Be right back."


Wailmer tonic? I gave in to the chair's wrinkly embrace. See? Stupid.


I was left alone for a couple minutes while Dahlia went to grab our drinks, and in that time I rested my head back and closed my eyes. Anything to just relax for a moment. All of these new sights distracted me from the pounding in my head, but after slowing down the smog started to taste like old taffy on my tongue. I had a sugar migraine and I hadn't eaten anything since earlier that morning.


I dug my claws into the armrests of the chair, only to balk at the lack of resistance it provided. Perplexed, I opened my eyes to glance down at the grooves carved around my fingertips. There were these long gashes that tore shallow holes into the leather. I guess I wasn't the only one bar-hopping with a bad headache.


Which reminded me: what the hell was I even doing here? I didn't belong among all of the other regulars, and I definitely didn't drink. That pang of nostalgia still lingered, I just had to wonder if it related to the decor, the atmosphere, or the circumstances. Not that it mattered.


Where else am I supposed to be? I had to wonder.


Somewhere that I belonged, clearly.


Can I list out some places that meet that criteria?


The pool? That was one.


But I don't want to go swimming right now.


…Anywhere with Fenn?





I rubbed my temples and groaned. My headache had become unbearable by the time Dahlia got back. When she did, I had no choice but to notice because she hovered in front of my face with a glass in each talon.


"Take them," she urged. "I can't land like this."


"Oh, right," I uttered. "Got it." I carefully plucked both glasses from her talons and held them aloft awkwardly.


Dahlia lowered herself onto the cushion of her chair across from me with a sigh. "Normally I have Pink to help me with these sorts of things," she said, eying me closely. "I guess we're both trying new things today."


I supposed we were. Though in retrospect it would have been a lot more polite for me to do it. Whoops.


Anyway, it wasn't difficult to tell which drink was mine. One was deep sea blue and the other was squashed berry red. I put the glass with the red liquid on the table between us, an ice-accompanied clink sounding out. "What did you get?" I asked.


"Red wine." The Murkrow hopped a little closer until she was right at the edge, then leaned down to poke at the drink. Her tongue lashed out at the liquid with more elegance than I expected. Or at least, it looked about as elegant as one would expect from someone without lips, just a bit moreso.


"And this is…?" I looked down at the glass in my paw. The blue liquid was languid in how it sloshed about, almost like a gell or a lotion. "...Wailmer tonic?"


Dahlia looked up from her drink, the tip of her beak stained red. "Having second thoughts?" she asked. "Give it a try. It helps with headaches for a reason."


And mine was not going away anytime soon without it. Oh, whatever. I gave it a shot, and took a sip.


The Oran was easy to detect. I liked Oran berries so I liked the drink, at first. Then came the overpowering—and distinctly unfamiliar—sting of alcohol. The flavor flared in my gums, making my face tense up like I was sucking on a lemon. My throat burned as it went down harshly; swallowing was a challenge in and of itself. It felt like a fireball landed in the pit of my stomach.


Is that what alcohol tastes like?


All I could say was "Blegh."


Dahlia chuckled. "Like it?"


I shook my head in condemnation. "It's like drinking cough medicine. Yuck."


At that, Dahlia wiped her beak with a wing. "I have a feeling you'll get used to it someday," she remarked.


Regardless of the taste, I'd have to finish my drink eventually. One sip and I was already starting to feel better, the pounding slowly subsiding. I hardly noticed, though, as what Dahlia just said made me raise an eyebrow.


I set the drink down and said, "What's that supposed to mean?"


Dahlia hopped back a little and properly sat down. The towering walls of the well-used chair dwarfed her, surrounding her in support that she did not need.


What I didn't realize at the time was that I was in the same position. Dwarfed by curved walls of support that did not help me. I hardly leaned back during the entire conversation as it shifted.


Dahlia looked up at me with no hint of irony or sarcasm in her expression. She was serious, just like how she was when we first met. But also curious, also like how she was when we first met. It came through her tone when she started talking:


"What I mean is, if you keep this up, Oswald, you're going to be drowning in stress relievers by the time you're thirty." She tilted her head to the side, gesturing towards the bar. "Or sooner, depending on how many of those Wailmer tonics you drink."


Now, I knew that she was referring to how I was acting earlier. And while what she said was entirely fair, I also haven't been using any stress relievers at all. Unless I counted the meat I had been eating recently, which I didn't. That was more like me attempting to change the subject of my own discomfort, if that made any sense.


I rolled my eyes. "So you say."


"I do," Dahlia said. "You've always seemed a bit high strung."


Understatement of the century. "I've had to put up with a lot lately." I waved my paw dismissively.


"Like what?" Dahlia tilted her head at me this time, her expression falling into one of concern. "Does it have to do with your friend?"


I tensed. Instinctively, I leaned forward to grab my tonic. "Maybe," I grumbled. "What gave you that impression?"


"I saw him yesterday—" Dahlia said, "the Quilava, I mean. He was alone at Altaria's."


I went for another sip there, my face squeezing in a cringe once more. Strangely, the taste was better this time. The urge to relax must have been overpowering my taste buds, just like how I assumed it would. The idea of that scared me.


"Yeah, I know."


"You know?" Dahlia prodded.


"He wanted a smoothie." Because he did. Why would I tell him no?


"And you didn't?"


I shook my head and said, "I never said I didn't. I just said he wanted a smoothie."


Dahlia noticeably frowned. "So why didn't you go with him?"


I really, really tried to hold it in, but this line of questioning pushed a heavy sigh out of me, complete with my whole chest deflating. "How does this help me?" I had to ask.


The Murkrow shrugged. "Neither of us will know until you tell me."


Fine. The dam broke, and I melted into the chair fully. My shoulders fell along with the rest of my body.


"You wanna know why, Dahlia?" I waited for a couple seconds in suspense, as if I was actually asking her and waiting for an answer. "...It's because I can't. I didn't follow Fenn because I couldn't. I wanted to. But I couldn't."


I took another sip. Alcohol tasted like sticky cotton after a while.


Dahlia observed me briefly, searching for any sign of a joke. But there wasn't one, because Oswald was taking a backseat today. She said, "Was it a bad argument?"


"No," I said simply. And thank god for that. I could only handle so much. "I can't leave the castle," I told her.


"...What are you talking about?" A second later, Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "Wait, 'can't?'"


I nodded. "Anemone's orders." 'Dead' really was a proper descriptor for how I sounded. The crow was right.


Dahlia looked absolutely flabbergasted, like someone had basically smacked her beak so hard that it shifted across her face from the sheer impact. That was how visibly confused she was. As such, she uttered in a quietly disturbed voice, "I've…never heard of that happening before. And I've heard a lot."


That deserved a toast. I lifted my drink. "It's a first for me, too. Believe me." One more sip. I didn't even cringe this time.


"No kidding," Dahlia breathed, then leaned forward in sudden interest. "So, bad boy, what'd you do?"


Oh, that one was easy. But first, I took another sip. What do you know? I was getting used to it.


I smacked my lips. "Be Oswald," I said, setting the drink down for good. This new warmth in my chest was worrying me.


Dahlia trilled out a hearty scoff at that. "And no one else can be Oswald, right? Too unique of a name."


I looked down at the table, watching the condensation form on the glass as little droplets fell into a puddle beneath.


"Yeah…" I said.


Yeah…


Yeah…


Maybe it was for the best. Oswald made enough mistakes to screw himself several times over. Pretty sure that guy hurt his best friend—in record time, too. What an asshole. No one should have to be him.


No one.


"I won't prod," Dahlia admitted. "I know better than to question Anemone." She corrected herself quickly, but smoothly. "But you knew that already."


Knew it well enough to hate her guts. What else is new?


I returned my gaze to Dahlia, who was now leaning forward and poking at her wine again. "So yeah," I muttered, "I didn't go with him because I couldn't." I narrowed my eyes at Dahlia's flicking tongue. "Also…because we both need some time to think about things."


Dahlia looked up from her drink, tongue still slurping up a few droplets from the corners of her beak. She swallowed and said, "Ah, so there was more to it, then. I had a feeling."


I shrugged, though I didn't quite know why. "Fenn's been dealing with a lot, too."


"Really? Like what?"


"Like…um…uh…"


Do I just say family troubles? How accurate is that? Wait, I'm taking too long-


Dahlia, with her eyes full of inquisitiveness, leaned her cheek onto her wing. "You don't know," she stated.


"I do," I said quickly. "Just not the specifics."


Her hat was rising in incredulity more and more by the second. "Why?"


I scoffed, my whiskers twitching with heated annoyance. "I don't know, I just…never asked."


Dahlia repeated the question. "And why not?"


Because I didn't want to push it? Because I assumed he would tell me on his own eventually? Because I wanted so desperately for him to trust me enough for that? I knew that I had to earn it, but how the hell was I going to do that when I've got chicken legs on one side of the brain and Swift's untested instructions on the other?


Maybe I was scared of what would happen if I let my stupid mouth flap open and lie again. Because if one throwaway line I tossed together on a whim purely to cheer Fenn up left me down in the mud this bad, then…


Why don't I just shut up forever? Stitch my lips together, glue my eyelids closed, and cut off my fingers. I don't care. Whatever it takes to stop being this…this…


"Oswald?"


Dahlia's voice sounded muffled behind the static. I saw her across from me, her previously serious yet amicable red eyes now troubled.


I wondered what I looked like to her. Would she be horrified if, somehow, the human in me rose to the surface and glared at her for daring to utter his name? What would she think of that?


I breathed in and out, only to realize that I was already doing that, but heavier. That must've happened sometime in the middle of all of that, I guess.


Right, I still needed to answer her.


Sighing deeply, my reply was this: "Because I'm an idiot. I thought it would help if I let things happen naturally, you know? It's not like doing nothing could…make things worse."


I knew that was a lie the second it left my mouth.


Dahlia sat up straight. "I thought like that once," she said. "I spent most of my life up in Lanset to the north with my family. It was going well enough. So I just went along with what my mom wanted for me—which meant becoming a designer for the family business. But the closer I got to eighteen the more I began to question if that was what I really wanted."


She looked off at the many seats crowding the pub, past the light mist and onto the few pokemon wasting away in the smog. But it was a good kind of wasting away, because they didn't feel it. Did Dahlia feel it, at that moment? She seemed almost pained, talking about this. Yet resigned at the same time—accepting of her place in the world.


She continued. "I'm not a designer, Oswald. I knew it then and I know it now. Only problem: I still don't know what I want." She shrugged her shoulders. "Everyone knows me for the gossip and the shiny jewels, but those are things, not passions."


And then Dahlia looked at me, sharper than I had ever seen her. Feathers sheening, tail raised, talons clenched.


"I knew for certain that I didn't want to be a designer. I knew that, and the only way anyone could know that themselves is if I told them, and showed it through my actions. I flew from home because no one would listen to me otherwise. And I came to Kebia because there were better opportunities here compared to Lanset. More gossip, more shiny things."


Dahlia paused to catch her breath. "Oswald, you doing nothing just tells me that you don't want things to get better."


When I spoke, it was hoarse and barely audible. I said, "But I do…"


Why would I not want that? Why? What did I gain by wanting things to be worse? It made no sense.


You're being negative again.


None of this did, the more I thought about it. Well, actually, Dahlia was making sense. More sense than I could handle with the return of that agonizing headache and stifling heat in my chest. What she said next just made it worse.


Dahlia stated resolutely, "There's only one way to prove it."


It was obvious:


I have to ask Fenn about what happened with his parents. In fact, I should ask him more about himself in general. When was the last time I asked him anything like that?


I don't think I ever did. I was too focused on myself.



Sharp pain coursed through my skull, bouncing on my brain with each heartbeat. Groaning, I leaned forward and put my head in my paws.


"Ugh…I need some air…" I mumbled. This smog was starting to make me nauseous. Or was that the alcohol?


Didn't matter. The room was spinning.


Dahlia hummed her agreement. "Mhm. I think I know just the place."


All of that and I didn't even finish the Wailmer Tonic. What a stupid name.




After I first arrived in Enigma a couple weeks back, on the walk to Kebia with team Phlox, I remember taking a brief moment to peer over the hill at the castle through the leaves. At the time I didn't think anything of it. With my brain still handily grasping on to those vestiges of humanity that lingered, a giant castle seemed downright normal compared to the talking dogs and birds.


I never took the time to appreciate it, simply because I was glad that it was there: something normal amongst the fields of uncertainty. Over time, the castle became my new normal. I clocked in for work, going day-by-day hoping that the normalcy would expand, not shrink.


Then I met Anemone, and Fenn. Cosmo and Finch. Dahlia and Calluna. Swift and Riz. Experienced mystery dungeons, and learned more about this strange world I was in. Pamtre, they called it. I was so far from my real home that I wasn't even on the same planet.


All the while, I kept staring down this long hallway hoping for the door at the end to open so I could leave. A hallway that, as far as I could tell, was endless. The door just kept getting smaller and smaller. Further and further away.


I was never going to reach it, even if it did open up for me. Deep down, I always sort of knew that. But I wanted to believe because despite it all, I was moving forward.


But in doing so, I never noticed the other doors at the sides of me, in that same hallway. Doors that could have brought me closer, with shorter paths and easier routes.


I opened one. The sights, the smells, the sounds. Previously unimportant to me, now made fresh and clear.


Watching the world from so far up pushed me to be introspective like that. Up here, on an open air balcony on the fifth floor of the castle, I witnessed Enigma at its fullest.


Winds whipped past my fur, almost tossing me around with its strength. I was small now, and less stable. Maintaining my balance meant gripping the railing—a gate made of smooth stone and white plaster, segmented by pillars bracing the awning above.


I leaned against it, over it, as I hooked my feet onto a couple smaller pillars in the balcony's design. Made to accommodate the average human, and not me, I had to try just a little bit harder to be comfortable.


But it was worth it.


I saw land stretching far into the horizon. Mountains poking high through the clouds, now like distant neighbors as opposed to dramatic landmarks. I saw the roads snaking and coiling through fields of grass, over hills and down valleys with the clarity of a newly drawn map. Buildings were abundant, and not just in the town below. Some were scattered, while others congregated in little pockets within the forests of orange and red leaves.


A distant lake to the north, surrounded by pine trees and just barely visible through the cracks. Grepa Lake, I think it was called, where Fenn and I saved that Phanpy. Somewhere farther east, around the corner, I caught signs of flowing grass and occasional outposts. Kelpsy Fields was not far off from there. And to the west, just right past the trees, was Fenn's hometown. The place I once yearned to visit, if it meant being there for him.


And everywhere I looked, there was movement. Bird pokemon were flying against the cool wind, tiny specks of color dispersed throughout the streets of Kebia like ants in their little tunnels, and the land itself flowed in the breeze. Leaves were falling with the change of the season while the sun turned the clouds into a mosaic of fluffy pillows, cloaking the air itself in an amber wreath.


I lost the headache from earlier. Not sure if it was the fresh air or that tonic doing its work, but for the first time today I felt like I could think clearly. I wasn't dealing with a jumbled mess of concerns or issues, I had a checklist of concepts to address for myself. I was calm for once. My skin didn't itch for me to scratch it.


Dahlia had landed next to me and stood atop the railing. Her talons seemed to clutch the stone perfectly as she watched the swaying trees of Enigma, never once wavering like I did. I guess she was used to it.


She asked me, "Does this count as leaving the castle for you?"


I shrugged because I didn't know. I could only imagine that Oleander was watching me with his large, skeptical eye right then, waiting for me to attempt an escape.


Or something worse than that.


I crossed my arms over the railing and rested my chin on top of them. My tail hung low just above the ground, my whiskers blew about in the wind.


I breathed in…then out.


In…and out.


"Dahlia," I said quietly, "have I been too negative?"


Neither of us looked at each other, but I could tell that Dahlia wasn't entirely paying attention. "Depends," she said. "Where'd you get that idea?"


"Swift said so when we were training earlier."


I saw Dahlia's beak suddenly turn to me out of the corner of my eye. "Swift? The Wartortle?"


"Yeah."


"Didn't you two have a fight?"


"We did."


Dahlia scoffed. "Things change quickly for you, don't they?"


Do they? I wondered. Was that not normal?


If only I could say for certain.


"Dunno," I said.


"Anyway," Dahlia started, fluffing her feathers, "to answer your question, I have a question of my own: why would you be so negative?"


How…was I supposed to respond to that? Because everything sucks, Dahlia, I thought. But it was obvious that she wanted a better answer than that. So against my better judgment, I got specific.


"Because…" I sighed. "Because I can't catch a break. I have no memories of before I got here, the person who was supposed to help me with that is a piece of shit, and the one person I care most about has his own problems. And every step of the way, it's like I've been stepping on rake after rake with no end in sight."


"Rake?" Dahlia wondered.


I groaned.


"Don't worry about it."


Dahlia clacked her beak in amusement. "Sounds like a lot."


"Mhm."


Then she abruptly asked, unprompted, "You wouldn't happen to come from The Shard, would you?"


Um.


"No?" I said, giving her a look. "I don't remember anything, so how would I even know?"


I was lying. I didn't even intend to this time, but I did. Despite all I had been through, the one thing I remembered was also the one thing I could never be truthful about.


That was the most frustrating part. If I could figure out what me being here meant then I was certain the negativity would fade away. It would be one problem dealt with, at least. I needed that more than anything.


Dahlia faced the grand vista below. "Thought as much," she said. "Just wanted to check."


Choosing not to think about it much, I copied her action and looked back to the mountains. "Whatever you say," I mumbled.


The breeze grew steady. Somewhere in the distance, a Staraptor rode the winds with deft ease. Near complete equilibrium caused them to hover, swerving slightly—a midair rest. They remained until the Staraptor discovered their next destination, flapped their large black wings, and dived out of view.


"Oswald, I can't blame you for feeling sorry for yourself," Dahlia said.


I grimaced. "I don't feel sorry for myself."


Dahlia cut me off before I could say more. "Yes, you do. And I don't blame you, like I said."


Was I supposed to thank her for that? I opted to sink my chin deeper into my arms instead.


She had more to say, anyway: "It's a lot to put up with. But I think you're overestimating how much of it is out of your control."


I glared at her out of the corner of my eye. "Oh yeah?" I challenged. "What am I supposed to do about Anemone, huh? Or the…"


The dungeons. The meat. My memory. Fenn.


"...or anything, I don't know."


To that, Dahlia squawked loudly, catching me off guard. "Arceus, listen to yourself! I'm not telling you to do anything, Oswald!" She sighed, exasperated. "Do you think before I left Lanset I was asking myself 'what do I do about my mother?'"


My whiskers were still frazzled by the time I considered the question. Never thought I'd see Dahlia lose her cool like that.


"How should I know?" I said defensively. "Maybe…maybe you did."


I caught her gaze right then. For once, her red eyes bored into me, reminding me of spilled blood. There was a blink, and the red flickered to become reminiscent of the setting sun, splatters of brilliant orange and yellow to hint at closure.


Dahlia, with her voice low, said, "And you would be right. I thought about it daily. Do you know what changed my mind?"


I stared, waiting for an answer.


"I tried and failed to work with what my mother gave me. Over and over again. And then, one day, I asked myself…'is this really what I want?' No. No, it wasn't. So I left."


I was having a hard time believing that. After all, it wasn't like I could just up and leave.


"I can't do that, Dahlia," I reminded her.


She pointed at me with a wing, locking me down with her declaration. "You're taking this too literally."


"Alright." I rested my cheek in my palm and listened closer. "What am I missing?"


Dahlia put her wing down. "You can start by asking your friend about what his deal is. Make it easier for yourself by focusing on the plausible solutions first."


Easy for you to say.


I knew that I had to talk to Fenn, but that still didn't solve my problems. I still had to lie to him. Couldn't do much of anything to make it up to him after I left him behind, either.


But fine. Let's say I do that.


"Okay," I conceded, "then what?"


Dahlia furrowed her brow, possibly detecting that I wasn't getting it yet. "Then," she said, "you make a choice."


"A choice?"


"You can choose to ask him for his help in return, or keep going at it alone."


The last time I asked Fenn for anything, he…formed a team with me. We stuck together even after our first failure. And then I…fell in love with him.


Of course I'd choose him. Even still, Fenn was agreeable, sure, but no amount of affability would be enough to forgive me if Anemone snapped my neck in the end.


I mean, did I even care at this point?


…Did I?


I had to be honest. "I don't want to do this alone," I murmured.


Dahlia nodded. "Good. You shouldn't. You're suffering, Oswald. You have friends. Ask them for help. Let them know what you want."


She went on to ask the question I had both the easiest and hardest time answering. She said, "What do you want, Oswald?"


What do I want? Well…


I want to hold Fenn tight. To tell him everything. To run my fingers through his soft fur, look into his eyes, lose myself, and forget about all of this.


I want to leave the castle so I can find out more. Both about myself and why I'm here. To find answers and know for certain that I have a purpose here. To know how to get home.


I want to be strong. To control my scalchops to the point where that glittering yellow light comes naturally to me. To become a samurai—a protector. To wield a sword.


But most importantly, I want to be me. But…who is me? Who's Oswald? The human, or the pokemon?



"I want to know who I am," I said in a near whisper.


A smile popped onto Dahlia's beak immediately. "That one's easy. You're Oswald."


I made a "psh" sound with my mouth. "Yeah, I know that."


Dahlia pulled up a talon and began looking it over casually, absentmindedly. She said, "Sometimes the easy answer is the right answer." Her eyes flicked up as she gave me a knowing look. "And sometimes you just ask stupid questions."


It's not stupid, though! I thought, the steaming of my brain nearly reaching a boiling point. I've been agonizing about this since I was reborn as a Dewott!


I tightened my arms around my chest and looked away. "I thought there weren't any stupid questions?" I grumbled.


"There is when you already know the answer." Dahlia seemed more interested in her manicure than me at this point. But that was fine, she could do what she wanted. I didn't care.


I'm Oswald, huh? I scoffed.


I mean, I was. Dahlia was right about that.


But I mean…


I mean…


Wait…


Hold on.


It hit me. I wasn't expecting it to, but for some reason that simple sentence flipped a switch in my brain that I hadn't realized was flipped off.


My stomach twisted. The world spun. The wind chilled my fur to a frost.


I'm Oswald.


I'm Oswald.


I'm Oswald.


When I tasted meat a few days back, it struck me how after I had agonized over it for so long, the taste was basically exactly what I expected. I had asked why. Why did meat taste like meat? Why didn't I feel any different after eating it?


I tasted it again and again. Continuously wondering why. All the while, I knew the answer. I knew it well. It was just too simple so I didn't think anything of it.


Meat tasted like meat…because meat is meat. And I didn't feel anything because meat…is just meat. It's not special or magical or significant. Nothing like that.


Meat is meat.


I am me.


Oswald is Oswald.


I am neither human nor pokemon nor something in between-


I'm me.


Oswald is Oswald.


I blinked several times. Off in the distance somewhere in my mind was a ship sailing against the backdrop of a rising sun. Its sail carved a shape, through which the giddiness could crawl in and sour right into me. The intensity was so vehement that it forced the exhaustion from my eyelids. I was awake, fully aware of the scent of fresh air around me. Leaves flowing like joyous laughter in the wind.


It was small at first—the smile curling onto my face. So small that I didn't even feel it. Then it grew larger and larger until I wasn't just smiling- no, not just smiling. I was grinning, ear-to-ear.


Oswald is Oswald, huh? What a concept. I chuckled lightly.


"Huh," I breathed out in small mutters. "Yeah, you know what? You're right."


"Oswald?" Dahlia spoke up, sounding slightly worried. "What's wrong?"


I swallowed and smacked my dry lips. "Nothing's wrong," I said. "I'm Oswald. I…I got what I wanted." Whether or not she detected the relief in my voice didn't matter to me. I wanted to cry, and not out of sorrow or stress for once.


This was good. I was good.


Dahlia opened her beak as though she wanted to say more. There were words left unsaid that I was sure she had prepared in case what she told me didn't work. But with that final, conclusive statement of mine, she closed her beak, let out a satisfied huff, and turned back to the open air.


She cooed, "I'm glad. Don't know what's going through your head, but I'm happy you figured something out."


Oh, I still had a long way to go.


There was a human inside me. A man by the name of Oswald who never got closure of any kind in his past life—because he ended up here, in a Dewott's body. I couldn't say for sure if I was him or if he was me. For all I knew, we were both the same and not the same at once. But I did know that his name was mine. And as Oswald, I got to say when things happened. That human was just going to have to wait for answers.


I could do what I want because I say I can. I'm me. I get to say what I can do.


If I want to leave the castle, I'm fucking leaving the castle.


And I was going to. Because there was something I needed to do. I needed to set things right.


I let out a long, heavy sigh. In the process, I felt lighter. Everything I wanted to do seemed so much more possible. All of those disastrous moments, those setbacks…they were nothing. I was me, and tackling my problems would be so much easier now.


"Dahlia," I asked, "can you do me a favor?"


"Hm?" She raised her eyebrows, intrigued. "Oh, sure. Only if you return the favor, though. These don't come cheap."


I nodded. That wouldn't be a problem. "I can do that, don't worry." From there, I lifted my head and gazed off to the west, quickly finding the hill I was looking for.


"I need you to get me something…"


Author's Note: 5/24/2024

Took me a while to get this one down. Probably gonna be dealing with that a lot in the next couple of chapters as well.

In case you couldn't tell, this is a part of the story I want to make sure I get right. So if I take my time with these upcoming chapters, you'll know why.

It feels good finally letting Oswald figure things out. To all the readers that got frustrated with Oswald's development before this point, I hope this direction helps to mitigate that.

Thanks again to my betas: Bonehead, Dust_Scout, and Timelocke. And thank you for reading.

See you next time.
 

Ambyssin

Gotta go back. Back to the past.
Location
Residency hell
Pronouns
he/him
Partners
  1. silvally-dragon
  2. necrozma-ultra
  3. milotic
  4. zoroark-soda
  5. dreepy
  6. mewtwo-ambyssin
Okay that was an unexpectedly long chapter for the early fic. One with a... fair amount of basic exposition. About the guild, the hub city, the country(?) they're in, etc. All of the tense confusion issues I mentioned from the beginning are here in spades, but at least this is all first-person. I'm going to pretend I didn't see some of the word counts of future chapters. I'm not the same reader and writer I was in 2019. :unquag:

I think the exposition's just fine. No one bit of it drags on too long and you do sidestep some repetition with Anemone's, ahem, abilities. You also did a good job capturing some "I'm overworked and underappreciated" energy for her. We get to see a bit more personality from some of who I can only assume will be part of the supporting cast. Dahlia seems like a nice girl and very patient. Fairly similar to Lilac at this point. While Holly's got some of those #girlboss vibes going on where she thinks she's hot shit. Less to say about Pink. Felt like Pink was just there. Similarly, not much to say about future love interest baguette other than he appears to be a shrinking violet. Real Explorers Partner energy right there.

"Know what a 'rescue team' is?" Dahlia asked, probably rolling her eyes.

"No," I said.

"Know about Kebia's castle guild?"

"No."

"...Do you know what a mystery dungeon is?"

"N-no. Should I?"
It's okay, he doesn't get out much.
A 'rescue team' is a subset of pokemon that work together to make our communities safer while keeping the peace. There are also explorers that follow the same team structure but focus on finding treasure and scouting the land.
Oh, so we're distinguishing between them here. I guess rescue teams can rescue the explorers when they get in big trouble. :V
You can even scrub the floors if you want.
Ah, yes, the most important jobs to take: custodial work.
Calluna is apparently supposed to be a solid business 'mon.
Immediate +200 sus points. Never trust someone with an eye for business.
"If you're lucky you won't have to deal with one anytime soon."
Ha ha. Hey-a, buddy. Guy. Friendo. I've got some baaaaaaad news for you.
Feraligator
Back sprite so thicc it absorbed an O.
If the rest of the world is like this then maybe I have nothing to worry about
Who's going to tell him he's protagonist-kun?
"Just uh...thinking about my own mortality or whatever."
As one does.
this castle made me feel microscopic!
[sneezes in pathologist]
They simply stared back at me, unmoving.
TMW you literally fall in love.
A Quilava.
Not gonna lie, if your POV protagonist knows about different pokémon I don't see the need to beat around the bush like this when introducing a species for an important character. Make it clearer it's a quilava because otherwise I was just picturing a nondescript colorless lump.
You think this guy's a criminal too, Holly?" Crocus asked her, looking away from me. "I know a wimp when I see one and this Dewott is a wimp through and through.
Damn, he's good.
We can take the elevator.
Ah, yes. The elevator. My favorite part of any ancient castle.
Every single pokemon I had seen so far had been naked
How scandalous!
I fell on top of that Quilava and neither of us were wearing anything.
Well, okay, sure, if you're immediately going to go there then we know where your priorities are.
By that I mean...it won't really matter what you say, she'll get everything out of you regardless
Meaning she's a powerful psychic.
The Gardevoir tapped her left temple.
Girl really hit him with the
kndcory7bdg21.jpg

😭
I already know about your little predicament and that you're actually human.
"This chapter's already twice the length of most of the other ones this early in the fic so we have to cut corners where we can."
I unconsciously read the minds of every living creature with a brain within a certain radius.
Th... this is just the mental version of Owen's Perceive. :screm:
They're all gone. They've been gone for a long, long time.
I'm going to take it no one found the bodies, then.
so I'll just do with you what I do with every loner that shows up here with nowhere else to go."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Oswald, from this day forward, you're an honorary member of the Kebia Castle Guild.
Seems like a perfectly reasonable solution with no downsides whatsoever. :V
 

Arukona

A Scribe Penning His Brainworms
Location
Ardalion
Pronouns
He/him
Partners
  1. aggron