Pokémon The Suicune's Choice

[kintsugi]

I return! Incidentally, if for any reason if someone were to be counting up how many chapters this review is about, please do kindly note that there is nothing in this review referencing chapter 5. It is solely for chapters 6-8. There is no fifth chapter. Honestly it's kind of weird that you have this gap where Haru thinks about renting a place in chapter 4 and then immediately after that he's got a cool roommate in chapter 6, but skip battles and skip character development 2021.

This is a lot more fun to read in one sitting, which makes sense--most stories are. But the tension builds really delicately in these last bits; the problems escalate. There's the recurring thread of Haru checking his Nav and being too nervous to actually look at it; to distract from his problems, he just ends up doing another felony instead. Very good decisions all around. It's kind of anxiety-inducing to watch, since we're watching him just spiral further and further down this path without even realizing it.

I found myself unsurprised that this story leans into ethics and morality and questions of choice--most of your stories do imo. But the running trend tht I'm more able to appreciate--either because it's coming up more frequently in your work or because I've reached the stage in my life where I'm looking for it--is the focus on the things that inspire us to fight, the burdens and the blessings we carry with us. It makes perfect sense that a story about choice would wrestle with these deep-rooted questions of motivations and faith, but I think the way you do it here is particularly poignant. Grandmother is such an OG here and I'm sad just thinking about the tragedy you created with her, but also how proud she'd probably be of Haru now. The caterpie theme at the end of chapter 8 is a really powerful one as well: in your darkest times sometimes all you can do is have faith; sometimes, all you can do is infiltrate a power plant and steal tons of human assets with your cool new roommate. But in a very tangible sense, one fuels the other, because it has to.

And there's a lot riding on faith in these last bits. Where will the electrike go? Will this actually fix anything? It strikes me that the Suicune's choice is something that, as far as I can tell, Haru made meaning for on his own--the verse itself is there, and I can't imagine this is an uncommon interpretation, but the onus of choice is something that he read into a passage. The original verse is about running, about rest, about three people deciding what to do when their fight is over. But for Haru, it becomes something to hold to when his fight is just beginning--like faith, it's something that only has weight when he puts weight into it. I thought the grafitti scene at the end of 8 was a little gratuitous at first, but reading it again it became one of my favorite scenes so far--Haru's making a choice. This is what fuels him forward.

This is beautiful. I'm sure chapter 9 will break me into tiny pieces.

and here are some line-by-lines, which are pretty much just "good fic update more", exclusively for chapters 6-8.

Spoiler

Like he used to tell Grandmother, the sweet egg omelette was a little big for one.

I really love how you have his relationship with Grandmother here. He Cares, capital C, and the kindness she taught him shows in everything he does. It's really beautiful.

Haru added half-way down the corridor—extremely belatedly, he realized. He felt slow this morning, like he hadn't fully woken up.

Cannot imagine why. There is absolutely no connection to the self-medication from before I am sure huh! did he have a rough night? I don't remember anything like that happening in the previous chapter. And now this joke has run its course.

It's not just that some species are on the verge of extinction, but that the rate of their long-term evolution seems to be slowing.

I didn't quite follow what was up here--there's long-term evolution in some pokemon, but the examples we get in this section (and all the ones Ogletree chooses to study) are all species who either don't seem to exhibit long-term evolution or were only recently reintroduced into being alive. I think it'd be helpful to have a non-negative example of what they're looking for here--maybe a flygon skeleton that has a longer snout, suggesting that they used to nectar feed before the desertification intensified or something.

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

Damascus is the best friend and please let nothing bad happen

The months that had followed, diligently logging his lileep's diet, emotive responses and battling progress were the first time he'd seriously considered a career in research. And the fellowship was probably what had made the difference for him in landing this internship.

This was a really neat tie-in, both to character and world. Basically directly as I was reading this, I was wondering why Haru would have a fossil pokemon, and then boom, an answer.

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

<3

He gently unlatched Damascus' tendrils from his body, wincing at the cradily's confused whine. "I'll see you again soon, Damascus."

NOTHING BAD HAPPEN PLEASE

My heart, of course Mew doesn't need our milk. It's us who needs to give it.'

This line stuck with me back when I read it months ago. Some things are important for what they cause us to do, not what they do for us.

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

jesus fucking christ my heart is not ready for the roller coaster that is this story

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

part 2 of not being ready
The word choice here is poignant, and sad. We get glimpses of Haru's dark times and his doubt, but we never see the full thing--and I found that fitting, honestly. We don't need to see to know, and I'm fairly certain Haru isn't looking back either. You do a great job of shaping out this nebulous period of rumination and guilt and how it defines him without ever actually looking it in the face.

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

There's something beautiful about how this story builds imo. We see the poem in the first chapter, and it's special in a way, but what really gives it meaning is what it ultimately inspires Haru to do. It's a lesson that's only as powerful as you want it to be.

Of all of it—the fellowship, the badges, the internship—the only choice he could really take pride in was the last, disastrous one. No matter what else happened, Heconilia was out there, flying free as Ho-oh intended.

yes she's definitely flying free nothing bad is happening

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

"Wait!" Haru shouted. "Wait!"

I loved this as a dream sequence--the tower is where Suicune was reborn; Haru must make a similar choice, but he doesn't. And failing to choose is a choice as well, as he's seen.

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

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

Wasn't sure why this makes him fumble the rice ball? Is he just so excited to meet another researcher?

Doctor Qian didn't dwell much more on what she labeled the "stress-production cycle." Her paper measured its impact on the pokemon's health. And the numbers from her study were grim. Haru's gut was churning by the time he set the paper down.

wow Pen I had no idea this topic interested you

The rain was a growing drumbeat against the window; Haru hadn't noticed when it first began.

this probably wasn't a metaphor but I like to pretend it is one--it fits in nicely with the language of the story, of Haru being swept up in things and not being able to tell when the first bad things began.

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

awwww yay it's funding ethics!

Companies were money grubbing, but they wouldn't condone electric pokemon dying just to save a few yuans. Would they?

"it never gets old watching your protagonists try to explain that breaking the law is illegal", part 4

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

oh hey, it's DevCo.

I like this reimagining/adjacent idea to infinity energy--it's less blatantly evil. No pokemon are actively dying; they're fine! They're working hard, wow, it's so cool how they can get jobs in human society that aren't battling! They are being treated so well. DevCo is almost comically evil in how silly it is, how they're just slaughtering puppies for coal when there's perfectly good puppies that don't need to be slaughtered right around the corner. I like the flip here; it's something that people would reasonably not be completely affronted about, the kind of thing where the vast majority of the popularion would just shrug. What else can you do?

Befriended a one under the bike-path, smiled at the way it jumped among the patches of clover, chasing its own electric sparks.

wow a wild typo

But yes didn't encompass a childhood spent learning at Grandmother's feet, or that dark, cruel year in Rustboro, when he cried every time he tried to pray.

I like this idea that words fail to convey meaning, immediately followed by a very vivid meaning--by the end it's clear what Haru is trying to say, but it's also clear why he doesn't say it.

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

yes but what if they ate the rich

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

I like how this couples even further, and now Haru's just conveying information that he doesn't even know anything about.

His nav rested like a hot coal in his pocket.

Sure glad this isn't relevant.

She might have completely misread the situation. "I was wondering how projects get funded. How is that determined? Where does the money come from?"

It's true! People might have had a big misunderstanding where no one politely told them that breaking rules is illegal.

Haru tried a different tact, remembering the way Doctor Ogletree had paused to lecture in the corridor when the topic turned to his own research.

this is a clean transition

That Steven Stone's a good influence—appreciates a good archeological dig, that man. I met him myself, actually, last year at the annual meeting of the Society for the Preservation of Prehistoric Pokemon.

awww, what a lovely lad. I heard he does lots of research too!

"Working here, young man, you'll have to learn that there's a time for asking questions and a time for bucking down and doing what you're told."

I imagine you want "buckling" over "bucking" here

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

god what a fucking mood

That day already seemed like a distant island—like a full sea had closed in behind him.

the water metaphors really build throughout these later chapters, which is fitting, and also sad.

"that they can never take from you, because what is in here is so true and so right. It's the flame that Arcanine brought us. I know some here tell it another way. But all the same, it's that very flame Arcanine gave to humanity from a place of mercy, and each generation bears that debt and that duty, tending to this land we've been given. Mauville Power Plant's forgotten that duty. Tonight, we're gonna remind them."

</3

In the alleyway, a wild magnemite was attempting to feed off the nearest street-light, but the pokemon-proofed casing defeated it.

"was attempting" and "defeated" read a bit awkwardly to me

He felt unmoored, incomplete. The night was utterly calm; in the distance, he spotted the tell-tale flares of volbeat, circling over the sea.

[this was also a good water metaphor]

His arm completed the arc of the throw before he even registered his hand on the kettle.

he's sharing tea!!

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

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

I love the mini flashback here, and the fury that's present in so few words.

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

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

Ugh. My heart. She and her son have drifted apart, but I can feel the desperation here, where she's reaching out for her grandson and desperately hoping that he'll carry some part of the burden forward. It's gut-wrenching to think about--she doesn't get to see what happens to Haru here, she doesn't know that he thought of her constantly, that he carried her here and he shoulders the burden; she only died alone in Ecruteak. But maybe she had faith.

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

This and the repel were a cool detail.

When Haru reached the third, his heart stopped.

Well well well, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions.

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

Beginning to wonder if Haru understands what choices are.

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

GOD NO STOP HAVING THESE CUTE SCENES WHERE SMALL CHILDREN OFFER BERRIES TO CUTE POKEMON AND THEY BECOME FRIENDS AND THEN HORRIBLE THINGS HAPPEN TO EVERYONE
I can feel the guilt in "nothing she could have tasted before", fuck

Haru had closed his eyes, imagining how that would feel. Knowing that if the change didn't come, you would die. In that moment, all you had was your faith.

this sequence was beautiful

Finally, he thrust out his nav and let her read the words inscribed there like an epitaph.

can u let us read the words pls i need to know how fucked heconilia is

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

The caterpie through-line is sooooo good here.

and, like the unbidden wind . . .

. . . she was free.

 

[love]

Review for chapters 7+8

Chapter 7

Either this yard was abandoned, he thought, or the owner didn't accept the premise of weeds.

My kinda gal

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

Usually science article titles are lowercase, except for the first word, but maybe the pokemon world has different conventions

Companies were money grubbing, but they wouldn't condone electric pokemon dying just to save a few yuans. Would they?

My sweet summer child. Also, does "money grubbing" need a hyphen?

"If pokemon are dying to power Hoenn—that's unjust." / The word came out a hiss between his teeth.

It's kind of an understated thing, but this reaction really frightens me. As in, I'm frightened for Haru, because we know how strongly he feels about injustice and how ready he is to put himself on the line.

Befriended a one under the bike-path

"a one" is kind of unusual. I wonder if there's an advantage to it over "one".

There is something... I almost want to say "simple-minded" about Haru. He doesn't really have a strong direction, but he sure does know when he doesn't like something

DevCo's a massive funder, of course. Been very generous with my research. That Steven Stone's a good influence—appreciates a good archeological dig, that man.

Oh yeah Steven and DevCo exist outside of Continental Divides

When he opened his mouth, instead of a scream, he heard himself say, "Count me in."

"instead of a scream" says a lot. To me it means he is doing this out of frustration as much as anything. Right now he feels he has no one to turn to, not even his pokemon. I really felt awful for him when he went to talk to Damascus and realized it would get him in trouble. One can't help but think that he might not have been so quick to commit more crimes if he had simply had someone to vent to (aside from Maliki, kind of)

Chapter 8

We have no creed.

Like Haru himself, this group doesn't have a clear direction, but they know what they don't like. I'm getting the sense that a moral of this story may be that it's bad to be too reactive. You need to take a more measured approach if you want to save the world—and yourself. Could help to have a positive, long-term goal and think of how to reach it. I have to wonder what, exactly, Haru's ideal world looks like.

the kettle sobbing on the counter-top.

I understand what you were going for in retrospect, but when I read this initially it really didn't click that this was supposed to be a description of the kettle's whistling.

His arm completed the arc of the throw before he even registered his hand on the kettle.

Seems he acts on instinct/emotion on both a micro and macro level

The sight was somehow obscene.

I felt this might do better without the "somehow"

A mistake. Like mixing up sugar and salt.

This trivialization makes me think maybe Maliki isn't so concerned with the consequences of actions, but more the intent behind them. Pretty different from my own mindset. We'll see if future events support my supposition, or if it matters.

I have little else to say. Thrilling chapter. You use a lot of creative verbs/descriptions and somehow it's not clunky or awkward.

 

[bluesidra]

Oh! Oh my! You recommended this ages ago when I asked about worldbuilding around Ecruteak and Johtonian religion, or religion in general. And boy did I get more than I ever asked for. Perfect recommendation, I’m just sad that I didn’t have the capacity to check it out sooner.

Oh wow. I just… feel so “at home” with this? Like, it resonates with me, on so many levels. Remember when I wrote that Lena’s narration made me feel all sorts of feels? Well, this didn’t. And in one very, very strange way, it felt so much more better.

I’ve been going through why people don’t find Hana relatable or can’t put themselves in her shoes, and a lot of Show vs Tell stuff. And that’s all my problems, and I don’t even wanna claim that my writing is comparable to yours, at all. It’s just… Haru’s voice feels so nice and drained of emotions, very matter-of-factly. One thing happens after the other. He is rational and distanced. He has feelings, but they are muted and only come later, after the fact. They are hidden in memories and thoughts. That alone made me relate to him so much. One, because I often feel like I myself act a lot like this, and also because I finally found something else where I can say “look, it’s also got a emotionally distant voice, and you like it.” Now, there might still be things off about my writing. I’m so bad at reading/giving feedback on emotional stuff. I don’t even know if Haru and Hana’s voices compare at all. But at least it made me feel very very good. So thank you about that.

Also, the marrying tradition with modernity and that superb worldbuilding are two things I have on my theme-list. Not to mention the environmental aspect, that I scratched because I’m not smart enough for it. I think I don’t have to write my fic any longer. I have found the story that I didn’t have when I decided to start writing it myself :D

Then, Haru himself. Oh boy. I… can relate so much. Having finished one path, and the world basically open in front of you, and now you have to choose, and everything you do is not enough because the world is just so wrong. Raised in a family of important religious figures. Having done everything correctly, all your life, and still feel like nothing clicks, even though you make everything click.

But. Second emotional breakdown today aside, I’ll try to go through it as analytical as possible.

Spoiler: Haru

Aside from being relatable on a very personal level, Haru is a nice change in pace for a main character. He has already achieved big things (8 badges plus several league challenges), and is now looking for the life after that. He has decided on studying biology, and starts out strong with an internship in a research facility.

Haru is an incredibly withdrawn, introspective person, with one gigantic filter between his brain and his mouth. When he went through the registration process in the very first chapter, he was so socially awkward around the woman that was lightly flirting with him, I had to giggle. And while I knew he was supposed to be nervous because he was hiding something, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only slightly worse than his usual awkwardness.

He later admits that he is also not open about his emotions, rather eating them up inside until they slowly fade. They are slowly coming to the surface now, but I get that. And somehow, this fic is nuanced and “mature” enough that I don’t feel like his approach is a bad approach (the I’m Fine™ approach, as we call it here on TR). It is rather just the way he is.

His family history is interesting, and nicely given to the reader in bite-sized pieces. They come from a line of priests from the heart of Johtonian religion itself, Ecruteak city (I don’t know if that is correct in your worldbuilding, but if you replace “Johtonian religion” with “Shinto-Buddhism” and Ecruteak with Kyoto, it plays out.) But their parents moved to the more prosperous Rustboro (I assume), in order to further his father’s career, and also to give their children a better future. Grandma became sick in their absence and died in Ecruteak, alone. Haru still hasn’t forgiven himself or his parents for that.

His grandmother had a huge influence on his life, and taught him a lot about her religious practices and beliefs. Even his name was suggested by her – Haru, a traditional Johtonian name and a long tradition in their family. This already contrasts him to his sister Erika, who has a western/modern name and is a career woman, who shows little interest in “the old ways.”

Haru himself is drifting, without much of a purpose. He didn’t feel much sense or purpose when he was a semi-professional trainer, either, but (and I’m speculating) his pokemon and the traveling and the challenges kept his mind occupied enough, so that he didn’t have to think too hard. Like, I get you. The existential dread of GenX, my friend…

Now he wants to study biology, because (also speculating) it is an important field. The climate is changing, the world is changing, and he should put his brain to the cause, to stop it. But over the course of the story, he gets more and more disillusioned by the research establishment.

But Haru thinks a lot like a scientist. He is very analytical and sees situations in a rather neutral light. I love love love how he asked his boss at the institute about funding and Dr Qian’s work. He listened and made his mind up after the fact. There is a movie quote that comes to mind. “See what you can see with eyes unclouded by hate.” It’s a mantra I’ve had since I was very small and if you know where it’s from, you are my new favorite person.

A thing I noticed about Haru and his interaction with his pokemon. They are not very… cordial? Like, don’t get me wrong. He clearly loves his pokemon and he has a very deep understanding of their language, their biology and their needs. He cares for them deeply and they return the feelings. But they don’t seem to share this intimate bond that I so often see in other fics. Haru is distanced, even when he’s in a fight alongside them. He analyzes the situation and responds accordingly, it is all very much routine to him. Which is understandable, after 8 (i think) years in the pro-circuit. Hm… I don’t quite get across what I mean here… Anywho, I really really enjoyed that. In the same vein as I recognised a lot of Haru’s thought processes, I also found the way he treats and relates to his pokemon very familiar. It's just so nice to see that in someone else, too.

(after-edit-me typing: I’ve read through some of the previous reviews and someone mentioned that Haru seems to act a lot on emotion and instinct. Which is totally counterintuitive to what I said, and that worries me. Do you by chance have any opinions on that?)

Spoiler: Worldbuilding: World

I love how you described, or, more correctly, worldbuild your… world.

The descriptions are nice, and once or twice per location I get that feeling of poesie from their descriptions. But, well, I read a lot of romanticism in my school-years, and that’s where the real whimsy of location description is buried. Anyways, I always got the sense of vastness from them (save for route 117 and the power plant). The rainforests felt large, wide, and dangerous. Mauville felt multi-facetted, modern, and colorful.

The ranger stations and the whole system around the emergency beacon is very smart and feels very realistic. Also, yay! Bureaucracy! My genes frolic. Then the fact that dexes and navs can break from the water. I at first wondered about how much sense the beacon made, but then I figured how useful an almost undestroyable, single-use-device is in such conditions.

The classification of pokemon and trainers is very interesting and makes a lot of sense, but it’s also heartbreaking. Having to part with your pokemon after you settle down? That’s just cruel. And the no-release-rule is also something very sensible. But also cruel. It's another point that I can see work and that I understand, but that makes me really sad. But I’m on Haru’s side. Rules are there for a reason.

But the real treat is I guess how real everything feels. Can’t really speak for rainforest expeditions, but Haru’s wet journey is approximately how I imagined a trip through route 120 when I played it back in RSE. And then Mauville. Oh. My. God. It is beautiful. It doesn’t feel like a pokemon city at all. In fact, nothing in this fic feels like pokemon, but that is what makes it so special. It feels like a real city. With different quarters, new apartment complexes and old, smaller, crammed city parts.

Maliki’s apartment I could almost smell. It is very rare that I have a vivid image of a scene in front of my eyes the moment I read the description, but this one is so clear, it’s like it’s already a picture on pinterest. And it’s distinctly red and orange and smells like curry, old wood, sweat and many different bodies. I don’t even think it’s because I’ve been to such places before or because I have strong memories about them. The description is just breath-taking.

The Lilycove Shopping Mall? It felt so alive. I always find the shopping malls in the game underwhelming, because, well, I get that, from a gameplay perspective, you throw a bunch of merchant-class npcs into one place and then spend the rest of the day trying to balance their inventory. But man. Your mall? I loved how there were many people, how Haru got time to look at things, how the tea-shop felt like its own little secret world that could be discovered. And it made me think about how many other secret worlds there were in that mall. The description of the ground floor made my agoraphobia spike, I got to admit. I wouldn’t have bought a ball there, not if my life depended on it. Because I would not have set foot in it. Oh, and the tidbit about Devon controlling the electronics prices in western Hoenn? Makes Hoenn just a little bit larger.

Spoiler: Worldbuilding: Religion

The reason I came here originally. Trying to steal other people’s brainwork. But despite my best stealing efforts, there is surprisingly “little” to steal. Now do not get me wrong! There is a shitton of religion and worldbuilding around it here, and I love every single piece of it. But you managed to tread around the two very touchy subjects of a) naming them and b) describing how the power structure in the different “sects” look like. Which is a really clever move. And, funnily enough, if one doesn’t look like I do, you wouldn’t even notice it.

It all comes down to the handy-dandy trick of making the religious aspects deeply personal to Haru and the place of worship an explicitly unconventional, multi-deity temple. So instead of a name, I will try to steal these tips :D Oh, and you can bet that that shrine to Ho-oh goes into my stealing wagon as it is!

But enough with the thievery. There is already enough criminal activity in this fic without my doing.

Ho-oh and Lugia as head-deities come across as sufficiently powerful, without ever placing them into any hierarchy or pantheon. Though, granny (and Haru) seem very relaxed about the fact that they have left mankind. They just accept it with the pokemon-usual shrug. I mean, okay, Christianity had Jesus come and go and is all chill about it, but that was 2,000 years ago, and not the 150 years of Ho-oh and Lugia’s departure. GSC/HGSS left us with very very little worldbuilding on actual religion, and so the actual only Ho-oh worshiper in the mainline games is Morty. And he is rather heartbroken about the birdo not returning, so I thought that would be a broader issue.

The three beasts have a very interesting interpretation here. They have absolutely no canonical lore to their worship. Here, their narrative serves as a powerful parallel to the story. I almost wanted to say that it’s harsh that you place them in such a ranking, but then I reconsidered. Me valuing one of their paths over the other is probably a reflection of what society deems “desirable” at the moment. And since we live in a society (insert Joker here) that claims to value individualism, of course I think that Suicune made the “superior” choice. But Entei’s calm, reclusive, self-sustaining existence used to be a very attractive life-model in different periods, as well as Raikou’s strive for power.

I liked how you drew the parallel to people. Because, well, that’s pretty true, and also beautifully executed with Haru’s speech. And really made me think.

Spoiler: Chapter by Chapter Summary

Oh, right, something happens. A lot of it, actually. For only eight chapters and 29k words, there’s a lot of plot happening. Haru goes through a lot of decisions, and a lot of criminal activities, to be honest.

Chapter 1: The Choice

Haru registers to go into the wilderness of route 119. We learn a lot about him, his journey so far and about how you aren’t allowed to release your pokemon here. (I was entirely convinced that the word “dumping” referred to nonorganic waste, and therefore took everything super light until it hit me like a piano in a black-and-white movie.)

We learn that he has already placed most of his pokemon with their new owners, after his trainer’s license would expire and he wasn’t legally allowed to keep them. But his tropius, Heconilia, wanted to return to her home. Which is a problem, because that’s illegal. But he owes her that much, and so he decides to break the law. Only this one time, he tells himself. It wasn’t only one time.

Chapter 2: The Consequence

Heconilia is going strong! She finds herself a new herd, gets a beta-orbiter boyfriend and becomes leader of the new herd all in one, very chaotic go. I’m cheering for my little big girl all along.

Haru doesn’t have such a nice time, as he is stalked by a pesky ninja boy, who wants to catch a tropius himself. As he attacks the herd, our girl-boss Heconilia shows him what’s up, immediately bringing Haru into more trouble.

The trouble only worsens when Heconilia almost kills the boy. The problem here is "almost."

Chapter 3: The Flight

Haru saves ninja boy soon to be corpse Haru from the worst, recalls his pokemon but leaves his Ninjask out to dry its wings. He briefly considers murder to cover his tracks as a pokemon-dumper, but decides against it, instead activating the boy’s emergency beacon before robbing him blind and taking his pokemon. Well, to be honest, he only took the nav by accident and the Ninjask attached itself to him without his consent. But almost the same.

He gets rid of Heconilia’s ball and lies his way through the ranger station, getting rid of his trainer’s license and smuggling Ninjask out as he’s at it.

Back at the pokemon center, Ninjask still doesn’t want to leave him. He bonds with it, finding out that she’s actually a girl and calls her Atalanta. Later that night, Wei’s nav gets a text message from Haru’s soon-to-be bff Marve and Haru destroys the evidence.

Chapter 4: The Waypoint

Haru has a not so hearty call with his mother and his sister. Zones out a bunch of times, while his mother reminds him in true mom-fashion to get his life together. Turns out, he forgot to look for an apartment. Shit.

He does some errands at the mall and his criminal streak continues as he buys an illegal ball from none other than good old Marve. Later the day, he almost gets roped into joining team snagem, but then leaves.

Chapter 5: The Safehouse

Haru looks for apartments, and I can already tell him that that’s not going to end well. Only one week or sth to find an apartment? Bullshit.

After being pretty disillusioned, he goes to the shadier parts of town and runs into a temple. Out of nostalgia, he prays there and a woman, Maliki approaches him, offering the kind fellow religious person an apartment. This is where Haru’s life in the hippie flat share begins.

He releases Atalanta and then goes shopping (I loved that scene and his grocery list). He researches a name Maliki gave him and finds an article about how the Mauville power plant’s method of extracting electricity from pokemon hurts them dramatically.

Then he gets an email and the suspense doubles and triples, but our drug addict chooses to avoid confrontation and passes out instead.

Chapter 6: The Awakening

Haru checks out his new workplace and meets his Cradily, Damascus again. They have a lovely, tentacly conversation.

In the evening, Haru takes part in some sort of spiritual get-together. He has a very emotional moment thinking about his grandmother, and about the tale of the legendary beasts. He feels like Suicune, who chose to be free, is calling to him.

Chapter 7: The Initiation

Haru visits the researcher who wrote the paper about the power plant pokemon and learns how bad things are. And how the industry has a big saying in science and that science is not as unbiased as he hopes it is.

They have a deep (and I mean that in the best way) talk about religion, and their opposing views. Qian with a rather cynical one, while Haru is hopeful. But he finds the right words to sway them to their side. Who’s side? Well, Haru would like to know, too.

He is very confused and upset and wants to visit Damascus, but gets intercepted by Mr Boss. He gives him a tedious task, but Haru gets to ask a lot of questions about researching and funding. Here, we get a rather nuanced explanation. It’s not easy getting funding, and you do what you have to do in order to fight the good fight, even if it means licking boots.

Out of frustration, he joins Maliki in an ominous and totally not terrorist meeting “tonight”

Chapter 8: The Raid

Haru is now a full fledged eco-terrorist, vandalises industrial complexes with religious propaganda, injures humans and pokemon alike and abducts one-hundred pokemon from the plant.

It sounds better to him, and it is better reasoned, but that is, in essence, what he does.

Later that suspense about his deeds on route 119 come to light. Sort of. But whatever it is, it isn’t good.

Spoiler: My Thoughts

Haru makes a lot of very illegal choices, which is very unlike him, and from all I know about him, I 100% believe that. But it is also told in a way that makes his decisions seem inevitable. Well, no. He was never forced. He knew exactly when he could turn back and knowingly decided against it, because it was the only right thing to do.

And I am completely on his side. Which is… well… if you know me, I’m very pro establishment. Jackie once called me the epiphany of Lawful Neutral. The laws are there for a reason. But I also get him. I can’t say I would have acted the same – I’m more Entei than Suicune – but so far, I’m 100% on his side. And I never thought I’d side with a terrorist.

From all the stories with a Message, I think this one is the best so far. Most of them make me either very anxious, depressed or angry. But you are very gentle with your ideas, and you give them enough time for both Haru and me to sink in. It also helps that Haru is very neutral in this conflict, and only starts to protest when lifes are on the line. Which, well, overlaps so well with my baseline, that it just clicks.

I do not think that the way they are going about is the right way. But I don’t know what’s the right way, and there’s a reason why I shy away from the news and such stuff in general. It’s just very depressing. But I would love to find out and explore different paths alongside Haru.

His religious background ties into it flawlessly. It is a motivator, but the core beliefs are so universal, that it crosses religious borders. I think even a non-religious person can very well understand and root for him.

Again, I love how you depict faith in a modern world. Because it is absolutely not easy. I have gone through it, too, and probably failed where Haru could hold on to his faith. But for once in my life, I feel neutral when comparing myself to others.

The topic and the characters are mature, and you narrate it in a mature way. I love it. I want an endless supply please.

So, okay, this has gone on for quite a while now. You poor soul will have to read it, and I need a few braincells to give you further feedback on the next chapter. *checks date on chapter 8* Oh.

Pen, get updating! Pls! If you don’t, I pretend Haru died in the power plant, and the story has a very sad and abrupt ending.

Spoiler: Linequotes

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

Oh. Second readthrough. I know what happens to these tapestries and my heart breaks a little.

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

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

Heconilia is surprisingly submissive? for a pokemon of her caliber. I pictured a pro-circuit mon way more assertive. But then again, she wanted it and was very much looking forward to this moment.

And when he did stir, what then?

Murder.

Heconilia trilled again. This time she seemed concerned.

Heconilia appeared out of the blue. Speaking of ignoring the elephant in the room. She wasn't established in the beginning of the chapter, which gave me a bit of whiplash here.

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

Oh, one question on the wb: I suppose Haru names all his mons after Johtonian myths. And even if not: Atalanta is (same as Heconilia) a very latin-greek-ish sounding name. How come?

This fuzziness—this aimless, wild feeling—had to end.

Mate. I've been having that for the last ten years. It won't leave, you just pretend it isn't there.

"Broken ball, right? 20,000 yen."

For some reason I thought you mentioned poke before. But apparently you didn't. I like yen over poke btw. Good call!

Some act of terrorism over in Johto.

That is nothing to scroll over!!!

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

Haru found himself speeding up, though not out of fear. The place seemed more depressing than dangerous.

The egg sizzled gently in the pan. Haru watched with drowsy eyes as the yolky mixture slowly firmed. He slid his spatula under and rolled it over. Sizzle. Roll. Repeat.

Ahm... here we see three instances of me simping for Haru.
Like, I'm here trying to wb for my good buddy Morty, and in these three instances, it was him. Like, no, of course it was your character, but in me, my inner Morty-tuning-fork began to resonate. Is this the most awkward compliment I ever made? Possibly. But it really gud!
Haru is an adult. He has this very calm confidence about him (even if, half of the time, his face just doesn't react fast enough to his feelings and it's a pokerface). He can cook. Please marry me.

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

That... is a very good twist on the matter. I shall steal it... but for my real life.

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

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

Oh god, flashbacks of my intern-days reemerge from my mind!

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

What a beautiful sentence.

Like Entei, some people just seek rest. They're not lazy but they're not driven, either. They live for quiet moments, for peace.

I seek rest. Thank you for this sentences.

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

He wasn't like his parents or his sisters. But he wasn't better than them, either. What had he accomplished in all his wandering? Of all of it—the fellowship, the badges, the internship—the only choice he could really take pride in was the last, disastrous one.

I relate...

Knowing that if the change didn't come, you would die. In that moment, all you had was your faith.

That is another very beautiful sentence. And it summons the essence of faith up in a very powerful way.

A colony of oddish whirled in the moonlight, their fronds swaying to some private melody. A bellossom spun in their midst. Petals, vividly pink against night, fluttered through the air. The beauty was disconcerting. Haru stood spell-bound; his nose and throat clogged with musk and jasmine.

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

Okay, that was a bit on the nose, no?

 

[Pen]

@WildBoots @kintsugi @love @Starlight Aurate @Phoenixsong @HelloYellow17 @Flyg0n @Flaze @Persephone @bluesidra
. . . Hi. It's been a hot minute. I told myself, I had better write review replies to all the lovely and wonderful people who gave me their thoughts on this story. And now it's been over a year. At this point, I think a new chapter is the best response I can give.

I'll just say that I've really appreciated the thoughtful and personal ways people have engaged with this story and that I have returned to these reviews many times when I needed some writing motivation. A special shout-out to kintsugi for her beyond-beautiful spray-paint Suicune (here, if you missed it) and bluesidra, for walloping me in the face with an eight-chapter binge-read review that finally pushed me into finishing chapter nine, or else.

I've at times referred to chapter nine as being the final chapter. Turns out it's . . . not. There will also be a chapter ten--I hope this one won't take a year, but as someone not-so-wise once said, "I can’t promise you anything. I'm sorry."

 

[Pen]

Chapter Nine - The Return
​

Erika picked up on the final ring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes?"

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

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

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

It's not her fault she was born sightless.

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

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

*​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gone.

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

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

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

*​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*​

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Licenses," the ranger said in monotone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Here?!"

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

"Yes, here," the ranger said shortly.

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

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

"Corpse-chasers." The ranger sank back into his chair, eyeing them with fresh disdain. "How much?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How much would a picture be worth to your precious readers?"

Haru understood first. He thought of the wad of 10,000 yen notes in his pack—his full savings, carefully tucked away in a waterproof pouch—and didn't hesitate. The station was silent except for the groan of the heating pipes as he pulled out two fresh notes and laid them on the table. It was too much, he knew. Far too much for a half-rate newspaper's bribe.

But the ranger slipped the cash into his pocket without comment. "One picture. That's all you get."

They followed him behind his desk like children on a school trip, through a cramped break room into a windowless chamber. The only source of light was a grumpig slouched in a bean bag chair—the jewel on its belly emitted a faint purple glow.

Slumped on the ground next to it was Heconilia.

Haru froze. Only Maliki's discreet nudge got him over the threshold.

Heconilia had never once looked small. Wherever she went, she took up space—her wings spreading out, her neck arching and twisting, always searching, always curious. Now her wings lay limp against her back and her bare neck was curled close to her body. The purple light lent her green skin a sickly cast. When they approached, she didn't stir.

"We're not set up for this," the ranger said, filling the silence. His gaze was a little askew, as if reluctant to look too long at the room's central attraction. "It's a trainer's pokemon, so we can't capture it without an override ball, and the League always takes their sweet time processing our requisitions for those. Jun's getting tired. She didn't sign up to be a jailor."

"You didn't either," Haru said. In his peripheral vision, he saw Maliki's head jerk in a sharp negating gesture, but he had to try. He took a small step forward. "She's not violent. She's not feral. She's not a nuisance. She acted in defense of her herd. She doesn't deserve to die for it."

The ranger gave a half-shrug. "Probably not. You gonna take your picture?"

"You could let her go," Haru said. He made eye contact with both of them as he said it, the stooped ranger and the bleary grumpig. The ranger's eyebrows shot upwards. The grumpig blinked slowly.

"Sure. And lose my job." He frowned. "You're not really from the Sun, are you."

Before either of them could answer, he flipped a switch on the wall. Haru reeled against the sudden flood of light.

"Shit. You're the trainer."

Three things happened in quick succession. The ranger began to shout a garbled command to the grumpig. Maliki drew a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and clapped it across his face. And Atalanta jetted out from Haru's pack like an escaping bottle cork.

As the ranger stumbled backward, coughing, the grumpig's gem flashed and Haru's knees locked. He couldn't move his legs, but his mouth was still free.

"Double team and then bug bite."

Atalanta's form rippled and split. One ninjask dove straight at the grumpig, whose gem shifted to a diamond-white. The power gem attack hit the ninjask headlong, obliterating it, even as the true ninjask swept in from behind, her small mandibles clamping tight onto the back of the grumpig's head.

The grumpig let out a pained grunt, and Haru could move again. The ranger had staggered almost to the door, but as he reached for the handle he swayed and then crumpled forward. The sleeping spore—the last of Haru's supply—had done its job.

As Atalanta dodged a second power gem, Maliki bent over the fallen ranger and rose with a pokeball in hand. The recall light blazed red—and just like that, it was over.

Haru was bent at Heconilia's side before he was conscious of moving. Even the light and noise of the impromptu battle hadn't managed to dislodge her from sleep. Drugged sleep, Haru realized, when he shook her and received no response. She wouldn't be able to escape this place under her own power. His hands still shaking, Haru drew out the broken ball from his pack.

"We shouldn't take the ferry," Maliki said. She was standing by the doorway, looking out. "It only runs on the hour. If they come after us before then, there's nowhere to run. I have a contact who lives on the outskirts of Fortree. If we can just get to her, we'll be safe."

It was the first Haru had heard about any kind of contact, but he accepted it with a nod. Maliki treated information like food in a famine: you got only what was necessary to survive.

Outside, the rain fell lightly, its delicacy at odds with the disjointed pulsing of Haru's heart. The water had soaked the path dark, but it was not yet so muddy that their tracks showed.

The back of Haru's neck prickled as they walked. With each step he expected pursuit to burst from the small gray station receding behind them. Instinct shouted at him to run, to hide, anything to get out of sight, to not inch his way along the path as exposed as a caterpie under a pidgeotto's predatory eye. But in order to reach Fortree, they first had to cross the bridge. It was only a short distance by the path, but if they ventured off-road too quickly, the bridge might be watched by the time they re-emerged to cross. Navigating the dark maze of the canopy was treacherous without a nav or a guide. Last time Haru had been here, he had both.

As they rounded the first bend, Haru slowed as if he'd waded into deep water. His right hand tightened around Heconilia's ball. His left leaped to the rainbow wing buried under his rain jacket.

This was where the rain had spoken to him.

Grandmother, if you're there . . .

No answer came except for the plaintive rush of wind through the canopy. Haru shivered. He cast down his eyes, wondering what he had expected—wondering at his own presumption that miracles could happen twice.

And then he saw it: a vine peeking over the edge of the path. The leaves were spade-shaped and veined with translucent white. He hurried to crouch beside it. First his fingers met the cool slickness of wet plant, then clay-like soil, until at last they closed around something solid. He tugged.

The chesto berry was pale-blue and already beginning to mold. It rained here far too frequently for the plant to thrive, but chestos were invasives, sprouting wherever trainers dropped their seeds. Haru held the berry up to Maliki, who made a prayer-sign.

They both knew a blessing when they saw one.

*​

By the time they reached the bridge, the quiet felt almost eerie. Half-way down the road they had passed the teenagers from the station, who were too engrossed in their own conversation to give Haru and Maliki a second glance. But beyond that, the path stayed empty behind them and the sky clear of pursuit. How long until someone entered the station and wondered why there was no active ranger at the post? How long until the station received a call that went unanswered? How long did it take an absence to become a presence?

Even if it was only an illusion of safety, Haru felt his breath ease as they turned off the road. The light dimmed immediately, as if in a few steps they had passed from morning into twilight. When they came to a small gap in the trees, Haru released Heconilia.

He had thought she would look more like herself in the green half-light of the jungle, but somehow it had the opposite effect. She looked like a branch cut from a tree, the leaves limp and wilting, sinking into the dirt to decompose.

Haru shook away the image and began to peel the chesto berry, exposing its milk-white innards. He eased Heconilia's jaws open until he could lay a thin slice on her tongue, where her saliva would break the fruit down enough to release its cortisol into her system. He waited, as Maliki stood sentry. After a minute, Heconilia's tongue began to move like a lazy seviper.

Haru risked a larger chunk. This time, Heconilia swallowed noisily and her head twitched, jerking upward. She surged into awareness like a summer gale. Her wings fanned out and a loud cry split from her throat. It rang out more piercing than a city siren.

"Heconilia, it's okay!" Haru called, afraid to raise his voice beyond a hushed shout. "It's me. You're safe now."

Her wild gaze finally registered him. She lumbered forward, and before Haru could move he found himself pinned to the damp earth, Heconilia's tongue rasping across his cheek. His arms came up to wrap around her neck. The skin there was soft like wooly hedge-nettle. She let out a gentle rumble and nuzzled his face again.

It felt so good to hold her close like this, to reassure himself with her solidity, her fragrance, the warmth and vitality of her skin. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and bask in it. But a thorn pricked in his chest.

"Heconilia, could you please—" His mouth had gone dry. He tried again. "Could you please show me your wings?"

It took a moment for his request to sink in. The chesto had woken her, but not entirely. Haziness lingered in her eyes and her heavy movements as she climbed off of him and fanned out her wings.

Haru had admired those wings from the first time he had seen them. The fronds had the same dark tone as a jade plant and the same smooth sheen. Then he'd seen her fly, and admiration had elevated into wonder.

Looking up at her now, Haru thought he might be sick. With her wings laid flat against her back, Haru hadn't been able to tell, but now he saw clear as day the five precise cuts in each wing-frond. The edges of the cuts were pink, but they didn't seem to have bled.

That's right, Haru thought inanely. Tropius wings don't bleed.

Perplexity floated across Heconilia's face. She flexed again, then began to beat her wings, faster and faster, the frantic flurry that signaled lift-off, but the air passed through her wings like wind through a wheatfield. She wheeled around, her amber eyes bright with panic, seeking an answer Haru couldn't give.

How could he explain? How could she understand, when he could hardly grasp it? He'd offered her a choice that night in Evergrande, and he hadn't known, hadn't grasped just how little choice remained for her. When she had followed him from Route 119, she had bound herself to the rules of a system she'd never learned and had never been taught, a trap that didn't show its blades until it sprang.

What had he achieved except to cause her more pain? If he had taken her to the Daycare, at least she would be safe from harm. At least she would still be able to fly.

Dimly, he registered Heconilia's bellowing and that Maliki was shaking him, her face frantic.

"She'll bring the whole jungle down on us," Maliki hissed. "Calm her or recall her, we have to move."

But Heconilia was gone. Maliki tugged at his arm again, and they set off behind her, following the trail of broken branches and crushed bromeliads. Even with her wings maimed, Heconilia moved with a speed that belied her bulk.

When they caught up with her, she had mounted a small plateau and she was no longer alone. Another tropius stood there, regarding Heconilia with hurt confusion. When he stepped forward, Heconilia growled, though the sound was more miserable than aggressive. The other tropius let out a low croon. He bared his neck, offering his fruit.

Heconilia winced. Her gaze dragged across the treetops, as if searching for an escape. Then, unbearably slowly, she unfurled her wings.

Haru closed his eyes as understanding set in. This was Heconilia's mate. But he wouldn't be, not after this. Tropius herds were migratory. They took wing every few turns of the sun, cycling through patches of fruit-trees. Heconilia wouldn't be able to join them. She hadn't just lost her wings—she had lost the life she'd begun to build here.

"Oh."

At Maliki's soft exhale, Haru blinked. Heconilia's mate hadn't flown away. As Haru watched with a dizzy disbelief, he took another step forward and bared his neck again. He crooned, more insistently.

"Heconilia," Haru said quietly. Her head jerked around—her amber eyes swam with doubt. "I think he means it."

Trembling, she extended her neck and closed her mouth around the fruit. The tropius stood still as she ate and when she had finished, he twined his neck around hers. Heconilia looked back at him in wonder.

It was the kind of moment that should have brought the world crashing to a halt, dispelled the clouds from the sky and set rainbows in their place. Nothing should have intruded on a moment like that, but Haru had to speak.

"They'll come after you again. They'll capture you and kill you, Heconilia. And I won't be here to stop it. If you come with me, I'll try to find somewhere safe for you, but I can't promise that it will be safe. I can't promise you anything, Heconilia. I'm sorry."

He'd never know, Haru realized, as Heconilia met his gaze with a strange, furious placidity and snuggled closer to her mate. He'd never know how fully she understood the consequences of this choice.

All he could do was bow his head in silent acknowledgement that she had found something she was willing to die for.

"Let's go," he said to Maliki. The rain tickled his nose and lips; the wind had nothing to add.

*​

The rest of the journey seemed to occur without Haru's conscious participation. He was aware of dense ferns, roots that cut across the ground, the curve of low-hanging vines, but it all seemed static, like a sequence of pictures projected from a film-reel. At one point, Maliki stiffened and pushed him to the ground. As he lay there, blinking, an oddish sprouted indignantly from the soil, made gigantic by the change in perspective. Belatedly, Haru caught the sound that had spooked Maliki—powerful wingbeats above. They remained stiff as silcoon until the sounds diminished, and then the film-reel journey resumed.

The trees thinned out, revealing patches of powdery blue sky. Twilight began to set in, but the growing dark only intensified the sky's blueness. Haru was possessed by the dreamy notion that as more and more light leached away, the sky would not turn black, but only become more perfectly blue.

"This way," Maliki said, jolting him from his stupor. She picked their path more carefully now, stopping on occasion to verify personal landmarks. In a patch of jungle only marginally more clear than the rest, Maliki came to a halt beneath a thick tree trunk.

She tugged at a vine—a rope, Haru realized as he came closer, dyed dark green to resemble its surroundings. A chime tinkled, followed by a long silence. Maliki's face grew taut.

"Who's there?" a woman's voice called out finally.

Haru expected relief from Maliki, but she swallowed before she spoke. "It's me, Dongmei. And a guest."

The voice didn't respond, but after a moment a rope ladder unfurled from above.

The woman waiting for them at the top was closer to Maliki's age than Haru's. She was tall, with a thin, tired face, her hair bound back in the loose ponytail ubiquitous around Fortree. A chimecho dozed around her neck.

She and Maliki stared at each other like strangers. The woman said, "So is this the kind of guest whose name I get to know?"

The polite thing to do would be to bow and introduce himself. Just two days ago, Haru would have done so without question, mortified by his delay. But he stood mute as Maliki answered for him, "Call him Caterpie. He needs transport."

"And what do you need, Mal?" the woman said quietly.

Discomfort flitted across Maliki's face. Equally quietly, she said, "Whatever you're willing to give."

The woman turned and beckoned them into her tree-house. Rayquaza streamers hung from the ceiling, strands of green, red and black fluttering gently as wind passed through the open door. Some Rayquaza sects held it sacrilegious to depict the god in any medium that was incapable of movement, Haru recalled. The famous mural at Sky Pillar still was subject to the occasional protest or attempted vandalism for that. The interior smelled of roasted berries, and when Haru's stomach let out a lurching rumble, he realized that he hadn't eaten since his unfinished, pre-dawn breakfast.

"You'll want tea," the woman said, but distractedly. "You're running again, aren't you."

"Dongmei—" Maliki lifted her hand towards the other woman's cheek. It lingered in the air like a hesitant beautifly. "It was necessary."

"You think anything that's right is necessary."

Maliki let out a short breath.

"I'll make tea," Haru said loudly. He made his escape before either of them could answer, though he was half-certain that they hadn't heard him. The lingering scent of berry roast guided him through a beaded curtain into a tight galley kitchen, where an iron teapot perched on a lightning stove. Haru discovered a pouch of jasmine in a hanging basket and a set of porcelain teacups stored low to the ground. He found himself taking an instant liking to this kitchen and the organized mind behind it. His mother had said that once, though she had meant it as an insult—that you could learn everything you needed to know about a person just from their kitchen.

. . . He was never going to see her again.

Haru spared a thought to be glad that he'd already set down the teapot, because at that moment his hands began to shake, and the shaking spread to his whole body. The kitchen had no chairs, so Haru sank down to the floor.

Tea. He had assaulted a federal officer and he was making tea.

This was no anonymous raid, spraying graffiti like a delinquent teenager and running off with a sack of pokeballs in the dark. The ranger had recognized him. Assault, dumping—theft? Haru's thoughts ran wildly, ping-ponged, and collided. Could he be charged with theft for stealing someone they'd intended to kill?

It had felt impossibly selfish to dwell on what he had forfeited, when Heconilia stood in front of him, hunted and mutilated. But now it roared up like the wind that hit after stepping off a cliff.

What now?

A shrill complaint sounded from his backpack. Haru had just enough sense left to undo the buckles—Atalanta crawled out, her tiny claws clinking against the wood floor. She scented curiously with her antenna, then let out another complaint call.

"Hungry?" Haru asked dully.

She hummed at him, pleased by the question. But when he didn't immediately offer food, she took to the air, buzzing from basket to basket.

He hadn't thought about what would come after. There was only failure—Heconilia's cold corpse, the cold bite of handcuffs on his wrists—or success. And what had success been, what had he imagined in the whirling recesses of his mind? A bright but hazy vision of Heconilia rising above the treeline with a triumphant bellow, Haru on her back. It had been a fantasy, from start to finish, the fantasy that one could fly and fly and never need to land.

Atalanta had settled next to a small ceramic pot on the counter. Her buzzing rose to a celebratory thrum as she made to thrust the lid aside.

"Careful, Atalanta, don't break it—"

At the hoarse crack of his voice, she paused in her honey-seeking and clambered back onto his head. Her pincers scraped at his scalp while her antenna probed the tip of his nose. No one could have called her cuddly, but she was real and she was alive.

Atalanta had the right idea, Haru decided. He forced himself to stand. The water seemed to have come to a boil some time ago without him noticing, so he steeped the tea while she burrowed herself in the honey jar, her shrills mellowing into ecstatic chirps.

As Haru poured the dark liquid into three cups, he realized that the low conversation from the living room had faded away. He steadied himself with a long breath and pushed back the curtain.

Dongmei sat on the couch, Maliki's head resting on her lap. Maliki's eyes were closed and her breath rose and fell to the steady pulse of sleep. Haru paused in the entrance-way, stricken.

When Dongmei noticed him, she gestured him over.

"Naps like a delcatty, doesn't she?" she said in a hushed voice. "Thank you for making tea."

"Thank you for hosting me." Finally, Haru found his manners. He made a bow deep enough to honor a high priest. "I'm so sorry to be intruding on you like this. And—my ninjask ate your honey."

"My honey." The woman looked at Atalanta, who shifted uneasily on Haru's head. A baffled smile curved across her face. "My honey." She began to chuckle softly to herself. "Your apology is accepted. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

There wasn't any room on the couch, so Haru settled on a floor cushion. He found his gaze sneaking back to Maliki's sleeping face. Somehow, he had exempted Maliki from the indignities of mundane human needs. It was startling to catch her occasional snore, the sudden twitch of her lip. He remembered the day he'd gone to visit Grandmother and found her kneeling in front of the Ho-oh shrine. He'd kept silent for ten whole minutes—an eternity for a seven-year-old—until a snore had made him jump, and he had understood that she wasn't in prayer after all, but had simply nodded off where she knelt.

"She doesn't rest enough," Dongmei said, picking up on Haru's unspoken train of thought. "I always tell her that."

"Have you been together long?" Haru asked clumsily.

Dongmei's lips pursed. "Long enough." With her free hand, the one not resting on Maliki's arm, she took a cup from Haru's tray. "She told me what you did. Don't worry," she added as Haru flinched, "I have more than enough practice telling half-truths to federal authorities. I just—" She blew on the tea and took a cautious sip. "Nicely brewed. This jasmine comes direct from Mt Pyre, you won't find better anywhere."

Haru sipped from his own cup, rolling the smooth liquid in his mouth.

"It's very good," he agreed, wondering if she would complete the thought she'd backed away from.

"I've never gone with her," the woman said abruptly, setting her cup down. "She's never asked me to. She knows what I'd say. I think it's right, what she does, only—I don't want to live like that, constantly running, never carrying more than fits in a backpack. I was so proud, when I first built this place, of having a home, the solidity of it. Maybe I'm a coward."

"I don't think that." Haru surprised himself with his vehemence. He took in the living room once more, the carefully carved cabinets, the silent dance of the rayquaza streamers, Maliki's peaceful face. "Places to rest—everyone needs that. Only Suicune can run forever."

Dongmei's forehead furrowed. She didn't accept his statement or deny it, but he could see that she was digesting it. She was the kind of person who thought about things long after they were spoken, Haru decided.

"My chimecho can teleport," she said briskly, after a minute had crept by. "Maliki will be staying here tonight, but how can I help you?"

Haru swallowed. "Atalanta"—he gestured to indicate the ninjask—"she needs to get back to Route 117. Would that be possible?"

Dongmei nodded.

"And you, Haru?"

Maliki's voice startled them both. Her eyes were still shut, and her braids fanned out around her face like a crown. "We're both a bit too hot for the worship house, I'm afraid. There are other houses, of course. Safe places."

Haru caught the curl of invitation in her voice, the same dare she'd made him once before. Which kind of person are you? He had crossed every line, and yet something in him still flinched away.

Because there was one place he could always land. It came back to him now, those laws and rights that had existed long before the first metal building ever pierced the Rustburo sky and would exist long after all buildings fell.

He felt the words before he spoke them—a gnawing ache in his chest, too long neglected. And he gave the answer that Heconilia had given, that night it all began.

"I want to go home," Haru said.

 

[HelloYellow17]

I’ve been looking forward to this! I enjoy your writing a lot, and this fic in particular has a strangely cozy feel despite all the existential crisis and the crimes and injustice and the anxiety-ridden protagonist, lol. Maybe it’s because it’s almost always raining or misty in each setting—which, considering this fic centers around the water-type Suicune’s freedom, seems fitting.

Spoiler: Line quotes

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

While it’s nice that Erika is at least kind to Haru (unlike his parents), it’s unfortunate that she still doesn’t understand him at all, and even now, when he’s calling her in crisis, her work still takes priority. Sure, she doesn’t know just how bad things are, but still. I feel for poor Haru.

Passersby wore dark rain slickers, walked with their heads bowed, but Haru pushed back his hood and let the rain tingle against his skin. Expanding puddles refracted the street lights—candle-orange, the light skated up buildings, down the street. It was the kind of weather that washed the world clean.

Love this—the rain seems symbolic of Haru’s decision to follow Suicune’s path, and the fact that he leaves his hood down to bask in the rain while everyone else hunkers down and shields them from it is a nice touch. Lots of parallels here.

Surskit glided lazily; merrill bobbed on the water, their skin sleek and azure.

This sentence read a little a strangely to me, mostly the way it ends on “their skin sleek and azure.” I’m not knowledgeable on the proper terminology so forgive me if I don’t explain it well, but it seems rather…passive? Something like “Marill bobbed on the water, raindrops sliding off their sleek and azure skin” sounds better to me.

As the boat charged forward, a feeling of unreality swept over him.

This one also reads a little strangely—“a feeling of unreality” just sounds off to me. I don’t have a specific example for how to rephrase this one, and it’s honestly a nitpick anyway, but I’m wondering if it can be tweaked a little.

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

Really enjoy the comparison here with Ninjask/Shedinja vs Haru and the supposedly “ideal” version of himself that would do the obedient thing and follow along like his family wants him to.

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

Love this, too. It seems Haru himself is still trying to figure out which is which. He wasn’t happy with his old life and choices, but is he happy now? Does he actually feel fulfilled with these choices he’s making?

He was stooped and wiry, and his face had formed into a deep scowl as he regarded the tween trainers before him.

This confused me for a second, because it wasn’t immediately clear that there were different trainers ahead of them in line. So at first I thought “tween trainers” was referring to Maliki and Haru, and I had to do a double take and read it again to understand.

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

Ugh. Yikes. They’re really going to kill her for it?? Why not at the very least relocate her, or something? Yes that’s awful too, because she has a life here, but at least she would still get to live.
Also, how did they find her?? If she and her herd took off after the incident, how were they able to track her down and figure out that she, specifically, was the one who attacked that snotty kid?

She's not a nuisance. She acted in defense of her herd.

This makes me wonder—is the kid gonna have to own up to his mistakes here? I would at least hope for that much. Sure, he got himself landed in the hospital, but there ought to be some sort of fine or punishment for being an absolute moron and attacking Pokémon that you’re not qualified to take on.

What had he achieved except to cause her more pain? If he had taken her to the Daycare, at least she would be safe from harm. At least she would still be able to fly.

With her being a grass type, could she not heal and/or regenerate?

He had thought she would look more like herself in the green half-light of the jungle, but somehow it had the opposite effect. She looked like a branch cut from a tree, the leaves limp and wilting, sinking into the dirt to decompose.

Haru shook away the image and began to peel the chesto berry, exposing its milk-white innards. He eased Heconilia's jaws open until he could lay a thin slice on her tongue, where her saliva would break the fruit down enough to release its cortisol into her system. He waited, as Maliki stood sentry. After a minute, Heconilia's tongue began to move like a lazy seviper.

Haru risked a larger chunk. This time, Heconilia swallowed noisily and her head twitched, jerking upward. She surged into awareness like a summer gale. Her wings fanned out and a loud cry split from her throat. It rang out more piercing than a city siren.

That’s a lot of similes in just a few paragraphs! I do love similes myself, and yours are excellent. But I do have to wonder if they would have more impact if you used less of them. Too many can start to feel repetitive.

The woman waiting for them at the top was closer to Maliki's age than Haru's. She was tall, with a thin, tired face, her hair bound back in the loose ponytail ubiquitous around Fortree. A chimecho dozed around her neck.

Aight, so how old is Maliki? I first pictured her as middle-aged, perhaps older, and then as I read more I thought she was young and close to Haru’s age. Now I’m thinking she’s maybe…in her 30s? I honestly don’t know, and I’m not sure it was ever made clear. (Though I also might have just missed it.)

Haru sipped from his own cup, rolling the smooth liquid in his mouth.

Sitting in a warm cozy home and sipping tea while it rains outside…mmm yes. I like the comfy vibes here, even if there’s a lot of stress and tension under the surface.

"I want to go home," Haru said.

YES this a great ending to the chapter and possibly the best decision I think Haru could make right now.

 

[bluesidra]

Aaaaaaaaaaa! What a chapter! I'm so torn between melting away in awwwws and crying.

First off: Poor, poor Heconlila! How could they?! Hopefully her bf is supportive. And hopefully she gets away far enough so they can't track her down. Because that is heckin' cruel. Makes you think twice if you even want to become a pro-circuit trainer. And I HOPE her wings can regrow or mend themselves over time. Would be kinda harsh for tropius if they couldn't.

Aside from that, kudos on the suspense. I've been held captive by the question about the contents of this email for so long, and then you dare to drag it out another chapter! I mean, it fits. Haru spends the entire chapter only physically present. The rest is pretty much in a daze. Understandably so. I've had those feelings for an hour or so, at most. But an entire day? That's harsh. But he's also throwing away his entire life now, so it is appropriate. I'm impressed in how good he has become at bribery. That's character-development.

Aside from the very sad moments with Heconilia, this chapter was so full of awwww-moments. Maliki's girlfriend? I have decided that I like her too. The mental image of an ninjask-butt sticking out of a honey-jar? Priceless. Haru's grandma snoozing off in the temple? Relatable. And my respect to Haru for holding still and not running off for 10 minutes.

Now the only question that remains (well, one of the 1000, but that's technicalities): What will come of the electrabuzz and the power-plant??? I want to see where that goes, but judging by how wanted they are right now, this would probably be not the brightest of ideas. Then again, Haru has not exactly been blessed with bright ideas recently.

Spoiler: Linequotes

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

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

That is indeed one thing to hit your sister over the head with.

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

r/iam14andthisisdeep
Jokes aside, I love this sentence.

Heconilia's tongue rasping across his cheek.

Big plant-sky pupper

Another tropius stood there, regarding Heconilia with hurt confusion. When he stepped forward, Heconilia growled, though the sound was more miserable than aggressive. The other tropius let out a low croon. He bared his neck, offering his fruit.

Them...

"Hungry?" Haru asked dully.

Trick question, Atalanta is always hungry

She hummed at him, pleased by the question.

Yes, Queen Atalanta is pleased at her human's acknowledgement of her need for nourishment :)

Because there was one place he could always land. It came back to him now, those laws and rights that had existed long before the first metal building ever pierced the Rustburo sky and would exist long after all buildings fell.

He felt the words before he spoke them—a gnawing ache in his chest, too long neglected. And he gave the answer that Heconilia had given, that night it all began.

"I want to go home," Haru said.

Aaaaawwwwwww....

 

[Phoenixsong]

Spoiler: Chapter 9

Hm! I wasn't sure whether we were going to be hearing from any of Haru's family again. It's interesting that he reaches out to Erika here, even though I think most of us were probably expecting her to give a response just like that, and would've assumed Haru would expect the same thing. But it's not like he hates his family or anything—they don't always see eye to eye, things have been kind of awkward recently, but they're still family, and it would be nice if during this traumatic time they could provide at least a little comfort!

...but then Erika predictably misses the point, isn't really capable of understanding the point because her takes on their religion and her priorities in life are just so fundamentally different from her brother's, and Haru has to move forward with his terrible situation on his own anyway. (In the end, the only one who can make this decision is Haru himself.)

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

I'm not quite sure I follow this. Based on the rest of the scene, Haru is on the ferry trying to get back to the ranger station, and having trouble reconciling what he's about to do with the idea that surely he should just be going forward with his new job, like he thought he always wanted, surely his life can't have been upended this dramatically and so on. But I'm not clear on whether this particular paragraph is what Haru actually did, or whether it's Haru-imagining-what-should-have-been-a-normal-day. There's the ferry, which is what's really happening, but there was also a lab he was standing outside? Maybe I'm just forgetting something from earlier in the story, in which case that's on me.

Maliki drew a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and clapped it across his face.

Jeez, Maliki, just gonna straight-up chloroform the guy? This was not the resolution I was expecting for Haru's sleep spore problem but I'm here for it.

Looking up at her now, Haru thought he might be sick. With her wings laid flat against her back, Haru hadn't been able to tell, but now he saw clear as day the five precise cuts in each wing-frond. The edges of the cuts were pink, but they didn't seem to have bled.

Criminy, guys, you were already going to put her down and were clearly capable of restraining her; did you really have to mangle her wings, too? :( Granted I'm not an expert on our real-world equivalents like the various Fish and Game departments, so maybe I'm just (very unfortunately) way off about how large nuisance creatures are handled (and probably pokémon would add some additional complications that real animals don't), but couldn't they have made do with some kind of physical wing restraint while waiting to euthanize her? Or, since I know from reading further that it's important to the story that she be unable to fly, maybe the attempt to recapture her got out of hand, and the maimed wings were an accident/someone getting overzealous?

At Maliki's soft exhale, Haru blinked. Heconilia's mate hadn't flown away. As Haru watched with a dizzy disbelief, he took another step forward and bared his neck again. He crooned, more insistently.

"Heconilia," Haru said quietly. Her head jerked around—her amber eyes swam with doubt. "I think he means it."

Trembling, she extended her neck and closed her mouth around the fruit. The tropius stood still as she ate and when she had finished, he twined his neck around hers. Heconilia looked back at him in wonder.

This whole sequence was so beautiful. Heconilia's apprehension at having to reveal that she can no longer fly, and her mate insisting that he still cares for her anyway, wants to share his precious fruit with her so that she can heal and remember that she's loved. Even if for all we know it may well end badly, since Heconilia is unable to leave the area easily :sadbi: But either way tbh this is the tragic and beautiful wild tropius romance content I didn't know I wanted but need more of immediately.

He'd never know, Haru realized, as Heconilia met his gaze with a strange, furious placidity and snuggled closer to her mate. He'd never know how fully she understood the consequences of this choice.

:( :( :( Pen do not do this to me please tell me they somehow manage to not catch Heconilia again I need to know she's okay :( :( :( :( :( :(

"My honey." The woman looked at Atalanta, who shifted uneasily on Haru's head. A baffled smile curved across her face. "My honey." She began to chuckle softly to herself. "Your apology is accepted. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

Hm. What was that about? What's going to happen to my precious bug child? :P

Also fun to see a bit of vulnerability (if that's the word, and really only a bit) from Maliki, who's normally so intense and incisive all the time.

He felt the words before he spoke them—a gnawing ache in his chest, too long neglected. And he gave the answer that Heconilia had given, that night it all began.

"I want to go home," Haru said.

Ooh, back to Johto! So that (assuming he's able to make it there) is where this will all be coming to an end—back to where it began. I expect we'll be getting a bit more info about Haru's relationship to his grandmother and her death, as well as reckoning with what she might've thought about the choices that he's having to make now. The wind might have been silent during Heconilia's escape, but what might Haru hear (or reason for himself) when he's so much closer to home?

So, for the moment, Haru has at least managed to give Heconilia—and himself—a chance. That ranger is still likely to report what happened, and we don't yet know whether fleeing to Johto will actually keep Haru safe. Presumably the ranger on duty actually recognized him/they were somehow able to trace Heconilia back to him? (Otherwise I guess I'm not sure why the ranger turning up the lights was what triggered his realization, unless it was just him putting two and two together and the lights were a coincidence.) And of course, that's assuming Haru doesn't decide to do something like turn himself in after he's made his peace(?) with what he's done.

Thank you so much for coming back to this story! I can't tell whether the final chapter will be another ride, or more quiet and reflective, but either way I look forward to the final(?) resolution of Haru's very difficult choices.

And I know you say you've got a big backlog of review responses—don't worry, I don't need a lengthy response to this one! All I require is for you to tell me that Heconilia and Precious Tropius Boyfriend are fine forever and nothing bad happens. See? Easy! :D

 

[kyeugh]

9. the return

oh how good it feels to return to my disaster son after so long.

i thought opening with a call to erika was interesting. erika is the golden child in a sense, the avatar of conventional success. their conversation really underscores how far haru has gotten from that path. he interrupts her busy day to talk religion with her—she gives her reductive answer and hangs up, and then we cut to haru basically throwing his career in the garbage. punctuating with his remark on sightlessness really speared the whole thing through. i thought it was a really effective way of drawing out the contrast, both between the haru of today and the haru of a week or two ago as well as his parents' ideal vision of haru and the version of haru that exists in reality.

it's hard to believe this is the longest chapter so far—it feels super breezy, but looking back, a lot did happen. haru's big choice in this in this chapter seems to have been made before the chapter kicks off, so it feels like a lot of what happens here is him carrying out and kind of rolling with the punches. it was interesting to see haru so resolved. in some previous chapters, haru spends a lot of time going back and forth about what he should do; here it feels like we trade that internal dialogue for focus on the consequences of his actions, and ngl, it was juicy stuff. to me, the fact that he faces the consequences with dread but never regret really drives home just how much he cares about what he's doing.

what happened to heconilia was really heartbreaking. it does make you wonder whether she would have made the same choice to return home if she fully understood the risks of doing so... i was satisfied with this chapter's answer to that question. even after everything she'd experienced, even though the risks of doing so had been demonstrated to her on the clearest possible terms, heconilia chose to stay in the forest with her mate. still, i think it was a bit irresponsible for haru to extend her that choice in the first place when her knowledge was incomplete. when haru chooses to do what he does in this chapter, he chooses it with full knowldge of the consequences. for heconilia, on the other hand, the choice she made may not have been the choice she thought she was making. that's a critical difference. i wonder if haru will grapple with it, although i suppose either way it's too late—can't change the past, and they're both as committed to the choices they've made as it's really possible to be.

i find it a bit hard to connect fully with maliki and wonder what her role in the story going forward will be. she seems like a character that entered the story fully developed and has been a guide for haru more than anything, an impetus for him to plunge more deeply into the world he was already skating on the surface of. that's not a bad thing at all, but it does make it hard for me to predict where she's going next. i think it'll feel weird if she just drops out of the narrative without comment, but i'm not really sure what it would mean to "resolve" her arc (?) either.

i'm really excited to see how this story wraps up. i feel like the resolution can't really be good—haru made his decisions with full knowledge of the consequences, and he accepted them, so it would feel a little weird for him to get off scot free. things do seem a little dire. haru is in deep, deep trouble with the law, and his future is probably fucked. it's quite probable that heconilia will die, considering she's visibly branded by her cut wings and unable to really escape. but something tells me this story doesn't end in tragedy. i'm kind of curious if we'll touch back on the stuff with the laboratory and the abuse of the electric pokémon etc. haru isn't just rebelling against a decision here, but a system, and so far he's managed to get in his hits without it catching up to him. it feels a lot of pieces are about to fall into place.

anyway, excellent chapter as always. the story you're crafting here is really beautiful and nuance and i feel blessed to have read it tbh.

Spoiler: line comments

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

yeesh. it's crazy what a different relationship haru and erika have with the verse, and it says a lot. it's a very superficial and reductive reading, but why would she ever question it?

It's not her fault she was born sightless.

wow, that's intense. feels a little harsh and judgemental. i didn't expect that from him.

candle-orange, the light skated up buildings, down the street. It was the kind of weather that washed the world clean.

i tripped on the first couple words a bit and don't think anything would be lost if it was rearranged to the candle-orange light skated up the buildings. second line goes hard as hell

merrill bobbed on the water, their skin sleek and azure.

* marill

Their fronds were fully extended, luxuriating in the rich wetness of the soil.

"luxuriate" is a new word for me and a very good one.

Standing in the tree's musty dark, he tried to know himself.

banger line.

But all he knew was that he had called her, and she had come.

i feel like "but" sort of dampens the impact here; without it it feels more like an answer to the question.

the pomeg scent off Maliki's conditioner

* of? this is a very neat detail though.

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

oof.

He was stooped and wiry, and his face had formed into a deep scowl as he regarded the tween trainers before him.

i didn't realize there was a line, so this threw me off—i thought you were describing haru and maliki as tweens.

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

based.

Haru marshaled the responses in his mind, as if by thinking them first he could preempt reality.

really loved this.

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

* euthanasia

We shouldn't take the ferry," Maliki said.

probably not, he'll just end up getting beat up by a zoroark and you'll have to bail him out.

The back of Haru's neck prickled as they walked. With each step he expected pursuit to burst from the small gray station receding behind them. Instinct shouted at him to run, to hide, anything to get out of sight, to not inch his way along the path as exposed as a caterpie under a pidgeotto's predatory eye.

i really like this sense of suppressed panic, it's done well. also appreciating the use of caterpie in the metaphor there.

What had he achieved except to cause her more pain? If he had taken her to the Daycare, at least she would be safe from harm. At least she would still be able to fly.

oof, this hits hard. what good is a choice you don't understand?

He'd never know, Haru realized, as Heconilia met his gaze with a strange, furious placidity and snuggled closer to her mate. He'd never know how fully she understood the consequences of this choice.

All he could do was bow his head in silent acknowledgement that she had found something she was willing to die for.

banger lines.

Some Rayquaza sects held it sacrilegious to depict the god in any medium that was incapable of movement, Haru recalled. The famous mural at Sky Pillar still was subject to the occasional protest or attempted vandalism for that.

loved this detail.

"You think anything that's right is necessary."

oh man. lots of fire in this chapter

. . . He was never going to see her again.

Haru spared a thought to be glad that he'd already set down the teapot, because at that moment his hands began to shake, and the shaking spread to his whole body. The kitchen had no chairs, so Haru sank down to the floor.

Tea. He had assaulted a federal officer and he was making tea.

dare i say based?

i really like how weighty the realization that he won't see his family again is.

No one could have called her insectoid, quivering body cuddly, but she was real and she was alive.

i might swap "quivering" and "insectoid" here.

"Have you been together long?" Haru asked clumsily.

is he asking this to, like, a romantic capacity? if so, did i miss something tipping that off? if not the phrasing is a little weird.

He felt the words before he spoke them—a gnawing ache in his chest, too long neglected. And he gave the answer that Heconilia had given, that night it all began.

"I want to go home," Haru said.

ugh. such a good closer. poor tired haru.

 

[kintsugi]

The decision to open with Erika is a really solid one--it's easy and tempting to get sucked into Haru's story, and it's really fascinating to remember that most people in this world don't even know what's happening to Heconalia or any of the things that have more or less black-holed Haru's life here. I think the irreverence really sells the conceit of the story for me as well, how Erika shuts down the whole idea of the Suicune's choice--it works really well in a story that's about choosing a thing that your siblings don't, and it fits specifically well in the Suicune/Entei/Raikou dynamic since, in the legend, they're all siblings who have equal choice in this as well. And on the flip side it's really quite true, even if we don't want it to be: everything does have a place, there is a typing chart, and it's going to be hard as fuck to go up against that kind of disadvantage. I like how there's no clear answer here to this question that Haru's been basing his attempts at getting a clear answer from, because, sigh, mood.

"you're a tough kid" really hurts different in 2022, too--this idea that once people start seeing you a certain way, they start forgetting that you're capable of feeling pain and indecision as well. It's heartwarming to have someone believe in you but it also hurts when you don't think they should, and you wish they'd see your capacity for failure/indecision as well--in a fic that's about having faith in things that characters think are larger than themselves, the image of Erika just believing Haru's gonna make it through via sheer willpower is, oh no.

(I'm glad that it turns out I'm not entirely blind to symbolism and the rain is building as all of the decisions get worse and worse. Very lucki, hmm)

The image of the shedinja/ninjask dichotomy in light of the butterfree metaphor from before is so poetic, ugh, I am in awe and also disappointed in myself for not shitposting about it when I thought that'd be a sick metaphor to make since now that clout is lost to me. Atalanta's a really interesting force in this story about the caterpie praying to have the strength to survive being made new, and in light of her choice here matching Haru's needs but not wants, I think the lore here works really powerfully.

Anyway, elephant (or dinosaur) in the room, I'm legitimately angry that I believed that things were going to work out well for Heconalia here and that they'd be able to find the nice fruit that would wake her up and fly off in the sunset in a really poetic and pretty way since systemic issues being solved on an individual level at least give us the satisfaction of feeling like a character successfully did a thing even if they ultimately failed to combat the ugliness of their world in a meaningful way. Haru learning his lesson and having to spend money to buy his way out of a problem is not the poignant ending but it's still low-key the one I wish, from a very selfish perspective, he got--although I very much appreciate that it isn't the one we got instead. Something something it's the answer I needed but didn't want, fuck. I've read this entire fic multiple times and I know that this isn't the way that you'd choose to end things, and I still was so hopeful that they'd just fuck off into the sunset with lollipops and a happy ending that I legitimately thought for a moment that things were going to work. [insert Sayaka "I'm so stupid, single tear" gif here] This entire chapter is such a trainwreck of faith feeling so faithless.

The worldbuilding in general is still really on-point here, and something I'd be spending more time on if I weren't screaming about the other events in this chapter. Really love that you've managed to find a way to one-up Haru's self-medication with the sleep spores in the Good Decision Club--it turns out that there is a way to escalate this into being an even worse decision, and wow, oh no. The casualness with which they clip Heconalia's wings is so fucked but so in line with everything you've established so far. I'm incredibly sad that boy!Heconalia makes this choice but also, ugh, what is hope if not choosing ideals over truth without the knowledge that it'll turn out okay in the end. Girl!Heconalia's decision here hits especially hard in that light--we don't get to understand how much she understand either, but ultimately it's not on us to judge that decision. The irony of the suicune's choice deepens.

I think Dongmei's addition here feels a little incomplete, but I also say that thinking this is one of those things that'll shake out once we see the other shoe drop.

"I want to go home" the last chapter of this is going to have me blubbering over grandma again, isn't it

anyway, since apparently the power of art compelled you to write this chapter, please enjoy my fanart

 

[Pen]

Chapter Ten - The Beginning

"Look at the means a man employs, observe the path he takes, and examine where he feels at home. In what way is a man's true character hidden from view? In what way is a man's true character hidden from view?"

— Confucius, Analects
​

---

Nine Months Later​

---

The flea market came to the Sun Plaza on Saturdays. Every seven weeks, when his free morning fell just right, Haru came too.

The market had been a staple of his childhood. He remembered those days like a mosaic, fragmented and yet unitary: waking to pre-dawn darkness, the long wait in the front room, sipping red tea—hot and tannic—from a flask, his mother screaming at Erika, stubbornly still in bed. Then the noise and mystery of the market, with its thousand stalls and thousand scents. And always, the tight press of Mother's hand around his wrist, warning him, do not stray.

Haru twitched his arm, as if to shake free of a ghost grip. It was nearing 7:00 a.m. now, and the plaza was already packed with bargain-hunters. As the sun rose, the tour buses would roll in, and the vendors would add a few zeroes to their price signs.

Navigating the early morning crowd required vigorous, unrepentant elbow-work, though a few shoppers took belated notice of Haru's red and white vestments and shouted back an apology as they pushed past. Police officers ringed the market. Haru had passed one at the plaza gate. He noticed a second as he wormed his way through the clothing section. By the time he reached the tea and spice row, he had counted five.

Green wings flapped suddenly at the corner of his vision. Haru flinched. Craning his head over, he instantly felt ridiculous. Just a green tent flap, billowing innocently in the breeze.

He was on edge this morning. Maybe it was the air, so heavy and sullen from last night's downpour. It brought him back . . .

It's over, Haru reminded himself. It's done.

He'd reached his favorite tea tent. He pushed back the flap and ducked inside, relaxing as dry, stuffy heat closed in around him. The tent only accommodated a few people; most of the space was filled with jars and hanging satchels of loose-leaf tea. In the back, a small cyndaquil crouched inside a traditional stove, heating water.

Haru inhaled deeply. Acolytes earned no wages but were allocated a small portion of the tips left by temple guests. It was enough, every seven weeks, to purchase a few ounces of quality tea.

The shopkeeper recalled him in the vague, overly-friendly manner of all sellers.

"Acolyte! How good to see you. Here, you will like this one. Smell, smell!"

Haru accepted the satchel, smiling.

The scent struck him like a mallet.

"Genuine Mt. Pyre jasmine," the shopkeeper said with satisfaction. "All the way from Hoenn. 1300 yen an ounce, but only for you I do 1,000, because I am a pious man."

His face crinkled in confusion when Haru didn't bargain back but silently counted out a smattering of 50 and 100 yen coins.

He felt almost woozy as he left the tent. A police officer was stalking down the tea and spices row, coming his way. Haru took off in the other direction, his heart pounding so loudly that he thought it surely would be heard, even over the hubbub of the crowd.

It could be anything, he lectured himself. Last week a protest over slowpoke tail distribution had occupied the plaza. The wind had carried the shouts all the way to the temple, and afterwards Haru had heard that several businesses had been robbed in the commotion. It was no wonder the police were out in force.

By the time Haru reached the edge of the crowd, he had almost reasoned himself into calm.

"Acolyte!"

The shout stopped him dead in his tracks.

He clasped his sleeves together to hide his trembling hands as the police officer who had called out to him approached.

All police officers were faceless in their dark uniforms, but as the police woman got closer, he registered that she was middle-aged, a frown cutting a deep crevice through her forehead. She stopped a foot away but, strangely, seemed as unsure as Haru how to proceed.

"It's been almost thirty years," she said. And then, as his stare stayed blank, added, "since I last went to temple. My mother passed, last year. I thought that I should honor the anniversary, but I don't know what's proper—I'm not sure how much—"

"Five fresh glutinous rice balls, fresh kiku flowers, and an incense stick are customary," Haru cut in. He was relieved to hear himself speaking in the clipped, bored tone that daily repetition bred. "If you aren't able to prepare the balls yourself, we sell them outside the temple. The flowers and incense too."

He searched her face but saw nothing except the discomfort so often found in the faces of itinerant temple visitors, the ones who knew that they should come more often, but never would.

Haru's shoulders untensed. All police officers were faceless, but so were acolytes of Ho-oh. He wore the red and white; to most people, who he was beneath those vestments was a matter of little, if any, concern.

A new boldness seized him as the woman murmured her thanks.

"Excuse me," he said. "There are a lot of officers out this morning. Is something going on?"

She smiled at him in a friendly fashion.

"Nothing that concerns the gods," she said.

*​

By the time Haru reached the temple, he had succeeded in putting the encounter out of his mind. He took the side entrance in, avoiding the long line of weekend worshippers and visiting pilgrims that stretched out past the gates. As Haru entered the break room, Masaki looked up from his reading.

"Acolyte Haru! A word."

Masaki didn't look like a priest. Broad-shouldered and heavily bearded, he wouldn't have drawn a second glance at a construction site. He towered over the acolytes, but his manner was gentle and his voice so naturally bellowing that he rarely had cause to raise it.

Haru presented himself with a respectful nod.

"This was your off-morning?"

"Yes, master."

"Hm. Do anything scandalous?"

Solemnly, Haru presented his prize.

Masaki guffawed. "You'll have to brew me a cup sometime. Now listen, we've got someone in the minor sanctum asking for a Haru Wantanabe."

Haru jerked his head up. "From here?"

"Foreign."

Foreign could mean anything. To those born and raised in Ecruteak, even residents of neighboring Goldenrod were complete aliens.

"Dark-skinned?" Haru said, fighting to keep his tone easy. "Early thirties?"

"No, younger and not dark. Hair pinker than a corsola," he added, with a touch of disapproval.

Haru's agitation shaded into bewilderment. He didn't know anyone like that.

Masaki was watching him closely. "Remember who you are, Haru," he said. "And who you are not."

It was kinder than a warning.

Haru bowed again and left the break room. When the passage forked, he hesitated. There was a quarter hour still left in the morning—a quarter hour where he had nowhere he needed to be.

The scent of jasmine rose faintly from the satchel still clutched in his hand.

Haru turned left, toward the minor sanctum.

It was smaller than the main sanctuary, and its hushed, dark atmosphere attracted few visitors. Haru spotted the pink-haired stranger easily. And she was a stranger. Haru was confident he'd never seen her before in his life.

She had parked herself in front of the Ho-oh mural, but she didn't seem to be paying it much attention. One hand fiddled with the hem of her shirt. At intervals, she cast short, darting glances around the room.

For all that, though, she jumped like a startled sentret when Haru spoke to her.

"The sun is strong today," he began politely.

"Uh." She recovered herself. "Yeah, it's a nice day."

Not a practitioner, then. Anyone who'd attended temple would have recognized the traditional greeting and answered, "Only by Ho-oh's grace."

Whatever had brought her here, it wasn't worship. Haru joined her in pretending to admire the mural, observing her out of the corner of his eye.

The accent betrayed her as a Goldenrodder, probably born and bred. It was the slurring at the edges of words. Like they're in too much of a rush to honor the gift of speech, Grandmother had often muttered.

This close, the sharp scent of her cheap hair dye made his nostrils prick. Her clothing was equally shabby—wrinkled pants and a mismatched shirt. But when she lifted her hand to fiddle again with her shirt hem, he noticed that her nails were glossy and manicured, their tips curved into smooth ovals. The discrepancy puzzled him.

"Excuse me," she said suddenly. "Do you know an acolyte named Haru Watanabe? I need to ask him something. It's important."

"You won't find anyone by that name here," Haru said, trying to sound bored. "You don't know much about this temple, do you? Acolytes give up their family names. There aren't any Watanabes here."

"Oh," she said, like she'd just learned an interesting fact. But her face belied her tone. She looked like someone dropped into the sea without a life-vest.

Haru's curiosity grew.

"Whatever's brought you here, maybe I can help," he ventured.

She shook her head rapidly. "Thank you. But it, it has to be him. I've got a riddle for him. It's something only he can answer."

A riddle? Haru blinked in bemusement.

The noon bell began to chime, startling the girl again.

"Tell me the riddle," Haru said. "If you tell me, I can see that it's passed around the temple. Perhaps you'll get an answer then."

"Thank you," she said, her voice small between the deep chimes of the bell. "I appreciate it, I do—" She scrambled for an excuse but words escaped her. The circles under her eyes were dark. "It's fine. I'll find another way."

She didn't sound convinced.

"Please," Haru said, before she had gone more than a few steps. He attempted an approachable smile. "Before you go—I'll be wondering all week if you don't tell me. What's the riddle?"

For the first time she looked at him, rather than at his acolyte robes. Haru knew he didn't cut an impressive picture. His mouth had developed a slight pinch from continual frowning and his face was long and ponderous. If his fellow acolytes were to be believed, it was a face better suited to an old man. His eyes struck the only discordant note. Sometimes they made him uneasy, these restless interlopers peering out from his otherwise placid face.

Whatever she saw didn't alarm her. With a shrug, she recited, in a tone that made it clear the words meant nothing to her, "What's the difference between a suicune and a caterpie?"

The noon bell cut out, leaving only the loud ring of Haru's heart.

Taking his frozen expression for confusion, the girl smiled apologetically. "Told you it wouldn't make sense."

"I'm Haru Watanabe," he said before he could lose his nerve. "Let's talk in the gardens."

*​

Neither of them spoke along the way. Haru walked with his spine straight and his lips pursed tight. The girl's gaze burned into his back, but she kept her questions to herself.

The temple gardens were large and sprawling. Haru took them down a less tended path.

"I don't know you," Haru said finally, when they were hidden by enough trees that he felt private. "But clearly you know something about me."

"I'm Kotoe," the girl offered. "I really don't know anything about you. She told me that if I found you and gave you that riddle, you could help me."

"Who did?" Haru said sharply.

"I don't know that either. I only met her once, over the phone, and she didn't give me a name. She talked like an islander, though."

Maliki.

"The police are looking for you, aren't they," Haru said, crossing his arms.

The hunted look surged back into her eyes.

"I didn't do anything wrong," she said adamantly. "Have you heard about the slowpoke tails? They say it's humane now, but nothing's changed, really, they just outsource the dirty bits and play ignorant in the press. I saw it with my own eyes when I—"

Haru held up his hand. "Stop. You shouldn't tell me. I shouldn't know." He said, more angrily than he had intended, "I'm an acolyte of Ho-oh. What exactly are you expecting me to do?"

"I don't know." The emotion drained abruptly from her voice; now she just sounded tired. "I've been running for the past four days. Nowhere feels safe enough to stop. I need to get out of Johto, but they check papers at the borders."

The memories crashed back. Haru swallowed hard, before panic could catch him up. He was an acolyte of Ho-oh. No one could reach him here.

"You can stay in the temple tonight," he said slowly. "The police won't look here and we wouldn't let them in even if they did. But after that—" Haru swallowed. "I can't help you more. I'm sorry."

Can't? Maliki would have said, with a look that sheared down to the bone, or won't?

But Kotoe just nodded, looking absurdly grateful. "Just somewhere to rest a bit. It would mean the world to me. Thank you."

*​

Haru had just enough time to eat a rushed lunch before the bell announced the start of afternoon chores. He was on laundry duty today and for once he was glad of it. The work was consuming and, more importantly, solitary. As he dunked and wrung out dirty robes, he tried to keep his mind blank, but Kotoe's last words persisted in his mind.

Somewhere to rest. He had found that here.

Temple life suited Haru. Each day brought with it a full schedule of chores, prayers, and meditations, the same rice porridge every morning, except on festival days, when they each received a portion of natto and pickled plum. He liked the routine, the predictability. He said the prayers specified in the Golden Book and he said them at the right times, in the right positions. Each day opened with an obligation that he knew he would meet by the day's end. It was like waking by a roaring fire, completely eased by the force of its heat.

Or maybe it was not like waking at all, but rather a kind of sleep—Entei's sleep.

Perhaps, thought Haru, Entei was the wisest of them all. Surely a world that followed him would be a quiet world, a peaceful one.

He wished, not for the first time, that he could talk to the other acolytes about it.

He'd tried once. The day's verse had been 8:14 and Haru had been excited to share.

His fellow acolytes had heard him out in respectful silence. Then Chihoko had blinked behind her glasses and said, "It's an interesting trichotomy, but I'm not sure your schema fits. After all, Raikou is lightning—lightning sets forests afire, allowing new growth. Entei heralds volcanic eruptions, which create new land. Suicune's the wind, and of the three, the wind is the only one that doesn't change anything. Wind passes through the field of rice, and all the stalks rustle, but they stay in their place."

It was a neat refutation, spoken without any particular passion, and Haru found that he lacked an answer that could be delivered in the same register.

Suicune blessed me twice.

The words would not come. Instead, he bobbed his head along with the others in appreciation of Chihoko's impressive logic and lapsed into a silence that he had maintained in all the months that followed whenever the conversation turned to theology.

He had wondered then, as he wondered now, how he could stand in the temple of Ho-oh and yet feel like a heretic.

What had Maliki been thinking?

When he told her what it meant to seek sanctuary in the temple, she'd dipped her head low in recognition of his choice. In the nine months he'd been here, she'd never sent a message.

To break his peace now, she must have felt that there was no other option.

But there's nothing I can do. Forcefully, Haru wrung out the robe in his hands. I'm just an acolyte.

Like the words of a call and response, his mantra from the morning came back to him. And acolytes are faceless.

Haru's hands stilled. He lifted his gaze to the line of hanging robes. And in a flash of resigned insight, he knew exactly what he would do.

*​

He woke Kotoe two hours before dawn. Soon, the morning shift would stir, the first batch of rice would go into the steamer, the prayers for sunrise would begin, but for now, the temple was as still as a house of the dead.

"Gather your things and come with me."

She followed him groggily, a thin blanket draped around her shoulders. When they reached the cover of the gardens, Haru laid out the contents of his bundle. A set of formal vestments. A headcovering. A neatly wrapped box, filled with incense sticks. A small coin purse.

"You'll take the bus to Olivine. From there you can catch a ferry to Vermillion. There should be enough money. Tell them you're on a pilgrimage to the Sacred Flame. They shouldn't ask you for papers, but if they do, say that you are an acolyte and that you have no name, except the one you bear in service to Ho-oh."

He removed the last item from the bundle more hesitantly. "There's one more thing. Your hair. I don't have anything to dye it with, so it's better to shave it all. It will make your story more believable; it's common to shave before a pilgrimage."

When he held out the razor, her mouth opened as if to protest. Maybe it occurred to her just then that despite everything she'd already given up, there was still more to lose. But the moment passed. She bowed her head as he took up a place behind her.

Haru had never done this before and he felt his lack of skill keenly. The hair came off in awkward pink clumps, until the ground resembled a flaaffy's sleeping den. A few times the blade pressed in too close to her scalp and both of them flinched.

When it was done, she changed. He turned back to find a nervous acolyte fidgeting with the sleeves of her robe.

"These are . . . holy, aren't they?" In her voice, Haru caught the first reluctant stirrings of awe. He wondered what Ho-oh had meant to her before this, if anything at all. "I don't know if I should—"

"Slowpoke tails," he said sharply, cutting her short. Her gaze leapt to him, startled. "Clothes aren't holy; actions are. You have as much right to wear these as anyone in the temple."

Kotoe stiffened. Her hands dropped down to her sides and deep in her eyes, something shifted. Haru remembered the first evolution he'd seen. Aporea had been an anxious shroomish, flinching at loud noises, preferring the shade of a bush or bag to open sunlight. When the white light took her over, Haru had shut his eyes against its glare. He'd opened them to find Aporea looking back at him, her gaze bright and unafraid.

"Thank you, Master Haru."

"Not master," he corrected reflexively. "That's for priests. I'm just an acolyte."

Her gaze didn't falter.

"You sound like a priest to me," she said.

*​

The day dawned clear.

Haru took his morning prayers with the others, ate his porridge, and drank his tea. He felt like an anchor, fixed in place, while the whole world crashed and roared around him.

Tell them, Haru instructed himself, each time he passed one of the priests in the hall. You stole. You erred. You stepped out of bounds.

If he confessed, there would be mercy, like there had been the first time.

He'd reached the temple several hours after dusk, so exhausted that he swayed where he stood. It had been too late for visitors, but they'd opened the gates when he'd told them his name and what he had come for.

Sanctuary.

It was said that long ago the people of Johto began to look upon their emperor as upon a gluttonous arbok in a garden of fruiting trees. At last, friendless and reviled, the emperor fled his palace and sought refuge in Ecruteak's temple. Three great armies had pursued him; where they walked, the earth rang and furrows opened in the fields. Surrounding the temple, they'd called in thunderous voices for the emperor to come forth and meet his fate.

But the priests answered, "An emperor you claim to seek, yet no emperor will you find here. Within these walls dwell only those who have renounced both earthly privilege and earthly obligation. Their lives belong to Ho-oh and Ho-oh alone commands their fate."

So the armies had marched on home and a new age had begun.

Haru had held that story close as he knelt before the priests that night. They'd lit a truth fire, kindled with an ember from the sacred flame. Such a fire permitted neither lies nor excuses and Haru had offered none.

When he had finished speaking, they left him to kneel before the dwindling flames. As the hours passed, his legs had burned, but he hadn't dared to move.

At last, they had returned.

"Your name is no longer Watanabe," the head priest said. "Your life is no longer your own. From the moment you don the sacred vestments of Ho-oh, you shall stray no more from his teachings."

Haru had laughed, or cried. Relief buoyed up inside him, as powerful as a sea.

Yet, even at the height of his elation, an undercurrent ran—a dissent, unarticulated and unvoiced then.

He felt it now.

Stray no more, they'd said.

Had he strayed? It wasn't a question they had answered, but a premise they had assumed.

Yes, he'd broken laws. He'd broken the laws of a society that shrugged when electrike washed up on the shores but mutilated the wings of a tropius who had only ever sought to return home. Could laws like that hold any force?

I strayed, he imagined saying. I strayed and I am sorry.

. . . No.

The refusal shot through the core of him like molten metal and firmed there into something unyielding.

He'd meant what he'd said to Kotoe, every word. Clothes weren't holy. Objects weren't holy.

Even places—even this place—this place that pilgrims flocked to from every corner of the world. They came so that they could stand in the shadow of the Burnt Tower, press their heads against the earth that Ho-oh had once sanctified. But Ho-oh hadn't sanctified the dirt. He'd saved three lives here—three insignificant lives—and with that act, the world had changed for good.

If anything was holy, it was that change, that transformation.

Haru noticed that his hands were trembling, but he felt calm. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt so calm. The evening bells were ringing, but he passed the prayer hall and kept walking, out into the temple cemetery.

The Watanabe family grave lay in a quiet corner, sheltered beneath a golden maple. He brushed away a few fallen leaves and poured water slowly over the grave stone.

So many times he'd knelt here, bearing kiku flowers and incense sticks, always heavy with something he'd been unable to speak.

Tonight, the words came.

"I should have been here for you. Whatever it took, whatever it cost, I should have been here. But I wasn't. I wasn't. For years, I've felt—" He swallowed. "So angry. So alone. I don't know what you would have wanted for me. I'll never know, now. But I've been thinking about Maliki's riddle—the difference between a suicune and a caterpie. And I think—" He released his breath. "I think there isn't one."

The graveyard was silent.

But Haru didn't need his ears to hear the answer of his heart.

*​

When he next woke, Suicune was there.

She stood silently over his sleeping mat, and the blue of her pelt was the most true thing he'd ever known.

Do you understand now? Her voice was like the toll of a bell long after it ceased to ring. You give up everything.

"Yes," Haru said.

And in return, you receive everything.

She did not wait for an answer. Haru followed her down the silent corridors into the main sanctuary, where the torches shed wavering light. A few of the older priests were crouched in vigil, but when Suicune stepped between them, no one paid her any mind.

Just outside the temple gates, a clear lake had appeared. Suicune was gone, but that didn't matter. He knew where he needed to go.

When Haru took the first step, a part of him still did not believe. He waited for the silver-blue depths to swallow him; he waited to be lost, finally and fully. But the water stayed firm under his feet.

In the end, the second step was easier than the first.

 

[kintsugi]

:')

 

[WildBoots]

Full-body goosebumps, Pen! 👏🎺🎉 Congrats on finishing. Sad it's over, but not sad I got to follow along for such a satisfying, heart-wrenching story.

I reread from the beginning and took some line-by-lines, but I didn't separate by chapter.

Spoiler: So here's a big jumble instead

The ranger on duty was making tea.

Wow, it's all tea all the way down in this one, isn't it! Wasting no time.

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

Like in DD, the theme of modernity vs tradition/nature is very strong here. I like how his trainer gear and the station's AC are literally a layer between Haru and the world outside, a little clunky and muffling his perceptions.

"It's a traditional name in Johto—means clear day."

"Well, we could use some of that here," the ranger joked.

I'd forgotten this! I know it can also mean spring, and I'd gotten stuck there, but I love how this contrasts to the stormy skies and confusion ahead of Haru.

"Everyone always complains about the rules. But are rules bad?"

Baby Haru was not ready.

His thoughts turned to Erika

Even on the re-read and even with the later explanation, this is jarring in a pokemon context because it absolutely does make me assume you mean the gym leader. It might help if you offset it with "his sister, Erika."

He opened his eyes, blinking through the wetness. Erika would laugh at him if he ever tried to explain this. "So logical," she would say, shaking her head, "right up until the end. Superstition gets you every time, little brother."

A little muddy here. I thought at first that Erika would laugh at him for ... getting rain in his eyes? And I realized belatedly that "this" refers to an earlier line.

Water pooled in the imprints his boots left on the road.

Love this image. Whatever he chooses (or fails to choose) will result in a world changed for someone--he can't even walk without changing the road, even if it doesn't last. I also like that water is literally dogging his steps.

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

I want to go back home.

I still wasn't totally clear how he made this connection. Later, it's easy to follow the thread of how he interprets each pokemon's actions and vocalizations, but here I wasn't sure how he thought he knew.

Heconilia made a keening murmur of agreement.

Keening and murmur are at odds for me.

They were passing into a small clearing when a shrill screech cut the air,

Shrill is redundant, I'd say.

His dark hair, shaped in a fashionable Hoennese bowl cup, was plastered to his forehead.

I think you meant bowl cut.

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

Damn right she had.

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

Haru, in the midst of committing a crime: You can't do that, that's illegal!

But they're different crimes. He's breaking the law in a pokemon's best interest, and Wei super is not.

Confuse ray wasn't a move commonly found among Route 119's local pokemon. A herd of wild tropius would have no frame of reference for combating the enticing play of light.

Appreciating this again. Love how the moves are more than just things to shout here, commands with a result, but a context, the Venn diagram of where human and pokemon knowledge intersect.

spiting out a spray that crested in the dark air like a purple wave.

Wouldn't it be literal that it is a purple wave?

Asleep, Haru knew. Trapped in the deep, artificial sleep of a yawn attack. But Heconilia didn't know that. She nudged him with her crown and, when he didn't respond, let out an ugly cry.

I struggled with this for a second--why would she know confuse ray but not yawn? But I realized that if he's only doing singles, she'd always be on the receiving end of it and so would never know what happened when it hit her. I still don't know if I'd call yawn a deep sleep, though.

A shadow ball was still building on the mighteyana's lips when the storm broke.

Wasn't clear that this was referring to Heconilia's leaf storm with all the other weather happening in this scene.

"That's enough, Heconilia," Haru could say.

The words stuck in his throat.

I wondered why not drop the quotations and italicize to make it clearer that he isn't actually saying it.

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

All of her choices were hers.

He's got an interesting idea of belonging here. Like, it's beautiful that he's recognizing that she's asked for freedom and he's giving it to her by not ordering her around anymore. But also ... you can ask friends for things, just like he asks Atalanta for help later. He doesn't have to own her to ask her to stop, and she can still choose as she likes. I think deep down he wants to see Wei get punished and wants to absolve himself of the choice.

Even though he starts the story by making some choices he can't take back, knowing how serious they are when he makes them, he spends so much of his time on autopilot. Waiting for someone else to tell him what to do.

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

This feels like a metaphor for Haru's journey. He tells himself it's just one little deviation from the path, then one more, not willing to accept that the situation has changed (that he has changed!) until he's far, far off-road.

Haru pulled his portable space heater from his pack and switched it on high. The ninjask chittered questioningly and then crawled closer to the heat.

Calling it a space heater makes me picture a very specific object (toaster-sized, plugs into a wall) that I have trouble reconciling with a trainer's backpack. If it were instead a mini heater or even a DevCo heater, I'd be more willing to accept it as a pokemon world technology.

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

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

"Don't worry," he said after a moment, unsure how the ninjask was interpreting his exit.

In these moments, worshipping and deifying big, powerful pokemon makes so much sense to me: even for the pokemon he's actually formed bonds with, there's a huge gap between their understandings of each other, and they struggle to bridge that gap. So humans can't help projecting their own fears and wants onto the pokemon.

small but strong pincers clamping onto his scalp.

Scalp sounds like it would hurt. Hair is easier to grab onto.

Route 119's micro-climate was extremely localized.

I think you can dig a little deeper into this, because Haru would certainly know. Maybe the route goes through a deep valley, and the end points on either side are at elevation.

Seamlessly, speculation slipped into dream.

This transition is so graceful.

Chapter 4 - The Waypoint

Consider: The Wei Point?🤪

Wei's nav was gone, soaked in the bathtub until the power shorted.

Still not sure why it's the bathtub and not the sink?

He'd tossed it with his breakfast down the cafeteria dumpster.

I feel like this could use a qualifier to make it feel more intentional, either the remains of his breakfast or his uneaten breakfast.

It was easy to let Erika take the center stage —it tended to happen anyway, whether he wanted it to or not.

Extra space here. Also oof. It's no wonder Haru is so uncertain and afraid to own his truths. His family hasn't left him much room to be himself, even when he was off on the road without them.

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

Notes of self-flagellation here. Honestly, it sounds like he had a hard time of it, too, and it manifests through his guilt.

the cobblestone streets of the city were wide, but he still felt uncertain as he traced his way to the mall.

There it is again: cloudy weather, clouded vision, uncertainty.

tucked in a rare quiet side-corner.

Can you be both in the corner and on the side? In this essay, I will argue--

Kalosan.

Dropped an I here, I think.

He stood still for a moment, thrown. What was he doing here? He had no training supplies to buy. He wasn't a trainer anymore.

This is so real. This beat and the first moments of his arrival in Mauville remind me so much of a recent college graduate having to adjust their sense of self, which is really hard when you don't know the answer to "what's next."

At some point, the action became mechanic

In the definitions I'm seeing, mechanic is always the noun and mechanical is the adjective.

One caught his eye—a suicune carved from an albino wood,

Can wood be albino or just animals?

20,000 was . . . far too much. He'd need that kind of money for rent once he reached Mauville. Haru shook his head and backed away.

I wish I had a better sense of how much things cost here. A chapter later we get a breakdown of the cost of his room with Maliki vs the expensive apartment, but I needed something here. Also, confusingly, you shift between poke, yen, and yuan throughout. I get that it's because your Hoenn is vaguely Chinese while Kanto and Johto are Japanese, but then why poke? Are the three currencies equivalent, or is 1,000 yuan a different amount than 1,000 yen or 1,000 poke?

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

I wasn't sure about the scale of this gyarados head. Is it mounted on top of the bar sign or on the roof? Is it the entire building and you walk in through the plastic teeth?

"It's not like any of them actually give a damn about pokemon. They just want people to follow the law, for pokemon to stick to their place. As long as you don't shake things up too much, the world's your clamperl, there to be prised open."

He's not wrong! But it's mighty handy for him, a person who obviously also does not care about pokemon, to point fingers at other poeple.

I can see the narrative value of this scene, but I wasn't sure why Haru chose to come here. I can see putting off going to Mauville, I guess, but that feels incomplete and I needed to see a bit more from him about what he was expecting to get out of this.

His grandmother thought it was tempting fate to take a ship and blasphemy to take an airplane.

Ugh, I wish you'd played Heaven's Vault! Some of the characters make remarks about sailing being blasphemous (because it wears away at your soul). Seems like grandma is less concerned about deterioration than about presumption.

The fog hid the place where the sky met the sea, leaving only an impenetrable grey shroud. After a few minutes, Haru turned to look back, but Lilycove's harbor was shrouded as well.

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

Love this image. It's not just that the way ahead of Haru is stormy and unclear but also that the lines dividing things that should be distinct are gone.

First, Haru had tried to find a room at a newly built apartment complex a few blocks from the pokecenter.

Sticking close to what he knows, huh?

The price-tag, though, for that modest, dark little room . . .

I'd trim "modest"! ✂️

conversation with them was limited to discussion of the latest protein shake blends.

Oh, I bet. Can confirm: some folks have a lot to say on this topic.

Something unclenched in his chest. The shrine wasn't beautiful or costly, but it was correct. It was respectful, for all its poverty.

This is the first time he's relaxed all story long.

Grandmother had always said that a true prayer demanded nothing from Lord Ho-oh and everything from one's self.

Clearly he was listening because we see it in the way he acts on first Heconilia and then Atalanta's behalf, trying to serve their interests at great cost to himself. It's interesting that his sense of duty isn't linked to ideas of hierarchy: he owes debts to a regular tropius just as much as he does to a big, powerful legendary.

The morning light had revealed the peeling red wallpaper and forgivingly dark brown color of the carpet. Everything here spoke to a poverty his family had never known.

His responses to the poverty here in the apartment are surprisingly muted considering how foreign it is to him. I'd expect to see him falter over it a little more, maybe think pityingly of his new roommates? (Lol, he has no idea.) Does he see living here as some kind of penance? Does he worry about his parents finding out?

"There's so much out there—I'm mostly focused on ecology."

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

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

Lol this is great on the reread. The conversation might as well have been

M: Do you know Van Gogh?
H: There's so much out there--I'm mostly focusing on painting.

What society would put such care into creating beauty here, when there was such obvious ugliness and need only a short walk away?

For sure, Haru. But also Mauville needs a lot more than gardeners. It's not as simple as shifting work from one place to another. This is definitely a story that knows that (especially in the scene where he leaves Heconilia for the second time, ugh), but Haru doesn't yet.

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

Just highlighting this.

Nothing he'd ever read had suggested pokemon could understand the concept of debts. But how could a situation like this be replicated, anyway?

Might be worth adding for clarity that "nothing" = "no replicable scientific studies he'd read."

This Atalanta's debt could expire in peace.

Famous last words.

With a light clatter, the poke-nav tumbled from his limp hand. Haru sank down into his futon, letting the artificial sleep wipe his mind clean.

Maybe this is part of why he admires Atalanta, not for her dedication to duty and gratitude but for her ability to run from things.

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

"Doctor Ogletree, head researcher."

Fully picturing Nigel Thornberry lol.

Haru had thrown up training for his gym battle and spent the rest of the week locked in his cramped pokecenter room, laboring over his essay submission.

Thrown up doesn't feel right. Given up? Set aside?

he'd come across Grandmother's tapestries packed away in a cardboard box. They were ragged and dirt-stained, completely beyond his skill to mend.

:c Much like the laws he's caught between, a tight weave he can't disentangle or repair. But, man, metaphors aside, those tapestries are probably still beautiful and worth keeping even with some stains.

And the thing about these kinds of people is that they think the world is mostly pretty fine. Maybe they wish their place in it were a little different, a little higher. But otherwise, fine."

✅

He could have spoken up. Yes, he'd been young, but not too young to sit through the boat-ride from Rustboro to Olivine, to take the shuttle that ran to Ecruteak.

Aww, baby. This is both a big realization, that you often have more power and choice than you think, but also ... Haru, give your kid self a break!

Bugloss plants grown to monstrous heights criss-crossed past thorny bluk berry and silver-edged goutweed.

The plant names kick in very suddenly here! A while back, during the family conference call, Atalanta is buzzing around "a bunch of flowers." Clearly Haru is a person who notices plants and cares, and that should probably reflect in the previous chapter.

Either this yard was abandoned, he thought, or the owner didn't accept the premise of weeds.

👏

The study examined the short-term and long-term health impacts of voltage-extraction on the electric-type pokemon that worked at the Mauville Power Plant.

We know this. Maybe lead in with something like, "Like the title said, the study ..."

but they wouldn't condone electric pokemon dying just to save a few yuans.

Or yen or poke? I said it earlier, but highlighting here.

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

Still love this on the reread. Such a sensible origin story for an island in the Hoenn Sea.

. And that's when I realized. We aren't going to get justice. There won't be a final reckoning, where the worthy rise and the unworthy sink beneath the waves."

Oof. I love how, after her religion's equivalent of the rapture, she's clearly lost faith in those gods. Or at least in the stories humans told themselves about the gods' relationship to them.

Every swirling thought from the walk home poured out in a confused, emphatic torrent.

Water again! Also, really viscerally captured this feeling.

I mean, they can't know, right? So it's our responsibility to make the work safe for them. That's our duty."

I wish he had a scripture to point to here.

DevCo's a massive funder, of course. Been very generous with my research. That Steven Stone's a good influence—appreciates a good archeological dig, that man.

I just bet.

We are researchers, compilers of knowledge, clean fact and theory, not activists."

His implication that activists are dirty is such a hot take.

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

Oh nooo it's not just pokemon being taken advantage of. He wasn't paid for that day of work, was he.

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

Divide between nature and technology again! Technology is a hostile force encroaching on his relationships to his pokemon and on his emotional well-being.

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

Her eyebrow rose. "Didn't you—"

Explaining about Atalanta would mean explaining everything.

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

"All right.

Lol, I guess Maliki is used to rolling with a suss crowd as a means to an end. Or, at least, she understands that people sometimes have good reason for keeping secrets.

That day already seemed like a distant island—like a full sea had closed in behind him.

Such a good image!

In the alleyway, a wild magnemite was attempting to feed off the nearest street-light, but the pokemon-proofed casing defeated it.

Really appreciating the verb choice of defeated. A battle it wasn't equipped for.

Then a high wail split the silence, as terrible as a scream.

Odd to compare a scream to a scream. Unclear whether this is a siren or the teapot, but I feel like those sounds are knowable.

A bolt of electricity skittered towards Haru, but hit the countertop instead

Extra comma.

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

Nice to have the good word to justify your stance. This is a story that's wary of things that come for free! If you're praying right, you have to give something. You have to move, change. Even breakfast shouldn't be taken for free.

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

<3 The way I've been thinking about these ideas lately is that we're guests and should act like it. It's the only way for there to actually be enough for everyone. Good guests don't leave trash or eat all the food in the fridge--or even stay forever.

When Mother and Father agreed, they became like mortar and brick, forming a wall that stood fast against any assault.

Such a good image. Slots together neatly.

You could beat your fists, but you'd only bruise them. Hold your tongue. Conserve your strength. He'd learned those lessons early.

It feels like a lesson he's unlearning now in his political life. Meanwhile, Erika seems to have become very comfortable going with the flow. I imagine she doesn't feel like she is--she obviously prides herself on having ambition in her career--but everything she does upholds the status quo.

stinking jasmine,

Dropped word?

In biology class they'd learned how caterpie fed, safe in the curl of a leaf, how towards the end of their larval stage, their movements slowed. There was a short span of time before evolution when caterpie went completely prone. All their energy was held inside, conserved for evolution. This is the most dangerous time for them, their biology teacher declared with gusto. Without the option of flight, without the defense of a hard metapod shell, they were vulnerable to every hazard. Haru had closed his eyes, imagining how that would feel. Knowing that if the change didn't come, you would die. In that moment, all you had was your faith.

This was also the moment I noticed that Maliki's butterfree doesn't just signal her origins but also suggest what our little Caterpie could be moving toward. A model for what could be on the other side of his hard, vulnerable transformation.

"Your question doesn't make any sense. All three were right, of course.

She's kind enough to indulge him with an answer, but even then it's both dismissive and a little self-congratulatory.

They each go where they belong. A place for everything, and everything in its place. It's basically the ancients' version of a typing chart."

Get in line, Haru.

It's both sad and very cool how Haru lays out a vision of Ho-oh worship for us that's steadily refuted by every other figure in that community we encounter. Proof he was always a suicune for being able to see it that way.

The nav beeped twice, shrilly. She'd ended the call.

Such love. 🙃

It was the kind of weather that washed the world clean.

Woof, the mashup between Suicune and Kyogre hits hard. The gap between them is the difference between can and should.

It was Monday morning, and Haru was ten minutes late for the first real job of his life.

Such stress.

How could that thing be called a ghost when it lived in parallel with its own life?

This image is absolutely perfect. Obsessed.

He remembered . . . he remembered a voice in the rain, but the more he reached for that memory, the more elusive it seemed, like trying to stopper the wind.

This confused me. Is he remembering his dreams, or did I miss something? These lines make it sound like an event from the waking world. (Though I'll conceded the line between the two is obviously very thin for him in these scenes.)

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

He seems to be both bracing himself for disappointment and looking for an out, a reason not to have to act (and thereby give up even more).

The only source of light was a grumpig slouched in a bean bag chair—

A surprisingly cute moment!

the black jewel on its belly pulsed purple.

This image is a little muddy for me, though. Is it a light glowing around the jewel or purple energy swirling within the black?

He made contact with both of them as he said it, the stooped ranger and the bleary grumpig.

Dropped word.

Maliki drew a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and clapped it across his face.

"His" meaning the ranger, right?

the last of Haru's collection

Collection to me implies an assorted assemblage. Might be clearer to say "the last of what Haru had collected" or something similar.

Last time Haru had been here, he had both.

Just his own inner compass now.

This was where the rain had spoken to him.

Grandmother, if you're there . . .

Wait, it did? I remember his dream sequences but didn't associate his conversations with suicune with a place on the road.

it rained here far too frequently for the plant to thrive, but chestos were invasives, sprouting wherever trainers dropped their seeds.

Love this detail.

How long did it take an absence to become a presence?

Another big theme in this story.

He'd never know, Haru realized, as Heconilia met his gaze with a strange, furious placidity and snuggled closer to her mate. He'd never know how fully she understood the consequences of this choice.

Is sort of wish we saw him fretting over this in the final chapter. Did he choose right by leaving her to choose?

No one could have called her insectoid, quivering body cuddly, but she was real and she was alive.

The commas made this read strangely to me at first. It looks like a descriptive phrase (describing her) offset by commas instead of a list of what would not be called cuddly. Cutting insectoid would help, since that's a given.

"I want to go home," Haru said.

But you can never go home again, Haru.

The market had been a staple of his childhood. He remembered those days like a mosaic, fragmented and yet unitary: waking to pre-dawn darkness, the long wait in the front room, sipping red tea—hot and tannic—from a flask, his mother screaming at Erika, stubbornly still in bed. Then the noise and mystery of the market, with its thousand stalls and thousand scents. And always, the tight press of Mother's hand around his wrist, warning him, do not stray.

Love the reminder that his parents and sister are all about hierarchy, staying in your lane, putting a damper on his sense of wonder. This also struck something in me for more personal reasons. Did I tell you I grew up going to a Saturday flea market with my dad?

In the back, a small cyndaquil crouched inside a traditional stove, heating water.

I love that tradiitonal = Flintstones tech lolol. Fun image!

"All the way from Hoenn. 1300 yen an ounce, but only for you I do 1,000, because I am a pious man."

And now yen.

"Excuse me," he said. "There are a lot of officers out this morning. Is something going on?"

She smiled at him in a friendly fashion.

"Nothing that concerns the gods," she said.

Oof, I just bet.

Masaki didn't look like a priest. Broad-shouldered and heavily bearded, he wouldn't have drawn a second glance at a construction site.

Love this.

"You won't find anyone by that name here," Haru said, trying to sound bored. "You don't know much about this temple, do you? Acolytes give up their family names. There aren't any Watanabes here."

Wow, what a blessing for him, TBH. I'm sure he misses his family, but that feels like the least of what he's had to give up.

Whatever she saw didn't alarm her. With a shrug, she recited, in a tone that made it clear the words meant nothing to her, "What's the difference between a suicune and a caterpie?"

I don't think there is one, kid.

. "Just somewhere to rest a bit. It would mean the world to me. Thank you."

I like how this echoes what Haru noticed about Maliki's girlfriend's treehouse with the rayquaza streamers. Not all rest is indulgent and escapist.

He was on laundry duty today and for once he was glad of it.

OH NOOOOO

As he dunked and wrung out dirty robes,

Gosh, yeah, if the robes are red and white, that means a lot of difficult washing. I bet there's always a new kid who turns one of them pink and is embarrassed.

He said the prayers specified in the Golden Book and he said them at the right times, in the right positions

Uh oh, back in his old patterns of looking for rules to cling to.

It was like waking by a roaring fire, completely eased by the force of its heat.

Or maybe it was not like waking at all, but rather a kind of sleep—Entei's sleep.

I love how fire, which is so often a symbol for violence or ambition, is a symbol of rest and peace in this mythology.

Surely a world that followed him would be a quiet world, a peaceful one.

He wished, not for the first time, that he could talk to the other acolytes about it.

Sounds lonely. And appropriately ironic: even here, in the middle of the temple, he has no one to talk to about his faith.

Suicune's the wind, and of the three, the wind is the only one that doesn't change anything. Wind passes through the field of rice, and all the stalks rustle, but they stay in their place."

Bruh, I'd like to talk to you about torandos, first of all.

He had wondered then, as he wondered now, how he could stand in the temple of Ho-oh and yet feel like a heretic.

What a mood. I think the suicune's path looks like an inherently lonely one. Except that through Maliki he did get a glimpse of what it could be like to work in community. And I think his response to the girl shows he's learned.

"There's one more thing. Your hair. I don't have anything to dye it with, so it's better to shave it all. It will make your story more believable; it's common to shave before a pilgrimage."

It will cost.

"Clothes aren't holy; actions are. You have as much right to wear these as anyone in the temple."

Yessssss

"Your life is no longer your own

Was it ever, though?

From the moment you don the sacred vestments of Ho-oh, you shall stray no more from his teachings."

Womp. Having the text, even being able to recite it, doesn't mean you can read it well.

They came so that they could stand in the shadow of the Burnt Tower, press their heads against the earth that Ho-oh had once sanctified. But Ho-oh hadn't sanctified the dirt. He'd saved three lives here—three insignificant lives—and with that act, the world had changed for good.

This is a nice image to end on after watching Haru sacrifice and lose so much. It's a hard one to really, really internalize.

When he next woke, Suicune was there.

She stood silently over his sleeping mat, and the blue of her pelt was the most true thing he'd ever known.

Goosebumps, goosebumps

The penultimate scene, shaving the fugitive's hair and giving her a story to use as escape, reminds me of a) Dessa's opening bars in Doomtree's song The Bends b) Hadestown, obviously, the parts where Hermes is describing to Opheus what the journey to the underworld will be like and how to get there. I think Haru is realizing he's an alcolyte of more than one thing. He's ushering ahead the next wave of the cycle of brave humans taking a stand at a cost and fighting to survive it to keep fighting however they can. (It also suggests something about how Maliki came to be in Hoenn instead of the islands.)

He's not helpless or powerless. He can be both vulnerable and scared and a protector and a fighter. And! He can fight big fights under his own power. He's not depending on pokemon to fight for him when he knows he should be the one looking out for them.

The biggest thing that's jumping out to me is how different characters use the tale of the three legendary beasts as ways of creating categories between people and asserting their own vision of the world. We hear from two characters whose interpretations of Haru's favorite verse contradicts his ... but even his own interpretation is a wall against himself. He can't possibly be in the Suicune camp because he's unsure, because he's afraid, because he's not meeting his own high standards. This isn't the story of him making a radical choice but the story of him coming to realize it wasn't a fluke but just who he is, of giving himself permission to call himself what he is and then go out and do that however he can.

Gud fic plz--oh wait oh no.

 

[tomatorade]

Congratulations! First of all! finishing any fic is a big deal, especially around novel/novella length. And what a fic to finish, too. I enjoyed this to the point that I struggled to find much criticism and mostly ended up gushing. Up to chapter three, at least.

Haru & friends

Your characters in general remind me that the people in traffic next to me are fully-fleshed out beings with lives and hobbies and they also probably do a lot of crime when they aren't cutting me off. That is to say, you've mastered the art of taking ostensibly normal people and turning them into interesting characters.

Haru in particular straddles the line perfectly. There's just enough of his strongest characteristics thrown in to give him a distinct edge without it losing the grounded feel. It's quite subtle, which I like, and manifests in both small and large ways.

He loves pokemon in a far more respectful way than the average trainer, and we get to see that in the way he seems to interpret their body language. The campfire meeting in particular is lovely and very intimate. There's a quiet sadness to it. It feels weird to praise someone for actually consulting their pokemon before giving them away, but pokemon training in this world is particularly... unbalanced, so. It's interesting the way his strengths work against him here, too. If he cared less about pokemon none of this would've happened, but all his attempts to do good end up backfiring.

Except for when he just does something kind of stupid. Siganling the emergency beacon then jamming it in Wei's hand is maybe the most suspicious option he chose. And I still can't wrap my head around how he carried his pokegear all the way out of the jungle. Like, did he stick it his bag? Why?

Later, there's some spiritual significance to Heconilia offering her fruit that I like. The way Haru's interpretation of it differs from Wei's says a lot. My favourite little detail in this vein are the pokemon names. Haru gives all these thoughful, personal nicknames, then Wei names his swalot fuckin' dumpster lol. What a guy.

His religious belief is something that's done particularly well. It feels strange calling it a personality trait, especially in this story, and when it turns into something of a personal truth to Haru. There's a real conflict of ideology here. On one hand, Haru is a consummate rule-follower to the point that he still finds the time to chastise someone for doing something illegal even while he's dumping (though not like that). On the other, his interpretation of the Suicune myth leads him down a very different path.

I like that he thinks about his second-grade essay about rule-following. Methinks his parents hanging it up on the wall is the proudest they've been of him, which is depressing, but if they're anything like Erika then they're awful and I can't wait to hate them if they show up later.

Wei kinda toes the line a little. He's fine. I mean, not as a human being, his only redeeming quality is that he's a living creature that probably doesn't deserve to die in a jungle, but I don't expect him to show up later so there's not really much to complain about. I wonder how the tone would change if he wasn't just all-out terrible. This is more a neutral observation than a criticism. It would likely be harder to sympathise with Haru if he were nicer, I just didn't have much reaction to him being bopped, tbh.

Sucks for Haru though.

Good Words

Honestly, it fascinating the way you've turned a bit of small talk into a hook lol.

There's a strong impression of the tone and setting immediately, the subject of rules and duty (at least to a trainer's code) firing off in like, paragraph three? And the small talk isn't small talk if it tells me a lot about character. (though is the ranger hitting on him? and are microclimates the best pick-up topic?).

Of course, the real hook is this buildup of tension across the first couple pages. It's not immediately clear why Haru's so jumpy, but by the time I've hit the line about obligation, I'm sold. And it doesn't take long to find out either.

There's a sort of isolation to how this is written that I like a lot. Even when Haru is talking to others, he's still mostly in his own head and there's a sense that a parting will soon follow. Which I suppose ties in to this being the trailing end of a training journey, where everyone's scattering and there's not much left to stick around for.

Focusing on the end of a trainer journey is great, btw. There's so much potential there, but I don't often see takes on it.

Training

Pokemon training sucks even more than usual here, huh?

The thing that I think struck me the most was how inherently unfair the cycle becomes. Pokemon get two choices after their journey, and if they don't want to battle or breed, then tough luck, sister, there are no other options. The normal criticism is how cruel it is to take thinking, feeling creatures from their homes. Here it's made worse by the fact that they can't return anymore once they're taken. It makes sense for the environment, but it's also terrible.

I mean, it's fleshed out and well written but I still feel sad.

Pokeballs, too. The suggestion that Atalanta's wings will fester if put in the pokeball while wet puts into question how usefull they are in the first place. There's no stasis, so I can't imagine they'd do much for an injury more severe than than a cut.

Finally, bureaucracy, yaaay! it ruins everything! I half expected there to be a bag check at the ranger station that would ruin Haru smuggling Atalanta across. It's maybe the one thing that's gone right for him.

I ended up not writing that many notes so there's not much to stick at the end here. Gud fic. Now write it backwards.

 

[tomatorade]

I returneth. This time for chappies 4-6

The End of an Empire

Well, it seems Haru's criminal career isn't going anywhere fast lol. C'mon, you're telling me the weird, drunk guy in the blue trenchcoat isn't good company? Though he continues his streak of poor decisions. Dumping Wei's nav is probably the most suspicious option. Then buying an illegal pokeball and hanging out with the egg dealer lol. Please, Haru, get some help.

It's interesting how the bar scene plays out. I'm used to crime being at least a little sexy, under red lights and music and hidden from the public with secret passwords and guards. Here, though, it's at the bottom floor of a shopping centre. And the bouncer doesn't care and the suave criminal is a drunk, rambling loser. Considering the next couple chapters, Haru ends up pinging through all different kinds of society and only really settling on one. Which doesn't really surprise me. For now, it seems Malve reflects his rock-bottom. I will be paying atttention to his rambling rant though, it seems parallel to the themes of this fic.

(Although the shopping scene gives me good memories of my mom dragging me through a South Korean market to find bootleg DS carts with like fifty games on them lol)

In a more day-to-day setting, Haru strikes me as very resigned. He's not particularly feisty, whether the dealer is chatting him up or his family is plowing over him without even stopping to ask if he's doing alright. Poor guy, he's the embodiment of the "yes dear... :(" meme. I like the subtle character building in the family call though. Haru calling it an interrogation, his mom not even knowing which species of fossil pokemon he has. last review, I expected his family to be awful and boy, are they.

Then poor Haru beats himself up again for forgetting to check rentals in Mauville. He's been busy, mom, give the guy a break!

There's a really great sense of unease throughout this chapter. Haru never feels comfortable, always faintly nauseous and uncertain. Even in places he should be comfortable. Having him walk into the trainer store, remark on the prices and quality of items, then remind himself he's not a trainer anymore felt like a small death. Also a sign that, despite him not having much love for his journey, he missed the pokemon, at least.

Also loved the end of the chapter. The fog descending and signalling a definitive end to that chapter of Haru's life. As Kierkegaard said, life can only be understood by looking backward; but must be lived forward. Unfortunate that Haru doesn’t seem to find much looking backwards. You’ve really caught me up in that, too. I’m not certain how this fic is going to play out. My initial feelings are ones that Haru is going to get less punished than he thinks, and the pokemon are going to suffer instead, but that’s a vague impression

City livin'

Boy, do I miss canon pokemon's utopian vision of cities living in harmony with forests. Pen's vision is depressingly real and makes me not want to go to Hoenn anymore. Two k for a basement apartment that makes you miserable? Fun. And poverty two steps from downtown.

Haru finding the temple is interesting, though. It's the first time a coincidence has felt a little contrived so far. I can accept most of the others because they're minor and serve to drive conflict and tension, but here there's a release of tension that doesn't feel totally earned. Like it's strange not only to find a decent temple in the slums, but then to be noticed praying, offered a cheap place to stay, and not been bothered about the rent money.

I'll keep all that in mind as a minor suspicion that things are brewing, but we'll see.

I did like that Miliki isn't demanding much from Haru, though. This chapter really brings to centre a conflict between the unstopped technological progress of Hoenn and what that's left behind. Remind me a lot of Mother 3, actually (in which I'm a proud member of the cult), where the progress towards modern city living destroys community and spirituality and hollows it out into a pale image of itself. Interesting parallel, anyways.

Although there's a little less tension now that Haru's settled a bit, it's also nice to see him find a place he's comfortable in. Plus an actual, respectful relationship with Miliki.

We get to see some Atalanta lore, too. The story behind the name is interesting, and has me wondering on the symbolism here. I expect this story mirrors that one somehow, and ninjask Atalanta has untintentionally spurred Haru into war, but we shall see.

Something that's come up repeatedly is pokemon intelligence. Curious that it isn't a set thing in this world. Creates an interesting bit of conflict in Haru. They're obviously intelligent, but I wonder if they're as smart as Haru wants them to be.

Finally, the use of sleep spore makes me think this will turn into an anti-drugs psa.

Six

There's a striking image here. Now that Haru's finally found a sense of belonging, he's noticing the loneliness of the kitchen.

Then, it's nerd time, baby! Yawn.

Seriously, though, it's so cool how considered your world is that you can write in-universe nerd people doing nerd people talk and have it seem very believable. I also loved Damascus' body language. Not understanding Haru's emotional turmoil and thinking he's injured is very cute and sad. Otherwise, I get the sense that Doctor Ogletree doesn't share the same sort of respect for pokemon that Haru does. Truly, he is alone.

Unless...

Okay, so the ceremony scene might be my favorite in the story so far. Haru's been spending all this time with his masks up, letting people walk over him and passively accepting his own inability throughout. There's clearly a lot going on inside him, and here we finally see him let loose and vent a little bit. I love how sudden the manifestation of his guilt feels (to the audience) it's very believable and clear, looking back, but I can't say I've thought all too much on Haru's familial trauma. And here, it comes out explosively. He vents, finally, and that release of tension is very earned.

I think this is some of the first true anger he seems to feel, and it's towards not making a choice. Of course, Haru ends uncertainly, as he is wont to do. Though it's also telling that he doesn't regret choosing to let Heconilia go. What is this, some kind of Suicune's choice or smth?

Finally, another dream. The meaning feels very clear here, but there's probably more to it.

I will return one day to finish this fic. Goodbye, earth.

 

[love]

I want to start by making sure it's clear that I don't, on principle, object to the fact that Haru broke the law or assaulted a guy, because I don't think that the extremity of those actions is disproportionate to the harm he's fighting against. It really is just his lack of focus on outcomes that concerns me. It is easy, in trying to always do the right thing, to sacrifice much personally for little gain. We never really learn the impact of the power plant raid, nor Heconilia's fate post-rescue—though with her wings clipped, the outlook is not great. It all might amount to nothing. Of course, as Maliki says, you can't only act when you're certain of the outcome, or you will never act at all. I suppose it's up to each individual to decide on a threshold of certainty. I think my threshold is higher than Haru's.

I suppose Haru might argue that doing the right thing is intrinsically worthwhile. Sacred. That's not how I see things. Maybe I would align with him more if I believed there were gods to reward us.

I wonder if Haru would choose to go down more or less the same path again if he knew what he would sacrifice. By the time he decides to leave the temple, he's cut off from his family; that particular price has already been paid. I think it's ironic that he's always blaming himself for having not been there for his grandmother, but now, because of his own choices, he'll never be there for any of his family ever again. Does he believe his duty extends to all family or only the members that have been good to him? I feel bad for Erika because I think she cares about Haru even if she is patronizing and deeply fails to understand him.* And Haru cared enough to call her to say goodbye, so I'm sure leaving her bothers him, and also, remembering that he'll never see his mother again is what undoes him at the safe house. It's also ironic that Heconilia finds purpose in her own nascent family while Haru finds purpose as he abandons his. So far, despite acquainting with some like-minded people, he hasn't found an adequate substitute. I suppose I hope he can. Despite not seeing eye to eye with Haru all the time, I do respect him and want the best for him; I think it's hard not to root for someone so well-intentioned.

* As an aside, other reviewers seem to have very negative opinions on Erika, and I can understand largely why, but frankly if my sibling called me in the middle of a meeting to ask me distressedly about scripture I probably would respond, if at all, with some variation of "Uh I don't know, I'll talk to you later if you want, gotta go," which would be more or less equivalent. I don't know what you're really supposed to say there.

Anyway, I feel like you probably could have predicted my general opinion from my earlier reviews. Haru's approach to morality is more like a greedy algorithm and mine is more like an optimized O(n^2) algorithm that might never actually finish running. Overall, I am left with a sense of dread—some respect, too, but mostly dread.

I don't have an awful lot of smart things to say about the prose. It held my interest throughout the story. I remember the description of Mauville, the cleanness and sense of rebellious nature. I really admire the way you write, and I've never seen you mention having beta readers. Do you create stuff like this all on your own?

"You think anything that's right is necessary."

I love this line. This is, like, the whole fic right here.

The woman looked at Atalanta, who shifted uneasily on Haru's head. A baffled smile curved across her face. "My honey."

I wasn't sure why "honey" was emphasized.

Places to rest—everyone needs that.

I suppose there is a place for the Enteis of the world, after all. Now we just need some positive Raikou representation.

He'd reached the temple several hours after dusk, so exhausted that he swayed where he stood. It had been too late for visitors, but they'd opened the gates when he'd told them his name and what he had come for.

So this part is a flashback, and I realized on the second reading that this is indicated by the use of past participle, but the transition still tripped me up the first time. A little more lead-in might not be amiss.

"But I've been thinking about Maliki's riddle—the difference between a suicune and a caterpie. And I think—" He released his breath. "I think there isn't one."

There's never a moment of metamorphosis, a point where one feels confident. To do the things Haru believes in will always require faith, will always be scary.